As the woman's blood soaked into the ground, the earthly smell of it all reminded him of an older time. Jaq remembered very few things fondly and if questioned, he would have no memories that could surface quick enough to supply him with an answer. There was... a strange detachment from the events of his past but it was not in an attempt to disassociate from it or deny what he had done. That disconnect came from the strange fleeting nature of eternity, how the sands of time eventually buried everything and Jaq had no real defenses against that cosmic force. Jaq could recall, with an otherworldly clarity, every year he had lived but the price for that was that emotional severance he supposed. The mind was vast, but it was not bottomless or without constraint, and his pursuit of knowledge far surpassed his emotional sense of self.
Age had also cursed him with a wandering mind, it seemed, though he was still present enough. Finally ceasing his advancement, Jaq remained too close, close enough to share breath if they had one to share.
"Prayer is a tool for the weak," Jaq spat, looking down his nose at Zane. "A wasted breath for an absent Father."
A smile cracked across his face then, malicious and sharp like the edges of broken glass. "How do you know what they deserved," he inquired, pushing just to see how far he could. "No one is incorruptible. There are no saints. You should know that better than anyone."