And the hero’s sly grin suddenly loses its colors. It doesn’t turn colder or warmer, doesn’t die out or burn brighter, yet there’s no trace left of the usual ardour. The cold railing beneath his feet matters not. The monorail matters not - it won’t move without passengers anyway. The horrifyingly familiar scent matters not, even if it makes the memories of beating drums, roaring fanfares and flowing flags resurface. It matters not that there is a monster before him - the monster that took his place.
His calloused tanned hands touch the face of the dead beast. Skin on skin - if you can call it “skin” in the Batters case. It’s marble, more like… smooth at some point in time, now broken, quite literally. Zacharie sits next to him and traces his shoulders, his closed eyelids, then slowly tugs the upper half of his body onto his lap - unbelievably carefully. The Batter is taller, but not so much as for Zacharie not to endure the weight. Quite the contrary - the purifier is surprisingly light… He weighs less than a normal human, though the definition of normalcy is almost lost to the hero, but the Batter in his arms feels like he’s made of plastic.
- I never thought of you as such a lightweight, amigo, - Zacharie giggles, but that laugh sounds fake.
full fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89665846
translation of my old work from 2023.