He could tell the exact second Tommy’s conditioning kicked in. The thrashing struggle came to a shuddering stop and the kid froze beneath him in a way that made Wilbur feel wretchedly ill. Crimson poured out around the pair in violent glyphs, but Tommy stayed quiet and trembling and waiting, just like a good little altar lamb should. Wilbur hated this, hated himself for what he was doing to his baby brother.
But there was only one way to summon The Blood God.
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