Among the Leaves of Spicebush

The yellow leaves of the spicebush that Dongbaek’s EGO had summoned swayed gently in the wind. It was almost as if the area was not mired in the sounds of battle, the trees themselves not allies to the bloodshed taking place. Indeed, Meursault’s gaze kept drifting off toward the leaves.

Meursault could hear the sound of combat still being waged, although his blood loss made it clear that he may be as good as dead. He estimated that it would take another 5% of blood loss before he would succumb to his wounds and perish. The initial pain had long since grown into a numbness that inhibited his combat ability, but then, he couldn’t even stand up. His severed leg made sure of that.

He spotted one of the Sinners being thrown in his direction, recognizing them merely by their size. It looked like Hestia hadn’t been able to withstand Dongbaek’s assault, either. However, after Hestia’s body hit the ground and rolled a bit, she sat up.

“I’m not…ow…” Hestia winced as she attempted to rise to her feet, but it was clear that she couldn’t. Meursault spotted the main reason why as she shifted: one of her legs had been broken, twisted in an unnatural angle.

Meursault watched as she tried to get up, before she seemed to wilt in resignation. However, Hestia soon spotted him, and began to drag herself over. He was fond of the way she seemed to light up when seeing him, even in the most dire of situations, and this was no exception.

“Yer still alive…” Hestia gave a small smile, despite the obvious pain she was in.

“I am. I…don’t have much longer.” His answer was simple, holding no hints of dismay. After all, Dante would soon rewind the clock, and they would start this battle over—if the others fell, anyway. “How are your injuries?”

“Dunno…hurts all over. Leg’s broken, I know that for sure.” She untied her coat from around her waist, even as she looked over Meursault’s injuries. “You’ve been bleeding for a while…”

“Yes…I have.”

“At least let me make it easier on ya…help ya last a little longer.”

“It would only slow down the process of dying by 2%.” Meursault paused, before adding, “But…I appreciate the gesture.”

Hestia’s eyes lit up, acknowledging his unspoken permission. Carefully, she used her coat to wrap the stump where Meursault’s leg had once been. She then took off her vest, using it to wrap one of Meursault’s arms that was bleeding heavily.

“It ain’t much.”

“It is all right. You have limited resources…and I will die soon enough.”

“Same…” Hestia gestured at her side, revealing a large gash that Meursault hadn’t noticed. It must have been recently inflicted, perhaps being the blow that had sent her flying. “Hurts like hell, but that’s what it is, I guess.”

“Indeed.” Meursault closed his eyes for a moment, breathing softly.

After a few moments, he felt his head being lifted, and then rested on something soft. When he opened his eyes again, Meursault found Hestia leaning over him, and surmised that she’d rested his head upon her lap.

The gesture was almost nostalgic. The memories he had were much less bloody, much less grisly, but it didn’t matter. It soothed his heart, even for a moment.

“You don’t mind, do ya?” Hestia’s voice was gentle, the tone one that he knew she reserved for him.

“I don’t mind. The gesture is a thoughtful one.”

Silence passed between them. Meursault could still hear the other Sinners fighting Dongbaek, but he could also hear Hestia’s ragged breathing softening. His body felt numb, but as Hestia’s hand caressed his face, he closed his eyes again as he allowed himself to enjoy her warmth.

“It’s nearly time, huh?” Hestia didn’t say what they were both thinking.

“…3%.”

“Then rest for those last few moments. I still got some life in me yet.”

“I could tell. Regardless, Dongbaek is not focused on us.” Meursault took a breath, feeling his breath shaking. “…2%.”

He expected Hestia to reply in worry, or perhaps concern. It was consistent with how she typically acted, after all.

Instead, he heard her singing. It was soft, gentle, almost intimate. It was a lullaby for Meursault’s presence only, so it sounded like, barely louder than the wind rustling the spicebush leaves.

As Meursault’s final moments slipped into the darkness of death, accompanied by the sound of Hestia’s voice, it was as though he had fallen asleep instead of dying to blood loss. It was comforting, a peaceful sort of death.

He had never thought he would be able to experience such a thing. To do so was…

The sentence in his mind was never finished, and wouldn’t be finished until Dante found the two after the battle had ended.