Chapter Text
Their position wasn't looking good — very, seriously, not good — and it was all Ashur's fault. If they didn't make it out of this, if Tarquin, didn't make it out of this...
The Viper tears his eyes away from the other man's stumbling form for a moment, only a moment, just long enough to clock the Venatori mage that pops out of the fade in front of him. A flick of his wrist and said mage bursts into flame.
He sidesteps the no longer living, eyes snapping back to Tarquin's position. Or, at least, his former position. There is nothing there now but empty air.
There's the clash of metal, a panicked shout.
Ashur wips around to his left in time to see Tarquin hit the ground, a blight bubble bursting open in the wall beside him. Darkspawn pour from the newly opened maw, as more Venatori close in. He can hear another mage muttering ancient Tevine at his back, feel the power of the spell they are crafting.
They are out of time. Out of options.
Ashur takes a single, deep breath, then lets it out. Let's it all out.
The flames leap from him like they are creatures of earth with minds their own;
Sharp and jagged things that burn, blue and white and crisp as lighting. They dance along his outstretched arms to their targets, licking a path through the mire and the muck until there is only the sounds of screams in their wake. The taste of ozone and ash. The smell of rotting flesh.
It is opressive and overwhelming and then...it is gone. Then it is silence, eerie and still as the dead, as the dust that settles around them. Him, and Tarquin, the only two left alive.
"Quin..." Ashur pants, taking a stumbling step forward. He feels suddenly hollow, almost barren. There is nothing left of his mana, even his typical reserves sapped of their strength, but he has to find Tarquin and the thought keeps him moving.
Said Templar is already scrambling to stand, doing his best to avoid the blight now seeping along the walls and street. Their is fury in his eyes, though it is tempered slightly by relief. Ashur gives him a weak smile, forgetting about the mask in the way. He tries to take another step forward, but suddenly the ground is rushing up to meet him and darkness blotching his eyes.
Distantly, he registers the aborted shout of his name, the shuffle of leather and cloth, then Tarquin is beside him, catching him, just in time to break his fall.
"What the fuck did you do?" The Templar seethes, hands firm and warm where they grip him round shoulder and waist. "Ashur..."
Ashur is panting heavily now, eyes squeezed shut against the rolls of naseau that threaten to overwhelm him. He leans against the strong line of Tarquin's form, head falling to rest on the other man's shoulder, and lets out the idea of a laugh.
"Safe," he whispers, the word rough and raw. "Kept you safe."