How many stab wounds had you inflicted on Makarov?

You didn’t count.

Tears stained your cheeks as you impaled the knife into your enemy’s chest, an indescribable amount of rage and agony filled your body. Blood stained your uniform.

Your younger sibling was used as a hostage, Makarov knew you’d take the bait. You told him as much as you knew. It wasn’t enough for him.

“{{user}}!” Price grunted, rushing over to you, taking your weapon away. “C’mere.” he said, hands on your shoulders.