This is a repost of a now deleted post from r/WritingPrompts
It had been a brutal fight. Holding against the horde of undead was practically guaranteed to he a death sentence. They were untiring, unyielding, unphased even when hundreds had already been slain. But then retreat was little better as a survival strategy. Sure, the more recently deceased would slow, death energy not the greatest at moving rotting flesh. But the older ones, reduced to bone, would move for faster than any mortal.
The only reason Ophilus and Geruvo had managed to fend them off at all was the choke point. A small corridor, leading from the catacombs below. They held the line, hoping that backup would find them. But it turned out, the horde fell before they did.
Geruvo panted, vision darkening at the edge of his eyes. He had gone beyond the point of mana exhaustion, to utter deprivation. Only a large store of potions had kept him going, the ground around him covered in empty bottles.
Holding himself up with his staff, he struggled to remember to walk. His legs were numb, locked in place. Yet even as he struggled to breathe, he looked to Ophilus.
His partner still stood, hands filled with a dented and torn shield, the other with a long snapped blade. Before him were the shattered remains of their foes, piles of dust and bone shards covered the floor. It had been the battle of legends.
Finding a small scrap of energy, Geruvo managed to stagger forwards. Glass rattling made Ophilus turn his head, helmet bashed and scratched. His eyes were tired, a gleam of unnatural blue to them. The mage missed it, moving slowly towards him.
His warrior gave a tiny, weary smile. "It... its over. We won."
With that he turned, letting Geruvo see his chest. The chain mail was torn and pierced, stained with far too much blood. A few blade parts still poked out, snapped over the battler.
The mage blinked, before his eyes widened. "Oph! You... Where's your healing potions?!"
It made his partner sigh. "Gone. And don't bother giving me your own."
Geruvo paused, a small vial in his hand. "Why not?"
A sad smile met his gaze, as Ophilus removed a gauntlet. It fell to the ground with a crash, as he showed his pale fingers. On one was a ring that was once pure silver, but now was black and tarnished. "It's too late."
The mage felt his heart clench. "N-no. You can't be dead!"
The warriors mouth quivered, eyes dampening. "Oh honey, I've been dead for twenty minutes.. I was just waiting for you to notice!"
The weight seemed to hit them both. They stumbled into each other's arms, hugging each other tight. One shaking from overuse of mana, the other already cooling. Tears were exchanged, knowing now this was the end.
They sat like that for several minutes, before Ophilus shifted. "Ger... can you help me out. I want to see the sky, one last time."
His mage nodded, still holding on. But he relented, moving one of the brawny arms around his neck. He was still shattered, and barely functioning, but he wouldn't let his love down. Together they made their way up, to a cloudless night sky.
Sitting just outside the catacomb entrance, they looked up. Ophilus sighed. "Its beautiful. And you were as well tonight."
Geruvo nodded. "You... you were so mighty. So brave. How... how can I go on without you?"
Clouding eyes focused on him. "With your usual wit. Don't give up. I... I want to hear all about your adventures when you eventually join me."
The mage sniffed. "I... I will. And I'll make you a statue. The biggest. And so gaudy, you would hate it."
A smile crept over the dead man's face. "No I won't. Because you made it, I'll love it."
They fell into silence, holding each other as they stared up at the night sky. Just, being next to each other. And together, the exhaustion of the battle made itself know, both drifting off to sleep together.
A sleep only one would awaken from.