Withered

Chapter 12

When I first awake up, two realities are instantly understood. Either the Wither Storm's dead but that didn't get rid of this sickness. Or I failed and the bomb didn't kill that stupid storm at all. I prefer the first.

Before I can even think about cracking my eyes open, an entire world of freezing misery radiates from my arm. No longer does it burn and bristle, only that every cell is now ice and can still emit all the pain. The bone now is just some soft flesh with millions of frozen daggers tearing into it.

A shrill of panic bursts my eyes open though when I realize the whole arm feels this bitter agony. Not just elbow and forearm, but all the way up to the shoulder. So close to my chest, so close to reaching my lungs. Lungs that already wheeze and struggle enough as it is, my coughs breaking the silence every few moments.

My face bristles at me, the enderman mask charring on my skin. My right arm, muscles waking up after what has to be a hibernation, twitching up to take it off. My gloved fingers delicately grabbing at it, staggering gasps wheezing out as the cloth peels off of my flesh. Tears welling up in my dull eyes as the skin melted with it comes off too.

Throwing that thing to the side, not sure whether to be grateful I had it to protect from the blast or not, I try to make sense of my surroundings. A pretty difficult task when my eyes don't really work, my entire body is bruised and exhausted way past than it has ever been pushed to before, and my left arm is in its own personal dimension of an ice lake.

I strain my ears to search for a noise other than the pounding pulse in my skull, the faint crackles of a fire not too far. Yet other than that, it's barren. My eyes can tell it's day time at the every least, but I hear nothing. No animals, no wandering spiders from last night, not even wind.

And where are my friends?

That one gets me to lift my head, which has tripled in weight since last time I had to lift it. But even with squinting my eyes as much as I can, the only thing I can tell is that I'm in a forest. Well, the remains of a forest.

My nose flares, since sight won't be working in the foreseeable future, dying scents piercing into my head. Magnus's armor certainly did its job. I can smell the leather burned along with strong ash heavy in the air. Not too mention all the flowery scents have wilted and reek of a disaster.

The Wither Storm, to my absolute horror, did not die. I failed, oh I failed big time.

My heart, my heart that has been beating through it all, twists and contorts. Crying out to my friends that could be dead or alive or alive but accepting death. I let them down, I let all of them down, and I'm not even there to try and fix it.

Coughing, groaning and wheezing to get myself up. Magnus's armor crunches, charred leather rubbing together as I move. I manage to lurch onto my feet for a solid three seconds until the balance that has been shredded to pieces gives up, a flood of dizziness taking over me. My legs wobbling and collapsing despite my friends fresh on my mind. I just can't stand anymore.

Growling, phlegm distorting it into something like gravel cascading, helpless fury screams within a body way too fatigued to support it. I have to help my friends, but can I even help myself?

Huffing, my lungs only giving me a wheeze, I force my right arm back to life. Pulling out my sword that definitely feels heavier than stone. Plunging the tip to the ground and using it as some sort of cane to hoist me back up to my feet.

I cradle the frozen and suffering left arm to my body as I make meager distance forward. It's hard to believe I ran at all last time I was awake, my body is having hard enough just trying to shamble forward with the help of a cane.