The night I killed my father, I crashed into an ice coffin and woke a god of slaughter who had slept for ten thousand years. The moment he opened his eyes, twelve assassins were reduced to bloody mist. He covered my eyes. “Don't look.” Later, I asked why he'd helped me. He said, “The way you crashed into my coffin reminded me so much of the woman I loved, who died.” Me: “...” Later still, the woman he loved came back to life and took his hand. “She's just a substitute.” I drew my sword. “A substitute? Then guess whose life paid for the power I have now.” He stepped in front of me. “She's not a substitute. She's the one I chose.”
