Ludwig ripped Nightbreaker from the last head of the giant that was left bleeding, spasming and shuddering under his boots.
The blade came free with a wet resistance, the kind that made the wrist want to recoil even if the mind didn't. Hot blood sprayed in a short arc and misted the air before it splattered against the blue stone tiles.
The room swallowed the sound like it had been built to witness executions, high ceiling, wide circular walls, and columns carved in pomp that belonged to a throne room, not a slaughter pit.
The giant's body tried to keep living out of habit. Fingers curled. Legs jerked. The neck stump quivered like it was searching for the head that had already been made irrelevant.
Ludwig kept his boot planted for one more heartbeat, not out of cruelty, out of certainty. Some things twitched long after they were dead, and the tower loved punishing complacency.
