Just to Fight It

The sounds that blew into his ears were hard to decipher, but they seemed to be voices. No one was calling his name, only those of the people around him. The water looked so murky and dark, but the rusty smell of blood was all over him. All the blood scents melded together that he couldn't distinguish which were which, not that his mind was pacified enough to tell which bloods were around him. 

It was like he was plunged into pandemonium with no sounds. Even if he opened his mouth, he could barely make a noise before the nauseating water suffocated him. He couldn't call out; he couldn't see where the other was going. He only knew that his hand was brushing against someone's fingers. 

Whoever it was, Nicholai was losing him.