Page 114

Good. He's starting to become rattled.

Careful with the blade, I bring it to his shirt, the material giving way immediately, his naked chest in sight.

"Any organ you're particularly fond of?" I raise my eyebrows at him in question.

He sputters against his gag, thrashing in his bounds as he's trying to move toward me.

"Tsk, tsk. Now, that's simply rude," I add, plowing the knife right in his thigh, the move calculated, so I don't accidentally nab the femoral artery. Still, it's lodged not far off, ensuring direct blood flow to the artery.

The knife is so deeply embedded in his body, I can feel the bone right under the tip, a scratchy noise ringing out as I push and move it around inside the wound, creating a small socket. The sound is almost like nails on a chalkboard, the sharpness of the knife ensuring in cutting all muscle and connective tissue.

He can't even scream out in pain, though he wants to. And I am immensely saddened by that, since it would have been music to my ears. After all, it's all I know.

Opening my small pouch, I take the knife out, watching as the blood shoots out like a small geyser, staining his clothes and falling to the floor.

He's watching me intently as I dip the knife into the pouch, coating the tip in a viscous substance.

He frowns, narrowing his eyes at me.

"Venom," I give him a wide smile, "viper venom," I amend. When I'm done scooping up all the venom, I simply place the knife back inside the wound, watching his face contort in inhumane agony, his skin turning red, his eyes bulging in his head as he's trying to bear through it all.

Ah, but this is just the beginning.

Letting him stew in the venom—literally, I turn my attention back to his chest, quickly making an incising from his clavicle to his navel.

Still having some trace amounts of venom, the moment the toxic substance hits his open flesh, he winces back in pain. It must be like a burning sensation that keeps on gaining depth. And as I cut deeper, his reactions worsen too.

"Let's see," I hum appreciatively as I carefully open up his stomach, flaps of skin on each side. "I believe you can still live with one kidney," I add, my hand hovering over the cozy pair in his side. "I wonder, though, how painful is the removal without anesthetic?" I ask pensively.

He's still not passed out from pain, which in itself is a feat and speaks of his training. Still, the moment he hears about his kidneys, and especially as he can gaze down into his own open belly, his face falls in resignation.

Got him.

Gag off, he's rattling off everything I needed to know.

Eyes on the clock I notice I have five more minutes until the end. Satisfied with his answers, I simply swing the blade under his throat, cutting him up and ensuring a quick death before moving to the final round.

Crossing the final wall, I'm met with a surprising sight.

Miles is casually sitting on a couch, two tables on either side of him.

Even though I'm the first to arrive, there are a few others who also make it.

Immediately, we are motioned at the tables, split in pairs.

I'm coupled with a guy a couple years older than me at one table, while at the other table there is one girl with another boy my age.

In front of us is a spread out Go board game. My lips twitch as I realize what the final trial is.

Strategy.

Miles is a Go aficionado, and he has his own board in his office. He'd even taught me how to play it once, so I have the basics down.

Like chess, one player is assigned the white side while the other the black. But unlike chess, the game pieces are small,round stones. The aim of the game is to gain space on the board.

Like a warring map, the pieces are like flags in areas conquered, the winner being the one with the most pieces on the board.

It's a titivating game, and certainly one that can give pause to anyone.