My Last Lie

Hot.

It was hot, thick and ceaseless, sticky on his hand. He heaved a breath, then another, and then another. He didn't remember falling to his knees, but he must have because now he was hunched over on the floor, his own blood pooling around him like an over-turned can of red paint. He dared not move his hand from the wound, dared not try to stand or sit up. He was losing strength rapidly, was already weakened from the battle with his past.

You fought well, Daimon whispered, a ghostly sense of sorrow invading his heart. Or maybe it wasn't invading at all—maybe it was simply his own sorrow, magnified a thousand times more with her presence. Her own sorrow for her own losses and failures intertwining with his, an invasion that wasn't completely unwanted or unwelcome. He was glad, in a sense, that he need not die alone.

He was dimly aware of Verus brushing past him brusquely, as though the imminent death of his strongest opponent of all meant nothing to him. Perhaps it didn't after all, but such details were of no matter to Baelheit, whose life's blood was seeping out onto the floor from a backstabbing coward's blade. He hadn't expected to live very long after lifting Tarazed into the Sky, knowing full well that raising his golden nation and destroying all others would leave him as the most hated person in the world. Certainly there would be few, in the end, who would love him for it.

He had always known he would die shortly after raising Tarazed, knew his days were numbered as soon as he gave the order to raise it into the Sky. But he did so anyway because there was no turning back now, no way to return to the way things had been. He could not stop what he had started so many years ago, and frankly, he had no desire to stop. It was, after all, for the better.

You couldn't rely on the power of dead gods forever. The only reliable thing in the world was Man and His creations.

Milliarde was crying, holding him in her arms, and ordering him not to die and leave her alone. "You can't die," she sobbed. "You can't..."

As if he had a choice in the matter.

"I won't," Baelheit said softly, his voice sounding scratchy and strained even to his own ears. "I won't leave you, Milliarde."

She held him closer, her tears falling uncontrollably. Shanath would laugh, he knew, at this tragic reunion of father and daughter if he were still here. He too had known the outcome of Baelheit's choices.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he took a deep breath, relishing in the feel of Daimon in his heart and Milliarde's arms around him. It felt like he was home, finally, after a long journey to hell and back. It was home as he hadn't felt it in the years since his wife's death and Milliarde's crippling. It was as though they were all together again, whole and complete. He smiled, and loosened his hold over his wound, no longer pretending to dam the flow of blood.

"When have I ever lied to you, Milliarde?"

And so we come to the end! It's been an interesting ride, wouldn't you say? It's taken me way too long to finish, but I really enjoyed exploring Baelheit's character this way. He's a character full of twists and turns I think, and his lies aren't always clear-cut or black and white, or even have just one motivation or only one end to achieve. I hope you enjoyed the last piece! :) Reviews would make me very happy!

Theme Set: #1

Prompt: #7 - I never lie.