The cold rain stung his tired eyes as the duel-wielder slowly inches his way over to the prone form of the young cadet. Every breath of stale air burned his ash-choked lungs, but he determinedly pulls himself up and over the deep pits of Fomor sludge and calcified remains. The pain from his ruined leg was pushed into a corner of his mind as he concentrated on dragging his weight through the muck with only his arms; his Savage Leather armor set and his twin swords felt heavier than ever, but none of that mattered at the moment.

Lann was now only half a meter away from the deathly still body of the infuriating cadet that had admittedly grown on him during the past year, but his battle-worn heart skipped a terrifying beat as from his distance he could hear the slowing shallow breaths that rattled out from the blood and gore covered young man.

There was hope, albeit a tiny one; Ellis was, just barely, alive.

Once he was close enough, Lann could see the disheartening severity that had crushed the tiny spark of childish hope that painfully latched onto his soul. The gleaming tips of broken ribs peeked out from the large tears in Ellis' maroon uniform and his face was a mess of crushed bone and cartilage. The light in his usually expressive eyes was dim, but it looked even more so with the twin rings of heavy bruising all over.

Lann couldn't help but absolutely loathe the sinking feeling of the icy clutches of death coming to claim yet another dear friend. It was too soon for this heartache, his home and individuality had been wiped off the plane of existence during the darkness of night barely a year ago and now this?

Tightening his grip on Ellis' limp hand, the same hands that smothered the life out of thousands of Fomors in the name of vengeance, Lann shouted an unintelligible cry of anguish into the oppressive clouds and full moon above. In his blind rage of pain, the dual-blader grabbed a nearby white pot and flung it against a crumbling wall to the side. The pot unsatisfactorily smashed into bits of clay with a resounding crack.

He didn't stop there as he wrenched a half-buried empty glass jar out of the mud. Lann had meant to throw it with as much force as he could muster into the wreckage of burnt wood and melted fences, but in his anger he crushed the jar in his hands, sending shards of glass everywhere.

"FUCK!" The distressed scream sounded louder than it normally would in the deathly silent area; only the snaps and crackles of the ever-present fires in the background answered his cry.

The thick pieces of glass lodged themselves through the remains of his gloves and into the unprotected muscles of his hand. He watched, half-crazed from the pain, as his blood trickled down his palm and arm before dripping down to mix with the blood already pooling around Ellis' pale body. Lann's other hand squeezed harder as the cadet's already weak grip slackened even more. If he could not save him, then at least Ellis would not die alone.