Nina was gritting her teeth so hard it hurt - but not nearly as much as the rest of her hurt. Broken arm hanging at her side, a dull ache now in comparison to the pulsing, continuous pain of the acid burning into her flesh. All the knife did was make the pain ricochet back and forth between her shoulder and hand, head tipped back to stare up at the ceiling instead of anywhere on her absolutely fucked body. Or at him.

So bold of him to assume she wouldn't mutilate herself just to be rid of that brand - carve over it enough times to strike it out. She had scars enough already. What were a few more? But he had the satisfaction now. Had the satisfaction of making Nina Ironfist, the Ogreslayer, legend of Valsheria, weep and bleed and her only solace was in knowing it was only because she let him.

"And you - aha..." she gasped as pain surged through her, speech slurred with agony and blood loss. "You say I talk too much."