Slowly and ever so carefully, the curved blade of the soul tearing Karambit was pulled out of the soft abdominal flesh. Careful being the most important word as every slight nick of the flesh sent waves of pain throughout the body, and the soul.
It was an especially difficult task since, despite its chipped and cragged looking edge, the blade was razor sharp. Eventually, with a trembling groan, it was pulled free of its fleshy sheathe, leaving behind a gnarly and twisted gap in otherwise perfect, porcelain skin that was already started to become dyed with crimson. Blood flowed steadily from the wound like a scarlet waterfall, every breath being taken causing a wave of new pain to sprout.
