[coldly, clutching his stomach as another wracking pain shoots through his muscles.]

You would have no chance against me. You are only alive right now because I am fighting with everything I am not to kill you.

[he gnashes his teeth, because it would be so wonderful and so easy to rip your throat right out, Ashraf. To tear your skin from its bones, shred the muscles, soak in the blood. And the screams would be loveliest of all.]

The--feelings--never fade. I control them through battle or will, and since it's becoming clear that I will not be sent to battle, I must rely on will.