Dying Light

The world had never seen a god die.

For a frozen moment, Arlya stayed upright. Her body was poised in the same position as before, almost normal looking except for the gory pulp of her neck and the conspicuous emptiness above it.

There was a sound like metal tearing that seemed to shriek through the very fabric of the world. Alfred flinched at the sound, trying to get away from the cacophony that felt it would tear him apart at the most basic level. As the sound increased, the body of the goddess trembled. The monstrous light Alfred had seen before made her corpse glow from within. When the metallic ripping sound reached a fever pitch, the light burst from her body out her pulpy neck. The light flew up and out, spreading like an infection through flesh.

Finally the last of the light seemed to drain out of the corpse. Like a heavy piece of cloth, it collapsed and didn't stir.

Gods and daemons alike stared at the empty heap of the once-goddess. Eventually, some gazes shifted to Alfred, most of them filled with fear. He had just done the impossible not once, but twice. He had defied Fate, and he had killed a god.

Alfred, for his part hadn't really thought about what would happen when he shot Arlya. He had just known that he couldn't kill his best friend. His actions had just arisen from that simple fact. He hadn't meant to kill her.

Regardless of what he had or had not intended, Arlya was dead at his feet.

Alfred looked at the gods. The ones who had raised him, and made him both happy and miserable. As he turned towards them, most of them—even Daka—recoiled. Alfred had never seen them scared before. It was an odd feeling, and one he found he didn't like.

Wordlessly, the gods disappeared. Pakram was the last to remain besides Gilbert and Francis. He regarded Alfred with a mixture of caution and rage that Alfred had only seen when Pakram faced down a daemon on his own. He approached Alfred and Arlya's body, never taking his eyes from Alfred.

There was a shuffle of movement from behind, and suddenly Arthur was at Alfred's side.

"Stay away from him," Arthur snarled.

Alfred blinked at Arthur, then shuffled closer. It was good to know that someone wasn't frightened of him.

Pakram continued his slow approach. He opened his mouth and chose his words carefully, something Alfred had never seen him do. That was what confirmed it in Alfred's mind. Pakram was truly terrified. Of him.

"I have no intention of provoking the godslayer," Pakram said. "I just want to take my wife home."

"She's gone," Arthur said. Pakram frowned at that. A strange expression twisted his face. His eyes were wide and glassy, as if he couldn't understand exactly what was happening around him.

"But I can't just leave her here," said the god pathetically.

"Fine," Arthur snapped. He took a step so he was shielding Alfred. "Take her and go."

The god did as he was told. He scooped up the headless corpse, and for a moment looked around the tower like a child searching for the broken part of a toy.

"You won't find her head," Arthur said. "It was blasted to pieces."

Pakram continued to look, but eventually seemed to come to the same conclusion as Arthur. When he was finally gone, Arthur collapsed. Alfred managed to catch him, but sank to the ground under his weight. He turned to the heap of daemons. For the most part they lay still. Gilbert and Francis fussed about them, then came to join Alfred.

"Aren't you going home?" Alfred asked.

"I don't think they'll take to kindly to us," Francis said.

"Committing high treason tends to make things awkward," Gilbert added.

"So what now?" Alfred asked.

The gods exchanged a look and shrugged.

The morning sun was raising high, burning off the autumn chill. Alfred looked across the ruins of Drachma and over to the small huddle of caravans. Already they were dispersing, headed out on the winding paths of the southern plains.

"What will happen to the survivors?" Alfred asked. "They've lost everything. No home, no city, families torn apart…"

Francis joined Alfred in staring across the ruins. "If there's one thing I've learned about humans, it's that they're certainly resilient creatures. Some will probably return to the city to rebuild, others will find a new place with the nomads. Everyone has lost someone today, and people will search out others to fill the holes in their hearts."

Gilbert nodded. "The southerners value family ties more than most people, but that means that every loss hurts more. For every mother who lost a child, there's going to be an orphan who needs a home. They'll find each other."

"You really believe that?" Alfred asked.

"They will if we help them," Gilbert said. "Nothing will make up for we've lost today, but we can make sure no one ends up alone."

"And what about us?" Alfred asked after a moment of silence. "We've lost our home, our family…"

"I suppose we have to take care of our new friends then," Francis said, poking Arthur. Arthur blinked sleepily at Francis and managed to kick him in his already bruised ribs.

"Oof," Francis grunted. "Fine, I will leave you and attend to more grateful charges."

Francis and Gilbert stood and walked back towards the heap of daemons, leaving Alfred and Arthur alone. Time passed in companionable—if exhausted—silence. Arthur drifted in and out of dozing, and after everything that had happened, Alfred wasn't going to bother him with conversation.

Alfred watched the caravans disperse into the plains. What had once been the brightest city in the world lay abandoned. While the tumbled tower their little group gathered on seemed stable enough, every so often, there would be a roar and sloshing as the sinkhole devoured more of the city.

There was no other sound in sunken city but the breeze rushing over water. Alfred took a moment just to listen. He'd never be trapped away from the living wind again. He'd never have to be away from any of this again.

Perhaps he hadn't lost his home after all.

When Arthur finally woke from his dozing, it was afternoon. Alfred smiled down at him.

"Hi," he said.

Arthur hummed in response.

"How are you feeling?" Alfred asked.

"Terrible," said Arthur. He tried to sit up, and only managed to with Alfred's help.

He looked terrible, Alfred thought. He shook like a leaf just sitting up. Under his eyes were heavy bruises, though those were hard to see under the layers of grim on him. Alfred probably wasn't much better, he realized.

Indeed, his own clothes were stiff with dried mud and soot. His throat was raw and he felt the tingle of a cough in his throat.

"Me too," Alfred said. That got a chuckle out of Arthur.

Alfred joined him, then broke out in deep, painful coughs.

"But we're alive," Arthur said. "That's…"

"Surprising?" Alfred finished. "You're telling me."

Arthur looked at Alfred frowning. "I'm still not entirely sure what happened."

Alfred stared out at the lake. He wasn't sure he could describe it himself. After a few moments of silence, he tried.

"I just…couldn't," he said lamely.

"Couldn't what? Kill us?"

"Right."

Arthur looked down, his cheeks flushing. Alfred felt the same warmth on his face and looked away. Arthur shifted, his face falling.

"Because we're innocent. And I know how much you love protecting the innocent," Arthur said. There was an odd note of bitterness in his voice. Alfred considered that.

"No," he concluded after some thought. "I mean, it's not that you're wrong, but that's not why I did it."

Arthur jerked up at that. He looked tired and more vulnerable that Alfred had ever seen him.

"Then why?"

"Because I couldn't hurt you."

Their eyes met, and Alfred could feel the heat growing in his face.

"I couldn't face a world without you in it."

"You're disgusting," Arthur said, though he smiled. The conversation seemed to have already sapped the daemon's energy. With a sigh, he curled up against Alfred and went back to sleep. This time, his breathing was even and he looked, if Alfred was reading his expression correctly, content.

Alfred drew Arthur fully into his lap and knotted his fingers in his hair. There was no reason for them to be apart now. No sides of a pointless war to fight for.

Since the day of his birth, Alfred had been on a path, and everything thing he did was just one more inevitable set along it. But now, for the first time, he was free.

They all were.