Hell has no room

'What's taking Gustavo so long? Didn't he say they were just a bunch of wannabe robbers?' Blackthorn wondered, sitting impatiently in his cart.

'He should have finished them off or scared them away by now. Why is this taking so long?' Blackthorn's impatience was growing.

"What's happening out there?" he called out to the driver who was watching from outside.

"Uh, I can't see clearly through the darkness Sir, but I can still make out their figures lunging at each other," the driver replied, his voice tinged with fear.

Blackthorn sighed and settled back into his seat. 'You'd better get things done fast, Gustavo.'

Outside, Gustavo's vision blurred as he endured numerous blows from the youths.

He could taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth, but that didn't bother him as much as the pain from within. This sickness had weakened him more than he'd imagined.