Ethan turned his gaze toward the Deacon. The man didn't even try to reach for a weapon or a talisman. He was a jackal who had spent his life wearing a tiger's skin, feeding off the authority of the Union's leader. Now that the tiger was dead and the skin was shredded, only a coward remained.
The Deacon collapsed to his knees, his forehead pressing into the dirt as he began to babble for mercy.
"I'd love to erase you right here, Deacon," Ethan said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "But there's someone back at HQ who's been dreaming of your head. I think I'll let them have the pleasure. But first..."
In a blur of motion, a series of sickening cracks echoed through the valley. Ethan broke both of the Deacon's arms, shattered his kneecaps, and finally dislocated his jaw with a precise flick of his thumb. The man couldn't fight, couldn't run, and now, he couldn't even bite his own tongue to commit suicide.
