'By the gods… It sucks not to have my usual strength and abilities…' Griar would be able to easily heal the wound in his forearm, but this wasn't his body that he was controlling, and thus, he had to keep the head of the pickaxe lodged into the wound, lest he would start to bleed profusely.
And from there, he would just grow sluggish, lose consciousness, and probably die.
Frankly, that was far from the worst thing about this situation, though.
'...Isn't Loimos still 'young' in this memory? What the hell am I looking at?!' he hoped that the memory wasn't truly accurate and that something weird was happening, like in the memory of the small underground world.
Because right now, a flaming skeleton was running after him through a field of pumpkins, spreading the inferno as he did not slow down one bit, even as the flames devoured his clothes and turned his bones black with soot.
