Six minutes.
That's all the time I have.
Six minutes until the pain is over.
Six minutes until I die.
A little voice in my mind says that this fact shouldn't be as comforting as it is. Shouldn't I be panicking, asking the Black God to stay his hand? Or remembering and regretting all my failures? Shouldn't I be crying over all the things I wanted to do in my life and that will now never happen?
Probably.
But I'm not.
Five minutes.
My eyelids flutter closed. My calm mask is no longer a mask. It is a reflection of what's happening in my soul.
I always knew that being a warrior had its risks, but I also knew that those risks would always be worth it in the end. I was right.
I take as deep a breath as I can and exhale slowly, the small sound lost in the cacophony of battle around me. Warm, tacky blood is spilling around my hand. The stain spreading on the blue tunic underneath my armor.
Only four minutes remain.
My eyes slowly open again and I stare up at the sky.
There's a tree branch above my head and I watch it dance gracefully in the breeze. The sun is gentle and warm on my face. Who knew such beauty could exist on a battle field?
Three minutes until I die.
I can't help but wonder who else will join me in the Black God's Realm.
Beloved faces flash through my mind, among them are Uinse, Gil, and Fulcher.
I pray to Mithros and The Great Mother that Neal and Dom aren't among them.
Two minutes.
That's all the time I have.
Two minutes until I can finally rest.
Despite the calm in my soul, the pain in my body is fierce. The Scanran's battle axe left a white hot, searing pain in my side. The air is settling heavily in my lungs. Or perhaps my lungs are just getting weaker as time passes.
Darkness is starting to seep into the corners of my vision. My hand is trembling terribly as I hold it against the gash; blood is still welling around it.
I don't think its really occurred to me that that is my blood staining the grass.
One minute.
Sixty seconds.
My heart matches pace with each second I count.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
There's a cry to my right, but its tinny and distorted against the roar of the battle and the slow beating of my heart. A gentle hand covers mine, renewing the pressure on my wound. Another hand is stroking my forehead and hair. A face appears in my vision for the first time since I fell to the ground some time ago.
It takes a second to recognize the face and when I do, I smile.
The darkness takes over my vision. Or perhaps my eyes closed on their own accord. I can't determine.
This is it.
My time is over.
I know the Black God is near.
But then all of a sudden there is heat in my veins. Fire is pulsing, writhing, inside me.
All I see, all I hear, all I smell, all I taste, all I feel is...
green.