The impact was not a singular event. It was a violent, chaotic series of collisions that tore the breath from Vane's throat. They hit the slanted stone of a drainage chute first. The ancient masonry stripped the leather from his shoulder guard. They tumbled downward in a tangle of limbs and bruised iron. The world spun in a sickening blur of black rock and freezing spray.
They slammed into the bottom. The water was waist deep and stagnant. It smelled of ammonia, centuries of decay, and powdered bone.
Vane took the brunt of the final landing. He hit the submerged flagstones back first. The water displaced around him in a heavy wave. The shockwave traveled up his spine and settled directly in his shattered chest.
His vision inverted. The colors of the dark crypt inverted into a blinding negative flash. He did not scream. He could not scream. His right lung had entirely collapsed. The left was struggling against the internal bleeding that was rapidly filling his chest cavity.
