1. FIGHTER - the maze runner, newt

Chapter 49

Battlefield — Svrcina
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            The Leader's stride was brisk. I couldn't see his face as he squared his shoulders, his fingers trembling by his sides. His stocky body yelled fear but his pace screamed courage.

For a moment, I saw the old Alby stalking gallantly towards the Cliff.

"Alby—" I stuttered out, dumbfounded by his actions, my feet glued to their timid spot.

A hole built in the pit of my stomach, terror filling it as I slowly began to realize exactly what he was doing.

He was sacrificing himself.

That's why he wanted to make amends.

"Alby, get back here!" Newt shouted, ignoring the Gladers that tried to quiet him.

"Alby, don't!" I found myself bellowing.

However, instead of responding, he began to sprint. The Leader made a beeline to the squadron of Grievers standing between the Hole and him.

Newt staggered forward, prepared to chase after his best friend.

Minho, however, was one step ahead of him, grabbing Newt roughly by the arms, preventing him from treading after the dark-skinned boy.

"Alby!" Minho hollered.

"Alby!" Newt howled, fighting against Minho's grip. I found myself teetering forwards, unable to tear my eyes away.

I wish I had a minute or a few seconds just to grasp what was really about to happen.

But before another uneasy breath left my lips, I watched in absolute horror as Alby threw his heavy broad form onto the head of a single Griever.

The moment his skin touched the beast's moist scalp, it roared to life—all the ones surrounding him did.

Metal glared in the artificial light, a single claw wrapping around Alby's stocky frame and dragging him into the centre of the pack. His body disappeared behind the cluster of bulging green beasts, their hisses and screeches nearly going unnoticed by the sound of scraping metal and crunching.

Their movements were vicious. Their ruthless snarls ripping through the air like a blunt dagger as they tore at Alby's skin and crushed his mortal bones.

He didn't even scream, but you could hear his body be torn apart.

"Let go!" Newt screeched, looking absolutely distraught.

"Oh my god." I breathed. My bow clattered to the floor, my hands trembling as they flew to my wobbly lips.

Alby's gone.

He's gone.

The Grievers swarmed where I assume his pulverized body laid, their claws and metallic legs poking and prodding, as if displaying what could happen to us.

The Gladers were in mania seeing their Leader fall to the hands of the manmade beasts. They were too frightened—too devastated—to move and too shocked to remove their eyes from the cluster of cruel Grievers. Their voices wavered as they widely weeped, asking what they should do

I had no idea.

"A-Alby..." Newt whimpered. Minho released the blonde's arms, seeing as he was no longer fighting back.

Newt didn't waste any time as he whirled away from the ghastly scene. His eyes glazed over in trauma, trembling as he paced towards us. He wiped at his mouth, hiding sorrowful quivers and anguished whimpers.