Until another System message woke him, that is.

You are bleeding out! You will die of blood loss in 2 hours if you do not receive treatment!

Beck opened his eyes again, the sun visible now. It wasn't quite noon yet, but it was maybe an hour or two off. Once he had an estimate of the time, he closed his eyes again and turned his face from the sun. Once more into his inner world...

This time he pulled up [Pugilism] and [Knifework], unaware he was able to pull up more than one Skill at once until he had already done it. Then he read through the descriptions.

[Pugilism] +1 Strength Years of brawling combined with life and death struggle have led you down the way of the fist. You've got a nasty right hook! Increases damage from unarmed strikes, lends a natural intuition for unarmed strikes

[Knifework] +1 Dexterity Years of work in the kitchen have left you with a deft hand with a knife. Chopping all that cactus really paid off! Cuts with knives are cleaner and more precise.

Even though both were earned from it, [Knifework]'s description seemed like it wouldn't lend much utility in combat. That may have been true, what with his less than stellar performance at the end, but they were also much more experienced fighters than he was, and they had him outnumbered. The fact that their descriptions were broken into two seemed strange, but he put that aside for now.

Either way, he felt the etchings they had left in him, and he was unsurprised to see that they were nowhere near complete. He let them fall back into the well and fade from his perception. As he did, another long awaited skill was finally awarded to him.

You have learned the Skill [Heat Resistance]! +1 Constitution Long hours under the desert sun has gifted you with the ability to ignore heat, your body having adapted to its environment to keep you alive! Make sure you return the favor! Ability to tolerate heat. Does not apply to flames.

Beck was a little cross that the System had waited until the day that he died to finally allow him to grow, but in the end, he couldn't stay mad for very long. The bump to Constitution let him stay alive for another 2 hours, and extended the gut wound timer by another 12. He decided he would simply wait for death in his inner world. Then, he heard something concerning.

Beck came back to his senses and looked around, his vision blurry. The sun hadn't moved much, but he could hear footsteps. Heavy, dragging footsteps. He searched, but couldn't see the source without moving his head, and he didn't have the strength to do more than bring it back to facing up. Then he could see it.

A shambler. One of the unintelligent zombies that the Grim Riders herded around like cattle. Of course they hadn't just attacked his family. The whole town was probably either dead, eaten, or holed up somewhere.

He'd thought the thing was coming toward him, but to his horror, its blurry figure made its way over to his parents instead. He tried to make sounds, to get its attention. He couldn't do anything, but he couldn't just let the thing eat Ma and Pa while he was still alive.

That didn't last long. His throat was dry, and what remained of his voice quickly turned hoarse. Then a shadow loomed over him. When he looked, all he could see was darkness. He could feel the black ichor drip onto his forehead.

Another one. The second shambler had been much quieter, to the point he hadn't even heard it. It was likely close to awakening. He had heard the stories. Once the shamblers ate enough brains, they regained their intelligence. Even if they'd been as near perfect as a person could be, though, the result would be twisted, compelled to run with the Grim Riders as another rotter.

It was why priests were so in demand in the Rusts. No one wanted to end up like one of them, and even the ones who did would rather it happen directly instead. Beck was not one of those people. The corpse laid its hands on his face, and he knew it was preparing to take a chunk out of him.

He could feel the pressure as the thing began to squeeze his head. What shamblers lacked in brain power, they more than made up for in muscles. Ma had told him one time that they were as strong as they were because they didn't have the unconscious control the living did, that same instinct that kept their muscles on their bones. She had dissected enough of each to know.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Just as his skull felt like it would pop, the sound of loosed crossbows filled the air. He felt the shambler above him sag and its hands relax as it fell onto him, aggravating his broken rib further. Shortly after, he could hear conversations in the familiar crackle and pop that signified Ignan out towards the field, and he knew who his saviors were.

The Kode had come for their water, only to find their most regular suppliers dead and their son bleeding out. Not to mention a town overrun with shamblers.

Beck could understand them, thankfully, since every Elementaren had an inherent knowledge of their bloodline's progenitors' language, and every variant was closer to a dialect than a separate language. He tried to speak in his own line's Aquan, only for it to come out more as a gurgle, as opposed to the flowing words he was used to producing.

The tribesmen came over to him, and the one he recognized as their leader knelt next to him, concern and sympathy in his eyes. He said nothing, but he ran his hands over Beck's wounds.

The young man watched as a man with flames for hair approached and administered basic first aid. An herbal smell wafted into his nose, and the bleeding message disappeared from his field of view.

Then the chief stood and ordered his men to take him and bury his parents in the cactus field. He wouldn't even get to say goodbye. He felt the tears as they rolled down the side of his face, unable to stop them. His weak sobs went unnoticed by the busy men, as they collected the water and tied it to their giant lobsters. Soon, he, too, was strapped to a lobster, wedged between two barrels right behind the saddle.

Thanks to a combination of the contractions from the sobbing and the handling of the tribesmen, Beck was now sure that at least two of his ribs were broken, if not more. They tried to give him water, but he couldn't drink safely without choking. He calmed an hour into their ride, which was admittedly quite smooth, and fell asleep.

He didn't wake up for a quite a while.

----------------------------------------

Beck was drowning.

It was a foreign sensation. His family had had gills for generations, even if almost none of them ever used them. Good for checking wells, but otherwise useless in the Rusts. Especially when his family had other, cleaner ways to get water.

But here and now, his gills weren't working. His lungs filled with water at every attempt to breathe. He didn't know which way was up or down, nor was there any light. It was almost like he had been shoved into a barrel and had the lid closed on him. That had happened once as a child, but that had been for his own good.

This was different. He couldn't so much as move his limbs, the lack of oxygen having sapped all his strength. He could feel death approaching.

Then he felt it; a gentle humming surrounded him. He couldn't be sure, but it sounded almost like one of those musical glasses he had seen at the saloon with Pa when he was younger. And it gave him hope.

Beck felt the strength surge through his limbs. Maybe he could find an air bubble at the source of the sound. He began to dive, and the humming grew slightly louder. As he grew closer, it split into four distinct tones, one louder than the rest, but all contributing to the overall harmony. He made for the loudest one, the beat of his heart seeming almost like a supporting instrument in a song, as opposed to the deafening thrum it had been before.

He came to what initially felt like rock. When he touched it, he could feel the vibrations that it sent through him and the water around him. It took a moment, but he eventually recognized the sound, even though the water simultaneously muted and helped it carry.

It was [Shape Water]. He felt it in his bones, just like he had so many times before. He could feel that the way he had been finding his Skills, dredging them up and stringing his will through them, had been horribly, disgustingly wrong. He had assumed that the fissure he had built his well around would help him access his skills. He had been wrong.

Beck felt the thrum, the power it promised. He knew that the Skill alone was valuable, but it's true value would depend on what it was fused with. That was the only information anyone had ever given him about skills, beyond the normal "You gotta figure it out yourself, or you'll never learn." or the talk Pa had with him that day, but now wasn't the time to think about that.

Beck tried to call on the Skill. It was hard, like he was trying to move molasses instead of water, but he eventually made enough space that his mouth would be uncovered. Then the water had to be pulled from his lungs and pushed away so that he wouldn't breath it in again. It was a sensation he had never felt, nor did he ever want to feel it again.

Finally, he was able to breath. He started to feel hot, but the water around him began to leech it away shortly after it began. Only his lips remained warm. Now that he wasn't actively dying, he could afford to think.

Then he remembered that he was, in fact, likely still dying. He just wasn't conscious of it.

Beck stayed there for a moment, hands on the wall of his Skill while he caught his breath. With each intake, he could feel himself gain strength. Slowly, he pushed himself away from the wall.

The small bubble on his face threatened to collapse, but with an application of willpower, he managed to maintain its shape. He swam to each of his new Skills, each one humming with a different tone and pitch. Their volume remained constant, no matter where he was within his well. Horizontally, at least.

Once Beck had visited each of them, he felt he knew which way was up. Hoping that he wouldn't get disoriented now that he had his bearings, the young man began to swim upwards. Once he reached the surface, he could climb up from the bucket and rope that were always there.

Only, he never reached the surface.

After swimming for what felt like hours, Beck began to hear the humming of his Skills above him. Now, it sounded as if they were both above and below him. He carried on a while longer, once more arriving at the place where his Skills resided.

As he floated there, he contemplated. It seemed there would be no escape until he died or figured out how to pull himself from this state. Normally, he had to push his perception inside, to block out the world around him, but now he felt as if it was the default state.

As if to shock him from his contemplations, a flame appeared in front of him. Then it ate him.