THERE WAS ONCE, a sky.
The sky was magnificent- filled with twinkling, luminous stars that glimmered above the earthly inhabitants, much like sparkling jewels on inky black velvet.
The stars were often lonely, scattered across the universe like beads of a broken chain, light years away from each other. However, it didn't stop them from persisting and persevering, glowing against all odds, as they continued to sparkle for millennia, and watched the earth grow.
The angels watched the earthlings from among the stars too. More specifically, they watched the humans, for it was the humans that lived among creatures that were far more powerful than they'd ever be but still claimed dominance across the planet.
If there was one thing about the humans, however, it was that they no longer believed in the stars.
They didn't believe in the hidden wisdom of the skies, and they didn't believe that they had their own stories written in the stars and interwoven through the fabrics of space-time.
To them, the study of the skies was a mere science, and stars were but mere orbs of glowing dust and gas. In reality, they were the culmination of centuries, if not millennia of years of the work of not only gravity but also fate. They were wiser than you'd give them any credit for.
The stars had watched as the earth grew. They had watched as darkness bloomed. They had watched the plunder and flourish, the rise and fall, the evolution and extinction. They had watched as the earth continued to be littered by the ruins of empires that believed they were eternal.
For all this transpired underneath the same skies, skies that were as old as time.
And underneath those same starry skies, there stood a man.
One hand was pressed against his abdomen as he staggered, while the other was reaching into his pockets, frantically scrabbling around for something, anything, that could help him.
"C'mon," he murmured to himself through clenched teeth, hissing out a pained breath, "c'mon, c'mon, c'mon-"
When he finally felt something cool against his palm, he heaved a tiny sigh of relief. His shaking fingers pulled the phone out while trying to blink away the black spots that were threatening to obscure his vision, but just as his fingers dialed an emergency contact, the screen went black.
A tiny loading icon appeared in the middle.
Dead.
His eyes widened. "No," his fingers were shaking, but that didn't stop them from desperately trying to turn the phone back on. "Shit- no, no, no- c'mon-"
The ground underneath him began to tilt.
The waves of dizziness were becoming stronger. He was becoming weaker.
The phone slipped from his grasp clattering onto the ground next to him, as his knees buckled.
"Fuck," a hiss left his mouth the moment his knees touched the ground, and his arm wobbled, his muscles screaming in protest as they tried to support him.
But this didn't stop the crimson from seeping between his fingers, staining the emerald grass red- as the dark liquid continued to unforgivingly spill from circular wounds in his abdomen.
Blood.
He wasn't unfamiliar with its metallic scent.
He had blood on his own hands. Both literally, and metaphorically.
As one of the best hitmen to ever exist, with aim and precision so sharp that he was even nicknamed The Falcon, it was common knowledge that he had great reflexes and an incredibly alert mind. So how had he missed this?
He was supposed to be strong.
He was supposed to be alert. He should have been alert.
But two bullets to the stomach from an unsuspecting assailant had rendered him immobile.
His body had twitched in shock at the impact, his fumbling fingers reaching for his waistband- where he usually kept his gun, but he never felt the familiar cool metal underneath the skin of his palm. His eyes had swept the darkness around him, desperate to see someone lurking between the trees- but the black dots that began to cloud his vision didn't allow it.
In all the desperate searching, he could've sworn that there was a pair of gleaming orbs watching him, watching as he struggled, relishing as he tried to cling to the last moments of his life. Even in that hazy state, a part of him wondered if he was imagining it-
Because those eyes were a bright, gleaming red. A glowing crimson, shining in the dark.
Every time he thought he saw them, they disappeared.
Is this what blood loss did to you? Did it make you hallucinate demonic eyes?
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dismiss the images. There was already a problem at hand, he didn't need others to mess with his brain more than that.
But he was growing weaker and weaker by the second. His arms could barely hold him up any longer, and his legs refused to co-operate to help him stand.
Only seconds had passed, but to his body, those mere specks of time- insignificant to most, felt stretched. His arms trembled, as they gave away, making him collapse face-first into the grass.
The world around him numbed. The only sound that his ears could hear other than a harsh ringing, was the wavering thump of his heart, and the blood rushing through his body.
Luck was not on his side today. Not only had he left his weapon behind while venturing out alone, but his own phone had betrayed him too. He was at least a mile away from any civilization, so no one would find him. At least, no one that could help him.
It took him more effort than anything he had done in his life, but he forced his hands to push the ground, slowly flipping himself around, so he was lying on his back. The hand above the two bullet wounds shook, as he pressed them- but it didn't stop the blood from continuing to flow.
He squeezed his eyes shut once more, taking in a lungful of air. Petrichor. That's what the earth around him smelled like.
When he opened his eyes again, to look back up, the stars of the night sky twinkled back at him.
It was almost like the sight of them was some sort of trigger.
Because the fight in his muscles died. The will to live in his heart faded.
A sadness, almost pitiful took its place.
He'd never see his little brother again. He'd never see Corban, or Gale, or any of them either. They'd never see him alive again too.
He would see his mum again, though. The thought brought a small smile to his face, a trickle of blood trailing down past his lips, as he coughed.
But this was it. This was how he was meant to die. The fact that nothing had gone his way, was no coincidence- it was written in the stars, it had to be.
And thus, all he could do was continue to stare at the dark sky and watch with almost sad eyes, the slow dance of the infinite stars, as he tried to commit them to his memory. His eyes drifted across the patterns as he tried to decipher them past his blurry vision, murmuring their names to himself, one last time.
"Orion..."
The stars. They were always constant.
"C-Canis..."
The world was dynamic- people came and left, each day was different from the previous and the next, and they soon grew into passing memories. But the stars? They were always constant.
"Ursa..."
Maybe they'd change their patterns among constellations over millennia, change their inclination in the sky over centuries or change their time of arrival over the seasons, but they were always there.
"F-Fornax..."
Perhaps that was what spurred his interest in them. The assurance that, come what may, rain or shine, they'd always be there- even if they're hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds or even if the sun outshines them during the day. The assurance that they were insignificant specks compared to the vast universe.
"Perseus..."
He had always loved the stars. And today was going to be the last time he was going to see them, sparkling above him brightly and comfortingly despite being light-years away.
"Gemini..."
So, if this was the end, underneath a sky full of stars, a sight that surrounded him even at his parting, then so be it.
Because even as his eyes fluttered shut and he inhaled a final lungful of air,
Axel knew that no one was coming to save him.
Thank you for reading, do vote and comment! I hope you liked this so far, it's a little different from my usual style and I'm super excited for it, and a little nervous of course :)