Chapter 46 - Dark

 Bjorn was dying with his mouth open and stretched out on the mossy floor. His lung had shrunk to protect itself from the impact denying him the air and half of his ribs had been broken. He was used to the pain, especially in the hands that had been carelessly hammered and burned in the forge over and over again. But running out of air and having so many broken ribs was its own kind of angst. 

 The old man looked at him for a moment before lifting the lamp to his face and blowing it out. Flooding them both in the cold darkness of the tunnels.

 "Foolish youth," proclaimed the old man in the dark.

  Then there was the sound of quick footsteps crushing moss.

 Bjorn was blinded and out of breath, but he noticed a low, yellow trail coming from the direction of the noise and aiming at his face at great speed.

 But survival instinct being by far the strongest of human instincts made Bjorn, even in agony, manage to jerk his head upwards, while still healing his ribs. The yellow trail passed with such speed that the ensuing gust made her hair dance.

 'Yellow…' Thought Bjorn, clearly free of some of the pain, after completely healing his right hand during the old man's run and part of his ribs. 

 Yellows were not strong, not fast, not agile. But that didn't make them any less dangerous, as they can heighten their senses many times over. The old man in question seemed to be especially capable of honing his eyes, as he didn't seem to have a hard time knowing where Bjorn's head was.

 Doing the same see a second yellow glow descending from above with speed and strength to crush his skull three times.

 The great blacksmith managed to dodge it by a hair's breadth again, rolling backwards before pouring a massive amount of essence into his arms and slamming both palms into the mossy earth, sending his body leaping two meters up and three back. 

 A "boom" followed instantly, scattering dust and debris up to where Bjorn landed.

 "Reveal yourself, cowardly wizard," teased Bjorn as he landed. His ribs had already been mostly restored, with just a few cracks he'd left on purpose to preserve the essence. 

 Bjorn was relieved to be white for the first time since he was chosen. He always thought red would be perfect for forge. But if it was, he might be able to wound the old man in the first strike. But he might as well already be dead from his wounds.

"Revelarg," spat Bjorn as he received a fist in his cracked ribs, breaking them again.

 The old man had attacked him with no essence this time, no light to alert him. 

 The young blacksmith began using the essence again to heal his wounds. But then another punch came, shattering his teeth and then one more and many more followed. Bjorn tried to parry some of the blows blindly and when he finally got a hit… His feet were then swept away and before his face even touched the ground a kick was embedded in his fractured ribs, puncturing his lungs.

 "Fool," declared the man, as he took slow, heavy steps. Making Bjorn despair with every "tap" that sounded through the darkness.

 "Wh-what," Bjorn tried to say, while choking on his blood. His essence was at an end after so much healing his body. 

 That was the problem with the whites. Lots of healing without powerful attacks just made him a durable punching bag against a more powerful enemy.

 "To find a man" declared the old man before kicking Bjorn still on the ground, sending him rolling a few feet.

 'Will I die like this? I? The great Bjorn? No… no.' Thought Bjorn.

 "Pi… Pity," cried the great Bjorn for mercy

.

 "Pity?" asked the old man. Then he bent down, grabbed Bjorn by the neck, and brought him in front of his face. Soon two yellow orbs lit up in the darkness and stared at the young blacksmith.

 "Do you see how pain saves? Where is your arrogance? Where is the big man full of venom? Now he asks for mercy with tears in his eyes, see how a-" declared the man, but before he was able to finish, he heard a sound. in the dark.

 Siizzzz bam!!!

 With his neck firmly held by the man, in the instant following the sound, Bjorn had his body brought forward towards the man and then to the ground.

 When the young blacksmith managed to muster what little strength he had left to look around, he saw the old man's eye sockets close to the ground beside him and losing their luster by the moment. Soon after, he also felt a hot liquid touch his body.

 "Fanatics are always imbeciles," sounded a familiar voice from the darkness above, as if it were hanging from the ceiling. Soon a thud was heard near Bjorn and his wounds began to heal, but just enough for him to come out of critical condition. The sound of someone moving clothes followed. "I found!" The familiar voice uttered and then a match was struck and from its heat the flames of a lamp sprang up. 

 Bjorn could see his savior now, he was a tall young man, with black eyes, brown hair that went to his shoulder, he didn't have his right arm and his silver apprentice robe with green details was filthy and he stank more than a skunk, the young man, was none other than Pan. Which lay beside the dead old man's body and nailed to the ground by a sword stuck between his eyes.