Milo smiled, a painful, bittersweet smile. She was so good, his Riviera, so sweet. How he wanted to tell her all would be well, that they'd definitely meet again. Before, he might have said it. Might have promised a woman the world, not knowing - or caring - if it was a lie. But he wasn't that man now, and he could never be again. And the honest, terrible truth was that he just didn't know. Would the gods forgive him for the atrocities he'd committed? Would he be permitted to return, and if so, how long would it take? Was there truly any way of knowing - even if, by some miracle, he returned - if he'd be free of the corruption? He could never do that to her, give her that false hope. If he never returned... she needed to move on. To be happy. Not to spend the rest of her life searching for him. He didn't deserve that - and neither did she. He could promise her nothing - but he would try. That is what shone in his eyes as he shifted his body.
"I..." he began, then lowered his lips to hers. And as he did so, he shoved with all his weight onto the blade, leaving her no choice but to carry the deed through. He pulled away, blood already starting to dribble from his lips. He smiled again, shakily, as he slumped slowly to the side.
"Love... you..." he gasped. With the last of his strength he shoved Riviera back, away from him; his death throes were violent, the corruption seething with anger at the loss of its host. His body contorted, twisting violently through an array of shapes. But it was too late. No matter how it thrashed, the end had come.
And finally, when it was over, Milo breathed his last and let it go with a sigh of gratitude and relief. He was free.
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