?Chapter 857:


    Balfour finally realized she might strike purely out of madness, but it was already far toote for him to run.


    Christina curled her lips into a sneer and, without a shred of hesitation, drove the dagger hard into his thigh.


    “Ah!” The scream barely escaped his mouth before she yanked the de out and stabbed him again, right in the same spot.


    “Does that hurt?” Her voice was soft and strangely sweet, a smile tugging at her lips as she repeated the savage act.


    “Ah… Ah…” Balfour howled over and over, the agony unbearable, wishing more than anything that death would just take him. But no matter how much it hurt, he remained wide awake, too aware, too conscious to ck out.


    “Ha-ha…” Christina’sughter was edged with lunacy. She continued stabbing, unrelenting. “It’s only right that it hurts.”


    She didn’t stop until his thigh was a bloody, shredded mess, and only then did she turn her attention to his other leg.


    “Ah!” His scream pierced the air, raw and guttural. He broke down, sobbing, “Kill me… Please just end it. I can’t take it anymore.”


    Christina let out a coldugh. “You think you deserve a swift death? The girls you brutalized suffered worse than this. I only made you impotent, and I didn’t want your blood to stain my hands. But you insisted on pushing your luck.” She tilted her head slightly. “Balfour, it’s not that Ick the cruelty to kill you. I just don’t think you deserve to die at my hands.”


    Even as she spoke, she kept driving the dagger into his thigh, merciless and deliberate.


    By now, his thighs were nothing more than tattered flesh, yet Christina showed no signs of stopping.


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    All at once, she yanked the dagger free, her face darkening as she stabbed it directly between his legs. Then, without pause, she shed sideways, swift and brutal.


    “Ah! Ah…” Balfour nearly passed out from the shock and searing pain, a hot gush flooding the space between his legs. Why wasn’t he dead yet? He had never craved death more in his entire life.


    “Aren’t you curious why your body’s still hanging on? Why, even after being torn to shreds like this, you haven’t passed out yet?” Christina leaned in, her sneer cold, her whisper hauntingly gentle.


    The human body had its own desperate ways of protecting itself. When agony surged past the brink of endurance, the mind simply shut down. A person cked out.


    Given the sheer extent of the torment he had been subjected to, Balfour was astounded he hadn’t slipped into unconsciousness yet.


    Then, without warning, a horrifying thought raced through his mind. His eyes snapped to Christina, wide with dread. His entire body quaked uncontrobly, and each breath he tried to take came out ragged and shallow.


    His thighs had been stabbed so brutally, so repeatedly, that by all logic, they should have gone numb. Yet pain still throbbed through the marrow of his bones—agony so deep that it made death seem merciful.


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