(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

I locked gazes with him. His eyes were like stones, and they stared into mine
as steady as steel.
We were silent as we focused, frozen in place. Waves of pure will grappled
against one another, and the pressure of it should've crushed anything that
crossed between us. His brow furrowed in exertion, but that calm, cold
smile still graced his lips. It was like pushing against a stone wall.
"Learn this before you merge with me, and I walk out in your skin," the
incarnation said calmly, "Passions count for nothing. The greatest weapon
isn't love, or envy, or hate... it is purpose. Cold purpose, direct and pure. And
I've had centuries to hone that blade."
"Passion can lead to purpose as well..." I growled, sweat beading on my
forehead, "a purpose that one like you could never attain..."
He quirked an eyebrow, and I felt that wall of his psyche pushing against me.
"...Revenge," I hissed. My arms snapped forward, and a single honed
thought thrust forward at the same time: This is for Deionarra.
The force of his will suffered the slightest of cracks at that blow, but with
lightning speed my hands lashed out around his neck. A sharp snarl rose
from his throat, suddenly silenced as I squeezed. He clawed at my hands,
trying to force them away, but it wasn't my grip that was choking the life
from him.
I hammered at him with his sins. Dak'kon's enslavement. Morte's torture.
Vhailor's imprisonment. Deionarra's murder and her condemnation to an
eternity of mourning. One of his enemies long ago had shown me the
strength I needed to defeat him, and I used it to full effect.
I slipped through the cracks left by those blows and swam in the corridors of
his mind. The first emotion I encountered was surprise, and his eyes
widened. Memories of his slipped by, of unpunished sins and seductions.
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