-Jedi Master Yoda

"N-no… no, no, no, no, no, NO!" John shouted as he crumbled to his knees at the fallen Warden's side, the sword vanishing into his inventory while he sat there. He clutched frantically at her armor trying to check her for signs of life Observe might have missed. She was bleeding, burned, and bruised all over. Her skin was cut and torn from the variety of attacks she'd suffered, what little he could see under the armor. More than anything she seemed worn, but the pool of blood almost ebbing out from under her indicated that the combined toll of the wounds was more than significant enough to kill her, if she didn't receive attention, fast.

"Come on, John, she's dying, not dead. You can do this, just like you practiced…"

John placed his hands over Moira's breastplate and focused on mending her wounds, staunching the flow of blood, and restoring her missing hitpoints. While he didn't have all of his mana left, it had regenerated up to 115, so if he used it all…

John poured everything he had into it. Some of Moira's blood stopped flowing so vigorously as cuts and scrapes disappeared. John focused on those over the bruises, praying that he could stabilize her enough to get help. Thankfully, Moira was still in his party, so even as his MP hit zero he could bring up her status.

Moira Brighton
Level 19 Paladin
<Warden of the Golden Rose>
-136 / 950 HP
Relationship: 37
Alignment: +90
Status Effects: Dying

"What?!" John frantically opened Moira's character sheet, trying to find out more information. She was at even lower HP than she should have been, if he did the healing math right. He was healing a little under half a point per mana he spent, and he had three ranks of Team Player and a rank of Good Medicine boosting it… yet her health was falling, even as he looked at it! On her status panel the Dying effect was quite clearly still there and showed no signs of fading. John mashed the button and felt his heart stop for a moment, as if in sympathy.

Dying - This character's health has been reduced below 0 by a lethal source of damage, but their body remains functional. They will lose 5% of their maximum HP per minute until their current HP is the negative of their maximum HP, at which point the character will die.

"Fuck, why doesn't healing stabilize her? Goddamn bullshit DnD fucking-" John **** himself to stop the string of swears. He didn't need to panic… yet. He still had more he could do. John pulled the mana he had stored away in his Bronze Ring of Transference and utilized that as well. Then, he laid his hands on Moira and began to utilize Siphon.

For the first time John felt the draining effects of his own ability, minor as they were. It felt a bit like going numb for a few seconds as the spell worked and then immediately being back to normal - if just a few hairs weaker. But John only had 97 hitpoints left after all the attacks he'd taken, he couldn't take himself to zero, and Moira was already losing more HP. She was just under -50 and falling nearly a full point every second.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" John whispered, pulling more health from his ring. He thought about pouring it into Moira immediately, but it would have done no good, and John didn't want to leave himself at risk of tripping and losing his last hitpoint. That would sentence Moira to ****.

"Gotta get more…"

John's Gamer brain worked in overtime, trying desperately to come up with solutions. The first was the most obvious - John activated Siphon again and pulled all the mana he could from Moira… which ended up being all of 17 points. Checking her character sheet again, John noted that Moira only had around 150 points of mana to begin with.

"Fuck, it's not enough," John cried out, throwing the mana immediately into a heal spell to counteract Moira’s ever-falling hitpoints. He crawled to his feet and opened his inventory, throwing on the Cloak of the Apprentice Necromancer. The 20 mana it gave him plus the 10 extra from the bonus Intelligence brought Moira up to [-35 / 950 HP], which was fantastic, but a few points away, and John only had 25 more to give… and he was out of options.

"So close… no, I can't fail this close! Maybe… maybe if I drain one of the other Order members," John whispered, in a voice too optimistic to possibly avoid disappointment. The Order knights were all ****, so he couldn't very well ask them for assistance, but the nearest knight was only a few feet away where the orb's **** had left her. John pulled off her helmet, revealing a long braid of blonde hair, stained with blood from a head wound she must have suffered in the attack. Gingerly, John lowered his fingers until they were touching her cheek.

ERROR: Target not a party member.

"Fuck, add her to the party!"

ERROR: Party invite unable to be sent. Target is ****.

"Goddamn- fucking- bullshit!"

John fell into his string of curses again as he stood up, chucking the helmet down at the ground, succeeding only in denting the asphalt from the impact of the clearly sturdy helmet. John opened his menu up and started eyeing all of his skills, on the off chance he was forgetting something.

"Elements do nothing, maybe if I could control blood… I don't have the materials to craft anything useful, do I?"

Rough Bandage - Stabilize a target of level 10 or below.
Requirements: 2 units of cloth [AVAILABLE: 2 Werecat Fur]

"No good… I need something better!"

ERROR: Insufficient Materials.

"Shitballs. And I can't-"

John's eyes froze, locked on World Shift. It had a cooldown of eight hours… if he used it, there was no way he could possibly get back before Moira was conscious again, even if he did heal her enough to stabilize her. He'd have to explain everything… everything. But John wasn't nearly cold enough to let a friend die to keep a secret.

John knelt down, placed a hand on Moira's soft hair, and-

ERROR: You are trapped inside a Combat Barrier, and an enemy is preventing you from escaping! Enemy Level: 7

"Who… who's left? Everyone's-"

John, in his frantic glancing around, spotted a movement near the house that all this mess had started in. A figure, crawling desperately along the grass, attempting to get behind the building. John recognized the diplomat from earlier immediately, if the cowardice hadn't already given him away. Fortunately, the restraints were slowing his progress immensely; the Order had some skilled knot tiers.

"You!"

The man let out a soft "eep" at being discovered and abandoned stealth, trying to scoot faster. John sprinted over and kicked the man firmly in the face, lodging his foot somewhere between the man's upper lip and his nose. A small amount of blood sprayed John's sneaker.

5 DMG!

"You little shit," the man sputtered as John pried his foot away.

"Release this Barrier, now!" John commanded pointing furiously at the overweight Cabal mage.

"Fuck you!"

John kicked again, this time stomping his foot down on the side of the man's head.

8 DMG!

"Fuck's sake, I- I can't! I don't know the spell he used, I don't even know what kind it is!"

"Fine, join my party!"

"What? The fuck? You just walked in here, and now you wanna throw a fucking party on the corpses of my-"

ERROR: You cannot invite an enemy to your party. What the fuck?

John had no time to argue with the man, and less time for sass from his own error messages with Moira's life on the line. There was only one way to get Moira out of the Barrier - he had to 'defeat' the man. Pulling his bat out of his inventory, John began to wail on the man as fast as he could, hoping to deal enough damage to knock him out. It only took five swings.

43 DMG!
45 DMG!
48 DMG!
43 DMG!
45 DMG!

John panted a bit as he made the last swing and the man finally fell ****, laying on the ground with drool dripping out of his mouth. John glanced around, waiting for some sign. An indication that the Barrier was fading. Nothing happened. John knew what a Barrier felt like, and he knew they were still in it - the houses weren't repaired and the street was still torn to shit.

"What am I missing? What did I forget? Did they-"

John remembered the Cabal from earlier, those who had been in the homes. Had they been 'defeated', or merely subdued? The Order knights had been inside the Combat Barrier, so surely the men they were carrying would have been too. How many of them were still awake? How long would it take John to run down there, knock them all out, and then get back to Moira? Too long. Most of them were elites and warriors, probably more durable than this man, and John could only swing so fast - and he had no idea how many had been captured by the Order knights.

Even if he did it before Moira died, there was no way he'd make it before she was beyond saving. He'd already regenerated two points of mana since his last spell - a full minute, at least. That meant Moira would be crossing over into -150 HP soon, and in just a few minutes, she'd be beyond saving even if he Siphoned everyone in his private world. By the time he cast World Shift and managed to round everyone up…? There was no way. Mithra and Maera would be off playing, and Seras was at home. Lunaya alone probably couldn't even save her now, even with her hefty mana pool compared to the others. Even if all the Cabal elites were one hit away from being knocked ****, John couldn't run and swing fast enough to save her now.

John fell to his knees, mind going blank for an instant. He was out of options, out of time. He had no abilities left that could heal Moira, and no way to access those that did. By the time the other knights awoke, Moira would be dead, and he would have done nothing but delay it. Emotionlessly, he cast his eyes back to the skill menu that he'd never bothered to close.

Feast

"…"

He had no abilities left that could heal Moira… but he had one that could heal himself.

John wanted to stare. Wanted to consider what he was doing, wanted to think of the consequences. But he couldn't - Moira didn't have that kind of time. Without even lifting from his knees, John called the sword he'd used before back to his hands and brought it high, driving the point down into the diplomat's chest in a violent spearing motion.

Target is **** and has negative HP! Coup de Grâce, 800 DMG!

Feast: +21 HP, +39 MP

John felt strength rush into his limbs and bile rush into his mouth as he pulled the now rose-tinted steel out of the man's… out of the corpse. John turned away, unable and unwilling to consider what he had done, what he was doing. He slowed only long enough on his way back through the cul-de-sac to cast a healing spell, and to glance at Moira's falling HP.

Moira Brighton
Level 19 Paladin
<Warden of the Golden Rose>
-152 / 950 HP
Relationship: 37
Alignment: +90
Status Effects: Dying

"Gotta… go… faster…"

John threw the sword into his inventory again so he didn't feel so weighted down, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him. He didn't have enough, he needed more. More health, more mana, more of everything to save Moira. He didn't stop until he saw the APC they had arrived in, with the back doors still wide open. Two of the Cabal were on the ground, having attempted to escape but apparently being trapped inside the Barrier as much as the rest of them. John saw them glancing his way as he sprinted toward them, heard cries of surprise… and then fear, as he hefted the blade over his head.

Target is disabled! Critical hit, 102 DMG!
Target is disabled! Critical hit, 118 DMG!
Target is disabled! Critical hit, 109 DMG!

Feast: +39 HP, +27 MP
Feast: +36 HP, +21 MP

John cleaved their bodies with the blade, leaving gaping gashes that sprayed blood across his chest and left quickly fading cries. John's stomach heaved, but he **** himself into the back of the APC, climbing up inside with the writhing mass of Cabal. The back of the vehicle was now filled with those the knights had successfully loaded, nearly a dozen in number, and only four of them were ****.

"Took me… took me thirty seconds to get here. Almost fifty HP per minute, gonna take me longer to run back, so..."

John's mind couldn't process emotion. Couldn't deal with what he was doing. So it did what it did best - it started to see things as a game. He dealt with numbers, not faces. Mindlessly he swung, calculating the path of least resistance… the minimal amount of **** required. His biggest regret was that most of the Cabal were not gagged.

The screams made it so much worse.

Target is disabled! Critical hit, 104 DMG!
Target is disabled! Critical hit, 114 DMG!
Target is disabled! Critical hit, 107 DMG!
Target is **** and has negative HP! Coup de Grâce, 800 DMG!
Target is disabled! Critical hit, 118 DMG!
Target is disabled! Critical hit, 112 DMG!

Feast: +32 HP, +25 MP
Feast: +41 HP, +30 MP
Feast: +19 HP, +32 MP
Feast: +24 HP, +19 MP

"That should… that should be enough…" His HP was maxed, even to the 10% bonus he could climb to from using Feast, and his MP was close too. It was now or never.

John avoided looking at the blood spilling from the corpses he'd left in his wake. He tried hard to close his eyes altogether, lest he might see his reflection in the metallic surface of the APC. He didn't want to imagine what he looked like, bloodied and **** back vomit. John dropped the sword as he ran, hearing the slightly wet clatter it made on the asphalt, not even wanting the bloodied blade in his inventory. He didn't stop running until he made it back to Moira, and though he was too panicked to realize it, he had made even better time than his last run.

Moira Brighton
Level 19 Paladin
<Warden of the Golden Rose>
-253 / 950 HP
Relationship: 37
Alignment: +90
Status Effects: Dying

John fell to his knees and poured everything he had into Moira, a Lesser Heal spell going in short order. He'd gained a couple points of mana while he was running and killing, and it was enough to push his healing…

Moira Brighton
Level 19 Paladin
<Warden of the Golden Rose>
-151 / 950 HP
Relationship: 37
Alignment: +90
Status Effects: Dying

…to exactly where he needed it.

"Please, please no more… no more errors, no more ****, no more… just live, please…" John begged willing every point of HP he could possibly spare into Moira. With her buff pushing his maximum to 165 and the additional 16 points he got from Feast overloading him, he had more than enough, but didn't stop until he'd drained it all, leaving himself with one hitpoint left. Wearily, warily, John brought up Moira's sheet one final time.

Moira Brighton
Level 19 Paladin
<Warden of the Golden Rose>
29 / 950 HP
Relationship: 37
Alignment: +90

"Oh… oh thank god… oh thank Gaia!" John blubbered, eyes watering with sheer relief. He realized quickly, though, that he hadn't managed to empty everything into Moira. There was something left. Staggering to his feet, John barely had time to make his way over to the bushes near to the large mansion before he collapsed to all fours and began to vomit uncontrollably.

John's pragmatic views faded away as the full weight of what hit him came in waves. Every time he thought he was starting to feel better, he'd see another face - a severed arm, a pierced chest, a severed throat… his aim had not been consistent, to say the least, and that had given him multiple visceral images to run through his mind. John continued to feel his stomach churn long after he had nothing left, until he was a mass of tears and dry heaving that could only lie on the pavement just beside the dirtied bush and twitch occasionally.

John lay there for a long time, his adolescent mind trying to come to grips with the fact that he had just killed seven people. He'd killed Abyssal creatures before, but… they weren't real. Not really. Not unless he Purified them, and even then it was questionable what exactly they were. Most of them didn't even bleed, and the few that did weren't so human as to scream and beg in ways that made sense to his mind. Half the time they weren't even humanoid at all.

In the midst of his coming to grips with the situation, as another wave of heaving was ending, John felt a hand on his back. Startled, he whirled around, gasping for breath as he stared up. Moira stood above him, her body bruised and battered. She was covered in dried or drying blood and even her face seemed weary, but she wore a soft smile all the same, a smile that radiated a warmth through John he'd never felt before, even through the chills of guilt and terror.

"Everyone else is ****. I know the wounds I received were great, John. Too great, I think, to survive unaided. Certainly greater than the ones I wear now. I suppose I have you to thank, then? I must admit, I did not expect you to pay me back for saving your life so quickly."

"M-m-m-… M-mo…" John stuttered, his face surely hideous, covered in tears, snot, and vomit residue. He wanted to explain the Cloak, which he'd forgotten to remove in his disgust. He wanted to confess what he'd done, what had happened while she was out.

Instead, John's emotions reached a peak as he threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Moira's waist firmly and began to cry. Moira just continued to smile softly at him, running a hand through his hair and embracing him in return, as message after message began to pop up around them.