An hour later, Milo was fit to explode. Backlebutt kept trying to shovel more food in his mouth and Milo was doing his best to please, but he’d found himself completely unable to get the last few bites down. On his most recent attempt, his body had rejected the mouthful and he’d coughed bits of chewed apricot up into his nose, which was much less pleasant than it sounded.

Finally, the man gave up and grabbed the vial, grumbling. Then, wearing a serious expression, he held it in front of Milo’s face, saying a string of words that sounded like a question. After that he merely waited, gazing steadily into Milo’s eyes.

Milo, wrestling with the urge to projectile vomit a spectacular amount of food into the other man’s face, didn’t immediately respond. The longer the silence stretched between them, however, the more Milo realized that this was an important question.

And then he understood.

This was a risk. A big risk. Backlebutt was making very sure he knew that.

Doing his very best to tune out his body, Milo carefully considered all of the information available to him.

I’m in a dungeon. This is a place specifically designed to test the strength and skill of those who challenge it. There is no escape, at least not from this particular dungeon. To fail here is to die. Actually, who knows, maybe I'll resurrect at the nearest respawn point, but I can't exactly count on that.

I’m pretty much helpless at the moment. Going by past experience with broken bones, it’ll be four weeks at least before this heals. Even if I could evade the monsters in here for that long, I simply don’t have enough food or water to last.

Backlebutt knows all this, and still he’s hesitating. Could taking this potion kill me? Is that what he’s saying? He had me eat all that food, and obviously there’s a reason. Why?

Milo’s mind whirred, aided to an unknown degree by Improved Cognition.

Food is energy, nutrients, minerals. The only thing I can think is that this potion uses the body’s energy to speed healing, and Backlebutt’s worried I don’t have enough.

He’s worried my body will eat itself up trying to fix itself.

It actually wasn’t that big of a leap, the more Milo thought about it. The real question was, was there any reason not to take it? Was it really the only chance he had? That they had?

Thinking it over, the only other way through was for Backlebutt to effectively clear the dungeon on his own while Milo either hid or played a small role distracting enemies like he had at the conclusion of their recent fight.

Milo’s gut told him that the chances of that working out were extremely low. I think this is a risk I have to take.

Meeting Backlebutt’s gaze, Milo finally nodded. He would do it.

Nodding back slowly, Backelbutt unstopped the bottle of red liquid. Milo tilted his head back, opening his mouth. Backlebutt carefully poured in the whole thing, down to the very last drop...which triggered one of Milo’s longstanding questions about potions. Why was the dose always the same for everyone? What would happen if he only drank half of it, or was twice his current size? Wouldn’t it have a reduced effect?

Shut up brain, you’re not welcome here.

Milo swallowed down the concoction, surprised at its fruity, delicious flavor. His body immediately began itching and tingling.

The sensation was most intense wherever he was injured, but honestly it wasn’t that unpleasant. He grinned at Backlebutt, who watched stone-faced.

“Hey, that’s not so ba—”

PAIN.

Milo passed out screaming.

Backlebutt held Milo’s head steady between his hands, keeping it safe as the man thrashed and convulsed on the floor. Watching what the rapid healing draught was doing to the poor man, he wondered if he was making a mistake.

There were many injuries that, though they might seem small and insignificant, could take a warrior out of a fight; it was for those small injuries that the rapid healing draught was created. Backlebutt himself had only used it when hand injuries like blisters or torn skin affected his ability to shoot and train. Even then, it hurt fiercely and took a great deal out of him, leaving him tired and ravenous.

He’d heard tales of grievously wounded warriors drinking it in desperation and withering away over the course of minutes until they died as the draught drained the life from their bodies in order to do its work. Milo wasn’t so terribly injured—but enough to worry Backlebutt.

The man carried numerous bruises and long, messy, if shallow gouges along the side of his torso. And of course, there was the break in his arm that Backlebutt himself had caused. That would by far take the greatest toll on the man. He silently cursed himself for being so careless.

There was the severed stump as well, but that concerned him less than the right arm. The draught could only greatly speed the body’s natural healing, not replace what had been lost, and so it wouldn’t even try.

Backlebutt could only watch and pray as the already slender man grew thinner, bones and tendons becoming more prominent where before they’d been softened by muscle and fat. His face slowly grew gaunt and hollow, with deep pockets under his eyes.

Finally, however, after a very tense minute or so, the man’s wild movements ceased, as did the rapid erosion of his body, and Backlebutt allowed himself a smile. Success. The man would live.

How useful he’d be in battle in his newly weakened form was another question entirely, but that was a problem for later. The strange...stranger had been surprisingly effective given his limitations, and Backlebutt thought they at least stood a chance. A small chance.

They needed to get moving, though. It wasn’t safe here. He gently patted Milo’s face a few times before giving him a harder smack. The man didn’t react at all.

Had he been wrong about the man surviving? Frowning, he put an ear to Milo’s chest, relieved when he immediately detected a beating heart.

Backlebutt considered splashing some water on the man’s face, but thought better of it. Their supply was limited. He tried one more slap, his hardest so far, before giving up. The man was dead to the world for the time being. Sighing, Backlebutt looked around himself to get an idea of what needed to happen next.

His companion would likely be out for a while, and Backlebutt didn’t like how exposed they were here. If another group of the strange hopping skeletons came, he didn’t think he’d be able to fend them off while ensuring Milo’s safety. They needed a place to rest and recuperate without fear of being discovered.

There were supposedly designated safety zones within the Descent, but he’d been informed that those were few and far between and usually only accessible after defeating a particularly fearsome foe. Other than that, you had to hope you got lucky and found a defensible, out-of-the way spot if you needed to stop and rest for any length of time.

Unfortunately, Backlebutt had not noticed any such place on their way to their current location, which meant that the only direction he could expect to find any sort of sanctuary would be ahead of them. That made him very uneasy. It was just as likely, if not vastly more so, that he would find more enemies before lucking upon a safe place to rest.

Additionally, there was far too much gear for him to carry alone, and that was on top of the limp body of Milo. Despite having just lost perhaps a few stone of weight, he was an uncommonly tall man and would make for an awkward, heavy burden.

Considering all of his options, Backlebutt reluctantly decided on a course of action: he would wait.

The decision irked him. Backlebutt was a man of action, and resting idly while hoping for the best did not sit well.

So, instead of taking his ease, he did the sensible thing and set himself to the task of gathering more stones to use in case they had visitors.

After scouring the area for twenty minutes, he’d collected a sizable pile, well more than they’d had when forced to face the skeleroos. There were only so many suitable stones to be found, however, and he grew restless quickly with nothing to do after exhausting his search radius.

After impatiently shaking Milo, once more to no avail, Backlebutt sat down to wait.