117 The Start

The panting lessened; their faces remained shocked. Avon and Achilles watched though hesitance to ask what happened loomed overhead. It felt awkward and disrespectful. Rushing inside the room was instinctual, a cry from a friend. A cry that anyone would answer for unless said person wasn't of any importance. Staxius's dazed state remained, the ability to recognize the people standing near the door disappeared. The pain; one that plagued even after the symbol finished engraving itself – had fully muted his senses. This went beyond what Dark-arts could muffle, that artificial element helped. It helped when the user got injured, the pain wasn't a concern. A stab felt like a mosquito bite, thus the reason for the calm and composed demeanor. Injuries and pain were foreign until now, it ached. He wailed and yelled; the only thing to come out was but the shortness of air.