The first bodyguard froze.
What had just happened played out too quickly for him to react—Emi had used his own sword lodged in her stomach to impale and kill the second bodyguard behind her. Now, she lay on the ground in a pool of her own blood, gasping, twitching, her body soaked and trembling.
His stunned silence twisted into rage.
"You bastard, bitch," he shouted.
He stepped forward, towering over her. Emi weakly turned her head, her cheek pressed against the cold floor, blood spilling from her lips in thick streams. Her breath hitched—shallow and broken.
Then—a stomp.
His boot slammed down directly onto her gaping abdominal wound.
"AAAHHHHH—!!" Emi's scream pierced the hallway as her body jerked violently, her eyes snapping wide as agony exploded in her gut. Her back arched from the pain, blood spurting from the torn wound with fresh force.
The bodyguard didn't stop there.
He reached down, grabbed her by the throat with one blood-soaked hand, and hauled her upward. Her feet barely touched the floor.
Her moans echoed off the walls, hoarse and trembling.
"Still alive, huh?" he hissed, slamming her hard against the wall.
CRACK!
The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs. Emi groaned, her head lolling as blood spilled from her mouth down her neck. Her broken body sagged against the wall.
He drew his pistol.
Without a word, he shoved the cold muzzle of the gun against her left breast—right above her heart—and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
Emi screamed, her body jolting from the force.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Bullet after bullet slammed into her chest, the brutal momentum throwing her back against the wall with each shot. Her body jerked, twitched, and moaned with every blast, the only sounds in the hallway the roar of gunfire and her choked cries of pain.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Her blood sprayed the wall behind her, a growing, horrifying smear.
CLICK.
The gun clicked empty.
Emi sagged in his grip, blood soaking her shirt, her face, her legs. Her eyelids fluttered, her body barely responding.
The man release his grip, let Emi go.
Emi's body slid down the wall slowly, the blood from her back painting a smeared red trail behind her. Her knees hit the floor first, then she collapsed sideways with a dull thud, her limbs limp and trembling.
Her vision blurred, the edges going dark—but something caught her eye.
The knife.
It was on the ground, just inches from her outstretched hand. Hope.
With a whimper, she forced her fingers forward. Her arm trembled, her breath raspy. Blood oozed from her mouth and chest, but she clenched her jaw and grabbed the knife.
She had one chance.
The bodyguard turned back around, still holding the bloodied sword. Fury burned in his eyes.
"You don't know when to die, do you?"
He stormed over and grabbed her neck again, yanking her upright.
Then—without warning—he plunged the sword into her stomach again.
"HHHHHAAAHHH—!!" Emi screamed, her voice raw and ragged, the steel ripping into her ravaged gut. Blood exploded from the wound, splashing his arm and her clothes. Her body spasmed uncontrollably.
"You can only do this?" she rasped, her voice cracked, eyes glassy.
Provoked, the bodyguard growled and drove the blade deeper.
SHHK!
Another scream. Her body twitched violently as the sword twisted inside her. Her legs nearly gave out, but he held her up.
Twist.
Pull.
Thrust.
Again and again, he stabbed the same spot, and Emi moaned and screamed, her limbs jerking, her mouth wide with agony.
Her body followed every movement of the blade—jerking forward when he thrust, convulsing when he twisted.
Finally—he roared in fury and shoved the sword all the way through her.
The steel pierced out of her back, the tip glinting red as it burst from her spine, tearing through muscle and skin.
Emi's eyes fluttered. Blood gushed from her lips and her mouth hung open in a silent scream—but her grip tightened on the knife.
Now.
With a last, tortured cry, Emi plunged the knife upward, straight into the bodyguard's neck.
"GHHHRRK!!" he choked, eyes going wide in shock.
Blood sprayed from the wound as she twisted the blade, forcing it deeper into his throat. He let go of her in panic, his hands reaching for the knife.
Emi staggered back, barely upright. She took one shaky step, her body drenched in red, then collapsed to her knees.
The sword was still impaled through her.
As she fell forward, the blade pushed further inside, until the hilt of the sword pressed flush against her body.
From above, the tip of the sword could be seen clearly, protruding through her back, glinting dully in the dim hallway light.
Emi's breathing was shallow—ragged gasps, her blood pooling beneath her. Her vision faded, everything blurring to shadows and red haze.
But she'd done it.
They were both dead.
And she was still alive—barely.