[attr="class","main"]
Tempest Quinn bleeds out in Yveltal's embrace.[break][break]
It is not a quick process. Shock makes the gaping wound in his chest only a numb throb. He gasps wetly in the suffocating heat and darkness. Yveltal is still save for the occasional deep breaths. Even the bright shine of electric blue is obscured from his vision, either closed or him crushed at too awkward an angle to see. Brown eyes want to roll into the back of his head and stay there.[break][break]
This situation was one that Tempest had always wanted.[break][break]
Do something to feel like Tempest saved the people he cares about. Then Tempest would martyr himself. He would know that his life was given over so that others might live, the ultimate sacrifice. A true death, one that no one could be upset at him for. Even if the idea of losing him made them sad, if they knew it was for the greater good how could they be angry?[break][break]
A dream come true.[break][break]
When faced with the reality of it, of that pit finally getting what it always wanted, Tempest is faced with a different feeling.[break][break]
Shifting, Tempest tries to kick and weakly push at the legend. His hands only find the soft fluff of it's mane and tugs lightly. Yveltal does not move other than to draw in another breath. It jostles the horn he is impaled on, a spike of pain shooting from his core and outwards. He can't feel his fingers or toes.[break][break]
A deep sob wracks from his fading body, surprising even himself.[break][break]
"I don't want to die."[break][break]
Final words are slurred, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth.[break][break]
This passing should have been peaceful, a testament to his final show of love for those around him. Yet all he feels is fear and sadness and the occasional flicker of anger as his breathing gets harder and harder. Tempest can't even have
this. The satisfaction of knowing what he did mattered. It all just feels empty and hot and cold and painful.[break][break]
That is the sad truth of it. There is no poignancy in death. There is only pain for everyone who touches it. You leave those who care about you behind with the weight of your absence. Death is a period. There would be thousands of sentences written after yours had ended. Those who lived on had to endure the burden of the shape you left behind.[break][break]
Tempest Quinn can now see what the emptiness inside his chest really was. What sick irony is it that it's much too late? He had never wanted to die, not really. Tempest has just been guilty to be the one who survived.[break][break]
So his last breaths are spent quietly sniffling, scared, and alone with Death itself. Tempest's head lolls to rest on Yveltal's, hot face finding no relief in the avian's scaled head. Chapped cheeks run hot with tears, dripping salt onto the other. He closes his eyes with the knowledge that he will not be opening them again.[break][break]
As Tempest Quinn dies, he does not flashback his entire life. All he can see is the future he stole from his own hands.
[attr="class","tag"]death
[attr="class","notes"]
notes
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🔗 future
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