Dromaeus's body crashed to the ground in a smear of blood, his weapons clattering away from his broken body. Alone, he drew in one breath, then another, a deep rattle in his throat with each inhalation. He reached out slowly with one hand, dug it into the ground and dragged himself forward, towards the Meta, leaving a crimson streak behind him. Three times he carried out this laboured crawl, before slumping down and his head falling to one side, his eyes glazed and his jaws slightly apart, blood dripping between his teeth. He didn't move any further.