Raven clutched his wounds. He looked around at the scene surrounding him. It felt like time slowed as he watched the Ammary reinforcement crash into the attackers. He watched as one of his guards was unlucky, a blade piercing through his neck. Raising his hand on his waist, he looked, and it was dyed red. The crimson liquid rolled down his wrist under his armour, and looking at the sun, a bitter smile spread on his lips. He could see the desperate faces of the people around him working to make sure he lived, but Raven knew better.
He hadn't died yet because he plugged the wound in his neck, but in his moment of clarity, he realised. How would it even be healed? Pushing himself up, he felt his body was weak and he wanted to laugh but couldn't. The pain it brought was overwhelming. Pushing his guard to the side, he stumbled his way into the temple. He ignored the panicked cries for him to stop and carried on walking. He held himself up; on the walls, his bloody hand painted them.
