Nouri's Betrayal

Nouri finally turns on his father, striking him with his sword, only to by intercepted by his sister, Femi, who gashes his kneecap and cuts off his right hand with ease. The Count stares indifferently out a window as he writhes, screaming bellows of pain and rage. "How unfortunate," he says, still not turning around, "... although I cannot feign great surprise," he stirs the drink in his hand. "You always were reluctant, Nouri. Never showing the conviction you could have, or the gratitude you should have." He takes a leisurely sip of his drink, and finally turns. He stares down at his first-born son, maimed and bleeding; his legacy. His face departs from its condescending apathy, betraying a contempt, a disgust in the bitterest and most callous scowl. "Have him incarcerated," he tells Femi, "See to it that he never sees the light of day again."