Face of Death

Tycondrius took in a deep breath, examining the set of runes in front of him. Once he began reestablishing the formation, it was likely that the Imprisoned Giant would sense the danger and attack. 

"You ready, Optio?" Zenon asked. The Centurion's voice shook. His hands trembled, but not from the cold. Besides the ghosts and Lake Eels, there was an Adamantine-Rank creature within 100 yalms that was capable of ending him in a single strike. 

It was likely the closest to death that Zenon had ever been. 

"How do you feel, Brother-Zenon?" Tycon asked, granting him a reassuring smile. 

"I... I dunno, man. So many things could go wrong," Zenon grimaced. 

"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "You'll remember this feeling for the rest of your life-- as long or as short as it'll be."

"What do you mean?" Zenon pursed his lips and looked away, "Being scared shite-less?"