The pain in his chest was grave, but bearable. He could feel the Sin borne by the Demonic blade slowly take root, festering and spreading beneath his skin. If it were anyone else, they would have been dead upon the spot, but even his heroic constitution and Heavenly blessings could only go so far.
He, after countless battles, was dying, slowly but surely, and the Gods did not have the power or the attention to spare to save him.
He raised his head, his amber-brown locks falling out of the way of his steely grey eyes as he glanced over his friends. ——— and ——— held the entrance to the small cave they had taken refuge in. The dwarf's mighty spear and stalwart shield formed the vanguard, whilst the elf's wild axe swings eviscerated any Demons that slipped past her peer's reach.
Behind them, the rest were providing support, or tending to the injured like him and ———. His poor harpy friend lay next to him. His friend's beak, once so flippant, now struggled to draw shallow breaths.
"My… My magic!" ——— gasped as his latest spell fizzled out, nearly causing a rampaging beast to score a blow against the elf. Fortunately, ——— speared the monster through with a magically grown root just in time, although the dryad couldn't spare more than a second glance towards the now powerless human's plight before dispatching the next threat.
"Tch. So Manus has claimed his first head," ——— grumbled from above the two wounded heroes, the myrmidon's ever salty breath joining the coppery tang of blood and sweat flooding his patients' noses.
He'd have far more success focusing his attention upon ———, but he had stubbornly ignored the suggestion and continued to try to save both of them; even if all his divine magic could do was delay the mortal wound from claiming his life.
The amber-haired man turned as best he could, joining everyone else's gazes to look past the battle raging at the cave's mouth. Beyond the dwarf and the elf forming their front line, beyond the teeming horde of Demons and the monsters whipped up in their wake, they looked to the skies.
The firmament was dark; blackened by heavy storm clouds that shielded the War in Heaven from mortal eyes, but even the will of the Gods could not fully contain such a titanic battle. Great flashes of lightning, torrential floods, mighty whirlwinds, and streaks of fire broke forth from the oppressive clouds, cascading down to a world already in chaos below.
A second after they had turned to watch, a comet of dissolving golden light broke through the sealed heavens. Klieswell, God of Secrets and Arcane Magic, was dead, slain at the hands of the Dark God Manus.
Time seemed to freeze. Even the Demons and monsters assaulting them paused, looking towards where a god had fallen. For the first time in Creation, one of the Twelve had disappeared.
As his body fell to Pyren, its golden light continued to break apart, before ultimately shattering into a million particles that all fizzled away within the dark skies.
With his defeat, the tapestry of mysteries he wove, the source of all arcane magic, went with him. All throughout the Kingdom of Elysium, mages desperately fighting for their and their compatriots' survival lost their powers as well.
It would only be the first. If they did not stop Manus now, the Dark God would be the only one left standing by day's end.
"We can't dally any longer," the wounded man grunted, using his mighty, two-handed sword as a crutch to help him back on his feet.
"Down! If you keep fighting, you're going to die," the aquatic priest's voice was stern, but he knew the fish-man too well—he could pick up the waver of uncertainty in the priest's voice.
"And if I don't fight, we're all going to die, my friend," the amber-haired man reached over with the hand not holding his blade, placing it upon the other's shoulders for additional support.
"If we don't make it to Borea's peak, there will be no stopping Manus. The Twelve have told us they cannot defeat him. Pyren's fate, and the fate of all who live on it, is in our hands."
"But… It's too late…" the mage, the only other human besides himself, mumbled, the spirit in his eyes faltering after his God's death. "Manus has already reached the mountain's peak; he is already fighting in Heaven. No mortal can enter those realms… Even if the Gods unbar Heaven's Gates for us, only dragons and the Souls of the deceased can step forth."
The brown-haired hero's jaw tightened. He was hoping no one would mention that part.
"If we don't follow, we'll all die anyway… And all of Creation will follow us…" the harpy wheezed from the ground, his fumbling arms struggling to pick up his bow. "We might as well follow and do what we can. It's only an unstoppable swarm of Demons and a Dark God capable of defeating every other God by himself. Easy."
"Ah, hell, why not. It was getting tiring always being on the defensive," the elven warrior lass chimed in with a wide grin. "May my Mistress of the Stars smile upon our foolish scramble and record our sacrificial ascent to her side!"
"…No," the Hero grunted firmly. "Only I will ascend to Heaven after Manus. The rest of you will hold the peak."
"You can't be serious!" it was the dryad's turn to look aghast, turning her attention away from the front lines to stare at the wounded human.
"I mean it. I'm going to die anyway," he spoke while favoring his wounded side. "The wound Manus' champion delivered as I struck him down will be my end. But the rest of you, you can all still live.
"Besides," he reminded them by lifting the ornate sheath holding his mighty blade. "Only Losvirdikothar, the holy blade forged from the Heavenly King's own fang, can harm Manus. It can only be me."
"You foolish brat, I thought we had beaten that self-sacrifice habit out of you by now," the dwarf scolded from the front lines despite the Demons pushing their advance once more. "We can still support you, help you land the killing blow—"
"No," his steel-gray eyes affixed the rest of his party—his friends. "However this fight turns out, even if I am successful, Pyren will be left devastated. I cannot give it my all to slay Manus unless I know you're here to clean up the mess I've left behind, and I cannot hope to win against Manus unless you prevent his Demons from returning to him in Heaven.
"This is the only way we can save the world. I will join the battle in Heaven, and you all will hold the peak against his reinforcements."
There was a silence besides the din of the ongoing battle. Their eyes lowered, a mixture of shame and indignation upon their expressions. They didn't like it; they didn't want to acknowledge it, but the plan made sense, and his tone left no room for disagreement.
"You… you can't!" a younger voice broke the heavy silence of his declaration, a tender voice warbling with grief.
Oriana.
His surrogate dragon daughter was currently in her elven form, appearing as a young teenage lass with long platinum hair and fiery golden eyes. She had been busy acting as flexible support until now, using her sorcery to help heal and fight, as well as serving as the last obstacle before the wounded—just in case any Demons or beasts slipped through the rest.
"Wymond… I… I can't lose you too," her eyes watered, a quite undignified expression for a dragon, as she rushed over, squeezing her arms around his midsection. "Please, there has to be another way…!"
"It's alright. This is just the way things have to be. You always knew I was going to die early in your life; that's just how it is between dragons and humans. This is just… moving up the schedule a bit," Wymond, the amber-haired Hero, consoled with a proud smile, his free arm reaching down to pat her head one last time.
She had always been aware of the danger of their mission and that he would not be with her for the rest of her life. However, with that far-off, future day's arrival, it was impossible for the young dragon to accept it. Wymond could only hope that she would accept his decision in time—that she would have the time to accept it.
"Da—" the word nearly left her throat before she swallowed it, her adorable, pouting, tear-filled face looking up at him. "Please… let me come with you. I… Dragons can enter and leave Heaven freely. I can help!"
He leaned down, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her tightly against his chest.
"It's all right, Ori. I need you down here too. I can't fight with my all if I have to protect you, I'm sorry," he breathed, holding onto the hug longer than he should have—every second could mean the difference of one more God's death or survival, but he couldn't bring himself to let go now.
"Promise me, Ori," Wymond breathed, swallowing down his grief like he had so many times in his life filled with loss and struggle. "Promise me that you'll live a long and happy life, that you won't follow me to Heaven.
"Promise me I can look down after this is all done, and know that the world is a better place because you get to live in it."
The dragon girl sniffled, refusing to look up as she buried her tears into the man's armored chest plate.
"I… I promise… Dad."