"LET ME GO!" the alien screamed, once more throwing all his weight at the shackles encircling him, smashing into them again and again. No use – they hadn't budged before, and they weren't going to now. Zim screamed his anger at the dark ceiling, where the blade above him continued to sway in its deadly descent.
His protests went unheard, his wrists and belly were beginning to bleed from scraping over and over against the metal clasps. The Irken slumped onto the cold altar, panting and shivering. Through fear-hazed eyes, he could see the dark spots of blood welling up on his torso. No matter – he'd be bleeding a lot more in a few minutes. He gritted his teeth and tried his best to glare at his surroundings. No use – there was no one there to see. Only the great black blade continued to swing, closer now than ever.
This was what was to become of him, after a lifetime of loyal service. This was the end to his mission – a windowless chamber and a nameless blade. Wielded by no one. No enemy to watch him die in pride and defiance.
Pride? Zim had forgotten the word. This was not how he'd wanted things to end. Watching his death approach helplessly, minute by painful minute, this was not a prideful way to die. This was not the way of an Invader.
And with that thought, all hope was gone. The soldier broke, tears welling in liquid red eyes that watched the blade approach. He didn't care anymore. Let him die alone. Let him die with closed eyes. He deserved no less.
The eyes closed in defeat.
A light touch. Not the cold touch of death, but a soft caress that sent a tingle of warmth into the still form. The Irken's eyes fluttered open; but now he saw no blade, no stone walls, just a pair of soft honey-brown eyes, not hostile but warm. A tiny smile arose to his lips. His enemy. His enemy would be the one to save him. Weakly, he returned the boy's grip with bloodied claws. The boy's eyes lit in hope, but fell when Zim angled his head to the side, turning his attention to a long, sharp piece of twisted metal on the floor. He picked it up, but turned a sincere face to his enemy.
His lips whispered a silent plea, "No…please…I don't want to."
But the Irken's gaze remained firm, imploring the boy to do this single favour. For him. He gave a tiny nod.
Dib's shoulders shook as he raised the weapon, telling himself this was for the best, this was what they had both wanted; to die by the other's hand. For a long moment, burnt amber met deep crimson as the two rivals gazed eachother, a silent, final message of farewell. And with that, Dib let a single tear slip from his eye before he plunged the metal deep into Zim's chest. Sealing the Irken's fate.
Zim faded with a smile. His suffering had ended; now his mind was at peace. He'd died by his enemy's hand. Like a warrior. Their long battle was finally over.
A/N: Yeah, lazy title is lazy -_-
This is sort of a preview for the longer fanfiction I'm going to write. Still trying to ger my brain into writing mode. Shouldn't be too long.
Inspired by The Poet and the Pendulum by Nightwish.
