Ojero's mind was full of visions of fire and blood.
Green and red mixed in swirls of yellow light.
He saw Orpham in that light. His body was cut and bleeding but he kept moving forward, guiding him towards a safety only he knew of.
He felt like others were there but he couldn't turn to see them, his gaze locked on his brother's back.
Then, as he watched, his brother began to fade, his body disappearing into that swirl of light.
He willed himself to reach out and stop it, to grab that light and turn it back into his brother, but it was too late.
His brother was no longer there.
He was gone forever.
It all faded to black, an emptiness without words.
A loneliness filled his body and soul, making him want to curl up in a ball and cry.
The pain he felt when he thought about moving woke him up.
Ojero lay in a heap, his body bruised and broken in multiple places. The rock he had fallen on was covered in his blood.
By some miracle his spine was still intact, a small mercy given the state of the rest of him.
He didn't know how far he had fallen, but the darkness around him made him think it was quite a long way.
Dirt and mud covered him, staining his clothes an unhealthy brown.
'Mom would kill me if she saw them like this…'
The thought somehow caused him to laugh, coming out like a wracking cough before he hunched forward and almost vomited from pain.
'So my spine is fine and my ribs are broken. Of course they are.'
He didn't quite understand how he was still conscious, or even how he was able to think so clearly.
He always thought he would panic and shut down in a situation like this, but instead, he felt almost… peaceful.
What a strange thought when you were trapped at the bottom of a pit, gravely wounded, and would most likely die of either dehydration or blood loss in the next few days.
'Well, I hope Orpham made it out. Same with Roger, and the others I guess.'
He knew it was stupid, but he also felt himself wishing for everyone in the caravan to have survived with minimal damage.
Given the blood on the swords of their first assailants, he knew that wasn't a possibility anymore.
Let alone the fire that followed.
The Magos was probably dead, as was everyone else who was still near the road. Those who fled to the forest were probably hunted down like they were, butchered before they ever had a chance to learn the first about life.
It didn't feel fair, but that was life, wasn't it?
Some people had it easier than others. They just floated to the top while so many others fell down to a hell so painful, they couldn't do anything but die.
Just like Ojero was going to.
He could feel it approaching.
It felt cold, but not malicious. It wasn't here to hurt him or mock him. It just wanted to help him complete the cycle of life.
He had lived, short as that life was, and now Death had come to collect.
He could feel the scythe, Patience, hovering above him.
All he had to do was wait, and the pain would be over, never to return.
But by the gods did he want to survive.
It was a primal desire, a necessity written into every cell in his body.
Giving up wasn't allowed. It couldn't exist.
With a pained roar, Ojero rolled his body off the rock, falling to the dirt below with a painful crunch.
An intense burning filled his entire body, causing his roar to turn into a scream. He had never felt pain so visceral and real.
It threatened to break him.
He wouldn't allow it.
Ojero leaned up and looked around, the absence of light making it a struggle.
He could vaguely make out the boundaries of a cave around him, sheer stone walls on all sides.
A single opening existed in front of him, but was sloped downwards.
'Well, at least if I lose the energy to crawl, I can roll.' He mused grimly.
He began his journey towards the opening, every twitch filling his body with a pain more agonizing and dreadful than the last.
It was endless and brutal, a curse that should be reserved for only the most vile monsters of history.
Even when he began the downhill slog, it was just as grueling.
He felt his pants tear as jagged rocks cut into his legs, leaving a trail of blood following him.
Surprisingly, the agony radiating from everywhere else made that pain feel more manageable.
It was a sobering thought, that his day was going so poorly his legs being cut to ribbons was barely a footnote.
As he went further down the slope, the jagged rocks gave way to smooth stone, the tunnel turning more formed and straight.
It felt artificial rather than natural, like something created by mankind.
Or by Beasts.
Although humans could eventually reach a more potent level of magic, the Beasts were almost always more adept at wielding the magic they did have.
This tunnel didn't feel like the work of a craftsman who felt pride in his work, it felt like a hastily made passage.
By who, or what, needed a tunnel here?
'Maybe an old smugglers route?'
That could fit, it was near Riverlane after all. Thieves could've used it to sneak goods past the guards and sell them in other cities.
However, there was no ladder in the pit he fell into.
Besides, the tunnel was angling too far down. He had to be dozens of meters below the surface by now.
Did he just not see one? It was really dark, and it wasn't getting any brighter with time. If anything, it was growing more difficult to see as he moved further down.
Still, he had a gut feeling it wasn't as simple as a smugglers tunnel. It felt wrong, dark and foreboding.
He was mostly guiding himself by touch, his knees serving as his directional guide.
Every few minutes he would feel a cold breeze on his skin, causing him to feel something outside the all encompassing pain.
It rekindled his willpower every time, causing him to grit his teeth and endure just a few more feet.
Just a few more.
Just… a few… more…
***
After what must have been hours of moving, the ground finally began to flatten, the slope disappearing behind him.
The tunnel that had been growing tighter suddenly became a huge open area.
At least, that's what Ojero assumed given that he couldn't see any walls around him.
Or maybe blood loss had led to his eyes losing function. He wasn't sure if that was a thing, but given his delirium it very well could have been.
He couldn't think or process anything anymore. Ojero couldn't even remember the last time he could.
His body automatically continued shuffling forward. He had lost all feeling in his legs long ago.
By this point, he was barely more than a golem. Something mindless, summoned by the will of someone else.
His only task was to keep moving, keep struggling, and keep yearning for survival.
He didn't even notice the voice the first time it spoke. Or the second.
Or the third.
His body was too broken, his mind too buried. His energy was spent and his time was drawing near.
By some miracle, did notice the laugh that soon followed, the sound crashing into his mind like a battering ram.
It was somehow right by him and far away from him at the same time. Coming from all directions yet none all the same.
His thoughts broke free of the molasses they had felt stuck in, the pain returning with full strength.
He cried out in pain and fell forward, the laugh growing even louder at that.
It was impossible to define. It was both masculine and feminine, young and old, powerful and weak.
It sounded like everyone he had ever met laughing at the same time, creating an orchestra with every single tone as defined and clear as if it was on its own.
The impossible melody wasn't something a human like him should have ever known existed, let alone heard.
Only someone as strong as his father could have faced the sound without wavering.
That wasn't quire right either. It would have to be something stronger.
With that terrifying thought, Ojero felt his body recoil at it as if it were the antithesis of life itself.
No, not life.
This thing had life in it, it couldn't be the opposite of life.
It felt like it mocked order entirely.
The fundamental truth of all existence, the structure of everything, was made undone in its presence.
His body began to shake as his fragile consciousness grasped onto the sliver of an idea of what the voice was.
It was Chaos incarnate.