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He'd never looked that beautiful.
Sure, Saps had seen Fluixon look this way before this— wild eyed, his mouth agape, the buttons on his coat undone. The blood, though, was new, and as it sprayed up and coated Fluix's chin and chest, his violet eyes locked into Saps' own.
He could feel the flush settle into his cheeks, feel it spread over his entire body. But then someone was calling his name, and… He locked eyes with 3Below.
The pale-blue skinned man was shouting at him, lithe hands tugging on his sleeve, blaming him... Could no one could see Fluix, there, outside the padoga, Alke's dead body in his hands?
There had been no struggle. Alke was already dying when Fluix put the knife to his throat, but it didn't mean that when the blood spilled on the sandstone steps it was silent.
But… As those violet eyes locked into his, that cruel mouth turned up, Saps knew…
Fluix had done this.
Saps watched as slowly, that cruel mouth, the one that had smiled at him, that had pressed into his shoulders and his face, those thin lips that had told him so many things… formed one word.
Run.
The next time he saw Fluixon, the man had sought him out.
"Saps?" Fluixon had called. He was hiding out in a mangrove root, watching as his oldest friend waded through the swamp in his underclothes, his indigo coat gone, his hair loose, hands by his sides.
This was Fluix as Saps new him— relaxed, laid back, and loving, the Fluix that had held him not three nights before.
"You." Saps hadn't been able to stop himself from snapping back at Fluixon's call. He stepped out of the darkness of the mangrove, arms crossed, scowling.
"God. Saps." Fluix had tried to hug him, pressing his hands against Saps' back, his face, his shoulders. "You're okay."
"Okay?" Saps seethed, "Okay? I'm living in a swamp! You—"
Fluix had captured his mouth in a searing kiss.
Saps couldn't help but melt into his arms.
Fluix had to have some sort of plan, some sort of protection for him. They loved each other. He wouldn't just… leave Saps here. Right?
"Everyone thinks I'm a murderer." Saps whispered softly. Fluix dropped his head on Saps' shoulder, pressing small, apologetic kisses into his neck. "You murdered everyone, and now I'm living here, hiding, in a swamp, instead of our bed—"
"You'll find somewhere else." Fluix murmured against his lips. "I won't take that from you, too. Your agency is your own."
of course. Of course.
Fluixon had no plan. No protection, not for him. Fluixon only cared about two things… himself, and this bullshit plan that he'd created in Saps' bed, late at night, when Saps would rub his shoulders, when he'd listen to the man rant quietly about 3Below's cowardice, about Luminara's closeness to the coast, the way that the leaders of Two should band together and fight One, about how everyone was so stupid, and how no one could see the obvious threat that these unknown people posed.
His hands found Fluixon's neck. Saps' fingers grew tight around the pale skin. Fluix fought it, but Saps had been out in the wilderness two days, adrenaline running through his veins.
"Please," Fluix gasped out. "Saps—"
He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill him. Fluix was his friend, his lover— Saps choked back a sob as he released him.
"Go." He whispered. "Go away."
Fluix's eyes widened, but he took a step back.
And then another.
And another, and kept going, running, until Saps was alone once again in the shade of the mangrove.
His best option was to leave. He'd known that.
But running was so strange. As he packed what little he had, Saps sent another message to Turntapp.
Saparata: I'm on my way.
Turntapp: Okay. When you get here I will let you up.
He smiled, slightly. His run to island one was a good thing. He had to think that way— he had to. Two was his home, his starting place. Leaving it would hurt him, but to stay alive…
He shouldered his pack, put it in the boat, and ran. The way to the bridge was easy. Fluix had brought him here by waterway before, to show him the "hypocrisy," as he called it.
Saps hadn't particularly cared.
It was a beautiful bridge, and at sunset, when the light had hit it just right, Fluix had pulled him to his side, wrapped his arms around Saps' shoulders, and kissed him sweetly.
That was what Saps had remembered, not the rant Fluixon had gone on about the bridge, not the various points of entry and exit that the bridge had open. Not the way Fluixon had described blowing it all up.
He entered through the main point. Snuck across, even though it was daybreak. Even by boat, One was far away, and he'd told Tapp he'd be there at sunset.
They'd fucked.
It wasn't like he'd planned on this, and honestly? He wouldn't have changed anything.
Fluixon had betrayed him, humiliated him. They were never exclusive, either. As he laid in Tapp's bed, playing his fingers through the sleeping Covenant leader's hair, he thought about Fluix.
Fluix was very different from Tapp. The Covenant was very different. Island One was very different. He'd never imagined that this was what his life would be like— betrayed by one lover, put on trial for murders he'd never commited, on the run from the law, turning about in the bed of someone he didn't really know.
Tapp hummed, his face warm on Saps' stomach, and kissed him sleepily, Saps chuckling as Tapp's mustache tickled his skin.
This was sweet— He'd thought that Tapp would be rough, harsh, but the man was a surprisingly gentle lover. He wasn't used to that. Fluix had been gentle, at times, and sweet, but in bed, he was rough, growling, nearly sadistic.
Saps couldn't shake the feeling that nothing would be enough, not with Tapp. Nothing would ever be enough, not when Fluix had shaped him, inside and out. He'd never forget that.
Saps glanced over and saw Fluix's face in the windowpane.
The reflection glimmered, but he knew that his lover was there, watching him, spread out in the bed with another man, kissing across his hard body. The violet eyes were sad, teary, as he watched Tapp's large hands run over Saps' bare chest.
He pressed a kiss to Tapp's forehead, kicking a blanket over them and turning away from the reflection in the frosty windowpane.
"Take me to Westhelm tomorrow?" He murmured. Tapp had agreed, softly, with a kiss.
Nothing ever worked out for him.
Not for Saps, no. He was hunted, or accused, or martyred, somehow, always. He dug into the snow with his bare hands and watched the icy caps on his fingers fall away. Perks of being from a warm island, he guessed. He didn't get cold that easily.
He was utterly and completely alone now.
Not Tapps, not Westhelm's support, not Fluix, not even becoming a hermit back on Two had worked for him. Trouble sought him out like he was the bone to a very large dog, and it never, ever, let him go intact.
He slid bricks into place one by one. The tower would be his home now.
It would hold him until he was ready, until his feet touched the railings and then the air, until he could fall into the hard-packed snow and never wake up again.
Saps wondered what it would be like, dying.
He imagined the cold air plummeting past his face, the hard feel of the tundra against his body. As he built up his tower, he turned to see Ish watching over him.
"There's no point anymore!" He yelled at the silent god. Ish cocked its head. "Fluix won!" He tossed a brick at it, and Ish came closer, listening. "He completely won!"
He chucked another brick into the snow. It felt good, to get angry again. Ish watched as he kicked and hit his pile, tears streaming down his frozen face as he ranted.
"I can't trust anybody!" He screamed. His throat grew raw very quickly, but Saps didn't really care. It wouldn't benefit him any to talk to anything but Ish until he died. "There's no point anymore!"
Ish placed its hand on his shoulder. It said something in the garbled language it always used, that no one could understand. He imagined it was something comforting, like "don't die. Fluixon is stupid."
But Fluix wasn't stupid. He was smart, tricky. Saps had known from the very first moment they'd met— the man was trouble, his views were complicated and pushed against other islander's morals. He was argumentative… but… alluring.
Something in Saps had been drawn to him, from the very beginning.
In the first days, on their mining expeditions, when they stole kisses from each others' mouths and snuggled their sleeping bags together instead of apart, Saps never imagined that this was where they'd end up.
He sobbed, and Ish watched as he broke down completely.
Eventually, the god hauled him up and put him in the tower, closing the door from the cold and muttering in gibberish. He curled up on the floor, and Ish put a blanket over him, warm enough to soothe his hiccupy sobs.
he stayed there, on the floor, even when Ish left, even when the wind howled so strongly outside he swore he could hear Fluix's voice in it.
The invitation was unexpected. Schpood was rash, and bold, but he'd never do this.
The invite had to be a joke.
But as Ish placed it on his mantel, Saps wondered if Schpood was doing this for a reason. His bag was being packed anyway, Ish intent on taking him to Westhelm, just to get him out of the tower. The silent god kept checking in on him, coming over, picking him off the cold floor and putting him in a bed it'd also materialized. He wondered if it was just the god's way, or if it had some sort of ulterior motive.
Tapp's knock on his door was also unexpected.
"Hey, buddy." The man's voice was a smooth purr. "Westhelm sent us to escort you."
Saps glanced at Ish, who nodded, gibberish in long strings of words pouring out as it floated above Tapp's head.
"Come on, Sap." Tapp said, his large hands nearly dwarfing Saps' waist. "We gotta get moving before first light. Westhelm wants you there early."
"You were going to kill me," Saps said hoarsely. Tapp threw back his head and laughed.
"Never, Bub." He murmured, kissing the side of Saps' head. "The pirates were. I took you in. I'm loyal, don't forget."
His cronies gathered at the door were already shivering, but Tapps took the time to press against him, his hand on Saps' back comforting.
"We'll protect you," He said. "You're innocent. I believe that."
Saps stifled a sob into Tapp's chest and went along, travelling with the Covenant across the continent, all the way to Westhelm.
Emperor Schpood was very warm and welcoming when he got there.
The Covenant members and Saps were given Westhelmian clothes to wear; light robes and pants that flowed when they walked. Saps' were a bit more revealing than he thought they should be— the creamy silk shirt was open, flowing, and the brownish pants slid off his hips, thanks to the months of near-starvation in the tundra.
No armor was needed, or so Schpood seemed to think. Not here in Westhelm.
Tapp's hand stayed on his back for the whole tour, but Schpood didn't seem to notice, instead clapping him on the shoulder and inviting him into the Westhelm Palazzo, gesturing to his room and then the courtyard just off it, where he said Saps was free to take audiences, wander about, and even invite permanent guests.
He said that with his eyes glued to Tapp's hand, and the twitch in his dimpled cheek grew stronger. Then, he'd been called somewhere else, and left Saps alone in the large Palazzo.
Westhelm was warmer than even the Covenant's base.
Saps supposed it was because of the proximity to the volcano. He got to settling in— his bag of meagar supplies sat on the large roman bed, and he sat there too, holding the bag in his lap.
This was everything he had in the world. Everyone he had in the world had left him, at one point or another.
"So. Why him?"
Saps wished that Ish hadn't left him. He prayed silently for the god to appear suddenly, not to leave him alone with the maniac that somehow, had found him again. He stalked forward from where he had been standing against the pillar.
Fluixon's cold hand connected with his sweat-slicked chest.
"You two a thing now?" Fluixon sneered. He'd gotten older, somehow, even though little time had passed. A new scar highlighted the plane of his cheek, his eye bags (which had always been bad,) sunken and purple. "Forgotten all about me?"
Saps clutched his bag tighter.
"You aren't a good person." He whispered. "You kill people."
"I played for power." Fluixon responded, equally as soft. "It's my job as a leader. Why him?"
"You weren't there." Saps let the words hang in the air between them. "You left me."
Fluixon scoffed. "Please." He slid his fingers under Saps' shirt, the cream silk sliding off with just one push. Saps flushed, looked away. His shoulders shook, but Fluix cupped his hand on Saps' jaw anyway, pressing his thumb into that place in Saps cheek he used to kiss so sweetly.
"You're still my best friend." Fluixon admitted. "I can't trust anyone else."
Saps stifled a cry, batting Fluixon's hand away.
"I'm going to tell Schpood you're here," He said, his voice shaking. "I'm going to tell him everything."
"No one will believe you." Fluixon smiled. His grip became harsh, Saps biting into his cheek so he wouldn't cry out. "I covered all my tracks. I'm good at this, you know that."
Saps tried to turn his head away, but Fluixon held it in place.
"I know you'll miss me." He breathed onto Saps' lips. He kissed him.
Saps can't help but melt into the touch, even with all the blood staining Fluix's hands he still loved him, still knew every touch, every rough curve of Fluix's fingers was familiar and missed, and he didn't want to let go, but—
He shoved Fluixon away, standing to his full height, nearly eye to eye with the terrorist. That's what he was. A terrorist.
"Get out." He hissed. "Leave me alone."
Fluixon grinned. "I'll miss you." He gloats, softly, gently pressing another kiss into Saps' hand. He hops over the balustrade and disappears.
Saps sits back on the roman bed and sobs.
Schpood hadn't believed him for the longest time. However, once he was convinced, the Emperor was very pleasant to be around.
He and Saps had lunch every day, together wandering the courtyards and watching people at the market that sat outside of the Palazzo.
Tapp had gone home— or, at least, for now. He'd promised Saps that he would come visit, come see if he was okay, if Fluixon had decided to come back. But it was a rough journey from the Covenant base to Westhelm, and every time Tapp had some free time, someone else needed him. So Saps was alone, a lot. Either alone or with Schpood.
He settled back into his favorite chair, content to sit there and listen to the wildlife outside. However, the peace didn't last very long. Schpood slid across the marble floor, his usual laurels in his hand.
"Come, come." Schpood said joyfully. "You aren't busy, right?"
"N-no," Saps blinked. "I'm free."
"Great!" Schpood ushered Saps out of the Palazzo, taking his hand tightly and leading him from the Palazzo onto the crowded street.
"Woah, where—"
"We're going to the Colusseum, Saps!" Schpood cheered. "There's to be an execution, and I want you at my side."
Saps flushed, looking around at the people staring at them as they climbed the vast stairs, heading up to the Emperor's box.
An announcer scrambled to shout into a megaphone; "Presenting, his excellence, Emperor Schpood, and the honourable Saparata!"
The crowd cheered. Saps blushed even brighter as a chair was brought for him, placed at the Emperor's side. He'd never been "honourable" before. Schpood placed a hand on his thigh, leaned over to whisper in his ear.
"They're very dramatic here," he said, his hand slipping higher up Saps' thigh. "Let me know if you want to leave."
Saps nods, flushing, staring out at the arena sands as Schpood announces the first match. It's entertaining, and Saps finds himself entranced at the violence in the deeper parts of the arena. Its not a sport he thought he would ever like, much less support, but from up here he was separated from it, and the gory sights entertained him.
Schpood's hand on his thigh was constant, and comforting, and as his fingers tightened with every hit of the sword against the other shield Saps let himself relax further, let Schpood's hand slide up, let his fingers explore the warm plane of his thigh.
His eyes scanned over the crowd, picking things out— dark hair here, violet eyes there. Pale skin, thin lips… he spotted Fluixon's face in the crowd, staring up at him.
He wasn't surprised. He knew Fluixon knew where he was, who he was with. Saps' hands shook, but he stared back at Fluixon, letting his anger fuel him as he lifted out of his seat, Schpood's hand falling away.
He sat back down in the Emperor's lap. Schpood, surprised, followed his gaze— Fluixon had slipped away, though, back into the throng of people.
"Sorry." Saps murmured. "I'm cold."
Schpood nodded, his hands gentle on Saps' waist as he settles back into the throne.
His hand settled back on Saps' thigh, and for just a moment, Saps felt safe.
He never thought that he'd see Zekor again.
But as the man stands in front of him, sword in hand, he wonders if they'd ever really been friends. Schpood steps in front of him, reaching back to push him further behind.
"We can put all of this fighting behind us," Zekor offers. "I propose a trade. You give me Saparata, and the Commonwealth gives you Knight Arcturus."
Saps sees Schpood's eyes light up. Arty had betrayed him, personally. Schpood had told him of it, of the broken heart it had caused him. His own builder, someone he'd considered a friend… Saps knew how that felt.
He tunes back in when Schpood's hand tightens on his chest. "So, just to make the terms of this deal very clear, because, i want to be accurate—" his voice takes on a dangerous tone, one he used for criminals in the arena. Saps holds his breath. "—you expect me to give up an innocent man in exchange for a terrorist? Is that really your offer?"
"He is not innocent," Zekor insists hotly.
"Alright," Schpood drawls. He steps down from the meeting house's dias, gets up in Zekor's face.
Saps watches in amazement as he snarls, towering over the shorter delegate.
"Get out. Now." he snarls.
Saps sighs in relief. He watches Zekor and his people disappear into the night, Schpood turning to him and wrapping him up in his arms.
"I'm so sorry." He whispered. "You don't deserve this."
Saps watched it happen again in slow motion.
The stalagmite cut through the stale air like a knife, its dangerously sharp edge glinting in the sunset light, the tip slicing quickly past layers of sinew and bone, cracking down into the beloved head, past the army beret, past the dark loving eyes and harshly-drawn face, past eyebags Saps had traced with his own fingers and that wicked, sweet mouth.
He felt the splash of blood land across his skin, felt it drip past the layers of silk he'd taken to wearing since living in Westhelm.
Tapp's death felt too familiar for his liking.
People had scattered, the Covenant shrieking about their leader's death, the other people scattering, scremaing… Saps could only stand there, just like last time, staring at the crushed remains of Turntapp.
He thought back to when 3Below had tugged on his sleeve, screamed in his ear. He wished the man was still alive to do that now. He thought about the remains he'd left in his house on Island Two.
Had anyone ever cleaned the bodies off the seats? Were they sat, rotting, there in his old home?
This felt too familiar.
After that fateful meeting, Schpood held him close. It was such a strange feeling, grief.
Tapp's death had impacted him more than he'd thought— the kind, sweet man he'd known intimately would never grace his doorstep again, never toss his baton to the floor and shuck his military jacket off.
Schpood had ordered the thing cleaned, and it now hung inside Saps' closet, untouched by the blood the falling stalagmite had splattered across the meeting room floor.
Schpood himself had been distraught, too. The remaining Covenant members had packed up and left, each swiftly thanking the Emperor and leaving with Queen Cynikka to Infernus. This smelled of Trouble, and to Saps, Trouble only had one name: Fluixon.
Somehow he was behind this. He was behind it all.
As his tears soaked into the cloth of the Emperor's clothes, Saps nestled into his chest, closer. It felt strangely comforting— the Emperor's bed was big, and Saps near drowned in the soft blankets, trying to get to the middle. He'd never been this close to Schpood before, not this way.
He wondered if Fluix was watching. If he'd come after Schpood next.
Saps pushed away from the Emperor's chest, sniffling into the back of his hand.
"I should go." He said bitterly. "It's not safe for you, not if I stay."
Schpood laughed, rolled his eyes, and pulled him back, pressing a small kiss on the same place he'd seen Tapp do a million times. Saps choked back a sob at the thought of him.
"I am safe here with you." Schpood promised. "I have guards on the roof, on the perimiter. They're all loyal to Westhelm. There is nowhere safer for us to be."
Saps let out a weak sob at the man's hand caressing his back.
"You aren't." He whispered. "Fluix will find a way. He always does. He always will."
Schpood huffed into his hair as they relaxed back into the ornate pillows.
"He can try."
He'd watched the Westhelm forces descend onto their boats.
5pyder, Schpood's second-in-command, had been killed, after going in Schpood's place to the meeting with the Commonwealth. Now, Westhelm was going to war.
Schpood had stormed in right before he left and kissed him, his lips slotting against Saps' like they belonged there. Maybe they did. His hand found the light silk touching Saps' hip, and he'd melted into the firm touch.
Saps didn't know if this would be the last time he'd see the Emperor, but this simple action was enough, at least for him, at least for now. They would have time once Schpood returned, victorius over the Commonwealth.
Schpood had pressed their foreheads together for a simple moment, a quiet moment, and then stormed right back out. The man was a hurricane, thunderous in addittude and in appearance. Saps watched him leave the Palazzo, waving slowly as this newfound part of their relationship blossomed in his chest.
He wished them well on their journey, each soldier he knew waving back at the balcony he stood over. He watched the retreating backs of the soldiers until they'd reached the boats, and then turned to go back to his rooms.
He didn't know what they'd find when they got to the Commonwealth, but… He brushed a hand across the armor Schpood had given him last night.
It was shining diamond, the Westhelm crest emblazoned across his heart. Schpood had had the old Covenant badge stamped onto the left shoulder as well.
He slid the greaves on, taking a shaky breath. They fit well. Of course Schpood knew his sizes. He was Emperor, as he'd chuckled, once, anything he wanted to know, he knew.
It was so soon… everything was crashing down around him. He could feel the press of fate weighing heavy on his shoulders as he donned the chestplate, as his breathing slowed so that the diamond armor fit right over his body.
He'd wear it always, from this moment on. Tapp's sigil on his shoulder gleamed in the sunlight as he stood, facing the world and all that was in it.
He would be ready, he vowed. For anything Fluix had to throw at him.
The war had escalated much quicker than Saps could even imagine. Schpood had arrived back, sullen and cross, shouting about the cowards that had moved into Infernus' volcano base, how Cynikka's forces had locked their gates, that the genocide of the Lingulini Mafia was all the Inferni's fault, how it was all Fluix's plan, all along.
Saps had sobbed at the admittance, and Schpood had quickly gathered him up in his arms, pressing kisses into his cheeks, whispering apologies, small bits of comfort that had helped him sober up, wipe away the tears and reach back for the diamond helmet.
He learned quickly what they were to do: go out, rouse the people, and attack. Schpood wasn't the type to wait. He would battle Cynikka now, no exceptions. The people of Westhelm would not wait for justice.
As Saps paraded out the door with Schpood, he glanced out at the crowds of people.
It was a massive army— leaders from the Cass Coalition and Luminara were here, as well as the pirates from the southern coast. It had become very clear— everyone and their allies against Cynikka's destructive volcanic force.
Saps had to admire the queen for her strength. That he could admit. They were facing a strong, well-prepared enemy.
But Fluixon had to die.
It was only fair— for the pain he'd caused, for the trouble he'd created. He had to be killed.
And Saps would make sure, this time, he wouldn't escape.
Schpood raised his sword in solidarity, and with that, they were off, crossing county and country to arrive at the base of the volcano.
It was a solidly built death trap. Saps' jaw dropped as he surveyed what had to be Fluixon's work— the rushing, hot lava creeped steadily towards them, not cooling, just steaming along, heat oppressive and slow. The army stood at attention yards back, and they could still feel the heat, pressing into their armored bodies like a heavy blanket.
He looked at the faces around him. Each wore fear, yes, but also determination, to set this to rights. A scowl or two told him of their anger at being lied to for so long, for being tricked into believing that Saps was the cause of all their heartache.
Schpood raised his sword.
With one, thunderous yell, the army surged forwards.
Time stood at a standstill, both quick and slow at the same time. Saps saw people rush into battle. He saw comrades, friends burnt to a crisp at the falling lava, their charred corpses dropping like flies.
He rushed forwards with them, instead, trying his best to use the bridges and the planks they put down in front of him, grateful for the diamond boots keeping his feet from burning. He rushed to a safer spot the lava hadn't covered just yet, looking around for Schpood— yes, there he was, in front, leading the charge, valiant and handsome in his armor.
The man yelled something, and the army seemed to rear back and plunge into the volcano again, a renewed effort to get to safer ground. Saps was with them, every step of the way, charging and climbing and fighting, skewering a couple former Covenant members with an ache in his heart, gently prying their bodies off his blade and feeding them to the nearest pool of lava, whispering prayers to Ish in his mind.
He knew the silent god was there, watching, like it always was.
Then, suddenly, there he was, cutting a wide arc in the air with his blade. Saps couldn't get away in time, and the tip scratched across his face, blood flinging from the blade into the steaming earth.
He stood, shocked, as Fluixon heaved, his breath coming short and hard. His armor was dingy. His coat was long-gone, replaced only by the Warden-trimmed armor he now wore. His face was dirty with the soot of the Infernus compound, and as he smiled at Saps, he knew… this was not his Fluix.
"Please!" Saps called out. He twirled his sword in his hand. "Call it off."
He heard the screams of the army in the background as another trap went off, sending players plummeting to their deaths in the belly of the hungry volcano. Maybe Cynikka was right. Maybe it did need to feed.
Fluixon laughed, manic and high-strung. "You— call it off?" He seethed. "You brought an entire army to our doorstep!"
"Schpood did!" Saps held his hands up in surrender, sword dangling in one hand. "I— You know what I want."
"And what is that?" Fluixon sneered. "Another leader to fuck and leave dry?"
"No." Saps said quietly. He knew Fluixon could hear him, somehow. "I just want you."
His voice breaks. "I want our bed, back on Two. I want my house, the one you helped me build, when there were no leaders, and was no war. I want you, to dine with, to talk with, to come and kiss me."
Fluixon's face doesn't seem to change. Saps wants to squeeze his neck until it breaks. "I want you to own up to your mistakes. I want my name cleared." He finds the anger within himself, bubbling up to the surface like the hot lava around him. "I want justice, and I want what I always have. Peace."
"Fuck you." Fluixon spits. "You couldn't lead. That's why this had to happen to you. God, if only you had died with the others."
Saps blinked, frowning. "You set a trap for me?" He whispered quietly. "That day. You planned to kill me, too?"
Fluixon scowled. "Of course I did, Saps." His fingers tightened on the handle of his sword. "You'd never have forgiven me if I didn't."
Saps laughed, high-pitched, the sound bursting out on the battlefield like a birdsong in the middle of the night. "I don't forgive you now."
"Well fight me for it, then." Fluixon challenged. His face was serious.
"Stop your armies and we can."
"Fine." Fluixon took out his communicator pad, typing a quick message. "Done."
Saps sighed in relief. "No one else has to die." he said softly. "It will be just you and me."
"Just you and me," Fluixon huffed. "Like old times."
The arena was patterned with dust. Sawdust smelled like pine and kept the blood from staining the mosaic floors, or so Schpood had said.
He'd kissed Saps before he let him go in, taking his arm gently.
"Win." He'd simply said. The Emperor was not usually a man of few words. But for Saps, he'd needed only say one thing.
Fluixon had looked on, his eyes glued to where Schpood held him.
Then he'd headed into the arena.
Now, as Saps faced his opponent, he willed all other thoughts aside.
Fluixon, wrongful leader of Luminara. Traitor, plotter, terrorist. Murderer.
He hefted his sword.
The battle was short. Fluixon was exhausted, from the trapping and the fighting. He'd run on adrenaline too long. Saps, on the other hand, was simply avoiding killing him.
He didn't know if he could do it. If he could end a life— his best friend's life, his lover's life. Not like this.
Not like this.
Saps kept repeating it in his head, with each blow he parried he knew that Fluix was giving up, slowly, winding down. That soon, it would be stab or be stabbed.
Not like this.
They were never supposed to end up this way. He'd only lived so much… Fluix, too. They were so young. So young. They were supposed to be sitting side-by-side in the window, enjoying the sun. They were supposed to be planting tulips in their garden together, then collecting fresh tomatoes and cheese from town. They were supposed to be enjoying slow, sweet sex, kisses pressed down necks and spines. They were supposed to live.
It had come to this, but not like this.
Saps parried a lazy jab. His sword nicked Fluix's side, and just like that— the blade sunk deep into his best friend's stomach.
Fluix stopped. Time stopped. The air seemed to stop. Only Saps remained, watching, horrified, as Fluix inched up the blade, his own weapon falling from his hands as Saps' hands drove the stab home.
It brought them close, closer than they'd been in a long time. Their breath joined together in that intimate shared space, and Saps breathed in the familiarity of his best friend, his lover, now dying in his arms.
"Forgive me." Fluix whispered, his filthy hand caressing Saps' cheek.
He nodded, slowly, his eyes never leaving Fluix's face as his blood drained from it.
Fluix stuttered for a moment. His violet eyes roved over the armor Saps wore— the Westhelm crest, the Covenant badge, then finally up to his sweat-slicked face, panicked. His hair flowed madly over his shoulders, loose black strands sticking to the blood on his forehead.
He looked beautiful, even as he died on Saps' sword.
He carried Fluix's body all the way to his home.
Their home. After all, Fluix had helped build the place.
Saps hadn't been back in so long. The weeds in the front yard needed mowing. The brick on the front steps was crumbling, and the mortar on the steps had been stained red.
He'd been right, no one had claimed the remains of their leaders in the panic, and they'd simply been sitting there, at some bizzare and gruesome dinner party, each more crushed and gory than the next. Saps couldn't stand to look at them long.
He placed Fluix's body in their bed, sitting beside it.
It hadn't been so long ago. They had lain in this bed just yesterday, that's what it seemed like.
Saps' head hung heavy on his shoulders. Fluix's cold hand in his didn't seem real.
None of this did.
Schpood had given him leave to go, after the battle. He had a lot to pick up as Emperor, now that the territories were… well, decimated. The lava had destroyed towns nearby and had truly wrecked havoc across Island One. He'd told Saps that he had to focus on his people, and Saps had agreed, promising to return once things calmed down. He'd gone to the burials of all the soldiers they'd lost. Cried with them, mourned the people's collective loss.
Fluix had not been given a burial. Or a rank of honor.
Nothing but his body and the armor it had on made it.
Saps pressed a kiss to those cold fingers and hefted the body upright. It was time Fluix, even in his death, took responsibility for his own actions.
He dragged the body out to the dining room, where the rest of the leader's remains sat, crushed or stabbed, staring into oblivion, each a gruesome reminder of what had become Saps' life.
The scene looked right— Fluix, where he was meant to be. The head of the table, where Saps had once stood, watching horrified as his own roof opened and stalagmites rained down on people he respected, cared for. This scene looked right. The traitor, his face upturned in a convinning smile.
Saps got to work, tucking a lighter in his back pocket.
He poured gasoline over the dining room, over the house, spreading it around, dousing the table, the remains. He took nothing, left everything behind. His past life, his guilt, his fears.
He pulled out the lighter.
This would be a new chapter, and all that was before would burn to a crisp.
He flicked the switch.