Ravon's body trembled violently, his limbs twitching against the cold stone floor. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into his already ruined shirt, turning the white fabric into a deep, wet crimson.
His breaths were ragged, weak—each one coming out as a pathetic rasp as he struggled to cling to the last threads of his life.
Cain crouched beside him, tilting his head as he observed the dying man with the same level of interest one might have for an insect caught in a web.
"You swore loyalty to me," Cain mused, his voice calm—almost amused. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of the knife still lodged in Ravon's chest. With no hesitation, he twisted.
A sickening squelch filled the air as the blade carved deeper, grinding against bone and muscle. Ravon choked on a scream, his body arching violently as fresh agony erupted through him. Blood bubbled at his lips, spilling down his chin as his eyes went wide with terror.
