The heavy astral steel blade fell down the black bone-iron tracks of the [Illusion Execution Guillotine] like a falling guillotine of dark lightning.
With a single, devastating cleave, the five-hundred-pound blade sliced straight through the neck-stock of the chained figure in blue-and-white striped pajamas.
The black cloth hood flew off into the air. The wooden chopping block groaned under the impact, splitting down the center with a sharp crack.
SQUIIIIISH-PLOP.
A bizarre, thick, doughy sound echoed across the silent basalt plateau of Hellfire Volcano.
It did not sound like human cervical bone shattering. It did not sound like cartilage snapping or arteries rupturing.
It sounded remarkably like a heavy rubber boot stepping squarely into a bucket of warm, freshly mashed Thanksgiving yams.
A vibrant crimson spray erupted from the severed neck joint of the striped pajamas, splattering across the black bone guillotine pillars in neat, glossy polka dots. Simultaneously, a colossal cloud of piping-hot white steam billowed out of the severed pajama collar, carrying an irresistible. Mouth-watering kitchen aroma across the volcanic rim:.
