in the boy’s destruction. DeHaviliard had promised them
reward. The child had delivered their fate.
At last the child stood before his master.
“The time has come for you to pay for your actions,” the
child said simply. DeHaviliard’s eyes scanned right and
left, looking for any opportunity.
“There is so much that I could teach you,” he offered,
trying to delay, still seeking to escape.
“What you would teach, I need not know.”
“I could become your ally,” DeHaviliard said, stepping in
closer as he spoke, hoping the conversation might provide
at least a minimal diversion. “I could help you,” he hissed,
understanding that escape was not possible; maneuvering
for a strike.
“You represent all that I must undo,” the boy replied,
remaining calm.
“Then you must be un-done,” shrieked DeHaviliard, as he
leapt forward, drawing a long sinister silver blade from
beneath his cloak and raising it above the child. But his
move had been anticipated. Raising his left arm, the child
stepped directly into the assault, thwarting the blade’s
descent and sweeping it from its intended course. At the
same time, he formed the fingers of his right hand into a
small, tight cone. The cone rammed through DeHaviliard’s
chest, shattering bone. Like an eagle’s talons, the boy’s
fingers wrapped around DeHaviliard’s cold, still heart and
tore it from his chest. There was one brief moment when
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