Caught between a world of mind-numbing pain and aggravated delirium, Gao Tong tried to will himself into a state of productiveness.
Laying down to die was never his style, so he had to at least put in some struggle to stay alive, right?
He would have laughed at his own thoughts, had he the chance, reaching over to wrap his hand around the flag pole the speared through his shoulder. It seared his skin and he cried out the pain of actually jostling his shoulder was much greater.
To say the least, this sucked.
He chuckled sarcastically at himself as sweat from his brow pooled and drenched his body in cold. Why was it that his power felt so drained? Gao Tong tried to look around, gain some sort of spacial awareness and understanding of his surroundings.
But through the fog prevailing in his mind, the scene around him was blurred. He was pinned down in tall grass that mostly obscured his vision, with the flapping black flag taunting him overhead.
