Frey, Aegon—even Snow and Calistes—
all of them stared with eyes that held a dozen kinds of judgment:
contempt… hatred… pity… scorn.
Blattier no longer cared what his enemies thought.
Under the weight crushing him, with everything collapsing, facing the loss of all he'd clung to, he snapped completely.
Mouth gaping to its limit, Blattier bit into his remaining arm with everything he had. His teeth sank deep; a horrific wound flowered where he tore the flesh.
"Aaaaaaaaargh! Aarghhhhhhh!"
Once wasn't enough. He ripped and gnawed, chewing through meat and bone until his own face was lacquered in his blood. He did not stop until he bit clean through his last arm—a feral spectacle that froze everyone where they stood.
Blattier clamped the severed hand between his teeth, breathing in ragged, ghastly groans no one would have believed came from a human throat. Slowly, he raised his head toward the heavens, lifting that hand high in his blood-slick jaws.
