Blood filled Cullen Donahue's eyes as he struggled to maintain his failing grip. Broken bones, torn muscles, and barely clotted wounds screamed with agony as he fought to hold fast. Cullen had never been the type to fear death, rather-- he was the kind of maniac that always wanted to spar without any protective equipment with his HEMA mates; not that anyone ever indulged the crazy bastard. Normally, Cullen would've been ecstatic about a life or death struggle like this. In today's day and age there wasn't much of a future for the lad anyway; he'd have been right at home on some ancient battlefield, but cities, offices, paperwork, and machines weren't the thing for him.

But he wasn't fighting for himself right now, he was fighting to keep a promise he'd made. He'd already gone against the town's rules, and broken the first promise he made to his dying mother. If he failed now he'd have broken both promises, and all of this-- would've been for nothing.

His lungs burned as he roared.

A dull thud struck his temple.

Falling.

A splash.

Sinking deeper, and deeper.

Nothingness.