Jagger lay where he had fallen, rain striking his face in cold, relentless rhythm. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading thin across broken asphalt before the storm diluted it into pink rivers that crawled toward the gutters. The world above him was fractured light and shadow, flashes of fire reflecting off shattered windows, the distant silhouette of the Troll King tearing through what remained of the street.
His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven pulls.
His left arm was no longer an arm. It hung beside him like a butchered thing, swollen and misshapen, skin stretched grotesquely over jagged shapes that pressed from within. Each twitch of regeneration shifted bone fragments with wet, grinding clicks that vibrated through his entire body.
He stared at it, detached for a moment, as if it belonged to someone else.
"Fuck…" he whispered, the word breaking apart in his throat.
A translucent panel flickered in his vision.
[Critical wounds detected!]
