The potions kept Ra'ntar alive and conscious, but didn't satisfy his hunger one bit.
"Get up." Lith's voice rang to the Chronicler's ears like a death knell.
"No." Ra'ntar looked up at Lith in defiance without moving. "I refuse to fight. I won't play your game, whatever it is."
Hard-light constructs shaped like hands lifted the elf up from the scruff of his neck, shoulders, and arms, forcing him to take a combat stance.
Ra'ntar had no intention of standing up, and let gravity bring him back down. The moment his feet touched the ground, a right punch struck his armor and shattered his ribcage.
His lungs and heart collapsed, filling his airways with blood. While he was still recoiling from the punch, a leg sweep struck his knees. The impact almost severed his legs, only thin strips of skin and cartilage held them together.
As the Chronicler was finally falling to the ground, Lith stepped around him and hit Ra'ntar in the back, ripping his spine out.
