The pain was too much to bear for Elliot. He curbed his body, twitching, as he took a tight grip on his chest. Wails of agony reverberated alongside the long buzzing of the horn, signifying the third round has come to an end.
It was no different from ingesting a magma with firecrackers that churned his insides without mercy. He wanted to vomit, but it was like a large hard lump stuck on his throat that he could neither spit nor swallow.
To him, it was a lingering buzz, and voices slurred that wrecked his ears. He could care less from the feeling he had as of the moment: even his breathing turned sharp, not enough, and his vision began to wane as much as his consciousness.
Draya went close to Elliot, dropping to her knees, as she went for his vital signs. From the slightest touch of his skin ran colder than it was before, which caused her to panic, looking around her.
"Help! We need help here!" she screamed on top of her lungs.
