Hyperion stumbles when his opponent finally relents, holding the wound, as if his fingers and skin will keep the blood from pouring furiously from the gash. It's useless, he knows it, but he refuses to believe this is the end. His end. She was supposed to be an easy death, that girl, but his world has been turned upside down and its volume has become numbingly loud.

He turns his focus to her again. For a moment it's as though he's ready to move towards her, reach for her face like his bloody fingers have turned into claws, but one step is more than what he can take now. He's weak, has been for days, and now every last piece of energy is gradually being lost in every last exhale.

He refuses to let this be his end. He refuses. But he still falls to his knees, he still stares vaguely like he's suddenly realized he's gone blind. He's losing too much blood. The knife sunk too deep and opened the door to let death inside.

Hyperion's arm reaches out into nothing, and he collapses.