'Am I… going to die here?'
Rey had a fleeting thought as he watched Alistair's cold, hard boot near his immobile body.
He was helpless.
Powerless.
He couldn't even muster an ounce of strength within him.
Even if Alistair didn't attack, he would die due to the severity of his injuries.
Rey felt lightheaded. He had lost too much blood, and he had secured an unbelievable amount of damage—both internal and external.
The worst part was that there was no hope for salvation.
He had no trump card left to use.
Even if he did, what would be the point?
Alistair still hadn't used any Art throughout their confrontation, yet Rey had gone all-out in his attempt at securing victory.
The gap was simply too wide.
'What a useless master…' Rey's blurry gaze turned toward the despairing Augustus.
He had heard his voice pleading for him, but Alistair remained resolute in ending his life. In the end, Augustus could only watch and let it happen.
'If this is the end, then okay…'
