A faint, hollow boom answered him. Zavros frowned when he heard the sound. This was the second time he'd heard it, at the back of his hearing, so slight that he wondered if he was imagining it. He wondered if he should investigate, but he couldn't wait to test his theories on the boy. The officers outside would sort it out, whatever it was.

The templar guards exchanged glances, and then turned and left. Zavros smiled without humour at the quick pace of their footsteps. Men like these would never have the courage it took to make discoveries such as those Zavros had made, and would continue to make. Too much of the world was controlled by men who understood the language of physical aggression, yet shied away from knowledge. When the Primate's vision for the world became a reality, Zavros planned to change that proportion.

Zavros heard the metal door to his special chamber clang heavily against its frame. He frowned, his guards should know better than to make such a racket.

Still frowning, he took out his small scissors and began to cut away the hair on the boy's scalp, quickly forgetting the guards and anything beyond the room. He then took a razor in his hand and bit his lip with concentration as he prepared to shave the top of his subject's head; he didn't want to slip here, blood was inevitable, but it made things messy.

Suddenly Zavros felt a pressure on his wrist. Whatever it was, it squeezed, harder and harder, until the razor fell out of his hand, tinkling as it landed on the hard floor. Zavros looked wildly to the left and the right but there was no one to be seen. The force on his wrist increased until with a sickening crunch he felt the bones in his wrist break. The splintering fragments meshed together and Zavros screamed with the pain of it, more excruciating than anything he had ever felt. The pulling and tearing continued, until with one last squeeze Zavros's right wrist was crushed, bones poking through the skin.

The pressure ceased, and Zavros looked at the remains of his wrist in disbelief, the shock so strong he didn't even scream. He tried to see where his assailant was, whatever it was, but there was nothing, even though Zavros had rigged nightlamps throughout the chamber so he could see what he was doing.

As Zavros's breath returned he screamed, waving his arm around. Blood splattered out onto the walls, spilling onto the ground, and dripping onto the wide-eyed boy in the chair. Every sound Zavros made echoed throughout the chamber; he was used to the screams of others, but this was the first time he had heard his own voice bouncing off the walls. The pain was so great that he gasped for breath, and in the sudden silence he heard a male voice speak arcane words.