Chapter 54: Blinding pain

Daren was already running.

The others were retreating with him, their hurried footsteps and Veyr’s dragging scales fading through the trees. Owen looked back, and Lena shouted something Frost couldn’t make out, but neither stopped.

"You fucking bastard!" Frost managed, trying to lift himself from the mud.

He couldn’t understand it. Even now, with the treant looming ahead and the other creature dragging itself farther from the water, he couldn’t quite believe someone had been shameless enough to do that.

He had noticed Daren’s scowls, the little snarls, and the looks of disgust whenever Frost spoke. But this!?

Was a porter’s life so insignificant to him that he could simply throw one towards the beasts and run?

Frost struggled against the straps, his fingers slipping over the wet leather as the others disappeared between the trees. Behind him, the mud moved beneath the approaching roots, and a low, hungry hiss came from the edge of the swamp.

Frost hurriedly pulled one arm free of the straps, then twisted himself, dragging the other loose.

The pack fell into the mud behind him with a heavy thud, and he stumbled forward, the sudden relief almost making him lose his balance again.

He didn’t look back at the supplies or the materials he had spent the day harvesting. He just needed to run.

He had barely taken a few steps when a shimmering triagram appeared above the treant’s body.

A long branch whipped out from its side, extending across the space between them and wrapping around his waist before he could get out of its way.

"Ack!"

The pressure drove the breath from his lungs, and his feet left the ground as it dragged him backwards.

Frost seized the branch with both hands, struggling against the rough bark while his boots scraped through the mud.

Harrowing groans rose behind him, and he turned his head just in time to see both creatures looming closer.

"No... No, let go!" he gasped, digging his fingers beneath the branch as he tried to loosen its grip. It didn’t budge, and the harder he fought, the more tightly it seemed to press against his stomach.

Another triagram flashed above the treant, and something moved at the edge of his vision. Before he could turn towards it, a sharp pain struck his right shoulder so violently that his whole body jerked.

Frost couldn’t understand what had happened for a moment. His right hand was no longer gripping the branch, and when he tried to move it, nothing responded.

"...!"

He looked down, only to realise that his arm was gone.

"Ahhhhh! Fuuuuck!"

A horrified cry tore from his throat as he stared at the bleeding stump, his mind struggling to accept what his eyes were showing him.

Then the pain truly reached him, spreading from his shoulder with such force that he couldn’t even draw a proper breath.

He clutched at the wound with his remaining hand, but blood poured between his fingers, soaking his clothes and running down his side.

It dripped onto the ground beneath him, bright red against the dark mud, and Frost’s gaze followed it helplessly.

This couldn’t be happening!

The swamp creature lunged towards the treant with a harsh, hungry groan, and the branch around Frost’s waist suddenly loosened.

He fell heavily onto his side, striking the ground, sending another burst of pain through his shoulder.

The creatures began fighting above him, the treant’s limbs crashing against the other beast’s thick body while its jaws snapped at the bark.

Frost barely registered any of it. The pain was too much, tearing through him so relentlessly that he couldn’t hold on to a single coherent thought.

He pressed his hand harder against the stump, but that hurt too, and a broken sound escaped him as he tried to move. His eyes were becoming blurry, his breathing was ragged, and he couldn’t tell whether the wetness on his face was sweat, mud, or tears.

He had to get away.

Somehow, that thought remained.

Frost rolled onto his stomach, almost choking on the cry that escaped him, then dragged himself forward with his left arm.

His fingers dug into the mud, slipping before they found enough purchase to pull his body a short distance.

He tried to bring his knees beneath him, tried to stand, but his strength seemed to be draining out of him along with the blood.

Still, he moved.

The treant had seen him trying to escape, and despite the other creature tearing at its limbs, another whipping branch swept towards him.

Frost felt the impact against his left leg, followed by a pain so terrible that the world seemed to disappear around it.

His leg gave way beneath him.

"Ahhhhh!!!"

Another horrific cry escaped his throat as he collapsed into the mud, his remaining hand clawing uselessly at the ground.

He tried to turn, tried to see what had happened, but the sight of his severed leg was more than his mind could bear. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking as blood spread beneath him.

’It hurts...’

That was all he could think.

It hurt so much that even breathing felt unbearable, and every small movement sent fresh agony through what remained of his body.

He couldn’t crawl anymore.

He couldn’t even keep his hand pressed against his shoulder properly; his fingers trembled as they slipped over the blood-soaked cloth.

He was going to die here.

His mother’s face appeared in his mind. He hadn’t found her. He hadn’t even learned whether she was alive, and now all those hopes he had been clinging to were ending in this filthy patch of mud.

There would be no rune tome, no chance to become an evolver, no day when he could finally leave the slums and begin searching for her. Everything he had struggled to keep alive within himself was slipping away, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

A ragged sob escaped him, though it barely sounded human.

’Please... I just want to die. Let it end.’

He couldn’t bear it anymore. Whatever fear he had felt at the thought of death was being swallowed by the desperate need for the pain to stop.

The sounds around him began to grow distant.

He could still hear the creatures fighting, the heavy impacts and the groans, but they seemed to be coming from somewhere far away. His body felt strangely cold beneath the pain, and when he tried to open his eyes again, the world was dark around the edges.

Someone was walking towards him.

At least, he thought someone was.

A figure moved between the trees, its shape shifting in his blurred vision, and a voice reached him through the fading noise. He couldn’t make out the words, but for some reason, he thought it might be the reaper calling to him.

Perhaps it was finally over.

His eyes closed, and everything went dark.

The man stopped beside him, looking down at the blood-soaked figure lying in the mud. Frost’s remaining hand was still weakly pressed against his shoulder, though his fingers had begun to loosen.

"How unfortunate," the man said, his rumbling voice calm despite the sight before him.

The young woman beside him frowned as she looked over Frost’s dismembered body. "Should I put him out of his misery?" she asked.

"Perhaps," the man replied. "He’ll die soon anyway if we leave him be."

A heavy crash sounded nearby, and he turned towards the two creatures, which were still struggling against each other beside the swamp.

"But first, let’s take care of those two, shall we?"

He raised a hand, and an eerily dark triagram formed before him. Its lines shimmered against the dim light beneath the trees, the sigils within it taking shape with a quiet precision that made the young woman step back.

Both creatures stopped fighting.

The treant twisted towards the man, its roots dragging through the mud, while the swamp beast pulled away from its battered limbs. Their hostility towards each other vanished as they sensed the greater threat standing before them.

They charged together.

The treant raised a heavy branch, and the other creature opened its jaws, but neither made it more than a few metres.

Their bodies began to disintegrate.

Bark, scales, roots, and flesh crumbled into black dust, breaking apart so quickly that their movements seemed to carry them out of existence.

The treant’s raised limb scattered before it could fall, and the swamp creature’s groan cut off as its head dissolved into the dark cloud spreading around it.

A moment later, nothing remained of either beast except black dust settling over the mud and water.

The man’s triagram faded, and he lowered his hand as though he had merely brushed something out of his way. He turned back towards Frost and crouched beside him.

He checked the young man’s pulse, expecting it to be faint, perhaps already slipping beyond reach. Instead, his fingers remained still for a moment, and his expression changed.

"Hmm?"

He leaned closer, checking again.

Frost’s heart was still beating powerfully.

The man looked from the wound at his shoulder to the blood beneath his severed leg, then back towards his pale face. He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Still clinging to life, are you?" he murmured, and a faint smirk appeared on his face. "Fine, then. Let’s see how long you can hold on. Your life is in your own hands."

He looked towards the young woman and held out a hand. She hesitated briefly before taking a bundle of cloth from her bag and passing it to him.

Together, they bound the wounds as best they could, pressing folded cloth against the stumps and securing it firmly enough to slow the bleeding.

It was crude work, offering little beyond a chance to keep Frost alive for a while longer, but the man continued checking his breathing as they worked.

The young woman watched the fresh blood spreading into the cloth around Frost’s shoulder, her frown deepening.

"Are we really taking him back with us, Master?" she asked softly.

The man shrugged, slipping an arm beneath Frost’s back. "Why not? Gwendolyn should easily be able to patch him up, as long as we can get him back to base."

"But base is ten leagues away, Master."

"Then we need to hurry, don’t we?"

He lifted Frost carefully, keeping his ruined body supported against him, while the young woman secured her bag and stepped closer. A triagram shimmered above the man’s body, and another flashed above hers a moment later.

Their figures flickered, then vanished between the trees in a rush of movement, leaving the abandoned pack and the blood-darkened mud beside the swamp.