Warnings: Contains major character death, blood and gore mention, and implied suicide. If any themes disturb or make you uncomfortable consider not reading.
Heads up, kiddos, this doesn't end well. X
It's a furious battle, composed of bodies that tear and claw, a fiasco of both tooth and sword, a perfect collision of skill and brawn. One that would have easily been another clean and glorious victory for the Volturi, if not for one simple yet fatal flaw. One wrong step, wrong movement, and it's all over.
It is how Aro dies. Every pinnacle of his long life leading to the exact moment that it was abruptly cut short by something as insignificant as footing mere fractions of a second too late.
His body lies shaking in his brother's arms, a contrast of black and red against the crisp whites of snow covered ground. He cannot breathe. His lungs are filled with an ongoing pour of blood, and every hopeless attempt of breath comes in wet, short little gasps.
Caius holds him, his own hands now painted red as he barks orders of desperation to anyone that remains listening. Aro's face is cupped delicately in his palms, by hands that have never been gentle, that have ripped and torn through centuries worth of empires with no remorse, now as more careful than anything, trembling, holding his head up while he's helpless to watch as Aro chokes on his own blood.
On his final breath of life, his hand clenches around Caius's with everything he has left, and Caius's eyes go wide on his as Aro blinks. Once. Twice. Then he is gone.
The pain that erupts within him is white hot and scalding, nothing in his life dares compare to it, and the very same nightfall is filled with nothing but the fire and smoke of Caius's raw, uncontrollable despair as towns burn and chaos reigns.
The moment Caius lets his tears fall is the moment he lets the flames engulf him whole, and only then does the roaring pyre begin to die out.
I wrote this in a bad place. Hope it's not too bad. Yikes,, . I would love you hear your thoughts on this piece regardless. X