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Summary
She chokes on copper-sweet crimson, pressing a hand to the wound burrowed into her side, blood drizzling in shocking rivulets down the side of her leg and scattering across angel gold and stardust black. Shuraba digs in, chipping gold filigree and churning enochian and she gasps through a rattling lung, staring out at the abyss below them.
There's so many stars-
Jubileus' hand curls over her, too big clumsy fingers fitting across her crumbling body. Gentle, gentle, don't crush but cradle, hold like she was something easily broken. Bayonetta bares bloody teeth, snarling up at the deity and the man contained within its remaining eye, shocking blue and piteous. She hates them.
She hates herself.
OR
Jubileus and Balder win, but not without consequence