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Blood, blood, blood. So much blood.
There has never been this amount of blood on his hands before, despite spending years on the frontlines and despite actively fighting in the ongoing war with Parrot. Saparata had seen bodies split open and he had felt warm blood splatter against his face in the middle of battle. He was no stranger to death and definitely no stranger to the red that comes after it, but this was flowing endlessly from his hands, thick and scarlet and horribly vibrant in color, dripping down his wrists and cascading past the silver armor wrapped around his body. It stained the ornate trims of his armor crimson, though Saparata could barely remember what colors those trims even were anymore — he didn't know, couldn't think, couldn't recall. Everything is red and red and red.
What could've changed? He wondered. The dreamscape Saparata had always found himself trapped in every night after falling asleep had always been white. An endless expanse of pale nothingness, devoid of nothing but silence and emptiness and the cold, and there was never anything there. Just white stretching endlessly, no beginning and no end, with the only sound existing there being the noise inside his own head.
Sometimes, in the mornings after he would wake up, he would wonder why the goddess of dreams insisted on abandoning him there every night. He'd always be left alone in a place so empty that he wanted to try and understand if the dream meant something. A message? A warning? A punishment? Or was it his own unconscious mind tormenting him, subjecting him to this void, creating a prison made from emptiness just to make him suffer in the confines of his wretched mind?
But now, the white is gone. And the crimson blood all around Saps isn't coming from his surroundings, it manifests from him, from his hands. It was as if he has some massive wound torn open somewhere across his body, something deep and severe that it's able to produce this much blood without stopping. It was leaking from his fingertips, bringing about endless streams that splattered onto the white beneath him.
What is this? Why was there blood? Why? Why?
He stares at his trembling hands and thinks that the blood must be his. Is he dying? Has someone assasinated him in his sleep that he's dreaming about his death? Or was it an omen? Maybe the goddess of dreams sent him this warning, a premonition of what's to come. He lingers on the thought far too long before thinking that he doesn't really care whether this means he's going to die or not. If death comes, then death comes — it's just a matter of him making sure that he wins the war before it reaches him.
The blood is annoying. It's heavy, sticky, and icky against his skin. It's like he has a second layer on him, dripping down his arms and the metallic scent is growing to be overwhelming, enough to make him feel sick. Saparata wants to wake up already, wanting to tear himself out of this reverie, but he can't. He seemed to be condemned to being unable to do or know absolutely anything. He can't wake up, he can't understand anything about this dream or what it's trying to tell him, he can't figure out whether the blood is his, or if it's —
Saparata freezes as he sees a figure standing overhead.
It stands untouched by the crimson staining everything else around them, untouched by the blood that kept following him around. While the rest of the dream has drowned in scarlet, the figure remains illuminated by the faint white glow that used to engulf his dreams before tonight, letting Saps see clearly; its face was turned toward him, its arm rests idly at its side, and its curly hair falls messily around its still unclear face, strands painted in the deep shade of purple, one that nearly fades to black.
Huh?
In all the weeks he had spent trapped inside these dreams, Saparata had always been alone. No matter how many nights passed, no matter how many times he spent wandering through the endless white, there had never been another person here beside him. So why now? Why is there finally someone else here, now, when he's drowning in blood? Why is he only being given a companion at this moment, when he's covered in what he thinks is his own —
"It's not yours."
The figure spoke, its voice echoing throughout the endless void. The sound reached every corner of the dreamscape and instantly killed the silence that had consumed the place for weeks and weeks and weeks. Saparata felt his eyes widen and he wanted to hear it speak again. Again. He wanted the figure to speak once more, wanted every syllable that comes out from its mouth to carve itself into his head and settle there permanently because it was the voice he had once listened to every night, the voice he had desperately clung onto with every little memory he had left, because it was also the same voice that Saparata had started to slowly forget. He tried and tried and cried to the gods to not steal even this from him — tried to stop his memory from slowly, quietly eroding, tried to stop struggling to remember what he sounded like without having to force the recollection out from himself. He tried to piece the sounds together, for it to sound right in his mind, for it to not be the same incomplete, distorted voice.
He opened his mouth after, wanting to speak, wanting to tell the figure to say something else, anything else, because he needed to hear it again and he didn't know whether it will disappear on him. Yet no words came out and his throat tightened before he could force anything past his lips, everything dying inside him before it could properly form. He stared and his hands trembled at his sides, blood still dripping endlessly fron his fingertips, thick and warm and nauseating against his skin. It shakes from and with the need to reach out, and every part of him is screaming to move. His muscles pull at him violently, desperate and aching, reach it, touch it, call him, they say. But Saparata stays rooted where he is because he doesn't believe he could survive the answer waiting for him if he does move. If this isn't him, then what is it? Another cruel trick made by his mind? Another punishment from the gods up above? He thinks that if he reaches, he will know, but if he doesn't, the figure will vanish without him feeling the warmth of it beneath his fingertips and he will break then. The blood pooling at his feet continues spreading across the endless white, creeping farther and farther as though it was a slow, crimson river, and Saparata couldn't bear seeing it inch closer to the figure. He fears it might reach it first before he could and it would stain the untouched purity clinging to its presence. Its unsettling, a thought could not bear that he would rather let all the blood coat his own hands.
"What?" he finally manages to say, though the word leaves him weakly. It takes him far longer than it should've just to push out that single question. In his mind, there were countless of other things he wanted to say instead; he thinks about asking what do you mean? He thinks about asking who are you? He even thinks about saying his name out loud, and it sits there on the tip of his tongue, but he can't, Saparata can't do it. He can't bear the possibility of saying that name only to realize that the figure standing in front of him isn't really him at all. So all he manages is one small, pathetic question.
It didn't take long for the figure to reply. Saparata heard its voice again, heard it speak, heard it call his name, and everything came crashing down onto him all at once. The faint glow surrounding the figure slowly began to dissipate, and nothing was left obscuring its face anymore, and Saparata could finally see him clearly. He didn't even realize how violently his heart had started pounding inside his chest until he heard it and felt it that very moment, it's banging and banging and banging so loudly that every beat hurt and he couldn't breathe. Yet Saparata couldn't care to even think about himself, couldn't bring himself to look away not when the person standing before him looked so unreal in the middle of this endless white, so ethereal, and he feared that if he blinked, he would never, ever catch a glimpse of him again.
"Saps," he had said, and Saparata felt like every inch of him had been set ablaze. The blood coating his skin felt unbearably hot and it was burning against him like a fire that was only capable of being extinguished by his touch. All of it felt overwhelming, it was a flurry of emotions, all happiness and agony and the ache to get so, so much closer than how he is right now was visceral to the point that he could not stop his foot from inching and stepping forward, because it was him. It was truly him, him in all his glory, looking directly into Saparata's eyes with the face he thought he would never, ever see again for the rest of his life unless he clawed his way into the depths of the underworld himself. The face of the person he would surrender everything for without hesitation, may it be his riches, his dreams, his whole life; every single fragmented piece of himself, he would give. The face of his bestfriend, his soulmate, his lover, his very own heart. Saparata stared at him and thinks that he shouldn't wake up; not now, not ever. Not when he was here, alive and breathing and standing right in front of him after years of being gone, not when Fluixon looked so, so impossibly beautiful beneath the pale light of his dreams.
He took another step, and he called, "Flux." His name was finally uttered from his mouth, and Saps was sure it sounded more like a prayer than anything else, and perhaps it was. It had always been one, a desperate plea he had been whispering every night for years, over and over and over again until every god above had grown tired of hearing him mourn the same person every time he came to their altars. Saparata thinks every deity must have known his name by now, with how much he had begged them for him, begged them to return him, to let him see him again. Yet now, with Fluixon standing right in front, he still found himself saying his name with the same desperation as he cried again, "Flux," voice cracking. The tears had already begun burning behind his eyes, hot and painful and impossible to stop once they finally spilled. They fell freely down his face, dripping and dripping and dripping just like the blood coating his hands; Saparata could feel everything all at once, the wetness of his tears streaking across his skin, the blood smeared over his cheeks and jaw from where his stained hands must have brushed against earlier, the metallic scent lingering thickly and all of it was consuming — too much and yet not enough because Flux was still there and far from him.
Saparata was certain that he would not even need for Flux to call him by his name again, because he would gladly take each step and stride forward, closing every inch of distance that threatened to separate them from each other. He only needed to get the blood off of him first, just so he could touch him properly, just so he could press his hands against Fluixon's face and shoulders and arms and feel him beneath his fingertips again.
He tried, tried wiping his hands against his armor, frantic and hurried movements scraping bloodied skin on cold metal as he desperately tried to clean himself off. He rubbed harder and harder, smearing the crimson over the silver plating, trying to rid himself of every trace of blood staining his fingers because he did not want to touch his lover like this. He didn't want to stain him, didn't want to dirty him, didn't want to see Flux covered in blood, like how he was the night Saparata found him dead in their house. He never wanted to see him like that, so he wiped harder, get it off, off, off, off. Why won't it stop? Saps' breathing became uneven as panic slowly began to rise, movements growing even more frantic by the second, hurried and desperate and driven by the fear that if he took too long, Fluixon would disappear. But the blood kept coming no matter what he did, even after he wiped and wiped and wiped, even after his hands hurt from the force of it, more crimson spilled across his skin. It dripped from his fingers in thick streams and it kept returning no matter how desperately he scrubbed himself. His heart was pounding and he couldn't breathe because Fluixon was right there and all Saparata wanted was to touch him. But he couldn't, not like this, the blood was still there and it wouldn't leave and he couldn't understand why.
"Why won't it come off?" he muttered weakly, voice trembling as he stared at his ruined hands.
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
He looks at Flux and he's looking back. The only thing Saps couldn't recognize was the way he looked at him, as though he was pitying him, as though he was disgusted with him —
What?
He kept trying and he kept failing. His tears were still falling and sticking on the skin of his face, and Saparata's instinct was to wipe them away the moment they reached his cheeks, but the second his fingers touched his face it only made everything worse. The blood followed his touch and smeared across his skin and it clung further onto any untouched space he still had left. He tried again anyway, dragging his palms over his face and his jaw and his neck to get rid of it, but the red only kept spreading until every inch of him slowly became something he couldn't recognize anymore. It was frustrating, the blood wasn't slowing down, it kept dripping and dripping and he couldn't tell where the wound was because he couldn't feel anything wrong, nothing of him was hurt, nothing was broken, nothing could explain why his blood was spilling.
He looked at Flux again through the haze of his tears and spoke heavily with the panic that ran through the course of his veins. His voice came out broken and uneven as he forced himself to speak, "I just have to get this off, okay? I'll come to you," he said, and it felt wrong for him to reassure him when he was standing right there drenched in something he couldn't control, so he tried to fix it by forcing a smile onto his face even though it barely held together for more than a second. How could he smile when he was bleeding? "I'll come to you, Flux," he said again, "Please don't leave."
The blood didn't stop, not even for a moment, it only kept emerging, now not from one place but from everywhere at once and his entire body was now the source of it. What was happening? Why won't it stop? Please stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please, he wants to be clean, he wants to come close to Flux, he wants to touch him, wants to cup his face, wants to kiss him, wants to feel him near and against him, he wants to come closer, but he's dirty, and it won't come off. Saparata didn't understand how this was possible when there was no pain except for the tight pressure in his chest and the constant throbbing in his heart that refused to calm down unless Flux was closer, unless Flux was touching him. He kept trying to wipe it again, hands pressing against his face and armor and skin but every motion made it worse and the blood spread further like a disease that could not be contained. He started whispering under his breath, pleading, "Get it off, please. Please please please please, Flux, don't leave —" and Flux was still standing there, watching him, with a look that he never had seen before.
Saparata hated how silent he was, because he needed him to speak, needed to hear his voice again, needed to know that nothing had changed and he was still the Flux that he knew. The blood had now covered everything, his hands, his arms, his face, everything dripping and pooling and clinging to him, and he still couldn't find the source of it and he couldn't feel anything broken despite all the blood. Maybe it was his armor, maybe there was something beneath it, maybe he couldn't feel it because he was so used to pain, maybe if he removed his armor he would see it and he could patch it up and he could clean himself and he could finally feel Flux with him.
Saparata wanted to say, I'm sorry, Flux, I'll just clean myself then I'll come to you, but he couldn't, because Flux spoke first and asked, "Why did you kill them?"
He tried to reply with all the questions he had in mind; What? What do you mean? Why are you asking me this? He wanted to say all of it and wanted to force the confusion and panic that he had out of his mouth but he couldn't because when he parted his lips to speak, nothing came out. No sound nor syllable, and all he could do was stare at Flux with wide and confused eyes while his hands continued their attempts to wipe away the blood on his skin. It wouldn't come off. Again. Again. He thinks he should stop trying, but he couldn't and he doesn't because he can't afford to do so, because Flux was still here in front of him.
Everything Saparata wanted to say died on his tongue as Flux spoke again, "You killed them," he said, voice steady and full of conviction and laced with disappointment. "Why did you do that?"
Saps shook his head and his breaths were uneven and heavy, moreso worsened by his crying, chest heaving beneath the weight of his armor. "What do you mean, Flux?" his voice cracked and he didn't understand why this was what Flux chose to say to him after all these years apart.
"The war."
What?
"You killed people."
The blood felt heavier against Saparata's fingertips and still hadn't stopped flowing. It would never, ever stop, but he kept trying to wipe it clean, trying to erace all the traces of red and bring it back to the way it was before, before Flux looked at him any differently. He stared at him for a long moment before finally speaking, a sound all weak and tired and desperate, "I did it for you, Flux."
He wanted to say more. Wanted to explain himself properly, wanted to make Flux understand that they deserved it. That they were monsters before Saparata became one, that they also slaughtered his men, burned villages, torn families apart; he wanted to remind Flux that they killed him. That they took him away, that they stole his future, that they left Saparata with nothing except grief and pleas and knees that were worn out from begging and begging and begging for Flux to come back. He wanted Flux to remember that. Wanted him to remember how gruesome they had been, how ruthless and vile and evil they had to be to take a life like his without remorse.
Flux laughed and it was dawning on Saparata how everything he had done since appearing in front of him carried something he never had expected to receive from him. No warmth, nothing of the sort, only scrutiny that felt like it was cutting him open and tearing him apart because Saparata had imagined this reunion a thousand times every night he mourned for him, but it never went like this, it never crossed his mind that he would no longer recognize the eyes of someone he spent years remembering. All Saparata wanted was to touch him, to hear him, to hold him, he never wanted this, never wanted to stand beneath Fluixon's disappointed gaze while covered head to toe in blood.
"Do you think I needed that?" Flux scoffed, eyes locked directly onto Saparata's. "I never needed you to take revenge for me, Saps. I never needed any of this!"
"What else could I have done?" Saparata gasped out as he tasted metal thick against his lips and tongue as he spoke through uneven breaths. "They killed you, Flux. They murdered you. They took you away from me! Do you think I could just let them live, after all that?" His voice kept cracking the more he spoke, "What was I supposed to do? You were gone. They took you. Nothing would ever bring you back, Flux," a beat. He paused. "No god would give you back to me. No amount of apologies would revive you. Nothing!" He could barely breathe anymore, "They killed you, and I —"
"Did they have to die, too?"
"Why shouldn't they?!" Saparata snapped, tears falling harder down his face. "I had to bring you justice, Flux. I had to. I couldn't just let you die like that!" He inhaled shakily, trying harder and harder but failing to steady himself. "I already failed to protect you when you were alive. I can't fail again by not giving you justice."
Flux only looked at him as silence ensued, and Saparata wanted to apologize for shouting at him, he wanted to say sorry for what he has done but how can he when he knew full well that he didn't mean it? How can he apologize for grieving?
"I would've been fine," Flux said quietly, to which Saparata frowned, confusion twisting through his face because he didn't understand what he meant.
"I would've been fine just to see you live."
What?
"To see you live happy, without all this anger in your heart."
No. No. No. Don't say it, don't say that, he wanted to respond. He wanted to stop feeling the blood getting heavier against his skin, wanted to stop feeling disgusting as he stood there in front of Flux who remained untouched by all the red liquid around him.
"I would've been fine with that, Saps."
The blood continued to drip, drip, drip, pooling beneath his feet.
Saparata's ear rang so loudly as his vision blurred, eyes dead, world dissolving into nothing but the color of his hands. The smell of it made it impossible to breathe.
Flux was fading.
Was he leaving?
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
Flux. Don't Our blood
Don't leave, Flux, please? The blood is coming off.
He wiped it on his armor. It disappeared. Blood dripped from his fingertips, coating his palm again.
Flux, don't leave.
You killed us.
Why won't this come off? Why can't I remove it? Flux, please, listen to me. I did it for you. Flux. You
Wipe it. Blood blood blood. Flux, don't don't leave please. Blood on your hands
Blood. Blood. On. Flux, come back I'm here please Flux don't leave me here Flux. Your hands Wipe the blood off. Flux?
Wipe it. Back again. Wipe. Wipe. Why won't it?
I don't want to die please Don't
Don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again please don't leave me again.
I'm sorry
Everything was red. Was Flux gone? Please. The blood is coming off.
Food wanted Food Flux there's blood blood blood blood blood don't leave Flux please the blood won't it comes off I'll clean it Food Flux please don't We just
Stay Flux please the Blood is Please please please please I did it for you I did please Flux I really Flux Please blood don't Come off Stop please Flux Why
Sorry
Why won't it. Our Hands off You killed
Please don't kill me please Food we wanted. Come off. Off off off off off off off off off off wipe it Wipe it why is there so much We need. Food. Please why off off off off off off Why is Please Flux don't die Flux I You
I couldn't save him Don't leave No please Blood come off off off now You Killed Please don't leave me Flux don't Please come back Sorry Why why why won't the blood It won't come off why Why why why Flux why why Help why Save why Don't
Please don't Help Why Why come Off off off It won't Why Save Help
Help help come off Why won't it Red it's all
He wants to wake up.
Why? Why? kill Why die don't blood Don't please I did it for you. I Why Save me
Don't please Kill don't kill us blood red Blood you I wanted food don't Help help help help help help help help help help
We only wanted food
Save don't Please Why where Blood blood blood Our blood on Hands don't come Off off off Why why so much red Flux I
Don't kill Blood please on your hands You Please don't please we need food Please don't kill us We only Food Don't please Flux come Why
Live for me, Saps.
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry
The blood blood why is there so much Off off
On my skin Where don't do this Don't Help please
Save save save save save me don't kill me
Please
Flux?
Flux?
Flux?
Flux?
Flux?
Flux?
Flux?
Flux?
Flux?
Flux?
Flux?
Flux?