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墨書 Inktalez
Feren was filled with anger and determination, but in an instant, he was thwarted. The massive left hand of the orc whipped back like a lash, and before he could react, he felt a tremendous force collide with his body, sending him flying as if struck by a heavy hammer. He crashed heavily onto the cold floor, his breath knocked out of him, his dagger slipping from his hand and landing with a faint sound, lying alone not far away.
The orc Pierre stood there, a hint of cruel mockery in his eyes as he looked down at Feren on the ground, his eyes gleaming with the ruthless light of a victor. Deliberately and slowly, he walked towards the fallen Feren, each step heavy and resounding, as if each one declared absolute control over Feren and contempt for his fate. Feren tried to get up, but the pain and dizziness from the impact slowed his movements, making his situation even more perilous. Faced with the impending deadly blow from the orc, Feren could only desperately search for hope and a possible escape in his mind.
Feren struggled in despair, his hands trembling as he frantically groped around, grabbing random items scattered on the ground, including a heavy wrench, an empty box, and even a broken cup, all becoming his tools for desperate resistance. With all his might, he hurled these objects one by one at the towering figure of the orc in front of him, but to the orc Pierre, these things were nothing more than mild irritations, unable to even halt his stride.
Pierre effortlessly seized Feren by the collar with his massive, steel-like palm, lifting him high as if he were a helpless doll. Feren dangled in the air, struggling weakly, his feet dangling, completely unable to reach the ground. In that moment, Feren felt an unprecedented sense of powerlessness and fear, as the orc's eyes were filled with coldness and cruelty, pushing Feren's panic to its peak. The air was filled with the orc's charred skin and the smell of blood, and Feren knew that unless a miracle occurred, the final chapter of his life would be written here.
Feren's feet were like struggling fish, weakly kicking against Pierre's hard chest. But for the beastly man as tough as steel, such an attack was nothing more than a mild tickle. Pierre revealed a satisfied, cruel smile in the face of Feren's despair and fear, as if enjoying a one-sided game. His laughter was rough and brutal, filling the enclosed space with even more oppression and despair.
However, just as Feren seemed on the verge of giving up, his gaze suddenly caught sight of the partially healed burn on Pierre's chest. At this critical moment of life and death, Feren's survival instinct suddenly erupted. He gathered all his strength and fiercely kicked at Pierre's sensitive and vulnerable wound.
With this kick, Feren felt the tight grip of Pierre's arm instantly loosen. The pain twisted the orc's face, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath the fierce countenance. Pierre involuntarily growled, clearly struck in his most vulnerable spot, causing him immense pain.
The orc's furious roar was deafening, its eyes flashing with the flames of insulted anger. Its massive hand, like a boulder, fiercely slapped Feren across the face. Feren's body was thrown as if by a giant wave, landing heavily on the cold floor of the Control room, momentarily dazed.
That slap not only brought intense physical pain, but also felt like a blow to his soul. Feren struggled to stand up again, but the impact to his head made him dizzy, and the buzzing in his ears made it hard to focus. A warm, sticky line of fresh blood slowly slid down from his forehead, blurring his vision.
In this life-and-death moment, Feren's heart was filled with Chao'X and helplessness. His hand unconsciously reached for the wound on his forehead, the pain reminding him of the cruel reality. In the face of the brutality of the Orcs, he felt small and powerless, yet the will to survive still drove him to seek a glimmer of escape from this dire situation.
In the midst of the melee in the Control room, Feren was pinned down by the Orc on the cold steel floor, every breath becoming increasingly difficult. The Orc's hands were like two giant steel pillars, tightly gripping his neck, his face gradually turning purple, blood seemingly resisting in his veins, trying to break free from the restraint but finding nowhere to escape. Feren's vision began to blur, his ears filled with his own rapid and shallow gasps, as well as the heavy breathing and occasional sinister laughter of the Orc.
Feren struggled, his arms weakly pounding on the Orc's rock-hard back, each strike echoing with hollow and futile sounds as if hitting steel. His feet kicked at the air, trying to find leverage, but his efforts were in vain. His heartbeat became extremely pronounced, as if each throb was thundering in his ears, reminding him that life was gradually slipping away.
The air felt like it was being sucked out of the room, and Feren experienced an unprecedented sense of suffocation. His brain began to lack oxygen, his thoughts became chaotic, and memories of the past played back like a movie. He thought of his family, his friends, and the days spent with Edric. In this final moment of his life, his heart was filled with a longing for the future and an unwillingness to part with life.
However, the orc's grip was merciless, its eyes filled only with the desire for battle and slaughter, showing only indifference and contempt for the struggling human before it. Feren's consciousness began to blur, his strength fading away bit by bit, like a drop of water falling into the desert, silently disappearing. In this moment at the boundary between life and death, Feren's heart was filled with despair, but he still wanted to continue fighting for the people around him, even if it meant fighting for just one more second.
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