Cheon Areum stared down at what remained.
The body—no longer recognizably human—lay crumpled in a grotesque heap of compressed meat and splintered bone. Ribs had folded inward like crushed tin; limbs twisted at angles that mocked anatomy; skin stretched thin over unnatural contours, mottled purple-black where capillaries had burst under impossible pressure. A faint, wet gurgle still rose from the wreckage every few seconds—the last stubborn rhythm of a heart refusing to quit.
He may have gone too far.
The realization hit like cold water dumped over fevered skin. He had been losing his temper so easily these days. Just because the rage answered his call didn't mean every foul-mouthed fool deserved to be pulped into paste, reduced to something even a mother wouldn't recognize.
"Haa…"
