What does one do when they know they're dying?
Tenshi ignores it. Because dying is something that happens to other people. Dying is for those who care about the rules. Dying is a meaningless word to those who declare their intentions to break and rebuild the entire world to their liking and who can make good of their words.
Death is for the weak. Death is for the frail. Death is for those who aren't capable of holding their own in the black of night against impossible odds. Death is certainly not for her.
The hilt of her blade almost slips from her blood-slickened grip. She recovers it just in time, blinking away some of the sweat clinging to her lashes.
All in all, her clothes have come out of the ordeal in better shape than expected. Her apron is torn to shreds, with half the rainbow shards adrift somewhere in the sea of gore, but her skirt is surprisingly intact and while her shirt is a loss, it covers her for now. She idly fingers the fabric. What was once shimmering white is now rapidly browning pinks and reds. How annoying.
She blacks out for a moment and finds herself stumbling when her vision returns. That's right. She's dying. Only she isn't, because that's still something that happens to other people.
She looks around in the uncertain light of dawn. Death is something that has happened to a lot of other people.
As she looks at the severed limbs, the torn-off pinions, the gleaming guts, the bodily fluids, the frozen looks of rage and shock and quiet acceptance, they all coalesce into a single fleshy mass with bits of hair and bone poking out of it. All she feels is mild disgust and perhaps, for the very first time in her life, exhaustion.
She stands calf-deep in offal. Revolting and unclean, but there is little she can do about it besides step into a pool of blood instead. With one exception, no-one in Gensokyo has been able to fly for almost a week now. She wonders for a moment how many people remain even to attempt it, and how many of them intend to stain her sword with their blood.
It takes her too long to hear someone approaching her. Not because she is taken by surprise, but because the splashing footfalls are the opposite of quiet. Still, she manages to turn around in time to see her newest and what would be anyone else's final opponent pause.
Not even Komachi's imposing geta are quite tall enough to keep her feet from touching the gore. She doesn't seem to care as she fixes her gaze on Tenshi. "That's a real mess you've made here."
Tenshi flicks her hair over her shoulder. "They started it."
"I'm sure." As Komachi approaches with her scythe still casually slung on her shoulder, Tenshi sees a flicker of something she didn't expect to see in her eyes. Something like regret. "I honestly didn't think it would come to this."
Tenshi feels remarkably strange as she shrugs. The simple gesture seems to tear a rift between her body and mind. In any case, she isn't one for whys or what could have beens. "And do you honestly believe you stand a chance against me?"
The corners of Komachi's mouth don't so much as twitch as the strange emotion in her eyes deepens. To her annoyance, Tenshi finds herself imagining the quips Komachi should be making, the lazy smugness on her face as she explains exactly what went wrong and why that means the world is coming to an end. But that sorrow seems to smother it all, just as it reminds Tenshi of the residual burn of her wounds and the chill seeping into her bones.
She draws herself into a fighting stance and looks on in satisfaction as Komachi finally raises her scythe. A single shared look is the only farewell necessary.
As Tenshi runs forward, her blood sings the same tune it did during the endless night, the song of survival and chaos and metal slicing through flesh. And it will continue to sing, sing, sing, because dying is something that happens to other people.