The King

After thirty seconds, Tyr was deserted in an empty canteen.

Glanced at the foodline. The cooks looked to still be in a very distressed state of being.

He sighed, looking back at Race. Grabbing a glass of orange juice that was on a table, he knelt down beside Race and splashed the cold liquid in his face.

Race awoke with a startled gasp, panting for air.

He immediately saw Tyr's face above him. Race felt the tiny hairs on his arms erect straight upwards.

'He's... fucking scary.' Race thought to himself, furrowing his brows, "Let me go." He said in a low tone.

Tyr exhaled, "Let you go? Why should I do that? Don't you think I should beat you up some more for what you did in my room?"

Race paused, looking down. He felt the stinging pain radiate from his broken nose at that moment.

Next came the horrible throbbing waves of pain from his fractured skull.

He placed his hand on his head before responding: