Dave never thought this would be the way the game ended. But, he guessed, in SBurb you can never tell.

The Knight stood alone, if not for the blue Heir of Breath next to him. His hands were bloodied, his face was tired, and his sword hung limply in his hand. John held his hammer in both hands, with an almost faked sense of determination, even the cheerier of the two was beginning to lose hope. Jade and Rose lay long dead, strewn unceremoniously on the floor, their blood mixing together. John looked a lot more worn and injured than Dave, but that was only because the robes he wore were a sky blue, that contrasted with Dave's striking crimson shades.

Shades, he thought. Those were still sat proudly on his face, suffering no more than a crack up the side of his right lens. John's glasses were, surprisingly, undamaged. He had a good sense of defence with his hammer. It was only you two who were left, to face this beast. The wolf-headed man, who had murdered the Knight's guardian, and wounded his double, a orange angel of sorts. Bec Noir. Even the name made Dave's skin crawl.

"Dave?"

The Knight turned to the Heir, recognising the voice all too well.

"Yeah?"

"Are you ready?" John asked. Dave went quiet, before looking back to the winged wolf-man. His face was wrenched into a crooked smirk, his teeth gleaming from under his lip. His white eyes narrowed on the boy as he summoned his sword in one hand, allowing it to appear from a flash of green. Dave gripped his sword, not looking back to the Heir.

"Let's do this."

A flurry of wind overcame them as they both rushed forward to meet Noir. His sword and Dave's clanged together brutally, and they came close enough for Dave to smell his breath and hear the growling erupting from his lungs. John created a whirlwind, his windsock hood whipping around in the breeze. The Knight was captivated by the boy, he was so in his element. Dave almost forgot to push back with his blade before he recieved a harsh reminder from Bec, a gash down his arm. He didn't even give himself the time to scream as he pushed back. Suddenly, the pressure on Dave's sword disappeared. And so did Bec. The sneaky bastard, he thought. As the Knight looked around for the wolf-man, John returned to the ground. John could feel slight changes in the air and wind, and felt no breeze at his back. He knew Bec was there. With a swift motion, John spun around and hit back at the freshly appeared Noir, his hammer pushing against Bec's blade.

As Dave ran to the Heir, Bec hit John square in the forehead with the end of the blade handle. John fell backward, only just stopped by his own feet. He was clearly dazed, giving Bec the oppurtunity to take the Pop-o-matic Vrillyhoo from John's hands. John was slammed to the side, and all Dave could do was run faster, dammit, run faster. Bec raised his blade over the partially-conscious Heir, primed to run him through with it. Dave thought of his brother, this is likely how he was killed as well. There was only one thing he could do. Dave slid onto the floor, kicking John out of the way.

Sorry, Egbert.

Dave looked up into the dog headed man's eyes, as a trail of liquid ran from the corner of his mouth. Blood, he guessed. His sword lay a little away from his hand on the floor. His shades had been whipped off, and he felt horribly exposed. Bec's blade had pierced the Knight neatly through the chest, accurately in the center of the red cog representing Time on his shirt. The blood didn't show on his clothes, but pooled on the floor below him, his cape bathing in it. John had apparently regained consciousness as a horrified scream tore through the air, resonating in Dave's eardrums. Bec smiled, thumping the handle of his blade, forcing it in further. Dave felt his first shot of pain, and he wailed in agony, his muscles shivering. With a last amused look, Bec left his sword stuck in the Knight, and disappeared before John could get a good swing at him.

His work here was done.

John forgot Bec Noir, focusing his attention at the other on the floor. Carefully, he wedged one arm under Dave's shoulders, pulling him up slowly. Pain shot down Dave's spine, but he was too exhausted and numb to scream. His head lay in John's hand, his back resting on John's thigh and the Heir clasped the Knight's hand, like if he gripped tightly enough his soul could not depart.

"H-hey, sup." Dave greeted, somewhat casually, but inwardly shocked by how weak his voice sounded. John was too horrified to speak coherently, just sobbing and crying and whimpering about how sorry he was, and no good Heir would let this happen, and how if he was better Dave would be okay.

"Calm down... it's chill. Doesn't hurt." Dave asured.

"Th-That's not the point!" John panicked. Dave just rested a bloody hand to John's face, and the Heir became more calm. Or perhaps more somber, as he realised the warm hand on his face would not be warm for much longer.

"Terezi... she was right. She was right, John."

"About what?"

"In my eyes, John, you were my hero. You were the hero here. Bro was a hero, but he died. It made me realise... made me realise how heroes dropped like flies in this game. And I worried... about you, John. You were a hero, you'd die too." Dave paused, to allow himself to heave up an unhealthy amount of blood onto the ground to his side. "And now I'm dying, and Terezi was right. She said I was a hero..." He took a breath, smiling brightly.

"I got to be a hero, just like you..."

John sobbed hard, tears streaming down his face. "Oh, Dave..."

John scooped the boy into his arms, holding him closely. blood pooled onto the floor as John cried into the chest of his dying friend. He cried there for what seemed like hours, before leaning his head back up, sobbing, his eyes red and puffy. He looked to Dave's face, and he looked... beautiful. John wasn't sure if that was morbid or not, but he didn't look like he was dead, only lightly sleeping. His hands were cold, his face was even paler than before, and his chest had stopped the constant rise and fall that breathing gave.

For they were the four children of SBurb, reduced to one in a matter of hours.