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It took mere minutes for Lost Temple to be burnt down, hours for the news to spread, and days for inphernals to turn against the deities. Forced to stay away from mortals and public eye, the Swords retreated to their homes, wherever those were. Now, Blackrock is an ambitious region, willing to do almost anything to gain more power. With the recent tragedy, one thing was on their mind; the fame, the respect they'd get if they took down one of the hated deities. And they just so happen to have one of them right at their doorstep.
The abrasive screech of rusty metal sliding would've made anyone flinch in surprise. Zuka had heard that grating noise countless of times whenever he opened the door to the shed, yet this time it felt harsher, like it was trying to chip away his composure, fuel his inner turmoil. He stood before countless weapons — guns of many types, blades all sharpened and polished, bombs ready to be detonated. His heavy boots scuffed up dust as he went over to the firearms and picked up a revolver, then to the knives and chose a dagger. Small but reliable things.
The loud and boisterous Zuka would've chosen something flashy, something that would scare others just by seeing it, or simply stuck to using his gear. But that version of him wasn't alive today, not right now, and the thought of having their blood forever staining his rocket launcher made his insides twist uncomfortably. He sighed shakily, his breath visible in the freezing air, then walked out, closing the door behind him and wincing once again at the ear-piercing scrape.
He gazed down at the weapons in his hand, his mind wandering into a haze for a moment, then locked the gun in a safe mode and wrapped the knife in a small cloth. They were shoved into his bag with a huff. The snow crunched beneath his feet with every slow step he took. He wanted to stall. He didn't want to do this. He had been absolutely distraught when the news of KORBLOX Administration's decision was delivered, when the task had been assigned to him. Why hadn't he backed out? Zuka felt the guilt eating at his heart and tried to shake it off. He was B. Zuka, top ambassador of Blackrock, a soldier who showed no mercy to his victims. He had even sworn to be responsible for executing any of his fellow workmates if they ever became traitors. This mission was no different. He shouldn't be scared of killing them. He shouldn't. He wasn't.
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
He knew how he felt for them. They'd be harder to kill than someone who's just a friend to him.
Snowflakes drifted down from the clouds, catching onto Zuka's grey ski mask. He trekked through the thick carpet of snow in search of that familiar black and green hat or that large, notable skeletal wing. Surely they were somewhere nearby. The fear in him, the part he called cowardly, considered turning back. Maybe there was still a chance he could run away. But if he returned without their heart, Blackrock would be disappointed. He'd be known as the guy who had a deity in his hands and still managed to let them slip away. His pride forced him to keep moving forward.
He had the whole day to eliminate them, twenty-four hours, and if he was unable to do so, he would fail. Failure. It would forever weigh him down. He was supposed to be flawless. Mistakes are burdens and he couldn't afford to make any with his current position in rank. He would be risking shame, demotion or worse if he failed. The idea should mortify him, though, it seemed that their death would weight heavier.
His goggles were blurred, his vision a blend of white and grey. Fortunately, there wasn't a blizzard today, otherwise everything would've been thirteen times harder and he'd be swept away already. He had on his thick uniform designed for this kind of weather but it was still fairly chilly. Soon enough, possibly too soon for Zuka's likings, he spotted them.
Darkheart sat on a small stool at the edge of a frozen lake with a hole in it that they had cut out, a fishing rod in hand and slowly kicking their legs. A shabby metal bucket laid half toppled over in the snow with several fish tails and heads sticking out the rim. They then picked up the faint sound of Zuka's footsteps, sitting up straighter and glancing around before noticing him in the distance. Frantically, they waved at him with a hand, the gesture rather exaggerated, and almost had their fishing rod slip out their other hand.
Zuka couldn't help but let out soft laugh as they clumsily caught their rod from plunging into the icy water. He made his way down a slight slant of the ground, careful not to slip, and approached the deity. Darkheart smiled widely, their tail wagging behind them, a clear sign of their excitement to see him. If only he could feel the same way. His heart ached with dread and something else he didn't want to name.
"Hey," he called out, unable to muster anything else to say.
"Didn't expect to be seeing you this morning~" they replied.
He paused near them, realising that he'd just have to stand there, until Darkheart summoned a second stool beside theirs for him. The thick layer of ice on the surface of the lake felt fragile as he slid across it for some reason, or perhaps it was just from his unease. Before he felt like it would crack under his weight, he quickly sat down. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
Darkheart noticed the faint shivers of his body. The runes around their arm glowed and Zuka felt warmer somehow. They'd casted some kind of spell on him. He sighed, then took off his goggles and ski mask, chucking them both into his bag. His fingers grazed past the cold steel of the gun in there, that earlier fear returning as it reminded him of the task at hand. He zipped it shut, taking a deep breath to ease his mind.
Silence hung between them. Zuka fidgeted with his gloves. His tail flicked nervously. Darkheart noticed his unusual apprehension, quietly eyeing him and trying to gauge his feelings.
"... Something wrong...?" They tilted their head to the side a bit.
Zuka flinched when their voice suddenly cutting through his thoughts. "I-I'm- no, it's fine..." He cringed at how he'd fumbled his words.
Darkheart's grip on their fishing rod tightened. They fell weirdly quiet too. While their attention seemed to be on the water, Zuka could occasionally feel their eyes on him despite being unable to even see their eyes. He kept his gaze on his hands, his lap, the ice, anything but the inphernal sitting a foot away. When he risked a glance over at them, their usual playfulness had vanished. They lacked that grin that was often present. Something stung his heart and it forced him to look away again.
He almost expected them to keep pushing, being that he knew they had no sense of boundaries, yet they didn't. It became awkward fast. Eventually, he felt like he needed to say something, anything.
"There's... something on my mind," he admitted.
Darkheart looked up. Zuka immediately regretted it. He couldn't just say 'Blackrock wants me to kill you'. That was absurd. But he did have another thing he wanted to get out to them.
"It's..." he continued, trying desperately to find the right words. "Look, you're one of my closest friends and I... I find myself really enjoying your company and even wishing for it when- when you're not around..."
His throat seemed to close up, his voice coming out strained.
"Darkheart, I- I love you..." he confessed.
He could feel his face heat up despite the weather. He was sure Darkheart could see how his visible skin flushed a darker shade even with his mask covering up most of it.
"I love you- a lot... A-and I just- I can't-" He was rambling now.
Clawed fingertips brushed past his gloved hand, so lightly that he could've mistaken it for snowflakes. He cut himself short before he could choke on his words. Darkheart gently pressed their palm against his, then intertwined their fingers. They had abandoned their rod on the ground. It went silent again for a couple seconds.
They finally responded, "never thought you'd feel that way... Me...? Really...?"
A pause. One that felt like an eternity to Zuka.
"... I love you too, Zuka..."
Their smile softened into something warm. He smiled back. It didn't quite reach his eyes. He wanted to cry.
His other hand came forward, stopped short of Darkheart momentarily, then went closer. When they didn't retreat, he wrapped his arms around them, pulling them off their stool into a tight embrace. They hugged back. Zuka buried his face into the crook of their neck, trying his best not to let them notice the subtle hitches of his breath or the glossy look of his eyes as tears pricked at them.
The two broke apart after a good few minutes. Darkheart kept their hands on his waist and Zuka had managed to steady himself. He stayed standing still as their hands wandered around, up his back and through his hair, along his shoulder and to his jaw. They cupped his chin, their touch soft, and leaned forward a bit.
Zuka knew what was coming and decided to interrupt. "Darkheart... may I..."
A hand came up to gently pinch the edge of their hat.
"May I see you...? Your eyes, I mean... Please..." he murmured.
Surprise flickered onto their face briefly before they gave a small nod. Zuka stared as the veil of shadows was removed, his eyes widening. He'd always imagined what was behind it. He'd pictured something sharp and intimidating. It was a bit of a shock when he was met with something far softer. Downturned eyes gazed back at him with bright green irises that swallowed the whites. They weren't normal. Creature-like.
"They're gorgeous..." His mouth was slightly agape, breathless.
This was the first and last time he'll ever seen them.
Before he could think through his own actions, he was already moving forward. His hand shifted to settle at the back of their head as his lips collided with theirs clumsily, driven by desperation. They kissed back with equal passion, purring. He wanted to lose himself in them. He wanted to erase the idea of their impending fate from his brain. And yet his free hand was reaching for his bag. For the gun.
"I love you so much..." he mumbled into their lips, his voice cracking.
He pressed forward to kiss again just as the steel kissed the side of Darkheart's head.
Ichor stained the pure white snow, a beautiful gold that was sickening in this context. Darkheart pulled away from the kiss, their expression faltering into something that looked stunned. Their hold on him loosened. They went limp. Zuka nearly jolted forward to catch them but remained frozen rigid as they collapsed. A broken whimper escaped his throat involuntarily.
His chest felt like it had been repeatedly stabbed. He felt like he'd stabbed himself. It was cold once again. Their spell had come off. The gun fell from his hand and he dropped onto his knees beside their unmoving body. A trembling hand held onto them, gripping tightly onto their robe. The other wiped his eyes that were blurry from the tears that threatened to spill.
Darkheart's eyes, those eyes he'd been admiring less than a minute ago, were half open but lifeless. Their hair fell over their face and splayed across the ground messily. The wound on the side of their head was visible, gold continuing to gush out. A cry was torn from Zuka. He held them tightly, his face pressed onto their chest, shoulders shaking violently as sobs wracked his body. There was no more heartbeat. No more breathes.
He cried into them for about an hour, feeling the warmth slowly drain from their body as they bled out. His body was numb to the snow around him now, the only pain he could register being their absence. When his cries had reduced to quiet hiccups and sniffles, he sat up a bit, still holding onto them. It was done. He had stuff to report back to. He uncoordinatedly fumbled around with his bag, searching for his dagger. Blackrock wanted their heart for evidence.
The news spread quickly of the fallen deity, killed by a mortal. The streets of Blackrock buzzed with gossip and rumours of how it happened. Inphernals from other regions had their attention on this too. Zuka had been promoted. But for what? He was B. Zuka, the first to kill a god, a soldier hollowed out by grief. He had gotten too attached and this was the consequence. He never should've let himself get that close.