Robert felt himself dropping fast, gravity pulling hard before the pain caught up. He spun through flames that bit his skin like sharp, hot needles, stinging without mercy. The heat was awful, wrapping him tight, but it didn't burn him away completely. It felt like the fire wanted to drag out his hurt, not finish him off. He twisted in the air, arms flailing, unable to stop the fall.
He crashed onto a huge pile of wet, bloody bones, their jagged edges scratching his hands and arms deep. The impact shook him, rattling his teeth, and made his whole body ache. The pile started moving under him, slippery and unstable. He slid down fast, bones snapping and clattering loud as they tumbled with him. It was like being swept away in a river of death, unstoppable and rough.
He hit the ground hard, breath knocked out in a sharp gasp, chest screaming for air. The bones piled on top, heavy and tight, trapping him in a dark crush. Panic surged, and he kicked and shoved, but his arms felt weak, barely pushing back. Every move scraped his skin on broken ribs and sharp femurs. His heart pounded loud, a wild beat urging him to get out before he couldn't.
With one desperate push, Robert burst free, shoving bones aside as he gulped air, lungs burning hot. He staggered up, legs wobbly like they might give out, but he forced himself to stand. His whole body shook, hands stinging from cuts. He looked around, breath catching at the nightmare around him. The world felt wrong, heavy with something worse than death.
The sky looked scorched black, like a canvas someone set on fire, empty of any hope. The sun was a weak dot, barely glowing, leaving the ground dim and grim. Cracks split the earth deep, like cuts that wouldn't heal. Dead bushes and dry grass lay scattered, pale and brittle, like they'd given up long ago. Trees stood bare, their twisted branches reaching up like claws, making the place feel like one big graveyard.
Far off, Robert saw things moving, twisted shapes that didn't belong. Ugly creatures shuffled slow, some hunting with jerky steps, others dropping dead, too weak to go on. Fights broke out fast, mean and short, the strong ripping into the weak. It was a mess of pain, like they were stuck in a loop of hurting each other. He watched, stomach turning, knowing this place thrived on misery.
His chest felt tight as he took it all in, his left eye sparking with Insightful Vision. It showed a rotten energy hanging in the air, sinking into everything like a bad smell you can't shake. This place... it was decay made real, eating away at anything good. He blinked hard, trying to focus, the glow in his eye faint but steady. The corruption was everywhere, a weight that pressed on his heart.
He took a step, his boot crunching the dry ground loud in the quiet. Bones cracked behind him, a sharp reminder of his rough landing. The sound stuck in his head, grim and cold. He clenched his fists, digging deep for any strength he had left. Something in him refused to give up, even here.
Robert reached for his magic, hoping to heal his burns and scrapes, but nothing came. His hands shook, empty, like the power was gone for good. He tried again, desperate, but it was like shouting into a void. What's happening? he thought, panic creeping in. The absence hit hard, leaving him hollow.
He touched his chest where Moira's Aetheric Crystal used to sit, expecting its warm glow. Nothing was there, not even a mark, just plain skin. The Mana core was gone, like it had never existed. How? he wondered, heart sinking fast. Feeling so powerless crushed him, worse than the fall or the flames.
A shrill roar cut through the air, close and nasty, like a predator on the hunt. Robert didn't look back, legs moving before he could think. He aimed for a hill with something built on it, maybe a safe spot. His steps were shaky, but he pushed on, needing to hide. The thought of shelter kept him going, raw and urgent.
Back in Doras Dagda, the settlement felt too still, like it was holding its breath. Kernal stood in the town square, his big frame hunched, looking lost in thought. Villagers gave him space, half amazed by him, half nervous about why he was here. The quiet wasn't peaceful—it was heavy, full of worry. Everyone moved slow, like they were waiting for bad news.
Outside the walls, the dire wolf's torn-up body and the Hell-Goat's broken parts were burned in a pit, ashes still giving off smoke. They'd stripped the useful stuff like goat horns, hide, wolf teeth, and bones, but no one cheered. The mood was grim, every face tight with concern. People spoke soft, honoring Robert with hushed voices. Doras wasn't itself today, wrapped in a cloud of fear.
In the healer's quarters, Robert lay flat on a bed of woven vines and moss, barely breathing, sweat soaking his skin. Lillia knelt close, hands glowing soft as she poured life magic into his burned scars, red lightning marks carved deep. His Aetheric Crystal was cracked, a dark patch showing where it wasn't working right. She didn't stop, eyes fixed on him, like she could pull him back by sheer will. One of Snow's pupils slipped her a stamina potion, keeping her steady, but her hands shook now and then. She felt him slipping, like he was caught in a slower world.
Healers buzzed around, worry creasing their faces, handing Lillia potions and spreading balms to help. Snow had taken over the Arcane Crafter's Tower, practically living in the alchemy shop. She and her apprentices worked fast, using everything from DAVE's sanctum. Every herb, every vial, went into saving Robert. Snow's hands didn't stop, her focus sharp as a blade.
Adventuring teams came back pumped from wins, only to hear about Robert and go quiet. Every one stepped up, asking how to help, no hesitation. Snow sent them out with STEVE's maps to find herbs for health and stamina potions. They moved quick, turning their skills to healing, not fighting. Back at the tower, Snow turned their hauls into potions and salves, working to give Robert a chance.
"How long can Lillia keep going?" Chaucer asked, standing by the door, voice low and serious, no trace of his usual jokes. Hamish leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face heavy. "As long as she has to," he said, gruff but sure. "But it's wearing her down. She hasn't rested since we got back." Chaucer nodded, looking at the floor, worry plain in his eyes.
Chaucer rubbed his neck, uneasy. "We need him, Hamish. Three days now. That thing knew his name. If the Warlock's got his eye on Robert, we're in bigger trouble than we thought." Hamish's face darkened, but he kept steady. "Yeah. But losing it won't help. We've got to trust Lillia and the healers."
Outside, DAVE sent Kobrutes through the portal, building a tough defense with a soft whoosh each time. Tiny magi-knights joined them, fairies six inches tall with bright wings and sharp spears, their tips hollow like needles, blending magic and tech. DAVE had created their design using the Dark Fairy Queen's dungeon core, crafting fast-moving, loyal knight squads for hit-and-run tactics. They zipped around, guarding the sky and checking the green land DAVE had fixed. Squads of fifteen to twenty darted fast, keeping Doras safe. STEVE ran it all, stacking supplies and digging vaults near houses for Laird Ewan, ready for anything.
The walls were stronger now, doubled up with sand inside to soak up hits, solid as a rock. The ramparts were wider, letting a Kobrute or three men walk easy, and taller too. Villagers worked quiet, sharpening blades and fixing gates, every move focused. The air felt tight, like a storm was coming. Robert's attack had fired everyone up, ready to fight for their home.
The whole settlement was on edge, ready to make anyone pay for trying to finish Robert or take Doras. They moved like one, building walls, stockpiling gear, eyes sharp. No one talked much, but their grit showed in every swing of a hammer. If trouble came, they'd stand tall, fierce as the stone around them. Their home was sacred, and they'd guard it with everything.
Back in the healer's quarters, Lillia's magic glowed brighter for a second, her face tight as she gave Robert all she had. She hoped he could feel her, a spark in whatever dark he was lost in. Tiredness dragged at her eyes, sadness too, but she didn't quit. Her hands stayed steady, pouring light into his scars. Every bit of her was fighting for him.
In his nightmare, Robert's hours stretched into days, every step a slog to reach the hill's building. He'd counted two blurry sunsets, maybe three, losing track in the haze. It was a broken tower, smashed up from some old war, stones cracked and half gone. He stumbled inside, body aching like it'd give out. The place felt dead, like it hadn't seen life in forever. He leaned against a wall, catching his breath, wondering how he'd ended up here.
He spotted a well and dropped the bucket, hearing it splash down low. He pulled it up quick, desperate for a drink, and tipped it to his mouth. The water was slimy and sour, full of bits like something had rotted in there. He gagged, spitting it out, and his stomach heaved, emptying onto the ground. He staggered to a wall under a busted roof, half hidden, feeling sicker than ever.
Hot, beat, and so thirsty, Robert sank down, thinking of Lillia. She'd walked into his heart and stayed, no asking, just there. The need to hold her hit him like a wave, strong and real. I need you, he thought, yelling into his fist, raw with pain. When he couldn't scream anymore, he cried, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on his face.
Time dragged, and Robert sat there, stuck with no way out. Then a man showed up, voice smooth as a breeze, dressed in white like a clan chief. He stepped into the tower and sat on a fallen stone, calm and steady. "Robert," he said, soft but clear. It startled Robert bad, and he sat up quick, staring at the guy, heart jumping.
Robert didn't say a word at first, head spinning fast. Was this guy real, or just another nightmare trick? Something about him felt like a memory Robert couldn't grab, faint but there. He stared, trying to make sense of it. The man just sat, looking back, like he had all the time in the world.
"Who are you?" Robert finally got out, voice rough and scratched from his dry throat. He noticed how bad he smelled, with sweat, that rotten water, and the sour air clinging to him. It made him feel smaller, like he was less than he should be. The man didn't seem to care, his face still calm. Robert waited, heart pounding for an answer.
"Not important. Thirsty?" the man asked, voice easy, like they were chatting over tea. Robert nodded quick, a spark of hope in his tired eyes. The man tossed him a water skin, heavy with water. Robert caught it clumsy, hands shaking, but he didn't care. He just needed that drink.
He ripped the cap off and drank deep, cold water hitting his throat like a gift. It washed away the slime and rot, clean and sharp, settling cool in his gut. Each gulp felt like life coming back, pulling him up from the dark. He drained it all, and for a second, he could've cried at how good it was. He looked at the man, still shaky but grateful.
The man gave a small laugh, warm and light. "Looks like you've had it rough here, Robert. Why do you stay?" His voice was kind, but it cut through the fog in Robert's head. Robert froze, the question hitting him hard. He hadn't thought about staying. He didn't know there was a choice.
"I don't know how to leave," Robert said, wiping his face with his sleeve, voice heavy. "I don't even know where this is." The words felt true, like admitting something he'd been carrying too long. He looked at the man, hoping for something to make sense of it. The man just nodded, like he understood.
"Alright," the man said, leaning back a bit. "Here. Let's talk." His voice was steady, pulling Robert in like being pulled on board ship, after having fallen overboard in the sea. The tower felt less empty with him there, like he brought a piece of the real world with him. Robert sat up straighter, waiting to hear what came next.