but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

This—this was it. This was the culmination of their struggles, in the gentle wash of noon sunlight, two titans so lost in their pasts they forgot about the future. All their pain, all their anger, all their frustration, all their misunderstanding, (love), pooled into a single moment in time, and fixed—carved—into memory. This was it, he realized, eyelashes clipping his vision until the world was a black-and-gold blur.

All the trust he was placing in those who had not deserved it—

He wasn't even breathing anymore. The air in his lungs had frozen, painfully, shards of ice lodged in his throat. But his heart, his heart, was running, screaming, thundering. Each thrum feeling like its last, like it was about to burst, fluttering like a trapped butterfly against the black tip of death knocking on his door.

Let me in, Tembovu had said, long after the invitation had been rescinded.
And fool that he was, Mauja couldn't say no, not to him, but he was crying all the same, tears spilling from pale blue eyes as the trembling spread from his heart to his body, until he was shivering like a leaf to the regretful promise of Tembovu's words.

It will hurt.

It will hurt in more ways than one, because as the sharp black point broke through white hairs and scarred skin his heart was already hurting.

Why do you do this to yourself?

Tembovu's words hung in the air, in his memory, in his ears, (his eyes pressed together, squeezing out the tears, mouth closed and silent as his skin split and pearly red blood escaped onto his pristine fur) a raised lash coming down hard across his sensitive skin.

Because, his mind began to gurgle as Tembovu's horn paused in its descent, I am worthless.

It felt perverse to feel his body close around another's horn in such slow-motion; undamaged veins pulsed against it, muscles parting. It hurt. It was nothing like the swift lash and stab sustained in battles, nothing like bruises. It was a slow scream, a drawn-out struggle to stay still, to take this, accept it, prove (—something, he doesn't know what, but something). Every moment, split down to the smallest nanosecond, was an agonizing eternity. Please, he wanted to say, beg, just finish it already.

Just do it, because I don't know how much longer I can hold on—

(I am afraid.)

Tears kept on falling, crystalline and innocent, testament of his regret (—why are we doing this?). And as that first, hesitant inch became another, and another, and Mauja kept on trembling, weeping, his mind whispering no no no no no—

It hurt, a sword of fire slowly shearing his flesh as the thick, ridged length of bone cut deeper and deeper, pushed in—it was obscene, one eye cracked open to see the corded muscles in Tembovu's golden-and-black haunches, the thick ridge of his neck, as they laid all their trust in the lap of a deceitful deity.

Death—

He could feel his heart, too close, too close, and his open eyes saw the haze of sunlight gild the scene of his demise, a sudden gasp of cold air scouring his lungs. Stop—

—is black and gold.

Blood was moving down the thick black spirals. A scream was building in his throat, threatening to burst the ice and tear through the air.

Is this—is this what you want? What I want?

He felt sick and scared. The final blow was so close (too close). And his rapid thoughts rushed, fled, collided, but something crystallized in the forefront of his mind: this feels wrong. It was nothing but a show of stupid devotion, of being too dumb to take back past words; there was nothing sweet about it, no release. Just fear and pain.

The scream burst out of him, but it came out choked; he stumbled back, left a gaping, yawning hole in his chest as the horn slid out of his body. The blood which had been trapped by it sprayed out ferociously from ripped arteries, and emptiness rolled in instead. For a moment he simply stood there, head thrown high, white forelock hanging down over a tear-drenched, terrified eye.

Then the rapidly lowering blood pressure claimed him, and with the blood coloring him crimson all the way to his knees he collapsed on them, before finally falling onto his side. The lurch going through his soul as the world spun was sickening. I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but he couldn't find his voice. Second by second, the pulse of blood coming out of his chest grew stiller and stiller, until finally, it ceased. Became a trickle. The breath which should've stopped went on, a slow, rattling sound as life refused to give way. The silence which should've spread through his veins never came as magic clashed with death. It was a perversion that life prevailed—but without help, his broken body would not rise again. With his chest torn open he would simply keep on bleeding as his heart struggled on.

A slow, sluggish darkness descended on his mind, and with each passing moment the rank smell of his fear began to fade. The only thing burning in his mind was disappointment, but he didn't know what for—that he had been too scared to let Tembovu strike his heart, or that he hadn't been strong enough to tell him that all he had wanted was to remain in his embrace?

[ omg look it's just been four days!!!! omg lol xD ]

man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same