His hands fell to his side, releasing me as I curl mine into my chest. Am I afraid? Yeah, I guess so. I have plenty of reason to be. I'm dead in one reality, something I'm sure to follow pretty quickly in this one.
I could fail, falling short of everything. I could drop my gun in the middle of the battlefield. I could get a bug in my eye. Hell, I could trip.
I trace the grass as they sway under the options.
He has a point, you know. I was well aware of it from the beginning; I could walk away. I could leave this to the guys. I could hunker down under that shield and hope for the best.
His drapes breeze into view, cutting off my line of vision. Archer's eyes have a horrifying color in them, a daunting unnamed force pinning me down. As I look up at him, his face is hard-set as always, but something else flickers across him.
He isn't afraid, that's not it.
Is he… holding something back? Hiding something?
Whose to say I can actually trust him, anyway? If I met him on the street, he'd be the last man I'd entrust my life to.
.
.
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"Ready?"
"Yeah, I think so. I just need a few minutes." Lancer watches me carefully, his protective nature blooming in the dim, grey world. Berserker adjusts his cuffs and glasses,
And just like that
Everything fell apart.
I can feel the warmth seeping over my clothes before I can register the sound of metal against my back. It's an odd sound, the sound of a sword cutting into you. It's not unlike a lamb being hacked gently away.
But I just can't… understand.
Why do I suddenly… feel so weak?
Where is this drowseyness coming from?
Who's yelling? Why are people yelling?
My eyes… they feel so heavy. I can feel myself dropping to my knees, but I don't remember my legs buckling under me. I don't remember telling my hand to run over my back, but now it glistens in front of me, shiny and wet.
The wetness is warm. The wetness… is red.
Is this… my blood?
Someone holds me as they shout. Someone cradles me to their chest, and someone picks me up. Someone drops me, but I'm too… too tired to care.
This…
I'm fading away.
This is part of the plan.
No, this pain… this wasn't part of the plan.
I pull my eyes open for just a moment – just long enough to see Lancer's pleading face calling out to me. My head rolls and I catch sight of Berserker with his fists clentched and mouth open.
It looks… it looks like he's yelling at Archer.
Archer… he has two swords in his hands.
.
.
.
That's right, I've seen those before. They're pretty when they're clean… but one is… dirty.
Lancer holds me by the back of my head as he tries to sit me up. He speaks to me, but I don't hear it. He brushes my hair away as my mouth fills with the taste of blood.
This….
This is what it feels like to die.
I wonder if Takao felt like this.
Don't feel bad, Lancer. You're a legend, it's not… right for you to cry over a nobody like me. Don't let your eyes get misty like that, Lancer. Please.
Please. I'm begging you. I can't be the cause of your pain.
This is so weird.
I wonder what my parents will think. What Hiro will think. What my classmates will think.
I'm so sorry guys. I'm sorry I wasn't there at graduation. I'm running a little late… that's it, I'm running a little late, that's all.
But here I am; I can't think about that right now. Graduation is in a few weeks, I need to think about the present.
God, it's… getting so hard to think.
I reach up to the face that blurs just out of my reach. I can hardly register his outline now.
Hell, I can almost see myself leaning down.
How the hell is that happening? I lunge a little at my figure, but it doesn't react. Lancer tightens his grip around me as I choke on something.
It's probably blood.
My oh my.
This is it.
I'm sorry I couldn't contribute. I'm sorry I couldn't shoulder your burden, I'm sorry I couldn't march alongside you in this war.
I'm sorry you were alone in the darkness, Berserker. Hopefully the light of the last day was enough for you to feel warm inside again.
I'm sorry about your family, Lancer. I'm sorry about your country. I'm sorry about bleeding all over you.
Red is such an ugly color. I'm sure it'll wash out.
I can't see Archer, though.
I want to see him.
Where is he? Is he fighting? Is he bleeding?
He did this to me.
Well, I'd rather have him cut me than me cut me, you know?
He brought this down on me.
That's okay. With everything he's gone through, that's okay. He's saved the world. It's okay to be killed by a hero.
That's it.
I'm dying
I can feel my lungs crumble inside of me. I can feel my body contract as pain swells. Every sensation of death – the intoxicating smell of blood, the washing over of my vision, drowning in the rising tide of darkness, the sound of blood flooding my ears – it encases me. It swallows me, me, a mere, mortal person.
But I can't feel sadness.
Aren't people supposed to be sad when they die?
Oh well.
I guess I failed again.
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Can you believe this story's been a work in progress for about a year now? Whooo-eee where'd the time go?
Either way, a few short updates are coming up, so I'll be sure to be a little more frequent than usual