The lack of proper ropes was unfortunate. Farfarello had used up the entire rest of his bedsheet in order to get enough cloth wound around each of Caim's limbs to make up for the relative lack of strength in the individual layers of fabric.

Caim's left arm was, ironically, the toughest of his limbs to get tied up. Caim had the strength of desperation now, and Farfarello was weaker than he'd been before his lung was so rudely collapsed. Fortunately, he had the benefits of position and freedom on his side, and he was eventually able to get Caim's last free limb bound.

Wheezing, blood-tinged spittle staining his lips, Farfarello sat back on Caim's chest, resting. The fight had taken a lot out of him, and he needed to recover a little bit of energy now, while he could. Wouldn't do at all to pass out before he'd had his fun.

When he finally had his pulse down to within 20 bpm of his usual resting rate of 45*, Farfarello found he at last had enough air in his working lung to waste some on speaking. "You put up a damn good fight, you know. One of the toughest I've had against a human like me. I respect that. Not enough to spare you, of course, but I respect it nonetheless."

[* - Athletes and others who do regular, prolonged cardiovascular exercise have a significantly lower resting heart rate than the average person.]