The pain which coursed through his very being did not stop Alex; thus, he began to pull himself up. His arms were weak, and his legs quivered as if they would buckle under him. His face was smeared with dirt everywhere, and a cut on his forehead oozed blood. None of that mattered. He had to move. He had to survive.
Crawling behind a huge, fallen piece of rubble, he slumped against it, panting hard. He was under a cloud of dust and debris, offering some cover from the chaos raging on the battlefield. He could hear, distantly, the clash of weapons, the shouting of his allies still in this fight against the demon king's forces. But Alex couldn't focus on that right now. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, his body screaming for sleep. He just needed time to clear his head out and recover.
But time was what he didn't have.
