-A few minutes ago-
"Haa…haa…haa…haa"
Within the fog of dust, Motavu lay with his back to the ground unmoving.
His heaving chest was the only thing that signified that he was still alive, and even that was gradually slowing down.
His body was riddled with numerous cuts and stab wounds. His blood - which had been tainted green - flowed out of his wounds incessantly, bathing his surroundings in the green glow of his poisonous blood.
His body was stained with blood, and Ilyon's sword, along with his torn hand, was standing upright with its edge still embedded in his chest.
Motavu saw no reason to remove it. No, rather, he didn't have the strength to do so.
Motavu - who had already resigned himself to his fate - had a grin on his face as he thought…
'It's done! Hahaha! I did it! That b*stard would always have something to remember me by'
Motavu then paused, before his thoughts continued…
'So…I guess this is it'
