Nana
She blinked once.
Kagami was already standing between them. The skinny girl's head swung from his right grip by a fistful of red hair. Her body hadn't fallen yet.
One.
His sleeve was gone. Torn or burned—Nana couldn't tell.
Fresh blood ran down the fingers. Steaming. Hissing where it dripped onto the kitchen tile.
"Huh," the fat man said.
Then the severed head spoke.
"Wow, you're fast."
Nana's knees hit the floor. The pot was still in her hands. She didn't remember deciding to keep holding it.
Kagami was already moving. His fingers went into the hole in the fat man's chest—the empty space where organs should have been.
He tore.
Blood. Tendons. Bone. The fat man split down the middle like wet paper. One half hit the kitchen sink. The other slid across the floor and stopped against Nana's knee.
Two.
Warm. It was warm.
"Oh." Kagami looked at the halves. At the blood on his arm. "I overestimated."
