Lyerin tightened his grip slightly around Yasira's throat, watching her wince in pain.
He could see the blood trickling from her severed arms, pooling beneath her, and her face was contorted in agony, but she still managed a twisted smile, her defiance not yet fully broken.
Lyerin stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. And then, out of nowhere, he burst into laughter.
It wasn't the kind of laugh that would ease tension—it was dark and mocking, filled with a sinister amusement that sent chills down Yasira's spine.
She tried to mask her fear, glaring at him through her bloodshot eyes, but Lyerin's laughter only grew louder.
"Ah, Yasira," Lyerin said, catching his breath, still chuckling as he looked down at her.
"You really thought I was serious, didn't you? About all of it—the tribe, the Asura, the threats."
He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers.