"OH, BROTHER, YOU THINK I DON'T MOTHERFUCKING KNOW THAT?" He tuts. "Would have to say it's not even a thing what all I fancy. HE PREFERS TO BE UPFRONT WITH HIS MOTHERFUCKING BUSINESS, DON'T YOU KNOW? He prefers as to be wholly truthful so at when all he says he will crush you, you can know. HE WILL MOTHERFUCKING CRUSH YOU."

He stops and hums over him, looking he's looking at a work of art. Not a person in agony. He could make the motherfucker beg. He could most certainly do it, it would be easy, could even be funny. He stands up.

"Do you know why they call him Fraysong, brother?" He asks, idly. "HERE WE STAND IN THE MOTHERFUCKING FRAY." He gestures around with his arms spread wide. "In the fray of battle do we motherfucking stand." He reaches for an arm laying limp and he grips painfully tight. He looks to Kain with a smile. "NOW... SING." And then he pulls. Pulls and yanks and rips and tears and he doesn't stop until the symphony satisfies. He drops Kain.

He speaks with fury; "Do not motherfucking underestimate my wrath, brother! LET NO MOTHERFUCKER EVER AGAIN UNDERESTIMATE WHAT ALL IT IS I CAN DO!" And then suddenly, he's calm again. "Let us see to that death then, shall we?"

He reaches for Kain's face, almost gentle. Then suddenly, sharply, he twists. The neck snaps.