Sharp Short Blows To The Surface Of The Chest の小説・ストーリー

He slowly claps his hands. We lunge at each other again; him stopping my blade and elbowing me in the face. I spin low out of his grasp, but I’m too close to use my blade. I deliver a knee to his gut. He catches it, hammering his elbow into my instep painfully. Using my free foot, I jump up and kick him in the chest, freeing myself from his grasp as I flip backward, landing roughly on my knees. He is on me in an instant and my sword is ripped from my hands. Samuel straddles my stomach as he hammers into my face repeatedly with his fists.

“I’m going to shock him. Clear!” My body jolted as the paddles hit my chest. “Check his pulse now…” Their voices began to drift. Fading. “He’s—”

We won't be falling for his antics, which is only going to cause him to fill with rage so he fights without thinking, using his energy up while I conserve mine He kept making cheap shots as we circled one another, the crowd getting a bit louder with every hit but we blocked them out, our main focus on him. He had gotten a few great shots on me but we had too, when he lunged at me knocking me down to the ground, I watched the dust from the dirt fly up around me as I hit down, knocking the wind out of me as he slashed his extended claws down my chest deeply making me yell out from the pain of how deep he sliced through me.

Her expression changed to something that looked a little like anger. She attacked again, this time abandoning the combinations entirely and coming in with a single heavy shot aimed at the center of my chest. I had not been expecting that and it caught me. I moved, but not fast enough, and it hit me square in the sternum. The impact pushed me back two full steps. My vision went bright for a second and my lungs refused to cooperate for a moment that felt longer than it probably was. I pressed my forearm against my chest and bent forward, coughing, waiting for my lungs to remember how to function.

"Fast and hard. She needs you to do this." I did as I'd seen, using my own weight to depress her breastbone. I understood the science, the necessity to compress the heart muscle enough to express the blood and give her body the oxygen it needed. But as my body pushed, noises like cracking cartilage and breaking bone filled my ears. With each snap and crack, the bile I'd tried to hold back rushed upward.

I let go of his lapels and drove my left fist straight into his ribs. The impact was a wet, hollow crack as the air was violently forced from his lungs. Peter’s entire body doubled over, his forehead hitting my shoulder with a heavy, dead weight as his breath caught in his throat with a desperate, whistling wheeze. His hands flew up instinctively, his fingers curling around my forearms, but he didn't squeeze. He didn't try to break my grip. He didn't attempt an inside block or a liver-strike to force me off him. He just held onto me, his forehead pressing harder into my utility jacket as his body shuddered against the pain.

Ryder twisted the thick wrist with brutal force, and a loud popping sound echoed across the quiet frat house. The upperclassman screamed in absolute agony, and he dropped to his knees on the sticky floorboards. He clutched his injured arm with his other hand, and the tears streamed down his red face while the crowd watched in silent shock. Ryder pulled the guy forward by his shirt collar, and he delivered a harsh blow directly to the center of his chest. The upperclassman groaned and collapsed onto his stomach, and he gasped for air because the punch knocked the wind right out of his lungs.