[Isaac goes rigid, turning a look on him that could strip metal.]

Hector! [He calls out after him, his mouth shaping his name into a warning, a weapon. But it's no use; Hector's free to safely defy his authority without threat of a higher power for Isaac to report to, and there's no punishment that can stamp out this infuriating reluctance he's seen rise in Hector before. Only death could free him of it, but by then, it'd be far too late.

Hurt and disgust curls in his gut.]

You damned fool!

[The mace goes flying after Hector, narrowly missing him.

Under the curse, Isaac remembers he had said that those who didn't fight didn't deserve to live, and he feels those same words weighing heavy on the tip of his tongue. Only the thought of Julia, it seems, keeps them there.

There'd be other slayers out for their heads - he's sure of it, just as surely as he'd seek to bait them out - and they wouldn't hesitate. Because the world isn't and would never be a place where everyone could live as equals, in peace, would never be safe enough for the hunted to afford to put their conscience, if any, ahead of what Isaac considers good sense.]

Think you this is some jest? That 'tis mercy they will show you should you spare their wretched lives? [A beat.] Will you heal their wounds in hopes that they invite you to their homes for dinner?

[He makes to catch up a in a few short, aggressive strides.]