Saint
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Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Jan 18, 2024 12:50:24 GMT 9
#s://cdn~discordapp~com/attachments/1107895957519081622/1145884362253021254/200_casual~png Self-consciousness had one benefit: keen eyes. Angelo sees the blip in Sarthor’s composure like shark detecting blood in deep water.
Just a drop. Sarthor moved and spoke no differently, as if he’d react the same wading through a shallow pool and vat of acid. It kept the distance between them a wide berth, but there’s now a little pile being fed. Angelo filled it with these tidbits—the frown, the strange phrasing of his answers, as if these could help humanize the doctor in his eyes.
“A feast?” A scrunch between his brows. His first thought was of the golden dishes—perhaps they had shed their luster when blood touched the giant serving plate. Perhaps something else had appeared—dropped from that strange ceiling formed like a puzzle box.
Corruption. Parasite. The image in his head shifted, and the look in his eyes seemed to brighten with something.
“It talked to you? What did it say?”
It was relief. It was eagerness. It was hunger.
His sacrifice hadn’t been in vain, and he’d been right—this man held the answers he craved. The doubt that usually plagued his brain appeared to part, overwritten by a burgeoning curiosity.
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Saint
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Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Jan 16, 2024 20:17:23 GMT 9
#s://cdn~discordapp~com/attachments/1107895957519081622/1145884362253021254/200_casual~png The number was still ringing when Finn grabbed his arm, Angelo cursing only to be silenced by the bloodied, slurred words that slip from Finn’s mouth. It’s somewhat comprehensible, which is a massive relief. Angelo’s panicked mind had begun making contingency plans if he woke with amnesia.
He frowned as he listened. He must be referring to his assailant, the guy in the Moltres costume, but why was he warning him? Be careful, when he couldn’t have cared less what happened to him.
Angelo sighed, gently prying Finn’s hand from his arm. “It’s okay. He’s gone. We can file a report after you’ve gotten treated.” He squeezed the hand, setting it down where it couldn’t touch Finn’s wounds.
Truth be told, he doubted Finn would be able to kill the man as he swore to do. He was probably gone from the venue by now, if not headed out of the city, if he was smart. On some level, Angelo hoped he was—he could still remember the threat hissed into his ear, and he shuddered to think what the man would do to Finn if he was caught.
“Yes, hello? I need an ambulance at the San Francisco Convention Center, my—my roommate got into a fight and he’s injured very badly. Concussion, broken nose, heavy bleeding…”
And when the flashing lights arrived outside, and Finn was loaded onto a stretcher, Angelo remained nearby, quietly taking a seat with the EMTs, the venue disappearing from view as they pulled out of the driveway and headed for the hospital.
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Saint
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Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Jan 10, 2024 23:48:33 GMT 9
#s://c~l3n~co/i/4ZwJ6b~png He had closed his eyes for only a second, but by the time they’re open the world had already shifted, ever so slightly. The desert stretched infinitely before him. So silent he could hear the scratch of his shoes against a thousand sand particles. His arms cradled nothing.
“Gumball?” He raised his voice, but it couldn’t surface the wide expanse of space that choked the air. His eyes searched frantically the space around his ankles and the horizon, trying to find the familiar silhouette of a little seal in a frilly collar waddling away to trouble. But the sand was as still as lake water; the only prints were his own.
It was then he realized what had shifted: indeed, his world had changed, becoming bigger, lonelier—quieter. All traces of his UI were gone, shattering the boundary between reality and virtual. The feeling that seized him lay tucked beneath the folds of his skin, beginning its nauseating ascent from his diaphragm and threatening to spill as a scream from his mouth.
He swallowed, feeling it plummet like gravel back down into his gut. Awful as this feeling was, its familiarity anchored him. This was not the first time he bore the brunt of this pressure. This was not a terror that would drive him to flight.
He stepped on without a second glance, knowing his answers lay forward, as they always have.
And Saint walked,
farther and
farther
in.
Until at last, he saw the unyielding line of the dunes finally broken by what looked to be at first, a jagged pillar. A cliffside; perhaps a ruin abandoned. But he drew closer, eyes trained skyward, feeling only the brush of the sand underfoot, he came to realize the desolate monument bore a face. It was not a solid, stout shape as he thought, but instead a collection of gangly limbs the length of highways, tightly condensed as if entombed. It wrapped around itself, grotesquely hunched, as if awaiting a harsh beating from a higher being—a flea trying to preserve any and all traces of itself by being as small as it can, taking up no space as it waits and waits for the perfect moment to fall upon fresh blood, and finally feast. And despite what looked to be an excruciating position, a sacrifice that packaged it to a single miniscule space in the world, cursed so long that moss had grown over its emaciated form, it still remained massive, imposing, and impossible to ignore.
And Saint stood, staring in horror and revulsion of the thing, too scared to draw closer but unwilling to turn around. Unwilling to stop parsing this monstrosity, trying to piece its biology into a comprehensible 3D shape. He didn’t have a clear view of its face.
There came a horrible creak, like the sound of a house’s foundations slowly coming undone, and the dread finally came crashing down upon him, a force slamming against the backs of his knees. The sands were pulling him forward.
“Shit!” Saint twisted, trying to run, but the shifting sands drew an extreme current, and the farther he was carried, the deeper it grew to be. From the soles of his feet, the sand opened its maw to swallow his ankles, his knees, his waist, his chest—until he found himself choking, sputtering grit as his fingers claw through fine sand for any anchor.
He was weightless, eyes pressed closed, the current biting the skin of his face. He wondered if this would be how he dies again: suffocating, turned into a human hourglass.
His back crashed, pain jolting up his spine and his dwindling consciousness. He grabbed, found his grip, and yanked himself, resurfacing with a gasp.
The air tasted of rot.
Saint recoiled, pressing harder against his handhold. What he felt in his palms was a thick clump of lichen. It wrapped around a massive plinth of ancient alabaster, the color a dulled, multi-layer amber interwoven with cracks.
With his head above sand, Saint could now see where the desert was coalescing. From the center of the whirlpool was a tower that stretched to the heavens, composed of raw gold that glittered faintly as it moved. It crawled through the dunes in large, methodical circles the size of lakes, stirring the desert as if it were one giant pot of soup.
And holding this was two equally gargantuan, skeletal hands, which were attached to the arms that seconds ago he’d been watching in morbid fascination.
The tower came to creaking halt in the center of the sandy vortex. The sands, too, stopped and settled, the desert’s roar silenced.
Saint paled as he heard that creaking once more, grabbing tighter on his lifeline.
His heart stopped entirely as he felt a shadow wash over him, head tilting up to see the skeletal face of a beast staring down at him. It had no eyes. It had no mouth. It needed neither.
From his head came a voice he had never heard before, saying:
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Saint
•
Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Jan 8, 2024 0:22:42 GMT 9
Saint’s fingers shivered as they pressed the pencil to his PLAYER JOURNAL, the sound of his scribbling wholly obscured by the roaring blizzard and the battle unfolding.
He tensed as the Glaceon’s cry shattered the atmosphere. He knew Pignite’s tank abilities would shield him, but couldn’t help the image of him being quashed to a pork puddle by the massive Pokémon. Combusken began to retaliate.
“Shit—watch out!”
But the man had already leaped for the Glaceon, yanking its attention from his team—but leaving them at the mercy of its hindlegs and tail. Combusken squawked, nearly getting trampled as she crashed onto Pignite, the two rendered blind to the battle field thanks to Pignite’s smoke and the flurries kicked by the Glaceon.
Kazuki threw one last punch, digging his knuckles as hard as they can go into his opponent’s temple—only for the Glaceon to open its eyes, furious. In one swift movement it threw its head down, snapping its massive jaws around Kazuki in the middle of his fall.
“Not good, not good—Gumball, Pichi!” The Glaceon’s HP was down to dregs. Even his healers could take it down now. All he had to do was give the order.
Saint did not give the order.
His eyes flicked around his UI, his natural urge to help combating with cold logic. Despite getting brutalized by the fight, Kazuki’s team was almost wholly unaffected. Even with RECOIL, they only took damage from the boss’ first attack. Their flagrant use of power hadn’t cost them.
He watched as Kazuki cried out and cursed, large teeth pinning him in the Glaceon’s mouth. Something black was staining the colossal’s chin.
HONK! Saint snapped out of his thoughts to see Gumball jumping like a pogo stick, his flipper waving at the stirring clouds.
“Brace yourselves!” Saint grabbed Gumball, shielding him as another fresh Blizzard rammed the battlefield. Pichi-pichi was still in his pocket, poking out only when the worst had settled.
GLACEON used BLIZZARD on GUMBALL and PICHI-PICHI! wDBkJ2qo2d30 GLACEON is charging AOE BLIZZARD (3/3)!
“O-o-okay, n-now… heal.” Saint coughed, brushing snow off himself and Gumball. “Heal yourselves.”
Honk??? Gumball looked bewildered, head turning from Saint to where their allies were getting mauled.
“Just trust me. They’ll be okay without us,” Saint persisted, ignoring his guilt and fear of Kazuki’s retaliation. Something was happening. He needed to see how far it could go.
Gumball pouted, but took out a little box of polka dot bandages, putting them on himself as Pichi-pichi began to glow.
GUMBALL used HEAL on GUMBALL! 4d12 bonuses: rare (+10)
PICHI-PICHI used HEAL on PICHI-PICHI! 4d12 bonuses: uncommon (+5)
GLACEON: 29/800 2d30·4d12·4d12
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Saint
•
Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Jan 6, 2024 0:55:30 GMT 9
The mention of the Wish Beast drew understandable concern from the crowd, and Saint himself couldn’t help his eyes darting to the void-like sea with some panic. But The Captain’s voice was assuring, chipper—a voice of confidence suited for leadership despite Saint’s previous experiences.
The floating Miniors giggled as they bounced in space, dear wishes breathed to life. Silvermoon was warm by his side. Despite the looming danger, Saint’s shoulders remained slack, and he listened calmly and attentively to the explanation.
And then something crashed into the ship. Saint stumbled, his hand automatically shooting out to grab Silvermoon and banging his knee on the deck with a curse. “What was that?!” He hurried back to his feet, barely managing to catch sight of the bellowing behemoth crashing back into the waves, leaving the sky just a little darker, a little colder.
The ship was in disarray as Captain shouted orders, crew members scrambling to battle stations. His hand squeezed Silvermoon’s in an attempt to reassure them. What he’d intended to be a dazzling boat tour had quickly devolved into a boss battle, and many were struggling to catch up.
But his friend drew a breath, before joining in the action and calling out their ponyta. Saint smiled, proud, before taking stock of the situation. Silvermoon was on defense. He could see Nero and orioncayge working together on the nets, with the latter’s Incineroar aiding in loading the harpoons.
The crew was preparing for an offensive, but they would need speed to keep the beast from taking them down in one bite.
He turned to Silvermoon. “I’m going to help lower the sails.” He had deft hands and could work the knots needed to release and secure them. The problem came when he tilted his head up and blanched at the height he’d have to scale. “… I really hope that thing doesn’t hit the ship again.” And having just jinxed it, Saint pulled up his sleeves, tossing out his Mantyke—the little one floating giddily around him thanks to the SWIMMER class—and slowly climbing up the ratlines to reach the furled topsails.
pCFJTl091-100 1-100
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Saint
•
Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Jan 5, 2024 3:07:41 GMT 9
#s://b~l3n~co/i/mfJyyK~png #s://b~l3n~co/i/mfJyyK~png TO: 𝓑𝓮𝓵𝓵✨🌸
hey don’t say it like i planned for any of this, i would’ve much preferred sleeping in my own bed over crashing at someone else’s place i literally met that friend on the same day, the fact they let me stay at all was a miracle my gacha pulls are going to be trash this year 😔 no? i think i’ve tried asking but it sort of came off like a big secret so are you telling me this entire time the rich guy you’ve been working for is literally the rich guy from which other rich guys are made from?? and yeah, you always look cute usually i’d tell you not to seduce your boss but that might be the best way you can get those custom balenciagas
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Saint
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Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Dec 31, 2023 12:53:30 GMT 9
#s://cdn~discordapp~com/attachments/1107895957519081622/1145884362253021254/200_casual~png The squint of the doctor’s eyes stung—the blade sinking a little deeper in his chest. Angelo fought to maintain eye contact.
He fell short of the willpower needed to hide how his expression twists at the mention of Mistra, the cruel casualty of how Sarthor brings it up. It nicked a well-hidden pocket of doubt: that the events taking place in UNOVR, no matter how horrific, where just that—events in a game. That the guilt he bore for the man had been for naught; that it was only in his eyes things felt so visceral.
But that didn’t make sense either. Because he’s seen how it affected Silvermoon—and now he was seeing the sharp print of a business card.
“You… what?” His eyes were wide, and it was only through muscle memory that he managed to accept the card, holding it with such a light touch as if it could disappear at any moment.
Angelo had been raised religious, but this may be the first time he’s ever experienced a miracle. (Or at least, the second.)
His fingers press into the card, thumbing the serpentine curve of Sarthor’s initial.
“But I didn’t... do… anything.” Among the emotions he expected to feel if handed everything he ever wanted—anger had not been one of them. And yet it bubbled forth, slowly encasing him.
“I’m sorry, I just—I don’t understand how my performance in a videogame could translate to potential in the medical field.” This is the opportunity he has spent countless nights wishing for, but he knew what happened when you jumped blindly into opportunities. Look before you leap.
“What I did in Mistra wasn’t a mistake. I knew what it wanted and I chose the solution that made the most… sense to me.” He licked his lips, choosing words carefully. “You have been investigating it far longer than I have. I trusted you would be able to decipher the results.”
He looked up from the card. “You promised you would tell me. What happened when I died?”
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Saint
•
Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Dec 17, 2023 7:02:23 GMT 9
While Saint is relieved The Captain is finally seeing sense, the indentured first mate would much prefer some assisting of his own.
“I can’t move the wheel!” he hissed as seafoam grazed his skin as the boat was sent sloshing and careening by the roaring waves. His hands are clammy as they grip the seaweed-tangled handles, the old rickety ship resisting his pathetic attempts at making it kowtow.
That left their fate entirely to the thousand tiny capable fins of Captain’s fish.
“Whoa!” Saint smacks against the helm as the boat is hefted off the sea — a moment of peace experienced by one teetering off the edge of a cliff.
The Captain breathes a sigh, and Saint’s hands twitch around the helm’s spokes, wondering if he can let go.
A screech from the waves says otherwise.
The monster’s imposing silhouette tails them across the sea, Saint yelping again as gravity escapes his heels — they’re being airlifted!
“You think I can swim like this?!” he sputters, not having had the foresight to switch into a little sailor outfit before boarding Charon’s waterslide to the underworld. The heavy coat around him would either be his life vest or his anchor into the briny deep.
The massive wave carries them through the storm, far and away from the shores of the Steppes.
Saint flinches as something lands next to his feet. Gumball honks as he flops back upright, being swiftly pulled into his trainer’s arms and bombarded with love.
He smacks the man with his flippers, because there is no time for this! He HONKS as loud as possible, like an air raid siren, as he points to the sea the wave is about to crash them on.
A sea that was parting to a shadow the size of a tectonic plate.
Saint screams as the water shatters, revealing the darkest cavern bordered by mossy gums, a path straight to the belly of the beast: the Kaleken’s maw.
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Saint
•
Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Dec 10, 2023 15:41:27 GMT 9
“Over here!”
Despite the dreary atmosphere of the church, Saint was beaming, practically hopping on his heels. He was keenly aware of The Captain’s adventures, and this time, he was excited. For once, he wasn't the sole reluctant crew taken into the jaws of danger. And the boat—
“Here, Silvermoon! In the well!” The expected objective prompt popped into his list of quests.
His hands met the mossy brick of the old well, moving onto the rope ladder. “Ah, be careful coming down the ladder. It’s a bit slippery, but it should hold. Let me go first.” The idea that he’d catch them went without saying. He swung his legs over the brick and onto the ladder, descending carefully into the darkness, surrounded by the scent of moss and damp stone.
And like a beacon through the storm, the glimmering ship deck came into view. Saint jumped off the last few rungs, smiling with eyes alight as a familiar voice welcomed him aboard.
“Hi C— I mean, ahoy Captain!” he chuckled, giving the man a little salute. It felt right, especially here. “Hey, you got your tricorn back.” His eyes flicked up and down, from the familiar tricorn to the golden seashells on his coat. And of course, that wagging feather duster. “Your whole outfit… very seaworthy.” He tilted his head. "A sea dog?"
And it was no exaggeration to say the ship was a work of art. Its sails gleamed with ethereal threads—perhaps solar-powered? But there wasn’t a hint of a sun in this strange, contained space.
Yet it hummed with potential. The call of adventure.
There were already a few others around. He could see a player called Nero taking in the sights as well, and orioncayge he recognized from the raid in pirate gear, busy chatting. Saint turned back to the Captain. “I brought my friend! If there’s anyone who’d want to help us get our wishes back, it’s Silvermoon.” The objective was admittedly a bit curious; he wondered if old wishes were considered. He only ever made one, when he visited the church a long time ago, tailing after his starter into a terrifying cult—
It was a wish he hoped would stick.
Saint looked around. “Could we see the bridge? I’m curious how you steer this ship. It’s incredible.”
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Saint
•
Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Dec 2, 2023 9:10:19 GMT 9
#s://cdn~discordapp~com/attachments/1107895957519081622/1145884362253021254/200_casual~png Angelo hummed his assent, following after them as Kasey pointed out a spot by the Dairy Queen. He sat beside them, setting his lemonade on the brick and his taco on his thigh. As they asked him about the spot, he looked around.
There was no escaping the crowd, but sitting here with a friend, the scent of flowers and warm food all about—it felt safe. There was still the mild urge to throw himself into the flower bed when he tried to remember their introduction, but if Kasey was willing to overlook it, then there wasn’t much else he could do but follow suit. He would just have to deal with the fallout later.
“It’s perfect.” And with that, he began to eat.
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Saint
•
Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Dec 2, 2023 9:09:24 GMT 9
#s://cdn~discordapp~com/attachments/1107895957519081622/1145884362253021254/200_casual~png The unfamiliar hand wrapping around his surprised him a little, but his grip on his shirt wavered, a second anchor keeping him grounded as he’s led through the hotel.
Kasey’s room was entirely different, and as Angelo stepped through, he found the discomfort buzzing under his skin less like screeching cicadas. It didn’t scream how he didn’t belong. The room wasn’t so big that it tried to drown him. He followed Kasey inside and took the offered seat on the bed, eyes wandering curiously.
“Anything’s fine.” As long as it could keep his brain and hands preoccupied. He turned to them and smiled, a weaker one than what he was wearing throughout the day, but amused nonetheless. “You play Just Dance?”
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Saint
•
Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Dec 2, 2023 9:08:26 GMT 9
#s://cdn~discordapp~com/attachments/1107895957519081622/1145884362253021254/200_casual~png To Angelo’s relief, Finn’s eyes opened, though he winced at how the skin pulled at the discolored patches, the swelling that left the man’s bread and butter as blisters and black eyes.
He has seen Finn in all manners of wreck, but even the most brutal frat hazings didn’t come close to this. The sound of his nickname bubbling out of his bleeding lips stirred nothing but pity.
“No, just—stay down, I need to check if you have a concussion.” He lay his head on his lap—better this than concrete—and thumbed the stream of red trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Damn it, Finn… I really can’t take my eyes off you for a second, can I?”
On some level, he had asked for this. When he had stormed out of the hotel, feeling only a numbness, hatred fresh in his mind, he wanted retribution. He had decided that Finn could go to Hell for all he cared—and unlike the many lethal party stunts of the past, he wouldn’t be there to pull him from death’s door.
He assessed his pupils, checking their size, assessing his airways, careful of his chest in case he’d gotten his ribs crushed—weighing if it would be safe to leave Finn here while he got help. His pants were stained from an injury on the back of Finn’s skull.
Concussion, definitely. Loss of consciousness and nausea indicate a severity warranting a hospital visit. Angelo pulled out his phone and dialed, adjusting Finn to lie on his side.
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Saint
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Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Dec 2, 2023 9:07:35 GMT 9
#s://cdn~discordapp~com/attachments/1107895957519081622/1145884362253021254/200_casual~png Angelo spent a better part of his life bracing for it; had accepted shame and etched it into his atoms as inevitability—but life had incredible aim, and by sheathing the words in the mouth of an esteemed professional, it created a blade so sharp he could feel it sink between his ribs.
“Johns Hopkins would be a dream.” Studying and graduating from a top private university would basically ensure his future. It would fulfill the promises he’s made.
It would make something out of him.
“But I know my capabilities, Dr. Caldwell. I make do with the cards I’m dealt.” He was keeping his voice level, his hand behind him, to hide how he clenched it. Lashing out at his betters has never worked out for him.
He raised his eyes and finally met Sarthor’s. “I… apologize, if I’m not what you were expecting.” He didn’t understand why the man sought him out, why he had an opinion of what was beneath him. They had only met twice in a game, and both times ended disastrously.
He searched the still depths in Sarthor’s gaze and wondered what he saw. All he saw was his reflection, tinged red.
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Saint
•
Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Dec 2, 2023 9:06:06 GMT 9
The world remained dark, Saint dimly aware of the rough, jutting ground under his body, and the warmth cast by multicolored flames above. His head was lifted and placed on something soft, whispers of comfort reaching for him, indecipherable.
He trembled, his jacket and its familiar weight absent. His hand curled against fabric as he buried his face into safety, the sensation of fingers gently carding through his hair one that was sorely missed.
His chest rose and fell, and he was fast asleep.
His dreams were empty: their contents devoured.
It’s a long time before he wakes. His fingers bunched the fabric in his grasp as he peeled his eyes open, the world at first a blur of light colors almost too painful to look at. His pupils swung to the edge their sockets, elegant features coming into focus, hovering over him.
“… Silvermoon?”
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Saint
•
Weekend Warrior
Round 2
Posts: 386
Trainer Class:
Player Name: Angelo Alvarez
OOC Username: Sleepy
Arena Points: 10
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Post by Saint on Dec 2, 2023 9:05:17 GMT 9
Saint’s frown deepens as Silvermoon’s voice crack over their words—words that rang familiar. It’s an old tune he feels in his bones. He takes some time to mull it over.
“You know how… during airplane emergencies, you’re meant to put on your own oxygen mask first, before helping someone else put on theirs?” He wonders if Silvermoon has ever traveled; local, he’s willing to bet, but have they ever crossed the seas? Uprooted everything they knew for a single rash bet?
He doesn’t know. He’d like to.
He thinks they’re the kind of person who would, if it was the right thing to do.
“It’s the same here. It’s up to you to decide if you want to keep going, but the rule stays the same: Your own well-being comes first, or you won’t be in the state to aid others.”
He waves his hand, pulling up his UI. “And you should remember to ask for help for yourself too. This isn’t a game you play alone.”
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