The door to the cell clangs shut behind him, and he is locked in the cell with Benedict, whose pathetic fetal posture somehow enrages Atticus even more than his idiotic attempt at sabotage had. Catching his breath, he wipes the flow of blood off of his face and shakes it roughly from his hand, his teeth bared in a grimace of outrage.

The Templars grappling for control of the situation nearby don't deter him. He comes towards Benedict with tiger-like intensity, reaches out a bloodied hand as though he might grab his apprentice by the throat. There's a pulse of telekinetic energy crackling like static around his fingers; it would be so easy, it would eliminate so many variables, to kill this boy now.

It is an enormous task to rein in his anger and control his breathing, but Atticus clenches his fist in frustration and forces himself to inaction. Still, the intensity of his cold blue stare on Benedict should be enough to communicate the obvious to his apprentice: lash out again, and he will put you down.