His chest creaked and he swore he heard a crack as Farfarello planted himself on already-bruised ribs and the slice from earlier. The foot came down hard on his left arm, and Caim hissed, eye opening as the pain dragged him out of his incoherency.

He wasn't dead yet. He was in pain, but he wasn't dead. The fight was over and he had lost. How? Why? Why hadn't Farfarello killed him? Did he mean to drag it out? That was the only thing he could be doing. He was leaning over now, siezing Caim's right arm even as Caim struggled to lurch up and away, to free himself by upsetting Farfarello even the slightest bit.

If he had known what was bound to come, he would have bitten his tongue off right then.