Darno could feel the sweat running down the back of his neck. He was trying his best to keep a straight face, but he no longer looked relaxed. The smile had gone. He kept blocking Jett's blows and kept punching the man's arm again and again until his knuckles ached with the effort.
"Come on! Come on!" Darno screamed in his head. I've hit his damned arm until my knuckles feel like they're going to fall off , it has to be out of commission, right? The thought was almost a prayer. He had been driving that same rhythm into Jett for so long that he'd lost track of how many strikes he'd thrown.
Because of how long he'd been fighting, he wasn't even sure if he'd passed his fifteen-minute limit or not. His body felt heavy; his breathing felt ragged and irregular, as if someone else had taken the timing over. Still he pushed himself. He'd never had to use his full strength like this for so long. The tide of fatigue crept up his limbs, but he kept swinging.
