Vurok looked at him with word horror written on his face.
"Oh, don't look at me like that, I was just thinking about you, don't believe me? Let me show you."
"Let's start with your favorite finger. The one you used to point and mock with. The one you used to signal your dogs to start the beating."
CRACK.
Sol didn't just snap the bone. He gripped the joint between his thumb and forefinger and ground it, twisting slowly until the cartilage disintegrated into a wet mush of grit and marrow.
Vurok's mouth fell open, and for a second, there was only silence as his brain struggled to process the sheer intensity of the agony. Then, a scream tore through his throat—a high, thin whistle that bounced off the hollow walls,.
"Shhh," Sol hissed, leaning in close. "If you scream too loud, you'll lose your breath. And I want you to have enough air to tell me how it feels when I get to your other fingers."
He moved to the next finger. Then the next.
SNAP. CRACK. POP.
