Foster struggled back to his feet, desperately clutching his hand to his wound. The blood flowed slowly, hot and thick, soaking his clothes, tracing a scarlet trail on the cold stones of the ground. Each step became more painful, each movement drew a muffled groan from him, but he couldn't give up now.
His fingers trembled, his legs wobbled. He staggered forward, one arm clutching his wound, the other stretched out in front of him, desperate to lean against the cold wall of the tomb. The corridor seemed endless, lit by the flickering flames of the torches, which cast twisted, menacing shadows around him.
- Help... me...," he murmured in a barely audible breath.
But only the echo of his faint voice answered, slowly fading into the dark depths of the tomb.