So there's like
Three people dedicated to the pairing of skizzpulseza
Which is of course Skizz/Impulse/Philza
And I can't be ASSED to incorporate all of Philza's lore but the possibilities
Phil on a lonely road after another battle, another story that ended in blood and death for everyone BUT him
Phil when he can hear but cannot yet comprehend the whispers of Death in her mercy and kindness, coming upon two soldiers camping at a Crossroads
he looks upon them and knows they are not human
And they look at him with eyes older than he can fathom and he knows they see him the same
and then one says, "Hey, man. You need a place to sit?"
So he sits.
They don't ask him questions. They don't fill the silence. They tend the fire, murmur to one another in dead languages Phil wasn't even alive for the conception of, and when the stew is hot they give him a bowl.
He moves on in the morning, when the dew has streaked the grime of battle.
One gives him a cloak.
The other gives him bread and cheese in a wrap.
They go east, and he goes west, and he doesn't see them again for a very long time.
The next battle is easier. This time he meets them at a tavern, a ramshackle thing at the center of a drunken celebration of victory.
They aren't surprised to see him, and Philza finds he isn't surprised to see them, either.
This time he gets names, and is tucked between them under the stars.
Impulse and Skizriel (just call me Skizz.)
They are old. Older than redstone, than the nether portals, than time. If there were words for what they are, those words are long dust on some decaying world; but one shines white and bright and cold, and the other dark and deep and hot, and so 'angel' and 'demon' are best.
"So," Skizz asks Philza, "did you know you're Death marked?"
"Not in a bad way," Impulse hastens to assure him. "She Knows you. She- wants to offer comfort, if she can."
Philza cannot keep the wryness from his smile as he says, "Oh really?"
"'Dop he thinks we're full of shit."
"It's okay, Skizz. He'll learn."
So it goes, as the millenia unfold; another battle, another journey, another meeting. Sometimes it is only one or the other, and they always look a bit..lopsided, like they're missing a piece.
Phil does meet Death, after a fashion.
She is beautiful and eternal and kind and she holds his heart in her hands and says, "its okay that you thought he was lying. He's a very good liar."
She makes of him an angel, and with his wings he soars.
After Phil leaves Dream, after he steps over more graves than a man should ever dig, Skizz finds him on another lonely road.
"Go away."
"No can do, chief."
"Leave."
"Nope."
It comes to blows but Skizz is made of void and stardust, and he is not so brittle that anything like an Angel of Death could scratch his surface.
When Philza falls screaming into his arms, Skizz holds him warm and safe, and he does not let go for a day or a week or a meaningless lifetime. Their feathers mingle, coal and calcite, moon and starless sky.
Skizz does fill the silence, then. He talks- about anything and everything.
"Where is Impulse?" Phil murmurs.
"He's safe."
"You should be with him."
"He wanted you safe, too."
Skizz sees him off at the next world hub, kisses him long and soft and warm in the shelter of his wings which are by necessity just that much bigger than Phil's.
Philza doesn't ask when he will see him again. He takes the next portal and is gone.
Word comes after all the flowers bloom and die, after the children are grown and the monuments built. Impulse has been repaying old debts, building new worlds, and Skizz is with him at last and will you come visit?
Will you sit with us somewhere besides a lonely road?
Will you let us hold you and tell you all the secret wonders without blood in your talons and smoke in your nose?
Philza, tired and worn, his axe in need of sharpening and Sneeg looking after things, says 'yes. Yes.'
He does.
Beneath the soft blue of a sky that can't ever hold a candle to Skizz's thousand blinking eyes, wrapped in the warmth of a sun that is as gentle as Impulse is sharp, Philza says, "is that a train?"
His angel and his demon laugh, Skizz says, "wait until you see the hourglass, dude!" And Philza leans on Impulse's broad shoulder and listens to the whispering of Death, who is kind on this soil of old soldiers.
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A/N: I didn't come up with Skizriel I think I saw it in an anonymous submission to another tumblr so if that was you A+ name generation excellently done
