Those frantic punches held his last ounce of fight he had him. He was tired. Greg was so tired, everything that his life had given him he had taken, but this, all of this, it was just too much. It wore away at what he had left of a soul.
"Fucking bastard," he muttered. It was more out of instinct than anything else, but what did he expect? He only hoped that was not entirely a man of his word and would be brought beyond that inch of his life. But then again, Greg wasn't sure what he wanted all he felt was that pain shooting through him like his existence was slipping away. Try as he might to fight back he knew he didn't have it in him, if anything the struggle was probably just making the meal tastier.