One of his ribs gave in with a meaty crunch, splitting, the rest just bruised - wearing armor paid off for how stuffy it was to wear a couple inches of it over his casual attire. A hair's breadth away from pinning down his slippery opponent, yet thrown back once again, Gigue felt a volatile mix of frustration and desperate urgency well up in his soul, overflowing quickly and surging through his body with a feverish heat. The mind held strong though, unyielding to the urge of plummeting into a berserk rage: instead, he focused on the current circumstances and how he could adapt to them.
Gigue's left side had crumbled down under the onslaught pain and gone numb for the time being, left arm barely moving from the elbow upwards; the right was in much better condition, almost in perfect working condition from the copious amounts of adrenaline diluted in his bloodstream, the body trying to keep up with its piled up injuries; so it was fortunate for him that the elbow strike knocked him onto his right side, where he could put the arm under and lift himself slightly off the ground. But better yet, he had completely healthy legs. Bending both and setting his feet flat on the ground, his pose became to look as if he were more of a breakdancer than a fighter: just one arm holding up his weight, the legs loaded with tension, ready to kick off at any moment.
Which would exactly what Gigue would do: springing up into the air, he'd flip his body around and then slam down buttocks first onto Sigurd's stomach. It would be quite the unpleasant sensation, considering that that would be the muscleman's whole weight bearing down on his innards - but what followed was guaranteed to be worse. Right after pushing off, the brawler would snap his legs back into a cocked position, land, brace himself with the right arm once again and fire off - the difference this time being that his feet were not against the ground, but turned towards his opponent's head, two steel plated heels heading off towards the warriors chin in what could easily be a clean knockout hit. The immediacy of his kick would be ferocious too: if Gigue managed to get the pin, then not even a second would pass before he launched it - even someone with the combat acumen of Sigurd would be left grasping at straws.