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... arity and into older, stranger territory. The trees here were ancient, their trunks wider than three people standing hand-to-hand, their branches reaching up into the sky.

"These trees..." Su Yue murmured, running her hand along one particularly massive trunk. "They're saturated with spiritual energy."

She wasn't wrong. I could feel it too: the way the spiritual energy had seeped into every fiber of wood, every leaf, every root. These weren't just old trees; they were trees that ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

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