Anderson's knees buckled as the fatal blow struck him in the heart. The claymore fell from his hand with a dull thud.
His eyes locked on his friends; his expression was one of both pain and acceptance. He fought with all he had; he tried and tried, but in the end, he wasn't strong enough. However, he could not blame anyone since the idea to come here had been his; Erik warned them of the dangers, but he pressed his friends to do something nonetheless.
Well, at least he managed to save his father and the other people; however, as he looked at his surroundings, he saw a couple of them dead.
<Did I really make a difference?> the young man asked himself.
That was not comforting to see before dying trying to rescue people, but since reality could not be changed, he at least hoped that Mikey, Aaron, and the others would survive.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps as blood bubbled from his throat, staining his lips blood-red.