Breathing hard, Gabriel gripped the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles were white and the wood was cracking. Everytime he thought Raphael was better, everytime he thought he could trust his little brother again, something like this happened. What do You want us both to do, Father?

Why would Raphael want a cursed blade again? Hadn't the first one done enough damage? He'd thought that the issue was over and done with.

And he wasn't exactly blameless, either; he cringed as he remembered what he'd said in anger.

Noticing the cracks in his desk, he released it and waved a hand; the desk was whole again. If only it was this easy with Raphael.