My body felt numb for a terrifying split second, a high-pitched, serious ringing screaming in my ears.
Then, the very next moment, nerve-shredding, stabbing pain erupted and spread like wildfire through my entire being.
My mind reacted instantly to the agony, forcing a weak, pathetic grunt of pain from my lips.
I totally lacked the strength to bear the torment in silence, or even to manage a proper shout.
I then exhaled deeply, a ragged breath, and inhaled again.
That follow-up breath caused a wave of little air, mixed with a choking amount of fine dust, to invade my nose and mouth.
I forcefully coughed, trying to expel as much of the gritty dust as I could.
The effort itself was intensely painful, as fresh waves of agony barrowed deep into my body, lancing through my already protesting lungs.
I then tried to push myself up, relying only on my left hand, as my right shoulder was fucking screaming like crazy.
My supporting hand trembled violently, a betraying tremor, as I pushed my battered body up into a crawling-baby pose, vulnerable and exposed.
I forcefully maneuvered my trembling body to sit, but my strength was so utterly fucking drained that I immediately fell backwards as I settled.
Luckily, I hit the unforgiving stone wall behind me instead of cracking my skull or spine by falling flat on my back.
It still hurt so damn much; I yelped, a sharp cry of pure agony tearing from my throat.
I began to take very deep, deliberate breaths, focusing entirely on the rhythm of that rise and fall, trying to wrestle my mind away from the mind-shattering, tearing pain I felt radiating from every inch of my body.
After what felt like an eternity, a long, agonizing passage of time, I managed to get myself thinking with some semblance of clarity again.
That's when I realized that my current environment was distinctly odd, unsettling even.
The interior of Gates is usually covered with, or entirely made up of, thick vines and gnarled roots; rocks like these were a significant first experience for me.
And one doesn't ever want to be having any kind of first experience in these fucking deathtraps called Gates.
First experiences are, by definition, unknown territory, and the unknown almost always means a swift, brutal DEATH to folks like me.
The thought of these unusual rocks, however, flew right out of my mind when it dawned on me that I'd made a considerable amount of noise with all my grunting, coughing, and clumsy crawling to sit upright.
The echo of each strained movement had resounded in this space.
I just registered that critical detail in my mind now, a cold spike of fear lancing through me for what possible fresh hell I'd fallen into.
I immediately went extremely silent, holding my breath, even though I pondered why nothing had yet come to inspect my noisy arrival and end my puny, insignificant life.
That lack of immediate threat didn't calm me down in the slightest; instead, it made me worry even more, my paranoia kicking into overdrive.
So, I tried to minimize the sound of my own breathing, making it shallow and slow, and stayed utterly still, only daring to move my neck cautiously to observe my surroundings.
I turned my head slowly to my left side and saw the cold, damp, rocky wall stretching into darkness; it looked like a dead end, a tomb.
Then I wondered where the faint light I was using to see was even coming from, which prompted me to look carefully to my right.
There seemed to be a narrow path leading somewhere deeper into the gloom (a path I'd much rather not fucking explore).
Then I looked down, and my stomach lurched.
I saw the upper half of a dead person, clad in withered, cracked old leather armor; he, or she, was mostly skeletal now, with only small, desiccated patches of dried-up flesh clinging stubbornly to the bones.
The sight of this grim welcome made me flinch, a small, involuntary jerk, but I quickly scanned around and found the corpse's lower half near the wall opposite me.
I was mentally-strained and beyond exhausted as I processed everything I'd seen so far in this godforsaken hole.
I made up my mind then and there.
I took a gamble: if nothing had come by now to kill me, even with all the damn noise I'd been making, then I should risk checking the dead body close to me.
I initiated this plan as I slowly and forcefully stretched out to my right, wincing, so that I could grab the desiccated corpse and pull it into the middle of my spread-out legs.
The moment I pulled it in between my legs, a truly grim embrace, I began searching it meticulously for anything useful; possibly a weapon, since I'd lost my machete in the chaos above.
But even I doubted that possibility; this body I searched was basically a fucking articulated skeleton, which meant whoever this was had died a long, long ass time ago.
I didn't know how fucking long ago precisely, but any weapon made of ordinary metal this person might have carried would have rusted into useless flakes, even if it was a weapon inbuilt with some minor arcane properties.
I still searched him, or her, all over, patting down every inch of the rotten armor and tattered clothing.
And I found a few items: a shining, oval-shaped metal locket with intricate carvings, attached to a tarnished chain; an old, crushed pack of cigarettes; some ancient, rotten papers that crumbled at my touch; and two small, cork-sealed glass tubes containing some kind of deep-blue, slowly swirling gas, with a black, sand-like substance settled at the bottom of each.
I first examined the oval metal locket, but I didn't have a single clue what it was and couldn't pry it open with only one hand, even when it seemed like it should be possible.
So, I put it aside for the moment, picking up one of the glass tubes and examining it a little more closely.
I couldn't tell what the fuck I was looking at precisely, but the glass of the tube was clearly, remarkably strong.
Even after so many goddamn years, it wasn't falling apart or even cracked, and the tubes were perfectly sealed with a simple cork.
This possibly meant they contained some kind of potent medicine, likely concocted with arcane ingredients.
It might even be a healing potion!
I'd heard healing potions are bloody expensive, almost legendary, and only something extremely valuable would be packaged and sealed in such a meticulous way that it wouldn't break easily in the heat of a fight.
Meaning – them little glasses had to be fucking tough, maybe even bulletproof or somethin' equally insane.
Either way, the tubes were still fucking amazing trophies to stumble upon.
I have never actually seen a real healing potion, or any other medicine almost completely infused with arcane energies, in my entire miserable life.
I'd only heard about them from others, whispers on the street, and seen glamorized pictures of 'em on flickering billboards, faded signboards, and cheap ads playing on the grimy TVs in the subway trains.
So, the only thing that backed up my hopeful guess about what was in these tubes were the few little things I knew and what I'd just observed, like those tough-ass glasses.
I was now faced with a stark choice: either taking this mysterious medicine of completely unknown use, or slowly, agonizingly dying out from starvation, blood loss, and my myriad internal injuries, as long as I just stalled and did nothing.
The first option, as risky as it was, at least gave me a sliver of a chance at surviving.
I decided to execute that option immediately, grabbing one of the tubes and cracking the ancient cork sealing open with my teeth, the old material crumbling.
Since the content inside looked gassy, ethereal, I quickly put the mouth of the tube to my lips and sucked in the entire contents, including the fine black 'sand' that swirled up behind the dissipating gas.
The chilling thought that this shit might be poison, that it could kill me instantly, wasn't gone from my mind, not by a long shot, but I had to make a goddamn choice.
If I die, I die.
At the stark thought of my own death, my mind, unbidden, went back to my mother, my brothers, and my sister.
I wondered what they were doing right now, and what kind of bleak life would be waiting for them if I truly died here, forgotten in this hole.
The crushing debt of my father would fall squarely on my mother and Genji.
But Genji isn't an Evolve, which would mean Eiji and Ayaka would be wrapped up in this ugly shit real quick.
Mother and Ayaka… they'd probably be put on the block by those dickheads – Jiro and Kuro – pimping and selling 'em off for small chops, just to cover their losses.
At least they would be alive, while I might be fucking dying right now in this fucking hole!
Suddenly, I began to feel a weird, tingling flow spread throughout my entire body.
The intense, throbbing pain I felt from the injuries all over my body began to noticeably subside, as the wounds themselves, miraculously, started sealing up slowly, knitting flesh back together.
I couldn't see all my injuries, of course, but I could feel a lot of 'em, especially the deep gashes on my face and the mangled mess of both my arms.
Then came a distinct, sharp cracking sound from my right shoulder, which, surprisingly, wasn't painful at all.
Instead, it was fucking blissful, a wave of profound, relaxing relief washing over me.
I gently, cautiously, raised my right arm and was utterly amazed at what had just happened to me.
And at being right about the mysterious gas in the tube.
I have been healed up by Asuka a lot of times, but her powers ain't shit compared to what I just felt and witnessed happen to my own damn body!
I gently stood up, feeling stronger, more whole, and took the remaining bottle of the healing potion and the silver oval locket, putting them carefully in my battered bag, which was partially burnt and torn.
I didn't plan on staying down here for too much longer.
This place still scares the shit out of me, even if I'm feeling remarkably chilled out right now from the healing juju.