"Get him!" Vurok cheered.
A kick slammed into his ribs. Another fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head back. Sol tasted copper. Then from then on, fist and kicks rained down like hail, but he still didn't fight, didn't scream, didn't even struggle. He accepted the blows to his back, his shoulders, his ribs, and his legs, focusing only on curling tighter, protecting his skull and torso.
It was brutal. They didn't hold back. They kicked him like a dog in the street. kicks slammed into his back, his thighs, his arms. He felt his bones groan, a sharp, hot spike of pain spreading throughout his body.
Endure, Sol told himself, gritting his teeth, focusing inward, wrapping the Ash Gray energy around his internal organs like a shield, letting the surface take the damage. Let them vent. Let them think they won.
"That's for the punch!" Vurok shouted, delivering a heavy kick to Sol's spine. "That's for the soup! You think you're special? You're nothing! You're dirt!"
