A vast void was suddenly torn into Teclos's heart the moment he saw Gillard struck down like that.
For a brief second, everything else faded—the forest, the orcs, the chaos—and all that remained was that single image burned into his mind.
Rage surged up violently, dark mana spiraling around him as his vision dimmed at the edges and his eyes slowly turned darker. He nearly lost himself to it, nearly gave in to that raw, overwhelming hatred, ready to throw his life away just to reach the commander and tear him apart.
Then—
A wet cough broke through that haze.
Gillard spat out a thick chunk of blood, his chest rising unevenly as a broken, rasping breath forced its way out of him. The sound was horrible—wrong—but it meant one thing.
He was still alive.
"Gillard! Stay awake, man! I'll come and help you!" Teclos shouted, his voice strained, desperate, but there was no reply—only that uneven breathing.
