The girl's body hung by her hair, pain flaring across her scalp, down her spine, sinking deep into her limbs.
Her breath hitched. Her arms trembled. Her malnourished frame was too weak for this. And yet...
She swung.
The blade carved a shallow arc through the air, awkward in her hands, guided by pure instinct.
It struck the mercenary's cheek—a grazing blow, barely drawing blood.
He didn't flinch. Just laughed—a mocking sound.
"Is that it?" he sneered, fingers tightening in her hair, yanking hard enough to rip strands from her scalp.
The girl swung again, this time aiming for the arm that held her hair.
He seemed to say something more, eyes flickering with anger.
She dared to resist, and that incited his rage. She should have been obedient—should have let him do as he pleased.
He watched the blade approach, expecting it to graze his skin like before. "Listen, kid—"
He never finished.
He couldn't process what happened—or where the change had come from.
