After thirty minutes -
Minuteman looked up at the sky, feeling wet mud underneath him. His body raged with pain that wracked him like hot fire, but the rain and the mud was oddly comforting in its coolness. He felt that if he closed his eyes for just a few more seconds, he would drift away, forever away into a sleep from which he was never waking.
But he could not do that.
Not now.
Not ever.
Minuteman grit his teeth, tasting iron, his own blood, in his mouth, and put power into his body. He leaped back onto his feet with surprising agility as he sucked in breaths. He put a hand over his stomach where large claw gashes threatened to widen with every one of his movements and spill out his guts. His right shoulder had been torn into with a massive bite, shearing off a big chunk of his developed deltoid muscle.
