Theron stood there in silence, carnage all around him. It looked like the only wound left on him was the very one that he had allowed Macie to leave. What had been left from the poison attack had long vanished.
He still remembered a time he would have liked to sit at the peak of the world and watch it all be destroyed before his eyes. That time wasn't all that long ago.
But he had been through a lot since then. He had never been built for carrying around so much hatred all the time. His voice was gentle, he preferred peace, he liked to listen to the pitter patter of rain along a nearby window and listen to the wind whistle through the leaves of a green tree.
He liked battle for the chess match of it all. Killing itself was never what moved him the most, and maybe that was why he kept moving further and further away from his roots as an assassin.
