Chapter 22. Who to Blame (9)
Creak. Creeeak.
I loaded the crossbow with a bolt.
“Go ahead, k-kill me!” the man shouted, almost convulsing.
I stepped on his right wrist again.
Thwip!
I drove the crossbow bolt into his right palm.
Thunk!
The modified crossbow had excellent penetration power. The bolt pierced his hand and embedded itself more than halfway through the ground. I released bolts into both of his feet as well, pinning his limbs to the ground.
The pain of bolts tearing through flesh and bone was intense. The man foamed at the mouth, which choked him. The innkeeper struggled for a while, gasping. Pain was a simple, monotonous emotion, offering little enjoyment for me as an observer.
He tried to lift his head a little, but then it dropped to the floor.
Thud.