The enraged mole let out a long screech as Tormacc tried to keep a clear head through the pain radiating up his arm. He wanted to inspect the break, but he didn’t have time, as he had to dive to the side to avoid the mole’s charge. Each movement came with more waves of pain, and a quick glance showed the bone of his forearm sticking out of his skin.

The mole’s charge was stopped short at the wall, but it quickly recovered and turned, swiping at him with its claws. He was able to scramble out of the way, but the first swipe was followed by another. And another. He was able to dodge each of the lightning-fast swipes, but it was a close thing. Without the full use of his arm his balance was off, and what should have been easy dodges turned into a pain-filled dance of awkward jerks and spasms as he did his best to avoid what would likely be deadly attacks should they hit him.

If he still had the knife he would have tried throwing it at the mole to break its momentum, but he had dropped it after the charge. He almost felt like he could feel someone in the back of his head yelling at him for dropping his weapon, but the attack had been too sudden, and when his arm broke, he lost all control over his right hand. Without a weapon he had very limited options, but he had to take action. He couldn’t afford to draw the battle out. He was losing a lot of blood from his arm, not helped by his frenzied evasive maneuvers.

After a few close brushes the mole’s claws he saw his chance. The mole swiped low towards his left side, and Tormacc reached over it with his left hand, planting it on the ground and doing a one-handed cartwheel to bring his lower body over the attack. He then swept his legs down, scissoring them around the mole’s neck, locking them together before holding on for dear life. It was an awkward position, leaving him hanging to the side of the mole as it rampaged around in squealing fury. But he was out of the immediate reach of its claws, and before it could figure out how to attack him it slowly lost strength, the lack of oxygen taking its toll.

Finally, the mole stilled, leaving Tormacc lying on the floor, gasping for breath, his legs still clamped around its neck. He stayed like that for a few minutes, chest heaving, clenching his teeth against the pain and making sure the mole was truly dead. He was in no shape to continue the battle. After what felt like forever but had to only be a few minutes later he unhooked his legs, rolling onto his side, cradling his broken arm.

Taking a good look at his arm he sucked in a breath through his teeth. It was bad. The two pieces of his forearm were at a right angle to each other and he could see the sharp edge of his bones sticking out from his shredded skin. Perhaps the break wasn’t that bad when it happened, but the battle afterwards had exacerbated the wound exponentially. After a few deep breaths of preparation, he steeled himself to set the wound. With as much care as he could muster, he grabbed his wrist before pulling his arm and twisting it, allowing the bone to settle beneath what was left of his muscle and skin.

He hoped the break was clean. His arm was at least straight now, but if there were tiny bone fragments lodged in there it might not heal properly. As it was, he was going to have to rely on the ritual to heal it. The message from his past self said the ritual should grant him additional healing properties, but he had no clue how effective that would be. What he did know was it wasn’t going to heal overnight, which left him battered and bruised, down one arm and a lot of blood facing an unknown number of enemies.

Tormacc slowly and carefully dragged himself over to the wall next to the pond. Now that he wasn’t focused on the mole, he spotted the exit on the opposite side of the cavern, which must have been where the mole came from. Where both of them came from, meaning he had to assume there were more. And if there were more, they were likely to come this way, both for the water and the red crystal the first mole was eating. The idea of more moles wasn’t a pretty thought, but it was something he had to consider if he wanted to survive.

Leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes, Tormacc turned inward to focus on his Fate Wheel. The plan had been for him to save his Essence so he could use Ability Boost and Beginner’s Gift to quadruple it later on, but his might have to reconsider under the present circumstances. Out of the options available to him, Meditation and Inner Strength sounded like they would have the highest potential for helping him directly with healing or unlocking further abilities that could. The tier one abilities cost ten points, and the tier two twenty, so with the points he gained from the ritual and the single Essence each mole gave him he could theoretically unlock either tier one ability, which would open up two new possibilities, and then still have enough to unlock one of those if it would help his current situation.

If it was a sure thing, he would do it, but it wasn’t a sure thing. He didn’t know what the tier two abilities of the left or right sections were so he could end up using his points for nothing. If it was only that he would still have taken the risk, but thinking about it more, what would happen in the future? Right now he was in the starting zone. It was a safe bet to assume that once he got out the danger would only increase. If he invested his Essence now it might give him a better shot at making it through the current area, but that would be useless if he died after that because he was lacking power he could have gained by combining Ability Boost and Beginner’s Gift. Not only did he have to survive his current plight, but he had to plan ahead. He should trust in his previous self.

Before the fight he had taken his pack off to secure greater mobility, but that now meant it was sitting quite a bit away from him. As much as he wanted to sit still, he needed the supplies in it. With a pain filled grunt, he gently stood, before retrieving his pack and dagger, filling up his water flask at the pond, and easing back into a sitting position. He took a long drink from the flask before turning back to his wound. He needed to try and assess the damage. Closing his eyes, Tormacc focuses his attention on the ritual lines engraved in his body.

He could feel that in addition to making him stronger and more resilient the ritual also boosted his general healing ability. That would have been helpful for a less severe wound, but he didn’t think his body could naturally recover from having his arm so badly mangled. He needed a healing spell or a potion for that, but without access to those, he would have to try as best as he could to make do. Humming a slightly off-key tune, he tried to immerse himself in the ritual lines, searching for any additional effects. It was made more difficult from the pain, but after what must have been a few hours his efforts were rewarded.

As he became more in tune with his body, he started to become more aware of the power flowing through it. Outside The Tower, he would have called that power mana, but in here it was Essence. He could feel it flowing through his body, twisting and turning, feeding his natural strength and regeneration. That power seemed to make a blueprint of his body, and as he comprehended more and more, he could feel where that blueprint was disturbed. He instinctually reacted to that disturbance, channeling energy from other places in his body to fix the blueprint.

It was physically draining, and after a few minutes he was forced to open his eyes, coming out of his trance. Looking down at his arm, Tormacc felt the corners of his mouth unconsciously lift. His arm had a noticeable improvement. It was still far from healed, but his experiment confirmed that healing was possible. He could hear his stomach growling, evidence of the strain healing put on his body. He was famished. But he had access to a fresh corpse and nothing but time, so he settled in to a routine of eating, healing, and resting.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the healing moved at a snail’s pace, even with his new technique. He had stopped the bleeding and mostly realigned the bone after six healing sessions, but his arm was far from fully healed, and he knew that any extreme movement would undo everything he had already accomplished. His body seemed to have the ability to enter a half-asleep half-awake state which he used to rest in between healing session, and it was during one of those session that he was woken from his slumber.

It felt like he had just closed his eyes after his sixth time healing when he heard the clack of claws on stone. Without anywhere good to hide, Tormacc had relocated to the far side of the mole’s body, which, other than the rather disgusting smell, allowed him easy access to its flesh as well as a barrier blocking sight from the exit tunnel. Straining his ears, he focused on the sharp clacks. Unless he was mistaken, there was only one mole approaching, which was good news. Readying himself, he prepared his ambush.

His plan was to lure the mole in before going for a one-shot kill. He might be able to win a longer battle, but his arm couldn’t. He needed to end this quickly if he ever wanted to heal. He was fully covered by the mole’s corpse which blocked sight, and he had slathered himself in its blood to hopefully block scent. As long as he stayed quiet and didn’t move, he should be able to surprise his foe when it came to check out the body of its fallen brethren.

Barely breathing to avoid the noise, Tormacc huddled against the cold corpse as the clacking got louder. He was betting on the mole approaching the body directly. If it circled around and kept its distance it would easily spot him, invalidating his ambush. Luckily, the mole walked right up to the body, snuffling around, trying to find the cause of death. The moles weren’t intelligent, but they had an instinctual understanding that if they could figure out what killed one of their kind they could avoid the same fate. Unfortunately for this mole, this cause of death was anything but natural, and as it rounded the body Tormacc lunged, plunging his dagger through its chin and into its brain, killing it instantly.

After checking it was truly dead, Tormacc settled back down, sucking in mouthfuls of air. With access to only a small knife he had studied the body of the dead mole to determine the best place to deliver a death blow. Its heart was too protected by layers of muscle and fat, which only left its brain. Going for an underhanded strike beneath the skull was risky, as it was easy to defend against, but he couldn’t find a better access point. He had succeeded this time, but that was no guarantee for the next. He needed to focus on finding or making a longer and sturdier weapon.

After calming down his racing heart he turned his attention to his arm. Without a splint, any movement had the potential to jostle it, undoing all his hard work and potentially making the wound worse. He had been precise with his single attack, and it showed. The battle had only set the healing process back one or two healing sessions. At his current pace and with a little luck he would only have to face one or two more moles before the arm was healed. And with the mole and the pond he had access to food and water, so there was nothing to do but wait.