The eleventh guard lunged with a broken bottle. I caught his wrist, twisting until the glass shattered in his hand. Then, I gripped his head, snapping his neck before he could scream.
Eleven.
The twelfth guard froze, terror in his eyes. I didn't let him beg. I gripped his skull, crushing it between my hands like an eggshell.
Twelve.
The last guard dropped to his knees, pleading. I gripped his chin, forcing him to look at me.
"You should've run," I whispered.
Then, I snapped his neck.
Thirteen.
The room was silent.
Thirteen bodies lay scattered, broken, lifeless. Blood pooled on the marble, glistening under the chandelier's light, seeping into the grooves of the floor like a dark painting. The air reeked of iron and death, thick and heavy, clinging to the back of my throat.
