[ saber struggles from underneath him, trying to get free. they are surprisingly quite strong for their petite stature, but it's difficult to overcome the advantage lucas has with his current position.
they look directly at lucas as this happens. they are not afraid of death, as they have already died multiple times before coming here. but this is simply not the way they wish to go. ]
[It's a level of strength that surprises him a bit, but given how skilled they are with the blade, he's far enough on his guard that he just bears down on them with even more force rather than give them an opening to turn the tide.
They speak, and there is perhaps a tiny part of him that wants to linger and reply. To converse. To try to get them to understand, or at least to say what he can to ease their travels from this place. But it's specifically because Saber is strong and skilled, because they're used to fighting, because they know the life of a weapon that goes until it can't anymore, that he won't.
He meets their gaze unflinchingly, red-eyed, bloodied, pupils blown. A gaze that looks at them directly but seems to see nothing at all, and a smile that's calm and peaceful, baring the sharpness of his cuspids.]
...Goodnight, Saber... I pray that you have sweet dreams.
[Quick like a whip, he pulls the arm that's still holding onto his sword back and slams the sword down toward them - toward their chest, right over their heart, driving it with enough force to crack through the bone of their ribs, the soft tissue housed within, and the ground below.]
[ this is not the first time they have died nor the second. it is both different from those times and not, the result of unwavering belief that they would win a fight and the unfortunate encounter with a friend.
when the blade pierced them, they let out a small gasp and struggle against him once more, harder this time, until it continues to sink down through flesh and bone until the tip hits ground. their vision blurs until they can only see the smallest flicker of the last face they see before death overtakes them. ]
Again, in that far-off place that he struggles to access and smothers so easily, he feels it—that writhing, awful thing, like nails against a coffin lid, like worms beneath the soil. Rotten. Ghastly. He grasps it and strangles the life from it as he gazes down upon Saber's still body, beatific as a saint, bloody as a demon.
A hand rises from where he'd been pinning them, and he gently strokes the side of their face. A brush of bloody knuckles against their cheek, fond and soft. He tucks their hair, now short, behind their ear, and there's a fondness in that gesture, as well.
In the back of his mind, somewhere soft and faint, he prays for Saber's safe passage. This kind person, always giving him the bigger half of the snacks they share, always offering their company and comfort, always accepting his silly gifts. Another thought floats by, lazy and drifting, that it will be lonely to not see them tomorrow when the dawn breaks. It will be lonely for him, and for others who hold them dear, but what must be done simply must be done.
And then, he's tearing the blade back up and out of their body and rising to stand. He leaves Saber and their blade where they've fallen; peaceful at heart, still in mind.]
Edited (adds more actually its death we can be dramatic) 2025-03-20 06:54 (UTC)
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no subject
they look directly at lucas as this happens. they are not afraid of death, as they have already died multiple times before coming here. but this is simply not the way they wish to go. ]
You are not of your right mind.
no subject
They speak, and there is perhaps a tiny part of him that wants to linger and reply. To converse. To try to get them to understand, or at least to say what he can to ease their travels from this place. But it's specifically because Saber is strong and skilled, because they're used to fighting, because they know the life of a weapon that goes until it can't anymore, that he won't.
He meets their gaze unflinchingly, red-eyed, bloodied, pupils blown. A gaze that looks at them directly but seems to see nothing at all, and a smile that's calm and peaceful, baring the sharpness of his cuspids.]
...Goodnight, Saber... I pray that you have sweet dreams.
[Quick like a whip, he pulls the arm that's still holding onto his sword back and slams the sword down toward them - toward their chest, right over their heart, driving it with enough force to crack through the bone of their ribs, the soft tissue housed within, and the ground below.]
no subject
when the blade pierced them, they let out a small gasp and struggle against him once more, harder this time, until it continues to sink down through flesh and bone until the tip hits ground. their vision blurs until they can only see the smallest flicker of the last face they see before death overtakes them. ]
Lu... Lucas, you're beautiful.
[ and then, nothing.
saber is dead. ]
no subject
Again, in that far-off place that he struggles to access and smothers so easily, he feels it—that writhing, awful thing, like nails against a coffin lid, like worms beneath the soil. Rotten. Ghastly. He grasps it and strangles the life from it as he gazes down upon Saber's still body, beatific as a saint, bloody as a demon.
A hand rises from where he'd been pinning them, and he gently strokes the side of their face. A brush of bloody knuckles against their cheek, fond and soft. He tucks their hair, now short, behind their ear, and there's a fondness in that gesture, as well.
In the back of his mind, somewhere soft and faint, he prays for Saber's safe passage. This kind person, always giving him the bigger half of the snacks they share, always offering their company and comfort, always accepting his silly gifts. Another thought floats by, lazy and drifting, that it will be lonely to not see them tomorrow when the dawn breaks. It will be lonely for him, and for others who hold them dear, but what must be done simply must be done.
And then, he's tearing the blade back up and out of their body and rising to stand. He leaves Saber and their blade where they've fallen; peaceful at heart, still in mind.]