Page 122 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Claim me before witnessing her fall.

Allow oblivion to take these final moments of shame.

But even these prayers ring hollow as her scent wraps around me, carrying notes of determination alongside that haunting sweetness.

She has chosen this path and decided my life holds worth despite its impending end. Her forgiveness transforms thesefinal moments from mere tragedy into something approaching grace.

The footsteps thunder closer, bearing destiny's final verdict. Soon our shared past dissolves into shared doom, united at last in death rather than life. My disease-ravaged body becomes our mutual downfall, trapping us in this dead-end corridor with no chance of escape.

Yet in these precious seconds, before chaos erupts, I drink in every detail of her presence. Memorize the way Atlas's shirt drapes her slender frame, how her hair catches sterile light and transforms it into aurora borealis, and how those incredible eyes hold neither fear nor regret for choosing to stand her ground.

If death comes now, it finds me drowning in wonder.

Marveling at strength disguised as a delicacy.

Witnessing courage cloaked in grace.

The universe's cruelest joke reveals itself fully – granting a moment of perfect connection only to end it in shared destruction. But as Nyx's finger tightens on her weapon's trigger, I realize truth transcends even death's finality.

Her forgiveness offers redemption even as life prepares to fade.

Her choice to stay writes meaning into my final breaths.

Her presence transforms a mere ending into destiny fulfilled, even if fulfillment spans mere heartbeats before obliteration.

Together at last.

United in doom.

Finding completion in catastrophe.

20

DESTINED TO CHOOSE

~NYX~

My finger hovers over the trigger, muscles coiled with lethal purpose born from years of conditioning. Every enhanced sense stretches toward the approaching threat, my body humming with the familiar dance of survival.

But the scent hits me first –that distinctive blend of pine needles and leather that's quickly becoming synonymous with safety.

The shadows stir in recognition, their silence breaking into subtle whispers of acknowledgment.

Atlas.

The gun lowers halfway, maintaining readiness while granting the benefit of doubt. Years of torture have taught me the value of caution, even when instinct screams for security.

His frame appears at the corridor's end, head tilting in that precise way I'm learning to read. Even through the silk wrap, I feel the weight of his attention as it sweeps our position.

"Goddess?"

The title carries notes of confusion and concern, layered with something darker as his blind gaze settles on Vale's collapsedform behind me. The air grows heavy with alpha pheromones – protection and possession warring in equal measure.

"Here, Atlas," the words rush from my lips as fear claws through my chest. "Vale's hurt?"

Uncertainty shapes the statement into a question, my eyes fixed on his violently spasming legs. The sight creates an unfamiliar tightness in my throat, dread seeping through my veins at signs I dare not interpret.

Bleeding out?

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