Your Purpose Is To Die

The pure white fabric, created without death force to stay together within realms adverse to the truth, was stained red, quickly darkening as it accumulated and seeped through, instinctively, he tried to grab onto something before him, latching onto distinctively felt like a lithe arm, he couldn't see it, he could hardly even feel its touch as he gripped as tightly as possible.

He didn't want to die, and with something piercing his neck, the best way to achieve this outcome was to prevent his attacker from moving, as only if the object puncturing him did not budge at all would he have a chance to perhaps survive this, or so he thought, the amount of blood pouring out already told another story.

Despite the perceived thinness of that limb, nothing the soldier was doing seemed to be effective, like trying to force a steel lock open using a loose piece of wool, he squeezed uselessly, struck with his fists to no avail, clawed in desperation.

'How strong-'