"Here I am, Victor Scott. Remember me?" Joana's voice echoed coldly, and she stepped into the dim light.
Victor looked up, his face contorting in sheer horror. "You vile creature," he spat. "You shouldn't exist in this world—or any world, for that matter."
Joana chuckled darkly, her laughter sharp and menacing. "You're so predictable," she said. "I've heard far worse insults. Your brothers didn't see me coming—they didn't even believe what was happening, not even as I tore their heads from their shoulders. Look at the shock frozen on their faces."
Victor's hand darted toward the shotgun, desperation fueling his movement. But Joana was faster. She crushed his hand under her heel, breaking it with a sickening crunch.
Victor let out an anguished scream, clutching his mangled hand. "My hand! Damn you to hell!"