...Apparently, she'd hit a nerve.
Which had sort of been the point, even though she knew she'd pay for it.
And pay she did.
Khaiya was hardly aware of the finale, because she was too busy getting her face bashed in. Smed pounced, the chair tipped backwards and smashed her hands between it and the ground, and her world exploded into agony even before he started swinging, the shock of the fall jolting her body and making every injury scream. Or maybe that was her screaming as his fists flew and struck home, hitting places that were already battered and torn, the crunch of cartilage joining the sound of fists against flesh as her nose broke and blood filled her mouth. Her leather armor protected her from the worst of the chest stomps, at least, but not enough that it didn't still drive the air from her lungs and radiate to her ribs and wounded side, and though she squirmed and bucked and struggled, it did little.
For a terrifying moment, she didn't think he would stop.
She cried out as her head slammed against the ground, a choked sound as she coughed on the blood in her mouth, and by the time he finished up with that final kick to her ruined shoulder, she was sobbing. If she'd thought everything hurt before, she was wrong. Her head spun and the world with it, but she didn't pass out --which would have been a blessing at this point. Instead, she could do little more than lay where he left her, spitting blood to the side as it dribbled from her nose and lips and drawing in ragged, sobbing breaths. She tried to curl in on herself, but couldn't move, her legs still draped over the chair and bound arms still trapped beneath it.
