A Fallen Hero

The shriek that tore from Viera's throat was lost in the cavernous space, swallowed by the guttural snarl of the beast looming over Linx's broken form.

Dust and grit filled Linx's mouth. He tried to push himself up, his arms trembling like newborn foals, but the world was a dizzying smear of grey stone and monstrous shadow. 

A wet, coppery taste coated his tongue. His strength was a ghost, a memory that had long since fled his body. He collapsed back onto the floor, his breath a ragged, painful stutter.

Ning saw it all. He saw the tremor in Linx's limbs, the final, desperate effort that yielded nothing. 

He saw the Behemoth pivot, its massive, horned head lowering, its maw dripping with a viscous, black ichor. It was coiling for the final, pulverizing strike. They had seconds. Less.

A chime, sharp and cold as ice, cut through the panic in his mind.