#a dramatic approach at ellegaard's death scene XD

[comic-is-trying-to-write]

"Alright, everyone!” I’m not sure if anyone else knows this, but it does take a bit to convoke any kind of courage once you get so used to running away from your problems and are far from being used to asserting your self in the faces of seven others. Luckily, Soren ain't much of a wallflower. “It’s time to go! We only have one shot at this! Remember, once the Formidi-Bomb is crafted, it will explode in a matter of seconds! This means that whoever is doing the crafting will be in grave danger…and...well, I was hoping that…perhaps we could draw straws…!”

Although Soren was as straightforward as he could be, a heavy wave of awkward fell upon everyone, hushing them into silence. 

No. 

No, no, no, no. 

That’s an understatement. 

The wave that was Soren’s warning violently collapsed directly onto their heads from behind, abruptly in the sense that they could feel the spine-chilling presence of the thousand-foot tide at the back of them, a thunderous collision powerfully plunging onto them as they shrieked. That is, before the brackish water forcibly crammed into their noses, the unbelievably uncomfortable event had them to reflexively gap their mouths in teeth-grit, only to be forced to gasp even more salt-filled water, the roofs of their throats ironically dehydrating, the desperate desire to screech bloody murder merely intensifying as the strong current threw them, shuttling them into a harsh tumble, flailing their arms about, incompetent to swim to the oxygen cruelly teased overhead of them as they each try to preserve their lives, ultimately asphyxiating without a witness about, their lifeless body to only be discovered and mercilessly ripped apart, limb-to-limb by a sharp-toothed predator, their blooded remains to be left at the bottom of the ocean for centuries, for all some know--an unquestionable death for all. 

Except for one survivor, that is.

“Anyone?” I mean, even requesting in as meek of a tone of voice that was, Soren subconsciously knew that asking something of a suicide mission was a bit much to invite. “Please…?”

“This is my chance to be a hero.”

All of the seven others present, including Soren, instantaneously shot their head, some letting out small and to-be-expected exclamations, as they began to gawk at the individual who had courageously shattered the cowardice tendency that was circulating back and forth throughout proximity into fragments, accepting to conclude the journey that consisted of locating each and every member of the world’s greatest band of heroes to ever exist–the Order of the Stone, one of which had never to have been accompanied by the light of day in years, appearing to be belatedly rescued from his insanity, a result of isolation. Not only that, but having a full-on adventure alongside Gabriel the Warrior. Not to mention generally evading and scheming to eliminate the Witherstorm: a monstrosity completely competent of tearing the entire world apart, corner to corner, whilst it unmercifully murders everything that moves, mindlessly destroying the environment, atmosphere breaking, every step that it takes. Or every air it flies, I mean. A teenage group of four, a blessed extension to a combatant, somehow accomplishes all that and much more, however, none of them dared to risk their life, all-so-fatally. After all, sure they’d be honoured as a hero but would they want to be honoured as a deceased hero? It’s a given that no one would be okay with that fate. 

Besides Jesse, that is.

“This is my chance to step up.”

Once everyone had comprehended the fact that Jesse was volunteering to risk their own life for a problem that wasn’t his fault, several offered encouraging remarks whilst Soren presented a fake smile of good-luck and pleased approval as he stepped across to Jesse, giving custody to the Formidi-Bomb to the heroic soul, “Very well then...!”

Coughs echoing into the night sky, Gabriel bringing a hand to his mouth, a polite custom, before reminding his allies, the best engineer and rogue in the world: Magnus and Ellegaard. His tone being slightly angrily, “We should be ashamed of ourselves…!”

Ellegaard silently bit her lip, Magnus wordlessly glancing at the night-shadowed terrain to his left, both in an embarrassment of their friend’s notification, although they both already knew that. Even if they didn’t want to. At all. After maybe a second or two, eventually, both Magnus and Ellegaard shifted their attention towards one another, sharing shy, pitiful glimpses, supplied thoroughly with heavy regrets and laments, hearts quivering with sorrow. Remembering all that happened that day…The memories that happened that fateful…terrible…day… Eyes closed, heads lowered in absolute disgrace, they had broken away from each other’s pain-recalled expressions as if they could just shut out the recollections of the Order of the Stone’s most recent mission that easily. Most recent in a several years span, I mean. Ellegaard cradling herself, holding the humerus portion of her arms, Magnus simply trying to evade eye-contact with anyone, the guilt crushed them. Have to fix it. Even if that means to die. I’d be a hero, right? Die a hero.

“Jesse…take my armour,” Ellegaard offered, taking a small step up to Jesse who was now standing on the bridge ahead of the group next to Soren, “It will help.”

“Nah…” Magnus advised. Perhaps he was copying Ellegaard. Perhaps he thought that was a good idea too, “Take mine–It’s gotten me out of a lotta jams!”

Ellegaard got a bit upset, a stern voice, “I insist.”

Magnus argued, “I double insist.”

“I triple insist.”

“I…insist four times.”

“Quadruple.”

“Betcha don’t know what the fifth one is though!”

“Quintuple…alternately pentuple.”

“Know-it-all.”

“I’ve never found that insulting.”

“Up to you, Jesse,” Magnus turned his eyes back to Jesse. “Either real armour…or nerd armour.”

Jesse sighed, laughing. It was kind of funny, really. Even when they’re voluntarily placing their lives on the line, an abnormality ripping everything that they’ve ever loved apart, they persist to quarrel like five-year-olds. Both the engineer and rogue looked hopefully at Jesse–Jesse themself obviously wanting to make a conscious choice about who’s armour to select for, what they all had hoped to be, the final battle against the WitherStorm. However, Jesse didn’t want to take up a long amount of time. After all, wasn’t there a blood-thirsty monstrosity, made with an unorthodox material, smashing everything in it’s path to tears and tatters, a million times their size, Jesse themself being expected to slaughter the abnormality? In fact, wouldn’t the very solution to eliminate it would be to use an explosive that could vigorously detonate and fracture to fragments before it’s challenging, elusive production? 

We don’t have time to waste! 

“Jesse,” Ellegaard began, warmly smiling as Magnus bitterly pouted, “you won’t regret this. The choice that you’re making means that-” Ellegaard suddenly jumped, looking overhead, head snapped back, arms fiercely pressed to her sides, eyes shut, “we’rE ALL GONNA DIE!”

Magnus added, “Well, that’s inspirational-” Magnus violently flinched upon noticing in the corner of his eye what Ellegaard shrieked about, instantaneously shifting himself around to have a clear view at it, a finger sternly pointed, “WELL, THAT’S PANIC-INDUCING!” Alike to everyone else, he then shouted bloody murder, a drawn-out screech, spontaneously accelerating elsewhere. Anywhere elsewhere. The earsplitting outcries and heavy, fleeting footfalls pressed to the slightly damp grass, cause of the eight characters present; the noises echoed into the darkened twilight atmosphere, though it was blocked for the most part. A spine-chilling reality polished against all of their fingertips, cold, nervous sweat slipping drown their already stressed claws, a disturbing tune hallucinated in and out of their ears, filling the sky. None of them cared if they were sprinting into whatever was left of the monster-infested territories. None of them cared if they were running directly into a more open-area, monsters a higher chance of attacking them. None of them cared about producing a much of a loud racket, giving away their position. None of them cared if they had just up-ed and abandoned the rest of the group–others needing them. The didn’t care if others would or were worrying about them. They didn’t care about what was politely customed. They didn’t care about anyone else besides themself at that moment. All that they cared about was to get at a gap from the WitherStorm.

- - -

“Jesse!” Soren addressed trying to get Jesse’s attention, though the ginger bloke was running right next to them, alongside the rest of the group, “You’re going to have to set down a crafting table out there and make that Formidi-Bomb! Everyone else, grab a buddy and spilt-up! We need to keep that WitherStorm on track, so build, build, build!” Suddenly, a purple, dangerous tractor beam appeared in front of the group. The beam would elevate whoever was unfortunate enough to be in harms-way of the monster off of the ground and to their tortuous death, a strange feeling to come into the recipient’s stomach, though that may’ve been the certain death giving them that sense, a red outcome. The group was forced to disband from one-another; not that the violet stream was anything of an inconvenience though–they were going to scatter anyways. Jesse’s group disbanded to the left-hand side, the Order of the stone to the off route, the breeze of the cold especially pressing against Ellegaard’s chest, armour not defending her from the chill like it previously was; her armour being awarded to “Jesse!” Soren reminded in a loud yell, “Don’t forget! Super TNT in the middle and gunpower all around!” 

While the Order took the right-hand side, Jesse’s group the left, Jesse themself took the center, Formidi-Bomb materials in hand, eager to destroy that wretched creature, it being made by corrupt hands. A pursuit to a proximity of the unnatural creation felt like hours–It felt like the area where they had to approach was getting farther and farther away as they moved closer. The hurricane-like-wind, produced by the WitherStorm’s general existence, strongly stormed into Jesse’s face as they were hastening to a nearness; the breeze also gradually fluttered away Jesse’s confidence to small fragments to detonate the explosive in such a vicinity to the killing monstrosity that they were running to; a near-fatal activity…not that they really had a choice. This’ll save the world. Greater good, yeah? The noise of the rapid, racket footfalls of their allies echoed into the twilight atmosphere. Jesse taking a glance behind them, they saw their friends and supporters constructing mini-structures, only for the WitherStorm to forcefully shred it apart, the creature growing stronger in the process. They continued doing that. Over and over. Loyally is one thing. Over-optimism is another. But still…thanks, guys. Jesse finally reaching an appropriate distance, they set the crafting table onto the ground and, just as Soren informed, they located his unique TNT in the center, gunpower surrounding i-

Heart-drop.

Purple.

Purple. 

Purple.

Jesse’s feet felt nothing.

Jesse’s hands felt nothing.

Jesse’s body felt nothing.

What was happening?

They were going to die.

They were going to die.

They were going to die.

They were going to die.

This was it.

They were going to die.

Entering god-knows-what.

Literally.

Their friends will grieve.

Over them.

Their fault.

This.

Was.

It.

…

No.

Determined, Jesse swiftly swirled, propelling themself with one foot–foot jostled against the block which was pushed away, launching themself off of the crafting table–crafting table tumbling away, close to slipping out of the gravitation the Jesse and his materials were overpowered into, near to stumbling out of any possible arm-reach. Jesse whirling themself around, they frantically scanned their proximity as if their life depended on it. Which it did. Jesse striving to seek the ingredients of the Formidi-Bomb which had also elevated alongside them, they desperately glanced around. One. Jesse springing forward to quicky grab a single piece of gunpowder that had been lost, another coming into view, a natural result, out of the corner of their eye, they hurriedly snatched the second item out of the air. Well. Loose air. After all, Jesse was in the air, as a result of the tractor beam. Two. Jesse was barely able to feel as much as a small sense of satisfaction and self-achievement before they metaphorically collapsed into a panicked state. A very panicked state. Oh god, please no… In their peripheral vision, they saw something that really, really alarmed and scared them. A lot. In peripheral vision, Jesse saw his friends and allies creating another structure–a pig-like structure. But what exactly caught their eye in a bad way? 

“Magnus!” Soren warned in a shout, “Ellegaard!”

From the woman’s perspective, that’s when everything faded to black.