Lancet looked up and around at their horrified faces. "Oh, you guys."
His fingers closed around Baroq's forearm. The forearm was thick and corded, which was expected as Lancet had seen him snap steel rods to hit him with.
Still, when Lancet squeezed, his fingers sunk deep into the iron skin.
The sound was wet and meaty. Cartilage and bone grinding together under Lancet's pressure. Baroq's eyes went from triumphant to confused to agonized in the span of a heartbeat.
His grip on Lancet's throat dissolved instantly, both hands flying to his ruined wrist as a shriek tore out of his throat—high and animal, nothing like the tough-guy sneer he'd worn seconds ago.
Lancet didn't let go.
He dropped back to his feet, planted them wide, and used Baroq's own panicked momentum against him.
