Just as Mithias was certain Martin was weakening, the young vamp pulled out a syringe. Mithias recognized what it was, but couldn't stop Martin before he plunged it into himself. He tried to grapple him, to hold him, but in a surge of power that surprised Mithias, Martin was able to throw him off. Mithias knew immediately that things were going very, very far south. The fool child should have given up, but how he could he blame him for not trusting him? The drone spoke its confirmation: causalities below 300. Using both swords to barely parry Martin's crimson blade, Mithias bolted for the exit where he had come in. Martin was right behind him, probably still oblivious to their imminent death. 

Mithias' mind raced desperately. Mere seconds to live. Mid-stride he grabbed Martin again and jumped into a mostly-empty, giant, steel dumpster, pulling Martin in as the explosions began to go off. The whole place was a bright inferno. In an instant, the dumpster was thrown sky high. That was the last thing Mithias remembered as he found himself in a field of white grass. 

Mithias stood in the grass, staring at Martin atop the unhewn ruby. The appearance of caked-blood dissipated off him, and he stood in shining half-plate armor, adorned with a leather cloak and hat, long black gloves, and riding boots. His black hair hung unevenly about his waist in back, and his eyes were a very human dark-brown. As he walked toward Martin, the grass beneath his feet began to turn green. It appeared his mind was also present. He stopped just in front of him.