You can't kill a dead man

by Dem0nLight

Gangrel should have died when Chrom took fought him on the Border Wastes. He should have died wandering through the Plegian desert. And he most certainly should have died when he was mugged by pirates! Gangrel has survived against all odds, yet wants nothing more than to die. (Fire Emblem Awakening paralogue 18 pre-story)

1. Survivor

The only thing Gangrel knew was pain. Back-breaking, gods-forsaken agony. He was certain that he was alive-death couldn't hurt this much-but he wished he were not. Too much hardship, so much blood, that red stain on his hands. Unconsciousness wasn't as bad, but even then sharp stabs of it made him want to whimper.

Slowly, he became aware that he was lying on the ground, in the same place that Ylissean whelp had put him. Cracking open his eyes, he saw the pale sky, filled with the light of dawn. He was painfully aware of every bruise, cut, and sore part of his body. Summoning all his courage, Gangrel pulled himself into a sitting position.

The field was empty of people, aside from the bodies of his soldiers. Shaking from exhaustion and a slight chill, the Mad King stood, feeling strange without a levin sword resting on his hip. Stolen by the Ylisseans, no doubt. Spoils of war. It didn't matter, Gangrel didn't need a weapon. He was without purpose of his conquest now.

Glancing around at the deserted border wastes, Gangrel picked a direct and began walking. Hours passed, but he trudged on, not sure what he was searching for. By noon, he'd encountered an oasis. Resting in the shade, Gangrel looked at his reflection in the pool of water by his feet.

He looked much the same as he had before leaving his castle to face the Shepherds. The only change was a long, half scabbed wound stretching from the back of his neck down to his sternum. His shirt was ruined-covered in bloodstains and torn to rags-but Gangrel couldn't pay attention to anything aside from the wound. Tentatively, he brushed his fingers across the scab.

Pain flared upon contact, rushing through the full length of the wound. Gasping in surprise, Gangrel collapsed to the ground. He could feel exactly how deep Falchion had cut, how close of a call it had been. The cut went no deeper than a centimeter from his heart. He should have died. He was the living dead.

Gangrel was suddenly angry at Chrom. How dare he let Gangrel remain alive! Why didn't he go in for the killing blow?! What purpose did a dead king serve!?

Gangrel stood, stalking off into the desert. Preferably to die.