Wouldn't you like to know

As it turns out, trekking over miles of sand dunes was very different from trekking a few miles. Your legs are burning after the first two dunes and screaming on every dune thereafter. Soon your body forces you to take the long way round wherever possible, you just can't muster the strength to make a beeline for the abbey. The physical exertion was becoming a problem but the searing thirst was a hundred times worse, its gone from a painful need to simply pain. Numbness begins to creep up your fingertips as your body uses precious water to sweat and stay cool, though either way you're starting to hallucinate. At first it's just disjointed shapes and colors where there shouldn't be, irritating but not a problem. The problems start to arise when they start coalescing into demons.

A pig demon takes a swipe at your head and you roll reflexively, only to lose ground tumbling down an embankment completely devoid of demonic life. A succubus blasts you to the ground but you rise moments later only to be confronted by a strong breeze. Imps fly at your face and you flinch but know better than to react, "Sabine?" You whirl, almost falling over in your sluggish haze, and there before you stands Ivona. You stumble forward to embrace her but she steps back, face a hard mask, "Why didn't you come find me Sabine? You left me in the middle of a demon invasion!" Your voice is ragged, burned by salt, "But... I didn't... I couldn't..." Ivona regards you coldly as darkness opens up behind her and demonic hands pull her into it. "No!" you dive for her but land face first on the sand.

After a minute of lying there, the heat and your thirst reminds you to get moving, but you refuse to open your eyes for fear of hallucinations. The alternating screams and moans of an elf **** you but you carry on, covering your ears. Then you trip and look back: there's the War Mother's body, battered and beaten, a too-large pool of sticky blood spreading down the dune.

That's all you can take and you curl up in the shade of some weathered driftwood, tormented from every side by your guilt.