An echoing thud resonated through the room, the sound of limp flesh hitting the floor. Even in the darkened room, one could still see the pool of that pungent crimson life spilling out on to the floor, soaking up in the fabric of the collapsed figure. That stench was unmistakable. Blood, draining from the defeated being with each passing second. Blood, that coated in a slick layer on a blade, belonging to the one looming over the body, the victor. They felt the sticky liquid progressing down the length of their blade, to the hilt, finally dripping over onto the handle, coating their hands. It was still warm. With a start they dropped the blade, it making a dull clank against the stone floor as it fell, inches away from the one they had defeated. The battle was over.
It didn't seem that way to the woman sprawled on the floor, with her very life draining from her veins. One could still see her twitching muscles, fingers digging into the stone floor, attempting to drag herself back up, at least to her knees. It was a commendable effort, though feeble. She would only make it halfway to her knees, knees buckling with effort before the brutal slam of an armoured foot against her face sent her falling back. A muddled groan slipped from her split lips as her head slammed back against the floor, sending another wave of pain rushing through her body. Already her head was swimming, the violent rush of blood directed to it from her latest efforts not made any better by the gaping wounds that scattered her body. All she could hear was the flow of her blood, the frantic beating of her heart, the sound of her ragged breathing, her body desperately trying to keep up with her. It was useless. She already knew she was defeated. Her body was drained of any vigour, any small burst of magic that could've saved her from what seemed like her inevitable fate.
A choked cough left her lips, the hot blood bubbling from her nose, likely broken at this point, making it hard to take a breath. Even her mouth was filled with it, from her cut lips, or perhaps from the internal damage, this fight had caused, with her battered insides damaged beyond repair. She could feel it for sure, with every inch of her body screaming out in pain, though she was silent, only letting those strained breaths.
There was an odd serenity in knowing death was near, in knowing that this excruciating pain would be over soon. She would be lying to herself if she said there wasn't some form of sorrow, regret festering in her gut. With all the pain her existence had brought her, she supposed even she didn't want to die. Her eyes drifted to the one who stood over her, the one who had forced her into such a pathetic position, the one who was the reason she was still clinging on to her insignificant existence. Their eyes met the victor's and one might have thought she would've been angry, vying for some last resort of revenge, that even if she was dying, she would bring the other down with her. At the very least, one might've thought she would've held nothing but malice for the one who had brought her to death's doorstep.
But she didn't.
Her heart was warm, overflowing with nothing but adoration, devotion to her murderer. She had always known this day was going to come, death was inevitable. It gave her nothing but a solace to know that the one who had finally to her had been none other than her, the most beautiful being she'd ever had the pleasure of meeting in her insignificant life. The one who had made it seem, even if just for a few moments, worthwhile, made it seem full. And now on death's doorstep, she couldn't help but think back to how this had all started. How a mission had sent her on this journey, the one that had led her to love, meaning, and finally, to death.