Orion crashed through the door of his home, his steps unsteady and uneven. His unfocused gaze briefly scanned the room, checking for threats out of self-preservation, before stumbling toward the bathroom. One hand kept pressure, while the other shakily opened cupboard doors and cabinets, searching desperately for anything that could sterilize his wounds.
"Just give me a semi-clean rag, or anything!" He thought, his mind a foggy haze through pain and desperation. Everything hurt after that fight, even areas untouched. After the adrenaline faded Orion struggled to stand, let alone walk.
"Nothing," Orion cursed under his breath. Through agony, he did a thorough check of the downstairs, tearing through every crevice. He knew he would find nothing upstairs. Still, to no avail and his frustration grew. Tears started to form, his mental state deteriorating and he began cursing the world, his voice filled with emotion.
"Why the fuck was I thrown in here? Killing, getting fucked up, for what? Some retarded kids? For him?" His words spilled out, venomous and raw.
"My life was about to start!" His knuckles whitened as he gripped the countertop.
With a roar of frustration, Orion slammed the cupboard door with enough force to rip it off its hinges. The broken piece clanged against the metal counter. His tears fell freely, barely audible whispers through sobbing, "My life was about to start..."
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Orion sat in the bathroom on a metal stool, jacket and shirt off, checking his injuries. It had taken him a while to calm down before dragging the kitchen's metallic stool into the bathroom. His appearance was a mess.
His entire abdomen had an angry shade of purple, and his cuts were inflamed and deep. Just running his fingers along the skin sent a painful static sensation throughout his torso. Orion's head was no better, with purple bruising on the chin and a shallow gash on the back of his skull.
"I was lucky to survive the first blow," Orion grimly thought, continuing to analyze the situation. "Medicine in topside is too expensive, and Black Lanes is too dangerous to reach- especially in my condition. A-"
Orion hung his head in some despair, "The silver coin..." The sensation of it slipping from his fingers gnawed at him; it was gone. "Lady Luck strikes again."
For a moment, Orion thought about returning to Vander and the others. With a stubborn shake of his head however, he rejected the idea, insisting to himself, "No, I'm not a charity case."
Raising his head, Orion met his own gaze in the mirror, the silence broken by drifting thoughts. "Magic..." The small, budding idea began to bloom, curiosity scratching at his consciousness. Self-doubt crept in, but his inner voice battled it out, "I've practiced three times... Two-three minutes before I lose consciousness? Could it work?"
A semblance of light reignited behind his eyes, resolution took hold, challenging his fierce gaze in the mirror. With a deep breath, he grabbed his clothes and stumbled upstairs, determination rising with every step.
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Careful with his movements, Orion laid on his side, keeping his claw-injury away from the bed and face mashed into the pillow to prevent the gash on the back of his head from coming into contact with anything. "Every surface here could probably breed infection," Orion thought grimly, closing his eyes as he cupped a hand over the wound, focused on forming the mental connection.
Once more, the channel opens- a thread from fabric, magic enveloping his body before Orion focuses it on the gash. The threads of magic took physical form, glowing blue vines erupted from his skull. Dynamic and lifelike, they weaved and sowed themselves across the wound while glowing a radiant blue hue.
Orion felt his skin tighten as the vines pulled the edges of the gash together. It gave him a rough indication on when to stop, releasing the channel. Gently, his fingers brushed the thin, weak membrane where the gash had been. "So it heals... But at a cost."
This thought solidified as exhaustion settled over him. His arm, which was previously struggling to stay raised, gave out and fell limp. Hunger pangs radiated from his stomach, sharp and consistent, drawing a grimace as it blended with his other aches. "Damn, I'm hungry."
Orion's thoughts drifted to money, "I should have 8 half-bronzes left total... One meal if I want meat- And one extra bowl of slop." He groaned into the pillow, his situation was worse than before. Still, he rolled onto his back and a grin crept into his expression; he finally achieved something.
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Evening had fallen by the time Orion could finish mending the other claw wounds. The skin over each injury distorted unnaturally, stretched tight as if someone had forcibly pulled it closed. Hunger gnawed at his sanity, a strong reminder of the cost.
He knew he couldn't heal the bruises- well, he could, but he wouldn't. The hunger would drive him insane, and his body had already become weak from the process. It took almost thirty minutes to get downstairs where he was met with a pale, visibly shaky silhouette.
"Eating vitality to restore health, a twisted trade-off in its purest form," Orion muttered to himself in the mirror. It was one thing to watch it through a screen; experiencing it was another. The physical and mental toll was steep, but useful.
A grim smile crept back across his face as he accepted this reality before slowly walking out.
Orion paused as he reached the corpses, their pale, rigid forms now serving as a reminder of reality; the unforgiving nature of the Undercity. A fleeting thought crossed his mind- could overloading the healing process cause damage? Excess energy turning berserk and causing the reverse effect, destroying the body in a violent burst?
A dark and wicked thought, as he stood over corpses. With grim acknowledgement, Orion left Emberflit Alley in search of food.