Work Text:
A loud clang echos through the room as metal hits alter yet again. The crimson stained metal is pulled back to its person and blood spurts from the never closing wound through his chest. He has lost count of how many times he's bled out, how many times that damned sword had pierced his forever beating heart.
They almost seemed reluctant at first. Reluctant at the thought of stabbing someone, a living breathing person straight through his immortal heart in repetition to save those they call family.
He doesn't have anyone to call familly. They died, killed by their own two hands and a strip of silk. They left him at his worst.
Fang Xien is pulled once more. He can feel as pieces of the altar under his spine are chipped from the sharp force of the dark steel, dig into his spine and pull through his wound that refuses to heal as if it knows it shall just be reopened.
His eyes are closed. After the fifth strike, someone had finally managed to hit the beating muscle of his heart causing blood to run quicker onto his already blood stained robes and splash into his previously bright and golden eyes.
His hands are wet, sticky and cold. His nails are chipped and still scratching at cold blemished stone in a futile attempt at repreve from the pain. He wishes no longer to keep breathing for he has no one to breathe for, he sounds like a hypocrite. He couldn't open his eyes if he tried. Not because of the dried blood gluing itself to his lashes, or because he is still squinting them from the searing pain of his chest, but because he is so desperately tired. If it was from the constant blood loss, the concussion he gave himself from hitting the back of the altar when thrashing away from the metal aimed at him, it didn't matter because he couldn't tell.