Thirty-five to fifty minutes... The sand in the hourglass has mostly run out.
"Urgh!" Oerstein was struck again in the chest by a heavy blow, the divine light flickering violently, almost collapsing, but he roared and used the warhammer to stubbornly brace himself on the ground, refusing to fall, as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth onto the ground like burning lava.
Demster's Raven Storm had long been suppressed to its limits, the black mist thinning, yet he still stood firmly in the path of Roland's fiercest attacks, using his body to buy breathing space for his companions. His consciousness was becoming hazy, sustained only by a will of steel and a copious amount of potions.
Dietrich's religious holy image dimmed, almost squeezing out the last drop of divine power, the light like a veil covering the wounded bodies of his companions, healing the most fatal injuries. His own divine general form was almost transparent.
