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He was ready to end it all, it wasn’t worthy trying. No one believed him, no one wanted to hear his screams so he would let the world rejoice, to get what they want – his demise. Cold wind lashes at him, his skin freezes as he stands on the verge of collapse in his tower.
For a fleeting moment, he thinks of Fluixon, of how close they were, of how he dreams of their future together. How foolish he was, falling for deceiving purple eyes. He wonders if everything else was a pretence too, just an excuse to get close to him, so he can be used by cunning devil.
Saparata lets out harsh snort. If their time together means anything, he would not have been sacrificed. Even animals care for their people, but he guesses he was never one for Flux.
He swallows his tears, letting himself to mourn his life one last time.
And to think he wanted to confess at some point.
Pathetic, useless Saparata thrown aside and still yearning for the man, to whom he means nothing.
Suddenly, something akin to bile crawls up his throat, forcing him to sway back. As he falls to his knees, he coughs his lungs out, desperately gasping for freezing air, suffocation on some object that wasn’t supposed to be there.
His mouth tastes metal, he feels liquid running down his shin slowly turning into crimson ice. As he looks down, curious what had caused his organism to spasm in pain, he haven’t eaten all day, he notices something colourful.
Small clusters of white flowers seating on green branches lie in small pool of blood, stark contrast against white snow of tundra he found himself in.
It’s Queen Anna’s lace or simple carrot flowers. He knows it because Flux taught how to differentiate between it and hemlock, his deadly relative.
He feels his throat twitch as he has to cough another cluster of flowers out. He picks them up in wonder, wondering which plant those flowers belong to. He can’t tell, he was taught only that hemlock had violet lines on it’s green bark, a colour of poison.
He wishes he listened to Flux more attentively then, he definitely said something about amount of flowers in one cluster and their arrangement. But the only thing Saps remembers is being mesmerised by his eyes.
Another cough is forced out of him, he still has no clue what flower this is.
It’s only now dawns on him that those flowers came from him, that they increased whenever he thought of Flux-
Saps laughs loud and broken, as he falls on his back, periodically chocking on flowers that symbolise that his miserable love.
Of course, of course, it’s not required!
He knew it, he didn’t fucking need another confirmation-
A trap in his roof was enough of answer. Just why?
And he can’t even tell difference if those flowers are harmless or will they poison him as well.
He guesses they do suit Flux, posing as innocent only to be full of cruelty underneath.
When he finally stops laughing and coughing out unholy mix of blood and flowers, he lies on the floor of his tower, which is how Ish finds him.
He looks concerned at the amount of blood, when he notices flowers, his face turns sad. God doesn’t say anything, he already knows.
It usually brings comfort to Saps, knowledge that someone knows the truth, yet now he understands why it bothers so many people. He, too, wishes to man to be unaware of his shameful feelings.
Its deplorable, honestly, pathetic even how much he would give for Flux to be by his side.
Saps raises his hand, towards the god, as sun rises on the horizon, snowstorm quietening all out of sudden, letting golden rays bring shallow resemblances of warmth. “I decided, Ish,”
“What is it?”
“I am going to die,” he closes his hand into fist, sun reflects on his white hair, “If I have to die, then he does too,”
Ish looks surprised at this. Turns out even gods can be impressed.
“You can have surgery,” he says instead, eyes soft with unspoken pity.
Saps snorts, “where?”
Then he sits up, forces his stiffened limbs move. He probably has several frostbites, his clothing light as he didn’t care beforehand, he still doesn’t. He stands up and eats a golden apple, swallows it down despite lacking feeling of hunger. He lost it somewhere along Commonwealth shores, maybe, it was cut from him the way his hair was.
He still doesn’t know if it was Thomas who cut his hair or someone else grabbed it.
It doesn’t matter, he guesses.
Saparata has to live now, has to bring Flux down.
It’s the only way he can tolerate himself. Because if he kills Flux himself, then no one needs to know how pathetic he is to still love his dear traitor.
Because if he kills Flux, then when he dies, the man wouldn’t find out, wouldn’t know Saps’ lungs grew flowers for him.
“I have to,” he says to Ish, ignoring concerned eyes. It’s his only choice.
After he was stripped off everything, his home, his life, his friends. Flux even got his heart and soul, the only thing that is left is this ridiculous idea of pride.
He can’t let Flux know, can’t stand idea of him finding out that Saps yearns for him.
As he heads down the ladder, he tries not to dream of violet eyes.
**
Meeting with Schpood does not bring him any solace, only quiet wariness at his sudden support.
“Your eyes have fire in them,” notes emperor after meeting, keen eyes cataloguing his every movement as they dine together. It’s the best food Saparata had in months, yet its has the same bitter flavour every food seemed to have after flowers started growing inside him.
It might be one of the side effects. Saps doesn’t care, it doesn’t help him to know which flower eats him from inside.
“What do you mean by that?” he has an idea what Schpood is talking about, hope was leaving him with each day after trial. He even contemplated falling out of the tower.
“You seems to be more willing to live,”
Saps snorts at that, he doesn’t. Its just he knows he is a dead man walking, a ticking bomb or rather old building waiting to collapse. He feels his health crumble even if his environment improved with Schpood’s involvement.
Irony is not lost on him that his love for Flux saved him back then, even if it was the very feeling that drove him to the that point.
“I have a goal I want to accomplish before I die,” he says instead, using handkerchief to get rid of blood over flooding his mouth, subtly, getting rid of flowers accumulated inside.
“That’s a spirit,” raises his wineglass Schpood, “but you have to plan for after you goal is reached,”
Brown eyes pierce him, knowingly. It seemed that emperor was far more clever and cunning that rumours suggested.
Saps guesses, he of all people should know not to trust public’s opinion. He hums instead excusing himself out of dining room, throwing blooded handkerchief out.
He doesn’t notice emperor’s second in command inquiry, curiosity unearthing something sinister.
**
He is shaking after Infernus’ trial, another person dead, another blood spilled onto his face, warm. If he closes his eyes, he wouldn’t have been able to tell if it was blood or water running soaking his clothes.
His eyes met violet, he too is present at trial and Saps feels immense pain. Roots of flowers dig into his organs, drilling dipper inside his soft tissue as he runs out of building ignoring panicked crowd. He throws up flowers behind building choking on them.
Its suffocating, its painful. He feels his body detoriate in real time. Saps briefly wonders if it’s carrot, would people be able to harvest plant from his corpse?
As he calms down, he lets himself breathe for a few minutes.
He didn’t expect to meet Fluixon, now president of Luminara, a position he craved.
Regal, royal, so far out of scapegoat’s league.
Saps laughs at his own misery, his body decided to die for Flux, from his love for the man. And he still looks perfect.
Not a hair out of place, his shoes glisten, his demeanour proud and confident. He commands attention of the room, gathering eyes, captivating them with violet orbs.
And people flock to him like moths to a flame. Saps was one of them at one point.
Still is if he is honest.
He should be mourning Turntapp, the man just died in front of him. But he only feels numb, as if those damn flowers ate every other feeling in his body leaving only scorching love and pain that derives from it.
Violet poison consuming his every thoughts, not a shade of regret in it.
Saps stands up, his bones creak, blood is all over him. If he closes his eyes, he will hear screams and disgusting unforgettable crunch of broken neck, he will see those purple eyes – indifferent.
Perhaps, people were right its not hate that hurts the most, it’s lack of care.
**
Saps can taste ash on his tongue, as he covers himself with repaired diamond armour. World finally knows the truth, only he doesn’t care.
He stares down at himself, his attire is mix of trinkets borrowed from people that helped him. He wears Covenant’s crest, his сloak has Westhelm’s symbol on it, olive branches vowed into his tunic has Schpood all over it. Golden trinkets in his hair that were once given to him by Jophiel, returned to him at last as both apology and sign of his innocence restored.
Nothing in his attire is violet, even he desperately wants to have something. Today is the day he will die afrer all, it will be fitting to own something to the cause of his death.
He looks around, trying to find something purple. His eyes land on the mirror and he can’t seem to recognise man in reflection, short hair that was cared for by Schpood’s personal hairdresser as man refused to let him be unkempt. His veil long lost, a scar running down his nose from where it was cut in half just after betrayal. His cheekbones are more prominient than evenm he looks gaunt.
His weight seems to be the first thing people notice about him, Cass pointed it out to him and even Schpood joked that he was thin enough that strong gush of wind can care him away. They both looked concerned, as he made excuses about malnutrion during his days as enemy of state.
It worked on Cass, she looked guilty enough to leave him alone.
Schpood on other hand-
“Saps,” storms in man in question, he pauses at his attire, “you look good,”
After protecting him from Zekor emperor seemed to take a liking to him, pestering him and dragging him around, always feeding him extra food.
It was kind of nice, actaully, to have someone around who cares about you.
Saps knew he would have enjoyed it more if he wasn’t sick.
Schpood seems to know that too.
Also there is another reason for his affection.
“Come one, you are the hero of today,”
**
After railing up the troops, Schpood pulls him aside, “Don’t die, Saparata,”
He snorts. It’s nice, really, that man cares. His eyes grow even more concerned.
“After Fluixon is defeated, you will be free,” he holds Saps by his shoulders, “what do you want to do later?” He seemed almost desperate, Saps wonders who he truly wants to convince with these words.
“I am not Spyder,” he says, gently taking Schpood’s hand off his shoulder. Man flinches at that. “He died for you, preferring it to choking on his own love,”
“And I will kill Flux,”
“It will kill you,” frowns Schpood, he seems unsettled at Saps’ awareness of his second-in-command feelings towards his commander.
“It will kill me regardless,”
“You just like him, why neither of you could choose operation instead?” he swears in anger and grief.
“Because it’s my nature to want him, because it was natural for Spyder to want you,” answers Saps, seeing man curl his hands in anger.
“What flowers he had?”
“White chrysanthemums,” signs Schpood as he uncurls his fists, he holds little flower brooch in his hand. Saps feels envious, he, after all, does not have anything purple, “they mean loyalty and never ending friendship,”
“Fitting,” he hums.
“What about you?”
“I don’t know actually if its hemlock or wild carrot,” chuckles Saps at emperor’s bewilderment. It’s rare to see him losing composure. “One is poisonous plant and the only way I know of to spot difference is to see it come close to see violet stains on stem of hemlock,”
“So kinda like Flux,” nods Schpood, making Saps snort.
They stand in silence for a couple of minutes, mourning lifes they never had. Then Schpood break it, “You know why red is colour of danger?”
Emperor doesn’t wait for his answer, typical for him. Flux too had a habit of talking without worriying if people listened, they did anyway.
“It’s because its visible from afar, it has the longest wavelength you see," he gestures around, pointing at vulcano before continuing, "Guess which colour has the shortest, to which you had come very close to see it,”
He stares down at white-haired man, awaiting his answer. “Eh, green?”
“Nah, violet,”
Not that he thinks about it, it makes sense. The onle reason he learned of hemlock is because he was almost burned by it. Flux stopped him back then, grabbed his hand before he touched poison, pointing out violet stains he didn't see from afar.
He coughs out little clusters, blood smearing white petals. Schpood doesn't say a word, he doesn't need to.
Saparata is perfectly aware of what poison he lets run free in his body.
“Fitting,”
After all he too didn’t notice hidden danger of purple eyes until he was trapped, unwilling to leave it behind.
**
First thing he notices about him after arriving to Coliseum is violet eyes. It reminds him of their first meeting, where Saps stood flabbergasted by purple hue, unsure how to proceed interactions with Luminara's group.
To be honest, he didn’t expect him to show up, was fully prepared to hunt him down. Yet, here he is, still proud, still full of himself.
Still beautiful.
He looks exhausted, his hair out place, his favourite coat looks burnt and blood stains are all over his armour.
It doesn't seem to matter to bane of his existence, to his one and only love, as he smirks at Saps, tauning him arrogantly.
Saparata swallows blood, his throat is scratched raw from all the plants he tore out of it.
In preparation to battle, he forced himself to think of Flux, rememmbering his laughter and his smiles. The time they spend together on the beach before Luminara moved.
Torture it was, unyding hydra of plants, the more he tore, the more they grew. He lost a lot of blood then, feeling slightly lightheaded before being patched up tiny bit by guards Schpood assigned to him.
It helped a bit, growth subside for some time after he tore it repeatedly. That's all that mattered to him.
It should be just enough to kill him.
He lunges towards the man, vicious and cruel. He doesn’t hesitate.
Flux seemed to be taken aback for a moment, unused to ferocity Saps’s displayed. He taunts him, whispers some saccharine words.
Too bad Saps can’t hear him over rush of his blood, over pain as he feels now that flowers once again spread. They seem to bloom more nearby their cause.
Perhaps, his previous attempts were useless. It doesn't matter.
Nothing does really.
Fluxion is in front of him and he needs him to die.
It’s really bad, as he swallows another round of blood, yet he can’t allow himself to falter as death takes a step closer.
Saparata moves, his muscle straining, swings wide, breath laboured. It’s not enough. He is malnourished, body destroyed by flowers inside of him, he is not his former self. The one who overpowered Flux with ease.
This time, Flux manages to keep up.
Heartbreaking, really. Or rather, annoying. Maybe, both.
He has always been a better fighter between them too, but it's not the first thing he relinquishes for Flux.
Certainly, not the last.
Flux owns his life, even if he doesn't know this.
Today he will give it away, but not before he for once takes something from him.
Saparata forsakes power in favour of speed, forcing his body to move faster. It's not his usual style, he had to learn to adapt in Covenantm, where everyone was stronger than him.
It catches Flux of guard as he switches between sword and axe, using speed of sword to his advantages.
Faster, faster, faster.
He pushes his everything until Flux falters, lets out an opening, he splashes lava onto him. It’s a dirty trick, perhaps, but he can’t afford to care.
As Fluixon hisses and runs away, trying to cool himself off, Saps has to bend over, unable to chase.
He coughs out mixture of flowers and blood.
It seemed he run out of time.
Stadion grows quiet, Flux too for once seemed to be lacking words.
Fuck, he didn’t want him to know.
“Who?” he has audacity to ask.
As if he isn’t aware that he has Saps wrapped around his finger, as if Saps wouldn’t have died for him if he just asked. As if his body didn’t decide to die for Flux too.
“Turntapp,” he lunges once more, lying through his teeth.
He doesn’t let Flux breath, attacks relentlessly, uncaring of his own injuries that his enemy causes, sacrificing his body for advantage.
It works out, his sword pierces man’s abonnement. He might even die of blood loss before he succumbs to flowers considering hiw dire he fought.
They both sink to the ground, Saps unable to hold Flux's weight. His body finally shutting down.
“Saps,” whispers Flux, as he raises his arm towards his face, cradling it with surprising gentleness.
He feels something running down his cheek, he isn’t sure if its blood or tears or a mix of both.
Stabbing pain erupts in his torso, signalling sudden growth, immense and final. He struggles to breathe, slumping down into dying man’s hold, cursing himself for craving his warmth.
So much for dignity, he never stood a chance.
Suddenly there are lips on his, plush and soft against his dry and broken, they give him air he so desperately needs. He manages to open his eyes, seeing softness in violet eyes. He wishes to stay in this moment forever.
He tears himself away, feeling bile coming up his throat. He throws up, feeling large clusters of flower coming out of his mouth.
After what feels like eternity Saps can finally breeze, his lungs no longer constricted by plant. All the pain associated with it is gone.
As he looks down at bloody mess, he sees no purple stains on stem, just uprooted roots.
It's Queen Anne’s Lace, wild carrot.
His love wasn’t poisonous.
And Flux still took away his death.