Jaeger feels that sentiment completely. They'd known that the fight would be intense, but he tastes blood in his mouth, the skin of his chest and arm are fire, and he is just so incredibly done with this shit.

But the job's not finished yet, and they have to be thorough. Jaeger sucks in a breath full of smoke and dust, and then starts to cough, a rough and pained sound that brings up crimson into his hand. Something in his chest feels like broken glass, and he doesn't have to be a genius to guess that he's pushed too hard, damaged something inside.

Not good, but it passes after a minute. He wipes the blood off on his slacks, and narrows his eyes at the remains.

"There were sandbags at one of the booths further down. Sand or sawdust. That might work? We may not have much time."

And yet, amid all the pain and fatigue and what might be the first faint chiming of shock through his bones, there's elation, too- the satisfaction of dispatching their prey, of a Hunt completed. All that's left now is the bones.

"Otherwise, we might have to get creative with the burial."