The thought of landing a blow on his captor, even in his broken condition, brought a glimmer of defiance. He clung to this small spark of hope, like a flickering candle in a dark room, determined to make his mark despite the odds stacked against him.
It was as if the very act of fighting back, no matter how feeble, was a declaration that he wouldn't go down without a fight, much like a cornered animal showing its teeth to the predator, a last stand of sheer determination.
Above all else, he yearned to witness his captors tormented by frustration in his final moments. The thought of them grappling with helplessness, right before his eyes, was a bitter yet satisfying desire, a way to exert some semblance of control in the face of his impending fate.
