The thief found himself falling to his knees, the back of his legs gushing out blood. In the next instant, he turned to have his throat slit by the child.
Kazi went for the second thief who did not understand what was happening. The knife clumsily thrust downward and failed miserably. Kazi was too small and too quick. His movements were methodical, devoid of the hesitation and fear one might expect from a human, much less a boy his age. There was no emotion in his eyes.
There was only death.
Slash! Slash! The wrists were cut and the thief stumbled back. The throat was the quickest way to kill, Kazi realized. He was too short and weak to jump up and cut it, so he needed to aim for their legs first, to get them down to his height.
But there were two of them. Two grown men. The odds were stacked against him. The thief with the bleeding wrist hissed. Adrenaline was pumping through his muscles and he refused to die. He refused to have his life ended like his comrade's.
