Floki did not move away after driving the nails through Denji's hands.
Instead, he reached calmly into his inventory once more and brought out a dagger.
It was not a grand weapon. The blade was short, narrow, and clean, its edge catching a dull glint beneath the open sky. At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about it, and perhaps that was what made it more unsettling.
He stepped behind Denji without a word.
A subtle shift passed through the crowd as they watched him reposition himself, but no one spoke. The earlier chants had faded, replaced by a quiet, uncertain anticipation.
Denji's breathing grew heavier.
"What… what are you doing…?" His voice came out strained, stripped of the arrogance it once carried.
Floki gave no reply.
He placed his free hand firmly against Denji's shoulder, holding him steady against the wooden frame.
Then, without warning, he drove the dagger into Denji's back.
The blade sank in with a wet, sickening sound.
