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Summary
Viktor claws into the earth, fingers raw and digging into the wet sand and stone as blood fills his body. Drawing first breath is an overwhelming, blinding sensation, salty air blooming in his lungs, brushing against his bare skin, scrubbed raw and burning against the sand and salt.
As far as resurrections go, it’s not his favorite. Gentle waves roll over him but the tide is neither cooling nor forgiving, it licks at his skin like the blade of a knife, and the grit of the sand against his bare flank burns like open flame. Nakedness seems to remain an unfortunate mainstay of birth.
The warm arm clinging to him burns like hot iron, singing his flesh. “Viktor?”
Jayce winces and attempts to uproot himself from the ground, face contorting the way it often would when he was particularly hungover. “We’re alive?”
It’s not a question meant to be answered. Jayce was there when Viktor built them new bodies, ripped through the universe to hold them to the mortal plane, and sewed new flesh out of the dirt and stardust.
Viktor thought he had been ready to die.
__or, after death Viktor and Jayce wash up on a beach like some old driftwood