I couldn't feel nothin'.

  I wasn't asleep or knocked out. I just plain couldn't feel anything below my aching head. I could hear the stone crumbling and the clamor of scarred people all around. Shovin', shouting, running into the dark. But I couldn't see or feel a damn thing.

  The wyrm's roars faded. Replaced by the collapse of something impossibly heavy up above.

  "Oh my god," said a women nearby, her voice muffled by the blood in my ears, "he's dead. They're both dead... And now we're trapped."

  No.

  It was a silent shout. A scream in the darkness of my mind as I tried to move.

  I ain’t dead. Get me that elixir in my belt I'm just hurt! Please! I ain't ready to die! I-

  "Listen up," came the cool smoke of Miss Lottie, "Professor Clarke and Mister Roche made a brave sacrifice for us all. We need to honor that by keeping our heads and getting through this tragedy. Mister Munt, can you use your earth magic to dig us out?"

  Someone answered.

  A man, distant, weak. I didn't care.

  They wrote me off. No one even came to check. I was crumpled in a corner somewhere, probably broken all to shit. They were going to leave me.

  I tried desperately to move my mutated arms, surely they defied whatever severed connection had done me like this.

  Nothing. Just a tingle where my shoulders should be and a tug of lifeforce as Ice-Cold Blood struggled to fix somethin’ clearly beyond it.

  Did I deserve this? Was slow death, forgotten in the dark some penance for all the sin I had done?

  No!

  No, fuck. That. I don't care! I want to live!

  I screamed. In the darkness, I screamed, and screamed. But sound never came.

  Hours passed and what little picture of the world I had, faded as my mind began to fail. Still my Ability worked, but it only seemed to draw the numb agony, the deep dark terror out and out.

  I wouldn't bleedin' to death, I couldn't anymore. I had chosen that. Still I tasted blood in my mouth. It disappeared as soon as it went on down my throat. Even the cool, damp air on my cheek never seemed to touch below my neck.

  It was broke. And the realization made me...

  Just give up.

  Turns out it just took a few hours with that great Pale Ride to break my wild spirit. Old Lorcan was brave, til death come for him. Then he broke like a child.

  At some point my screams became sobs, my rage turned to resignation and despair. Eventually the darkness overtook the last of me... And I think I slept.

  Oblivion at last.

  "-on. I'm going to get his gun at least," spoke the voice of a ruby scaled angel. I could hear tiny claws rifling through my jacket pockets, struggling with the button on my holster.

  I had to get her attention. I had to do something before I really was left for dead.

  So, I tried. I tried with everything in me, and I found a spark, a spark of the fire I thought I had lost. I threw all my hate, and hope, and all the rest, all of it right in. I kindled that little flame until it grew into a raging fire, and I let it loose.

  It was a roar. A wordless, primal, scream of pure will.

  "Eh-" I called, quiet. Short. But there.

  "Oh fuck," said a woman's voice, high and afraid, "oh fuck, oh fuck, oohhh gods- He's alive! How?! Holy mother of-"

  "Hey, can you hear me?" Shorty asked, her breath so close I could smell the smoke on her. Her voice was steady, calm, but the tremor in her hand as she brushed my face betrayed her, "Can you see? Shit. Yollotli, get Laticia I need her help right now! His neck is-"

  A wet wretch follow the sound of my coat collar being drawn down.

  The acrid smell of puke.

  That's okay. I think I'm now in love with you anyway Shorty. Don't care if you just got sick on me.

  "Oh gods the bone is out. Can you," a barely held back sob, "can you help? He has the elixir I gave him but..."

  "Move," said an older explorer I didn’t know, all calculation and hard-earned iron, "let me have a look."

  I felt a warm hand on my face, the other on the back of my skull.

  Joy. Hope.

  "Mister Roche. If you are conscious I want to prepare you for what will shorty come. Your neck is broken, along with most of the rest of the bones in your body. An elixir can fix this, but I will have to manually guide them as they heal. This will be very painful, once the nerve connection in your spine is restored. Do you understand?"

  Her voice was velvet and iron, so strong and sure. Her accent, a posh Imperial clip.

  All I could manage was a pained whimper. A speech considerin’ how bad off I was.

  "I'll take that as a yes. Xoxoctic, help me here. I'm going to hold him in place, you're going to pour the elixir topically and then administer a portion orally, understand?"

  "Uh... I'll try," Shorty replied, the fear in her voice at once making me terrified and glad, "how though... I mean, look at him. He's a wreck."

  "Not all Patrons are created equally. Mister Roche's seems to have granted him a power vitality boon."

  Glad to hear Ice-Cold Blood was bona fide, but can you both shut the fuck up and fix me?!

  There was a soft pop, a hiss of escaping gas. Then-

  I got struck by lightning once. My daddy had forgot one of our dogs chained to a tree in a storm. Being the boy I was, lover of animals and that, I went to fetch him. Just as I touched the lead to get him off the collar, lightning struck.

  This was just like that.

  Except, it wasn't a scarred dog doing the hollerin'.

  The pain was excruciating, but it was a living pain, sanguine in it's hurt. I could feel the bones in my neck snap back into place, guided with care. I choked on the splash of foul tasting green that Shorty poured into the back of my throat. Then choked some more as she made damn sure I didn’t spit a drop up.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  And then I came back. Over the course of what felt like days, I was knit together with magic. Flesh re-grew, pink and thin, and all the feelin’ with it.

  Each sensation a new and fascinatin' brand of agony.

  But magical healing has a cost and limits. An elixir could save your life, save you from even a bullet to the heart if one acted quick, but it was a good gust of power. There then gone. Biomancy and Divine healing meanwhile was often more endurin’. Focus on fixin’ the real harm, not just the hurt.

  By the time the girls were done, and I was in something like one piece, I felt like I'd gone ten rounds with an ogre. Every ounce of fat on my skinny frame was burned away. My face was hollow and I had the shakes something awful.

  It was Shorty that did the feeding. She nursed me as all the others around set to various tasks.

  Miss Lottie was leadin' them. Order to move this, reinforce that. Keep the fire lit and watch the dark beyond. It was the voice of a military commander, a tactician, a general. An angel of battle and grace.

  I was drunk on hope, swaying between joy and nonsense.

  In that state I swore right that I'd keep her safe no matter what. I'd make a pact with the devil to save Miss Lottie's life.

  And Shorty?

  My little red angel. I guess. I owe you Shorty, a debt I will repay.

  Black.

  "Gah!" I awoke with a ragged breath. Pain cut the heavy haze of sleep, and the first thing I saw was-

  Shorty. Her face, so close to mine.

  "I love you." I blurted, still lost in that other dream. Just alive enough to fell sick, and very confused.

  She recoiled, alarm writ across her face.

  "Lottie! He's awake but I think he has brain damage. Can you come?"

  I felt a soft, warm body leave my side and the chill that came after made me ache.

  My pint sized nurse was replaced by a tall, dark and lovely figure.

  "Roche," Miss Lottie's voice was like the song of angels, "can you hear me?"

  "I can. There's still blood in my ears but," I coughed and immediately regretted it. Pain in my chest, the ribs not all perfectly knit back together, "but I can hear fine. Can you move so I can propose to Miss Shorty?"

  The woman frowned, "Mister Roche. You've been asleep nearly a day. It's very clear you're still delirious, and now I'm worried about our air supply down here."

  "A day?" I croaked, "and we're still not out?"

  Lottie frowned, her dark lips a tight line, "We're trapped in a space with one entrance. That we know of. The entire statue edifice and most of the support cliff has collapsed. A few of the others have been working at it with earth magic but..."

  "But?"

  "It's not looking good. I had hope the Professor might be working from the other side as well, however, I suspect he is dead."

  I frowned, "You can't know that."

  If Clarke was dead, then so was Moxie. A thought I would never entertain. Not until I saw two picked over corpses in the desert sand.

  Lottie sighed, "He hasn't responded to any divination. His magical signature has not been detected."

  "I told you this place is shielded," Shorty cut in and knelt beside us both, soup and spoon in hand, "just like I told you something bad was going to happen," Shorty gave her a hard look, yellow eyes narrowed, "you didn't listen."

  "I didn't," Miss Lottie replied, and I heard the strain in her voice for the first time, "I should have. But that admission does not serve us in the slightest. We need an alternate exit, and for that... We need you, Mister Roche."

  "Wait, wait, wait," I shook my head, slowly, and carefully. It popped and clicked, "I just got my neck and body broke, how can I possibly be the one to solve our problem? I ain't a mage, and I ain't an earth worker."

  "We know about your eye, Roche. And those strange arms. You're heavily mutated." Shorty said.

  "It's the eye that matters," Lottie clarified, "if you can see mana and the paths it travels, you can find another route through the tomb and out. There will be currents of magic leading to and from this place. All you have to do is spot them and mark the way out."

  I blinked and felt a shiver of dread run through me.

  I wanted to snap and so say no. Accuse them both of feedin' me to the wolves, call them cowards for sending a broken man into the dark...

  But what kind of fuckin' man would do any of that?

  Pride warred with plain of fear as they both looked down for my answer. Shorty was holding my gun and she had a look of desperation. Miss Lottie was all cool grace. Except, there, a tremor in her lips.

  A little too much wet in her pink eyes.

  She'd be a hell of a poker player, but I'd been livin' on the edge, reading faces and lookin' for tells since I was old enough to count cards. They were both scared, and scared of the wrong things.

  Behind them a man and a woman argued over an open canteen of water. Another man, the one with an earth magic Path, was pale, sweating and looked like death. The remains of several packed rations scattered around him.

  Mana exhaustion. No way to tell how much longer he'd be able to help dig, nor how much food would be left if he did. Near him was one of the biomancers, doin’ her best to reverse the damage he’d done to himself. Sacrificing her own strength outta the kind of goodness I scarcely knew.

  If she wasn’t careful she’d be just as spent, lifeforce burned to make mana, and that spent to save someone who was probably beyond her help.

  “I’m sorry I can’t do much,” she breathed, shadows in her eyes, and the man just as still. No. He breathed. It mattered.

  But it was still just another cost, more pressure. The tightenin’ of the rope around our necks.

  In situations like this it's often not the environment or the monsters that get you.

  It's the people.

  Something had to be done, or we'd make our own little hell down here.

  Shut up and do, Roche, why even pretend to think about it?

  "I'll go," I said, trying to sound confident and failing, "soon as I can stand, I'll go. Map it out, look for fresh air. 'Til then, you need to get a reign on these folks, start tracking the food and water. Give them work to keep their minds off of dyin'. And get that damned fire burning again." I raised a feeble arm to point to the dying ashes of the ward fire.

  "Yes," Lottie said looking at me with a touch more respect, "thank you, I will. For now," she turned to Shorty, "feed him. As much as we can spare. I'll have Laticia accelerate his recovery with her biomancy."

  Shorty nodded and took her place again beside me.

  I smiled up, "I'm afraid I don't remember much of the past day. How things been?"

  "Bad. Obviously. There's a lot of sounds coming up from the ruins. Which reminds me," she said and dug into her satchel. She pulled out a few of my things, including my pistol, "you're going to need this. And I prepared some of these the night before everything went to shit."

  She set down a handful of white hulled shotgun shells. Immediately I could see traces of Divine mana seepin' through the casing. They were etched with little sigils I somehow read.

  "Consecration, Absolution, Banishment," I muttered, and looked to Shorty, "what are these for? You expecting me to fight ghosts and demons down there?"

  She shrugged, "I'm a seer. The future is never clear. But, sometimes you get an inkling, a feeling, and when you do, you should prepare for it. I got an inkling that there might be undead in millennia old tomb constructed by a race my ancestors wiped out."

  Oh. Yeah that made sense. I'd be a liar if I didn't say I felt a shiver run down my back.

  "I also made a few of these," she said extracting a strange sphere of iron, a short wick of cord sticking out the side, "I call them tlete-coātl, fire-snakes. Light the fuse and get behind cover if you use one. Oh and, uh, make sure never to drop them. They’re not super stable yet. Early draft."

  "What is it?" I asked and reached slowly out to touch it. She batted my hand away.

  "They explode into a bunch of tiny, animated flame-constructs and metal shrapnel. Not exactly a reliable, or safe, device but, well, might save your life."

  "Or bring this whole ruin down on my head..."

  I was no expert miner but I at least knew that much. And I could tell that there were a lot of unstable rock formations around us. On top of us now, I guess.

  "Whatever. Last thing," Shorty said as she stood, "I'm going with you."

  "No-" I said and tried to sit up. Pain shot down my neck and back, but not nearly so bad as before, "no, you're stayin' I don't need you bitin' my ankles little red." I said with a little more venom than she deserved. It'd be better to have her pissed and safe than happy and in danger. Probably.

  Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't bite back. Instead she bent down and drew real close.

  Close enough that I could smell the hint of gin and herbs on her breath.

  She looked me deep in the eyes and I started feeling some kind of wa-

  Flick.

  "Ow!" I said, holding my nose as Shorty stood up, "what the fuck?!"

  "I'm going with you," she said matter of fact, "you can be a big strong man all you want, but fact is, I'm the only other person here who knows my ass from the barrel of a gun."

  She drew the hem of her blouse back to reveal my spare revolver in a holster at her hip.

  “Took it while you were out. Figured I might need it more than you. Well, just then anyway.” She gave a strained smile, guilty, but not quite guilty enough to stop her the next time she thought I was dead.

  Respect.

  I suppose then you'll be my partner for this dance into dark. I just hope your aim is as sharp as your little forked tongue.

  Because if it ain’t…

  Well, I’d do my best.

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