[Get up…]
That was the only coherent thought that assembled itself in my brain as I lay flat on my back, staring up at the overcast sky with one working eye and approximately half a body.
The second thought was that my shotgun was somewhere behind me, seven or eight meters away based on the skid, and using it would require either two functioning arms or a minor miracle, and I was currently short on both.
While the man walked toward me without urgency. No rush or tactical positioning. He moved across the rooftop the way a person crosses a room to pick something up they left on the table, patient and completely unbothered, his black cloak trailing behind him while that cursed blade hung loose at his side, dripping red shimmer onto the roof with every step.
The shrieks and the beating of tentacles on the ground echoed in my ears from below, as they swarmed and screamed against the living quarters' walls.
