He would have kissed Jon then, were it not too late for that now. Murmur did hear those thoughts and they struck his heart just as sure as anything else. Even the last wasn't lost on him, and that one he could respond to as he gathered Jon's soul up within his own brilliant pale light. The love he would know there, shielded from the horrors that were to come, Murmur hoped would be enough to soften the blow of his unkind death.

Smiting was swift, efficient, and brutal. It did not, however, prolong suffering. There was at least some kind of mercy in that.

Murmur drops the gently smoldering body, stepping away as the machines swarm upon it. His nose wrinkles in disgust, grateful that in their fervor they forgot to keep an eye on him. He will slip back into the shadows thanks to his sigil to observe their next steps. Jon's body can be retrieved later. Now that they've committed an act of war upon one under his protection the chains were off, and as soon as Murmur has decided that there is no one in the city worth saving he will unleash his fury and judgment upon them. They have no idea that ultimately it will be their celebration of Jon's demise that seals their fate.

Their Maker will not come for them, only death.