Apply Standard Disclaimers Here
This is it, the words he repeated to himself over and over again as he lay immobile on the ground, lay pathetically in a pool of his own blood, drained of hope, drained of will--- completely giving up on living. His sensitive ears caught the sound of fleeting voices, enraged voices, piercing his chest and setting to panic his mind. He trembled, struggled heavily to open his eyes and fought to see through the drape of wet dark hair, but found all his effort futile because it was all a blur.
He took a breath and immediately choked, coughing blood as he battled to keep his eyes open, managing this by means of grinding will and trained instinct. The voices became louder and with them he felt the ground quake, quake as though an army was stomping, charging towards him, ready to butcher him. He was prompted to move, at least attempt to, in a final effort to survive, to live.
He clenched his hand, clawed at the rocky ground, ignored the blood seeping from beneath his nails and focused on curbing the excruciating pain brought upon by his open, gaping wounds, broken bones--- brought upon the pain grasp of his coming, inevitable death. A growl escaped his lips as finally he lifts his frail body... slowly, with both hands, teeth gritted and eyes shut, he forced himself to kneel, however barely.
Maybe, just maybe...
He could make it.
Quickly, he turned, towards the source of that voice and saw spiraling towards him a flurry spears; the growing determination within him died, smothered to silence and submission by the mere sight of that barrage of sharp, possibly poison-dipped, spears: a promise of a most unpleasant demise. He kept his eyes open, braced himself for the/more pain to come, bravely facing head on his death--- accepting, yielding, embracing death.
But inches from him, ghostly brushing upon his mortal existence, the spears cease, held suspended in the air before disintegrating into nothingness. A chorused gasp, both from the army and the dying one, echoed, giving birth to a hush that consumed the entirety; and this silence was broken by a sharp gust of wind, one that seemed to have a song laced within its blank whispers.
A figure now stood between them: a cloaked, hooded figure void of identity.
The stranger glanced at him and try he did but he failed to see his rescuer's face, much less his rescuer's eyes--- completely left naive of the very character of this ambiguous individual.
From behind them, the throng of attackers recovered from their shock and hurled a second wave of spears, directed at them both. The stranger whipped around and the process repeats, much to the astonishment of all present. Then with a final glance, the stranger turned back to him and kneeled before him. "I'll help you."
From the sound of the voice he knew his savior was male although that does little to ease his suspicion; but he set his doubt and natural distrust aside--- put to priority his survival, his life and with a nod, he concured. "I am in your debt, stranger," he whispered weakly, "thank you."
Before the stranger could respond, an eruption that came forth from behind them violently, roughly flung them away from each other.
Hee woke, having been rid of consciousness briefly and saw before him the stranger standing across from another figure. Words were exchanged but they were incoherent to him, they were but dull inaudible utterance to his fluctuating state of what could still be called: living. A pause between all: amongst him, the long forgotten army and lastly, a pause amongst the two strangers.
His rescuer yelled: "LOOK OUT!!!"
And then another explosion.