Dead Men Tell No Tales

Who would’ve known dying was so easy?
 
Fynn swore he wasn’t tired as he blinked weakly at the cold eyed creature standing above him. The wight withdrew its blade from Fynn's chest. His clothes were already slashed and soaked through with his blood and the arrow buried deep in his chest was the reason his breathing was so ragged. The dark blade dripped with Fynn's blood as the dead warrior flashed it backwards, leaving an arc of red on the wall behind him. Fynn would’ve been impressed, he also hoped he wouldn’t bleed out in a casino.
Fynn coughed up blood and stumbled.
 
“Yea, that can’t be good.”
 
Fynn looked down at the arrow in his chest and the pool of blood around him. His feet barely stayed under him enough as he stumbled back onto a slot machine behind him. His swords fell from his hand and he slumped against the machine and slid down. He left a streak of blood on the machine as he found the ground. The color had left him and his breathing slowed. He blinked once weakly then one more time before his jaw went slack and his eyes rested and his head fell. His luck had run out.
Fynn swore he was in nothing but pure darkness and then, there was warmth and light. He felt the light touch him and he looked down to see a hand beginning to take his. His body was free of arrows and wounds as he looked to the person leading him on and he smiled.
His mother pulled him along by his right hand, sparkling with starlight and then he looked to his left to see his father had taken his other hand. They looked like the star angles they told stories about. Spirits that guide lost sailors through the stats. They looked so happy and there voices were more song than speech, Fynn was too disoriented to piece the words out. He did hear beautiful music. They sang and he listened as stars unfolded and expanded before them.
…ingdom in the stars…
…atter how fa…
As startling as it could be Fynn’s eyes snapped open and he inhaled Harder than he had ever before. Instead of water in his lungs… there was nothing a moment ago. He was dying… a moment ago. He didn’t have time to figure out the how of it all, what concerned him was the blue eyed zombie bedding down next to him picking up the bow it dropped to duel Fynn. Fynn grit his blood covered teeth and rose to his feet, grasping his sword and instinctively the glistening blade appeared out of smoke and stardust in his hand. He stabbed and slashed with anger and panic and the wight fell from the combo, a piercing stab to its throat and a slash down across the chest crumbling what was left of the creature.
Fynn turned to see Armitage on his back on the machines where Fynn left him. Songbird knelt over him, a panicked but resolute look on his face. Fynn's head wobbled to the right where he saw MarV pooling up. Fynn fought back tears and leapt to help save his friend. Fynn was… ninety percent sure MarV had something to help him. Fynn’s luck hadn’t run out just yet.