Now that he's caught his little bird, there's a very feline urge to play with him. Almost as though he'd like to let the man off the wall and give him a few steps of freedom before closing his claws around him again. He isn't lying; chasing Gortash had really been an enjoyable experience, the type that tested skills he puts to use every single day. Had the man fully escaped the temple, he feels confident enough that it wouldn't have taken long to pounce on him from the shadows, even out there.

Despite the temptation, he doesn't let the man go. His father's wishes are clear, and this is a gift he'd rather not lose, or seem ungrateful for.

His fingers grip harder at Gortash's throat, the moment gravity starts to fight him the precise moment he lifts the man single-handed off the ground. Whatever struggles he might have been having with breathing before, he's temporarily been given more to battle through.

"Whatever you believe about me, or my ilk, your god's debt has now been repaid and so we accept what he has offered to us. You are mine now, Gortash."

A killer at heart but disciplined to within a millimetre of control, he drops Gortash back to the floor, just enough that his toes can make contact again. The hand with a blade pinned against the wall is pulled away and slammed back against it, an attempt to force the dagger from those fingers before he even thinks about letting him down.