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The curse burns almost every cell of the body with acid, spreading through the capillaries, and Anmicius knows that this is most likely the end. Even so, he still cannot fully describe his feelings. Perhaps he screwed up. Definitely screwed up. It gnaws at the inside, adding to the pain, and he is ashamed of himself more than he is ashamed in front of someone. Because all his loud words, actions, even the damn vow - everything turned out to be nothing more than an empty sound that did no good, and this is the most disgusting thing he could do.
His whole body hurts. Absolutely. It hurts every second, ringing in his head, and it’s not just hard; it’s impossible to endure. Deep inhale. Slow exhalation. There is a distinct cracking sound in the skull. Anmicius knows that he wants to do at least something worthy before his death. At least something that will make his existence meaningful. And he probably knows who he needs now.
When Anmicius finds Ninler, he instinctively takes a stance, putting out in front of him the daggers he never lets go of, and for a moment he freezes, looking with wide eyes as Anmicius unquestioningly falls to his knees in front of him and raises his hands.
Unarmed.
Ninler is not breathing. He looks with a side glance for something or someone—anything that looks like a trap—and doesn’t find it. No one except the two of them, dead silence and the hoarse breathing of Anmiсius He looks disgusting; the mark of the curse has spread all over his skin, leaving almost no gaps, and even his left eye has begun to be partially affected, barely retaining a piece of humanity. A spectacle of death throes and absolute despair is something strikingly different from a knight shining with life and hope with whom they last crossed arms. Ninler doesn’t even mentally have time to ask himself a question because Anmicius opens his mouth first and says something about that arena, about their memories, that Anmicius has not forgotten what the God of Death promised Ninler, and takes a short breath, gasping for breath.
Anmicius wants to die with dignity, doing some good. As befits a knight. And also quickly and, preferably, painlessly. Therefore, when he sees Ninler unquestioningly placing a blade against his neck, he slowly closes his eyes and, involuntarily, with a smile and humble expectation of oblivion, whispers the unconscious “Survive”. Sincerely and purely. At least let him survive. At least somebody.
Anmicius wants to save at least one life, even if that life belongs to a murderer.
So when he hears how his whisper echoes off the bare walls and the cold steel doesn't touch his skin, he opens his eyes in disbelief. Ninler froze in front of him with an expression on his face that for the first time showed something other than emptiness and indifference, with eyebrows knitted in despair and something that was eager to be freed from the depths of his gaze. Something that was more alive than anything Ninler had experienced in his life. In those endlessly long seconds of silence, neither of them dared to make a sound.
Anmicius bows his head with a weak smile as he feels his body fall apart.
Exactly ten seconds later, the sound of a dropped blade resounds loudly and deafeningly throughout the empty room.