Time soon passed after the escape and three days went in the blink of an eye.
For three agonizing days and nights, the remnants of Class F had been running through the jagged, muddy labyrinth of the Neutral Zone. They didn't stop to sleep. They barely stopped to drink from the muddy streams that trickled through the canyon floors.
Lukas stumbled over a jagged root, falling hard onto his knees in the damp earth. He didn't use his hands to catch himself. He couldn't. Without the Dwarven Magitech Gauntlets that Prince Hephaestus had forged for him,
his biologically fried arms were useless, reduced to blistered, agonizing dead meat from his past injuries . He let out a ragged, dry heave, his chest heaving as he stared at the mud.
"Get up, Lukas," Alaric grunted, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together.
Alaric wasn't faring much better. The giant boy was a walking casualty.
