The young officer suddenly found the presence of mind to look down at himself. He still wore his uniform - blue double breasted coat, white pants, and black boots. Upon discovering that the sheath on his hip hung empty, Renaud suddenly recalled his sword had been in his hand whenever this transformation took place. He must have dropped it. Of course his carbine, previously slung over his shoulder, had also disappeared in one way or another. What in hells had happened? Cartier forced himself to ignore the slash on his left outer thigh, taking no time to assess its depth. He felt a liquid pouring from the wound and mistakenly assumed it would be blood. He took no time to check, but if he had he would have noticed its clear nature. Renaud didn't know it, but he would never bleed red again.
Renaud spun again, and saw finally some tall building extending into the sky. Couldn't be heaven, he thought, his gaze trailing slowly up the height of the tower, you don't go to heaven with wounds. Must be I've found myself in hell.
He didn't know it, but the right side of his head was caked in gunpowder, sticking to his cheek and caking his hair to his head. Falling upon his arrival had also left black dirt across his right side, leaving his uniform stained and ruined. Stumbling around some feet from the tower, Renaud seemed almost like a dying man one might witness emerging from the thick fog of a furious battlefield. He was lost, stunned, and desperate to return to his men and his battle. His face was frozen in a look of maddened calculation. Further, he could feel something...burning within him. Almost like his insides were heating up. This deeply confused him, and he could feel himself getting weaker and weaker by the moment. He needed answers quickly.