Armoured men surrounded them on all sides, their swords drawn and levelled in the direction of the trio. From the trees Morgan could make out the faint scent of yet more men, likely with ranged weapons aimed in their directions.
Each of the men wore a complete set of armour, their faces hidden behind worn metal helmets that retained their quality despite the apparent battle damage. Engraved into the chest plate of each bandit was a sigil that had at a later date been scratched beyond recognition in an almost deliberate way.
Wren stood in front of him, shielding him and Iskandar from the nearest enemies. As if guided by an unseen force, the bandits encircling them shuffled to the side, making room for another man to step forward.
His armour bore the same design as the rest of his men, just made of a higher quality material. The ground trembled beneath his feet as he strode forward till he stood just five steps from the redhead, and drew his sword.
To Morgan's eyes the blade glimmered with esoteric power, glowing lines traced up and down its length, brimming with power that was just waiting to be used.
He had to warn Wren, had to let him know how hopelessly outnumbered, and out geared they were, but he couldn't.
Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth as he fought down a wave of nausea stronger than any other he'd experienced so far that day. The taste of bile and iron mixed in his mouth as he keeled over, one hand flying out to support him against the ground as he retched.
A torrent of blood, flesh, and digestive juices gushed from his mouth, as his vision swam, sweat pouring from him in droves and tears brimming in the corners of his eyes.
At once, the previously boisterous bandits fell silent, some even taking a few steps back to get away from him. Why now of all times? There could not have been a worse moment to retch up his guts, than in front of over twenty high strung bandits.
His tongue lolled out of his mouth, covered with one hand, as the taste of bile clouded his sense of smell.
He wasn't sure when, but one moment there was no one, and the next Wren was crouched by his side, a look of concern on his face, as his sword clattered to the side. From his back, he could feel Iskandar discreetly using healing spells on him, to no effect.
"Morgan, are you okay! What happened!? Is that… blood?"
With a face as pale as paper, Morgan did his best to look up at their enemies. Just because his ally had let their guard down, didn't mean he would.
However, when he saw the bandits' leader sheathing his sword, he subconsciously relaxed a bit.
"Your friend doesn't look too good there. Would you like for our healer to assist him?"
Morgan froze mid-hurl out of shock, and slowly turned to look at the approaching man. What type of bandit offered medical aid to their would-be victims? Moments ago they were robbing them, now they were offering to help them. It was such an odd offer that for a moment he froze up.
A moment was all it took.
While wandering closer, the bandit leader's eyes roved over the prone form of Morgan, eventually settling on his left hand, which was planted into the dirt in front of him. A hand, that was made entirely out of living metal.
Shouting in surprise, the leader leapt backwards while drawing his sword and levelling it at Morgan in particular.
"What manner of foul sorcery is this! Explain yourselves this instant, lest I cut you down where you lay!"
Metal rattled in all directions as the once lax bandits snapped back to attention with movements that were far too coordinated.
Eyes wide in panic, he tried to speak, to justify his existence to a group of scared, superstitious men. Yet the only thing that left his mouth was more blood, enough to almost choke him.
Luckily he wasn't alone, and a certain redhead stepped up, both figuratively and literally.
"You can't! He's afflicted with a horrid curse that slowly entombs him in a cocoon of metal. Any attempt to touch his skin, or harm him in any way will cause you to become cursed as well. Believe me, I've seen men fall to this foul sorcery, it's not a pleasant end."
Wren stood eye to eye with the head bandit. From his position on the ground, Morgan could see Wren was trembling slightly, with a bit of his blood on their hand.
Murmurs of fear rang across the road as the bandits shuffled back further.
Their leader however, remained firmly in place and glanced hesitantly at Morgan. It was clear he saw through their bluff, but still, there was a seed of doubt, and the redhead knew how to make it bloom.
"Look at his hand, the curse has already taken that from him. He has at most a day to live if I don't take him to the correct doctor."
Despite the helmet covering his face, Morgan could feel the head bandit's eyes roam over his body, stopping briefly everywhere metal peeked from beneath his bandages.
Turning his gaze to his men encircling them, the way he hesitated was so potent that even in his near death state, Morgan could still taste it. The man was torn between his reputation, and the lives of his men.
His knuckles turned white as he gripped his sword tightly.
Minutes passed by in silence as nothing happened, everyone awaiting the decision of the bandits' leader. Eventually, he broke the silence with a sigh, and spoke.
"I… We'll let you go this time. You're obviously poor, and as men of honour we couldn't rob a commoner of their last bronze."
The tension bled from the trio at once, as Wren took a step back.
"Thank you. We'll be on our way now."
Wren crouched by him and slung his right hand over their shoulder before hefting him to his feet. Morgan stumbled, almost dragging his friend back to the ground as they dragged him towards the edge of the encirclement, leaving a pile of blood and flesh where he was previously.
The bandits parted like the red sea as they moved on. However after barely five steps, the voice of the bandits leader stopped them.
"Stop. What is that?"
Confused, Morgan tried to see over his shoulder to where he was pointing. He was unable to turn far enough without vomiting. He did, however, feel the moment Wren began to tremble like a leaf, the blood draining from their face.
"Oh god… it followed us."
An ear piercing roar shook the surrounding trees as the very air seemed to shake. Morgan's blood ran cold, he recognised that roar. It had only been two days since he'd heard it, and he was hoping it would never again grace his ears.
Birds squawked from nearby as they all simultaneously took to the sky, temporarily blocking out the sun.
"How the fuck did you piss off a Dire Bear Morgan!"
The beast was easily over two metres tall as it charged down the road on four legs, long claws, each the size of short swords, carved deep gouges into the earth with each step, and teeth sharper than most blades glinted ominously as it opened its maw to roar again.
From the distance he heard the sound of arrows being loosed, but it was quickly drowned out by Wren's colourful expletives. However his complaints fell on deaf ears as Morgan slowly looked down, a cold, wet feeling originating from his chest.
His feet moved forward on autopilot as his free hand clawed at the bandages covering his chest.
A thick, red liquid, flowed slowly from beneath the multiple layers of cloth, as he struggled to undo the knots holding them to his chest. The process made more difficult with the addition of a wooden shaft sticking out of his chest.
It must have been a misfire, someone was probably startled by the roar of the bear, and accidentally fired in his direction. Yes, that must have been it. That must have been the reason he had an arrow sticking out of him.
"Don't worry Morgan, they seem to be holding it off for now, we can get to-"
"…Morgan…!"
Cut off by Iskandar's despaired cry, the redhead finally tore his gaze from the distant horizon and looked at the man he'd been dragging for the past two hundred metres.
Morgan though, was in a world entirely his own. With deft movements he undid the knot holding the bandages tight, and yanked them off, exposing his metallic body to the sunlight.
The arrow had hit him dead centre and lodged itself in his sternum, his metallic skin, while strong, hadn't put up much defence against the weapon specifically designed to pierce metal armour.
Slowly, his red blood petered out as a perfectly silver liquid, glowing with a chaotic purple hue, flowed from the wound. Traces of red remained in the new liquid, but they grew more sparse with each second it gushed from his wound.
That purple, why was it so familiar?
He knew he'd seen it before he just needed to– The exotic element. It had pulsed the same chaotic energy that now bled from his chest, from his blood. But that meant…
This entire time he'd been wrong. His fuel wasn't in the system, or the ground, it wasn't even in his mana. It was in him. It spread its metallic tendrils across his entire body, consuming him one piece at a time as though to prolong his torment.
It had been there from the very start, ever since the metal pierced his heart, and his strange revival. No… he wasn't revived, he was replaced. Piece by broken piece it replaced him, twisting his flesh, his blood, shaping it into something new, something different. What that was, he had no clue.
But why? Why didn't it spread faster? Why was it inside him?
Questions buffeted him like a strong wind, sending him tumbling to the ground as his legs gave up. He groaned into the dirt as the arrow shaft snapped off, and the head twisted just a little into his chest.
He could see it now, the exotic element writhing around beneath his skin, as it replaced his humanity piece by piece.
Thin tendrils extended from his metallic flesh and dug into the arrow, converting it in seconds into the same unstable element he'd used to power his ship. It lingered in his wound for a few seconds, suspended by wire like strands of metal, before it began to dissolve and merge with the rest of his body.
His staring was cut short by an ear piercing roar, so loud it sounded like it was almost atop him. Through bleary eyes, he looked over his shoulder and saw the bandits locked in combat with the beast, their yells barely reaching his ears.
A single swipe of its colossal claws was all the formidable creature needed to swat one of the men flying into the woods.
"Archers distract it, Knights whittle it down. Let's slay this beast, for the rebellion!"
Any further words were cut off by the ringing in his ears as he stumbled over a rock, only remaining on his feet due to his friend.
Blood – or whatever the liquid he had now was – dripped down his chest, drops of it falling to the ground behind him with each step.
"Hold on Morgan! We'll get you to the border, they've got to have healers there!"
"…Wren, my healing magic isn't working… his flesh it… it's not reacting…!"
He didn't like this, he could feel the concern and despair in the voices of his friends, Iskandar more so. It was the most emotion he'd ever heard them express.
If not for his situation, he probably would have been glad they were improving so much, but as it stood, he could barely think.
Fumbling with the bandages he'd yanked off, he tried his best to compact them together and hold them to his chest. Yet it was without effect, his new blood, whatever it was, dissolved right through the cloth like acid.
It could hurt his friends. The thought stuck in his mind, even as details blurred together. He could barely feel his feet as it was.
He needed to test whether his blood had the same effect on living tissue. With trembling motions, he raised his right hand to his chest and pressed it against his wound, half expecting it to start eating away at him. It didn't.
'Oh… good… it… won't… hurt… them…'
Darkness clouded the edges of his vision, and it felt like each thought was made through a pillow. He felt himself stumble, his feet not responding as he willed them.
"Morgan no! Stay awake, come on! I need your help here, we're almost there, just hang on for a bit longer."
Wren's voice was so far away. Why didn't they come closer if they wanted to tell him something? He wasn't sure what exactly they wanted to say, but it sounded urgent.
"…Morgan please… stay with me… hold on…"
That made him still slightly. Despite not understanding what Iskandar said, he could feel the vulnerability in their words. He wanted to hang on, to hear what they said, but it was so hard.
His eyelids weighed a million tons each, a number that increased with every blink he made. It didn't make it easy to stay awake, but he would try his best.