[2] WEEPING MONK║you're not what I was looking for

71| The End (Part Two)

[TW// Blood. Major wounds. More blood. Major character death]

War is over.

The earth shook, rumbling through the battle field as the trees of the White Hart's boundary quaked. The forest trembled. Pines collapsed, and most but Ari tumbled to the ground when she let out an agonised roar to the gods. Her power erupted in an invisible wave as she caught Lancelot hitting the ground.

Lifeless.

Her ears rang with silence.

Everything on the battlefield had stopped. Fey, humans, Paladins were on their knees and watched. In awe, afraid, what did it matter?

The twine from her finger had landed in the puddle of blood, and a gut-twisting sense that she'd needed to turn had made her do so. As if the gods had carved a clear line of sight for her through the upright bodies that remained, she'd watched the arrow pierce and lodge in Lancelot's chest.

She didn't feel the heat that came from where fire burst from her fingers and engulfed her sword.

Faster than her feet had ever carried her before, Ari charged straight to Lancelot and the leaking red arrow. She had to get to him, damn anyone else. There was a skirmish nearby of Fey grappling the archer that's released the arrow, but Ari's stinging eyes were only set on the convulsing hitch in her love's chest.

He can't be hurt. He couldn't.

She cut a path through the halted battle with her flaming sword, shamelessly burning any of the remaining Paladins who tried to come near her, and fell in a tangle of hands and feet to her knees. Her father clutched onto Lancelot, a hand coated in blood pressing down onto his torso around where the buried arrowhead had pierced each layer of his clothing, trying to stem the bleeding.

"Lance!" Ari cried, frantic.

His face was ashen and grey without colour, blenching and torn. Her hands hovered over his body frantically, not knowing where to stop. They shook, staining with more blood— his blood. The arrow struck straight to his ribs right beneath his heart. "Shit. Shit."

He was wearing leathers. This shouldn't have happened.

Lancelot couldn't die. He couldn't.

His eyes were open though unfocused and staring up at the alabaster sky as he struggled for half-measured breaths. Each broken one staggered and sounded like a bubbled gasp.

Tears burned down Ari's cheeks, her body wracked with sobs.

He can't die.

Growling, fangs bared, Nyra prowled in a circle around them. She snapped at anyone— regardless of their colours— who dared to try and get too close.