Fount of Life damage

He pressed one hand against the left side of his chest through his cape. The fabric was
soaking wet. With blood. Though he seemed to have masterfully caught D’s
blade, more than an inch at the tip had sunken into his immortal flesh. Some
trick with the sword may have been involved, for, unlike any wound he’d
heretofore taken in battle, the gash still hadn’t closed, and the warm blood
that was the fount of his life was flowing out. Now there is a man to be
feared.

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