“Art? What do you mean?”
“One thing I haven’t told you about yet is I’m an artist when I kill. I like to make something grotesquely beautiful.”
“Um... I’m up for it. Will you show me how?” My curiosity is getting the better of me.
“Gladly, Malishka.”
Ghost goes to the door, carrying everything back in that we removed with Purge’s help.
“God, I want to Rage Out,” Purge groans, looking at Maxim.
“Soon, brother,” Ghost claps him on the back.
Shaking his head, Purge leaves again.
Ghost hums, gazing over the tools on the table.
“I want to start with this,” he says, picking up the blowtorch.
He steps in front of Maxim, cocking his head in thought. He ignites the deadly weapon, aiming it at Maxim’s feet.
The flame licks along his exposed skin, setting off a ton of foul-smelling smoke.
Maxim bellows, a sob escaping his throat. I peer over at the damage, seeing black, smoking skin where his feet used to be.
A familiar feeling slams into my chest, and I raise my head with a roar. I can feel my blood thrumming, and the imminent thought of blood in the air is doing something to me.
My hands are clammy and my throat is dry as I realize I just motherfucking WON. I am taking down one of my rapists and tormentors. His blood will be on my hands. I hum softly as adrenaline screams through my veins.
This is it.
I am ready.
I rush to the table, picking up a jagged hacksaw
I dart over to Maxim, grabbing his hand, sawing it off slowly. It takes a few minutes and is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Sawing through flesh, sinew, muscles, then finally bone… I chirp happily when the hand falls to the floor.
Maxim emits a high-pitched scream, thrashing in the shackles. He actually starts to beg.
“Little Bird...please don’t do this. Please!”
I ignore him completely, turning when Ghost addresses me.
“Malishka, you have the bloodlust, just like me. Can you feel it? The rush, the adrenaline? The need to hurt?” Ghost asks me.
“Oh yes, I do.” I lick my lips. “I need more. So fucking much more.”
“Ask and you shall receive,” Ghost says, sweeping his hand over the selection. “Choose something... creative.”
I browse the table and pick up something shiny and metal, square-shaped and sharp. "What's this?”
“Good choice, baby. That's a bone saw. It's used in morgues to open the corpses and extract the organs.”
An idea chimes in my brain, and I toss my head back and laugh. Taking a large knife in my other hand, I move back to Maxim. I trail the knife down his center, pressing in firmly. His skin opens beautifully, from clavicle to groin.
Maxim notches up the begging, barely understandable through the babble.
Looking at Ghost, I wait for him to tell me how to make his art.
