How much of Gershul was there in him? Aeotha's reaction made him think quite a bit. The more someone reacted to a thing like that, generally the more true it was. And Skandra desperately did not want it to be true. Shantar was smiling about something - and who could have said what that was? - but they weren't going to get anything out of him by punching him repeatedly in the face. Skandra wanted to do it anyway, just so the bastard would know what it felt like - apparently nobody had hit Shantar enough for him to show some fucking manners. Not that it mattered, now. Shantar had dragged him into this and now seemed all right with Skandra dying miserably in a far-off world. Only one of them wanted Gershul to live. The other wanted Gershul to die.
So it was just a matter of who got to him first.
"Gershul's had plenty of chances to save his own life," Skandra went on. "He does these things because he thinks nobody can stop him. And as long as we leave here, he's right. I'm going after him, I'm going up, and I'm gonna put a knife in his fuckin' throat. You stay here, old man. Don't want to slip on your tears."
The Immortal turned away from the fire, and began to walk. There had to be a way. Up the spire - Gershul had done it, then. And if Gershul had done it, Skandra Tyullis could do it. There was only one thing stopping him from ending Gershul, and it wasn't just a question of skill. It was a question of whether or not it was right to waste your own father. Skandra wasn't going to sit around and think about it.
"You can stay if you want," Skandra added to Aeotha, as he moved. "But if you come along, remember what we're doing."