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How did it turn to this.
To some extend He had calculated the fact that His Lord's apparent regard specifically for His presence- something that proved to be necessary in the end- oh how He despised burdening His Lord with such paltry needs- for His 'optimal sane existence', would effect the trust of the other Angels into Him.
What He had failed to consider, what had slipped His notice with all the other plans He had in place- was the awful consequences that lack of trust could have.
Not that He would have enjoyed having the trust of these filthy blasphemous traitors.
Medici is forced to gaze away, to look at the floor rather than at His Lord's throne. To try to burn the image from His mind before it takes root with enough force that the passage of time will not be able to tear it into pieces.
The effort is futile but He tries.
Then Their gaze falls upon Him like a candle that has been lit for a God that's not His Lord. The awareness of its existence in the shape around Him as cutting as the weight of His senses screaming at Him of danger. His mind constructing plans that do not work and will not work and would not have had even a small chance of working if He didn't also hold those memories.
And just as His plan begins to take shape into something more concrete than smoke- the candle that is Their gaze intensifies, blazing into a fire He has no hope of controlling. Into a focus that carries the distinctive undertone of being studied, categorized and then- not dismissed exactly but more? controlled. Understood to the point where expectations are unnecessary. Not worthless of consideration but known.
As His Lord had felt like but incomplete. Lesser.
Blood echoes on the floor like a rainfall that He has no ability to disrupt and He yearn to take step after step after step and pull His Lord's body away from them. To carry it and take all the places where they have ruined the perfection of before and cover them with sacrifices until He cannot witness anything else but the image of His devotion.
Only that fact that this too must be within His Lord's plans stops Him from acting further. From insulting them to the point of dying immediately- and there is a plan now. Taking shape far too slowly for His liking. A controlled fire that he can unleash only if they don't think to stop Him. Far too slow of a plan for it to work if they think Him as someone truly unexpected.
He forces His body to relax slightly. To not step away from Their minuscule attention to a place where He can feel the weight of a weapon in His hand and the pulse of success lighting His path forward with every body that falls to destruction under His command.
"Did the Hunter finally notice us? Too late to Hunt anything but the last rays of the Sun? Don't you worry, it will shine brighter than ever before. Not limited now- as it should have been from the start."
The tone was as grating as it was soft. Almost kind. As if speaking to a child- or a human that would have had reason to worry if the Sun where to change that are not founded on what it would mean.
Medici wishes for a moment for nothing more but to pull forth a song and celebrate a declaration of Their death with laughter and blood that is not His Lord's spilling in this holy ground. Another sacrifice that He is unable to fulfill.
"How pitiful- to not even look at this historical occasion. To not even look at knowledge that is offered so freely. Although you where never one for knowledge, always there to go to another war without end. Without any other reason but to please a God who couldn't even be wise enough to control himself."
Well. Let it not be said that Medici had self control when He needs to act contradictory to expectations. He has memories now of more Gods than the mere handful that are currently alive. Knowledge of ones that had been connected to the concept of knowledge that where so much more interesting then the one that continues talking. About sacrifice and wisdom and something like? the importance of giving stability.
He almost can't keep Himself from laughing at that last part. But luckily enough the Dragon continues talking before He is forced to rethink His plans.
"Do you have any questions about what will happen next," the once Angel of Wisdom's voice echoes of that particular mix of guiding and helpful that rings up into a falsehood as He continues, "We can solve them if you just seat with us in this feast we took so much care to create."
"Angels are important for Gods to have after all."
Now He did laugh. Loud over the sound of the madness that this entire one sided conversation felt covered in. But He had His plan. And His victory condition was in sight.
He finally turned His eyes to His Lord's throne, taking care to look just above them rather than directly at them.
Rather than directly at the fallen remains of His Lord.
Then Medici, with the experience of having done this exact action more times than having heard His name recited in a million unconscious prayers for War and Victory- bowed.
Not to Them. But to the Throne behind Them. As if They had never existed. As if He was alone in this room and His Lord was just choosing to greet Him later, away in more important matters.
Angling His body in such a way that They could mistake it for something else. Mistake faith- loyalty for submission.
Take care of Amon.
He pulls upon His Lord's faith in Him. His Lord's request that He knows if He dies today He will not be able to fulfill. Pulls from that deep well of desperation that only His memories contain, from a powerlessness that had never been so acutely felt until now.
If He fucks this up He will be dead. Not that He is not potentially dead now but there is a plan He can hold onto.
His lips move and He almost can't hear His own words over the beating of His heart. But He was made for destruction- and that's what He will bring if They allow it.
"I accept your previously stated request Leodero, if you grant me and my family an oath of protection."
Silence drags against the passing of time like a bladed hook. Tension reins its furious head as They do not speak. As for the first time since He entered the room They have been met with something they could not have expected.
Anger? Oh, anger is so easy to use as fuel until it hollows you from the inside out. Until tiredness replaces it if one survives long enough. But what about spite? What about giving them exactly what they asked for to hide the blade.
He does not look at Leodero. He does not look as He hears steps and as He longs to just stop being able to smell the blood of His Lord in the air.
"If I had known that the only thing it would take to have an agreeable Medici was to gain more power?" Laughter echoes like incense in a cathedral of light."We should have done this a lot earlier."
Then lips crush against His own.
And He has just a moment to stop Himself from reacting as blood fills His mouth. As His molars taste flesh that He should not ever be in a position of tasting. As the Tyrant's tongue digs deeper down His throat as if experimenting if He will be bitten or not. As He barely stops himself from gagging at the sensation of sweet sweet blood mixing with His saliva and being unable to do anything but taste it.
The Tyrant pulls back. And Medici can see satisfaction in His eyes as He doesn't back away.
"You agree then, before witnesses to make that vow?" His words somehow come clear, unfaltering, even as blood falls down His chin and he dares not look and see His reflection in the marble. Knows that if He does so He will lose this fight so much quicker. The only fire keeping Him to His feet the certainty that if the person before Him where to agree before future enemies upon a vow, They will hold it over Him as long as it has negative consequences for the rest of both Their lives.
"Yes," the word tastes like gravel, like a storm that has calcified into itself thrown into the space between them, dragging all within it to unknowing. Never to be seen above the relentless waves as whole. Agreement pulled forth as if this is an offering, an opportunity and not a sacrifice.
"Let me be the witness of the validity of this vow then," Aucuses' voice rings sharply against the anticipation Medici can see contained within the former Wind Angel. As light and soft and caustic as a Sun without end. As a light giver that burns everything under His gaze.
He was having fun with this exchange.
At least it served Medici's purpose for once.
"Let us leave you then to fulfilling your terms of your respective oaths- we do not need to be here for that part," Herabergen added, taking a cursory glance over the throne room that had now been tainted, that They had tainted. "We can converse on more important matters later."
Then both of Them walked out of the room. As if this was just a normal occasion. As if They had been requested by His Lord for some specific task and now just could leave and be met with a world that would not despise Them for Their actions.
They where Gods now. Who will stop them?
Luckily enough for His temper Medici didn't have time to think more on that matter as the heavily decorated door closed down behind Them- making a sound that for once reminded Him of the closing of a coffin, of an arrowstring being pulled- rather than of a task being finished, an offering being accepted.
He took just a moment to steady Himself on the memories He still held- before moving His eyes away from the door. Lowering His gaze immediately in the face of lack of expectations for what will happen specifically. Just enough to see the recently ascended Tyrant but not have to look at Him in the face. In the eyes.
That could have been considered a mistake from a certain perspective- but He was too focused on controlling Himself after His first victory condition was reached to care.
He had not been told how to treat the other God so certain precautions where warranted right?
The Tyrant must have cared very much about the perceived ignoring, as moments later He closed the distance between them forcing Medici to close His eyes to not look at Him.
He couldn't decide if that was a particularly smart decision as He felt Leodero's breath just inches away from His lips. Waiting. Forcing Him to once more inhale over the sensation of His Lord's blood. As strong a smell as fire in a dried field.
A hand finds its way into His hair.
It travels slow, oh so agonisingly slow. Measured, calm, controlled. Up and up the strand that had been let loose from where His helmet still containing most of it.
And then it pulls.
His eyes fly open without conscious thought- and He will have to train Himself out of such reactions to His hair being used in any way in the future.
That control that had characterized the actions of the Tyrant for just a few breaths breaks- as Medici looks directly at His eyes and finds a heat as bright as what He would have preferred having coat His favorite spear rather than colour the intentions of the God before Him.
As if He had been waiting on that very action happening Leodero kisses Him once more. Slower this time but no less forceful for it. Rolling His tongue against Medici's own, pulling the breath from Medici's lungs, with so much force that He has to focus on the hand still on His hair to not get trapped within this moment for eternity. Blood rolling on His tongue and the sense of a storm that wants to ruin Him visible when He opens His eyes with slow blinks to adjust. To show weakness.
A trail of saliva and blood remains between them as Leodero finally pulls away. And those eyes lock with His own as if daring Him to look away again. An order shared unspoken.
"I want to look at your eyes as they burn with hate and you can do nothing my dear Hunter," Leodero moves Medici's helmet away from His face in a deceptively gentle action, pulling the only part that was still in place upwards and throwing it to the floor like trash in one swift motion. Allowing His hair to flow freely to a nonexistent wind. "Let us move to a somewhere more comfortable first."
For a moment Medici imagines them moving to another part of the city. The humiliation of being seen following Leodero's every order will probably be satisfying for the other after all if He has guessed correctly.
And then a hand pulls Him, fingers digging into His arm with enough force that He is certain if this happens more than once He will have nail marks to laugh as a reminder of His victory condition tomorrow- if He fulfills His terms well enough to have a tomorrow.
But His mind is too quick. Too quick to not realize that He is not guided oh so carefully towards the door but to the direction of His Lord's corpse. To the direction of the throne.
The other laughs, a sound as deep as the depths of the galaxy He wants to send the Tyrant to after burning even His bones to ashes. And then He is almost dazedly pushed to the throne itself. Legs dangling in the air as His arms try to find where to lay without tainting the throne with His presence further.
He has promised to obey and that feels like the cruelest thing He could have agreed on right about now.
"I could have been so careful with you Medici," the words are whispered, but the fact that He can feel Leodero's breath on the curve of His ear, the God bending slightly as to better hold a strand of His hair with the hand that is not currently holding onto the armrest of the throne, makes that somewhat of a moot point. "If you had just agreed when I had asked."
Without warning, other that the fact that Medici could have sensed the other's impatience even if He had suddenly decided after all this trouble to join His Lord on the dead category, Leodero's hand reached for His neck.
For the fabric covering His neck. White fabric covering His chest, light and deceptively flimsy for a visit where He should have been safe.
Blue eyes meet His and He can read the want for Him to remove His clothes as easily as reading a battle plan- but before He can think to burn them Leodero's lips move. A smile, a terrible terrible smile that Medici has never seen before turning His expression onto something that makes Medici want to draw enought fire around Him as to honour the fact that He has been called Destructive as a compliment. Enought for it to stick- to burn that face away into nothing and be able to hear only distant distant surprised screams.
"Well, would you not serve your Lord?"
Medici has a moment where He almost cannot stop himself from throwing up the blood He has already consumed, before realization sets in with that particular lightness of a mountain thrown at His face.
Still. He agreed to this. This was the only way to guarantee the survival of everyone His Lord cares about. And so He will succeed. Even if its the last thing He would do.
He reaches with unshaking fingers, seeing out of the corner of His eye how above Him the Tyrant's attention has sharpened even more on Him if that was even possible, and pulls the other's pants slightly further down. Noticing only now how Leodero has removed some of the accessories that would have made this harder on someone seating below Him.
Before He can think to hesitate Medici uses the position of His hands to pull Leodero closer to Him, revealing His already hardened cock fully as Leodero's pants fall away completely.
Hands reach for His hair with a speed that He would have reacted to at any other fight but cannot now, and His head is quickly pushed to sink around the cock in front of Him.
Medici looks Leodero in the eye as much as He is able- He has been ordered to after all- as He swallows around the other's cock. Sinking even further up, as much as He is is in a position to do so without moving fully from the throne itself- a suspicion telling Him that that would be a terrible idea, as the Tyrant pulls himself almost entirely on Him. Forcing Him to not be able to do anything but continue if He doesn't want to be crushed.
He starts sucking around it, as quickly as He is able when He can feel the warning of danger in every second of Leodero being close enough to Him where He can kill Him without even having to try first, and is almost gratified to see the other's eyes close for just one moment. One moment of peace as He continues rolling His tongue around Leodero's cock, pulling himself upwards until He has engulfed the entire thing within His mouth. Pulling almost soft noises from the man above Him.
His hair almost falls upon His face in His quickness to move His head before Leodero catches it. Pulling it back behind His ear as if its the most normal action in the world. Leaving His hand to rest at Medici's shoulder, close enought to His neck that He can think only of threat as He focuses for just one thought on breathing around the other's cock.
Before He starts moving His head in truth. Pulling Himself downwards almost completely off it- feeling the coldness of the throne as He does so at His back, a constant reminder of where He is and His terrible life choices, before engulfing it once more in a way that makes the Tyrant's eyes glow with satisfaction and moans feel the air like vapor after a rainfall.
He repeats the entire process as He feels the other pull at the back of His head. Pull Him to continue and continue. Groans easy to hear as He pulls Himself back on the head of the other's still hardening cock, cloying His eardrums with a song that He does not wish for. As pain blazes at the back of His mind with every strand of hair carelessly moved to the point of almost tearing.
Then the other stops for just a half there moment. Allowing Him to pull away just enough to catch His breath. The humiliation of how breathless He sounds burning against the confines of His mind as He focuses on the air entering His lungs. On the lack of pressure against His throat. On the body covering half of His- hands deceptively light on His hair.
But He knows, as He hears blood rushing down His own erection that if He does not continue He would be once more moved to do so.
His hands shift, and His entire concentration falls on the way they quickly pick up the other's cock, taking the place where His mouth was moments ago.
He lightly presses against the faint veins He can see bulging there, hearing a startled gasp as He does so. Then His hands travel upwards, playing as lightly as He can with Leodero's balls when He wants more than anything to call upon a fire then and there.
He can see now that He is not swallowing around it that He has left faint specks of blood up the entire shaft akin to some kind of morbid artistic attempt.
That observation more than anything else makes Him bite the inside His lips hard enough to feel His own blood join inside His mouth as He takes one last breath.
Leodero pulls upon the hair He had just moments before moved in place hard enought for Him to not be able to stop a gasp from escaping Him as Medici removing His hands from Leodero's cock. And then He sinks His lips once more around Him, forcing His head to move much quicker than before now that He knows how much He can handle before breathing is a concern.
Medici quickly finds a rhythm in the thrusts He can feels down His throat. In the way Leodero's cock sinks deeper and deeper into Him as He moves back and forth. Moans resounding around the room with His every exhale.
He still doesn't stop Himself quickly enough from lightly bitting around the head of it when He is just at the borders of not being able to keep going.
The cock still half way in His mouth trembles as Leodero finally is pushed past the edge at the most inopportune moment and Medici makes Himself swallow the cum dripping down as Leodero screams His name with that my that makes His skin crawl.
And He cannot breath- and why did Amon choose today of all day to steal His ability to not need to breath. As He continues swallowing around the other. Whiteness entering His vision and the hands gripping His shoulder tightening hard enough to tear skin off.
At least this feels more like a fight with the pressure on His body, allowing Him to focus on the way He is succeeding His larger goal as blood falls down His tunic where the skin Has been completely torn off.
Cum drips past His lips and to the throne below, tainting it even further as Leodero's orgasm finishes and the hand on His shoulder dips into the open wound, nails collecting Medici's own blood in a blindingly painful gesture.
He muffles a scream on the cock still in His mouth, barely able to keep track of Leodero's groans throught the pain, as those hands dig until He can feel them touching the bone of His shoulder. Digging around it before finally leaving as the Tyrant pops the bloody hand into His mouth with a satisfied smile.
Medici finally feels certain that He would not scream immediately as He removes Himself from Leodero's cock with one last lick to make certain that not all the cum will fall down on the throne below Him.
He places His hands at the only available space between the throne's armrests and the rest of His body as He looks Leodero in the eyes. Trying to guess what the other will do next as He breaths in again and again. Uncertainty clouding His thoughts slightly at this reprieve.
But then. He makes the mistake of looking at the marble below Him. Clear enough to see ones reflection upon before all this. Now murky with Leodero's cum and His own blood. But still able to see His own face.
Blood is dripping down from the wound on His shoulder and He can see where the bones, white against the mangled crimson flesh that tries to cover them, peak out. Cum is visible around the corners of His mouth and His hair. His hair is in such a state of dissaray, strands visibly out of place in a twisted halo of red around Him. Pulled back and now left to fly in all directions, easily seen through half lidded eyes.
He can see Leodero notice that He is looking at His own reflection as a blooded hand finds its way to His neck. Resting there lightly as the Tyrant pulls Himself down and kisses Medici once more. Teeth biting against Medici's lower lip hard enought to draw blood as He pushes further into Medici's mouth.
Licking against the roof of His throat as if trying to taste the cum that still remains. Forcing Medici to pull their tongues together in the hope of Him stopping as a half muffled moan escapes His lips without His choice as Leodero grinds against His own still covered cock.
Leodero moves back just an inch away from Medici's face, their breaths mingling, warmth colouring His face like the Sun that he does not look above to find to ask for guidance. And yet, even as the Tyrant's hand remains still on His throat like a declaration, Medici cannot help but notice the way the fabric on Leodero's upper garment has been painted with blood from Medici's open wound, dark blues and blacks hollowed by a red that seems as fitting there as on the other's lips.
Meaning none at all.
Eyes that shine with exhilaration meet Medici's own and the realization that shine in that slight widening of them makes Him shudder slightly, easily able to be felt where Leodero's hand rests upon His pulse point with almost gentle precision.
"You need to breath."
And damn His observation skills. Damn them to an early death as His eyes are removed from their sockets and His Lord's uniqueness is ripped from Leodero's chest back to where Medici can offer it in a vein hope of stitching His Lord's body together.
Leodero's hand pushes against the tendons that connect his neck to the rest of his body with the slow relentless attention of someone who has found a new way to cause destruction quickly and effectively- and then directly at his throat. So close to cleaving His entire head off with that gesture that for a moment Medici imagines through the sluggish feeling of his thoughts running away from Him- just- moving forwards.
Breaking all his plans to pieces in order to have the pleasure of biting against Leodero's throat until He can feel the taste of blood that is not his Lord's in his mouth.
He discards that idea as quickly as he starts to feel that dreadfully starting to become familiar lightheadedness. And as He opens his eyes once more he forces his slightly throat to work before Leodero kills him for good.
"Y-yes." The word is chocked out against the pressure on his neck and-
He feels the rawness of His throat like a dent on his armor. He hears the shakiness of his response and for a moment can think of nothing but how he craves to destroy yet another God as He has done before in his Lord's name.
But now for himself.
He is reminded of the time before he found his Lord. Before-
The pressure on His neck abates as the Tyrant's hand moves to touch His cheek and He can think once more. He can feel Leodero's hand brushing so lightly, so carefully- he can hate this moment as- warmth lines-
There are tears running down His cheeks.
He-
"I would take care of you my Medici, my Consort, even if you look like such a starving beast now," Leodero's hand anchors Him to the moment and Medici tries to stop his body. To make it silent and still. To regain the careful control that he has in every battle. In every war. In every fight.
He cannot stop the tremors running down his body as he takes slow shaky breaths, as the warmth of the other holds Him in place as much as the vow he has made and the plan he had constructed what felt like so long ago.
"I would just need to teach you some proper obedience first for after your vow has been fulfilled," the hand that had been collecting his tears moves away, the ghost of that touch so vivid in Medici's mind that He makes a high noise at the back of His throat without conscious permission.
But He has only a breath to feel disgusted with Himself before the Tyrant reaches for something hidden in His clothes- revealing an earring that dangles in the light. Silver strings connecting like a spider web to craft a mesh of dark blue carefully painted stones that even while in the other's hand lightly crush with each other- making a noise reminiscent of bells swaying in the wind.
Then Leodero's hand, with the calmness of someone who has already won and knows exactly what they can take before their beaten opponent will try alternative methods to escape their grasp brings the earring to right above Medici's left ear.
"Be still or I cannot guarantee your neck my Consort."
He has killed so many Gods. He has won so many conquests in the name of his Lord. He is named the Angel of War and no one can take that away from Him.
And yet now He stills as he waits for a knife that's not a knife to come. As he waits for His plan to come to reality- knowing that this is not the worst yet. As He keeps Himself from baring His teeth in defiance.
The needle of the earring is almost unnoticeable as it pierces His ear in compare to the pain still echoing throught His body like a never ending song where His shoulder is still open, blood running sluggishly over His chest. And yet He notes it.
He notes the moment and the characteristic he is certain is present in that earring. Of Storm and destructing and as muffled as a distant war He cannot be present in when he has Leodero's smiling face looking at Him as if expecting something more.
He leans back slightly on the throne. Enough to touch the back once more- just to gain the slightest bit of distance, of space, of breath. The slightest bit of peace- but the sound of bells stops Him more effectively than even the hand reaching for the stained fabric He is still wearing can.
And then the fabric is ripped off with a sharp gust of wind that cuts slightly deeper over Medici's chest in Leodero's attempt to remove everything that He is wearing as quickly as possible and Medici has to focus on reality.
He tries to ignore how hard His cock is now that it has been taken out of the confines of His clothes and barely manages by locking His eyes in Leodero's face. By looking at anywhere other than His own body.
But before He can collect Himself truly for what's to come, Leodero lowers Himself down, low enought for this to feel like a mockery of a bow, and picks Medici's legs- half pulling Him into the air with Him as he tries to find His balance without falling off completely.
He finally gives up on this- considering what is to come and how much of his composure He will need, and wraps His legs against Leodero's waist tightly enought to feel the way he has lost control of everything by doing so as the earring falls almost in his face with that action. Bells echoing as he leans back with half His body suspended to the air and being kept in place only throught Leodero's presence.
He notes the gleam in Leodero's eyes as He does so throught eyes that want to close but can't, danger too present for Him to relax- but has no energy to do anything but stay like this as He waits for the other to finally complete the terms of that request Leodero had made so long ago.
Without warning the other takes a hold of His legs from where they are resting at his sides and pulls them wide around Him.
Medici exhales sharply as he realizes finally Leodero's intention with a creeping sense of dread pulling at His mind like poison. Like a rope holding His worst expectations in place that has now snapped.
But He doesn't have much time to think as Leodero's cock reaches for His entrance with a quickness that makes Him want to hold his breath and never stop until he cannot see anything anymore other thant that blinding feeling of nothingness from before.
He is reminded of Leodero's words from when the God had held an earring to His ear and He had done nothing to stop it as it pierced His ear- and then Leodero pushes in and He cant think nothing, do nothing but scream.
A long guttural sound escapes His throat and He cannot stop it. Cannot stop His body from reacting to the pain. From feeling the way the other's cock is trying to push in more and more inside His body. Can focus on nothing but the swallow thrusts against His hole as Leodero continues with no consideration for His reaction, for no consideration of anything but His own pleasure.
Moans echo in the space between them and He can do nothing but continue screaming as every nerve inside His body lights aflame and His memories recoil to an intrusion that should not have been.
Medici tries to relax, to lessen the crawling feelings inside His own body. To make the pressure against His walls lessen in providing some kind of satisfaction to the Tyrant. Enought for Him to stop if only for a moment.
But He doesn't. He continues pushing Himself inside again and again, rhythm quick enought for Medici to not be able to focus even on getting His breathing in control over the sound of Leodero's cock hitting inside His walls. Of their bodies sinking into each other again and again.
His muscles scream at Him as Leodero pushes Himself even deeper and He can doing nothing but be still. Nothing but wait for this to stop as pain rises and rises and rises to the rest of His body in tidal waves.
He tries to draw upon the pain. To consider this just another battle to be won. But His brain would not accept it, cannot remain still enought throught the ovewhelming sense of being split open to think further.
He had a plan. He is certain He had a plan. Some kind of reasonable tactical plan that would-
He cries out against the feeling of fullness that takes Him as Leodero cums insides Him. But He doesn't stop. He continues fucking Medici through that sensation of wetness and fullness and loss of control Medici can only be still, still. Oh so still. As His body is moved again and again.
What if He just died like this.
With the sound of bells on His ears and Leodero fucking into Him until He is nothing but a breathless corpse just like His Lord.
His head lies back as if in a dream. As if if He just closes His eyes a moment more He can escape this for just a moment of peace.
What is He even saying. Peace?
His throat is raw enough from the screaming that He cannot find words to say out loud. No songs to grant strength that will not break over the breaking of His body.
He loves His Lord. But He cannot die. He cannot die like this.
His hair feels like a physical fire as His eyes snap open as the Tyrant finally realizes something has changed. Shifted. Broken.
Shattered to the point where-
He grabs the earring still dangling from His ear with the hand He had been using to steady Himself to the armrest and pulls it from the rest of His ear. Uncaring for how His skin sticks on it and for the blood left behind.
And then He throws it, channeling enough power of Destruction into it that it feels like a miniature star in His hand, right to Leodero's face.
It hits Leodero right as the other finally sees it, finally sees the rage in Medici's face.
And then it burns.
Burns out His face. Then His skull. Then-
Medici forces Himself to inhale against the chocking feeling still in His throat as He clenches His hands hard enough on the throne to feel it breaking under Him slightly as it should not have.
He-
He ascended.
The body of the Tyrant falls to the ground as the God dies completely and Medici's legs fall from under Him. Give away completely as they are once more His own. Rest aimlessly as pain travels throught His entire body in dull distant echoes.
He has won.
He has won.
His legs don't tremble under Him as He forces Himself to His feet.
They hold in place as He steadies His being with hands that He knows if He where to focus on over the war song still echoing in His ears bear, are so lovingly painted with blood and nail marks. Ones that will now fade and will never return. As sharp in the declaration that their existence stands as the earring that He can still see from here on the floor.
He really must keep that earring somewhere nice after this.
But why should He focus on that?
He has won after all.
Medici waits for just a moment. Waits for something fundamental to change. For this to have been some strange dream that He will wake up to with His Lord alive to meet Him and the throne room untainted.
Before spitting the blood still stuck in His mouth.
Seeing the amount of it, how little of it somehow had crafted a tomb within His mouth, makes the whole experience ring of something He cannot name. Of a feeling He cannot taste over a concession being won. Over a battle that has finished with Him alive.
He has consumed so much of it.
Never would He have expected living to be the biggest worry that He has.
Half crawling to the corpse of His Lord as blood runs down with His every step, He finds Himself realizing that it still isn't His biggest worry- not truly.
Laughter that is more breathless than bitter rings in the space of His act of sacrilege.
He picks the broken remains of His Lord up in His arms. Reverently shifting Himself as to place His Lord in an imperfect imitation of what He Himself had experienced so long ago. In a moment where memories made insanity crack its blessedly silent judging eyes open. And then a God's grace closed them with steady feather light fingers. Unable to do anything for the blood that mixes with His Lord's even now.
And then He counts. Trying to quantify the way his mind rattles like a starving bird within His skull; in the still image of warmth that spreads to His fingers akin to a Sun He will never again glimpse at as He has today. So different from the warmth of the Tyrant holding Him.
Medici counts the bones peaking from where those Blasphemous Traitors had opened and split His Lord's chest cavity open.
And counts them again. And again.
Traces the shape behind His eyelids. Traces the hair He dares not touch. The way His Lord's blood falls on His bare flesh, staining skin until He can see nothing below it.
Take care of Amon.
Trailing a hand over the hair that the Tyrant left in a state of such dissaray as to give rise to frustration even while half drunk on the feeling of His Lord close by, He cannot help but wonder if this possibility was too within His Lord's expectations.
If His Lord had planned for His ascension. For the hollowness He is feeling right now to be there with Him. A weight He cannot imagine leaving even as divinity consumed His bones and His beloved War drinks the shape of His thoughts until He can imagine nothing else.
A hand ghosts over His Lord's eyes, His Lord's closed eyes and He realizes way too late that its not His own. Ready to destroy whoever dared intrude-
Amon's monocle glints in the sun- that is not His Lord's Sun- as their eyes meet and He can see such a sharp depth of understanding in there that He almost closes His own. Althought He would love to hear what Amon thought of where when He entered this place.
"Did you enjoy your outing brat?"
That gaze turns once more fathomless and dark as the forested hills where He knows to never send Hunters who don't know to trust their senses only as far as their instincts tell them to, so quickly to the point where if He had not seen it happen He would have thought that previous expression to never have happened. But He knows better by now.
"Do you have any plans that you need help with by any chance Medici? I promise to only steal some of your clothes this time!" Amon's voice is light as His hands move dramatically to the air, never again traveling to the direction of His Lord's body." Perhaps that earring? It doesn't match you at all."
Medici almost forms fire to stop Amon from reaching closer to the earring, but something must have shown on His face as those eyes focus back on Him once more.
"I payed too much for you to steal it now, but- I may have some suggestions for what to Steal. You will have my protection while doing so."
He can already think of some things to do to the other Traitors, especially if Amon agrees to help for His given definition of help.
He pulls the body of His Lord close enough to His bare flesh to be able to memorize every cut, every place where They took His Lord from Him.
And He breaths for once with War in His mind.
As it should be.