His left arm hung at an unnatural angle while the bone of his forearm pressed against his skin, pushing it outward without breaking it, and his hand hung limp like a dead weight.
"Fucking bitches..." said the man, his teeth clenched as he gripped his mangled arm.
His breathing was heavy and labored, each inhalation producing a whistle that indicated Alice's blow had probably broken more than just his arm.
However, all the damage he had received seemed not to matter to him, because upon noticing the overwhelming difference in power between him and the women who had just attacked him, his mind quickly focused on the only thing that could still give him a chance, however minuscule, to level the playing field.
His greatsword.
"Where the fuck did that piece of shit go," said the man, his voice filled with pain as he looked around.
