Now Terrance was the last thief left standing…
His hands were shaking so violently he could barely hold his pickaxe and sweat dripped into his eyes, but he didn't dare wipe it away… he needed both hands just to keep his grip.
He positioned the sharp point against his stomach with the metal cold even through his shirt.
'Just do it quick,' Terrance told himself. 'Fast… like ripping off a bandage… Fast and it'll be over and then borrow a healing potion and—'
He drove it in and the pain was immediate and overwhelming as well… It was worse than anything he'd ever experienced in his entire life.
It was worse than the time he'd broken his leg falling from scaffolding and even worse than the infected wound that had nearly killed him two years ago.
This was agony on a level he hadn't known existed as blood gushed down his legs, hot and sticky, soaking through his work trousers instantly.
