"Do you understand what I meant now?" The mans voice rings out through the sound of your own quick heartbeat, and the sounds of nature while you stumble about, clutching your fatal wound.

He'd predicted this, your death. Delivering the scenario in his own twisted and indirect ways, you'd never know that this is what he meant.. clutching your bloody side with blood staining your shirt and hand a dark crimson.

"You're dying, friend. Sit down," He continues, and you can only stare at him with staggering breaths escaping.

Had he told you about the full situation, maybe you'd have lived. But maybe not. It's truly only him who knows, and you have no clue how.