Chapter 29: Contact found
The frangipani-scented air felt softer this morning, the relentless Balinese sun gentler as it poured through the open sides of the main villa’s dining pavilion. Erika sat beside Bruce, her hand resting lightly on his thigh beneath the teak table. Her deep blue eyes, less stormy than the night before, held a fragile calm. The tear tracks had dried, replaced by a quiet determination. Around them, the clatter of plates and the murmur of conversation filled the space – the comfortable chaos of their large family breakfast.
Camille placed a steaming platter of nasi goreng in the center, her movements efficient, her expression intense. The years and Sophia’s rigorous training had sculpted her already voluptuous form; her ass, high and round beneath thin silk shorts, swayed hypnotically as she moved. "Eat," she commanded, her voice warm but firm. "Strength comes from within, corazón, and that starts with food. Even when the world is trying to crush you." She shot a pointed glance around the table, landing briefly on the tablet displaying a grainy surveillance image.
On the screen, frozen in time, was a man. Caucasian, mid-forties, sharp suit slightly rumpled, captured exiting a nondescript building in what Priya and Sophia had pinpointed as a commercial district of Singapore. He had a hawkish profile and cold, pale eyes that seemed to stare back at them.
"I swear I know him," Bruce muttered, pushing roasted peanuts around his plate. His swirling hazel eyes, more green than blue today, reflecting his unease, were fixed on the image. "Jakarta. Maybe… five years ago? Some finance conference. He was attached to… something. Something messy."
Lena, seated opposite Bruce, leaned forward, her legendary legs crossed, the muscle definition Sophia had honed evident even in repose. Her dark hair was pulled back, sharpening her intelligent features. "Rothschilds don’t send mid-level functionaries to Bali without a reason, Bruce. And they certainly don't orchestrate kidnapping attempts on our family for kicks. 'Messy' implies motive. What kind of messy?" Her voice was low, analytical, cutting through the morning lull.
Jasmine scoffed, her green eyes flashing. She stretched, making the tank top strain over her spectacular breasts, her own sculpted ass – a worthy rival to Lena’s – shifting on the cushion. "Power. Control. Money. The usual billionaire boredom bullshit. They see something they can’t buy, something they can’t control... us... you, Bruce... and it pisses them off. They want it broken. Or owned." She stabbed a piece of mango. "My bullshit radar is screaming ‘legacy play’. This feels… foundational. Why now? After the ritual? After the… changes?" Her gaze flickered meaningfully towards Bruce’s lap, a ghost of a smirk touching her lips.
Ketut, quiet as usual, placed a calming hand on Jasmine’s arm. Her small, incredibly toned frame seemed to hum with contained energy. "The Naga chose Bruce," she said softly, her Balinese accent musical. "It saw the darkness rising. The serpent sees what coils in the shadows of power. This family... they are old shadows. Very old. The ritual, the joining, the prophecy fulfilled with Priya… it lit a beacon. They see the light. They fear it."
Priya nodded, her voluptuous curves, defying any stereotype of Indian physique, leaning back thoughtfully. Her large breasts strained against her silk blouse. "Ketut’s right. The toxin they used on Erika wasn't street garbage. It was sophisticated, fast-acting, designed for minimal trace. Expensive. Bespoke. This is targeted. They know about us, about our… structure. About Bruce’s… endowment… and its origin." She met Bruce’s eyes. "They perceive you as a threat. A destabilizing element. Or," she paused, her brilliant mind working, "a potential asset they failed to acquire."
Sophia, sitting beside Priya, her fitness-instructor physique radiating disciplined power, traced the edge of the tablet. "The scars," she said suddenly, her Spanish accent crisp. Everyone looked at her. She zoomed in on the man’s left hand resting on the door handle. "See? Across the knuckles. Old, but deep. Knife fight. Or broken glass. He’s not just a suit." She looked at Bruce. "Does that jog anything? Jakarta’s underbelly?"
Bruce closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. Jakarta. Hot, humid nights. A deal gone sour near the port. Raised voices in a gilded bar. A flash of steel. A man with pale eyes and scarred knuckles grabbing his arm, whispering threats laced with a name… a name that carried the weight of centuries… "Rothschild." The word escaped his lips like a curse. "He was the enforcer. For a subsidiary. Quietly cleaning up messes. Messes involving… antiquities. Things with power."
A heavy silence descended. The distant gamelan music seemed to grow louder. The scent of frangipani suddenly felt cloying. The idyllic breakfast shattered by the cold reality of ancient power aligning against them.
Erika’s hand tightened on Bruce’s thigh. The fragile calm in her eyes hardened into blue ice. "They tried to take me," she whispered, her Icelandic accent sharpening the words. "Because I am yours. Because we are yours." She turned to him fully, her stunning features set. "They want to break what you have built. They want to own the power the Naga gave you." She stood abruptly, her magnificent legs carrying her around the table with purpose. She ignored the half-eaten food, the intense gazes of her sister-wives. Her focus was solely on Bruce.
She stopped before him. Without a word, her fingers went to the tie of her thin silk robe. A flick, and it pooled at her feet on the polished stone floor. She stood naked before him and the entire table, her pale skin luminous in the morning light, her full breasts high and proud, the curve of her waist flaring into the glorious swell of her hips and ass. The vulnerability of the night before was gone, replaced by a fierce, possessive need.
"Show me," she demanded, her voice low and rough. "Show me I’m safe. Show me I’m yours. Show me the power they fear." She climbed onto his lap, straddling him right there at the breakfast table, her strong legs wrapping around his waist, her bare ass pressing down onto his clothed thighs. Her deep blue eyes locked onto his swirling hazel ones, daring him.
The other women watched, a charged silence hanging. Not jealousy, but a collective understanding. A reaffirmation. Jasmine licked her lips, a predatory gleam in her green eyes. Lena’s gaze was intense, approving. Camille leaned back, a small, fierce smile playing on her lips. Ketut’s expression was serene, accepting. Priya observed with clinical interest mixed with undeniable heat. Sophia’s breath hitched slightly.
Bruce’s earlier tension dissolved, replaced by a surge of primal possessiveness ignited by Erika’s boldness. He growled, low in his chest, his hands instantly finding the glorious swell of her ass, fingers digging into the firm, pale flesh. "Mine," he rasped, his voice thick. He didn't hesitate. Fumbling only slightly with the drawstring of his loose linen pants, he freed his enormous cock. It sprang out, thick and heavy, a daunting 12 inches of rigid flesh with an obscene 8-inch girth, pulsing in the humid air.
Erika gasped at the sight and feel of it pressing against her inner thigh, a gasp that morphed into a moan as she reached down between them. Her fingers, cool from her morning swim, wrapped around the monstrous shaft, slicking her own wetness over the thick head. She positioned herself, her blue eyes never leaving his. With a deliberate, slow roll of her hips, she sank down.
"Oh, FUCK!" Bruce groaned as her tight, wet heat enveloped him. Inch by impossible inch, she took him, her inner muscles fluttering and gripping the massive intrusion with shocking strength. Her pale skin flushed pink, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her body stretched to accommodate his girth. She bottomed out, his thickness buried to the hilt inside her, her ass cheeks pressed firmly against his thighs, her full breasts heaving.
"Yes," Erika hissed, her head thrown back, the column of her throat exposed. "Fuck yes, Bruce. All of it. Give it to me. Show me." She began to move, rising slowly, the obscene length of his cock glistening slickly until only the thick head remained inside her, then sinking back down with a wet, sucking sound that echoed in the pavilion. Her inner walls clutched and massaged him like a velvet vice.
Bruce gripped her ass, guiding her rhythm, meeting her downward thrusts with upward surges of his hips. The sound of flesh meeting flesh joined the wet sounds of their joining – sharp slaps as her perfect ass met his lap, the slick, rhythmic squelch of her pussy taking his impossible girth. He could feel every ridge, every pulse of her tight channel around him.
"Fucking perfect cunt," Bruce grunted, his eyes raking over her body. "Sucking me in… taking every fucking inch… my perfect Icelandic goddess." One hand slid from her ass up her spine, tangling in her pale blonde hair, pulling her head back down to claim her mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss. His other hand remained firmly planted on her ass, fingers digging in, feeling the muscle flex as she rode him.
Erika moaned into his mouth, her hips grinding down, rotating against him, seeking the deepest friction. "Harder," she gasped against his lips. "Fuck me harder, Bruce! Make me scream! Make them all hear who owns this pussy!" Her nails raked down his back.
He obliged. His thrusts turned brutal, pounding up into her as she slammed down. The table creaked beneath them. Erika’s cries escalated, sharp and loud, shattering the morning calm. "YES! OH GOD, YES! BRUCE! MORE! GIVE IT TO ME! YOUR COCK! FILL ME UP!"
Her back arched spectacularly, her magnificent breasts thrust forward, nipples hard pebbles. The muscles in her thighs and ass corded with the effort of riding him. She was a vision of abandon, primal and beautiful, claiming her safety, her place, through raw, visceral connection.
Bruce felt the coil tightening in his gut, the pressure building behind his monstrous cock. The sight of her, the feel of her tight heat milking him, the sounds of her ecstasy – it was overwhelming. "Gonna cum," he growled, his voice ragged. "Gonna flood that tight little pussy. Breed you right here."
"Yes!" Erika screamed, her climax crashing over her. Her pussy clenched in rhythmic spasms, gripping his cock like a fist, milking him violently. "CUM IN ME! FILL ME! MARK ME YOURS!"
With a roar that seemed to shake the frangipani blossoms, Bruce erupted. Thick, hot ropes of cum surged up his shaft and pumped deep into her clenching channel, jet after powerful jet, filling her beyond capacity. Erika whimpered, trembling violently as she felt the scalding flood, her own orgasm prolonged by the sensation of being claimed so utterly.
She collapsed forward onto his chest, breathing raggedly, his massive cock still buried deep inside her, twitching as the last pulses shot into her. Sweat slicked their bodies, the scent of sex thick in the air, mingling with frangipani and fried rice.
Bruce held her close, his own breath slowing, his hands stroking her back, her hair. The fear, the uncertainty about the Rothschilds, the shadow of the man with the scarred knuckles – it all receded, drowned out by the pounding of their hearts and the profound, animalistic connection. Around the table, the other women watched, their expressions a mixture of arousal, fierce pride, and unwavering solidarity. This was their strength. This was the power the shadows feared.
As Erika’s tremors subsided, Lena finally spoke, her voice cutting through the post-coital haze, calm and deadly serious. "Jakarta. The antiquities." She pointed at the frozen image on the tablet. "That scarred knuckle. Sophia’s right. He was there. And Bruce…" she met his eyes, her intelligence blazing. "That artifact the local contact was trying to sell you… the one that ‘mysteriously’ disappeared after the altercation… the small jade serpent with the ruby eyes. The Naga's Tear. He took it. Or was sent for it. They've known about the prophecy, about the serpent’s power, for years. They’ve been waiting. Watching. And now they’ve decided to act."
Bruce’s eyes hardened to chips of jade and gold. Lena’s words struck true, resonating like a gong in the heavy, sex-scented air. The missing artifact. The serpent’s tear. That was the key.
"Fuck yes, Lena," Bruce growled, his voice rough, the adrenaline from Erika’s claiming surging back, channeled now into cold fury. "Good. We have a face and a reason." He carefully shifted Erika, still breathing heavily on his chest, her slick pussy releasing his softening but still immense cock with an audible wet plop. He helped her stand, her magnificent legs trembling slightly, pale skin flushed. She didn’t flinch from her nakedness before the others, her blue eyes blazing with the same focus, the same fierce ownership.
Bruce stood, his 12-inch cock glistening with Erika’s juices and his own spend, pulsing faintly as his power coiled within him. He pointed at the tablet. "We find him. His hideout." His swirling hazel eyes locked onto Lena’s sharp intelligence. "I can teleport inside. Finish him before he even knows I’m there." His voice lowered, dangerous. "Take whatever he has that has to do with the Naga’s power. There may be more we’re missing." He paced, his thick cock swinging, his muscular frame radiating lethal intent. "If they knew about this power… it makes sense they’d try to diminish it if they could. Especially if they anticipated it would be a force for good instead of their fucking evil."
Jasmine slammed her fist on the teak table, rattling the plates. "Send me with you. Let me carve that fucker up slow." Her green eyes burned with violent promise. "He touched what’s ours."
Camille was already moving. The fire in her spirit ignited, a tangible heat radiating from her sculpted body. She dropped to her knees before Bruce, her olive hands grasping his thick, slick shaft without hesitation. "Do it, mi amor," she breathed, her dark eyes fixed on his, her voice thick with loyalty and lust. "Go tear his throat out. But first…" Her tongue, hot and broad, licked a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock, collecting their mingled fluids. "Give me your strength. Your rage. Fill me with it." Her mouth engulfed the bulbous head, sucking hard, her thick lips stretching obscenely around the impossible girth. Her skilled tongue swirled around the ridge.
Bruce groaned, thrusting shallowly into her welcoming heat. "Fuck, Camille. That mouth." He tangled his fingers in her dark hair, guiding her down. She took him deeper, gagging slightly but pushing through, her throat muscles fluttering wildly against the invading thickness. His hips pistoned, fucking her face with short, sharp jabs. "Suck it! Take it all! Get me fucking ready!" Saliva glistened around her stretched lips, dripping onto her heaving breasts. The wet, guttural sounds of her deep-throating filled the pavilion – thick slurps, desperate gags, the rhythmic schlick of his cock plunging into her tight throat.
Camille’s hands gripped his powerful thighs, her knuckles white. Tears streamed from her squeezed-shut eyes, her nose pressed into his coarse pubic hair with every downward plunge. She was drowning in him, taking his fury into her body. He pulled her head back until just the thick head popped from her lips, glistening and swollen. "Look at me," he commanded hoarsely.
She obeyed, her brown eyes watery but blazing with defiance. "My cock," he rasped. "Whose is it?"
"Mío," she choked, her voice raw. "Yours. Always." She lunged forward, swallowing him whole again, her throat constricting in a powerful, rhythmic milking motion. Bruce roared, his head thrown back. He held her head still, buried to the hilt in her spasming throat, and erupted. Thick jets of cum pumped directly into her gullet, hot and insistent. Camille swallowed convulsively, her throat working around each massive pulse, her body shaking. He kept spurting, flooding her, marking her insides as he’d marked Erika.
He pulled out with a slick pop. Camille gasped, gulping air, strings of saliva and cum connecting her lips to his shaft. Bruce turned, vibrating with violent energy. He focused on the grainy photo of the man with the scarred knuckles, on the remembered weight of the Naga’s Tear. Bali dissolved.
Singapore hit him like a fist – sterile air conditioning replacing frangipani, the hum of servers replacing gamelan, the smell of ozone and disinfectant. He stood in a dimly lit, windowless room lined with humming server racks. The Rothschild enforcer sat at a steel desk, his back to Bruce, intently examining something small and green under a magnifying lamp – a jade serpent with ruby eyes.
The man tensed, a predator sensing danger. He spun, eyes widening in pure shock. "How—?" was all he managed before Bruce was on him. No words. Just speed granted by the serpent. Bone crunched under Bruce’s fist. The man crumpled, unconscious before he hit the floor.
Bruce snatched the Naga’s Tear. Its power hummed against his palm, familiar yet amplified. He ripped a sleek briefcase from under the desk. Inside, nestled in foam: parchment fragments covered in serpentine script, vials of dark, viscous fluid, and a heavy, cold obsidian disc etched with the Rothschild crest intertwined with a choking serpent. Power leeched from them. Diminishment tools.
He grabbed it all. The enforcer groaned, stirring. Bruce didn’t hesitate. A single, brutal stomp crushed his throat. The wet crack echoed in the sterile room.
Reality warped again. The humid scent of Bali, the distant sea, the lingering musk of sex and sweat. Bruce reappeared beside the breakfast table, the briefcase in hand, the Naga’s Tear glowing faintly in his fist. The enforcer was gone. Erased.
The wives stared. Bruce tossed the obsidian disc onto the table with a heavy thud beside the untouched nasi goreng. "They had more," he stated flatly, his eyes scanning the ancient fragments. "Much more. Plans to—"
The humid air crackled as Bruce’s words hung unfinished. His swirling hazel eyes, now chips of cold jade, scanned the fragmented parchment in his hand. "Plans to target the source," he rasped, the obsidian disc on the table seeming to pulse with malevolent chill. Specifically, the ritual bonds. They found ways to weaken them. Diminish what we draw from each other... from the Naga." He tapped the dark disc. "This leaches power. They intended isolation. To pick us off."
Jasmine’s green eyes, always fiery, now blazed with volcanic fury. She shot up, her chair scraping harshly on the stone floor. "My father?!" The word tore from her throat, raw and incredulous. "That bastard Rothschild sent his own fucking blood? To kidnap me? His daughter?!" Her chest heaved, the stunning curves of her body radiating outrage. "After throwing my mother out like trash? After pretending I never existed? Now he wants to use me? To get to you?!" She paced like a caged panther, her magnificent ass a taut, angry curve beneath thin fabric. "I’ll cut his fucking heart out myself!"
"I know, baby," Bruce said, his voice low, dangerous gravel. He stepped towards her, the raw power radiating off him palpable after the teleportation kill. He ignored the remnants of Erika’s slickness glistening on his cock, his focus entirely on Jasmine’s storm. "But he won’t get near you. Ever again."
"He already fucking did!" Jasmine whirled, her palm cracking against Bruce’s cheek with surprising force. The sound echoed sharply in the pavilion. "Through that snake! Touching me! Drugging me!" Tears of pure rage mixed with the fire in her eyes. "My own fucking blood!"
Bruce didn’t flinch. He absorbed the sting, his eyes never leaving hers. A slow, predatory smile touched his lips. "Yeah," he growled. "He did. And now he’s dead meat. But right now, Jasmine…" His hand shot out, not to strike back, but to grab a fistful of her tank top. He yanked hard. Fabric ripped cleanly down the middle, baring her stunning, dark skin, the swell of her large breasts, the hard points of her nipples. "Right fucking now, you belong to me."
He didn’t wait for permission. His other hand tangled in her thick hair, pulling her head back roughly, exposing her throat. His mouth crashed down on hers, not a kiss but a claiming, fierce and demanding, silencing her rage with pure, carnal dominance. Jasmine gasped against his lips, a sound that started as protest but swiftly dissolved into a low, desperate moan. Her body, rigid with fury a heartbeat before, arched into him, her hands scrabbling at his shoulders, nails digging in. The fight bled out, replaced by a flood of raw, possessive need.
Bruce broke the kiss, breathing hard, his gaze locked on her flushed face. "On the table. Now." His voice brooked no argument, thick with lust and the lingering violence of Singapore. "Ass up. Show me who owns this perfect black body."
A shiver ran through Jasmine, part defiance, part surrender. She turned, the ripped fabric falling away completely. With deliberate slowness, displaying the sculpted glory of her ass – a rival to Lena’s godlike curves – she bent forward over the teak breakfast table. Plates clattered. She gripped the far edge, pushing her spectacular ass high into the air, presenting herself. Her inner thighs were already slick. "It’s yours, Bruce," she panted, the fire in her voice now purely sexual. "Always fucking yours. Take it. Prove it."
Bruce didn’t hesitate. One large hand roughly caressed the globe of her ass, then came down in a sharp, stinging slap. Jasmine cried out, a sharp gasp that morphed into a groan, her back arching deeper. "Fuck yes!" Bruce growled, admiring the reddening handprint. He positioned himself behind her, his monstrous 12-inch cock already rigid, thick veins pulsing. The bulbous, leaking head pressed against her dripping entrance. He teased, rubbing the slick crown through her soaked folds, gathering her wetness. Jasmine whimpered, pushing back desperately. "Bruce, please! Don't fucking tease! Give it to me! Ram that monster cock in my cunt!"
With a guttural snarl, Bruce obliged. He gripped her hips hard, fingers digging into dark flesh, and drove forward. Not slow, not gentle. One brutal, powerful thrust buried half his impossible girth inside her in an instant. Jasmine screamed, a raw sound of intense pleasure-pain, her inner walls stretching obscenely around the invading thickness. "OH FUCKING GOD! YES! MORE! GIVE ME ALL OF IT, YOU BASTARD!"
Bruce pulled back slightly, then slammed home again, sinking another thick inch. Jasmine’s knuckles were white on the table edge. "Fuck! It’s so BIG! Stretching me fucking open!" He didn’t stop. Thrust by agonizingly deep thrust, he worked his colossal cock deeper into her searing heat, her tight channel convulsing wildly around the relentless intrusion. The wet, slapping sounds of flesh meeting flesh filled the air, punctuated by Jasmine’s increasingly ragged cries. "Deeper! Fuck! YES! ALL THE WAY! MAKE ME FEEL IT IN MY GUT!"
He bottomed out, his heavy balls slapping against her clit, his entire 12 inches buried to the hilt inside her clenching cunt. Bruce groaned, a sound of pure animal satisfaction. "Fucking perfect. Taking every inch. My perfect, fiery slut." He began to piston, setting a brutal, unrelenting pace. His hips snapped forward, driving his impossibly thick cock deep with each thrust, pulling almost all the way out only to slam back in, stretching her open anew each time. Jasmine’s cries escalated with every plunge, her magnificent ass jiggling violently from the impact. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK ME! HARDER! BREAK ME! OWN THIS PUSSY!"
One hand left her hip, snaking around to roughly palm her breast, pinching her hard nipple. The other hand came down on her ass again, another sharp slap that made her shriek and clench even tighter around his cock. "That’s it," Bruce grunted, sweat beading on his brow. "Squeeze my cock, baby. Milk it. Show me how much you need your husband’s fat dick wrecking your tight little hole." He increased the tempo, fucking her with jackhammer intensity. The table legs scraped on the stone with each powerful thrust.
"YES! WRECK ME! FILL ME! OH GOD, I’M GONNA CUM!" Jasmine screamed, her voice breaking. Her body locked up, trembling violently as her orgasm detonated. Her pussy clamped down on Bruce’s buried cock like a vice, rhythmic, powerful spasms rippling along his entire length, milking him fiercely. "CUMMING! FUUUCK! BRUCE!"
Feeling her violent contractions, Bruce roared. He slammed deep one final time and held, buried to the root. Thick, hot jets of cum erupted from his pulsing cock, pumping directly into her convulsing depths. Jet after scalding jet, flooding her, marking her insides as his possession. Jasmine whimpered, her body jerking with each powerful spurt, her own climax prolonged by the sensation of being filled so utterly. "Ohhhh fuck yes… filling me up… so deep…" she moaned, collapsing forward onto the table, her cheek pressed against the cool wood, spent.
Bruce leaned over her, breathing heavily, his cock still twitching inside her, buried deep. He kissed her sweat-slicked shoulder, his hand possessively stroking her flank, the curve of her ass. "Mine," he murmured against her skin. "Always."
Priya, ever practical despite the raw display, leaned in, examining the obsidian disc cautiously with a pen. "This energy drain is sophisticated. Ancient, but enhanced. They weren't just after Jasmine." She pointed to symbols on the fragmented parchment. "See? They mapped the ley lines converging here. Targeted the ritual site itself. This was an attack on the source of our bond, our power. An attempt to sever Bruce from the Naga’s gift… and us from each other."
Ketut touched the recovered Naga’s Tear. It glowed faintly in her small, capable hand. "The serpent sees the deeper coil. The father seeks the root. His greed is a poison choking the world’s spirit. He must be stopped." Her dark eyes met Bruce’s, calm but resolute. "The power you took from his man… it is a key. It tastes of cold mountains. Old stone."
"Switzerland," Lena stated instantly, tracing a location symbol on the parchment. "His stronghold. Where the old money hides." She looked at Bruce, her intelligent eyes alight. "That’s where Rothschild pulled the strings. Where he planned to break us."
Bruce carefully withdrew from Jasmine, helping her shaky legs stand. He pulled her close, kissing her temple, his hand possessively cupping her ass cheek. Jasmine leaned into him, the fury replaced by exhausted, sated loyalty. Bruce’s gaze swept his wives – Erika watching with fierce pride, Camille licking her lips unconsciously, Sophia’s athletic frame tense with readiness, Priya analytical, Ketut serene, Lena strategizing. "Then we take the fight to him." His voice was flat, final. "In the heart of his fucking fortress. Sophia?"
Sophia was already tapping her phone. "Jet’s prepped. Wheels up in one hour. Clearance filed for Zurich." She flashed a sharp, determined smile. "Time to go burn down a billionaire’s evil empire."
Bruce picked up the obsidian disc, its chill seeping into his palm. He crushed it in his fist like it was cheap plaster, the dark fragments crumbling to dust between his fingers. He tossed the Naga’s Tear to Ketut. "Keep this safe. We’ll need its light in that fucking darkness." He looked towards the horizon, beyond the lush Balinese vista. "Pack heavy. We end this bastard’s bloodline tonight."