"What? What thing? What are-"

It was too late before he could protest to her moving him. The shift in weight as he was lifted halfway to his feet, pooling against the wounds, worsened the leakage and created a fire-stinging, painful pressure against them. Instead of screaming in pain like he felt like he wanted to do, he let out a weak, miserable grunt as it felt like a white fog was clouding his head. He could have sworn he temporarily blacked out, because it seemed like he practically teleported to the bed, lying again on his stomach. While the pain eased, it was in a different way. The pressure was gone, but the stinging had multiplied.

[i]"What does it look like?"[/i] he demanded, barely audibly or coherent because of the fact that his mouth didn't seem to want to fully open. He could feel the liquid dripping down his sides, tickling his skin in the most awful way.