I had just pulled off a expert throw with a heavy-bladed knife — an unbalanced knife, not designed to be thrown. Barely grazing his marble face, leaving a faint red scratch that appeared beneath his right cheekbone, a thin line of blood beading on the skin.
I huffed air sharply through my nostrils like an enraged bull. I was in full charge. Rage and spite alternated inside me, taking control, twisting my face into a mask of fury I didn't recognize.
For a moment — a moment suspended in time — Dimithryus stayed completely still.
His expression was one of pure, absolute surprise. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open. As if he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
Then, slowly, he brought his fingers to the scratch on his cheek. He pulled them back stained red. He looked at his own bloo
