The words flew out of Arthur's mouth, filled with disgust and sadness. But Luke wasn't even looking at him—it was as if he hadn't even heard him. Luke's attention was glued to the flowers Arthur had smacked out of his hands, now scattered across the stone floor. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and his mouth hung open as he ignored Arthur completely and began leaning toward the roses with his hands outstretched.
"No, goddess," he said with genuine worry in his voice, as though talking to a living being rather than addressing dead flowers.
Seeing this made Arthur want to vomit. It made him want to scream. It made him want to cry. His friend was gone, replaced by this shell of a person corrupted by the roses.
As Luke's hand hovered only inches from the flower, Arthur could not contain himself. With a surge of desperate rage, he pushed Luke away, sending him crashing into the side of the temple wall before he collapsed to the ground.
Rage filled Arthur as he stood over the flowers, his voice echoing through the night. "THERE IS NO GODDESS, LUKE! ONLY FLOWERS... DEAD, CORRUPTED FLOWERS!"
His anger permeated around him like an aura, a tangible force in the still night air. He raised his foot above the roses and brought it down hard, destroying what remained of them as he twisted his shoe, grinding the petals into the stone.
Luke's face transformed into a mask of absolute horror. He looked like he had just witnessed someone truly dear to him die right in front of his eyes. His expression spoke of true and utter devastation as a tear began to stream down his face. Slowly, he dragged himself to his feet and tried to approach once again in haggard, distraught steps.
"N-no, stop it... ARTHUR, STOP!" His voice cracked with emotion, rising from a broken whisper to a desperate shout.
Arthur's mind was completely overtaken by rage over what these roses had done to his friend. When Luke tried to stop him, he grabbed him by the shirt and threw him back into the wall, making him collapse again, this time much harder than before.
Luke looked up at Arthur, his face contorting into a sorrow-filled rage as he screamed. His hand reached behind his back and into his waistband. "I SAID STOP!" He stood up fast and revealed a knife he had tucked behind his pants, charging at Arthur with wild, desperate eyes.
'What!?'
Arthur's shock delayed his reaction. He was only able to put his hand on Luke's wrist as he was tackled backward into the field of roses, just barely stopping the knife from piercing his flesh. The dead petals crushed beneath their weight, releasing a sickly sweet scent that made Arthur's head swim.
Luke was on top of him now, trying to force the knife downward as Arthur struggled to stop it. Their hands trembled with the effort, the blade hovering between them like a pendulum of death. Despite the advantage of his enhanced strength at night, Arthur was still too weak to throw Luke off.
He looked up at his friend who now resembled a rabid animal more than the person he had known. He had never seen a face like that on Luke before... so filled with hatred. His bloodshot eyes stared down at Arthur manically, veins standing out on his forehead, teeth gritted together with such force that Arthur could almost hear them grinding.
Arthur barely managed to get out some words in the struggle, his voice strained with effort. "Luke, s-stop!"
Luke seemed not to even hear him, instead choosing his own words, spitting them out with venom. "Why did you have to fight, Arthur? Why did you have to be so goddamn stubborn?" he yelled, drool connecting between his lips as his tone grew increasingly barbaric and savage.
'This isn't Luke... at least not anymore.'
Sadness overtook Arthur as he fought against the blade, but his emotions were cut short when Luke took one hand off the knife and punched Arthur in the face. Arthur's head slammed against the hard ground, stars exploding behind his eyes. Before he could recover, Luke hit him again... and again.
Blood flew from Arthur's mouth, the metallic taste filling his senses. His nose was definitely broken, a sharp pain shooting through his face with each labored breath. The knife was getting closer to his chest, inch by inch, as Arthur's strength began to fail him.
Finally, Luke hit him again, a savage blow that left Arthur dazed and barely conscious. Luke then raised the blade high into the air, screaming with murderous intent as he brought it down with killing force. The knife moved through the air fast, on a collision course with Arthur's heart. Arthur was too weak to stop it anymore, his arms feeling like lead weights at his sides.
Then, in the split second before impact, the blade stopped along with Luke's insidious screams.
His face of hatred vanished, replaced by shock and disbelief. His mouth hung open, the rage in his eyes giving way to confusion. Soon, as he stared down at Arthur, blood began to drip from his lips, dark droplets spattering onto Arthur's face.
Luke slowly looked down to find that somehow, a blade made of darkness had manifested itself in Arthur's hands and was now sticking through his torso and out of his back.
Luke looked back at Arthur, their eyes meeting one final time. Recognition flickered in Luke's gaze—a moment of clarity, perhaps, breaking through the madness. He coughed, spraying blood onto Arthur's face, before falling to the side.
Arthur lay there, paralyzed by what had just happened, the weight of Luke's body sliding off him. The blade of darkness dissipated like smoke, leaving behind only the terrible wound it had created.
The night was silent now, save for Luke's ragged breathing and Arthur's own thundering heartbeat. Above them, the moon continued its journey across the sky, indifferent to the tragedy that had unfolded beneath its pale light.