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[i][u]Location:[/u] Dark, dark, dark.
[u]Interacting With:[/u]  Alice Malone [@Undine], Tessa Gray [@Kirah], Everett Wilcox [@AcerRo][/i][/center]
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Thunder boomed again, and King continued to wince against the noise, shaking visibly as Alice stroked his head in a motherly fashion. Her caring words distracted him somewhat, and if he could move he would pushed his head further into her touch in an effort to simply fade away from the world and cease to be. But no, he was there, soaking wet and sullied, struck over the head by an unknown object and probably mortally concussed. King tried to open his eyes again, but intense pressure kept them shut, and pain swelled endlessly from the bump on his head.

[i]im going to die here[/i]

HIs mind whispered horrid nothings to him, pulling him deeper and deeper into a sea of dread. Alice and Tessa wouldn’t be able to move him, hell, they might even die [i]with[/i] him if they stuck around any longer. King couldn’t see the emotions around exactly, but he could definitely feel a presence unlike the others. A joyous, light, devious feeling. It wasn’t far, and it filled King’s unmoving body with a wish to laugh giddily or commit heinous acts. 

King attempted to keep himself thinking and alive with odd phrases and sensations, but everything turned white with confusion and agony as he was suddenly hauled through the air. Electricity burst from his wound, shocking his body into a state of conscious terror, and he fought off a wave of nausea in an attempt to cry out in pain.

[b][color=9e0b0f]”Shhhtop-- Pleashhhe, oh God…”[/color][/b] Panic set in after the initial pain settled ever so slightly. Who was holding him, a man? [i]That[/i] man? Someone strong enough to lift him, to hold him over a shoulder, to strangle him, to beat his head in, to--

Terror turned into stunned realization, and then a bit of relief. Alice had cried out his grappler's name, Everett. Another wave of nausea came and went, and King groaned out in protest as he felt all the blood rush to his head and his injury spiked again with a mind-numbing pain. King’s breath grew shallow, labored, only turning into heavy gasps at another strike of thunder but after it would return to it’s dangerously slow, soft huffs. His mind felt like goo, stupid and thick, and with each step Everett attempted to take the wish to throw up or pass completely out churned thoughtfully in his mind.

Whatever words he tried to form came out slow and thick and were easily swept away by the rain and wind. His complaints turned into pleads, or at least, that’s what he thought, and darkness began to creep further into the center of his mind, threatening to suffocate him, swallow him whole, but he just [i]couldn’t[/i] give in. Not yet. Not until he was certain the others were away, or certain he was supposed to die.