Aftermath

[Strazio Rockwell]

Illidan Stormrage. The name nested in Strazio’s brain, worming into his psyche like a parasite. In a matter of minutes that stranger had found his way to the top of the rage mage’s list. He wasn’t quite sure he knew what an elf was, but it did not matter Illidan would be dead regardless. Strazio glared at Kerrigan’s rapidly deteriorating corpse. Sparks danced across his flesh, fizzling out into the open air. As champions fell the battle slowly smoldered to a halt. The defenders had won, but the battlefield told a story of great loss. Defenders lay dead and dying, their bodies scattered outside Darkshire’s walls. The attackers were in full retreat, with the only remaining forces being too feral or too stupid to follow their leader.

Strazio fell to a knee, the twin afflictions of fatigue and blood loss dragging him down. He looked down at the series of puncture wounds in his gut, each of them vomiting dark red blood. A growl escaped his lips and he smacked his fist against the wounds, trying to use the pain as a means to revitalize himself. His world drew back into focus and he used scraps of his energy to sear shut the open blood vessels. The recovery process would be an arduous one and his insistence on cauterizing every cut would only make it worse. Taking a deep breath he stood and took a step forward. The battle wasn’t over until every last attacker was dead.

“Strawso!” the clown’s voice shouted at him.

He had almost forgotten about the high-blood. Gamzee broke into a half-jog and came side-by-side to Strazio. The white haired mage regarded his apprentice with a nod.

“So you won?” Strazio asked.

“Kind of,” he said and shrugged, “still in one piece ain’t I?”

“Yeah, well, wish I could say the same,” Strazio said and spit.

Gamzee leaned over and inspected his companion’s wounds, “that looks like it hurts bro, you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Strazio answered, his body shivering, “we’ve got a battle to finish.”

The mage started to trudge forward, but faltered and fell to a knee once again. He cursed himself and stood up again. Just how much blood had he lost? Probably more than most people could stand to lose. Gamzee followed along, his face scrunched into a worried expression. He knew Strawso was tough, but everyone had their limits. Then an idea hit him, ingenious in its simplicity. From seemingly nowhere he produced a plastic bottle filled with a sparkling red elixir. He unscrewed the cap and tossed it aside before jogging to catch up with Strazio. The troll threw one arm around the injured mage and held the open bottle up to his face.

“Here brother,” Gamzee said, “it looks like you could use some motherfucking liquid refreshment.”

The sugary sweet scent assaulted Strazio’s nostrils and his stomach turned. With a clumsy hand Strazio pushed the fizzling drink away, but Gamzee was insistent and pushed it back. There was no escape this time. Swallowing his pride the mage snatched the sugary drink from his companion. He drank and he drank, his brain lighting up as the carbonated beverage assaulted his senses. He had never had anything quite like it and, to his surprise,  it was good.

“It’s sweet,” he said in between gulps.

“That's the motherfucking miracles doing their mirthful work,” he said, “drink up.”

Drink he did, guzzling the sparkling red liquid as fast as he could. Strazio finished the Faygo and tossed it aside. He wiped his lips with the back of arm and growled. His head was still fuzzy, but his body felt full of energy, jittery, sugary energy. The rage-mage stomped forward, his apprentice matched stride. 

“All right, let's put these bastards into the ground,” Strazio said.

Cleaning up the stragglers proved to be relatively painless. Strazio and Gamzee made their way from one end of the killing fields to the other, leaving a path of crumpled corpses. It was a slog to end all slogs, several hours worth of combat stacked on end. Once they had finished their warpath they made their way back to the breach in Darkshire’s wall. Makeshift medical tents had been constructed to deal with the injured. The mage refused treatment, and Gamzee was unscathed beyond a few scrapes and bruises. Strazio found a knee-high chunk of rubble and sat down.

For a long time he sat and watched the medics go about their work. Long ago he had dabbled in healing magick, or tried to, the precise and focused movements required proved to be beyond his control. It pained him to think that his job was done, Darkshire was safe, and now it was up to others to pick up the pieces. This was his limitation, he was a destroyer and that was all that he could do. His absent thinking stumbled back to Mara and Collin, they were always there to pick up the pieces. He glanced over at Gamzee and then back across the battlefield. The war wasn’t over, but it was now time to rest. Strazio, burned up and exhausted, stretched out across the shattered section of wall and closed his eyes.