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Blood dripped, dripped, dripped. It was the only other sound other than his ragged breathing. The sun overhead burned. He listened to the blood.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
He was mildly surprised it didn't sizzle as it hit the burning sands. He stared down at the corpse before him. None of the other deaths mattered before. But they were also not done by his bare hands, and they weren't the man he had pledged his life to.
Scar was dead. His blood soaking into the sands under the burning sun, the desert taking its last blood toll from them. Well, he looked up at the sun a wry manic smile overtaking his lips, second to last he supposed. His wings stretched out, useless in this context, but the need to stretch them was always there. The need to give shade to the one he'd sworn to protect still there. He wasn't sure when it'd leave.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
He turned from the corpse. Away from the blood. Away from the man he'd pledged everything to. Only to beat him down bare handed under the uncaring sun. Grian never claimed to be a good man. Never claimed to be honorable.
He was loyal once he supposed. Maybe that died with Scar. When Scar was on his knees pressing Grian's sword to his own throat saying it was alright. He was ready now. Take the enchanter, Grian deserved it.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
He walked away. Nothing else to do. Just one last blood toll to pay to this unforgiving desert. Maybe Scar would forgive him in the endless abyss that awaits. Away from the sun and sand and the cacti. That smile was still on his face. Manic. Twisted. Pained.
He laughed, what else to do, he was the last sentient being here. He laughed, broken and raw laughter, that rang hollowly through the dunes. His wings flapped uselessly as he climbed up to the top of the hill. Away from the blood-soaked ring of cacti. Away from Scar.
Away from the rest of his humanity.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Was it his blood soaking the sands now? Did Scars finally fall off him? Are they going to be intertwined forever within the sands. Mixing together within the grains like stardust through space never to part? He took a breath and stared down the cliff. His heart beating wildly in his chest. It wasn't as loud as the blood dripping still.
He spread his wings one final time. And jumped.
Drip.
Drip.
Everything froze. The uncaring sun burned brighter and brighter, he felt himself falling. Wings unable to catch him. He'd been clipped long before this day. He took his final breath and waited for the pain to come.
It never did.
There was silence. Not even the rushing of the wind was present. But he felt the burning. That damned sun burning never ending. He opened his eyes. No longer in the desert. He was surrounded by black and purple and silence. He turned wings snapping out defensively, but it made the abyss darker and brighter. He looked down at himself, he was glowing. Like the damned sun. He was burning from the inside out.
He felt his blood burning, felt it sizzling on his skin.
Faceless beings looked down at him as he bared his teeth in anger and agony.
"The little one won our game."
"It seems he did."
"He shall not win the next."
"No he shall not."
"But let us play another game with him?"
"Yes let's."
"Grian, the bird who died in the sun, blood on your hands and your heart broken. You are a perfect specimen. The first Watcher, that was not a Watcher."
"Oh a lovely one he shall be, forced to know, but cannot stop it."
Grian fell to his knees body burning and twisting, as these uncaring beings stared down at him. As he was hollowed out by the sun that he died beneath, that he killed Scar beneath. His bones felt like they were melting, his blood boiling in his skin. He screamed in agony but it was lost in the silence around them. The beings above looked on impassive. His body contorting as he was reshaped, bones and sinew snapping and reworking itself.
Was this his punishment?
He never claimed to be good.
Never claimed to be honorable.
He pledged himself to one man.
And in the end he killed that man in a ring of burning sands and razor sharp cacti. He deserved this. Deserved it. Deserved it.
"Open your eyes Grian. And know. Know what you are and what will happen."
Grian opened his eyes. When had he closed them? The glow within him hadn't subsided, but it was muted, his wings once one pair and a beautiful soft red and blue like a macaw, were now black, racing with purple in the right light. And there were more, he looked down at himself, the blood on his hands forever stained his skin black to the elbows.
"What's happened to me?" he breathed. But somewhere deep within him he knew. He knew of the game these beings played. How they relished in their toys pulling each other apart and bleeding, how Grian somehow screwed it all up by pledging his loyalty to Scar, never betraying until the final moments. Scar was supposed to win. Grian took that from him. Grian was now a pariah, no longer a player, he was more. But he wasn't a Watcher, not fully, he was too young, but just enough to make him different.
He bared his teeth to the beings above him, blood and other burning within him.
They would pay.
Pay for making him kill Scar.
For making him this bastardization of a being.
He laughed maniacally, what else was there to do? He laughed and laughed as they waved their hands and banished him from the Void.
They made the mistake of letting him remember.
He'd take them down, with this power they gave him, with the knowledge they thought would haunt him.
He'd plan, he'd plot, he'd come back, bloodied and grinning and glowing as he is.
He never claimed to be a good man.
They should have remembered that.