"I won't let you get anywhere. Not tonight, dude."
Cherion was fairly certain that if he moved his left pinky toe, his entire skeleton would simply disintegrate into a pile of disgruntled ash. "Annoyed" didn't even begin to cover it. He was basically a walking, whining emoji. His body felt like it had been run over by a freight train, reversed over by a semi-truck, and then, just for spice, thrown through a car wash full of jagged bricks.
Every time his boot hit the floor of the Duke's wing, a fresh bolt of lightning shot up his shins. God, I'd kill for an Advil, he thought, his internal monologue spiraling into a frantic, caffeinated rant. Two Advil. No, the whole bottle. Maybe a shot of numbing stuff and a time machine back to when "working out" didn't feel like getting repeatedly slammed by a rogue tree branch.
He was done. Finished. Kaput. He'd reached his limit after hearing Elios and Flio's conversation..
