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He’s on his hands and knees. Harsh breaths come out in short, fast huffs. The stench of gunpowder still hangs in the air, invading his lungs like a parasite. The smell is stuck in his nose, preventing him from smelling anything else. He can feel rain traveling down his cheeks.
A sob forcefully leaves his throat, his body jerking with the cries that leave him. His hands feel weak, unable to hold him up for much longer. His body shakes, but is it from the cold or the adrenaline? He doesn’t know.
He can’t feel one of his legs. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his whole body going numb, or the explosion getting too close. He’s afraid to look down, scared of what he might see.
He looks up to the absolute destruction around him, craters everywhere. Logstedshire gone, nothing left in the aftermath.
He tries pushing himself up onto his feet, but his knees give out under him. He falls into the mud below. He heaves in breaths, trying to regain his strength so he can push himself up. The rain blocks his vision or is that his blood? The sounds around him are deafening.
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He must have passed out at some point, he doesn’t remember it being night. It’s hard to concentrate, he can't seem to focus on anything around him. The rain seems to be coming down harder. He tries to lift himself up, but his leg explodes into agony.
He lets out a pitiful scream, the sound getting caught in his throat halfway. The scream dies into small whimpers. He heaves out breaths as his vision narrows, blackness crawling into his line of sight. He becomes dizzy. He lays himself down onto the soft mud under him. He can feel his consciousness slowly leave. He gives a last cough as his vision gets consumed by black.
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He wakes up in a daze. He can feel the mud layering half his face like a second skin. He’s finally able to push himself up into a sitting position, hands keeping him upright. It's completely dark, the torches sizzled out by the rain. He’s able to focus better than he did before. He can see mobs in the corner of his vision. He’s tired.
He lays back down, looking to the stars above. The rain pelts him with heavy rain. He gives a sigh. He’s tired. He just wants to go back to sleep. The thought of rest calms him. He feels the agonizing pain, pushed to the back of his mind, set in.
He doesn’t want to die.
But he doesn’t have a choice.
Maybe he’ll admit, just this once, that the water running down his cheeks wasn't just the rain.
He can’t feel the tears, but he knows they're there.
Why is he crying?
For what?
He doesn’t know.
Nobody will miss him.
So why should he miss them?
With that last thought he let sleep consume him, the pain fading away.