Charles yanked his arm back but I didn’t let go. I did the opposite, I dug my nails in as he pulled, my claws dug into his skin and ripped. Blood pooled and burned, he yanked again this time, ignoring the bite of my nails as they pierced deeper. He wrenched his arm free, or what was left of it. I could feel his skin under my claws, chunks of meat between my fingers, as he cried out in pain. I take a moment to enjoy my work. His once scorched pink skin had turned black, blood ran down his arm ...