Every part of his body is pulsing from the overuse of his magic. Raw and battered, his muscles scream at him not to use them. His vision fogs and he has to stop, hand clenching tight over a rock he holds onto as he shuts his eyes for a moment. Else he'll end up splattered on the dirt. 

"You can do it! One step at the time," Vid encourages him from beneath, but he doesn't know if he can move anymore.

He's just so tired, he could sleep for two days straight.

"Come on! Just a few more steps and then you can jump. I'll catch you."

Plamen looks down over his shoulder. Vid, with his arms loosely outstretched in front, smiles at him, almost beaming, in an attempt to look reassuring. His arms look like twigs that would break under Plamen's weight.

With a tired sigh, Plamen continues his descent down the nearly vertical slope with only a few cracks and irregularities where he can insert his limbs.

It takes him a long time, though it probably feels even longer from how much his body protests at any kind of movement. Even worse, his bloodied shirt pulls on the wounds left by that big bird. Wait... Where did the bird go? After his fight with the guy controlling it, the bird just disappeared. No. it just didn't come back. Plamen is quite sure he saw it flying off to somewhere.

His hand slips and gravity pulls him backward so he does the only sensible thing left: he pushes against the stone with his feet so he doesn't hit the rocks on his way down. He's falling, flapping his arms, and then collides with something warm, landing into a pile of limbs.

Oh, gods. It hurts. There's a possibility he's crying because he landed on his back because it feels like a raging inferno because his breath catches in his throat and he can't breathe.

He thinks he's groaning. Or maybe moaning. An hour passes, or maybe just a minute. He doesn't know. It's dark. So dark...

"Hey, it's okay. You're going to be just fine."

He grips onto that voice with all his might because a small part of his mind acknowledges the fact that he can't fall asleep right now, no matter how much his body cries out for relief.

He breathes through his nose, tempering pain, pushing it to the back of his mind. Once he feels slightly better, he notices soft warmth under his back. What..?

That same soft warmth moves. Oh. Oh.

Vid did catch him, he realizes, somewhat gleeful and partially grateful for not landing on the hard earth.

It's time to get up, at least to a sitting position. So he does. And nearly conks out. His nerves fire pain signals back to his brain and at that moment the only thing existing is a blanket of pain, so clear, so sharp, unquenchable.

When he finally comes to, he realizes Vid must have held him up. Otherwise, he would be eating dirt by now.

Wiry but supple arms are caging him in while fingers hold his head still. No, not just holding. A cold swish of magic is intermingled there. Something, some kind of spell. Healing? Maybe. He does feel much much better than before, although that doesn't mean much considering he felt like shit a minute ago

In the following instance, Plamen realizes this might have been the most shameful moment of his young life. He's sitting on the ground, Vid behind him holding his upper body up with hands, and grounding his sitting position with legs encircling him. He should be the one who is strong and reliable. Well, that went out of the window the moment he got himself incapacitated.

"I'm fine," he tries to say, but it steams out of his mouth as a garbled mess of vowels. Could he be more pitiful?

"Shh...you'll be fine."

Vid, please, don't put salt on the wound! Plamen would scream if he could, however, it seems to be too much trouble. He concentrates on the steady stream of magic flowing from Vid's fingers, seeping into his temples.

"I'm fine." The words finally resemble words, though a bit skewered at the ends. Gah.

"Of course you are. I'm here to patch you up. You'll be on your feet and running around in no time."

Vid is a really kind person. Plamen used to consider that a weakness. Now, he's not so sure about it. A person must be strong if they can put aside all the fears, their dread, and any other sensation rising right after someone made an attempt on their life. And all that just so they can care for an injured.

"My back," Plamen rasps out. "Wounds need treatment."

"Oh... can you keep sitting up without my help?"

Plamen nods, with slow movements not to aggravate the haze that has just receded from his head.

"Okay, let's do it."

***

It took them a good chunk of an hour to get Plamen naked from the waist up, the fabric of his shirt had caught onto the scabbed skin, and oh, gods, it freaking hurt to get it off even with water to soften the crusted parts. Next, they bandaged four holes on the sides of his back. Luckily, Vid claimed the wounds are shallow, no need for stitches (Plamen doesn't think he would've been able to take it without embarrassing himself even more.)

His energy has come back little by little, and now he's feeling quite well. Well enough to realize that the bird's talons were coated with a type of poison used to weaken the subject. Head cleared, he recognizes the symptoms, but decides to keep quiet; what Vid doesn't know, can't get him to panic without a reason. It doesn't matter anymore, Plamen's magic has already burned it out by now, not even a speck is left in his blood. His fire doesn't agree with specific compounds.

Two vanguards were defeated while they took care of his wounds. But not without sacrifice. Four out of ten officers have died in this battle. The remaining Unnaturals were easy to beat by seasoned soldiers, especially after they experienced such a strenuous fight.

Plamen keeps on leaning on Vid as they walk, flanked by the six of the surviving Armsguards, protecting them in a loose circle formation. They've witnessed what Plamen can do. There's nothing left of the white-haired Vanguard who attacked Vid and since none of them left the fight with the Vanguards unscathed, they obviously think of it to be a miracle. It isn't fear in their eyes when they look at him, so Plamen lets them do what they want.

They're nearing the fields in front of the Castle where the fight still rages on. Smoke floats to their side, the smell of burnt wood and something else.

His eyes pick up on a fight between Yana and one of the Vanguards. She's jumping around parrying with her flame sword against a big shiny broadsword making it look like she's dancing under the pale stream of moonlight.

Once her dark eyes connect to his for a brief moment, her moves become faster, her sword seems to hit harder and her face turns feral. The fight doesn't last long after that. A feint here, a kick there, roll and come to feet, and soon her sword finds its way into the Vanguards chest, slipping between ribs and right through his heart.

"Take that, you big oaf!" she yells right into the guy's face, bringing her leg up to gain purchase against his torso and forcefully tugs her sword out of his chest, letting the body to drop on the ground in an unceremonious manner.

She glides to their side. "Hey, kiddos." The stench of burning flesh follows her, making Plamen scrunch up his nose.

"You stink," he tells her.

She smirks, arching an eyebrow. "What? Don't tell me you grew squeamish in the last few hours?"

He snorts as an answer, not deigning a response in words.

She turns to look at other fights, smile slipping from her face. "We're kinda in deep shit," she says, pausing for a moment, then her face brightens up once more. "Look at your friend there, she's having fun."

Plamen glances where she's pointing at and lo and behold, there's Zima chasing a dark-skinned Vanguard with ice needles. Her face looks like a grotesque mixture of innocence, exhilaration, and anger. What in the nine depths of hell is going on?

He must have made a face because Yana answers his unvoiced question. "Heard the guy taunting her how he will first kill her, then her comrades. I don't think she took it well. A moment later her needles start dissolving the ground where they fell."

"Oh, gods...she's using Pozadnje Suze," Vid cries out. "Is she insane?"

"I'm pretty sure she is," Plamen deadpans. It earns him a glare but he ignores it in favor of watching the fight.

One of her needles strikes true and the guy screams. She raises her hand and the stack of needles fall on him, piercing his whole body. Plamen is pretty sure she didn't use the flowers for that last attack because the Vanguard is in one piece albeit resembling a pincushion.

Zima takes one last look on her fallen enemy, huffing and twirls on her feet, dark robe flapping as she makes her way to their side. She stops a few meters away, observing them.

Then, as if a dam breaks, tears start rolling down her cheeks and she jumps in, spreading her arms to encompass both Vid and Plamen.

"I didn't cry while flinging my ice around," she informs them, then smirks. "Did we just beat the Prophecy?"

"Why do you ask that?" Plamen would really like to know.

Her tear-streaked face turns impish. "I don't know," she drawls. "Our dearest oracle here..." She thrusts with chin toward Vid who squeaks indignantly. "...ran off after you and now he looks like one of my dogs at home, that, I must admit, really loves rolling in the mud after it rains."

Vid is pouting, Zima is smirking, and Plamen laughs.

"Yes, we did. None of the predicted courses happened."

He says that, thoroughly enjoying this feeling of happiness, yet something doesn't feel quite right. He wonders what it is.