The fist ca as fast as his presence, and Zavian found himself flying back in the air with a force that knocked his breath away when he hit the ground. He heard a cracking noise, and his body felt like a sack of potatoes, bones misaligned and heavy.
Zavian pulled himself up, not acknowledging the bleeding on his legs, and Aloysius walked to him, the Darstun soldier behind him, ready to finish what he started.
"He is mine now," Aloysius told the soldier, predatory eyes gleaming at Zavian.
To his far right, Zavian saw Freya fighting for her life in the circle of the enemy's soldiers around her. She was fighting with the plaque sword ant to kill Aloysius, and she could not make her way out of the ambush of the soldiers yet.
"You surprise , son," Aloysius started. He looked even huger, his domineering fra covered in healed scars, face jagged from the horrors of the Underland.
"I was thinking I didn't have to kill you myself since I did make an impressive army to do that for ," Aloysius said. "But you have killed so of my best soldiers, so, you leave no choice."
"I would give you a less painful death if you surrender right now," Zavian offered.
Aloysius's laugh was so loud it felt like a taboo in the center of all the gore and death.
"Is that your way of telling you are losing, Zavian?" He asked, his claws slowly drawing out. "Because I can still reconsider if you bow to ." He gave a sardonic smile. "And besides, look around you, you aren't exactly on a winning streak."
Zavian straightened himself. "Very well then, you leave no choice than to kill you."
Aloysius grinned at the face of the challenge, and he ca striking so fast that Zavian was not prepared for the contact. His claws had ripped at Zavian's forehead, and the tallic taste of blood filled Zavian's mouth before his fist ca flying at Aloysius's face.
"Do you know what we could have achieved together?" Aloysius asked, blood dripping down his nose. He stalked around Zavian in a circle, and the King kept his dagger close, poised for an attack at any ti.
"We could have been Kings," Aloysius said. "Respected. Revered. We fought the war with the humans and we won, we could do so much more, have so much more."
"And for what?" Zavian spat his question. "What is there to gain? Power? Wealth? Fear?"
Aloysius shrugged a shoulder. "Among many others."
"You'd be nothing but a hollow empty shell," Zavian said. "And all these things you want would never fill the emptiness you have inside."
Aloysius quirked his mouth in a grin. "You think your little speech would make remorseful and I would swear to change my ways? So since we are doing this little dance, tell , Zavian, what exactly is better than power, than wealth, fear, respect, and many more? Tell ."
In all the centuries Zavian had been alive, there were experiences he had, both good and bad, that had shaped him into the demon he was till that mont. Grief and happiness, loss and gain, pain and sweetness, dark and light. He had experienced everything and more.
But Zavian knew, even before Aloysius had asked that question, of what was better to have than anything else. He knew what was better to have on days sadness or grief wanted to rip him from the inside out, when joy swelled in him he could almost combust, and when he replayed the monts he had painted as the most mundane, were actually all of the beauty in the totality of his life.
Aloysius stopped moving. "Well?" He said mockingly to Zavian.
If Zavian were to answer that question, he would tell Aloysius it was the laughs and the fights he had with Freya. The breaking and the repair of their blood bond. He would tell Aloysius it was the ti he and Freya had spent training in the fields together, of the laughter they shared over als.
He would recount how he almost hated his sister sotis, and how his love for her would drench this hatred, of how it would make him wish for their daily squabbles when Freya had been unconscious for so long. He would talk about Freya's enviable wealth of knowledge, of her dissection of information. He would talk about how Freya's arms had been his ho when grief wanted to swallow him whole.
He would talk about Azriel too, of his undying and unwavering loyalty, of his friendship that had turned to brotherhood, of how he was a pillar so solid he could lean against. He would tell Aloysius of the formidable aura Azriel carried, but had the softest of hearts, the most assuring of presence.
"I knew you don't have anything," Aloysius said, satisfied with himself.
But most of all, Zavian could spend centuries talking about Neera, and Lailah, the two won he had co to love as one. He would talk about how his life was never the sa since he t her, talk about the littlest details, the curve of her lips when she smiled, the sweetness of her voice, the generosity of her spirit.
He would talk about how she had given him the most intense of emotions, and how he wanted to get back to her, so badly at that ti he almost turned away from Aloysius to run back to the castle, hug her, kiss her, tell her in a thousand words how much she ant, even though a thousand words were so little.
So he had to defeat Aloysius, no, he must defeat him.
"You wouldn't understand," Zavian said to Aloysius at last. "You are never given the privilege to understand. You feed off things like chaos because deep down, without it all, Aloysius, you are nothing but an empty demon. You want to believe you matter, you are sothing, but you are nothing, Aloysius. Always have been. And you will be a rock weathering away in finery."
Reviews
All reviews (0)