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- Well, now you are my equal.
A quiet, somewhat hoarse, but pure and sincere laughter breaks the silence, and the Slayer does not hold back a crooked smile, reacting to what his new brother said. The grass, crushed by heavy bodies, responded with a barely perceptible aroma in response to such a rude intrusion - everything around retained the echoes of the recent battle in which both creatures were competing on their own, not for death, but for life and unity together. The transparent, cold air of the mountains was so strikingly different from that intolerable stench of the Hell, which still haunted in restless dreams, that the marine does not immediately realize how the interlocutor is addressing him: Exactly until the latter, apparently tired of trying to attract attention to himself , does not knock back on the cool ground, hanging from above with a smug, but absolutely harmless grin. This bend of barely noticeable lips crossed out all the horrors experienced, becoming the only incentive to continue to fight for their difficult, but necessary for someone existence.
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- I saw you as my equal!
Despair and hatred in his voice hurts more than the meaning of the words heard, once dearly loved, but now bitter, like wormwood. Not allowing himself to succumb to the feelings that overwhelmed him, the Slayer gritted his teeth until a palpable whining in his tense jaw and fought silently, irreconcilably, against the one who, a few days ago, tenderly hugged his back open due to the peculiarities of Argent`s armor, demonstrating his endless acceptance and the same sincere, like the faith of the northern people, love. Those old days have sunk into oblivion, leaving behind only a misunderstanding of why everything happened so that fate again takes away even a fleeting chance for peace and human happiness. Now the eyes of his brother did not express anything but disappointment. Disappointment that the foreign lover did not accept his sacred views, that he did not take the righteous, according to the Night Guardian, side, remaining the same obstinate stubborn fool that declared to the ancient lands. That he turned out to be a contemptible traitor to someone who loved so much and blindly.
Shrink the weapon. Find a weak spot in the enemy's defense.
Look into the eyes.
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Another demon, a new monster, which repelled by its mere appearance, gradually emerged from the scarlet portal, not taking the same burning gaze through and through. He was saying something - the Slayer was not aware of the words spoken, but he could easily read the intonation that was angry and hurt, as if offended, which only remotely made it look like something alive, like human. Something this creature could never be. Not wanting to delve into the meaning of what he has heard, the Doom Soldier throws up a heavy, modified shotgun and directs the muzzle between the lower pair of horns, intending to release a charge of shot directly into the disfigured face in order to end the intruder once and for all and proceed to further cleaning the territory, as was required from him by the Gods themselves, who played their undoubtedly fascinating, but just as unbearably cruel games of other people's fates, on the chessboard of which even he, the sacred warrior of the human race, remained only one of the pawns.
Shrink the weapon. Find a weak spot in the enemy's defense.
Look into the eyes.
- You have never been my equal.
The phrase, spoken in a voice full of contempt and rage, makes him flinch and for the first time look at his opponent, not rushing to deliver the decisive blow. Outwardly, the demon was no different from the rest of the hellish creatures, but under all the grotesqueness of the perverted corruption of the image was hidden the only creature that could utter these bitter, but too, too familiar words - the last that remained after the former loss, and what the Slayer missed. Not only not admitting to myself, but also anxiously keeping the pain under an impassive mask.
A man walks towards the monster, frozen in anticipation of someone else's attack, and utters what caused him trembling and a sharp ringing of the fallen ax on the stone floor.
One word. One name.
His forgotten name.
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The hands that once gripped the deadly ax, graciously presented by the priests of Deag in honor of joining the Order of the Night Sentinels, now clung to the shoulders of others with the same tenacity and hidden despair, as if they knew in advance a win-win outcome of the battle, but still tried to preserve this fleeting sense of the unknown : who will win the new battle? Is he again? Or fate, bestowed by someone even higher than the Creators themselves, will still hear the silent prayers and give the first, in his memory, defeat. Squeezing other people's hips with his knees, no longer a nameless soldier, but a former warrior of Argenta moved furiously, not wanting so soon to stop the only skill that he retained over these many years - to fight. To fight until blood and tears flowed down the face from an excessively sharp pace and carefully wiped off by an opponent - a lost lover - the goal, stubbornly pursing his lips, not allowing himself to moan even through a kiss, carefully but persistently taken by the same. The time spent in a world where there is no and never was love left an imprint like a dirty spot, and now the Slayer could not completely relax even in such a delicate position, despite all the efforts that he tried to put the horned Guardian opposite. The same one, it seemed, did not at all notice the raging emotions inside the once-lost, but now new-found brother, clinging tightly with both hands to the trembling thighs up to the marks that appeared on the tanned skin, which will not soon disappear after the accomplished act of intimacy. Enjoying this strange contradiction, the demon predatory licked the most visible scars, as if by such touching, he again evoked vague phantom memories of how each was received. This sweet pain and a sharp, aching feeling of the experienced loss mixed into one poisonous cocktail, which provoked to move towards, pressing body to body, as if continuing a senseless fight, after which a fleeting acceptance will certainly come.
The Marauder growls hoarsely in primitive pleasure and his eyes light up with a puzzled fire when his man, for the first time in a long time of their acquaintance, suddenly leans forward and covers his sharp fangs with a kind of kiss, during which, moreover, he puts one of his palms on a sunken, almost absent cheek stroking in an absurd semblance of untimely caress. The gesture, so absurd and unexpected, turns out to be accepted by the fallen Guardian, and now a quiet moan is heard, albeit muffled by the touch of the jaws, but this is no less sincere and eagerly swallowed by the demon in order to call him more, and many more with his vicious tenderness. once after.
Hug strong shoulders. Find a sensitive place in the lover's nature.
Look into the eyes.