“Your eyes,” he said from between split and swollen lips, pausing to spit blood at my feet. “I know what you are.” He had fought hard, his hair matted to his head with sweat and blood. His hands were bound behind his back, and his muscles bunched beneath the torn fabric of a once decent suit. He slumped in the chair at the center of the once prestigious room. “But it’s impossible. You cannot exist. The Ig’Morruthens died in the Gods War.”
