How long did it take? Four days to completely destroy the Spawn City? Just how many zombies have they killed already?

Too many.

Too many sounded just about right.

The only safe place seemed to be Seto's mage tower off in the distance, where he practiced the more destructive spells. It was now surrounded by a magical barrier, keeping all the undead at bay.

This was the destination where everyone was headed, including Mitch and Jerome. The two were the only Team Crafted survivors, except for Seto himself, who was currently trying his best to keep up the defence.

They killed one too many zombies, some of which they knew, making it even worse.

Even now, so close to the tower, zombies were still following them.

They hacked and slashed at them until the once horde was only a bunch of body parts laying on the ground. Panting, they agreed to take a little breather, seeing as there were no more zombies around. Mitch leaned heavily onto his diamond sword, letting out a sigh.

"Just a little more, Biggums," he said cheerily, looking over at the tower.

"Yeah, ready to go, Benja?" Jerome asked.

"Yeah, let's g- Ah!"

Something grabbed onto Mitch's leg, making him jump. He stomped the head of the zombie, which was trying to grab his leg in, straightening his back afterwards.

"Let's go," he mumbled, not wanting to stay there even one second more.

Jerome nodded, slinging his Betty over his shoulder and they headed ahead again.

Mitch's leg started throbbing after a little while, though. He slowly fell back, kneeling to touch his ankle. Lifting his jeans, he was met with a bruise, shaped precisely like human teeth.

His eyes widened as he ran his fingers over it, shuddering.

Jerome by now noticed something was off. He ran back to the kneeling Canadian, taking a seat next to him on the ground.

"Are you okay, Benja?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Mitch bit his lip, gulping heavily as he moved his hand away from the bite.

"I'm sorry, Jerome," he mumbled.

He kept his head low, burning a hole into the grass. Jerome looked over the bite sadly.

"It's already spreading," Mitch noted quietly, feeling his leg numb down, slowly but surely.

"Oh Benja," Jerome mumbled, on the verge of crying as he wrapped the boy in a hug and brought him close, resting his head on Mitch's shoulder, the Canadian mimicking his action.

"Jerome," Mitch said unexpectedly, but sternly.

"What is it, Mitch?" the Bacca asked, pulling away to look Mitch in the face, which was quickly losing its color, becoming white like a wall.

"I-I don't wa-nt to turn," Mitch uttered, his voice breaking as tears gathered in his eyes.

"So... So... I-I w-want you to kill m-me now," he requested brokenly, tears streaming down his face.

"Benja..." Jerome, shaking with sobs, reached back to his pants' pocket to retrieve his gun. There were only a few bullets left in it, so he refrained from using it up until now.

His hand shook as he set the barrel against Mitch's fluffy hair.

The boy raised one of his hands weakly and set it onto Jerome's, steadying it just a little bit. It was ice cold already, but the boy just offered a small smile.

"I love you. And I will love you forever," Jerome mumbled in an agonized voice, tears flowing from his eyes.

Mitch's smile widened, even as his eyes started glazing over. "I know..." he whispered, "and I feel he s-same way for you... T-that's why I want you t-to stop me."

The trigger was shakily pulled, a half choked yelp leaving Mitch's lips before his body slumped down, the hand which steadied Jerome's own one falling onto the grass.

Even now, as he laid on the cold ground in a pool of his own blood, the smile never left his pale face.

How long did it take?

A few minutes to ruin his whole life?

That sounded about right.

"I'm coming, Benja!" Jerome shouted as he put the still warm gun to his own temple, pulling the trigger without any hesitation this time.