The explosion leaves him dizzy and utterly disoriented. Doranbolt coughs, brushing dirt from his black hair as the debris of the recently destroyed Magic Council fills the air and filters into his lungs.
His first thought is: What the hell happened? His second thought though, as his eyes widen and the racing of his pulse increases is: Are there any survivors?
He glances around, the motions frantic. Using his Teleportation Magic, he zooms around the rubble, searching for any signs of life. A groan, a muttering, a cough, anything to assure him that someone is still alive and breathing and not prone and lifeless (He shudders at the possibility).
That is when he hears it. It's slight, but he can just barely make out what sounds like a pained whimper.
"Doran...bolt."
If possible, Doranbolt's turquoise eyes increase in size. I know that voice.
Moving around the area, he quickly finds the source of the pained sound and an uncomfortable lump forms in his throat as he thinks: "Oh god no."
Because laying there, bruised, bloody, and broken, is Lahar.
Removing the ruins from around his body, he lays his head in his lap as he gazes into those purple eyes. Eyes that he thrusts, that he can depend on. Eyes that he loves.
"Lahar?" Doranbolt's voice cracks when he says his friend's name.
"Glad to...see you made…" Lahar tries to say before going into a coughing fit, a trail of blood dripping down the side of his mouth.
Doranbolt's heart sinks as he appraises the man's current state. He's injured and dying and holy shit, he isn't going to make it out alive!
The thought makes his eyes begin to water.
"...it out alive." Lahar finishes as the coughing subsides.
"If only I could have gotten you out as well." Doranbolt remarks bitterly. Once again he feeels that he has failed to save someone. Why am I so useless!
Whatever life remains in Lahar's eyes hardens. "Do not blame yourself Doranbolt." He says before wheezing faintly.
"How can't I?" Doranbolt snaps. His eyes burn with the tears threatening to escape.
"The blame isn't yours to bear." Lahar comments softly, but sternly.
"If only I was more observant." Doranbolt mutters, absently stroking Lahar's obsidian trellises. "I could have transported both of us out of the blast radius."
Lahar smiles wistfully. "I am glad that at least one of us made it out."
Something inside Doranbolt fractures at the sentiment. "No." He murmurs quietly. "No!" He utters more defiantly. "I can't allow it!"
Lahar scowls at him. Had Doranbolt not been so hysterical, he would have found it odd for Lahar to have so much strength for someone teetering on the brink of death.
Instead of saying anything though, Lahar grabs Doranbolt by the scruff of his shirt and pulls - no, yanks - him down before slanting his lips against his. The gesture is unexpected and clumsy and Doranbolt tastes the blood on the edge of Lahar's mouth and it made his heart break that much more.
Tears start to descend down Doranbolt's face as he realizes with merciless clarity that there is absolutely nothing he can do to save Lahar's life.
"Why am I unable to do anything?!" He shouts as he can see the light waning from Lahar's eyes.
"Doranbolt." Lahar begins and the Teleportation Mage knows how much effort it took to utter his name. "I'm not going to make it out of this alive."
With that sentence, the stunning finality it possesses, Doranbolt knows how right it is.
Nothing about this is right. A voice bites caustically in the back of his head. Lahar should be alive and breathing. Not in this state.
Lahar's voice breaks him out of his thoughts as he stares at him with what little strength he has left.
"I need you to promise me something." He continues before coughing up blood. The crimson liquid drips from the side of his mouth, running into the drying path from before.
Doranbolt sniffles. Nodding, he takes one of Lahar's hands in both of his. "Anything."
Lahar smiles at that. "Promise to live for the both of us and-" He cuts off as he begins to cough once more. He groans before continuing. "Bring the culprit of this atrocity to justice."
"I'll try my best." Doranbolt replies, a slight smile on his features before he shakes his head. His visage harshens. "I will! You can count on me."
Lahar smiles faintly at him. "I always knew I could."
In that moment, Doranbolt watches as the final specks of light disappear from Lahar's eyes and - with a tear falling from his eye - Doranbolt knows that he's dead.
"I'm going to miss you old friend." He murmurs, closing his colleague's eyes out of respect and their deep relationship. The word friend feels that it doesn't even scratch the surface of their relationship.
Gently letting Lahar's body onto the ground, Doranbolt glares into the distance as he decides what he must do. Bring the perpetrator of this heinous crime to justice and avenging the fallen Magic Council.