Ethan woke up with a terrible headache. It wasn't really an ache, to be honest. It was more like his head had been split open with a sledgehammer. Actually, that was literally the case since a dry, sticky pool of blood splotched under the boy as he moved.
How many times was Ethan going to wake up like that? He just died once! Couldn't Promiscua cut him some slack for a few days?
Ethan's eyes opened, and he found himself staring at an open forest sky. It must be almost noon, judging by the sun's position. The boy's vision was blurry, and his hearing was like underwater.
Ethan could hear muffled sounds around him—grunts, burps, shouts, and mumbles. None of them were familiar. He could also discern bangs, knocks, crackles, and thuds. Where was he?
The boy groaned and forced his injured head to turn. A few sensations of the body came back. He realized his hands and legs were tied. Regardless of the injuries, his memories were intact.
