Aaron was regretting his decision. His body screamed in protest as he tried to lift the wounded warrior's body. Her left arm somehow still held a one-to-one dagger. The fight had been crazy and indescribable. All Aaron saw were two blurry shapes moving at a speed that should not have been possible. A sound snapped Aaron out of his thoughts. He was still in deep water, and the shadows were not safe. He needed to save this lady. She seemed important, and he could buy some goodwill by getting her to safety. Without knowing the local language, he had to let his deeds speak for him. Hopefully, this would be enough for them to view him favorably.

He could see the light of the bonfires barely filtering through the field of tents, a couple of hundred yards away. With his lanky frame, he should be able to make it in under a minute if he booked it. Now, with the added weight of about 250 pounds of muscle and armor, this was a much more taxing endeavor. "Lady, don't you have healing potions in your world?" he muttered under his breath. His best option would be to backpack carry her. Going over his reasons to do this again, Aaron kept telling himself, "Return scary and important lady to scarier and more important lady. The lion-man won't eat you." He grabbed her hand, put it over his shoulder, and shimmied under her, getting her other arm around his shoulder. "Now, remember how you squat. Drive with the hips. Do it in one motion." Aaron had a 350-pound PR, but that was a while ago. Aaron PUSHED. Grunting with effort, he had done it. It had been easier than he expected. Either the warrior was deceivingly light or he had gotten stronger, much stronger. She didn't feel north of 200 pounds. She felt much lighter. Confused, but thankful, he started moving towards the light. Aaron sniggered at the supposed humor, surprising himself. The sounds of fighting seemed to have died down, and he was slowly moving forward. His newfound strength aside, something didn't seem right. An odd feeling was bothering him. It felt like a nascent new sense, warning him of impending danger. He listened to his gut and ducked. A dagger flew past just where his companion's head had been. Setting her aside, he pried the dagger from her vice-like grip and took a stance. Aaron wasn't a noob to fights, but those consisted of fists and elbows. He couldn't bring an arm bar to a magical gunfight. Two robed figures emerged 50 feet behind him, each holding a short sword of a style he had never seen before on Earth's fantasy. He noticed the hands holding them were bandaged and looked diseased, oozing tar-like gunk. Shuddering with disgust, he held the dagger in front of him with a reverse-handed grip. Most likely, this was going to be it. After failing to die on his own terms, he was going to die on some alien, hostile planet to some asshole with super eczema. Grief took hold of his heart until it morphed into something blacker. Cold fury flowed through him as he promised himself and his opponents, "I'm sure as hell not going down alone, you ugly fucks." Unbeknownst to him, the wind had gently started swirling around him.

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