This fireball was aimed at him. Kline still had the shield in his hand. He lifted it above his head and braced for impact.
"ARE YOU SHULED?" The hooded person that had pulled him to the ground asked, baffled.
No time to think, no time for thoughts. Kline dug his feet into the ground and as a last ditch effort, swung his shield. The fire started to melt the shield to pass.
"AGHHHHHHHHHHH!" A scream bellowed out from the pits of his stomach, his feet dug deeper into the dirt, his knees crying out to buckle.
He felt a orange aura envelop him. Strength filled his legs, just enough to push himself out from being buried in the dirt. With every bit of pain filled power he could gather he pushed the flame backwards, shifting the direction of the fireball. The fireball shifted to strike the walls again. Although the flame didn't kill him it felt the heat would. The searing pain only seemed to increase. The molten metal extinguished using Kline's skin. A burning sensation he couldn't even scratch off. The heat and pain both climbed on each other's backs increasing its intensity. A hue of lime engulfed him, as his vision slowly faded, he fell backwards. Kline fell slowly enough to see the person who had pulled him, stand up. Their hair flowed down to their shoulders, bright unnatural red like it had been painted on. The same colour as the hue on their sword. Oh I see now, their hair had been dyed in battle.
------
"Let me know of when he wakes, I will talk to him myse-"
"Quick! Medical aid to room 3"
"We will need purification in ward 5, I will go bur-"
Glimpses and quick instances of conversation flew into his ears, his eyes stuck and crusted shut, he struggled to open them but he did so none the less, rubbing them and repeatedly blinking Kline looked at his surroundings. The smell of smoke and burning flesh blurring his senses. Considering what he had been through this might be the only sleep he has gotten in the last 24 hours. But honestly who was keeping track of time. Kline was placed on a bed surrounded by other patient beds, there was no seperationg or privacy screens between any. This seemed to be the medic bay for soldiers. He looked at his body that had been bandaged. Blood had seeped through the bandages. Looking down at his left arm he saw metal, although sore and not longer burning, implanted as part of his arm. It looked as if silver paint had been crudely splashed on his arm the way that metal was surrounded by flesh surrounded by more metal.
"The golden saint would like to see you, brother"
Breaking out of his concentration, startled. Kline faced the man that spoke to him. He was wearing a mask and tattered but expensive looking robes. He was carrying an injured man on his shoulder and a clipboard in his free hand.
'Maybe I can find a way to escape on the way' thought Kline.
----------------
The place was littered with injured soldiers and what seemed like nurses. Quite often Kline would see people surrounded by either green or orange hues.
Without finding a suitable chance to escape, he arrived in front of a large thick wooden door with the image of a fruit-bearing tree carved into it.
He pushed the door.
Heavy. Even with his newly formed strength.
Entering the room he saw the woman, her hair now clean and shining a bright blonde. She had her sword in her hand, stood straight up. There was smoke circling her feet and black smoke circling her head.
"I would have appreciated a knock at the door before you entered" she said as the smoke dissipated.
"Well no matter, I see the new arm has settled in?"
She said whilst looking towards his arm.
Kline nodded in response.
"Not much of a talker? A man of action is always preferable on a field such as this"
She walked around to the desk in the large study looking office room. She grabbed a helm from the corner of the room and placed it on the desk.
"You see, the thing about a field like this. Death is all but rare. Each soldier gives their life so that less of their profession is required in the future. So that less corpse-less graves have to be dug up."
Kline could feel the air around his drop in temperature.
"It is too cruel and unfair of the world to forget noble sacrifices, wouldn't you agree?"
Without giving a chance to answer she continued.
"So, we do not. We do not forget. Each helm is engraved with an engraving. Unique to themselves, a holy imprint that resonates when prana is embued,"
"We collect these helms and return them to their families, so at the very least their memories arent the only shadows left,"
"Now...Would you like to guess which armour this helm resonated with?"
The woman said as she tapped the helm on the desk. Each tap, sent out a small wave dropping the temperature as it felt like the amount of swords pointing at Kline's neck increased.