Regulus fell hard as he heaved uncontrollably, his raw throat screaming in agony against the compulsive hacking that wracked his lungs. He crumpled to his side as his limbs gave way to exhaustion, and what little light there was in the cave spun sickeningly around him. The pounding in his head reached a deafening crescendo almost smothering him beneath its weight, but he battled for consciousness. In the midst of it all, something in him demanded to be heard, and it called for survival.
Unwilling to give up life so soon, he uttered a savage cry as he forced himself to his elbows once more, and clawing in the dirt began to drag himself forward using any purchase he could find. His fingers bloodied as his nails caught on jagged rocks, and skin was flayed from his knees and stomach where he writhed over gnarly razor-sharp edges, but above the pain he could sense his salvation growing nearer. It was calling to him; if only he could sooth his burning throat with a sip from the lake. If only he could bathe his aching limbs in its cool waters.
He felt the paralysing effects of the potion within him, and his throat began to constrict as he hauled himself towards the water. Could this truly be his end? He wondered, as blackness began to creep in at the edges of his vision and he wheezed desperately through bloodless lips. With one last wrench, he collapsed beneath his own weight and sunk once again to the stone floor.
Darkness was rapidly closing in, and so with what dredges of life he had left to him, he extended one trembling hand towards the inky black depths…
And felt his fingertips brush cooling redemption. Instantly, its effects were upon him. Like a soothing balm, the silky waters wrapped themselves about his fingers, caressing his wounded skin and sending icy relief slithering up his arm. He gasped as it revived him, and he flexed his fingers sending tiny ripples darting out across the otherwise still surface of the lake.
Unbidden, a hoarse chuckle bubbled up and sighed from between his parched lips. He had done it, he would live yet; the lake would be his saviour. Bringing his wetted fingers to his mouth, he extended his swollen tongue and felt the cool liquid sooth everything it touched.
He laughed for joy, for life, and for having outsmarted The Dark Lord! Edging forwards once more, he leaned eagerly towards his own reflection, and cupped the clear water in his palm. Taking gulp after gulp he felt the refreshing elixir spread through his body, restoring his rotten lungs and corrupted heart. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed for the glory of it.
And then something was on him. His maniacal expulsion of joy turned to a sudden strangled cry. In a moment, his victory had been slain by a bony, black hand that wrapped itself unforgivingly tight about his wrist. He scrabbled to force its release; digging his splintered fingernails into its slippery flesh, but he could gain no purchase. The hand only squeezed tighter.
Panic turned quickly to pain as his bones were crushed beneath its infernal claw, and he released a wail of horror. Then there were more. They were rising out the water, as black as the lake they inhabited, and they grasped at his wrists, his arms, his cloak, his hair. He tried desperately to force his way back from the lakeside, but his hands slipped on the slick stone. Soon blood was welling from deep gashes, and still they grasped at him, pulling, and tugging, and squeezing.
"No!" he cried into the darkness, but even before the last echoes of his cry had stopped resounding in the cavernous space, Regulus had been dragged beneath the surface and down to the deep depths of his watery grave.