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... from the cuff, flashing the silver blade, silently approaching the snowy moon's back. And the shackles on the side, ready to go, the silver needle in the hand, aimed at the lifeblood of Xueyunge.

"Ok!"

"Hey!"

"what!'

The snoring sound, the sound of the sharp cut into the skin, and the exclamation of the man's pain, the dark dungeon, the **** smell instantly spread, overflowing the entire chamber.

"Two brothers, for, what, to be like this pair of children?"

...

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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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