Before the words had even finished echoing, Joshua slammed the knife down, driving it straight through his own palm and into the wooden table.
Blood sprayed across the surface, splattering Gibson's face.
Not just Keen, but Gibson himself was frozen in shock. It had happened in a flash.
Yet Joshua, seemingly impervious to pain, smiled. "See, Mr. Gibson? Isn't this much more effective than your earlier threat?"
Gibson's pupils trembled. Staring at the man's unnervingly calm, smiling face, he stammered, "You… you're insane!"
Joshua pulled the knife out of his hand and offered it to Gibson. "Care to try, Mr. Gibson? Have a taste of what it's like to kill your enemy with your own hands?"
Before this moment, Gibson had fantasized about tearing Joshua limb from limb. But now, after Joshua had effortlessly bypassed his traps and bizarrely mutilated himself without flinching—even inviting him to join in as if offering a fine meal—Gibson was completely thrown. This man played by no rules. This series of unhinged actions had short-circuited his brain.
Even Keen, tied to the chair, stared wide-eyed, his tears forgotten.
But Gibson was no fool. He quickly regained his composure. He didn't take the proffered knife, wary of a trick. "Since you have so many ideas," he said coldly, "why don't you stab yourself in the heart next?"
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