[PPZ] - Til Death Do Us Part #BigChange [Elarcy]

5| Hell hath no fury like Elizabeth Darcy

Rick twirled his machete, blood smeared across his striking face turning his blue eyes vivid as a morning sky after a blood-soaked battle. Michonne appeared at Rick's side, her katana set against Wickham's throat. Abraham, Glen, Daryl and Carl swirled in, creating a circle around us in case the dam of Wickham's dark powers broke and the putrid flood spilled in to consume us all.

"He who holds the hand rules the world, right?" Picking up the severed appendage, Rick tossed it to me with a smirk.

Claiming the hand, my eyes skimmed around me to the Stricken, to see they watched in rapt fascination. The connection hadn't been broken, I realized, merely...shifted. And unless I fancied myself devoured by a thousand bloodthirsty zombies, I had to do something. Anything.

Gathering my wits, and my breath, I held up that rotting appendage in one hand and set palm to palm with the other.

<She who holds Us,> a voice whispered. Deep, sibilant and only one I could hear. <Is she worthy?>

"Yes," I answered, without hesitation.

<We shall see...>

Pain. Bright and exquisite lashed through me—wild as lightening, terrifying as a storm. It seared straight to my soul, an agony so complete all I could do was scream. That dark voice whispered inside my head, speaking in a tongue I couldn't understand. The entire ordeal took all but moments but those seconds were the longest of my life.

When it was done, the connection between our palms was released and I staggered back and gazed down at the glowing symbol in my own flesh where the one on Wickham's Palm had gone cold. Empty.

As the last tendrils of pain subsided, I raised my hand high above me and the symbol grew brighter still. The gaze of the Stricken followed that movement and I knew I had them. Bound to me with invisible threads like the translucent silk of a spider's web. They were mine to do with as I wished.

"Lizzie," Wickham panted pitifully. "Please, have mercy. Lizzie..." To think I had once championed this man. Befriended him. Trusted him. I thought of all the lives ruined by his poisonous words, the homes shattered beneath the ruthless heel of his foul plans for world domination, and my heart closed itself to his pleas for mercy.

"My name," I said, accepting the hilt of my blade from Michonne, "Is Elizabeth Darcy."

#

The sun rose red over a field of smoking remains and for the first time in two years, I breathed easy.

The battle was over. The war was well underway to be won.

After having Wickham torn to bits by his own Horde, with a sweep of my arm I'd released the Stricken from their purgatory, freeing their souls as I commanded the lot of them to walk into the burning pit lit by Daryl's formidable weapon: the bazooka.

More Stricken, beyond my immediate reach, still remained. More I would have to attend to. But that task was mine to fulfill. Rick and his crew had honoured our arrangement. Wickham was no more and with the coming of the French and my newfound power, our time of peril was at an end. So I upheld my end of our bargain.

With heads of cattle and horses tethered to bumpers, crates of chicken lashed to hardtops and their vehicles loaded with enough grain to feed them for well over a year, Darcy and I stood with them in Pemberley's gardens. Every bit as saddened by their pending departure as I was elated by our victory. I'd come to respect and admire this rough, motley band of warriors. I would miss them greatly.

"Will you not at least consider staying until the night?" Darcy asked, giving voice to words echoing within my own mind.

"Yes," I chimed in. "We could celebrate—hold a feast in your honour. It has been so long since we've had cause to celebrate without fear or worry."

"Our people need us," Rick said. A smile crinkling in the corner of his eyes as he looped his thumbs looped through the holster on his waist. "You and your people could always come with us. Our world could use skilled fighters."

A warm flush of joy surged within my breast. For having known this man only for the briefest of moments I knew he could bestow no greater compliment upon my person.

"As you are beholden to your people, as am I to my country, therefore we shall not deter you any further. You must be eager to get home." Thrusting out my hand, I shook his; a bittersweet mixture of sorrow and affection rippling through me from that simple point of contact. "I shall remember you all with the greatest of fondness and affection," I said, my gaze skipping to each of their faces so that I might recall even the smallest detail. "I am forever grateful."

Smiling, Rick lifted a hand to his brow, tipping an imaginary brim. "Miz Darcy."

Speaking the words over the amulet, I watched as the shimmering wall of light opened around them, and stepped back as that light swelled. A silver glimmer that burned white-hot, too blinding to behold. Shielding my face with my hand, in a blink the light vanished and I knew, before my hand fell, that Rick and his crew were gone.

Vanished. As if they'd never been there to begin with.

At my side, Darcy looped his remaining arm around my waist. Turning into his embrace, I looked up into his strong, dark gaze.

"So, it is but us once more." A flicker of concern strained his features and he raised the remaining stump of his arm, sleeve sewn shut around the blunted end. Carol, as skilled as any doctor I've ever met, had done wonders with tending his wounds. "Now I am a man...incomplete. My sword arm is gone. I am not the warrior you fell in love with. I hope this does not trouble you."

"I love the man as much as the warrior." Brushing my hands across his chest, I blinked away tears. "The loss of an arm can never change that."

Emotion surged in his gaze at my words though his doubt would not be so easily banished. "Are you certain you will have no cause for regret?"

"Mr. Darcy you are stuck with me." Laughing, I lopped my arms around his neck and dragged his mouth down to mine. "Till death do us part."