Mika's scream tore through the realm as the blade carved through his spine.
Charlotte could also hear it—the sickening crunch of bone, the wet tear of tissue, the way his voice cracked and splintered like glass.
Marcus pulled the knife out and brought it down again.
PACHUK!
And again.
PACHUK!
And again.
PACHUK!
Each strike was accompanied by Mika's screams, each scream growing more ragged, more broken.
"ARGHHHHH!!!!!!"
His body was being reduced to pulp, his organs spilling across the table in a grotesque display of violence.
"SCREAM FOR ME!" Marcus howled with laughter. "SCREAM LOUDER! SHOW ME HOW LONG YOU CAN LAST!"
Chop!
"AHHHH—"
Chop!
"AGHHHH—!"
Chop!
Charlotte watched it all.
She had stopped trying to intervene. What was the point? Her hands passed through Marcus like smoke. Her voice couldn't reach him.
She was a ghost in this nightmare, powerless to do anything except witness.
So she watched.
