"Complacency is the stairs straight to downfall." – Nero Adams.
°°°
Meanwhile, in another shattered corner of the pocket dimension, the only sounds were the slow hiss of cooling rock and the ragged, painful rhythm of breathing.
Nero lay on his back, staring up at a bruised, alien sky. Every gasp for air was a battle. His chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow hitches, a broken bellows trying to stoke a dying fire. His body was a map of ruin. Small cuts crisscrossed his arms and face. Deeper gashes, some still oozing crimson, others sealed by the cauterizing heat of his own flames, marked his torso and legs. His right arm was a mess of torn muscle and seared flesh where the wind-threads had found their mark. The ache was a deep, bone-deep chorus of pain, with the fractured ribs singing the loudest tune.
