Chapter 66 - Mortal

Iris

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“What a shame, Valkyre.”
Camael was stepping forward, rapidly closing the distance between the two. Valkyre moved ahead as well, seeking to put more space and time between Camael and Iris, hoping it would make a difference. His hand tightened its grip around the hilt of the dagger, and the metal made a sound like tinkling silver as it was drawn from the sheath.
Camael stopped, abruptly. His face registered something akin to surprise, as if he’d somehow been taken aback by what the crossbreed had done.
“Valkyre.”
The other stood still, poised, arm up, dagger hilt almost touching his chest, blade exposed, dual pairs of wings folded around himself, protectively.
“Will you actually fight me? You know you can’t win, Valkyre.”
Winning or losing. Valkyre couldn’t help but smile faintly, ruefully, amazed that such of a situation’s outcome could be described in such a way, parsed out into such classifications that did not apply. He didn’t plan on losing, nor on winning. This wasn’t about the stronger prevailing, or about who killed who.
It was for a young boy caught between worlds, a child with powers he’d never asked for, a catalyst for disaster or salvation, it no longer mattered which. It was for a boy with emotionless gray eyes and cold fingers, a boy who’d smiled and mouthed his name. It was for time, for precious time that slid by unobstructed by all the mortals caught in its path and wake, like pebbles thrown into a raging river.
All Valkyre wanted was time, and the chance to hold Iris safe against him, to feel the heart beating out its staccato rhythm, each pulse weaker than the one before… He wanted to see Iris’s hair falling around his face, the thin line of ankle and wrist, the fingers cool like water, like stone or polished wood against his own flesh, pale like marble, like moonlight. He wanted to see the flutter of eyelashes, ignoring the gray eyes beneath. He wanted to see the slip of hair along the shoulder, the slightest blush and wetness of the lips. He wanted to see Iris smile, wanted to hear the boy laugh. He wanted to see the tears dripping down the boy’s face, like crystal, like rain, purifying, sweet, clear and clean, symbolizing the boy’s frailty, mortality… and humanity.
“Valkyre.”
The crossbreed brought his attention back, closing away all other thoughts. He would protect Iris, and that was all that mattered.
Camael spoke as if he had read his mind.
“You think you can save him, Valkyre?” He laughed, hoarse and sharp. Camael took a half-step closer, wings unfurling. The feathers slid over each other like ripples on a pond, flawless.
“You can’t even save yourself, Valkyre!”
The crossbreed moved even before the last syllable had been uttered, streaking forward like a shadow, blade’s edge flashing in the faint illumination. Camael met him with his feet even and braced, wings sweeping forward. Valkyre slashed at the sudden blinding sheet of white before his eyes, faltering. He felt the dagger’s blade connect-
-And then immediately slip through, like penetrating a thin membrane of fabric only to find nothing underneath, like popping a bubble. Startled, he had barely the time to react and throw up an arm in defense before the other angel’s wing slammed hard into his gut, sending him flying.
Valkyre thudded to the ground heavily, though his feet were already grasping for purchase, and he flipped over into a half-crouch, one hand pressed palm-down to the ground as he attempted to recover his breath.
“…You’re right, Valkyre.”
The crossbreed glanced up, pain lacing the action, making him wince. He could feel his demon wings twitching, almost spasmodically. The contact with the angel wing hurt through every inch of his body, and it set his demonic blood to boiling.
Camael kicked at the discarded dagger, the blade skidding in the dust.
“I’m not a real angel, Valkyre. I know that. But…”
Camael paused, and folded his wing over. Valkyre’s eyes widened as he noticed the slash through the feathers, the angle at which his blade had cut in surely piercing bone and muscle alike. But there was no blood and no bone visible; the feathers around the wound were shapeless, ephemeral things, bobbing on an unfelt wind, slowly re-shaping themselves into feathers over the wound, which was closing in on itself. It was more like… a hologram correcting itself rather than mending flesh.
Valkyre swallowed dryly on nothing. Of course, Camael wouldn’t be like a human, or like an angel. What he’d done- however he’d done it- made him something completely different.
Valkyre rose slowly to his feet, hands falling to his sides. He still had another blade sheathed at his waist and a third strapped to his boot, but he knew he would not be using them.
“Valkyre. Wait.”
The crossbreed blinked, confused. …Wait? Camael wasn’t the kind to show weakness, or to delay.
Of course not. Looking up, Valkyre saw the other was smiling, almost ruefully.
“Valkyre. You need me, and you know it.”
The crossbreed felt his breath come out in a sharp exhale, felt the edges of his mouth pulling up in a wry grin. He knew Camael too well for this. He knew how Camael could manipulate words and feelings as well as the body, and he refused to accept.
“Tell me, Valkyre. Did it always take you this long to recover from such a simple blow?”
Valkyre hesitated. His mind ran blank.
“Did you always have such a hard time finding your balance? Did you ever before feel the pain in every nerve, in every fiber or your being?”
Valkyre bit at his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes shut for one brief, painful instant, hoping he could wipe away all the words, all the sensations he felt building up inside. He regretted the action immediately, the open display of weakness.
Camael had taken a step closer, hands outspread as if to welcome him.
“Do you know what’s happening to you, Valkyre?”
“…Shut up.”
Valkyre wiped at his mouth although there was nothing there, checking his gloved hand although he knew he would find nothing. He glared up at the other, tensing, wings spreading, aching for action, for flight.
“Valkyre”-
“Shut up!”
Valkyre dashed forward, wings spreading, sending him hurtling so fast over the ground his feet barely touched the dusty soil, hair whipping back from his forehead.
Camael, however, hardly moved. And as Valkyre slammed the whole of his body against the other, Camael shifted just slightly to the side, wings sweeping around. Valkyre’s bare fist met nothing but a swarm of feathers, and then, all too suddenly, he felt Camael’s grip clamp down on his wrist, heavy as stone. He gasped aloud as he felt Camael effortlessly twist his entire body around, shoving him down towards the ground.
In the instant before he saw the white wing arch from the sky to slam into his body, he heard Camael’s voice in his ear, heard the words that made no sense, though he understood them to the core of his being.
“You’re dying, Valkyre.”
He slammed to the ground heavily, crying out aloud as he heard a rib snap like a twig beneath the crushing weight of a wing that was still, undeniably, astral and artificial. The dust filled his vision and mouth, bitter and acrid on his tongue. He coughed, choking, bile rising up from an empty stomach, the pain excruciating. His demon blood was raging, and he watched as his vision bled into red, his heart thudding in his ears.
Valkyre tried to rise, but only gasped emptily as he felt the sole of a boot slam down into the center of his back, crushing him down against the ground.
“Valkyre.”
He squeezed his eyes shut violently, not wanting to hear the words. The voice, the tone, all reminded him of himself, younger, defenseless, confused, hair and face streaked with blood. He didn’t want to be chained by these words, by a familiar face he’d thought he’d left behind years ago.
“I can help you.”
His hands were clenched in fists, his wings sprawled out in the dust and crumbling earth, like limp body parts he had no control over, that hardly belonged to him at all.
“You’re dying, but I know how to save you.”
Pain, echoing in every cell of his being, thudding through his head and in his ears, deafening, crushing, grinding him down deeper and deeper into the earth, swallowed up by stone.
“Valkyre.”
His name, again and again. A name that had no meaning, that applied to some creature besides himself, someone- something- distant, faraway, a crumpled dream crushed in waking.
Camael was leaning down, boot digging down into the small of his back, wings masking the sky, painting the world above Valkyre white, as if it were day, as if there were clouds.
“I am not your enemy. You misunderstand. Don’t you remember? I’m the one that kept you alive. Why would I want you to die?”
Movement, Camael bending over further, the heel now digging sharply into his body, Valkyre’s one demon wing jerking in protest. There was the dulled sound of metal scraping over the crumbling earth, of grains of dusty soil falling away and being split aside.
Valkyre stared at the blade dangling from Camael’s loose hand, the dulled metal glinting, for an instant showing him his own face- stained with dust, sweat streaking over his forehead, hair falling over his face, over…
Over eyes red like a demon’s, rich as blood, hard as glass, deep as an abyssal chasm cut into the sky, centered in obsidian black, jet black, midnight black as no sky had ever before been.
And then the blade was out of sight, and Valkyre winced as he felt Camael’s hand, large and warm, pressed to his shoulder, holding him, pinning him down.
“Let me save you, Valkyre. Trust me.”
He felt the hand move from his shoulder, felt the strong fingers grab at his black, feathered wing, pulling it up roughly, the limb lifeless and limp, drooping.
Valkyre gasped for breath as he finally realized what the other was doing. He tried to move, but his actions were clumsy and delayed, his body refusing to react.
The blade bit deep into his wing, at the base, hacking through feather and muscle and tendon, embedding itself into bone. Valkyre heard something snap.
He screamed. The sound burst from his lips painfully, scouring along his throat, his tongue tasting of bitter dust and his own hot, salty blood. He struggled, thrashing out blindly, kicking at nothing, wings fluttering limply. He felt Camael drop his one wing, grabbing for the other angel wing, felt the blade bite almost instantly into the muscle and bone.
The pain washed over him in waves, crippling him. It spread from his back like a fire, eating him up alive, charring his body, his skin, his flesh, his bones- all to cinders, aching and burning.
…Die. He was going to die. He felt the blood rushing through him, the blood that burned and soaked through onto his back, the source of the scalding fire. His own body, his own blood was killing him.
It wasn’t Camael. It wasn’t broken skin or blistering flesh. It was his own body, every cell and fiber of his being, slowly breaking away. It was himself, Valkyre, the paradox, the antithesis that would burn every drop of blood in his own veins dry, would crumble and decay and fall to pieces like the weathering stone, battered by wind and cold and heat. He wasn’t just dying; he was killing himself. He was going to fall to pieces, he was going to shatter like glass, like water spilling onto the parched earth, splattering on stone, and then he would be gone and broken and then Iris-
He didn’t know where the strength came from, or how he managed to still fuel his remaining energy into such of a decisive, careful blow. It felt more as if his body had moved of its own whim, the hot blood coursing through his body, reminding him of every nerve and inch of himself he still possessed in his own control. His demon wing, still unharmed, flared up from beside his body, snapping out so suddenly it took Valkyre’s breath away, making him gasp aloud at the pain.
The blow caught Camael unawares, knocking him over onto the ground. Valkyre was already forcibly stumbling to his feet, coughing, gasping for breath, eyes squeezed shut against the pain that spiked through his body, threatening at each tiny motion to cripple him for good, bring him crashing back down to the ground.
A sharp, hoarse laugh broke Valkyre’s broken, crashing gasps for air.
Camael rose quickly to his feet, wings spread, the dagger flashing in his hand, its metal washed in blood.
“Valkyre.”
His smile was harsh, even as he leaned over, preparing to strike, to end it all.
“Give up.”
His words were taunting, falling on Valkyre as heavily as physical blows. The crossbreed staggered, legs visibly shaking. Blood dripped and spilled onto the dusty ground, eaten up hungrily by the arid soil. Valkyre could feel it seeping down his back, down even along his calves and into his boots.
“You poor, pitiful fool.”
Valkyre blinked up through red eyes, Camael’s face a blur, only his leering smile in focus, his white wings framing his body, forming a silhouette against the backdrop of night and shadow.
Valkyre swallowed hard, trying to hold himself still against a fresh wave of agony spilling over his body, threatening to make his legs crumple beneath him, his chest heaving. Pain, blossoming from his body like the petals of a flower, like spilling water, like… wings.
“You’re already dead, Valkyre.”
Camael moved, faster than any human should’ve. His arm flashed, the blade’s honed tip pointing to Valkyre’s chest, to his heart. The wings flared and folded, enveloping the form slashing towards him, clear like glass, white like clouds in the sky.
Valkyre did not care. He could die- he knew well that he was going to. But…
But he remembered the small face, the delicate curve of the mouth, the gleam of tears along soft, pale cheeks.
…He would not allow Camael to hurt Iris.
Valkyre did not so much move as he simply slumped, one leg half-giving out at the last second, his body dropping down. The knife’s blade, carefully aimed for his heart, pierced deep into his body, through clothing and skin and flesh and muscle, grazing against bone. Valkyre hardly felt the pain.
And against his shoulder, Camael’s impetus petered out, the other slumping over, a startled gasp turning to a wet, racking cough, blood spilling over his lips.
It was not so much Valkyre’s movement as Camael’s own momentum that had finished the blow. The talon had carved through muscle and bone and organs alike, emerging through Camael’s back for a good inch or so, the black spine of bone slicked in blood, the supporting bones near the talon half-crushed as they’d broken through the other’s rib cage, ground together and dislocated terribly, though Valkyre hardly felt the pain.
He heard Camael gasp, hand loosening from its white-knuckled grip on the hilt of the dagger. Valkyre, somehow, managed to remain standing as he felt Camael tumble backwards and away, eyes hollow and dead already, body slipping almost gracefully from Valkyre’s wing, falling down and losing all elegance as it slumped to the ground, rolling over.
The crossbreed’s entire body heaved with each breath. He felt his hair drifting over his face, surprised that despite all the pain and the way his body trembled, his cheeks were still tickled by the passing strands. He was startled when he felt a coolness wash over his face, his hair blowing away suddenly, a few strands sticking to his forehead.
Valkyre lifted his head slowly, painfully.
A wind grazed over his cheeks, chilling the sweat on his brow, gently wiping the coarse dust from his lips and eyelashes. A wind blew over him, bringing with it a scent of something he did not recognize but felt as if he should, looking up into a sky whose stars were suddenly winking out, one by one, smothered in blues and roiling grays.
He felt blood dribbling down his chest, and only then did he recall the dagger Camael had buried into his flesh.
Slowly, as if he could still be intrepid of such a thing, he glanced down at himself. The blade was sunk deep, near up to the hilt in his body. Valkyre’s fingers twitched, arm half-rising, almost falling back.
He should be dead.
But the dagger was buried in his shoulder, just beneath his collarbone, a slight angling of the blade completely missing his heart, missing even his ribs.
Valkyre, stupidly, felt like laughing. He found control of his hand again, and gripped the blood-soaked handle of the dagger, gasping aloud at the pain it caused.
He wasn’t sure then whether or not he’d even pulled the blade out. All he remembered was the sudden realization breaking over him like dawn along a distant horizon he was most likely never to see again, painful and brilliant, shedding away his layers of delicate, silk-thin blankets of reassuring shadow: the fact that it didn’t even matter.
Because he was dying, if not already dead.
And then, the black of a night without stars swallowed him, and Valkyre felt himself fall into its soft embrace.

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AN: Hope this chapter was good. :3 Nobody likes Camael, but I hope it was still decent. (He seemed really villainous, didn't he? Yeah?
Anyway. I'm sleepy now because I only got five hours of sleep last night, followed promptly by five hours of standing and bustling about feeing baby birdies. I need a nap.
One more chapter, and an epilogue to go. Thanks guys!! Love you all. :)

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