K'ile cringed as he fell. He was growing tired of blows to the head, and his brain was in full agreement with him. It felt like his skull was made of brittle wood, or else absent entirely by this point. He didn't have the strength to fight the man's undeath. K'ile was sure he'd killed Thal a dozen times over this night alone, and yet the dark magic continued, unrelenting. "You can't expect me to just fold and go along with you."
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