Online In Another World

"Hold on–!" Ethan yelled out.

It was impossible to maintain any stable footing to support his own strength in the life-or-death tug-of-war as the grains of blue sand continued to slip beneath his boots. So instead of utilizing magic to directly try and combat the issue engulfing Joel, he conjured stone footholds that shaped around his boots.

These rocky molds were directly rooted in the sand, embedding deep and allowing him to maintain his balance while knelt down, extending his arms and holding on with all of his strength.

"...It's doing something to me! Hurry, Ethan–!" Joel cried out.

"I'm trying…!" Ethan yelled out.

For some reason, there was an anxiety bubbling in his gut; an ominous feeling that made his fingertips cold and his head hot.

In his mind, what he felt was: "Something bad is going to happen."

It was a swirl of unease in his stomach; an unavoidable feeling of dread; inescapable, yet–

The sand parted and rumbled, kicking up a cloud of blue sand as he managed to free his companion from the hold of the enigmatic dune with one, last tug.

…Got him! Ethan thought.

Though as Joel was freed from that last pull, the dispersal of force caused Ethan to stumble back, falling on his rear as he winced. Still, he was relieved as he caught his breath, breathing in the coarse grains of sand into his lungs and coughing out.

"...Joel!"

There was little time to be relieved as he continued coughing up, hacking up droplets of blood onto his glove before crawling to his feet, falling over again as he stumbled to where his silver-haired companion was laying.

"Urgh…" Joel groaned.

It was difficult to see in the veil of azure sand; like a mist of rough sediment, filling the air with an uncomfortable layer.

Joel was facedown against the sand, groaning and spitting out grains that were caught in his lips. Despite the pressing situation and what had just happened, the adventurer was hardly moving, only gripping the sand with his fingers.

As Ethan approached, kneeling down and gently shaking him by the shoulder for him to get up, he found his stomach sinking.

Why do I feel like everything…is set to go wrong? He questioned.

It was when the cloud of dust began to settle did his eyes catch onto it; a stream of scarlet, a trail of which lead from the closed dune and to the body of Joel.

There were no legs attached to Joel's body; from the thighs down, only a trail of blood remained.

"Ngh…" Joel groaned more, becoming noticeably pale.

"Joel…your legs…" Ethan mumbled quietly in shock.

For a moment, he sat there on his knees in disbelief at the gruesome sight, but eventually snapped back into focus as he tended to the wounds. They were not clean cuts; strands of flesh hung from the wounds as if torn off completely rather than cut.

Shit, shit, shit…! Ethan thought.

Joel was barely conscious, seeming to have his mind swirled by the blood loss. Such heavy wounds were not in Ethan's paygrade, but he tried his best nonetheless.

"Healing…!" Ethan invoked.

The staff he held in his hands trembled so much that he had to do away with it altogether, instead doing it the old-fashioned way as he kept his palms close to the profusely bleeding wounds.

Now more than ever, he could feel the mitigation of his magical abilities while in the form of frail, sickly Ethan.

Even if he forced the mana to surge through his veins, heating up his body and causing blood to trail down from his nose, it felt like a water hose being squeezed. Simply, the body of Ethan didn't allow for a large amount of mana to be cast at once, let alone continuously for such high-level recovery magic.

Why…!? Why does it have to be this body?! If I was 'Emilio', maybe…maybe I could save him! He lamented.

"...Ethan…" Joel called his name.

"Don't talk right now!...Save your strength! I need to focus!" Ethan told him.

It was almost unreal how much arterial fluid was exuding from the wounds; it was no doubt a lethal wound and an uphill battle for his less-than-extraordinary abilities as a medic. Still, he fought tooth-and-nail as the continuous strain of the magecraft caused his body to undergo negative reactions.

A stream of dark-red blood fell from one of his nostrils as his eyes ran bloodshot; veins pressed against his pale skin as he continued invoking recovery magic as the emerald illumination did its best to counteract the wounds with what little proficiency it had.

"--"

After a few minutes that dragged on like a nail-biting eternity, he managed to stifle the bleeding somewhat. It was the best he could do as his body was drained; it ached and throbbed with a burning sensation that ignited beneath his skin, causing him to hack up blood onto his hand.

"...Ethan…"

"I already told you, stop–" Ethan began to say as he moved his mouth from his hand, but was interrupted.

The look in Joel's eyes was faint, as if he was staring off into a distant respite, "...Melisande. I see her. She's all alone…waiting for me…"

Such words spoken in a tone detached from reality, falling from Joel's lips weakly, were telling Ethan of what state the man was in.

"Ethan…" Joel said weakly, stretching his hand out towards seemingly nothing, "...She's alone. I have to be with her–she's scared, Ethan. She's waiting."

"...Stop talking like that," Ethan said quietly, wiping the blood from his nose.

There was nothing that Joel's fingertips reached out for, at least nothing visible to Ethan's eyes, though the silver-haired man seemed so insistent that somebody was there, waiting for him just out of reach.

"...Melisande…" Joel said weakly.

"Joel…you're not in the right state of mind," Ethan tried telling him, standing up and extending his hand down to him, "...Come on, man. Let's find Melisande, okay?"

"Melisande…I'm right here," Joel said as if no longer hearing him.

It was heartbreaking to see the state of the man. Lost in the unknown depths of intertwined nightmares, he felt alone when watching Joel's mental state deteriorate with the loss of blood.

As he sat there on his knees, listening to murmurs from the hardly conscious adventurer, who repeated the name 'Melisande', he found himself at a loss on what to do.

However, as the azure sand began vibrating, his hesitance was shaken up. Though he was unable to see into the depths of the mystical sand, he could give a good guess that it was likely the same creature from before.

Crap…! He thought.

Bringing himself back to his feet, he was hardly in the right state to handle such conflict; his body was worn, drained, and depleted of energy.

As he brought himself to his feet, blood trailed down his nose, seeping over his lip as he coughed out. He keeled over, holding his stomach as it felt like a fireball was swirling in his gut.

…Shit…He thought, using that healing really took it out of me…

For a moment, he was able to think clearly once his forehead touched the brisk sand; it was surprisingly cold, as if a cold wave had swept through it and began to dry out.

It was debilitating; throughout his body, the searing heat that bubbled in his core extended through him like visceral shards of glass pressing against his bones. Such pain would normally make it easy to stand up and run the other away, leaving his companion behind, but–

Ethan, or rather, Emilio, couldn't bear the thought of it.

It would be giving in to what he feared; what he was: 'fragile, sickly, helpless, and useless Ethan Bellrose.' The fate of Ethan was the fate of Emilio; though he abandoned his first life, here it was, clinging to him like a phantom from the past.

As he sat there with the sand rumbling, closing in, for the first time since Joel was set on the threshold of death, the man said his name:

"...Ethan…"

It was so faint; a gentle word spoken as if hardly a proper breath could be gathered by the silver-haired man now.

"Huh?" He looked up, staring at his companion in surprise.

"...Go…" Joel told him, "...I'm done for, Ethan."

As he opened his mouth to retort those words, seeking to reassure the adventurer, his lips were agape but he found himself unable to find any source of hope when looking at the state of Joel. The man's complexion had become deathly pale and his emerald eyes had lost their glow completely; he simply looked at Ethan with certain eyes.

"...I saw her, Ethan," Joel said, "...She's waiting for me."

He finally responded as he gripped Joel's forearm, "Stop talking like that! I told you, you're not in the right state of–"

"Listen to me, Ethan!" Joel yelled sharply.

It was surprising that enough strength was left in the man's body for him to yell with such volume, but it was more shocking that he exuded such clear, focused intent in his words.

"--" Ethan looked at him.

The tears that had welled up in Joel's eyes began to trail down his cheeks, "...I saw her. I saw her, Ethan. You know what I'm saying, don't you?"

"No. Joel, don't–it doesn't mean anything," he tried to assure him.

Though it seemed Joel was adamant in what he had seen as he looked him dead in the eyes, gripping onto Ethan's sleeve, "--Listen to me. I failed, Ethan. Melisande–she…she's gone. Ethan…I couldn't save her. I couldn't. I tried–I-I did, but…I'm weak."

"Weak."--it was a word that stuck out to him, ingrained in his mind as he sat there, looking down at Joel who watched him with eyes that resigned to their fate. There were many definitions of weak; to him, he believed in the most straightforward explanation of weakness: a lack of physical strength.

However, fighting tooth-and-nail now, in a body he once deemed 'useless', he hadn't lost hope yet, somehow. Perhaps weakness was something else to him now; he began to realize.

"...Ethan…I'm done for. I can't walk…"

"I can–"

"No," Joel looked at him, slowly shaking his head with eyes full of tears, "I don't have any reason to continue on. It's…hell. I don't want it anymore, Ethan. I just…want to rest."

I'm not that same weak, helpless 'Ethan'...he thought, I'm Emilio Dragonheart…I'm not afraid of a body that can't keep up. I can push it. I can do this. Even if I break down…I won't succumb to the confines of this body–not anymore.