With nothing more than the strength of his hand, Arman crushed the man's skull.
A sickening burst echoed through the silent studio.
The headless body collapsed limply onto the polished floor.
Silence returned.
Arman stood motionless for several seconds, breathing out one long, trembling sigh.
Then he withdrew his blood-soaked hand.
Without the slightest trace of disgust, he calmly wiped the blood from his cheek with a handkerchief.
By the time he looked back toward the window, the crimson glow in his eyes had already faded, leaving only the same gentle gaze everyone knew.
Before long, the studio door opened once more.
An elderly man shuffled inside, dressed in a janitor's uniform, his frail frame making him look harmless at first glance.
His eyes swept across the blood-soaked floor.
"Tsk... tsk... tsk..." he sighed as though disappointed by an everyday inconvenience. "What did this one do?"
He set down his cleaning bucket and calmly began gathering the remains.
