Lt. Daemon's body jerked violently as the harpoon embedded in his back dragged him across the rough earth. His arm flailed uselessly, blood spilling from the jagged wound in his shoulder, mixing with the dirt as he was pulled further away from the center of the clearing. His vision blurred, the pain blinding and relentless, as his muscles screamed in protest with each wrenching pull.
He could feel the harpoon digging deeper into his flesh, catching on the bone and tearing through the sinew with every inch. His breath came in shallow gasps, the agony so intense that it threatened to consume him entirely. The warmth of his blood soaked his clothes, the ground beneath him slick with it, and yet he couldn't move, couldn't stop the relentless force dragging him toward certain death.
Through the fog of pain, he heard General Osalf's voice, the mocking tone cutting through the haze like a knife.
