The bloodthirst remained exactly where it was, but space formed around it, and for the first time since the crimson thoughts had begun surfacing, Sylas could examine one without immediately becoming immersed in it.
Kill.
He looked at the desire.
Why?
An obstacle stood in his way.
Was killing necessary?
No.
Then there was no reason to do it.
The impulse faded without Sylas having to crush it. Another replaced it almost instantly, then ten more followed, then a hundred, each rising from places Selfwrought Emperor had only just begun exposing. Some were violent, others possessive, while several carried such clinical indifference that Sylas could finally understand why the young boy who had dissected a corpse with his own hands had felt so little while doing it.
