Proven

I lay there, bleeding and moaning, struggling to get a healing potion into my mouth. My opponent, so far as I could see, was doing the same. These weren't the high potions, that worked instantly; I had no access to those. I had a moment of dread – did my opponent have such access?

Between bouts of sneezing blood, I managed to swallow.

My feet, I dimly remembered I had to get my feet beneath me. No, not curled like that. Stand.

Oh gods, why? It seemed like such an effort.

But my opponent was leveraging his lance as a crutch. I knew I couldn't let him rise first.

"Commoners may not touch the steps of the king's altar!" the Throne Lurker said. Hadn't I just learned his name? Stupid [Concussion]. At least there was no [Brain Damage]; his name would return to me in time.

If I could stand. If I didn't die before then.

Using the forbidden steps, I pushed myself to a sitting position. From there…