Ike would slowly raise his head, his face emotionless as he stared at Charlia. In reality, the boy was housing unimaginable agony beneath his blank expression–Charlia would see this only in the fact that his right arm was shaking. And the rune branded into his forearm was glowing a crimson red bright enough to blind somebody momentarily if they looked directly at it. As he lifted his head fully to gaze upwards at the taller elf's face, the blazing fire behind him would illuminate his bloodstained, blond crew cut to make it appear scarlet. His eyes were ignited with flames similar to the ones he used to burn Ian's ashes–lively, yet with a burning wrath. The blood stains all over his pale skin didn't help this feature look any less aggressive. "I killed him because I hated his guts," He replied with contempt. "Not to save innocent lives. There'd be no need for this extravagance if it was to save lives. Not for judgement for his cruelty; I'd assume that I am just as cruel, if not more. Not to punish his revival; it was more like a blessing. Being allowed to hear his screams and watch his life ebb away a second time. Not finishing any job." All Ike really knew about Ian was that he hated him, hated him enough to wish this fate upon him. And that would be made clear to Charlia. He didn't even question how Charlia knew all this. If she did, then she did. If she wanted to do something bad to him or the people he cared about with the information... well, Ike had picked up a trick or two from the people he knew well. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, however–he thought that slaughtering Ian twice had made him a little cocky. Silently, Ike would scold himself, taking a step back. "I know I can be better," He replied slowly. "Much better. But why point this out?" He was curious to see what Charlia had in mind, after all.