Paradiso

Part X - Lacrimosa

It hadn't been long since the day Doelle forsook happiness. For three days, the Princes had allowed their armies and each other to prepare for war. Doelle had done so dutifully, coldly, and without feeling. He had forced himself to forget what he had lost. What he was soon to lose. His life. His team. Him. He especially tried to forget him. He was the one who had started him on this descent into sin. Into feeling. Into imperfection. No matter; within those few days, he had brought himself back from his folly. He would perform perfectly in the conflict to come. Nothing would prevent him from exacting the King's design to it's utmost. Nothing.

At the gates of Heaven, the Prince of Light stood. Not even Doelle could read him; from what he could see of his expression, it was as enigmatic as it was expressive. Pain, guilt, regret, resolve, anger, misery, grief—all collided in the expression on his face. A small part of Doelle couldn't help but share in his agony. He silenced that part and gripped his sword tighter.

Without another word to his people, the Prince extended his great wings. He blazed, a star streaking through the sky, towards the Prince of Darkness. Hundreds of other, more eager angels followed him, but none interfered with the battle between the two brothers; they and anything else that got in their way would be rent to ash and stardust if they tried. No, they found their own opponents: the demons. Demons killed angels, angels killed demons—all just as the prophecy dictated. Things had only just begun, but the Earth below was already soaked with the ichor of Heaven and Hell.

Doelle took a calming breath. Most of the angels had left already; it was his turn now. He flapped his bluish-white wings, descending to the battlefield with the rest of them. Now was the time that he would truly redeem himself. He would do it. He would kill every demon he saw. He would die fighting. And then he'd never have to worry about anyone, never have to deny himself any feeling, never have to return to the prison of purity that Heaven had become. This was the end; he would go down as the King had intended. He would be per-

Something from below him shot into him, knocking him from flight. He spiralled towards the peak of Purgatory below, struggling against the arms that tried to restrain him.

As he crashed to the mountain's peak, Doelle's wings lit with blue, heavenly fire. His attacker yelled in pain as they stumbled away, singed. He whirled to face the demon. No. His eyes widened, then narrowed again. It was him. Of course; of course he'd done something this stupid. Doelle raised his sword. He would make good on the threat he made. He was going to kill Nim.

Doelle stabbed at him without a moment more of hesitation. Unfortunately, Nim had just recovered from the flames enough to summon his halberd and parry his strike; before Doelle could do anything more, the demon leapt up into him, knocking him off the cliff of the mountain. They plummeted together, spinning like the wings of falling maple seeds, hopelessly intertwined but against each other. While Doelle was struggling with all his strength to be free of Nim, Nim was doing everything he could to cling on to him. Nim had intended to keep his promise, too; he would never hurt him. He didn't need to. He just needed Doelle to stay still for a second. Then, maybe, he could try to calm him down, to convince him to stop this fighting, to escape this war with him.

They tumbled down Purgatory to Earth, but, like all the other angels and demons around them, they didn't stop their fight. Doelle finally broke free when Nim tried to readjust his hold on him; sword and halberd clashed again and again and again. They fought on for hours. Others fell around them, but they fought on. The sun set, the moon following. They wore each other down over the course of a day, feathers growing ragged and demonic blood spattered.

All the while, Doelle was also locked in mortal combat with himself. Ice and emotion wrestled for control. He tried to force the part of himself screaming at him to stop what he was doing and beg Nim for forgiveness to shut up, to make itself as small as possible, to die—he tried to freeze it out. He could show no mercy. He couldn't think about the loss. He couldn't think about how everything had changed over the years, how they had changed for the better; Zanda's faith in him brightening his days, the rest of his team making every mission more interesting than the last, Nim and his incessant charm and sweetness obscuring the necessity of perfection and purity and good. He couldn't think of the misery he was in—that part was making him. It had to die. But, even as the sun rose over the battlefield, even as he finally pinned Nim beneath him, raised his sword to kill him, that part of himself would not succumb to the cold. Not yet.

"Wait!" Nim cried. The warmth in his eyes, present even as he faced the shimmering blade of Doelle's sword, thawed the cold. "Doelle, this doesn't have to happen. This doesn't have to be how it ends, there's still time to leave; we can still get out of here, away from Earth, from the Afterlives—we can still get away. We can get away from the whole fucking galaxy! We can find somewhere to hide where not even the King can catch us in his stupid prophecy." Tears broke free from his amber eyes. "None of this has to happen—at the least, you don't have to kill me, of all people!" He paused, taking a breath he had been lacking for hours now. He continued, softer now. "I love you, Doelle. You love me too, I know it. So just please, please stop. You don't have to fight me any longer."

Whatever had been holding Doelle together—whatever duty or desperation or pride—snapped. His sword slammed down into the earth just next to Nim's horned head. Doelle sobbed. After everything, he had failed; he was still imperfect. He couldn't kill him.

As soon as the first tear fell from the angel's face, Nim sat up where he was, still under him. He held him tightly. "It'll be fine," he murmured. "We'll survive. We'll be the only ones left and everything will be okay." He pulled back to look him in the eyes, his hands raising to hold his tan face gently. He saw the pain in his eyes, the war raging within. Nim smiled a small smile, trying to comfort him. "Everything will be fine." Softly, as if afraid to break Doelle any further than he already was broken, he kissed him.

That icy part of Doelle wanted him to wrech away and stab through him while he was still in shock. He had to resist; destiny had to be followed. There was still time to regain his perfection. Still time to be good. But that wretched, feeling part of him kept him there. To savour one last kiss.

It didn't last, though; the spell was broken as Doelle pulled away. "No," he whispered, "you're wrong. No one can escape the King's prophecy." He took a breath in preparation. "But you were right about one thing; I do love you, Nim," he finally admitted aloud. "I love you. And I'm sorry." He moved back from him, his hand finding the hilt of his sword where he'd sheathed it in the ground a moment before. Before Nim could say anything, anymore of his sweet words, he tore through his chest with the blade.

The shock and pain in Nim's eyes were the last thing there before their light burned out at last and he died in Doelle's arms.