Byzantinism

[Thunderer]

Hall's pupils explosively narrowed, as those of a wolf that is about to snatch its prey. They hid an eruption of hateful urges that rampaged free around his soul, a firewall that slowly burned through its last bits, but also protected its sensitive core from any strikes mounted by the outside. It was a battleground between the forces of good and evil, Hall's soul, for most of his life. And while it was under siege, his reason flourished. It had just made a calculation.

The expression of his face made no insight of any internal or other struggle whatsoever. It was fluctuating between stone and frost.

"I want to give you the chance..." His eyelids dropped half down and cast the shadow of Mephistopheles over Ambre. He slightly lifted his head, as if he wanted to prevent the salty potion of hate that was driving him forward, from leaking out. "The opportunity to murder Admiral McIntire". He said murder as it was any other, everyday word.