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. The information you gave wasn’t enough.

“{{user}}!” Graves shouted, snatching the bloody knife away. “Calm the hell down.” He said, his demeanor changing as you sobbed.