I rather suspect that the best My Brother could do is somewhat similar
to the best I could do, which would begin by separating your vital
organs and limbs from one another and arranging them artistically in a
roughly circular area approximately three paces across, centered at a
larger piece consisting of your cranium and just enough sensory
apparatus so that you would remain fully able to perceive the
unfathomably torturous pain that direct exposure to the angry essence of
an Immortal would fill your being with, unceasingly, for decades or
until I grew tired of hearing your helpless, pitiful screams of
unprecedented agony.

Do not anger the Gods, champion of ineloquent insolence, by questioning
One who for His own reasons has shown you lenience you could not
possibly deserve.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Midsummer, in the year 166 MA.