Emily falls as she releases the desperate wind bolt, draining the last little dregs of her mana as she does so. She barely, just barely, had enough mana for it. She didn’t even aim it properly, just hoping against all hope that it could save Alastair and give him enough time to find his footing once again. Her butt hits the packed earth hard, a twinge shooting up her spine from the impact, but she barely notices the pain over the pounding, head-shattering migraine that she’s trying her hardest to push to the side so that she could concentrate on the fight once again. She tries to squint past the white spots that block her vision without success, her hearing just as useless, as everything seems to sound far away and tinny to her, as if she’s listening through a tin can.
“Mana burnout…” she says to herself, just to see if her mouth is still working. Her tongue feels heavy and awkward in her mouth, like it’s barely listening to her commands anymore. She furiously tries to organize her thoughts, sifting through her memories for just what the hell she should be doing right now. “What did he say about mana burnout, again? Something about letting the mana –”
She lets out a yelp as something slams heavily into her, throwing her painfully to the side. She faintly hears a second slam hit the spot that she was just occupying, pieces of dirt and debris stinging her face, followed by a cry of pain that almost sounds like it came from Nora. Emily desperately tries to rub away the spots in her eyes, reaching for the mana that surrounds her in a desperate attempt to undo some of the damage that she just did to herself.
The mana burns its way into her body, scorching her cells as it slowly trickles its way to her reservoir. She almost throws up from the pain, doubling over and heaving for breath, sweat dripping down her in rivulets as a tiny droplet’s worth of magma-hot mana coalesces inside of her. But it did its job, her migraine easing up just enough for her vision to clear and for her to think slightly more clearly.
Nora’s on the ground, her face twisted in pain and her skin an unhealthy, pale white. She’s clutching a goblin sword in her hand in a defensive position, as if she’s ready to block a strike at a moment’s notice. Her leg is twisted unnaturally to the side, clearly broken, the bone poking just underneath the surface of her skin. Emily’s eyes follow where Nora is staring to, finding the basilisk shaking its head in pain and frustration. It glares at Nora in anger, before turning and locking eyes with Emily.
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“Emily, move!” Alastair shouts, as he desperately races towards them. But Emily knows that she won’t be able to move in time, her body refusing to listen to her commands as it is. So when the basilisk rears back for yet another strike, she does all that she can think of to do.
She grabs a branch from nearby, holding it in front of her in an attempt to block its strike. It falls upon her, faster than she could have had any hope to dodge. But luckily for her, the basilisk’s jaws latch down on the branch, trapping its mouth open and saving Emily from getting herself bisected by its razor-sharp teeth. It crashes into her regardless, knocking the wind out of her and throwing her across the clearing, rolling her across the floor until she painfully smacks to a halt against a tree trunk. She’s plunged into darkness, having dropped her torch at some stage of her flight.
Emily lifts her head in fear, expecting a follow-up strike to hit her at any moment and finish her off. She’s completely spent, not a spell left to her and not a muscle listening to her commands at this point. She looks up in an attempt to spot the basilisk, the effort taking all that she has in her, but if this is the end, then she refuses to turn away from it. She always admired how her dad refused to turn away from his end, all those years ago.
The basilisk races towards her, faster than she could ever believe something of that size could move. She watches as its midnight-black scales disappear as it slithers out of the range of her dropped torch, the sound of its passage and its black, gleaming eyes the only way she can keep track of it. It coils around her and the tree, slowly tightening around her.
Emily tries to struggle as the basilisk squeezes against her tighter and tighter, her arms flailing wildly in an attempt to grab onto something, anything, in order to pull her out and escape. It finishes coiling and starts squeezing against her, swiftly blocking off her airways and creaking painfully against her ribs and bones.
Out of the corner of her eye, Emily watches as Alastair reaches the basilisk. She turns to watch as he raises his sword high into the air, bringing it down against the Basilisk’s side. The blade is turned away once again, and again, and again, as Alastair begins to panic.
Emily starts to lose consciousness, her bones grinding painfully against each other. She feels a tear running down her cheek, as she realizes that there’s nothing that anyone could do to save her. After so many close calls with death, and after so many moments where she thought that she was done for, it’s actually happening. She’s not making it out of this.
She turns her eyes to look the basilisk in the eyes, those black, merciless pits staring back at her with mirth. Up until a dog-sized ostrich falls seemingly out of nowhere, landing on the basilisk’s head with its talons outstretched.
