Bruce staggers from the blow before collapsing to the ground.

Blood gushes from the wound with every pump of his heart and he starts coughing up blood.

“No, no,” Thomas rushes to Bruce cradling his head, “the potions — someone get the damned potions!”

Bruce looks at him with pleading eyes, he tries to speak but chokes as blood trickles out of his mouth.

Dune scrambles to the two — almost ripping his pack in two as he fumbles for the potions.

Eomer stands close by with a somber expression.

“Yearrh!” Trent bolts to the fallen wolfman. He bashes its head with his shield and stabs its throat with his sword. He staggers to his knees as if weakened, dropping his sword but continually bashing the creature with the edge of his shield.

Dune takes out a flask and Thomas rips it off his hand.

“Get more!” he carefully puts the flask in Bruce’s mouth eyes begging for him to drink.

Bruce struggles to drink the healing liquid as he chokes on another mouthful of blood.

Eomer walks to Trent trying to calm the distraught veteran. It was Trent who took Bruce under his wing and now he lies dying in front of him.

Dune takes a dagger and cuts the straps of Bruce’s cuirass — exposing the ghastly wound.

The wolfman’s claws drove deep into Bruce’s chest tearing four massive holes that exposed bone, muscle, and even parts of his weakly throbbing heart.

“No…” gasps Trent.

Eomer seems to be holding up the older Trent as his knees buckle once more upon seeing his dying charge.

“Another potion!” Thomas demands, the first flask empty with more than half of it just dribbling out of Bruce’s mouth.

“It’s n-no use,” Dune stammers, his voice breaking as he passes another flask to Thomas. “H-his body is too damaged t-to heal.”

Trent kneels down grasping Bruce’s hand.

Thomas’ hands shake as he struggles to unstopper the flask.

“Leave him be,” Eomer puts his hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “You’re only drawing out his suffering. There’s nothing we can do.

“NO.”

It was not a cry or a plea — it was a mere declaration.

You clench your fist as if you were bending reality to your will — sending a ripple of power into the air.

Thug!

You crash to your knees, arms to your chest as the pain of being stabbed explodes in your mind.

“Give him the potions,” you command. “Now.”

Thomas starts giving the potion to Bruce — almost forcing it to his mouth.

This time, Bruce manages to drink a draught and his breathing starts to become more regular.

“Ugluk!”

It was your turn to choke on blood.

Eomer approaches you, “What did you do, boy?”

You shake your head unable to answer

“My god you’re bleeding!”

He sits you down and takes off your cuirass and is stunned by what he sees.

There in your chest lies four gaping wounds similar to the ones on Bruce.

“This is unholy magic,” Eomer steps back, “Cal, you don’t need to do this — you don’t need to sacrifice yourself.”

“This isn’t…” you grasp for the word, “…necromancy.”

“And no one will be sacrificing themselves today,” your voice trails off.

Eomer looks at you with a worried look — and then nods seeing that you seemed to be relatively fine.

Bruce finishes the flask of healing potion, his wounds visibly healing at an astounding rate.

“My boy,” Trent says with genuine affection. “The next time I see Braun, I’ll make sure to kick him in the nuts for not taking care of you.”

Bruce forces a smile — even as he holds back the wracking pain in his chest.

“The obelisk,” you gesture at the stone structure and then at the whirling vortex above — reminding everyone that your work isn’t over.

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Thomas nods at Dune and Dune puts the pack of wolf pelts ender Bruce’s head.

Thomas heads to the obelisk, drawing Silver and looking away as he plunges the baselard into the stone structure.

Stazziz!

The sword explodes with a blinding flash of light and the obelisk shatters into countless pieces.

The vortex above slowly dwindles into nothingness, as if swept by an unseen wind.

Trent grabs another flask. He unstoppers it and gives it to Bruce.

He manages to grasp the flask and bring it to his mouth with a bit of difficulty. He finishes the whole flask and then drifts to sleep.

“He’ll be okay,” Trent says — more for himself than to tell the others.

“No, he won’t,” you snap at Trent.

The surprised Trent looks to you in anger — only now seeing the wounds you have on your chest.

“We need to get to town-ahk,” you choke on some blood. “I can’t maintain the binding for too long.”

“You took his wounds!?!”

“Only temporarily.”

Dune grabs a fourth flask from his pack and hands it to you.

“No,” you decline, “the wounds aren’t mine to heal.”

“Save the potions for Bruce — I’ll need to release some of the bindings come nightfall.”

Dune’s eyes widen in realization and he hastily packs the flasks.

“We need to get to the carts,” says Eomer, piecing enough of the conversations to understand the gist of the situation. “Dress your wounds with bandages — we need the potions for Bruce.”

Dune helps Trent with his armor — he is shocked by the deep gouges on the leather but relieved when he finds the armor took the brunt of the damage, leaving only a few superficial cuts.

Eomer’s injuries are mostly ice burns — which would have to wait until you get to town to get treated.

“We’ll let Bruce and Cal rest for another hour,” he says once everyone is done treating most of their injuries, “the rest of you get some wood we can use to make a stretcher out of these wolf pelts.”

Trent and the rest fan out to find suitable branches while Eomer heads to the downed wolfman.

He gouges out the core of the creature — comparing it to the ones from yesterday.

“Core of a frost wolf,” he says as he sits beside you. “Whatever that obelisk was — it turned an ordinary frost wolf into that… thing.”

You nod at Eomer, the wracking pain in your chest making it hard to speak.

“That magic of yours,” he starts, “you say it’s not necromancy — but it’s not healing either.”

“It’s something else,” you reply. “More like transference or teleportation”

“Teleportation?”

“I transferred most of his wounds to my-ach body,” you cough out a little bit of blood. “As long as I maintain the binding, I ca-ach…”

“I understand,” he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Save your strength.”

He takes one of the wolf pelts from the pack, careful not to disturb Bruce’s sleep. He starts puncturing the sides and weaving rope across the pelt.

In just a few minutes, Thomas, Trent, and Dune return with suitable pieces of wood — thanks to the sharp eyes of Elm.

Eomer and Trent start fashioning the stretcher with practiced ease as the two younger hunters look on.

You gesture at Dune to approach you and you whisper a few words into his ear.

He nods and heads for the broken obelisk, gathering a few shards of the black rock.

You notice that he pockets a few of those shards before bringing you the rest.

The two veterans take more than half an hour to finish the stretcher — half due to meticulousness and half due to exhaustion.

Bruce is loaded into the stretcher and the two younger hunters are tasked with carrying him.

Your group traces its way back to the carts — guided by the occasional screeching of the ever-reliable Elm.

It takes almost six hours to reach the mouth of the forest — almost twice as long because of the injured Bruce.

Thankfully, the two carts are still there — along with the 12 wolf pelts.

You retrieve your bow under the curious eyes of Thomas before leaving the forest.

“You know you could have just made one of us carry that,” he said implying himself and Dune.

You laugh with a tinge of embarrassment, “I promise to rely on you guys next time.”

“Your sword… and that obelisk?” you ask Thomas.

He shrugs before answering, “Silver is a sword of the sun — bane to all things dark and cold.”

“That’s no demon sword,” you think to yourself — wondering what kind of cost Thomas had to pay for his weapon.

Eomer immediately opens one of the casks in the wagon and tests the water. He then fills his waterskin and takes a long drink.

“Load Bruce into the cart,” he says a hint of fatigue in his voice. “We need to get to town as fast as possible.”

Trent pulls the cart holding Bruce and Eomer insists that you ride on the cart he’s pulling.

The two younger hunters walk wearily in front as the hawk scouts the road ahead.

The sky darkens after three hours and Eomer calls for a halt.

Bruce is somewhat conscious and he is carefully led down the cart by Thomas and Dune.

The weight of the binding almost overwhelms you as you lock eyes with Eomer.

He nods at you. “Prepare the potions,” he barked, “And hold on for a little while longer Bruce.”

Dune approaches Bruce, two flasks at the ready, while Trent grips his hands.

Trent turns to you, “Do it.”

You release some of the bindings — lifting some of the pressure on your psyche but not relieving the exhaustion.

Wounds once again appear on Bruce’s chest and a new wave of pain assails his senses.

He stifles a scream — a testament to his strong will.

Dune quickly gives him a flask of healing potion and he downs it with one drink.

Trent watches the potion take effect, all the while switching his gaze between you and the injured hunter.

“Give him another one,” says Thomas. “His body should be able to take it.”

Dune nods. He gives Bruce another flask and he downs it like the first one.

This time the healing takes effect slower, a clear sign that Bruce’s body is at its limit.

Eomer has already built a campfire when you finish. You see him making a stew of dried meat and a few other rations.

“Get some nourishment and some rest — we’ll leave once the dawn breaks.”

Once everyone is done eating, Eomer orders everyone to rest — stating he would take the first watch.

The others were too exhausted to argue and they eagerly turn in for the night.

He approaches you with a brief smile — exhaustion written in his face.

“You should rest too.”

“I can’t — the bindings.”

“Can you hold ‘til tomorrow?”

You give a brief nod.

He looks at you with an expression of pride, pity, and pain.

“I’ll leave you to rest.”

Morning comes painfully slow.

The hunters change watches over the night — all of them surprised to see you awake aside from Dune.

Everyone ate dried rations aside from Bruce — who got the leftover stew.

“Let me run to Ashford,” Thomas says after eating. “I can get a healer and bring her to Bruce.”

Eomer tosses him a waterskin. “Stick to the road, and look for the bird.”

Thomas nods and starts running towards Ashford.

Three hours pass and you hear a scream of pain.

Exhaustion knocked you out for a moment — suddenly releasing the bindings.

Dune rushes to Bruce, the last flask of healing potion at hand.

Bruce downs the drink — but the wounds continue to bleed and his breathing becomes labored once again.

“I must have dozed off,” you explain.

Eomer nods, understanding your plight.

“Hold on, boy!” bellows Trent at the drifting Bruce. “Stay awake you bastard!”

The screech of a hawk pierces through the sky and soon after you hear the sound of hoofbeats.

Thomas returns on a horse with a healer in tow.

He almost jumps from his horse and he hastily helps the healer get down.

He notes the dire expressions on your faces and panics.

“Did we make it in time?”