Dying

Emery returned to his normal form and stayed still on the ground. The blood on his severed right arm kept flowing out on the earth when the familiar voice rang in his mind.

"Sigh… You truly are hopeless, kid," said the voice in a low tone.

"Why? Why is it that when you say something, it's always about mocking me. Can't you see I've tried my best?" said Emery, indignant.

"Why don't you reflect on your actions, kid? Look and ask yourself, how many times have you gotten out in such a crucial moment only to be saved by pure luck? You won't survive this time," replied the voice.

"Haha, but at least this time, I've won!" Emery's laugh got cut short before he curled in pain. His vision was getting blurrier and the sound from the surrounding was waning.

"This is definitely not winning…" retorted the voice, clearly disappointed.