Bleeding.

Usually, Tartaglia would relish in the pain. Use it as fuel to keep pushing. But this.. this was too much, a limit he barely crossed.

Of course, it didn’t help that combat made him.. sensitive.

He pulled himself into the first cave he could find, sweat rolling off his body like he just laid in a sauna for an hour. Blood pooled below him, brilliant red against the cool colors of stone around him.

“Hah… ah… almost didn’t…” he gasped to himself, running a shaky hand through his hair.

He wouldn’t die, of course. He had lived through much worse. But it was annoying.

Tartaglia jolted as he heard something shift nearby, immediately on alert. He was already beaten down—if someone was trying to ambush him, they’d have the perfect jump.