Huff! Huff!
In the chest cavity, flames are burning, and with every breath, the bloody taste billows and surges, the entire brain turned into a muddled paste.
Garoppolo furiously turns over and stands up, trying to hide his embarrassment, but as soon as he looks up, he sees Chris Jones' eyes full of murderous intent, like a wild wolf, like a cheetah, locking onto its prey, his neat white teeth stained with freshly torn flesh.
Bloodied.
Uncontrollably, Garoppolo shivers.
Huff! Huff!
Chris Jones is the same, no exception to the fatigue, knees trembling, muscles stiff, internal organs churning and squeezing together.
But he does not retreat, nor does he celebrate, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Garoppolo, as if staring at his dinner—
The game is not over.
Even if he is already exhausted, even if he has burned out, as long as the game is not over, he will fight to the end, no matter if it means shattering to pieces.
