Chapter 54: We should all bully the weak
Velmire's mouth twitched, his pupils dilating.
The moment he snapped into that freshly stitched body, it was like being slammed into a brick wall made of raw, blinding pain. His nerves—hastily strung together like cheap, tangled wires—lit up all at once.
Every inch of him felt electrocuted, flayed alive, and set on fire simultaneously. His spine screamed like it was being sawed down the middle. His arms, his legs—they didn't even feel like they belonged to him. It was as if someone was driving nails through them just to test if they'd twitch.
Inside, his organs spasmed and convulsed, like they were being jabbed from every angle. His lungs didn't breathe—they scorched. Every breath was like dragging in a lungful of smoke laced with ice.
His stomach churned like it was trying to digest broken glass, and his heart slammed against his ribs, beating so fast and hard it felt like it was trying to break out of his chest in sheer panic.
And his skin, it didn't fit right. It felt like it had been peeled off someone else and hastily stapled onto him.
Every inch stung, itched, and pulsed like it wanted to crawl off his bones. Even the air brushing against him felt like sandpaper scraping over open wounds.
The moment he tried to move, it was like barbed wire coiled around every muscle, ripping into him with each tiny shift.
The worst part?