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Is this a good fight scene
The constant, rhythmic churning was the only reality Cynthia had known for what felt like an eternity. Time had lost all meaning inside the Seviper’s gut. It was measured in heartbeats—the slow, powerful thump-thump of the serpent’s heart vibrating through the fluid and flesh surrounding her—and in the gradual, inexorable softening of her own body. The searing, acidic burn had subsided into a deep, pervasive ache, a chemical numbness that told her her nerve endings were dying. Her skin felt raw, slick, and terribly sensitive where it wasn’t already dissolving.
Her once-elegant lingerie, a delicate lace and silk set, had proven surprisingly resilient. The straps had melted away, but the main garments clung to her like a second skin, themselves partially digested and fused to her in a sodden, acidic paste. They were all that remained of her identity, along with the cold, heavy weight of her family necklace pressing into her sternum. She was curled in a tight fetal position, her arms pinned agonizingly behind her back, wrists pressed deep into the spongy, convulsing stomach wall. Every slow compression forced a trickle of thick, warm digestive sludge into her nose and mouth. She’d long stopped trying to spit it out.
…so hot… can’t move… Dawn… I’m so sorry…
Her thoughts were sluggish, syrupy with despair. The initial torrent of terror had boiled down to a simmering, hopeless dread. Aldith’s words echoed in the dark. A week. You have a week. How long had it been? A day? Two? The cycle of pain, crushing pressure, and semi-consciousness was endless.
Suddenly, the universe around her shifted. The Seviper’s massive body moved, a slow uncoiling that sent currents through the stomach fluids. Cynthia’s body slid forward, pressing harder against the anterior wall. Muffled sounds from the outside world filtered through the layers of muscle and scale—voices.
“…put up quite the fight, my beauty. But then, they always do.”
Aldith’s voice.
