In the Time You Have Left


                                            >”Stay with me, Anon! Everything will be okay!”

                                            "No, it's... it's okay, Twilight."

                                            >You reach around blindly, unable to turn your head for some reason.

                                            >"Just stay awake," she sobs, pressing her hooves into you. "Stay with me!"

                                            >Trying to staunch the bleeding, probably.

                                            "Did we..."

                                            >It's hard to talk.

                                            >Probably the rib that's piercing your left lung.

                                            >"Don't say anything! Just stay still!"

                                            >She looks around frantically, her head swivelling this way and that as she searches for something.

                                            >"Fluttershy will be here soon, and she...she ..."

                                            "That's not important."

                                            >"There's nothing more important than you!" she cries, shutting her eyes. "Not to me!"

                                            >She can't bear to see you like this.

                                            >You almost feel guilty.

                                            >You should have fought better.

                                            "Did we... did we get them all?"

                                            >You’re dying. All that is left is for you to do what you can with the time that remains.

                                            >Slowly, she nods.

                                            >Her lower lip is gripped between her teeth.

                                            >She’s trying not to cry.

                                            “The enemy are all…”

                                            >You cough, speckling your princess’s face with your own blood.

                                            >”Yes, Anon,” she mumbles, “they’re dead. They’re all dead and your fight is over. Just rest now. Fluttershy –“

                                            “Twilight…”

                                            >”Yes?”

                                            >There.

                                            >Your hand finds what it was hunting for.

                                            >”Yes, Anon?”

                                            “The fight… is never over.”

                                            >Her eyes flare open, hunting for the threat.

                                            >With effort almost beyond you, your fingers curl around the wooden handle.

                                            >She gasps as you try to raise your arm.

                                            >”No, don’t! You’re hurt.”

                                            >You know this.

                                            >”You aren’t in any condition to fight!”

                                            “That’s why… why I have to…”

                                            >”I’ll take care of it! Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it!”

                                            >Her breathing is rapid and shallow – she’s on the verge of panic.

                                            >Trying to stop your bleeding, trying to find the enemy – her fear for you, her fear for everything, it’s all too much for her.

                                            >You struggle to stand, but your body refuses.

                                            >It’s not a matter of being too weak; the necessary tendons and ligaments simply aren’t attached anymore.

                                            >”Don’t move!” Twilight cries, pushing you back down. “You’re making the bleeding worse!”

                                            “It’s okay, Twi…”

                                            >You’re out of breath before you can say her full name.

                                            >Huh.

                                            >It’s a cute nickname – Twi – you wish you had thought of it before now.

                                            >Before it was too late to matter anymore.

                                            >Shame.

                                            >Twi looks down at you with such compassion and tenderness, all other concerns forgotten.

                                            >At this moment, you and your injuries are the sum of her world.

                                            >You try to sit up, eliciting a fresh wave of crimson from your wounds and snapping Twilight out of her trance.

                                            >”FLUTTERSHY!” she screams. “FLUTTERSHY, HURRY UP!”

                                            >She’s given in to her panic.

                                            >”HE’S BLEEDING! OH, SUN, HE’S BLEEDING OUT! FLUTTERSHY!”

                                            “Twi…”

                                            >Her head snaps back to face you.

                                            “…it’s okay…”

                                            >She’s crying.

                                            >She’s crying for you.

                                            >Why?

                                            >”N-no, it’s – it’s not…”

                                            “Yes, it is.”

                                            >Somehow, you raise your hand to stroke her cheek, smearing the blood spattered across her purple coat.

                                            >It almost looks like the blush of a lovestruck schoolfilly.

                                            >”B-but –“

                                            >Your grip on the handle is strong.

                                            “Twi, it’s okay. There’s… there are only two left.”

                                            >You run your fingers through the vibrant strands of her mane.

                                            >”You’re bleeding.”

                                            “I know.”

                                            >You feel stronger now, strong enough to raise your other arm.

                                            >The final burst of energy before life leaves you altogether.

                                            >You’ve seen it many times, on many battlefields, in many warriors, from the wastes to the walls of Praag and Erengrad and beyond.

                                            >And now… here. In you.

                                            >How odd.

                                            >You always thought you would live forever. You thought you were special.

                                            >”You’re bleeding,” she repeats dully, too traumatized to find other words, other things to say.

                                            “It’s okay.”

                                            >Her eyelids flutter, trying to blink away the tears.

                                            >”It’s not.”

                                            “It’s okay.

                                            >Twi closes her eyes, but the tears come anyway.

                                            “It’s okay.”

                                            >”S-stop saying that.”

                                            “But it is.”

                                            >”Why!?”

                                            “Because Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows –“

                                            >Twi gasps in pain as the fingers running through her mane become a fist, gripping her and holding her in place.

                                            “-ONLY THAT IT FLOWS!”

                                            >She screams as your axe cuts into her neck, for as long as she is able.

                                            >It turns into a wet gurgle as she chokes on her own blood.

                                            >The mare tries to rear back, tries to run, but your grip on her mane holds her in place with the insane strength of a dying man.

                                            >In panic, in mortal terror, without even being aware of what she is doing, hooves hammer your chest, breaking bones and rupturing organs.

                                            >It doesn’t matter.

                                            >You’re dead anyway.

                                            >It’s only a matter of how much blood you can spill before the last of yours is drained.

                                            >You pull your axe free in a fountain of red.

                                            >The look of betrayal and confusion that flashes across her face hurts.

                                            >She should have known this would happen.

                                            >You had told her.

                                            >Chaos will have blood.

                                            >Yours… or theirs.

                                            >The axe smashes into her neck again, sanguine spatter turning the crystal floors red as her blood mingles with yours.

                                            >Twilight’s eyes roll back in their sockets, bringing a hint of a smile to your face.

                                            >So very like her, to roll her eyes at you even in her final moments.

                                            >With a shudder, she falls, collapsing heavily on legs that cannot feel anything.

                                            >She’s dead.

                                            >Not dying.

                                            >Dead.

                                            >You didn’t want her to suffer.

                                            >There is no glory in sadism, only in blood.

                                            >Your death takes longer; you lay there, trapped under the body of your friend, your strength all but spent.

                                            >Hoofsteps resound sharply, a quick four-beat cadence singing throughout the crystal castle.

                                            >”Twilight!?”

                                            >It’s Fluttershy.

                                            >”Anon!?”

                                            >The hoofsteps stop.

                                            >You can’t turn your head to face her.

                                            >”TWILIGHT!? OH MY GOSH, ARE YOU… Twilight, are you… oh, Celestia…”

                                            >Hesitantly, the mare approaches, slowly coming into your field of view.

                                            >You… you might have it in you for one more swing.

                                            >”Anon… what…?”

                                            >You will never reach her.

                                            >That’s okay.

                                            >Chaos will have blood.

                                            >If not theirs…

                                            >”Anon, why are you smiling!?”

                                            >Slowly, too slowly, yet as quickly as you can, you raise your axe to your throat.

                                            “Blood…”

                                            >If not theirs…

                                            “… for the Blood God.”

                                            >… then yours.