Tilorn forced himself higher. Every wing beat was a another jolt of mind numbing pain. In his hands he grasped a sword, he gripped it so tightly blood was dripping from the spaces between his fingers. It fell earthward, droplets of black atterial blood falling like rain from him. It fell from not only his hands, but his right leg, his wings, his whole body was a mass of scars and open wounds. Every time his feet began to reach the trees he forced himself higher and higher still. Pushing past the pain. It felt like some one had forced his eyes into his skull. His head pounded his vision blurred hearing muffled and all he could smell was the smell of his own burnt flesh.

In the distance he could just make out the sea, he would land here, away from zenith, the sword would heal him for now. Then he would train to win. Nothing would stop him. He felt himself falling again. This time he was spent, there was nothing he could do. He began to fall gracefully, his wings taking up the wind but now he tumbled. Falling over himself in a freefall. His brain flickered between realitys. It came to a stop and his eyes focused on the earth moving to meet him.

He crashed into the beach. He slumped there, his eyes opening and closing, not one nor the other. He caughed up blood, it came thick and strung together. It landed on the sand of the beach, and was absorbed. Leaving naught but a dark stain upon the sand. His wings closed. He called out as the pain over welmed him. The bony protusions that usualy covered them where cracked or fallen all togher, reviling burned and blistered skin beneath.

He looked up blearly some was was walking towards him. He grasped the sword tighter. Ignoring the screaming pain from his hands. He blinked back the tears of pain. His whole body was a mess but he was not though. He would live. What didnt kill him would make him stronger. He caughed up more blood as this person aproached. He would have moved but he was in to much pain. He battled with himself to stay awake. All around him the last of his blood was draining from his many wounds into the sand, now a patch of dark red sticky congealed blood lay around his body out lineing him on the sand. He wreached. He looked up at the newcommer.

Umbra watched the waves on the beach come in and out, she layed outstreached propped up on her elbows as the tide came in and out, the moon pale against the dark sky, stars dotted the sky as the wind blew mist onto the beach. She watched the waves ebb and flow, always seeming the same but she knew that each wave was different than the last. Suddenly she heard flapping and she looked up at a figure. She got up and grabbed the hailberd beside her and walked to where the figure fell.

The figure was bloody and tired that was obvious. She stood over him, the blade on the hailbeard was pointed down resting in the sand as the figure looked at her. Her black hair blew in the wind and the sleeves of her crimson/purple shirt flowed as well. Her bored eyes watched him. "You gonna get up or not?" she asked as he looked up at her. She gave a smirk and flipped her hailberd so the staff stuck into the sand and she crouched. "You must have been in some sort of fight. Your pretty beat up." she said in a slight sacastic slight sympathetic tone.

He looked up at the woman, she swam in and out of focus. He blinked forcing his eyes to work. She was meagerly armed. A halbeard probably not much else he desided. But his distion wasnt worth much in this state, she said something that sounded muffled. He must have burst his ear drums. He couldnt tell the pain was all over his body it was hard to pick out individual area's. He caught the last of her words. He gritted his teath he haulded himself onto his knees. Blood dripping from him sand stuck in his wounds. "Still powerfull enough to kill you! He held out a hand. It trembled in the air. He spat blood and muttered something. He cursed her.

The feeling over hoplessness that he felt now would overtake her. He smiled. His teath stained with blood. He should be dead. The sword was keeping him alive. He could feel it powering him. He was greatfull. He would have to see how far it would take him. He rose backwards onto his feet. He stepped back gaining his balance. He was bent over his sword, its blade in the sand suporting him. keeping him from falling. The beach separated in his vision, he was seeing double. He blinked and it left. He felt his wounds begining to finaly scab over. Or the smaller ones atleast, it was about time to. He had been this way for half a day. He would have to be carefull. In this state if he didnt try even this person could kill him.

He raised and unsteady hand ready to attack again. She wouldnt be so hard. Or atleast he thought.

Water surrounded Haden from all sides and his mind seemed to be kept in a mental state of relapse. Flashing back and forth between reality and an enhanced state of what appeared to be make-believe. He struggled to fight his way above the surface of the water. All of this work seemed to be in vain as his mental state began to diminish minute by minute leaving him in a state of subsided vertigo. Just when it seemed that all manner of hope was at a stand still,Haden used his remaining energy in one final attempt to reach freedom from this torentously vast sea.

He pushed his desecrate, corpish figure forward and finally was able to break the surface in the nic of time. When his eyes were cleared and his vision fully restored he came to see what appeared to be land. Haden stroked as hard as possible:given his both physical and mental state. As he reached land he dragged himself up the shore a little farther before eventually passing out from the exhaustion of what was just a great battle with mother nature. His being slipped into an altered state of sleep as his body rejuvenated itself and his mind went to its own tranquil place.

As for what was to happen next,well lets just say Haden would leave that for another appointment in his chronicles of life.