Good Work Out There [Cyrus/Hayden]

Gods did not dream. Cyrus, in that regard, was no different, and at present the Quincy's mind was empty, save for the constant thrum of divine horror that always echoed through it. The degree of power that had been expelled in order to destroy the Death Energy plaguing Minatumi had been far more than the Grandmaster had been able to safely use, and now the mortal form, which was far more fragile than even a single shard of the Soul King, had paid the price.

Cyrus' body was in a state of rather substantial disrepair. The left leg wholly disintegrated, and half of the right arm. Patches here and there where flesh and bone simply ceased to be, or burned away in response to the power they were never meant to contain. Were it not for the King of Vastime, the Grandmaster would surely have simply collapsed onto the ground in a once more mortal state, unable to do much but lay there dying. As it stood, consciousness only barely occurred.

Her eyes opened, if slowly and with immense difficulty. She needed not ask who currently carried her, and perhaps that was good. She likely could not have recognized him with the state her eyes were in.

"Mm... Thank you, Mithra dear. I-"

Unable to speak even that much without pain wracking her body, Cyrus' eyes shut once more, quite frankly unable to put to words the sheer degree of suffering she was currently experiencing. She had known the harm that calling upon the Soul King's power did, yet she could not have begun to fathom how much more extreme it was to have completely surrendered herself, even in that moment. The physical wounds she had suffered were frankly inconsequential, when compared to the depths of pain in her very being. Only after it had subsided somewhat, and she was more acclimated to that hurt, did Cyrus continue.

"...I doubt I will be walking on my own any time soon. We have succeeded, yes?"

People often spoke of the burden of power, the things which made one's life harder. That by the nature of such a thing, the world would bend to your will at a price. But few ever spoke of the responsibility which came with such power, of the overwhelming magnitude one must exercise in using it. People would always grow to naturally understand the burden of it, but it was always the key fundamental knowledge of responsibility which the world lacked. But Desmond knew all too well the measure of it, and in some ways he believed Cyrus was growing to understand it too.

Had he been one of a lesser will, had he been a tad weaker in body, he too may have collapsed into a state of disrepair. But he had not, instead it was through tenacity and grit he endured the harrowing powers of Death in all it's forms. While Cyrus acted as the purging light, Desmond was the stalwart bastion so that light could be seen. As their struggle ended, his grip would relax on his sword now that the event has passed. Acting quickly, despite the groaning of his body, he'd quickly catch the.. woman. Holding her bridal style as best he could as he fell to his knees, himself exhausted from such exertion.

The helmet which was formed had long been burned away indicating his energy having depleted heavily. Perhaps more so than it had for some time. His emerald eyes gazing down at Cyrus, bloodshot and tired. Yet, they carried in them that same intensity of which only he could be known for. A quiet storm, still holding back the presence of an allmighty deity.

He'd hold him back, to the ends of the world if need be.

"No, The children have simply gone home." The man spoke with an almost chiding nature to it. As if indicating that his disdain for such a situation came purely from the fact this loss of life came of no worth. Even now he could feel numerous souls beginning their journey into the next life, the only silver lining being they had perhaps prevented more from embarking on such a thing.

"We have merely calmed the storm. But I believe we have been starkly reminded, of why the drums of war must be sounded."

His voice carried with an anger, a rage. His body tensed as he felt the pounding of his heart, his body beginning to shake from the red hot anger which flowed through him. He held her gently, but even now his grip was shaking on her as those tired eyes began to ignite. Emerald irises setting themselves rigid, as the wrath of a man came to bare. Not a king, not a god, but a man who knew well the cost of life when beings like this ran rampant. There was once ago where Desmond's rage was unfocused, and unchanneled.

Today, and this day forth, Cyrus could see it was very much focused. Red hot, anger.

"Is that so... That is unfortunate, but not- Hng... Not unbearable. It is better than to have lost."

Cyrus leaned against the King of Vastime, unable to even sit up of her own power at the moment. She wondered, however, how much pain Hayden was in as well. She knew that the Death Energy within him had surely been annihilated, and she knew that he must have been in unfathomable pain just as much as she. Though it hurt her unlike anything else she had ever experienced, Cyrus brought her single remaining hand to Hayden's cheek, a small smile gracing her features.

"Mithra dear, please, do not carry such fury in your heart. To feel so angry- ah, it is not good for one's mind, for one's soul."

There was much for them to talk about, Cyrus knew. But, she worried, she would not be able to convey it all as well as she normally could. Not when she was in this state, and not when the man carrying her felt so strongly. Still, it was her duty to try. Her duty to the world, and to him.

He didn't want to, truthfully, but he couldn't help himself. His eyes seemed to close for a moment as her hand came to rest against his cheek. Perhaps another suffering through the same pain he was helped him empathize with her. He knew help was coming, that it would arrive to aide the hurt protectors. His head tilted downwards as he allowed himself to enjoy the moment of weakness, a hand against rough and broken skin.

But his eyes would open again, emerald eyes seek ablaze. The hot fury which resided within the man was not easily placated. "Perhaps it is not, but someone must carry it." The man would remark, strength invigorating his voice. Despite the dried blackened and crimson blood which streaked his face, he seemed to be that picturesque image of unshakable soldier. "For every life lost, someone must carry that fury within them. Some one must bring vindication to their lost lives, even if the dead do not look down upon us. We must answer their call; through blood and iron if need be."

Mithra. She called him that. He had did some research on it, he didn't know how well it fit him. Maybe this Mithra figure was the same type of man as Hayden, a bloodsoaked soul which was trying to right the wrongs of the world. Who stood against what was wrong, and embolden what was right. He'd lift a hand slowly, his body feels like rusted metal grinding to life once more, as he brought a hand to stroke their hair back allowing his hand to support her head against him.

"Emotion- anger- when let ran wild can bring ruin. But when focused, when given purpose and passion; it can bring salvation. It brings us humanity." The man would speak softly, that fire perhaps dying a bit as he stared at Cyrus. He didn't mean to speak above a whisper; but the words simply came out.

"It burns me so, you seemed to have thrown yours away. It is as if you burn at both ends; and in doing so will sooner devoid this world of your light. Why did you, do this?"

He didn't say it.

He couldn't.

They could've been so much more than enemies.

It was so lonely, where they stood.

"But you must not carry it alone."

She spoke with conviction, even as it caused all the more agony within her soul. Cyrus did not care if she suffered in this moment, but then again, perhaps she did not care at all. It was impossible for even her to say.

"Emotion, humanity- They are beautiful things. But they are the realm of men, Mithra dear. I accept my place, I understand that to take this burden means I cannot live the life others do."

Deep breaths, to refocus herself. As Hayden supported her, Cyrus could only lean more into her protector's arms. She did not mind.

"The value in my life is inconsequential compared to the lives of others, of the well being of the world. I know that one day my very self might disappear; that I might one day cease to be anything other than myself. Perhaps I will simply blink out all together. My light-"

She had held out for as long as she could, but the goddess could not help but screw her eyes shut, her one hand now gripping Hayden's shoulder tightly in a meaningless attempt to feel some degree less pain.

"...My light is not so great as the light mankind might make, if I simply give them the chance."

Cyrus knew exactly what Hayden knew, why he was truly asking this. She did not wish him to be alone. She wished that upon no one. Despite her pain, she once more moved her hand to his cheek, and rested her head against his chest.

Even if they were enemies, she would never close Heaven's gates to him.

He hated her so much. He hated her, he hated her, he hated her.

Like a mantra it ran through his head in an endless motion as it tried to hold back an impossible wave. Trying to convince himself a lie which only was an attempt to ease the pain they felt. Even the burden of death did not compare to a world where a half of him was devoid in. He had not known how much companionship he felt until the moment where he might have lost it. How ironic.

The question remained if this was but a premonition to a future that would be, or could be?

The squeezing of his shoulder felt so dainty, as if a ghost was doing it. A brush in the wind, a far cry from the raw power of divinity which flowed earlier. It was the duality of such a thing which cause that dull ache within his chest. "The light of mankind will always burn brighter than anything we can produce, it is enduring in the face of darkness." The man could only agree with that sentiment, as slow breaths left his mouth.

"But I will not, cannot, believe such a light requires the depth of sacrifice you make. Humanity can endure, it can persist, it will grow, you do not need to...!"

His voice broke off, perhaps from unable being to finish. Or the sharp pain which seemed to run ragged in his body. A body rebelling against it's controller, fighting influence for a wrathful entity. One who would soon grow bored, but would never forget this slight. One who sought him more and more everyday. His eyes closed tightly, holding for a moment as she touched his cheek, before opening slowly.

"The hardest part; is saving the people who don't know they need saving, Cyrus. Those who we deem our enemies, those who believe they do not fit into the society we've made." He'd wince briefly.

"I'll save you, everytime. Everytime you walk close to that abyss, by the saints as my witness, I'll pull you back. Until I don't have to. I'll bring you back."

In hindsight, it was a foolhardy thing to say. It was one of those things he shouldn't promise, one of those many impossible tasks he strived for. But did he care? Did he truly doubt himself? With every fiber of his being, raging against what felt like a dying star within his soul, he'd believe in those words. Cyrus was not his enemy, and he did not hate them.

He just didn't know if he could accept a world without them. Even if they stood at odds, forever, he'd keep trying to turn them. He'd show them humanity could prosper, that their lights need not to be extinguished. Not if they could prevent it.

He'd saved Cyrus, even if he had to killed Auramazda.

"Mithra dear... You are far too kind."

Cyrus was quiet for a moment, collecting herself as she thought about his words. They reminded her so very much of what Mahadeva had told her, that if she came too close to that apex, became too inhuman, that Mahadeva would pummel her back toward the Earth. She wondered, for the very briefest of moments, if her ordination was truly the same as theirs.

"The day may well come. Perhaps, one day, I will not be human at all. If that day does come, if I cease to serve the world as I have...no, if ever I fall out of line. I trust in you to save me. To do whatever must be done."

She slowly moved her hand lower once more, unable to continue using it without the unspeakable pain overwhelming her. Cyrus knew she could likely have removed it, annihilated it through the Soul King's power. But, for Mithra's sake, for Mahadeva's, she would not.

"Mithra dear, for fear I may never be able to speak these words again without the din of battle, without the weight of man's future upon our shoulders; know that I love you, Mithra dear. I have told you before, I know it. But I hope- hng... I hope that you understand. That all I have done, all I will ever do, has come from love."

Silence, then. She doubted she would be able to speak much more, so the Grandmaster began to choose her words more carefully. She had so much to say, and yet so little time.

"...I will fall, Mithra. It is reassuring, to know you will catch me once more."

"I am but a man simply given the means, and the drive, to accomplish a great deal. Until I reach the limits of such a thing; I refuse to acknowledge the impossible." The man would comment to her softly as his head seemed to dip down, his arms cradling the woman in his arms. His head coming to rest against the side of her own, words becoming harder to speak.

He hoped soon they would find their reprieve. Others where ok, and soon reinforcements would arrive. Medical care for them both. The price they paid was immense, but it was fixable. It could be repaired. And once it was, they'd do this all over again if need be.

"It is such a shame I have to hold a beautiful being; let us hope the next time we meet such a thing is done not through necessity." A thin smile, a dry chuckle. He was tired and weak, truthfully content to be the stalwart warden until help arrived. She suffered as did he, and naturally he was prepared to simply sit here. No words needing to be exchanged, unless she needed them.