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Arthur rose out of his body, leaving it facedown in the dirt and ashes, and moved to the edge of the cliff.
The city was burning.
Another shockwave slammed through the ruins. The jagged remnants of skyscrapers, like broken teeth bared in a scream, spat debris into the orange sky.
The vast suburbs around the city center only shuddered, already reduced to stretches of rubble punctuated by sullen fires. Smoke and dust clogged the air. The river, thick and sluggish with wreckage, oozed beyond its banks, smothering the closest flames.
And looming above all of it, huge wads of yellow mist circled the city. Shapeless and shifting and yet distinctly individual, they each moved with purpose in what might have been an obscene dance of victory.
“So they chose war,” Arthur murmured.
A hot, heavy, wind blew past and he felt it scrub at the memory of human sensations, of skin and nerves and muscle, of blood and bone and the wet little balls humans used for vision. He’d forgotten how restrictive it all was.
His own form was composed of a starry darkness, like the depths of space strewn with the distant glitter of jeweled galaxies, powerful and capable for the battle ahead.
Behind him, Eames muttered “Well, fuck.” Arthur turned.
Eames — opalescent, prismatic, with a brilliant diamond sparkle and a core like the finest steel — was looking down at Arthur’s body.
“Admiring my ass in those tight trousers for one last time?“ Arthur asked in amusement.
“It really was a lovely arse.”
“And those were my favorite trousers.”
“Yeah, they were my favorite trousers of yours, too.” Eames smirked. “Ah well, you’ll have other arses.”
“And other trousers,” Arthur murmured as he stared down at the still-familiar body, remembering the crisp feel of the freshly-pressed shirt he’d put on that morning. The acidic air was already causing it to go yellow at the edges. “But I was enjoying that body.”
“So was I! Shall we go express our displeasure? They won't be expecting us here.”
Brilliant lightning shot through Arthur’s darkness. “Yes.”
