'Attachment' AU (Maya And The Three)

Chapter 7: Denial

This moment of stillness was short-lived. Mictlan’s breath hitched as the remnants of panic flared within him. He looked at Soar, the two pairs of eyes wide with confusion and uncertainty. His thoughts swirled with conflict—kill her, trust her, flee from her kindness, or embrace it? It was a storm inside his mind, and Soar could see it.

But she didn’t flinch. She kept her gaze steady, her hands firm on his heads, grounding him in a reality that was slipping through his fingers. “Mictlan,” she said softly, yet with a force that made him pause, “I don’t care what you think right now. You’re going to breathe with me. In, out. Focus.”

Her voice was like a lifeline, something tangible for him to hold on to. And so, despite the chaos within, he tried. His breathing was ragged and uneven, but he tried to follow her rhythm. The red light in the room dimmed further, no longer pulsing with the violence it had moments before.

Soar’s heart pounded in her chest, not just from the intensity of the situation, but from the understanding that she was finally reaching him. She had to be careful, though. Mictlan was still on edge, and the slightest wrong move could send him spiraling again. But she could see it—there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes, something beyond the panic and anger. It was almost as if he was... questioning.

“Listen to me,” she continued, her voice softer now but still firm. “I know you're a god of war, of battle. But that doesn’t mean you have to fight everything, Mictlan. Not every battle is with your fists or your power. Sometimes... it’s here.” She gently tapped his chest with one hand, careful not to break the fragile connection they were holding.

Mictlan flinched at the contact, his eyes narrowing as if he didn’t want to accept her words. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a shuddering breath, the anger in his eyes giving way to exhaustion, and something else—something close to vulnerability.

Soar continued, sensing that she was getting through. “You’re not alone in this. Ike isn’t the only one who needs help, Mictlan. So do you. And I’m here, whether you want me to be or not. Whether you think you deserve it or not. I’m here.”

The two pairs of eyes stared at her, the god’s split form trembling with the effort of holding himself together, both physically and mentally. For a moment, Soar wondered if he would reject her, push her away as he had tried before. But then, slowly, painfully, Mictlan’s trembling lessened. The red light dimmed further until it was a mere glow, the room returning to something resembling normalcy.

Mictlan’s heads slowly began to merge, the divide between them closing as his breaths steadied. His eyes, though still wild with remnants of fear, focused more clearly on her. He didn’t say anything—perhaps he didn’t trust himself to speak yet—but his posture relaxed slightly, his hands dropping to his sides.

Soar let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, relieved but cautious. She didn’t release him entirely, keeping a firm but gentle hold on his shoulders as she watched him, ready to react if he started to spiral again.

“Good,” she murmured, her voice soothing. “That’s good, Mictlan. Just keep breathing. I’m right here.”

Mictlan closed his eyes, his body still tense but no longer trembling. The room was quiet now, the ominous red light all but gone, leaving them in a soft, warm glow. Soar could feel the tension between them easing, the storm inside Mictlan’s mind subsiding, at least for now.

He finally opened his eyes, his gaze meeting hers, He didn't know what he should've done in that moment. He didn't need support from her! And yet his body seemed to disagree, he never had to experience this....it was pathetic.....he could've saved himself! He just wanted that pathetic demon dead and this fallen angels head on a silver platter!

Mictlan's mind churned with a mix of emotions—anger, shame, and a strange, unfamiliar sense of relief. He didn't want to admit that her presence had steadied him, that her touch had been a tether to reality when everything else was slipping away. It felt weak, pathetic even, for a god of war to need comfort. His power should have been enough, his rage sufficient to fuel him through any storm. Yet here he was, standing before her, not in triumph but in defeat.

His thoughts twisted, recoiling from the vulnerability he had shown. Why had I let her in? His instinct was to push her away, to reassert the strength that defined him. She didn’t understand—couldn’t understand. How could a fallen angel, a being who had been cast down and stripped of her power, possibly grasp the weight of what he carried? The burden of battle, the endless cycle of conflict, the need to fight, to destroy, to win...

But as he looked at her, standing there with her steady gaze and gentle hands, another question pushed through the noise in his mind: Why hadn’t she recoiled? Any other being would have fled from his fury, from the tempest he had unleashed. Yet, Soar had stayed, not with the intention to challenge him, but to calm him. To help him.

Mictlan’s pride bristled at the thought. He didn’t need help, didn’t want it. He had lived for centuries by his own strength, his own might. Dependence was for the weak, and he was anything but weak. So why did a part of him—some small, buried fragment of his being—long for the connection she offered?

The flicker of vulnerability in his heart battled with his ingrained need for dominance. He wanted to lash out, to reject her kindness, to prove that he could stand alone. But another, quieter voice questioned: What if she’s right? What if there was more to him than the endless cycle of war and destruction? Could there be a different path, one that didn’t end in blood and fire?

His thoughts spiraled in conflicting directions. He was Mictlan, the god of war, of battle. He wasn’t supposed to hesitate, wasn’t supposed to question. Yet, here he was, tangled in doubt, the certainty that had once defined him slipping away like sand through his fingers.

Why do I even care? he wondered, anger bubbling up again. What does it matter what she thinks or says? And yet... it did matter. Somehow, against all his instincts, it mattered to him what she thought, how she saw him.

His fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body coiling tightly. But instead of exploding into rage, as he would have before, he found himself holding back. He met her gaze, searching her eyes for... what? Reassurance? Understanding? He didn’t know, and that uncertainty unnerved him more than anything else.

Could she really understand? He wanted to demand answers, to challenge her, to make her see the depths of his rage and despair. But at the same time, he feared the answers she might give. What if she saw something in him that he didn’t want to acknowledge? What if she shattered the carefully constructed image of himself that he had clung to for so long?

Mictlan’s thoughts continued to swirl, questions battering against the walls of his mind. Why did she care? Why did she stay? Why did it matter to him? And most troubling of all: What if he needed her more than he wanted to admit?