Chapter Text
It’s… over.
Grian’s dark eyes flicked from side to side, taking note of the blasted desert one last time, inhaling in the distant sting of gunpowder in the air. He shook off the blood that coated the tips of his red-black wings; uselessly tried to brush off the sand that had snuck its way into his feathers; before finally letting out a ragged exhale, burying his shaking hands in his tufty hair.
The weight of what he’d just done sank deep into his bones and threatened to swallow him under.
Grian was the sole winner of the death match.
He resisted the urge to sink to the floor in despair even though his knees felt weak, if only because he knew he wouldn’t get back up.
Besides… His eyes flicked to the side, grief clouding his gaze as his eyes inexplicably hardened in determination. There’s only one thing left to do now.
One more life to go, someone seemed to whisper from next to him. Something in their tone seemed to strike a chord within his exhausted mind.
He repeated their words out loud.
He couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears.
His heart still raced from the fight before, hard and fast, a thunderous beat that echoed in his ears. He forced himself to walk forward – one torturous step in front of the other – until the gleaming sand rose into a daunting cliff.
Grian knew what awaited him next. A whoosh of wind; a very long fall.
A sharp pain and a hopefully permanent death.
His own laboured breathing was the only sound in this dead silence; his mind still pounding from the whiplash of betrayal and sacrifice and pain –
And victory.
He stopped just shy of the cliff edge, and stared at the ground below. Something sharp and bitter curled up within his chest, raising its head like a monstrous snake ready to strike.
Grian raised his gaze and glared up at the sky, mutilated wings bristling and flaring into a high arc. He couldn’t muster the words that wanted to tear free of his throat, grief blunting the sharp resentment he felt, but he hoped his gaze conveyed all the hatred and rage he felt towards the monsters that had forced him and the people he loved into this horrific situation.
He’d never thought They’d find them.
Oh, how wrong he’d been.
He took a step forward, ready to accept his fate. All he had to do was step again, throw himself forward, and –
Don’t go, a cloyingly sweet chorus of voices said in his mind. Grian froze as the feeling of countless eyes watching penetrated his very soul; purple magic flickering to life around him. You’ve won, after all.
Violet tinted his vision, and he had to force himself to stay still; to not flinch away as the sadistic beings behind the death match revealed their dastardly presence. He fought not to give in to the energy surrounding him; forced his own power to remain tightly locked away as the voices surrounded him in their entirety.
What a game, they laughed in his ear. What a feast!
Did you have fun?
Bile rose within his throat. Fun? They had the nerve to ask if he’d had fun, after he himself was on the verge of death and everyone he’d once known was gone?
He felt sick.
A single word arose from his shaking form.
No.
It was quiet and subdued. He heard no reply. He couldn’t help but feel their silence shape into something damningly victorious on their part. He’d once prided himself on his clever retorts; the sharp remarks that brought them down from their high horses.
But now, he paid no attention to being another jester for their entertainment. He didn’t care anymore.
He stared down at his death and smiled – humourless and dark, maybe even a touch insane.
Grian was no stranger to pain. He was keenly familiar with what death felt like; the sharp stab of resentment and the crushing weight of grief. He knew the raging fire of betrayal and the cold satisfaction of revenge; the euphoria of love and the river of broken hearts.
Yet strangely enough, he felt quite at peace.
He had no desire to remain in this world anymore; this haunted place where the ghosts of his dead friends stood imprinted on its very soil, where blood stained every crack and crevice, and screams echoed over the landscape at night. He had no desire to live in a world where his nightmares walked; no desire to feel anymore, no desire to live anymore.
It was almost ironic, in a way, he thinks bitterly. If there was anything he’d learnt these last couple of years, it was that the mere thought of losing his last life should bring desperation and an insatiable urge to kill or be killed, to survive against anything that could be thrown at him, but to be perfectly honest… he couldn’t really bring himself to care.
He took a small step forward. The cacophony of voices around him surged, but he paid them no mind. He stared at his death below and shoved away the instinctual panic that arose when faced with a decision like this.
He wasn’t afraid.
(He was terrified).
He’d already lost everything – his dignity meant nothing to him anymore.
One more life to go.
One more life to go, Scar’s voice echoed next to him, strangely subdued. One more death to take. It’s almost over, Grian.
That was the final straw. Grian felt the numbness evaporate for a second, sharp pain lancing through his heart at the sound of his best friend’s voice. He registered tthe sound of someone sobbing; but it was only him left here, with something wet trailing down his cheeks. He touched his face lightly, and drew it away to reveal the salty solution that wetted the sand below his feet. His mouth was open; his throat sore. His chest shuddered with every breath he took.
Oh, he was crying.
But it was almost over. Why was he crying? One more life to go. He stumbled forward, his decision made, and tipped over the cliff.
The wind roared to life, clouds obscuring the blazing sun as rain began to hurdle down from the sky. His hair tussled in the gusts as a strange energy suddenly buzzed around his fingertips. He almost laughed in bitter disbelief as an admin panel sparked to life in front of his eyes – the very panel that had mysteriously vanished from his grasp so many years ago.
They were trying to make him stay, he realised. Who in their right mind would kill themselves when they had the ability to bend the very world to their smallest whims?
Well, joke’s on Them.
He never did like to play God.
The ground rushed up to meet him. Crack! A blinding pain set his nerves ablaze, sharp enough to tear a scream from his throat—if he’d had the breath to make one.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Somewhere in the void, a chorus of voices chuckled, low and cruel.
So entertaining, they crooned at him. So much potential.
It’s not your time just yet, little Xelqua.
The laughter faded. The void thinned.
Wake up.