The Forsaken Hero
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
Closing the Gate
The retreat from the dungeon remained a hazy blur, and my consciousness flickered in and out. My passive mana recovery gradually restored my body and mind, and by the time we emerged from the Gate, I could at least keep my eyes open. The fetid swamp lay before us, seemingly untouched by our absence, and a handful of guards eagerly welcomed our return.
Countless flashes of light illuminated the marshlands as soldiers reappeared through the gate. Some bore faint burns or were laced with claw marks, while others simply carried the exhausting weight of battle. The commanders wasted no time in dismissing their troops, granting them a few precious hours of rest before discussions about leaving the swamp began.
"I can stand now," I whispered, meeting Fyren's gaze.
"Rest a little longer. That last spell must have hit your soul, so take it easy," he urged with a reassuring smile.
"Then I'll trouble you a little longer," I murmured, resting my head against his arm.