One of the shortest yet most potent scenes in Three Immortals is a death scene: the final, splintering moments of the scientist Rroovu Ogbaa’s life recounted through his own rapidly disintegrating awareness. It’s a scene that spotlights one of the unique powers of the written word—the ability to probe the final experiences of the dying in a way that film often cannot. In text, the process of death becomes a sequence of thoughts, fragments of memory, half-formed emotions, and even a sense of physical detachment—a unique perspective often lost in visual storytelling, where death is reduced to an image or a fleeting moment.
The scene opens with brutal realism, detailing the anatomical journey of the projectile that obliterates one of the galaxy’s “most brilliant scientific brains.” We are immediately pulled into Rroovu’s body, following the destruction of not just physical matter but intellect, knowledge, and potential. In this moment, there is a sharp reminder of mortality’s power to reduce even the most exceptional minds to scattered dust. It’s a theme as old as literature itself: the transience of genius, the idea that even a mind full of revolutionary ideas is ultimately fragile in the face of violence.
Unique Elements in Rroovu Ogbaa's Final Moments
And yet, even as Rroovu’s brain shatters, we experience a few remaining fragments of thought. He surveys his surroundings with a mix of detachment and regret, one final appraisal of his attackers, those who had failed to protect him, and the tragic futility of his end. There’s an eerie calm in his consciousness, a part of him that’s still aware and yet immune to physical pain, no longer tethered to sensations of fear or agony. Death, in this scene, is not immediate darkness but a slow unwinding—an oddly serene disconnect that allows him to observe what he will leave unfinished.
The next moment offers a glimpse of the ancient site he called “the temple,” the same place where the inventors of the nano replicons had died long before him. In his death, Rroovu finds himself connected to those who came before, bound by a shared fate and a shared legacy—one that will, tragically, remain unfulfilled. It’s a symbolic deathbed, blurring past and present, science and mysticism, connecting Rroovu’s fleeting life to the mysterious inventors he had tried to understand. The mention of the temple is almost spiritual, a reminder of the echo of lives and ideas that persist long after people themselves vanish.
Then there’s the shattering loss of memory. When Rroovu tries to recall his family, his mind cannot conjure their faces or voices. Instead, his memories are “reduced to droplets sprayed over the adjacent wall,” leaving us with an eerie image of how thoughts, memories, and love are as delicate as the brain tissue that contains them. This is the most haunting part of the scene—the loss of personal history. For Rroovu, this is a death not only of his scientific contributions but also of his most personal self.
In the final line, he feels alone. He “thinks” he closes his eyes, though his body can no longer respond. This tiny detail—thinking he’s closing his eyes—offers a tender, heartbreaking glimpse into the strange experience of awareness fading, almost like slipping into sleep. It’s a quiet surrender, a moment of disconnection that reflects the ultimate solitude of death.
Why Writing Death from the Dying Perspective Matters
This scene is an exploration of the mystery of consciousness and the fragile boundary between life and death, knowledge, and loss. Through Rroovu’s fading awareness, we see the dual nature of humanity’s greatest strengths and most vulnerable moments. He represents not only a brilliant scientist on the verge of discovery, but also the fragile reality that all minds, no matter how powerful, are fleeting in the end. And in that strange duality—the grand and the finite, the cosmic and the personal—Rroovu’s death scene reminds us that the beauty and tragedy of life often rest within the same breath.
We went a bit heavy this week, but I felt the scene was needed to set up Rroovu Ogbaa as a figure whose influence on the story arcs transcends his death, and his character will remain relevant for the entire book (and trilogy).
Who shot him? We’ll find out next week.
PS Yes, this blog post is longer than the actual scene, lol. I firmly believe the ability to show the point of view of the dying is a great strength of fictional prose. So much so that I got invited to a panel “Beyond the Veil: Navigating Death and Dying in SFF” at the 2024 Nebula Conference. If it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing.
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