The potions kept Ra'ntar alive and conscious, but didn't satisfy his hunger one bit.
"Get up." Lith's voice rang to the Chronicler's ears like a death knell.
"No." Ra'ntar looked up at Lith in defiance without moving. "I refuse to fight. I won't play your game, whatever it is."
Hard-light constructs shaped like hands lifted the elf up from the scruff of his neck, shoulders, and arms, forcing him to take a combat stance.
Ra'ntar had no intention of standing up, and let gravity bring him back down. The moment his feet touched the ground, a right punch struck his armor and shattered his ribcage.
His lungs and heart collapsed, filling his airways with blood. While he was still recoiling from the punch, a leg sweep struck his knees. The impact almost severed his legs, only thin strips of skin and cartilage held them together.
