“I suffered here for years, brother,” I say, cutting him off. “Years. Where were you then? Why didn’t you slay my oppressors and save me so that I could return to my task?” Death is quiet. I point to Ana with my scythe. “It was this woman with her pleasing enough form—” Ana—God bless her vanity—frowns at that. “—who saved me,” I say. “So, you and your offensive trade can fuck—right—off.”
