Over

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m his son!”

“Everyone will know it was me,” Rastaban said, “but everyone will know that you deserved it.”

Dravi squirmed under the weight of Rastaban’s knee, but Rastaban was immovable. The icicle was so cold it burned his skin, and it was melting rapidly - he had to act quickly.

“You’d kill a man unarmed?” Dravi asked.

“You’re not a man, but I would,” Rastaban said. It was deliberate, wrenching Dravi by the hair so his head was turned properly, then driving the icicle into his ear. Dravi died before he could scream.

And it was over.