"Well, now you know what Vincent Kruger tastes like, Creator."
The NPC's mild voice echoed in the circular room.
Vincent Kruger's head had been floating in the jar for hours by now, the flesh bloated and turning purplish grey, eyes bulging beneath partly closed eyelids. The skin and meat of his throat were smoothly sliced, yet the skin around the back of his neck was ragged as if his head had been ripped off his body with vicious force, a bit of his spine protruding beneath what used to be a neck, the bone scraping against the bottom of the jar.
There was an indent between Kruger's brows, the skin torn aside, skull collapsed inwards as if someone had drilled in through there.
Bile climbed its way up as Thanh Van stared at the jar in a trance.
The grandfather clock tick-tock'ed away like a distant hum.
His trance was only broken when the slow jazz music blared in the background, the tune mocking him.
