The heel of your boot slams into your opponent’s gut, and they double over, air forced out in a choked gasp. You can almost feel the shock rippling through their body, their muscles contracting in an attempt to shield their core from the pain. They stagger, clutching their stomach, gasping as their knees buckle. There’s a raw, guttural sound—a struggle to draw in a breath that’s just out of reach. But you don’t give them a chance to recover.
With swift, cold determination, you grab a filthy sock from the ground. It’s grimy and stained, smelling of sweat and rot, an old remnant from some dark, forgotten corner. They jerk their head up, eyes wide, the realization dawning just as you force it past their lips, deep into their mouth. Their hands fly up, clawing at your wrists, desperate to dislodge it, but you press harder, smothering any space left for them to breathe. They inhale instinctively, gagging as the taste and stench flood their senses. Their eyes bulge, wild and terrified, as they choke on the coarse, foul fabric that blocks every attempt at oxygen. The muffled, desperate sounds they make only drive you further, holding firm, watching as panic consumes them, searing into their face. Breath is slipping from their grasp, leaving them helpless, teetering on the edge of survival.
$3.99
