DD1 ASC - Chapter 23 - Humility

Getting ready to meet the other adventurers at dawn required waking up at a truly ungodly hour. The only silver lining was that [Alternate Form] had levelled up to 38 during the night, giving Typhoeus a welcome System message to wake up to. The pair threw on their gear by his golden magelight. Typhoeus took only a few seconds to put on his underwear and dress whereas Arilla needed much longer, his warrior requiring help buckling and belting her mail coat over her increasingly worn adventuring clothes.

They were out of the Huntsman's Rest before breakfast, the runes on Arilla's long zweihander now obscured by a strip of dark fabric taken from Myorik’s old shirt, the same one that had initially been donated to clothe a once-naked Typhoeus. The six-foot-long sword caught on the door frame as they made their hasty exit, but aside from that, they had no trouble leaving the premises. They walked to the guild as the very beginnings of daylight were making themselves known, the sun slowly cresting over the peaks of the Dragonspines to the west, casting long shadows that crept across the narrow streets of Rhelea. The working classes, maids, servants, craftsmen and the rest were currently the only people on the roads, keen to get to their places of work before the day truly started.

Arriving at the Guild, they were both surprised to see that they had somehow managed to be late despite getting there before dawn. Four groups of low-level adventurers, all level 5 with the exception of one level 6 mage, were gathered outside waiting impatiently with heavy looking backpacks laden down with weapons and camping supplies strapped to their backs. Typhoeus and Arilla, with their one haversack between them and a rolled up sleeping bag, looked woefully underprepared by comparison.

In a word, Typhoeus would describe the assembled groups as ‘nondescript’. From their tagged classes, he could see the usual array of well-armed individuals in distinct teams approaching the idealised warrior, rogue, ranger, mage, healer composition. There was some variation as there was Galen's team which lacked a rogue and only one other group that had a healer, with another team completely lacking in spellcasters altogether, consisting solely of warriors. Although, from how they were each outfitted, it seemed abundantly clear that they covered a variety of combat roles. Out of place amongst the gathered groups was the unfortunately familiar presence of the level 112 knight that Typhoeus recognised by both his smell and level as Sir Lothain, who was presumably there to ensure that no harm came to his noble charge.

Amidst the pack waiting by the steps was a level 53 ranger who had previously been talking to the leader of the all-warrior group. Noticing Typhoeus and Arilla, she quickly brought her conversation to a close and hastily climbed the front steps of the Guild, standing tall in front of the main entrance as she began her greeting.

The ranger appeared to be in her early thirties, although Typhoeus knew that she was likely significantly older, judging from how she held herself with the caution of a woman who had seen countless battles. She was a severe-looking woman, handsome in her own way with cool grey eyes that seemed to be constantly searching the area for hidden threats. Her mouth had the beginnings of smile lines that her presumably high vitality score hadn’t been able to completely erase. If it weren’t for the forced nature of his attendance, then Typhoeus would likely be more interested in getting to know her solely based on the interesting collection of rare metals that she had forged into the arrowheads deep within the leather quiver tied to her back.

"Good, now that we are all here, I can finally begin. First off, I would like to congratulate all of you on graduating from the Guild’s arduous training regimen,” she said, pausing as her eyes lingered on Lothain, Typhoeus and Arilla before swiftly moving on. “As I was saying, you came to us as unclassed civilians and have since earned your starting classes, ranked them up, and proved to your tutors that you are ready to go out into Creation as adventurers. Our levels may be different, but on this day I would like to greet you not as ‘Instructor Arden’ but as a kindred adventurer. Ours is a dangerous profession and, contrary to what you may believe, before high pewter, not a particularly profitable one, especially for those of you who lack a healer on your team.”

“But our work is vital, protecting humanity from the rampaging monsters that seek to do us harm, and extracting the Gods-given wealth from high mana regions like the Dragonspines that our country depends upon to keep the wheels of our economy turning. Do not forget that our species stands alone, beset on all sides from monstrous threats from within our borders and without. Every year seasonal goblin raids take our children, dire animals terrorise our farmers, and monstrous behemoths lay siege to our homes. Let us not forget that a single dragon once took an entire city, not two weeks to the north from here. Terythia is the frontier, and you are its sword and shield, so take your role seriously and don’t fuck it up!”

“Now with that said, we are setting off for a tamed dungeon two days’ walk from here in the southeastern foothills of the Dragonspines. Once there, each team will delve deep into the dungeon in a race to reach the core, collecting trophies from the monsters you slay along the way. You will be judged on how quickly you make it to the main chamber and also by the trophies that you manage to collect, so take this time travelling through the hills to familiarise yourself with your assigned teams. You may have noticed that the knight Sir Lothain will be accompanying us on this expedition. Now while I know he is by now quite familiar to all of you, I must reiterate he is not here for your protection; he has a very specific duty and is oathbound not to interfere unless his charge’s life is in serious danger.”

“Travelling through the Dragonspines is dangerous. Even the periphery will take us near dozens of wild dungeons. If we get too close to one it might feel threatened and send its monsters out to defend itself, which is why we will be taking a circuitous route to the dungeon known only to myself, guild officials and previous graduates who have already gone on this expedition.”

“While tamed, this dungeon is still a violent thing. It is by no means safe inside, and you will be tested in combat. You have trained for this and been judged by your instructors as ready, but if, for any reason, you feel like backing out, now is the time. Are there any questions?" she asked, bringing her clearly rehearsed speech to an end with a searching look that roamed over the crowd of novice adventurers.

Hands shot up, and Instructor Arden took her time deciding who to call upon. There were questions, a lot of them, largely focused on the levels of the creatures that they would be expected to face, the nature of a ‘tamed dungeon’, and most surprisingly to Typhoeus, how their scores would translate into future employment opportunities. Apparently several organisations and associations within Rhelea had started to use the grades of this trip to select the more competent adventurers to recruit into their ranks.

The questions and answers were largely irrelevant to Typhoeus. However, he did have to stop himself from audibly scoffing whenever Instructor Arden gave out an answer that he vehemently disagreed with. Predictably the one to break the tedium of the incessant questions was Galen, the blonde haired noble extending an arm to single out Typhoeus and Arilla as he asked his pointed question.

"Why are they here?"

"Ah yes, Typh and Arilla, would you please step forwards?” Instructor Arden asked. The pair quickly shared a look of unease with one another before stepping forwards from the crowd and into the open space between the other adventurers and the foot of the stairs. “Would you two please tell the others how you made it to level 5?”

Turned in notices were made public by the Guild in what was supposed to be a bid to encourage healthy competition, but more often than not they led to ill-prepared adventures getting themselves killed as they tried to constantly outperform each other. Given that, the idea that Typhoeus needed any kind of introduction was farcical, and they all knew it; after maiming Boscoe Red Axe with his flaming aura, he was probably the most well-known adventurer in Rhelea under level 20. And regardless of whether or not the adventuring rolls had been updated to account for their ‘erroneous’ bounty, anyone who cared to look would be well aware that Typhoeus and Arilla had gained their levels by killing a large number of goblins.

He opened his mouth to speak but swallowed instead, his mouth going dry as he felt himself begin to suffocate under the combined gazes of the gathered adventurers. He thought about how fragile his human form was, and he imagined them turning on him, his brown scaleless flesh being torn apart by a swarm of swords and spells. The threat wasn’t real, and even if it was, he knew that he could easily handle it, but the potential of being exposed was there, and his anxiety refused to let him move past it.

“We killed goblins, a lot of them,” Arilla said curtly, saving Typhoeus as everyone’s attention shifted to the red headed warrior.

“Good, and can you tell me the three most common monsters in the foothills?” Aren asked the question coming in soon after the warrior’s answer.

“No,” Arilla responded just as quickly.

“What about how to gauge the rank of a dungeon without stepping foot inside of it?”

“No.”

“How to tell when you’re in a dire bear’s hunting territory?”

“No.”

“The easiest way to kill a hippogriff or harpy?”

“No.”

“And that is why they are with us,” Arden said, turning her attention back to the others, who were already muttering amongst themselves as they cast disparaging glances at Typhoeus and Arilla. “It was decided that it would be a tragic waste of talent to allow them to continue as they were and get themselves killed by making a fatal novice mistake.”

“Now, as they have not had the same benefit of the Guild’s tutelage that you have, I hope that you will all take this opportunity to impart some of your hard-earned knowledge upon them,” she said condescendingly.

Typhoeus strongly doubted that the woman believed any of what she had just said, but he could read between the lines. He knew they were here to be humbled and that Arilla’s demeaning little interrogation was just the first of the many humiliations to come over the coming days.

A few more questions were asked and answered before they finally set off towards Rhelea's western gates. The train of clay rank adventures moved interminably slowly by Typhoeus's standards as they first walked through the town’s streets and then somehow even slower as they began their march across the untamed wilderness. The convoy spread out over time, only occasionally bunching up due to obstacles along the uneven terrain, the individual adventuring groups functioning for the most part like small social cliques with very little interaction between them that wasn't facilitated by their ranger guide.

As they walked further into the wilds, Typhoeus found himself growing nostalgic for his old—now abandoned—lair. He knew the area well, the region having once been a part of his vast hunting grounds, and he wondered for the first time what would happen to the local inhabitants now that he wasn't there to prey upon them. Everything looked so much bigger from down on the ground. While admittedly his [Alternate Form] was small even by human standards, the act of painstakingly walking across a region he would usually fly across in minutes gave him a new respect for the land that he didn't have before. He had always seen his time in the foothills as a punishment for his failures as a dragon, and with the peaks of the Dragonspines looming ever-present in the distance like the menacing teeth of some kind of colossal monster, it had been hard for him not to forget what he had lost. But the territories that he once thought of as small and insignificant seemed so much more substantial now that it took him hours to cross them. The sweeping hills and vistas that dominated the landscape for as far as he could see looked majestic and wild. The potential for conflict with hidden creatures seemingly behind every rocky outcropping or ravine gave the area an air of mystery that it simply lacked when seen from hundreds of feet above the ground.

Since leaving the Guildhall, Typhoeus had taken to keeping his aura extended a couple of inches all over his body, with the maximum of 50 mana stored in it through [Warcaster’s Reservoir] to fuel a weak defensive ward that should protect him from any surprise attacks. It was doubtful that with his high-levelled perception skill he would ever be surprised. But he found that it made his near-constant anxiety fade into the background somewhat.

While Typhoeus would much rather not be on this expedition, he was glad that he had disclosed his skill with aura to the local adventuring community, as already he could feel half a dozen dungeons scrabbling against the warded edge of his aura. He was in no danger of succumbing to their control. With his 82 charisma, only the stronger dungeons of the Dragonspines could potentially influence him. The youthful fumblings of the cores in the foothills were nothing more than an annoyance, but feeling them scratch against his aura was infinitely better than hearing their insidious, and repetitive whispers in his ears.

As they walked, Typhoeus tried to think of tasks for Arilla to do, specifically so that she could continue to level [Sworn Service]. From everything they had managed to glean, it didn't look like they were set out to make any money from this expedition. Apparently, the levels and Guild grading was payment enough for the other adventurers to waste their time on this outing, however Typhoeus was uninterested in everything on offer. Instead, he simply wanted to get the Guild off of his back so that he could get back to steadily levelling in peace with Arilla.

They had been marching for most of the day, although given the uneven terrain and a lack of any kind of path it would be more accurate to call it a hike through the foothills. Despite taking the circuitous route to avoid provoking the wild dungeons in the area, they still encountered a large number of free-willed roaming monsters. If it was over level 10 Instructor Arden took care of it with a pinpoint accurate shot from her bow, but for everything below that threshold the different adventuring teams took turns to fight it, the remaining adventurers watching the impromptu monster duels with rapt attention as they studiously observed their competition.

On the whole, the adventurers weren't all that impressive. Individually they fought with a decent amount of skill and precision, their class skills seeming to provide them with the extra edge needed to see them through with minimal injuries. Injuries that the two low levelled healers amongst them were more than capable of healing, but if Typhoeus had to level one criticism at them it was that they had yet to cultivate a killer's instinct. Even outnumbering their foes five to one they seemed unsure of themselves; they frequently hesitated, overthinking their battle tactics and formations against creatures that realistically posed little to no threat against them.

Naturally, when it came to be their turn they were last. Being faced with the most unpleasant of beasts to kill, those with levels so low it was hardly worth the effort, creatures like slimes or carrion hounds that were more unpleasant than challenging to kill. Each time they were called up, Typhoeus instructed Arilla to take it on by herself in an effort to get [Sworn Service] to finally level up to 5, the powerful attribute-boosting skill lagging behind her other, level-capped, class skills.

Arilla turned to face the ratling that they had been tasked to kill next while Typhoeus stood well back to both observe and to provide overwatch for her should it prove necessary. He was too fearful of arousing the groups’ suspicions to cast anything more complex than a warbling manabolt. Arilla smoothly drew her massive zweihander from its leather sheath on her back, rocking forwards slightly at the abrupt change in her centre of gravity. Typhoeus watched the vicious smile grow on her face as she anticipated the coming violence, the woman likely feeling no moral compunctions about killing the sapient creature standing across from her. It was unpleasant for him to watch but it served as an important reminder to him that for all her merits, Arilla was still a human. Someone who had been indoctrinated from birth to view all nonhumans as monsters to be killed for their experience.

In general, ratlings were no larger or smaller than humans of comparable age, but their tendency to hunch their more elastic spines forwards made them seem substantially shorter than they actually were. They followed the same general body shape of a human except they had the features of a rat; thick fur, digitigrade feet ending in claws, a long scaly tail and an almost exact copy of a rat's head if you ignored the obvious differences in size. It was armed with a curved sword and armoured in strips of leather and rusty mail that had likely been looted years ago judging from its condition. Ratlings were no dumber than humans, although they were more obviously beholden to their animalistic instincts, their society forming a strict caste-based hierarchy where larger and more magically talented individuals reaped the rewards of their societal lessers’ labour. Given their preference for living underground and their general disdain for the lower castes of their own species, it wasn't uncommon for their leaders to negotiate with dungeon cores. Forming symbiotic relationships where the dungeon grew to better accommodate their needs, the ratlings’ leadership caste would 'gift' the dungeon with their lower classes, providing it with ample mind-slaved thralls.

This ratling looked scared. It was no idiot, and it likely knew even if it somehow killed the adventurer in front of it, then the others watching from the sidelines would be chomping at the bit to finish it off. Still, it wasn't about to go down without a fight, and it drew a wicked-looking serrated cutlass, the sharp barbs of the sword stained a dark inky green by some unknown substance that was almost certainly poisonous.

It ran forwards, startling Arilla with its speed as it dropped down into a three legged gallop, holding its sword out to one side as it attempted to end the fight early with a debilitating blow. It was faster than Arilla, but not by much, and while it was undoubtedly quick on its feet it wasn't nearly fast enough to get inside the reach of her massive sword.

When she saw it charge her, Arilla swung her zweihander. Activating [Sworn Blows] as she did so, the rapidly accelerating slab of metal hit the ratling in the side of the chest, cleaving halfway through the creature’s torso before the cutting edge finally ground to a halt against bone. Not stopping there, the remaining kinetic force of the strike continued to lift the ratling off the ground and launched it through the air, spraying blood and viscera for several feet in a gory arc. It hit the ground dead, and Arilla’s vicious smile stretched wide with self-satisfaction as she approached it, using the dead creature's matted fur to wipe her blade clean before she once again slung the massive sword over her shoulder.

"Well, that was very good, but I keep telling you that you’re supposed to take it as a team. We’ve all seen that Arilla is very competent, but she can't carry you forever Typh. I know that you have good aura control and real spell forms are hard, but it's no excuse to slack off." Instructor Arden said. "Next time it’s your team’s turn to fight, you will do so without Arilla’s help."

“You can’t be serious!” Typhoeus found himself saying before he could stop himself. Already, concerned whispers amongst the other adventurers had broken out, and the two other mages in the expedition were looking especially pale as they no doubt considered finding themselves in a similar position.

“I’m deadly serious Typh. You are part of a team of two rather than five. As such, the standards you must hold yourself to are significantly higher; if Arilla can’t trust you to handle yourself then all you will achieve is dragging her down. She’d be better off as a solo adventurer or working with another party rather than partnered to a leech.” Arden said dismissively, ignoring how Arilla ground her teeth, or Typhoeus’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Typhoeus realised that in his attempts to avoid any unwanted attention whilst helping Arilla grind [Sworn Service] to level 5 that he hadn’t exactly made a great impression on the others, but even so, given the tepid performances of the other mages who could barely string together a weak manabolt he didn’t feel like he was lagging behind too much. He assumed this was another attempt to humiliate and possibly even maim him by Instructor Arden, which was something he didn’t know how he felt about. Sure he felt angry, but it wasn’t like he was in any actual danger in the foothills, even when limiting himself to the more basic uses of his aura and simple manabolts. He was handily capable of defeating anything that he could reasonably expect to see on this expedition.

Having finished chastising him, Arden moved on. Once again leading the expedition forwards while Typhoeus quietly ruminated on his feelings. They continued their torturously slow march through the foothills, fording small rivers, hiking across grassy valleys, and climbing rocky hills, their route always twisting and turning counterintuitively as they followed Instructor Arden’s esoteric directions through the monster infested wilderness.

The sun hung low in the east by the time that Typhoeus was called up to demonstrate his arcane prowess. A level 9 carrion hound had been spotted following their trail, likely feasting on the remains of the half-butchered monsters that the expedition had been leaving behind in their wake.

The oversized dog monster was a sickly green colour, matching that of the malevolent moon that was just making itself visible with the soon-to-be setting sun. Its fur was slicked down with a wet, oily sheen, but otherwise it resembled a typical canine, with the notable exception of long tentacle-like fronds extending out from where its mouth would typically be. Of course, that was a clever bit of misdirection as Typhoeus knew that those fronds were far deadlier than any bite. Each one of them was covered in thousands of tiny needles that secreted a powerful flesh-eating acid into its victim. It was not a particularly fast or strong creature, as its entire survival strategy largely revolved around being so foul-smelling and tasting that no sane creature would ever attempt to eat it. And If Typhoeus wasn’t practically dangled in front of it like a piece of low levelled appetising bait, then he knew that it was much more likely to flee than try to fight him.

He readied himself as the carrion hound loped towards him in a surprisingly graceful run. The other adventurers had lured the beast into seeing him as a potential meal by the simple act of standing well back atop a nearby hill, with Typhoeus waiting for the monster at the bottom. He looked uneasily towards Arden and the others standing far up the slope, the woman's bow already notched with an arrow and ready to ‘save’ him should it prove necessary. Arilla was standing by the ranger’s side, his warrior’s white-knuckled grip on her heavy sword telling him everything he needed to know about her state of mind as she practically radiated tension outwards.

His nose wrinkled in disgust, he could smell the creature now without [Sovereign’s Perception] enhancing his senses, and its namesake really undersold the putrid stench. There was a skill at work there and he knew it, his high vitality allowing him to push past its noxious smell as he raised his hand ready to cast a manabolt and be done with this farce.

Of course, he realised then that he could only push past the nauseating scent because of the stats that he wasn't supposed to have. Forget dialling down the power of his spells; to avoid suspicion he would have to feign nausea, something that given his current circumstances, wasn't particularly hard. Without having Arilla standing beside him to give him strength he could feel the eyes of the 21 adventurers boring into him. They weren't distracted by his glittery dress or staring at his tits or ass. Instead they were watching his every movement, studying his posture and spellcasting for any trick to be emulated or flaw to be avoided.

He had felt this way before since assuming his ‘Typh’ persona, the rising panic seemingly originating from his own fears of exposure and vulnerability, but this time it was much more extreme. He felt his heart thundering in his chest. His human body suddenly felt so frail and constraining. He clenched his eyes shut as he tried to ground himself against his fears as a wave of very real nausea pushed bile to rise up into his throat and he yearned to fly free as only a true dragon could. He couldn't breathe, the mounting pressure in his chest increased with every frantic beat of his frail human heart. He felt dizziness overcome him as stars swam across his vision; he bent over at the waist and spewed the contents of his stomach onto the ground. It was all too much for him, the stench of the beast, the eyes on his back, the lie of his ill-fitting body.

He opened his eyes to once again focus on the here and now and was surprised to see his transparent crystalline tears slowly fall through the air into the spreading pool of vomit covering his brown leather boots. The stench of the beast was almost overpowering as he struggled to fill his weak human lungs with the rancid air.

"Typh!" He heard a scream. Arilla's scream. He snapped back to the present almost a heartbeat before he felt a mass of sharply pointed tendrils grind up against his aura.The magical field extending from his skin momentarily was made solid by the wards that he had carefully applied throughout it. A massive weight hit him in the side, bowling him over, the force of the impact causing him to roll for several feet over sharp rocks and loose sandy soil, inevitably ending up with the carrion hound on top of him.

The creature's needle-covered tendrils continued to push and grind against his aura aggressively, scoring a cascade of golden sparks as the air shimmered over his neck where the mana supply in his aura drained to deplete the force behind the beast's attacks. A mana supply that was draining precipitously fast as the carrion hound also tried to tear him apart with its sharp foreclaws.

The hound out-massed him by at least a hundred pounds and try as he might to push it off of him with his underdeveloped muscles, it was never going to happen. Rancid oils dripped from the beast, pooling atop his hardened aura and draining even more mana. He hastily switched to feeding his aura directly from his reserves instead, bypassing his [Warcaster’s Reservoir] skill entirely.

With his skill urging him on, Typhoeus succumbed to instinct in that moment. [Sovereign's Aura] ballooning out to fully encompass the creature as he willed it to burn. What had remained of the original 50 mana he had stored in his aura courtesy of [Warcaster’s Reservoir] was consumed in an instant. His hungry skill drinking deeply on his mana supply as the creature and the very ground around him burst into flames. The oils in the carrion hound’s fur ignited in a fiery blaze as it tried to roar in pain but the superheated air crumpled the delicate tissues of its lungs and it died silently screaming. A shining arrow ripped through its head, sparing the hound a few moments of protracted agony as presumably Arden executed it from afar, but it was too late.

While the magical fires from his aura did not harm him, the natural flames from the combusting creature was another story entirely. In his haste, he had neglected to pay attention to the flammable oils pooling on his chest, and when he willed his aura to burn the carrion hound it had ceased shielding his body from physical harm. The oils hanging suspended in the air above him splashed down all at once, coating him in the vile creature’s natural fluids, which immediately caught fire as they were ignited by the burning beast above. Burning oils and melted fats continued to steadily trickle down from the flaming creature as it collapsed on top of him, burning through his skin and fabric alike while  pinned beneath the fiery mass of charred monster flesh.

*Congratulations, you have slain a level 9 Carrion Hound, experience is awarded.*

His moment of triumph was quickly forgotten as searing pain threatened to overwhelm him as he burned. His natural resistance to fire was tied to his true body and was not something that his [Alternate Form] shared. He was burning to death. It was a shocking realisation for him to make, and he felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the countless adventurers who had suffered the same fate beneath his draconic breath. He cut the flow of mana to his aura, feeling much of the heat dissipate away from him, but it didn’t matter as his magical flames had never touched him; instead, he was being immolated by the self-sustaining fire originating from the flaming monster corpse on top of him.

Health points usually acted as a buffer between damage being dealt and the wound actually impacting the body, allowing anyone with a high enough vitality score to push through stab wounds, monster bites or fireballs to the face. As a dragon who had fought off countless adventurer bands he had thought that he had already experienced every injury imaginable, but he had never before been set on fire as every sovereign dragon was born with a natural resistance to flames. Something which he now desperately wished his [Alternate Form] shared too as for the first time in his life he experienced the pain of being burnt alive.

He felt his health plummet as the still burning fires vastly outstripped his HP’s ability to mitigate the damage that was being done to his body. Only through the massive amounts of adrenaline pumping through his veins did he get some small amount of much needed clarity about his situation. He realised that if he didn’t do something soon about the fire, then he was going to die. He willed his aura to flare again, to alter the temperature of the air around him, but this time he went the other way, trying to convert the burning flames into icy air. It was a far less efficient conversion than fire or force, ice being an aspect that conflicted with his particular draconic species, but he had the mana to spare, so the temperature plummeted as he spent hundreds of mana to quench the flames currently covering his body.

The fires died and Typhoeus tried to stand, rolling the dead weight off of him, now much lighter from having been burned. While his HP wasn’t all that low he was already despairing at the severe burns all along the front half of his body. His mundane sight was gone, burned away by the fire, but [Sovereign’s Perception] gave him no such reprieve as he was forced to confront the visceral sight of what he had done to his human form. He wobbled on his two tiny feet, not for the first time cursing how top-heavy his body was as he tried to power through the unsettling sense of loss that he knew to only be temporary.

“This isn’t a real body. It’s just a skill.” His attempt to calm himself failed as the words simply didn’t come out. Something important was broken in his throat, making his speech more closely resemble the sounds of a ragged exhale.

"I've got you, don’t worry," Arilla said, her arms coming from behind him to scoop him up. He saw rather than felt the ground pull away from him, the nerves in his body either burnt away or too overwhelmed to register anything but pain, but he trusted his sworn sword to protect him, and so he let the darkness take him.