Drew Off- Poison

Drew didn’t move, hand and wrist stump holding his waist, horrified eyes still trained on the body that hung from the wall by chain and blade. Vega reached down, taking the youth’s hand, attempting to haul him to his feet. His own face drained of color. There it was. Stuck in the lad’s stomach was one of Scorpio’s spines, its bloody base standing proud from Drew’s flesh, its poisonous tip buried deep in his guts.
...
Vega’s concerned face confirmed what Drew already knew: Scorpio had won, even in death. Drew’s skin had a horrid, gray pallor, slick with sweat. It had been an hour since he had last been sick, but he knew another bout of vomiting was on its way soon enough. How was there anything still left in his stomach? I fear the next time I heave it’ll be my intestines coming up. The wound in his guts itched within and without, the flesh yellow and puckered, refusing to heal. In spite of his injury, he had to continue, could not let his men see just how ill he had become.

B6 P2 C2-C6