Victory's Price

Mollen - Wolf (Part Eighty)

Despite himself, despite the secret terror of his heart, Moll smiled, taking his inspiration from the woman he loved.

"We are a world born of blood, my brothers, and we follow a path of fire and cold steel. Our hearts are the hearts of the phoenix, our gods the Stars."

Moll paused. At the mention of their name, he could feel the Stars screaming, calling his name, begging him to battle.

"Those Stars!" He screamed, swinging his arm behind him to take in their full expanse. "Those are our Stars, and they are held by a world without the heritage of worth, they have not the history we have, they hold no battle in their souls. We have given Seira ourcity, my brothers, and I say we should take it back."

Holding his words again, Moll allowed the whispers to spread to the back. He had them now, he could feel their lust dripping off every word. The Motherland was the first world, a world of battle, a world of blood. It ruled all, it was destined to be as such, for its people were the players; great, cold, and the deadliest killers of the whole of history.

When Moll spoke again, he did not bother with a shout. They were his, addicted to his every word.

"Now tell me, my brothers, my fellows." He smiled. "What was it we were born for?"

And the reply hit the back of every throat, an echoing roar to shake the very stars from the sky. The Motherland needed no drums to speed the beating of the heart, it was created with its own fire and it required only the reminder of its legacy.

"What were we born for?"

"We were born for war."

xXXx

"Death will do nothing for you." Wolf warned. "You know that."

Phoenix stalked closer; threatening, terrifying.

"I will be free." She breathed, her tone taking on that of religious fervour. She had fooled herself, though he could not blame her. She deserved hope but the truth of the matter was that she threw herself into slavery. To die here was to fall into the Stars and their will, she would not find her peace.

The sword at his side seemed to wheedle its intention into his mind, calling out to be drawn. Wolf wondered if this was why she had gifted him with the blade, for it was difficult to ignore the persuasion. And though he knew he did not have it in himself to kill her, knew that he would rather die than hold that in his heart, his fingers already rested upon the hilt.

"Wolf." She growled.

He could feel the anger stirring in her. He would rather it than the grief. But if she thought hating him in his last minutes would make this easier on either of them, she was wrong.

"Please." He begged, stepping back. "Don't do this to us."

She would kill him. He was not foolish enough to deny himself the knowledge. She would kill him, after all she had done for him, and then she would make herself hold his gaze until he died. It would scar her, or so he hoped, for the alternative was worse. And he would turn creature. He would become nothing more than anger and hate, his world filled only by the hearts of the Stars.

To die was to turn feral, to lose himself in the haze of bitterness, in the will of the Stars; cold, cruel and eternal.

And what would he prefer? To take that upon himself or to give it to her?

Phoenix had begun to roll his blade determinedly around her wrists, tempting him, teasing him into the battle. And he knew, he knew she wanted it more than anything.

But also he knew her too well. He knew that despite the screaming of her soul, despite her grief and her guilt, she would hand him no slack.

If he was to fight the Phoenix it would not matter that she craved defeat, she would kill him.

"The rules cannot be broken."

She truly seemed sorry as she spoke, though he could not tell if it was an apology to him or if it was regret for the path her life had taken.

"Phoenix…"

Victory was wailing now, tugging at the her bindings, fighting against the sheath and grasping, with cold, metal determination, at the fingers he had placed upon her.

"Wolf." Phoenix danced forward again, anger and pain battling in her eyes. For a second, it felt as though there were thousands staring back at him from their crystal blue. It felt as though, in watching their demise, she had taken the souls of her kills into her own. And they were looking back now; pitying him, feeling her pain.

He would not do it, he simply wasn't able. Wolf retreated further, watching her warily as she began to die inside. Cold, she was, guilty and empty.

"Please." She whispered, faltering. "Please, Wolf."

And as he shook his head, resolute, he watched comprehension dawn on her features. He saw her realise the extent of his will, saw her as she finally understood all that she was to him. He would not do it, he could not kill her. And now she knew.

The desperation slipped from her limbs, returning to him the legend he knew well; the woman of fire and blood. The woman who had not lost a battle in four centuries, who held a hero's morals and had never feared the kill.

Wolf swallowed as the steel in her eyes swept his body. So this was it, then, this was the end.

Phoenix reset her grip on his blade, hesitant even now, and raised it slowly into the air.

He waited, fighting Victory's warnings, fighting his own instinct. He would not flinch, he would not cower.

His life was hers, let her take it.

Phoenix's lips moved, mouthing the final words he would ever comprehend. A silent sorry for the past week and the next few minutes, and then movement was upon her, the blade that she would bury deep into the meat of his chest, flashing in the cruel sun.

And as the bitter clash of Victory upon rusted iron rang out across the empty desert, Wolf knew that it didn't matter that he betrayed his vow, it may as well have been already over.