The clash of iron rung in the air. Bodies falling to the ground as they're stricken down, the sun reflecting on iron surfaces as they swipe through the air and yelling from injured soldiers as they struggle to get away from the surge of enemy forces. Many of them would be forgotten as soon as their eyes close or their last breath is forced out of their shaking lungs. Their faces a blur amongst the growing tally of deaths.
It's easy to tune out the screaming and people choking on their own blood, it's easy to stop hearing them when your own blood roars in your ears and your breath shakes your chest from how violent they are. It's easy to ignore the burning in your eyes as your arrow slices through the air or your axe lands heavy on someone's shoulder. Their desperate scream landing on deaf ears as they colapse to the floor.
The leather pinching at your hands as it twists on your handle and bites at the skin on you palms. Splinters wedging themselves into your nails as the wood slowly begins to wear down with use. The blood that may or may not be yours cooling your rapidly warming skin as sweat beads on your forehead.
When the letter had arrived at his house a few weeks ago he thought nothing of it. His son was moving away from his country to start anew. It wasn't unheard of, not for Phil at least. It hadn't spiked any red flags for the blonde as he smiled down at the calligraphy sprawled across the page. He didn't notice the long since dried tear splotches on the page- or maybe he did and chose to ignore it.
Regardless when he arrived at the country that he had learned to be L'Manberg, it was obvious that something was wrong. He barely knew who was an enemy and who wasn't. What was worse was that he couldnt find his son. His face wasn't visible amongst all the face in the battlefield and the elders breath caught in his chest, heart leaping into his throat.
He hadn't ever been in these lands, they were completely foreign to him so he had no idea where he would have to go to search for his son. It was relieving to not see the boy in the midst of the fray but worrying. The possibility that the god would turn and spot familiar brown curls poking out from the trampled ground or swinging his axe and realising just too late that his son was falling to the ground and not an enemy was beginning to feel more and more likely as the seconds ticked by.
He had spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, disappearing into the fight once more before he even got a chance to call out. A flash of blonde hair catching his eye or a more common sighting of pink hair flying through the air.
He fought for what felt like hours, more bodies piling up in his wake as he moved through the battle, it was growing exhausting and with a sigh he moved to shift his position. A woman with an axe in tow sprinted forward, blood sprayed across her cheek as her eyes watched him wildly. Axe held high in the air as she moved forwards towards the god.
With a swift dip of his head the axe whirled past. She straighted herself up after stumbling slightly and growled towards Phil as she moved forwards again. She had an offensive fighting style but was lacking heavy in skills, likely a kid recruited that morning just for the numbers.
He side stepped a heavy swing and her axe landed heavily in the mud. With a close right stance he pushed his sword forward and the blade slipped past the opening between her cuirass and plackart. He turned before her body even touched the ground and sighed heavily.
A voice called out, not directed towards him hut he turned towards it regardless. That was probably his mistake. Leaving his gaurd down as his head turned towards the owner of the voice, it was a miracle that he heard the voice over the ruckus of everything in the first place.
It was quick, not drawn out. The blade pushed quickly inbetween his ribs and sucked all the air out of his lungs. His mouth dropped open as white pain exploded across his side. A noise of pain escaped his trembling lips and he could of sworn he heard someone yelling his name. Regardless the blade left as quick as it left, the owner likely moving off towards another victim. His hands unconsciously found their way at his side and when they came back into his view crimson blood covered them.
The head slowly twisted down to assess the damage and his face paled at the sight. A huge gaping opening sat right in his chest. The adrenaline was probably drowning most of the pain but he still whined out a strangled cry.
Too busy staring as the wound that was spilling out blood that he didn't even realise that no more soldier fought near him. Didn't realise that the battlefield was erupting in explosions or hear the screams of people he had learned about in letters. His wings felt oddly heavy on his back as his knees buckled. The dark limbs felt as though they were dragging him backwards towards that ground.
Everything was quiet, a warmth trickled down his lips as something began to bubble up his throat. Faces began to move closer but he couldn't even make out their faces anymore. A hot drop of water landed on his cheek as a person moved to lean above him. Their lips were moving but he couldn't hear them if he tried.
Why was he so tired all of a sudden?
Someone shook his shoulders and he cried out in pain. The persons face scrunched up in regret but Phil didn't care anymore. His eyes were burning and they felt heavy. He should take a quick rest, it will be fine. Wilbur will be okay for a few minutes, he's been doing fantastic without him for so long before this anyway.
"Phil!" Someone called but it sounded like they were talking in a bath of syrup. Hands touched the wound on his side and darkness flashed across his vision for a split second. Phils mouth hung open, no sound able to make it past the growing barrier of liquid in his throat. Speaking of it was getting harder to breathe, it felt like he forgot how to.
His hands weakly tried to push the hands away but another pair of hands grabbed at his wrists and held onto them painfully hard. Hot tears burned his cheeks as he stared unseeingly towards the sky. Wait... when did everything go dark? Why are his eyes hurting so bad!? At least the earth isn't shaking anymore.
His heart beat rapidly in his ears, drowning out the sound of echoing voices. The breathe sounded laboured and wheezed with each rattling croak, the sound gurgled and bubbled when the air managed to slip past the blood in his mouth.
Hands were pushing him up and his stomach lurched. The blood came shooting our of his mouth and spilled down his chin, the air still refused to enter his lungs though. He dry heaved towards the ground wanted to push the hands away.
Why wont they let him rest? Hasn't he suffered enough?
Syrup covered words swam around in his ears but he still couldn't distinguish the words or make out what they were saying. He didn't even know how many people were here anymore. The armour strapped to his chest was loosened and peeled off his soaked skin as the axe that had been on his lap was thrown off of him.
What was going on? Why can't he see!?
A hand that trembled touched his cheek and he startled at the touch. He looked blindly around and blinked rapidly, maybe something was in his eyes? A peice of cloth touched his face and he winced as it glided across some small cuts on his face, the hand holding the fabric was so gentle though that he struggled to not lean into the touch.
The hand on his chest recoiled and Phil almost cried in relief. His head was throbbing now though and his relief was short lived. A bottle was pressed to his lips and something was pressed to his ribs and he coughed on the liquid that was being given to him. A hand landed on his shoulder to keep him steady but he couldn't ignore the blinding pain as bandages wrapped tightly onto his chest.
His hand tightened on the ground and dug into the mud as the bottle was given to him again. He didn't want to drink! Why are they doing this? Everything hurt. Why are they hurt him?
Everything was confusing and he felt so disoriented, he didn't even know where he was anymore. Whenever the water was poured into his mouth he reflexively cough and his chest shook in an effort to rid of it. It kept catching in his throat along with the blood that was rising up again and burned.
It felt like he couldn't breath again and he didn't have the energy to struggle for air. The bandages pulled hard against his wound and he moved forwards in pain. Hands grabbed at his shoulders and pulled him back as he flailed his own hands in a pathetic effort to move away.
Someone was talking but the words were jumbled around. He felt lightheaded and was finding it more and more difficult to fight off the attackers. Did he even want to fight? Another round of coughs shook his entire frame as he tried desperately to cough up the blood that threatened to drown him.
His wings shook behind him and he curled them in on himself protectively. He blindly waved his hand at the hand on his chest that was tying the bandages and kicked out his legs. His energy was depleting fast and he didn't even want to try and get away anymore.
Maybe he'll get to die before they get the chance to do anything too bad to him... d-die? What is he thinking he can't die thats ridiculous... but right now he wishes with all he has to be allowed to die, he's suffered enough... shouldn't he be granted this mercy? Well that's a terrible thought. Did he actually want that? No of course not, stop being an idiot, its just the blood loss.
Someone was screaming and a glad landed heavily on his shoulder, it took him too long to realise the screaming was him but the burning making its way across his chest was unbearable. What even was that?
He could feel his eyes close as the screaming ceased. The hand on his shoulder shook and he whined in pain. He felt his back hit the ground painfully so and was grateful for the hands movements stopping.
Maybe he could sleep for a moment while they do whatever it is they want to do. The pain slowly dulls to an uncomfortable tingle as the blood stops choking him. The warmth slowly begins to return to his body and the distant yelling stops entirely.
He feels as though he's floating in a bath of water when he tries to move his hand. His fingers barely twitching and his eyes refuse to open. Maybe he was more exhausted than he thought. That's okay. He can go to sleep now.
It doesn't take long, the pain and fighting having worn him out already. But soon his mind goes drifting and wanders away from his worries. A voice calls out his name and his eyes crack open. Darkness greets him as he glances around. Its night time then.
A hand touched his cheek and he sees Kristin looking sadly at him. "Hello my love." She smiles and his hand reaches up to hold hers. It's warm and welcoming. He sits up slowly and she helps him up. The pain has completely disappeared at least.
He smiles at her gratefully and that's when it strikes him. Lady Death is sitting in front of him. His wife that he's only met once before is currently helping him stand after he fell asleep bleeding to death on a battlefield... He's... he's dead?
He voices this question and Kristin nods hesitantly with her lips thinned into a small line. He sighs shakily and the tears slowly burn trails down his cheeks. His hand unconsciously trails up to touch where the wound had once been.
"Who... who were the... who was-" He stutters out as he tried to rein in his breathing. "Techno tried to stop the bleeding... Wilbur was trying give you a potion and everyone else watched." She answered voice now void of emotion. "Everyone?" He croaked out. Wilbur was there? His own son watched him die. He didn't even get to say goodbye!
Kristin held him tightly as sobs began to shake his chest. Wilbur screamed as his father's chest ceased his wheezing and arms dragged him back. Bodies obscured him view of his dad as they attempted to bring the life back into the god.
Screams ripped up his throat as he struggled in the grip of someone. His elbow landed heavily on their stomach and the grip released. He stumbled forwards and pushed people out of the way. Hands grabbed at his arms and pulled him away yet again.
Why aren't they letting him see his dad!? Let him go! Stop!
All he could see was a blood stained halo of hair shining through the gaps of limbs. His dads unseeing and lifeless eyes looking at him from where he lay. He couldn't even hear himself screaming anymore.
He cant do this. He country was gone. He was likely to be imprisoned for the rest of his life. He indirectly killed his father by starting this war. Everything has gone wrong. Why is this happening!
He feels like he's drowning. His hands move without his knowledge.
The air catches in his throat. The world has begun to spin underneath him and his head hurts. Sweat covers him and leaving goosebumps to raise on his arms. Everything is happening to fast. He just wants this to stop.
He wants his dad again.
His hand grabs something.
His breathing is quick and shallow as he struggles to even stand. His free hand pulls at his hair. A hand pulls it away but it's too late. His full hand raises and all he feels is the spike of pain in that moment. Warmth pools down his collarbones and trails down his chest, soaking into his clothes.
People are screaming but he can breath again! The world is no longer spinning but he feels suddenly heavy and so tired and everything hurts. His knees buckles and blood appears in his vision. Spraying outwards and splashing onto Tommys signature shirt.
Oh hey, what's Tommy doing here? What's going on? What happened. Why is everyone yelling? Why wont they shut up? It's too loud.
A coldness washes over him and his head suddenly feel so very light. Whats those dark splotches across his vision?
Why is Tommy grabbing him? Why does he look so angry? God so tired. Can this wait until after he's slept? Or maybe until his headache has dulled.
He wants to go home.
He wants Phil.
Can he go to bed now?
Is the war over?
He's just going to close his eyes for a moment, that's okay right?
Tommy stop shaking him.
Everything's too bright.
Let him go to sleep.