they didn't hear the yelling of his embittered rage, they didn't see the colour of his blind hate or the bloody result of his with aggression given pardon. It was a rage and hate that painted the walls of his chamber red. The colour of fright and violence. It was the colour of the blood he shed by the sword that he handled as a master.
His feelings rushed like a runaway train through his body. He felt called, chosen! He was the personification of the wrath but at the same time the Angel who gave forgiveness in the death. Both feelings conquered in his head and made a pact.
Hopping mad as a taunted and injured predator he scratched on the inside of the door, word after word, a sentence...a scream:
Beware of the day that I break out of my chamber!!!