He sighed deeply and dragged his hand down to his face, resting it over his eyes. "Here we go again."
He forced himself to sit back up on the floor, fingers closing around the hilt of the sword as he got up.
His body complained, asked for rest. His mind cursed Michael constantly, cursed the system, and also cursed himself.
But his eyes? They were steady, and a look of hunger was inside of them.
His body complained, asked for rest. His mind cursed Michael constantly, cursed the system, and also cursed himself.
But his eyes? They were steady, and a look of hunger was inside of them.
As soon as the final strike landed, Silas's sword slipped from his fingers, and it hit the ground with a low, dim thud
His legs then buckled up he dropped backward onto the bed like a corpse falling into its grave.
He lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, chest rising up and then falling rhythmically, trying to get his breath steady.
