Night 66: West Wing, North Hall 1-A

[dualistic]

[From here.]

Harvey stepped out of the block and then took the usual right down the hall, pondering over the coming challenge as he went. While he, Sangamon, and Scott had successfully passed that trial last night, it hadn't led to anything. Had they made a misstep somewhere? Or was there more that they had to do? They were going to have to try and get answers out of that damn skeleton again.

Speaking of which, the toll would be going to Sangamon tonight. Harvey wondered what he'd end up choosing. He figured it was between touch and voice, but it wasn't really his problem.

On one hand, Harvey was getting sick of going down into that dank cavern every night. On the other, it was good to always know what he was doing when the doors unlocked. He just hoped that all of this effort actually led somewhere.

[To here.]

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[girlsandgadgets]

Though Edgar could feel the fire all over him, he knew that most of it was coming from within, the flame that welled in his chest from his infusion scorching his veins as it fought to escape. He heard the yowling of the cat, the rank smell of burnt flesh flooding his nostrils; it took him several moments to recover once the cat leapt off him, the magical flames dying around him in tandem with the beast that had once been his closest friend.

He'd been injured plenty of times, but burns were horrific in their own right; with no healing magic or potions to deal with them, Edgar was in a world of pain at that moment. He made it worse as he pushed himself to check on Locke's condition, using his hands to ease himself off the ground- he was back down in an instant with a stifled scream, his hands shaking, muscles twitching as he could hardly manage the agony he was in. His palms were badly burned, flesh peeling away from just past his wrists and along his forearms. The fabric of his shirt stuck to him in places, threads melding with scorched strips of skin on his chest. The coeurl had taken the majority of the flame himself, preventing it from reaching Edgar; that only made the situation more grim in Edgar's mind, as he was sure Locke couldn't have survived an attack of that severity.

He gasped for air, struggling to breathe and stay conscious as he looked around from his vantage on the floor, trying to see the aftermath.