"H-Help me."
Adyr paused mid-step, having been following the trail deeper into the corridor, when the voice reached him.
Turning, he spotted the source: one of the players, sprawled across the floor. His arm had been torn off entirely. Both legs—crushed, as if something massive had flattened them. Yet, somehow, he was still alive and conscious. Watching Adyr with bloodshot, pleading eyes.
Adyr exhaled quietly.
"Weak… yet stubborn enough to keep breathing," he muttered, changing direction and approaching him.
The wounded player's expression shifted when he saw Adyr moving closer. Even through the agony twisting his face, a fragile flicker of hope broke through.
"P-Please… I don't want to die. Help me." His voice cracked, forced from a throat weakened by blood loss.
