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Double doors were smashed open by a bed on wheels being pushed by a team of medical professionals. The patient on the bed didn't even occupy the normal space of an adult, but a bulk of tubes and machines seemed to make him look bigger. There were all kinds of sounds coming from the machines as the nurses and doctors worked frantically.

Raphemal was already dead of course, but they were trying to revive him. None of the techniques seemed to be very effective. Things quieted down as the staff came to the conclusion that the boy was beyond help, even magical means proved fruitless. One by one the machines would be removed until the boy simply lay in his resting state. An intern was assigned to locating and verifying the information on next of kin, while a more experienced professional dealt with the corpse.

The mindblade fragment would be removed and set aside, more than a foot of crystal all and all stained by blood. Clothing had already been removed out of necessity, though the boy had on a modest gown and was under the covers. They had been pulled up both as an act of compassion and to obscure the grisly wound. Hours would pass with the boy set aside before the first signs of life returned. Curiously, the young fighter had survived death. His small chest slowly rose and fell in the telltale fashion of deep breathing. Color came back to his skin over time, and he even fidgeted slightly in his sleep.

"He's alive!" A nurse yelled.
"It's a miracle!" Someone added.
"Make sure he isn't a zombie!" Added the intern, who they glared at.


Once the hustle and bustle of the event died down, Raphemal would find his bed wheeled into a bigger area for holding general patients. His condition had improved enough in just a few hours that they didn't even need to keep him on machines. Consciousness proved elusive, but the boy was certainly alive. In fact he seemed to be in a very deep sleep almost like a coma which was strange given that his injuries seemed to have been healing at an accelerated rate of his body's own accord. With nothing regarding regeneration documented in the GTB application or shown during the premier match they were mostly baffled.

"How could this be possible?" A nurse asked, looking down at the boy from the end of his bed. A doctor in a white coat stood next to her reviewing the kid's charts.

"Hm. I saw a case like this once when I was younger and we were studying curses and their effects on the body." The doctor said.

"Curses?"
"Yes. If a curse is strong enough it can prevent death."
"That doesn't sound too bad."
"Doesn't it? If that's indeed the case here, it means this boy's suffering will never truly end. There is no escape for him from the troubles of life. No, if he is truly cursed that strongly it means an immense and powerful will wishes for him to experience unending agony, forever."

The pair looked at the sleeping boy, wondering what kind of person would want to harm such an innocent looking child. Was it really possible, a cursed fate...?

Infirmary

Tres's recovery was far less dramatic. Not because of the fact that he nearly died, but because of the fact that Tres was in this situation quite often. Tres actually for once was not the center of attention. The child was and deservedly so. He had matched a titan blow for blow and he deserved all the recognition he would receive from the feat. To Tres, he was just another opponent. Some sort of halfling or gnome.

Tres sat up in his hospital bed after being treated. He monitored the war effort via a tablet as if he just had not almost died. Then Tres got an email. He checked it.

"What?!"

The Infirmary

Tres looked away from the the tablet screen that was now obscured by all the forms in his lap. "Kid?", a heaviness began to gather in the pit of Tres's stomach. He thought back on his opponent and then his eyes slowly grew wide with the mounting realization. "...Kid?...Are...are you telling me you guys put me out there against a human child? I nearly killed a human child?!", Tres nearly shouted. His teeth clinched in a scowl and in a rush of adrenaline the dreaded psion would grab the arms at the side of the hospital bed and then begin to pull himself out of bed.

Tres being a violent person by nature needed something to hit to make himself feel better about the evidence that now suddenly pointed to the fact that the man had beaten a child nearly to death. However, weakened due to his recent recovery from his near fatal chest wound from his last battle the psions legs were weak and he fell to his stomach upon his attempt to stand.

Tres would then struggle to get to his feet, obviously still angry.

Damon had been treated by a small group of white mages and doctors. In only a few hours they had managed to reconstruct his damaged eye socket and eyeball. This left his eye sensitive, so now he wore a bandage around the right side of his face. All of the other damage to his body had been surface. No bruised ribs or damaged internal organs. All things considered, he had gotten off much luckier than his opponent.

Now he sat up in a hospital bed watching TV. Mostly replays and highlights of the other fights, including his own. It was strange watching himself on the screen handle Marcus. From here it made him winch to see him take those kinds of shots. When he was actually there he didn't even really feel them.

Finally it came around to the matches where people had died. Lots of censoring and attempts at PR damage control. Damon had to stop and consider just what kind of screenings they should have been doing before letting these people sign themselves up. Sure this was Gaia, but you'd think they would have more things set in place to prevent the tournament from becoming a massacre.

Now the announcer settled upon Darius fight.

That poor guy he was facing really didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. Letting Darius get that close with those weapons was just asking for it. In all likelihood that sociopath had intended this to be the outcome. Oh well, what could you do.

Damon wondered if Terra and Ellie had been watching his fight? And what would they think?

Of all the people to get stuck in a hospital bed next to.

There were three things that made Damon's head hurt that didn't involve punching. Crying babies, nails on a chalkboard and Darius Kaiq. He was like the annoying neighbor that let his dog s**t on your freshly cut lawn. The bus driver that laughs at you and drives off as you try to board. Or that friend that thinks its funny to tazer you in the nuts while you're sleeping.

At least karma had made him ugly.

"If you haven't noticed, my hair isn't silver anymore. Dumbass."

Indeed. Damon's hair had become a light bronze. Not silver.

"Yeah. The guy surrendered. I see that you killed your opponent, saw them wheeling his body in a few hours ago. Not very pretty. Not that I'm surprised, you have no standards or class."

"To each his own I suppose."

Damon had his fair share of self-gratification. And he was no stranger to ultra-violence. But he tempered everything with reason and restraint. He also showed mercy to an opponent because he understood that he was in a sporting competition.

"Learn some tact. Maybe you'll get somewhere in life, Darius. Instead of having everyone hate your guts and hoping to see them splattered on the pavement."

For a second, Damon almost sounded like he gave a ********.

Almost.

The nurse from before rushed to Tres' side when he fell. She wore a worried frown that suggested he shouldn't be up and about, let alone be yelling while others were in recovery. "No one really approves of this kind of thing, but the tournament organizers are careful to make sure entrants show some talent."

She would try and guide him back onto the bed, at least to a sitting position. Experience had taught the staff that forcing the fighters to do as they were told was all but impossible. Since no one wanted to try and sedate a guy who could punch their head's off Tres was more or less in the clear. The nurse tsked at him for being out of bed, but eased back. "Anyway, both you and your opponent should be taking it easy. He hasn't woken up yet, but here you are causing a mess."

She gestured to the dropped tablet and spilled forms before hurriedly collecting them and handing them back. Reicher's comment would only get a narrowing of the eyes from the nurse, followed by her huffing and storming off to find someone who could sort the fighters out. If too many of them got to mouthing each other off a battle royale might break open in the middle of the infirmary...