Astarion x M!Reader

Forty-Nine

Playing for time was not a good choice. Not if the one you faced was close to equal. Or, even if you hated to admit it, stronger.

Cazador was and always had been a good fighter. He had born to inflict pain, to make bodies bleed, bones shatter. He has revelled in his victims cries, in their deaths even more.

But this was different.

You were sure he would be able to land a lethal strike if the opportunity arose. He could kill you yet he seemed to falter.

His blade cut through the air. You slid to the side, hands raised and pierced his leg with a sharp shadow that was formed to resemble a spear with barbs.

Blood soaked the ground.

More of your garden withered. So whatever flowed through his veins was just as rotten as yours. Not surprising yet strangely comforting.

You weren't more or less damaged than him, weren't more corrupted by the hate that connected the two of you.

No, you two were almost the same. Two sides of the same coin. Similar yet different in your own ways.

While he chose to be exactly what Vellioth the Martinet had intended him to become you craved to exceed those dark expectations.

You wanted to be better. Although you weren't sure if you had the strength to do so.

Again, burning pain cut through your flesh as his blade cut deep and made your side open wide like the wings of a bird.

The iron stench of raw meat was in the air, mixed with naked rocks and dust. Hell. It was all over you and you were all over it.

Shadows poured from that wound, together with blood. They crawled down your leg, wetted your (S/C) skin and sewed it back together.

Even though they weren't yours, not really, they still thrived to keep you alive.

Your feet slithered across the ground as you two one quick step back, two and then two more. The dark of the trees scattered apart and instead you found yourself out in the open.

A good thing considering that you had more space to operate now. But also a limit to the amount of shadows that could aid you now.

As quick as you were on your feet, Cazador was almost quicker. He let his woe chase down on your head and as you jumped aside to dodge the hit his blade snapped forward to dig into your flesh.

Your hands wrapped around the arm that held the weapon, twisted flesh like overdue fruits. A loud and very unpleasant cracking sound made your ears shiver as you broke his arm in two.

Screaming, both in anger and agony, Cazador let go of the blade.

You let yourself fall back in hopes that you could regain the upper hand by wielding his weapon against him once more.

Darkness let its teeth sink into his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Waterfalls of deep red poured from his skin, over that twisted, shattered arm of his and formed a puddle.

The silver of the moon reflected on the surface of red.

You used that short second to catch your breath. Your hands reached down to grab the blade but all of a sudden Cazador managed to snap his fingers.

Once more the shadows trembled under his influence. Their dark existence twisted and turned. Voices screamed inside your head as they shattered like pieces of fine porcelain.

Blood poured all over your legs and stomach. Your fingers curled, silent commands chased through your head.

But nothing happened.

The darkness remained just that. Darkness.

The beating of your heart chased up your throat. Pain made your breath trembled and your mind spin. Quickly, you got back on your feet, your hands reached down for the handle of the blade.

Suddenly his face was there, so close that it frightened you how easy it had been without alarming your senses. With a grin on his face he jumped at you, claws stretched out to tear your face off the bone.

All the hairs in the back of your neck stood up straight. A flinch chased down your spine and for a brief second you believed that he had you.

All the possibilities crossed your mind, all the chances that you could have taken, all the moments you had to kill him long before things had escalated this way.

Wasted.

So many things that could have been yet so little will to do so.

In the end there was no one to blame but yourself. Strangely enough, you made peace with yourself in that moment.

As the warmth of your own blood poured down your body, nestled against your skin like a lover would you couldn't help but feel...

Fine.

It wasn't good. It wasn't what you wanted. But it was fine. Enough to die yet not enough to let go. It wasn't bad nor good.

Just fine.

Your eyes flustered as the dark strands of his hair danced around his face. And for the glimpse of a second there he was.

Your old friend. The man you had once allowed so close to you.

Cazador.

A smile crossed your lips. No, that wasn't his real name. But in that moment you couldn't have cared less. What mattered was that you could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the way he came closer.

There was regret in him. Perhaps even a hint of sorrow.

Just like you he hadn't wanted this. But there was no other way.

Not for him.

Neither for you.

One of the two of you had to die so the other could become something entirely new. Something of his own.

Two sides of the same coin.

But neither of you wanted to be similar to the other. You didn't even wanted to be a coin at all.

His claws reached for your face, sharp edges dug into the soft flesh of your cheek. It burned like a hit but the pain was far worse.

The warmth of blood ran down your face.

But all of a sudden his eyes tore wide open. His lips parted to cough up a few drops of blood. They fell into your face, wetted your cheeks where tears should have been.

Suddenly he was thrown to the ground by an unknown force. Dust and blood mingled.

"Platinum!", white hair cut through the fog of your mind.