In a blinding rage, Roxas spewed countless rays of light onto the land, superheating the stones to magma. Layers of perspiration dotted his brow, wenching at his tarnished robes as he roared. Shrouds of enigmatic light exploded, casting craters far and wide when blood spewed from his mouth.
He staggered back, falling to a knee, light-headed and weak. "Damn you, boy! Damn you!" he muttered, vomiting another mouthful of blood, facing the backlash of his meridians rupturing. He growled, falling faint.
Hundreds if not thousands of meters below, Altair awoke and fainted soon after, unable to keep a clear mind. In a cycle, his consciousness came and went. His instincts woke him of the impending danger, but his body was unable to keep up.
Just then, a faint voice came, stirring the Prince. "Master!" The voice had been so soft, as if it echoed from so far away. 'Master, you must wake up! Syris feed him."
"Feed him? Feed him what?"
"Your blood."
