Please refrain from opening this chapter if you are under 18 years old. Exercise discretion; this is a work of fiction with all its imaginative elements.
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"AARGHHH! ARGGHHH!!!" Gibran's screams grew more desperate.
"Hm, so this is your point of view when you watched them cry and beg. You do feel like a god, don't you? You like playing God, don't you? Hm?" Raven's voice dripped with venom as he grabbed the collar of Gibran's robe, sneering at him. "This is the tackiest thing I've ever seen in my life. No amount of designer clothes or money can make your taste any better. Everything you wear looks cheap on you."
"P-please… p-pleaseee…," Gibran pleaded, tears, snot, and saliva streaming down his face. "Let me go… I'm begging you. P-please…"
"Please what?"