The air in the corridor was thick with tension, every breath that left the four individuals present was laced with the scent of an awaiting battle and burning Essence.
"You have fallen from grace, Bastopher!" Grengo said, his voice as steady as a rock in a storm. "But you do not have to fall deeper. You can still be saved, your soul can be freed from that Demon inside you."
Bastopher tilted his head slightly, still unreadable, save for the glimmer of darkness in his crimson eyes. "Do I look like I want to be saved?"
Grengo shook his head disappointedly. "You do not want to do this, son."
"Why do people always say that?" Bastopher turned fully to face them. "What about me speaks indecision to you? What makes you think I have an ounce of hesitation within me? You do not know me, you do not know me at all."
Silence of tension reigned.
"The boy's mind is made up,' Zadoc whispered.
