The knife was thrown again embedding itself deep into his chest again.
The force of the impact sent a shudder through his body, his breath hitching violently as pain erupted through him. It was deep—deep enough that the sharp edge was no longer visible, swallowed by the layers of his flesh. His fingers twitched, instinct screaming at him to reach for it, to pull it out, but he knew better. Removing the blade carelessly would only worsen the injury, might even kill him if he wasn't careful.
His face twisted in pain, lips parting as he struggled to draw in a steady breath. It hurt. A sharp, searing agony spread through his ribs, pressing into his lungs and making it difficult to breathe properly. But he forced himself upright, shoulders tensing as he fought against the overwhelming sensation.
He was still alive. That much he knew.
As long as the knife had missed his heart, he wouldn't die. At least, not yet.
