Regret (Narrative)
For two lovers that had never had trouble speaking to and confiding in one another before, that regretful foot of space between them might as well have been an ocean. He had wanted her to come. To join him. It was for both of them that he had stilled his tongue, knowing well what her fateful answer would have been. She could no more come with him than he could stay, and so then after so much passion between them, there had been no embraces, no tears, no words, not even a final kiss. At the time, it seemed as though he was making the right choice. Better to remove oneself into Concept than risk being forced to betray one's King or family. Better to remove oneself from the coming war than to fight father, brother, or the family of one's love. It was to be tragedy, no matter the side he chose. She saw the logic of his decision, but that did not make it any easier. That last, long look of regret, losing, and understanding was more than he could bare. As she turned, he had disappeared.
But though he removed himself from her presence, she did not abandon him. Not unlike the mortal death, his time together with her flashed before his eyes as he settled into Concept, wrenching his heart yet further. Opening wounds he did not know he had. There was a part of him that he had left inside his temple, and without it he felt torn asunder, haunted by her and all they had once shared. Her words bore into him with greater pain than any man or God could ever hope to devise.
"You need to hold me, just now."
"You need to hold onto me. Don't let go."
"I'll be curled on your bed, remembering you there. That's where you'll find me when you get back."
"Take me with you"
"Do not divide yourself, just take me with you."
"Your eyes. When I saw you, remember? When I came up after all that time? And you were there in your doorway, and there was the tour, and then we ended up in... in... But it was your eyes..."
"You're always going to be there."
He had made a mistake. A grave mistake.
His choice had been logical. It was a decision that entailed no betrayal for him, that would allow him to keep his honor, and to most importantly stay out of a war that would only bring him pain and heart ache. But it was still the wrong choice, no matter how much sense it had made at the time, for by making it he had abandoned the one person that meant more to him than anything else. The love he had for her should have steeled him against any fate, no matter how dire. As her words continued to plague him, he realized the enormity of what he had done. By leaving, he had made it so that he would not have to face any in battle that he cared about....but by removing himself in the way he had, he also made it impossible for him to defend anyone, either. Especially her.
...Only her.
With a cry of anguish, he removed himself from Concept, prepared to make right of his wrong. Instead of his temple though, he found himself on a wide expanse of open field, somewhere on the mortal plane. Phobos knew not why he had come out of Concept where he had, and gave it little thought as he prepared to head straight to the Underworld, when it happened. No sooner did he materialize than he found himself attacked from all sides. Had the war already begun? He twisted, parried, and batted sword arms aside, but in the end still ended up face first in the dirt.
"I have.. I have no time for this!"
His head jerked violently to one side as he was kicked in the face, raining blood down upon the crushed grass beneath his body. He tried to rise, only to receive more blows, each one harder and more deadly than the last. Who dared? His normal battle field composure was fleeting in this moment, his mind too occupied on where he wanted to be, instead of where he was. Being beaten into oblivion.
"You're always going to be there."
The words hurt more than anything his attackers had thrown at him so far. Even more than the cold steel that lacerated one side of his face. As he fell prone and his bloody began to flow like a river, he felt Concept beckoning him. Summoning him away from the pain. It was becoming more of a necessity than a choice by the moment, but he could not bring himself to flee again. Not from the war. Not from anyone. He would not lose any more time in returning to her.
No matter what.
It was then that he felt it. His desperation was giving way to Rage. Those who dared fall upon him became not his aggressors, but obstacles in his way. As he somehow summoned his broken body to rise, the three deities opposite of him paused in momentary wonder and awe. It was all the time that Phobos needed. Summoning his xiphos and bronze shield, he swept forward like the unstoppable tide of violence that he had become, and before his fury there was but one thing to be felt.
Panic.
His eyes glowed backward and burned with fire, his sword sword drawing blood as his attackers, turned victims, fell into flight before him. Phobos was not long in chasing them before they vanished, and in their wake he promptly fell to his knees. The pain of his body was nothing to the pain of his heart, but it was still crippling. He fell to his side, struggling to stay conscious, trying desperately to stay free of Concept for fear of losing any more time. He had to find her. He had to protect her.
As a chill wind swept over him his head fell, and in the next moment he was gone, headed for the Underworld but ultimately unsure where he would end up.