Everything had happened quickly to the wizard, who now lay supine on the wooden floor with his hands resting on his temples, fingers intertwined in the sweat-soaked silver that lay above his head. The thin hands were riddled with veins; Storm would reason it was the gift of dehydration that afforded this appearance, ignoring the elephant in the room that he had grown old while no one was looking. Arius was so close; a younger, quicker version of himself would have recovered his magic and blasted the traitorous wretch into a blackened spray of meat, bone and burnt hair. It was only now, moments later, that he could feel the magic finally returning stronger with each rapid thump of his heart.

Damned lot that does you now.

“You’re welcome…” a weak voice offered from the bed above. Shinsou had reawakened, through some fortunate combination of magic and pain-induced shock. Veritas stood to see his old running mate, and his eyes betrayed an attempt at optimism. Shinsou had been bled significantly; long slashes in the arms and legs and across the belly. Arius had been filleting him before the wizard arrived.

Shinsou offered a weak smile as his friend’s hand came over to rest on his shoulder. Bandages wrapped the parts of him that were wounded by the old gunfire, but he would need to be wrapped for the tomb to give him sufficient coverage to bind his fresh wounds.

“Hang tight. I can cauterize the fresh cuts, but I can’t have you passing out from the pain. Already lost you once.” Storm spun to the door, his tenor changing entirely as he yelled at the terrified employees of the little hospital.

”We’re clear in here! We need help, have an injured man! HELP!”

A few brave eyes slowly appeared around the entrance of the room where the little war had been waged. The nurse was scared, but the eyes of Storm Veritas told her that she was welcomed and needed. Peering around the room once more, she stepped through the doorway, gasping at the wreckage of a man that was before her on the bed. Barely five feet tall, the dark skinned woman of sixty-ish waddled quickly as she hollered.

“Ginna! Bailey! Stephens! Hurry!” her small, sharp voice registered her urgency as she raced to reconnect tubes and little wires and fluids. She scrambled with bandages, asking Storm to compress wounds before a couple of other orderlies arrived to assist. A flurry of questions, tests, chest compressions and breaths. They would scramble, piercing Veritas with a needle and a tube that ran from his arm to his friend. The scarlet fluid flowed quickly, the thin, watery blood devoid of any little flickers of fluorescence or visible magic that they had secretly hoped to see. Time passed quickly, and it would be morning when Shinsou would wake up to a familiar voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you.” Storm bit his lip to avoid a tremble in his voice; Vaan Osiris was still barely a whiter shade than the bedsheet had once been. Even by Telgradian standards, Shinsou looked like a wraith. Still, the friends had been through horrors, and knew what each could endure.

“Seriously, thank you.” Storm continued, grinning wickedly as he looked down, gently tapping his back for the splinter that was fortunately big enough to get his fingers on. With a quick pull and a grunt, it was out. “I was laying there, thinking how old and slow and weak these old bones have gotten. It softens the blow to stand and see you here, looking like you died six months ago.”

“Also, you were in a pinch there, talking all sorts of High Telgradian nonsense and about to bleed out. They asked me a bunch of questions and ended up giving you my blood. If it burns when you pee, you’re welcome.”

A slightly heartier laugh came from the bed, and the men would talk. Cleaning crews would work, kind nurses checking and bringing food, and the pair discussed Mephisto. Shinsou knew him far better, filling in Storm with some background and details. Police would come, debating on how to do their job in the eyes of the Lords of the city, balancing an air of responsibility with not bothering their ultimate bosses.

Whatever. Do your jobs. Train your people better. Lock this place up.

Storm cared little for Tylermande as the sun poured in the window to the room where so much blood had been spilled. His friend was alive, and that was good. Arius Mephisto was alive, and that was bad.

…And that is temporary.