Ritual Combat III

Damon dropped me immediately due to his shock, his hand rising to shield his forehead as he hissed in pain. A curse slipped from his lips, and I fell to the ground, desperately gasping for air to make up for the seconds that passed with a lack of it. With my windpipe crushed like a plastic bag under a car tyre thanks to Damon's tender loving hands, even the easy task of breathing was becoming increasingly laborious and painful. 

'Goddamn it,' I cursed Damon's durability as I sucked in large mouthfuls of air. That man's head was as hard as a slab of concrete and twice as thick. No wonder he was such a stubborn asshole. 

I hissed as I rubbed my forehead, stumbling to my shaky feet; that one hit might have hurt me more than him. But it was still a hit. 

I did it. I had done the impossible.