Beside him lay the twisted remains of Commander Aiz. The Drakenar's once-commanding frame was now a grotesque heap of mangled flesh.
The remnants of his armor fused into his body like melted wax. One arm was gone entirely. The other was stretched out in front of him, as if he had been crawling toward salvation that never came.
For some reason, the body hadn't started decaying. Victor had tried moving the body away, but the goo beneath them clung to anything it touched, dragging it back like it had a mind of its own.
It had been nearly two weeks since they were spat out here.
When they'd first fallen out of the space-time continuum, Victor had barely managed to land on solid ground. Aiz hadn't been so lucky since the distortions had shredded him like paper.
Yet, somehow, the Drakenar had clung to life for three whole days. Every breath he took was a gurgle of agony. He had begged for death since he couldn't move a muscle in his body and every second was filled with suffering.
