The darkness was absolute, thick, and suffocating, pressing in on the three figures trapped beneath the collapsed storefront. The only source of light was a faint, sickly yellow glow emanating from a single chemical light stick stuck into a crevice of the rubble. a weak, flickering heart in their dark, earthen tomb.
Hours bled into a timeless, painful blur. The air, initially thick with cement dust, was now thin and stale, clinging to their lungs like wet gauze.
Jenna, propped against a large chunk of rebar-laced concrete, coughed, a dry, rattling sound that scratched at her raw throat. She glanced at the faint glow of the light stick, then at the two figures beside her. Arthur was slumped against the wall, his head bowed, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Zane, still unconscious, lay limp and silent, his pale face barely visible in the weak light.
Jenna: Three hours, at least, (she whispered, her voice strained and thin.) We've been here… three hours. Maybe more.
She didn't know which was worse: the silence outside or the mounting pressure inside.
Arthur forced his head up, the movement agonizing.
Arthur: Just... try to breathe slow, Jenna. Slow. We still have time. (His own words were labored, hollow encouragement.)
He nudged Zane's shoulder, a gesture born of habit more than hope. Zane didn't stir. Arthur reached out, his trembling fingers pressing against the side of his friend's neck, searching for the familiar, steady rhythm. He held his breath, straining against the dull roar in his ears, his face inches from Zane's cold skin.
After a long, agonizing minute, Arthur pulled his hand back, slowly.
He said nothing. He simply turned away, pressing his head hard against the concrete, his shoulders shaking with silent, terrible realization. Zane was gone. The magical defense had been his final act; his body, utterly depleted, hadn't lasted the subsequent hours of confinement.
Jenna didn't notice. Her own consciousness was beginning to slip. Her eyes, wide and bloodshot, fixed on the distant, silent memory of her daughter. Her breathing grew shallow and panicked.
"I… I can't, Arthur," she choked out, tears finally breaking free, tracing paths through the dust and grime on her cheeks. "The air... it's too thin. I can't stay awake."
Arthur reached out, his hand barely brushing her arm. "Jenna, no! Stay with me! Jenna! You need to—"
She didn't respond. Her eyes fluttered, then shut, her body slumping sideways against the rubble.
Arthur stared into the darkness, the light stick casting an eerie, dying glow. He was alone. The silence was absolute. He felt the cold seeping into his bones, and then, the terrifying, final absence of air. He fought for one last breath, his body convulsing, before his muscles went slack.
Hm... What a sad way to go, trapped, buried in rubble, your only way out was a magician who was first to go in his sleep...
Well! Time to move on to our final boy...