Those movies where the hero dies gracefully in battle were bullshit. What happened to Michael had been far from any grace. The entry wound of the strike hadn’t been oozing blood, no; blood came pouring out like a crimson fountain in his abdomen. Instead of courageous and inspiring last words came coughing and-- what do you know, more blood dripping from his pale lips. Auburn eyes stared up at me in fear, pain, and regret, the eyes of a dying youth.
This couldn’t be right, Michael had been the strongest one of all of us. We the heroes, and the heroes are supposed to win-- right? Yet there I sat, trying to hold the soul of my friend from leaving his still hands with my own. It took me seconds to realize that Michael had gone, that my friend died, but I stayed by his lifeless body for minutes just sobbing silently for my companion.

“Have you realized yet, Xia? I’m the good guy,” Blaine purred, wiping Michael’s blood off of his S1 steel blade as he paced towards me. “Now, die with your friends.”

I heard the whoosh of a blade in motion, then a stinging blade-to-blade collision.

“Dylan!”