"I promise you, you don't want this either."
"What…?"
From the side, Joseph chuckled at Adam's words, amused by the sight of him shaking like a leaf.
Donald sighed and took a step forward, dropping his weapon as he knew he didn't need it to face Adam. "Boy. Who are you kidding? You can barely hold that knife properly."
Before Adam could react, Donald swatted the blade from his hands.
"Grah—!"
A sharp, guttural cry tore from Adam's throat as his hands crumpled under the force. Bones fractured. Skin split.
His fingers—twisted, some barely hanging by threads of flesh.
Still—
He didn't move.
Didn't retreat.
Instead, he shifted, stepping to the side to shield Grace and Samantha from Donald's view.
Donald tilted his head again, smirking at the tears streaking Adam's face.
But Adam—despite the pain wracking his body, despite the way his hands hung uselessly at his sides—held Donald's gaze.
And whispered.
"Please… just go. You don't want this. You don't want… all this suffering."
Donald exhaled, shaking his head. "I guess it's just bad luck, huh?"
His tone was almost… disappointed.
"Someone with your guts should've been on our team." He sighed, then shrugged. "But well… life."
He glanced at Joseph, who merely shrugged back.
Adam took another step forward.
"You don't want this…" His voice wavered. "You don't wa—"
"Enough. This is getting pathetic."
And then, with those words as his only warning, Donald slammed his fist on Adam's jaw.
The difference in strength between a veteran with enhanced stats and someone like Adam had already been clear when Donald shattered his hand. But now—with Adam's face mangled beyond recognition, his tongue lolling uselessly from the ruins of his jaw—that difference was undeniable.
And Donald wasn't done.
He grabbed Adam by the hair and slammed his head into the floor.
The tiles shattered on impact.
Adam's skull buckled under the force, his blood splattering across the ground in thick, crimson streaks. His eyes popped out from their sockets, and one rolled toward Grace and Samantha.
Grace clenched her jaw, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood as she turned away. She tightened her grip on Samantha, making sure she didn't let go.
But in her panic, she forgot to cover her daughter's eyes.
Samantha saw everything.
Her small body trembled, frozen in fear as she watched Donald lift Adam's head and slam it down again.
And again.
"Stop it…" she whimpered. "Stop it! Stop hurting him!"
With a scream, she tore free from her mother's grasp.
Before Grace could stop her, Samantha rushed forward, kicking and pounding her tiny fists against Donald's legs.
"What the—?"
Donald finally paused, blinking in surprise as he looked down at the little girl.
"No!" Grace screamed and lunged forward to pull his daughter away, but she was too late.
Donald's hand clamped around Samantha's wrist.
But before he could actually do anything—
He froze as something gripped his wrist.
Tightly.
He turned—only to see Adam.
Face still planted against the blood-soaked tiles.
His body, broken. His breath, shallow.
And yet—his grip was like iron.
He seemed to still be saying something, but with his mouth completely gone, it was impossible to hear what it was. But even if they couldn't hear him, it was obvious what he was trying to say.
Let go of the girl. Just leave. Stop it. Please… just stop.
Donald exhaled, a small, amused breath escaping his lips.
"Hot damn. Maybe I was wrong, Twinkie."
A smirk curled at the edge of his mouth.
"You are the type."
Donald let Samantha go to grab Adam's already crushed hand.
With a breath, he casually snapped Adam's entire arm in half before kicking him on the chest. The force, enough to throw him across the kitchen.
The sound that Adam's body made when it hit the corner of a counter and folded completely in half made everyone's skin crawl.
Donald stared at Adam for a few seconds, trying to see if he was still going to move.
He waited.
And waited, but there was nothing.
"The guy's finally dead, huh?" Donald smiled before suddenly grabbing Grace by the arm, who was trying to sneak away with her daughter while his attention was somewhere else, "Now, where do you think you're going?"
"W—"
Donald did not let Grace utter a single word as he grabbed and covered her mouth. He then let go of her arm, only to grab Samantha and pry her away from her mother before throwing the little girl to Joseph.
Grace's muffled screams bled into the kitchen, she tried to reach for her daughter.
But the only thing she could do was watch as Joseph caught Samantha, his large, sleazy hands restraining her.
Grace tried to kick Donald, to claw and bite her way out of his clutch. But she couldn't even budge a single finger of his.
The only thing she could do was scream and tell her daughter to look away.
Don't look at mommy.
Grace did not even care at all that Donald ripped her jacket off.
She continued to struggle.
But the only thing she could do was smile at Samantha, to tell her that everything would be okay.
Donald's hands soon crawled on her bare skin, but she did not care at all.
The only thing she could do was watch as… Adam slowly stood up from the floor.
Huh?
Grace's breath caught in her throat.
She blinked—once, twice—trying to convince herself that what she was seeing wasn't real.
But no matter how many times she did, Adam was still standing.
His body was a broken mess, twisted at impossible angles. And then—crack—his spine snapped back into place.
Grace darted her gaze to the others in the room, searching for a reaction. But no one else was looking at him.
No one else saw.
And then—
Adam's face began to move.
Grace watched, horror creeping up her spine as his mangled flesh stitched itself together, his jaw and cheeks writhing like a thousand worms coalescing into shape.
His lips reformed. His skin smoothed. His mouth—whole again, as if it had never been shattered in the first place.
Then—his eyes.
Grace could see them being woven back, like yarn. Tears welled up in his sockets, only they weren't clear. They were red.
Blood, streaking down his cheeks.
Adam didn't speak.
Didn't scream.
He just breathed.
Slowly, he turned to Grace. But instead of fear and horror, the only thing that Grace felt was… relief.
Then, Adam's gaze snapped toward the large Joseph, who was restraining Samantha with a smile on his face, his back turned away from everything. Oblivious to what was happening.
A breath escaped Adam's cracked lips.
Shallow. Strained.
He took a step forward.
His arms, limp and broken at his sides, began to straighten. Bones that had pierced through his flesh slid back inside, knitting themselves together beneath his skin.
By the time he reached Joseph, he was… complete.
And then, finally—a whisper.
"It… hurts."
Adam's voice scraped the air, raw and jagged, like nails against a blackboard.
"I told you. All this pain… you don't want this. But you…deserve it."
"Huh!?" Joseph quickly turned around.
And when he did so, the first thing he saw was Adam's mouth.
Wide open. Teeth bared.
And due to his shock, Joseph wasn't able to react at all as Adam lunged.
His teeth clung onto his flesh… tearing a piece of his neck.