Sevir did not resist hold over his throat, did not help the air struggling to get to his lungs. After all, he could heal, Zihao could not. Zihao’s face turned green with every passing moment. He only pushed the pincher deep inside Zihao’s chest as the hands around his throat tightened.
The satisfaction of getting revenge was still far off. Instead of relief, he felt slightly frustrated at not hurting Zihao more. Every time he felt the cool blade sting against his skin, he wanted to kill the man, kill them all, but he wanted to skin them more.
Sevir pushed the pincher further in until there was almost nothing left. The poison to him was barely a scratch and healed faster than any wound Zihao could give him. The damage he was inflicting was permanent.
Zihao’s muscles convulsed. Sevir smiled triumphantly. Relief, he had been waiting for, came mid air. Zihao looked past him and began shifting. Bailong called, “change positions. Now.”