I didn't even get the chance to react.
A sharp, white-hot pain tore straight through my back, stealing the air from my lungs. My vision jolted, blurring for a heartbeat. When I forced myself to look down, there it was—a blade jutting out of my abdomen, slick with my blood.
For a moment, I couldn't even think.
Just pain. A raw, burning line splitting my body in half.
Gritting my teeth, I twisted my head back.
Cyril.
He looked like a corpse stitched together with spite—skin torn, body drenched in blood, barely clinging to shape. He shouldn't even be standing, not after everything we threw at him. But he was smiling.
A thin, cracked smirk.
"You really thought it would be this easy, Amael?" He asked, voice bubbling with blood and arrogance.
"H–How…?" I managed to gasp.
