Notes: Set quite near the end, when they finally get that little bastard Calesta. Spoilers...sorta. Heh. Oh yes, and written by C. S. Friedman, not mine, boo hoo, I wish I'd thought of them.
They stood on the volcano. Time to finish this, and Damien knew what would come next. No matter how well Tarrant had tried to hide it, he didn't remember enough about being human to conceal his plans. Besides, how do you hide self-sacrifice from a priest?
The ex-priest had nothing left to give, himself. He'd spent it all before this, paying with his own blood and pain, his dreams and his soul to get the Hunter to this point. If he could have given one thing more, in order to save the ancient sorcerer's life, he would have done so gladly. Now, he could only stand there and look into those molten silver eyes one last time, listen to the voice he would never hear again. His gut twisted.
At the crater's edge, the man who had been the Hunter raised his sword, and turned to look down at his mortal companion—spoke to him alone, as he explained that he could have saved himself, and chose not to, and therein rested the power of this sacrifice. He might as well have saved his breath. Damien knew it all already. Damien knew the Hunter had come here to die, had already decided to give up the life he'd preserved for nine hundred years in order to save the humanity he had abandoned to begin with.
One last sacrifice. Tarrant gone, with everything to live for, and Damien...Damien would be left, his life gutted and empty before him. He wanted to laugh. What would Tarrant have done if he knew?
The exhausted human locked gazes with his undead partner, wanting to preserve this last moment in his memory. A strange expression flitted across the other man's face, in which Damien was startled to read the truth. Tarrant did know. And the only comfort he could offer was that they would make this offering together.
Damien watched, frozen, as Gerald Tarrant brought his sword down.