Horus sat down with difficulty.
He panted heavily—he had no choice. Vitus's body was protesting violently. If he had not dealt with those daemons earlier, things would not have become this bad, but he could not simply stand by and watch as the fog swallowed the church...
Though it was unlikely to suffer such a fate, what if it did?
Horus shook his head, trying to dispel the intense dizziness. He did become a little clearer-headed, but an even sharper throbbing pain followed, pulsing in time with his heart like waves crashing down upon him. He gathered a little strength and carefully wound it around the gash in his abdomen.
The pain eased somewhat. He estimated that after another four or five rounds, he would barely be able to move normally again...
He only hoped Vitus would return by then. Otherwise, he would surely go into shock from the pain.
The acolyte named John ran out from the church's inner room and hurried toward him, holding up a small medical kit, sweat pouring down his face.
"I found it! I found it!" he shouted.
The refugees surrounding Horus immediately parted slightly to let John approach. The acolyte raised a hand to wipe away his sweat and opened the medical kit while gasping for breath, only to be stunned by its contents. Only then did he remember that he had absolutely no idea how to treat anyone, especially an officer as grievously wounded as the one before him...
Horus wanted to instruct him, but he found that he had lost even the strength to speak. Even his breathing was gradually weakening.
Fortunately, a pale-faced woman among the refugees, who looked as though she might faint at any moment, spoke up. "You need to find a treatment needle first."
John looked up