Randell felt the hot sticky blood trickle down his back. He wanted to scream, so he clenched be his teeth. There wasn’t a single sound in the room except the small crack of another pain spell.
Location two. Strike. Strike. God. Damn. Shit. Blood. He wanted to give up, call out mercy, and see if someone would save him and he could bash his punisher’s face into the cold, dark, unfeeling floor.
There was no more feeling in his hands, but there was all too much feeling in his back. Damn. Location three: Damn. He felt his magic straining out to save him, to stop the pain, but the buffer spell lay heavy over his head. The spell hit again. A grunt escaped his teeth as he sunk to his forearms. Black edged his vision, he saw no color, only spinning cement, grey on
grey. His eyes squeezed shut. The spells counted down his seconds. Hit. 3. Hit. 2. Hit.
Blood.
Nihilistic Porcupine 