Mind Break

As soon as I said that, Jomar looked at me like there was a .0001% chance that I'd be joking at this very moment because to give a clearer image of how I stabbed his fucking hand, it wasn't parallel or adjacent to the webbing of his fingers but completely sideways and stuck between his index and ring finger—where his middle finger was definitely out of the picture.

Furthermore, the only way he could pull his hand out of my knife was to pick a finger to further break, then ripping the rest of his hand even more, and hoping it hadn't lost most of its function.

But yeah, the guy might've grown himself a mustache for staring at me this long so I gave him a little preview of what's to come by nudging the handle of my knife, burying it a millimeter deeper.

"AHHHHH— FUCK! F-FUCK! FUCK! HAA— HAA… HA… F-FUCK! SHIT! W-WHY DO YOU HAVE TO D-DO THIS?!"