Breaking Point ─ Snow White in Jail

"Shirayuki?! Who are these people?!" Mikoto twitched at the impulse of heavyweight presences before her eyes.

Warned by both her fear and my expectation, I turned back─only for a half expected severance.

Bishamon, the Japanese god of warfare, has cut my hands from a swift strike of his naginata.

I tried to move them to a missing point in the trajectory, but were cut to no avail: both my hands fell from a rather loose cut leaving the ball joint behind. Black spell circles appeared by both ends of my arms, then for my hands on the floor. Not a moment later, a Fire spell was activated to sear them continuously as means to seal a wound, horribly reactive, as if swiftness was the basis of everything in combat.

Seeing massacred hands to blood dripping, traumatizing a child, albeit a zombie, must be an issue.

But no one cared.