Typical for him, Railtus had seen where the door was and so had no hesitations about entering the strange airborne body.
Having never been on a blimp before, Railtus had no idea where to begin searching for the living quarters. With some effort, and a little more guidance, he found them. Or what he assumed was living quarters, since he was sent towards someone in need of healing, and the charred mess with split flesh threatening to leak crimson from wall to wall seemed like a good guess of someone in need of healing.
Or someone beyond help.
Still, Railtus held as little hesitation approaching the ruined heap of living flesh as he did when entering the blimp. Smelling scorched flesh did not bother him, nor did the sight of blood and clear breaks in the form of the human body. After all, Railtus had seen equally severe injuries in his life, although on people he was fighting at the time.
What bothered him, was what he could recognise in the victim.
First of all, he was no gnome. Taller, slimmer. No trace of a beard. Instead, was the face of youth. Perhaps pock-marked, although acne or reaction to the damage was unknown. What was known was that this was a boy, barely more than a child.
At home, barely less than those sometimes thrown on the battlefield. Levies showed little regard for age, boys barely larger than this would be drafted to fight in wars serving no higher cause than a nobleman's selfishness.
Casting aside his shield, Railtus placed his hands over the wounded boy, noting a purple fluid oozing out of various cracks in the blasted shell once known as skin. By sight the skin looked like leather. White blotches marked the flame-darkened skin. Worst of all, blood daubed the edges of his mouth.
Burns were on the inside.
First things first was to work on the chest. No effort was made to fight down the weight in his heart, for Railtus knew how his power worked.
Please. Ydren. Help me save this child.
Though it was not Ydren's answer, voice was given to his desperation, his sincerity.
A shudder ran through the near-corpse as ragged breaths began, drawing air deeply, with a difficulty not seen before which had the grace to announce far greater success than had just been. Railtus felt his fingers run hollow and cold, stinging ache travelling through them.
Blackened skin remained dark, but lines of cracked crimson dried into trails of pink scar tissue. Mottled patches announced themselves. A dreadful sight, most dreadful for the knowledge that this was an improvement of what had been before.
Purple, sticky gel seeped wickedly from the skin, mocking the ruined pores forced to release them. The skin smoothed ever so slightly. Breath ran short as Railtus felt his own chest go painfully hot.
Blood trickled from the nose and lips. Smoothly. Cleanly. Brighter than before. Trails of white and dark gunge shot through in the liquid as it purged itself from the lungs of the child, who began turning to better extract the treachery of his own body.
The boy flinched, registering pain gone before, screwing his face and holding rigid. In awe, terror, or plain weakness of his recent ordeal. A grimace caught on his face, twisting. Horror flooded his unconscious face as his dreams understood the pain his body was in from far away. Less than truly experienced, but declaring itself on his awareness. As if his pain existed on two different levels, the pain he was in and the pain that he should be in.
Now spikes of pain flowed through Railtus, announcing an ever greater heat in his chest. At once hot, and cold, bearing the chill of emptiness with a deep sting.
No! I will not leave him to die!
Deeper inside, the Angelsworn felt a tug on his spirit. Brilliant light clouded his vision. A strange force ran through him. In the absense of words or pictures, a cost was apparant.
Light and essence stopped flowing there and then. Railtus sank to the ground.
The boy, young Ramas, raised his head and opened his eyes.