first kiss and the first time that i felt connected to anything
We have got through so much worse than this before
What's so different this time that you can't ignore
“I’m dying.”
Lyra stares up at him, blood trickling from her mouth, a bitter smile gracing her lips. She looks so beautiful he thinks, gripping her tightly absolutely terrified of letting her go (she can’t die he won’t let her die she’s not allowed to die). He tries to open his mouth and say something smart but only gets a choked noise, reminiscent to ‘Don’t go’. This is too much, he isn’t sure he can take it. His head feels like it is going to explode with rage and his heart wants to die alongside her. His Lyra. The woman he loves so much it hurts. The woman he made hate him and love him at the same time. He made her life hell and she made his hell as well.
She laughs at him coughing more blood, amused by how pathetic he looks. He has tears in his eyes and it looks like he could break down crying at any second while tearing the bastards apart who did this. Like he did to the man who threw the spear. Poor lost god. It surprises Michael when she reaches up, smudging the blood on his face with her thumb, her hand shaking with the very effort. “Stop that.” He barely manages to get the words through his gritted teeth, forcing her hand back down. “Don’t wasting your energy.”
“You can’t stop this.”
“No. I can and I will.” He barely registers the wetness on his cheeks and she laughs at him again, this time coughing violently, blood spills out of her mouth and he grips her hand so tightly he is sure it hurts her. She doesn’t say anything; only smiles bitterly up at him, her beautiful green eyes glistening with her own tears. But she won’t cry. She never cries in front of him. She’s stronger than that.
“Don’t you even try, bastard. I don’t want you saving my life.” She snarls pathetically, trying to summon up past anger. It feels so far away now.
“I won’t let you die on me!” He has no trouble in finding it however, the anger is basically boiling in his veins. She can see how close he is to exploding and part of her wishes she could see it, stop him from doing something stupid. But she won’t. She’ll be gone before it happens.
“You… h-have no choice.” Yeah. He knows. He doesn’t want to admit it but he knows he can’t help her, he isn’t a miracle worker. She’s dying and he can’t stop it. It hurts so much, he isn’t sure how to deal with it. His chest feels like it is going to split open. He leans down, brushing some of her hair out of her face-she’s so beautiful, wild and tempered. So strong. So righteous. He hates that about her, she’s so set in her beliefs, no matter how many times he tried to convince her to abandon her life of helping people to join him in bliss and violence she refused. Angrily most of the time, her refusals always hurt.
But at the same time he loves that about her. He loves so much about her.
He kisses her with as much tenderness and passion he can summon, hoping it can portray what he himself cannot say. It works, he thinks, when he feels her kiss him back weakly, a shaky hand reaching up to cup his cheek. Wiping tears from his face.
“I know…” She whispers against his lips.
Then her hand falls away.
You say it is much more than just my last mistake
And we should spend some time apart for both our sakes
The scream that erupts from the middle of the battle field shakes everything and everyone violently; mid battle the soldiers collapse, holding their heads in terrible pain. The earth shakes and the air vibrates, panic erupts through ranks but they can barely move, shackled down to the ground by a force too powerful for them to imagine.
It turns into a roar so loud that even the gods themselves could hear (he hopes they head, he hopes their heads split open with pain, he hopes they crumble to their pearl floor he hopes they can feel his rage and hurt and anguish), the earth shakes more and the air thickens with power, whipping around wildly trying to rip the very flesh of their bones.
That is when their screams begin.
Hands go first, then their feet, then heads.
He kills them all without a second thought, generals screaming retreats for those still alive, soldiers scrambling back with eyes wide with terror. Neither side is safe. They know what they have done. Even if Michael himself does not. They angered the God of War, the very same god many thought had died, now standing in the middle of their bloody battlefield surrounded by bodies and flames.
And he is laughing with tears streaming down his face.
Today he lost his heart.
And they lost their lives.
What's so different this time that you can't ignore
“I’m dying.”
Lyra stares up at him, blood trickling from her mouth, a bitter smile gracing her lips. She looks so beautiful he thinks, gripping her tightly absolutely terrified of letting her go (she can’t die he won’t let her die she’s not allowed to die). He tries to open his mouth and say something smart but only gets a choked noise, reminiscent to ‘Don’t go’. This is too much, he isn’t sure he can take it. His head feels like it is going to explode with rage and his heart wants to die alongside her. His Lyra. The woman he loves so much it hurts. The woman he made hate him and love him at the same time. He made her life hell and she made his hell as well.
She laughs at him coughing more blood, amused by how pathetic he looks. He has tears in his eyes and it looks like he could break down crying at any second while tearing the bastards apart who did this. Like he did to the man who threw the spear. Poor lost god. It surprises Michael when she reaches up, smudging the blood on his face with her thumb, her hand shaking with the very effort. “Stop that.” He barely manages to get the words through his gritted teeth, forcing her hand back down. “Don’t wasting your energy.”
“You can’t stop this.”
“No. I can and I will.” He barely registers the wetness on his cheeks and she laughs at him again, this time coughing violently, blood spills out of her mouth and he grips her hand so tightly he is sure it hurts her. She doesn’t say anything; only smiles bitterly up at him, her beautiful green eyes glistening with her own tears. But she won’t cry. She never cries in front of him. She’s stronger than that.
“Don’t you even try, bastard. I don’t want you saving my life.” She snarls pathetically, trying to summon up past anger. It feels so far away now.
“I won’t let you die on me!” He has no trouble in finding it however, the anger is basically boiling in his veins. She can see how close he is to exploding and part of her wishes she could see it, stop him from doing something stupid. But she won’t. She’ll be gone before it happens.
“You… h-have no choice.” Yeah. He knows. He doesn’t want to admit it but he knows he can’t help her, he isn’t a miracle worker. She’s dying and he can’t stop it. It hurts so much, he isn’t sure how to deal with it. His chest feels like it is going to split open. He leans down, brushing some of her hair out of her face-she’s so beautiful, wild and tempered. So strong. So righteous. He hates that about her, she’s so set in her beliefs, no matter how many times he tried to convince her to abandon her life of helping people to join him in bliss and violence she refused. Angrily most of the time, her refusals always hurt.
But at the same time he loves that about her. He loves so much about her.
He kisses her with as much tenderness and passion he can summon, hoping it can portray what he himself cannot say. It works, he thinks, when he feels her kiss him back weakly, a shaky hand reaching up to cup his cheek. Wiping tears from his face.
“I know…” She whispers against his lips.
Then her hand falls away.
You say it is much more than just my last mistake
And we should spend some time apart for both our sakes
The scream that erupts from the middle of the battle field shakes everything and everyone violently; mid battle the soldiers collapse, holding their heads in terrible pain. The earth shakes and the air vibrates, panic erupts through ranks but they can barely move, shackled down to the ground by a force too powerful for them to imagine.
It turns into a roar so loud that even the gods themselves could hear (he hopes they head, he hopes their heads split open with pain, he hopes they crumble to their pearl floor he hopes they can feel his rage and hurt and anguish), the earth shakes more and the air thickens with power, whipping around wildly trying to rip the very flesh of their bones.
That is when their screams begin.
Hands go first, then their feet, then heads.
He kills them all without a second thought, generals screaming retreats for those still alive, soldiers scrambling back with eyes wide with terror. Neither side is safe. They know what they have done. Even if Michael himself does not. They angered the God of War, the very same god many thought had died, now standing in the middle of their bloody battlefield surrounded by bodies and flames.
And he is laughing with tears streaming down his face.
Today he lost his heart.
And they lost their lives.