Consciousness slowly seeped back, a haze of confusion enveloping his thoughts. The world around him was a blur, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of footsteps and the faint rustle of fabric. A dull, bouncing pain throbbed in his abdomen, each jolt sending fresh waves of discomfort through him. His head seemed as if it was going to explode. His thoughts moved like molasses, sluggish and heavy. He realized he was being carried. He stayed limp, better if they thought he was still unconscious.
With each jolt of movement, awareness crept back into his mind. The scent of damp earth mingled with the distant echo of muffled voices, That were growing clearer with each passing step. He was being taken somewhere, but where? And by whom?
As his senses gradually sharpened, he tasted the metallic tang of blood. When had he been hit? Then panic surged within him, igniting fragmented memories: the three men, the sniper shot, the bat. Sparks, that must have been where the younger man had vanished. Why hadn't they killed him.
*Focus,* he urged himself. He needed to gather as much information as quickly as possible. He made the slightest movement he could manage. Yep, bonds around his wrists. They were tied behind his back, but the knot was loose. If he had enough time, he could pull free. He could feel the reassuring weight of his dagger still at his side; the absence of his sword, however, was a stark reminder of his vulnerability. Straining his ears, he fought against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. The sway of being carried on someone's shoulder mixed with pounding in his head made his stomach churn, but he had to listen.
"We scoped section eleven to ten," an old, gruff voice rasped, breaking through the fog of his thoughts. Then one of the people next to him let out a small shout.
"Section eleven to twelve is clear," the man continued. "We found Jack and Simon dead. Supposedly killed by this bloke here. He's a tough son of a bitch for sure. We caught him by surprise, and he still managed to kill Forbes and almost got away." His tone softened to a conversational level as they drew closer. Zephyrion felt a hand pull the hood of his cloak up, and he made sure his face remained impassive.
"Looks too young to have taken out Simon, let alone kill Jack. He Fused?" The voice was cold and calculating.
The voice from his group replied, "He didn't seem to be, but you know how finicky some are."
"Well count your floors boys, Ive got good news." That cold voice was like stone. "That's him."
Zephyrion's heart raced. That was definitely not "good news" for him . He flared his eyes open, adrenaline surging through him. Throwing his legs up toward his head, he rolled over the man's shoulder, flipping to land feet first. A surge of clarity washed over him as he faced a towering figure, a thick scar running across his cheek and pulling up the corner of his mouth. The man's eyes widened in surprise for the briefest moment.
He slammed his heel down on the foot of the man that was carrying him. Spinning, he delivered a follow-up kick to the man's side, his knee crashing into the man's face as he doubled over from the first kick. The man fell like a sack of potatoes, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
Zephyrion turned to the scarred man, who hadn't moved an inch. More unnervingly, the man remained unfazed; a cold sense of serenity lay across his face, as if he were merely observing a performance. The metallic whispers of drawn swords surrounded him.
The man stared down Zephyrion. " Kneel boy or you get a sword through the back. I don't need you dead just yet" he didn't show the smallest hint of emotion. Zephyrion dashed forwards. He knew he was going to die down here. But he felt in his core that the other man needed to die here too. Two steps and an invisible blow took him in the side of the head. Darkness closed on his vision for the second time. He could have swore that right before the blow came the scared man had the faintest smile touch his lips.