But soon it would be clear that he wasn’t going to be victorious today.
He could feel the sudden grab at his neck, causing for him to release a guttural snarl, a spine-chilling sound that ripped through the air. The tightness of her jaws, the sensation of her fangs ripping through his flesh that lay underneath his mane was a pain he had never experienced before until now. Life began to flash before his eyes, first starting off as but a cub. The rebelliousness that carried on throughout his life was something that appeared first, showing how he used to challenge his father at that young of an age. And even though he got on Asgar’s last nerve did his father always hold that everlasting love for his son. The next images to appear were the ones of his native family, the ones that he wasn’t tied to by blood. @Nymeria’s face would come first, the soft and gentle expression she always seemed to have when around him. @Aquila would be next and the sudden wave of strong brotherhood would wash over his beaten body. He wondered how his dear friend was doing; he had been oblivious to the outcome of his own death match, unaware that Sangria had been the one to fall. Several more faces would whirl by in a somewhat blur, and soon would it stop on one that caused for the colossal to suck in a sharp and painful breath.
@Avaneira.
His heart was beating hard and fast, and his mind started to race with what he was going to be leaving behind. The thought of their relationship (or whatever they were, because he honestly had not an inkling of what they were becoming) came to him, wondering if there would have ever been the chance that they would’ve been just more than whatever it is they were. And then the thought that seemed to wreck him the most: his unborn children. He wasn’t going to be present at their birth, he wasn’t going to be able to teach them the ways of battle, to watch as they took down their first prey on their own, to be there to give advice to... But most importantly, he had broken his promise to Ava. He told her he would be there for whatever she needed, and now he was falling to the ground as if in slow motion, trying to delay the inevitable.
“No,” he would force out the singular word, golden eyes straining as they glared at the woman. “You killed me.” Valhalla would never place the blame on the Valour male, not even for a second. He was doing what he was trained to do, to defend until the end. And even though death was a frightening concept and one he was about to succumb to a lot sooner than later, Valhalla would never regret his decisions. He lived by war, and it was only right that he died by war. Slowly would he feel himself begin to lose consciousness, the tightening of his jaws causing for it to become harder and harder to gasp for breath. “Maua...” a forced whisper, breathing now becoming labored, “watch over them.” He didn’t know if he would ever return to this world, begging their Deity to watch over his children and everyone he considered dear to his heart.
He then began to wonder if his life had made an impact on others. Was his time in Amaryllis spent well, or did he waste his life away? Aside from the events that had transpired in this day, he had to imagine that he had done some good in the world. He had lived, he had loved. He had made friends and enemies. He laughed, cried when nobody was near to witness, and he felt the sorrows and woes of an everchanging world. But was his life meaningful? It was such a philosophical question for a dying man. But, then again, wasn’t that when others did the most thinking? When they were on death’s doorstep? Valhalla knew that his death wouldn’t be in vain, or he hoped at least. Even though he wouldn’t be around to council his first and last offspring he was more than certain that they would be raised with good intentions, guided by many he knew would steer them in the right path and he hoped they would mention him often to his children. He could only hope.
But now it felt that his time was truly here, death now knocking on his door. Labored breathing would continue as his body grew more limp with each passing moment, and soon he had no strength left to keep himself standing on all fours. His knees would buckle first, limbs wobbly and his body shaking slightly. Down he would go, falling first onto splayed legs before feeling his body sway to the side. The grip was too much, the blood loss even worse, and his incapability to breathe the clincher. His eyes, although now becoming speckled with black and making him see double and had become blurry with tears he did not realize were flowing from them and down his cheeks, were searching for the grey lioness with fervor. He needed to see her, to have his last image seen be of her. “L...ove...” His final word would be pushed out with whatever remaining force he had left, the Viking hoping that it would be loud enough for Avaneira to possibly hear. But he couldn’t be for sure because his own hearing had all but tuned out, hearing nothing other than his heartbeat.
Another gasp for breath and his eyes would close, the rapid rise and fall of his chest becoming slower and slower until, finally, he took one last gasp. It was now that he was in Maua’s paws. The Brnymawr was gone from this earthly world.
Valhalla has died.