Chapter Text
“Ivan, you bastard!”
Wings unfurled, pure like snow jutting out of the prophet's back. A demon, yet everything screamed angel, from the pure, unblemished wings that the shattered ceiling let its light grace, illuminating the previously darkened castle. It was unholy, it was beautiful.
The imposing stained glass window that showed demons painted in hues of black and red, corruption in every shard of glass, shattered, coloured glass fractured, a gaping hole in the window. Jagged edges jutting out framing Ivan in a picture of holiness, an angel in the face of destruction, in the face of corruption.
White feathers cascaded to the ground, snow cleansing the ground saturated with blood. Despite the holiness Ivan’s wings spoke of, his eyes were a different story. That pinprick of red he barely saw unless he brought the other to his level, had engulfed the darkness, until only a slither of ebony was seen, snake-like as it watched him.
And yet the antler-like horns that poked through black as night locks, spoke of something akin to a fallen angel, halo-like as they curled towards each other. Paired with the rays of light that shone down on him, Ivan looked…Not quite fallen, but not quite pure.
Lines of corruption truly broke the holy spell, ivory skin painted in strokes of ebony, tracing his cheek, his neck. The faint memory of holding him over the bridge came to mind, his finger prints covered by lines of desecration.
Ivan descended, that damned snaggletooth sticking out, lips pulled into a smile. A smile, as corruption coursed through his veins, as he knew what his fate must come to now. And he still had the audacity to smile.
“Aren’t you going to kill me Till?”
Those words, like Ivan thought he meant nothing to him. It was ridiculous. Till was dense, he knew he was, but even he noticed the way Ivan’s eyes never seemed to stray too far from him. This prophet, one who spoke of knowing the future he didn’t, was going to sacrifice his life, for what? For Mizi and Sua? For him?
They didn’t need Till, they needed Ivan. And yet Ivan was the one sacrificing himself, was the one with corruption through his veins. And was the one smiling. Even though he was going to die.
“I-I guess I’m gonna have to. Aren’t I?”
He gritted his teeth, yet still his hand reached for his sword, ‘Death’s Riot’ revealed as it glinted in the light, and Ivan’s eyes lit up. It was strange, should someone about to die look so happy to see his executioner brandish their weapon? Probably not, but this was Ivan. He was strange, even for someone in the apocalypse.
“Go on then! Mizi. Sua. C’mon raise your weapons, and kill me.”
“Ivan.” They looked conflicted, hands trembling.
Feathers rained upon them, serrated edges slicing against soft skin, white feathers tainted in red, as it soaked into the purity. Weapons in kindness.
He was trying to incur their wrath, to make himself feel like he deserved their violence. That he deserved the punishment that they may rain upon him. It was cruel on them all.
But Sua still brandished her weapon, ‘Moon Carver’ as she reached for him, weapon digging into his chest. Blood dirtied with corruption falling and yet it was Ivan’s blood, as it soaked into the black shirt he wore, barely noticeable against the dark colour. But they all knew it was there.
It was obvious in Mizi’s hesitation, the second longer between Sua and her, that she was distraught. That she was fighting the beginning of tears. And Till couldn’t blame her. Desperation disguised as strength as she lunged, the temporary weapon she wielded brought against Ivan’s chest, that smile still painted on.
Helios and Selene, the weapons he had given Ivan were being turned against him, the fangs of eclipse glinting as he rushed towards Mizi and Sua, one hit for each dagger. Fire and Ice. Sun and Moon. One could not exist without the other.
As Sua cried in pain, fear in Ivan’s eyes, the demon’s body trembling as his arm was forced back down. Mizi pushed them out of the way, a forest fire in those verdant eyes. Knife digging into his neck, a pained shout unnerving them all. Ivan had just grinned and beared it but he was being hurt. They were hurting him, they were killing him.
With a backhand, Mizi was flung into the wall, Sua rushing towards her.
His hand trembled. Ivan stood before him, body bloodied and yet his wings remained pristine, unsullied by the violent actions.
“C’mon Till.”
That did it, all rationale left him, something distraught building in his chest as he lunged towards the demon king. ‘Death’s Riot’ in his hands, as they battled, daggers slowly slipping against the silver bladed sword, and with a swift movement, the blade found its way into Ivan’s chest.
Blood dripped across the wings, horns slightly cracked, his signs of holiness tainted, as those flecked blood wings were now forever stained.
“Thank you Till.” The words were so full of gratitude, and he knew there was only truth in those words.
He could feel the tears falling from his own eyes, for the blood that sullied divinity, for Ivan, for how it didn’t need to end this way. They fell onto bloodied skin, onto a gouged chest. The cries of Mizi echoing through the castle, Sua’s soft voice wavering, but he didn’t care at that moment. All that mattered in this very moment was Ivan.
And Ivan’s eyes watered, blood red eyes crying, drops of black spilling from his eyes, staining ivory skin in trails of ink.
“It was my favourite story.”
He didn’t know what that meant.
Ivan’s hands reached for his, and who was Till to deny him of his request, his hand unwrapping the sword reaching for Ivan’s own. And just like every time he reached back, it was too late, the prophet’s hand falling to the ground with a thump, that faint grazing warmth before he could grip it gone, gone forever.
A cry tore itself from his throat, rivers of tears gushing, as he clutched the cold, dead body close.
‘Ivan cries when he feels loved and Till cries when he loves something.'