(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Chapter 33
"Hrghllll..."
You know those mornings where you feel groggy and you simply don't want
to wake up? Maybe you've drooled in your sleep and your cheek is resting
on a puddle of cold saliva pressed into a ruined pillow. You happened to
sleep in a funny position so that one arm was pressed under your body and
by the time your consciousness flickers into being it's completely numb.
Maybe you poke at that limp, motionless limb a couple of times thinking it
belonged to someone else.
Now imagine something like that except you're covered in blood, your arm
was partly severed and is inches from recovery, and you're coughing up and
covered with blood. Crap, I think I lost a nipple to those winged jaws.
"Ugh..." I groaned, and flexed my fingers experimentally. There was no
permanent damage, thankfully. That, and my head was still attached to my
shoulders, so there's another plus.
"Why do I feel like dog leavings?" I grumbled. How much damage did I have
to recover from?
"Eeeeh, Dak'kon insisted on carrying you on his back when we fled. Luckily
the things seemed a lot more interested in picking over your immodestly
clothed bits and we kinda used you as a human shield until we were safe."
"Thanks," I grumbled. I meant it, grumpy as I was. The thought of being
trapped forever in a chamber of clacking jaws, flesh torn apart and devoured
by hungry teeth as quickly as it regenerated, was as close as I could get to a
real nightmare. A scarred immortal would be an endless source of food.
The signs lay littered on the loosely cobbled ground as we descended
deeper into the catacombs.
Skeletons and other corpses had been draped with loose clothes after
death. Some gripped crude weapons in their hands, others bore wounds
that never clotted or healed. I knelt down cautiously, examining one body.
The skeleton definitely bore marks and wounds taken as an undead
creature.
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