"I… I…" Leon fell to his knees, the blood staining his clothes obscenely, and he found himself unable to breath – it wasn't supposed to end like this; he wasn't supposed to die here. He had spent years training himself, years training with Enlil, beloved, treasured Enlil, who now lay motionless and bloody only feet away. Before him, there was laughter as Damon stepped closer, his blade held limp at his side as he kneeled and snatched a handful of Leon's silvering red hair.
"You're a weak little ********, aren't you? You and him both," Damon spat in the general direction of Enlil's body, pulling Leon's head up so that they were eye to eye. His blue eyes gleamed in the half-light of dawn, and the smirk on his face added a new shiver to Leon's body, "Did he really think that you could stop me? A whelp like you? Lilly over there might've stood a chance – if he wasn't so damn busy rescuing you."
He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to rip that smirk off his face, longed to destroy the vile man before him. But he couldn't move; Leon's eyes strayed to the still figure of Enlil, knowing that Damon was right – if only he hadn't come! If only Leon had listened to the warnings, if only he had paid more attention to the dangers. His eyes began to tear, his lips shaking and his breaths becoming even more erratic. Gods, was it because of him that Enlil lay there, wounded... or even dead?
No, Leon saw through his tears as he ripped his eyes back to the still smirking Damon, not dead. Silently, slowly, Enlil had begun to move, and it was everything Leon could do to not cry out to him. Damon, he knew, hadn't noticed yet. A blessing, a rare, but greatly appreciated blessing that forced sobs from Leon's pained body.
"What's the point it crying, you ********? It's not like it'll do you any – " He stopped, gagged, and dropped Leon to the ground. It was obvious the blond man tried to whip around, but his movement was halted by his own blade protruding from his back. Enlil had moved in quietly, quickly and Damon had been none-the-wiser to his movements nor to his intentions. Or, really, even to the fact that the wind manipulator was even still drawing breath, "H-how...? I killed you!"
Enlil was steps away, the wound on his body no longer gaping, but instead superficial, superfluous. "Obviously not." He willed the sword deeper, the air rushing to accept his demand as it twisted the blade in deeper – Damon let out a screeching wail that was nothing short of agonizing. And yet, at the same time, entirely perfect and just. For only a moment, Damon endured the pain. Then, as if he was never there, he vanished from sight.
"I-is he... gone?" Leon whispered, clutching his bleeding stomach tightly – he didn't dare look up at the sure-to-be-angry face of his friend and mentor, and jolted slightly when he felt the man's warm arms wrap around him in a consoling embrace.
"For now; he's gone to lick his wounds, but he'll be back. Let's leave this place and treat your injuries." Enlil's voice was soft, gentle, and every bit the soothing sound it shouldn't have been. He should have been angry, he should have been yelling; he should have been anything but accepting of Leon's foolhardy rush into danger.
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