They were fighting, like always.

Catra had lunged headlong into the altercation, claws out and teeth bared for blood, like always.

They had gravitated to an isolated section of the battlefield to face each other one-on-one, completely absorbed in each other in a violent mockery of the way they'd once done, like always.

They met as nemeses, like always.

But Adora—this time, she was different.

No longer did she hold a look of hopeful desperation in her eyes that peaked during every pause in their battle, like maybe that had been the final slash of Catra's claws in their grueling struggle; maybe the last insult thrown between two who shouldn't have been enemies; maybe the last time betrayer and betrayed (whomever that happened to be at the time) would ever have to hurt each other. No; there was no longer a hesitation of her hand before she struck. No longer a valiant, pathetic attempt to pull her punches in order to somehow make up for everything she'd already done to Catra.

She was no longer treating Catra like a fragile hope, but a lost cause.

Catra couldn't decide if this was better or worse than the Adora of always before.

If she let her feral side—the side that had ripped those scars into She-Ra's back; that had pulled the lever and opened the portal; that had let herself drop into the abyss on the other side—consider, then this seemed like the perfect development. This was the excuse she'd always wanted to tear Adora apart without regret: if the princess was no longer holding back, then she had no reason to either. She could kill Adora and convince herself that it was self-defense, when the guilt came.

But if she was honest with herself—with Catra; the real Catra she'd buried deep down—it scared the hell out of her.

The whole foundation of their fighting dynamic had just dropped out from beneath her feet. She could no longer count on Adora to wait a split second too long to launch her strike, giving Catra an opening to land one of her own. She could no longer count on making it out of every fight with hardly a scratch, but leaving Adora torn to tatters. She could not, in fact, even count on making it out of this fight alive, if the look in this new Adora's eyes was anything to judge by.

It was the same look she'd had after the portal. Hard. Cold. Impersonal. Unforgiving.

Deadly.

The blade of the Sword of Protection felt just as deadly as it swung at her time and again, biting into her skin for the first time ever whenever she was a hair too slow. Which was happening more than she'd like.

Catra had always been able to hold her own against the so-called legendary She-Ra. She'd been the only one to do so, in fact, which was a huge point of pride for Catra. Not so perfect after all, Adora, it had made her think. Not so unstoppable after all.

Bet you're second-guessing choosing that fucking sword over me now, huh?

But as it turned out, She-Ra really was more than Catra could handle on her own—now. When she was angry. When she was determined. When she was finished chasing after Catra in the tenuous hope that she might see the light and turn.

Catra couldn't blame her.

But that didn't make this any easier.

Catra was losing. That was the simple truth. Her stamina was running dry whilst She-Ra's only seemed to grow, and with every exchange she lost a little more ground; a little more blood. With every ragged breath her usual cocky, condescending demeanor was crumbling away, and every flake it lost revealed the raw, true fear beneath.

Catra found now that she didn't want to die; not truly. But the realization had hit her too late.

She no longer got a choice in the matter.

"Adora," she gasped out in desperate appeal, remembering the time at the Northern Reach when she had first felt truly afraid at the other end of She-Ra's sword. This time was worse, because there was no First Ones virus making She-Ra hostile and angry and dangerous. There was no outside force influencing the warrior goddess into wanting to hurt Catra. This time, she truly did want to hurt her—as Adora.

And that put a cold, complete feeling of fear in Catra's chest that nestled right alongside the jagged edge of regret. She'd pushed Adora to this point. She was responsible for antagonizing her old best friend; for molding her into an enemy who would no longer flinch at the notion of running her through. She'd brought this hatred upon herself, knowing every step of the way that she was only digging her grave deeper and deeper. She'd been willing to throw away everything simply to get back at Adora, and now all that was back to bite her in the ass.

She'd broken the world to punish Adora, and now she was going to face the consequences.

It hurt more than she thought it would.

The Sword of Protection cleaved the air as She-Ra unleashed all her righteous fury in a crushing final blow. Even Catra was not fast enough to skip out of the way this time. The blue blur blazed across the distance between them and into her flesh and bone.

Oh.

It fucking hurt.

Catra wondered if this is the way Adora felt when she'd left her to die in the Crystal Castle. Or when she'd opened the portal to destroy everything she loved. Or when she refused to follow her even after their attempt at a second chance.

Catra gasped, but the air wouldn't fill her lungs. It was halted by the blood clogging her throat—the blood she now coughed out onto She-Ra's blinding white doublet. Her eyes were frozen wide, not surprised, but still shocked that after all this time; after everything they'd been through; after everything she'd done—

"You actually did it."

The words came out on a wheeze and her voice was rougher even than usual. Her hands closed around the blade impaling her chest, just an inch right of her sternum, shaking. She hardly noticed when the edge cut her palms. All she could comprehend was pain.

She-Ra didn't remove the sword. When Catra looked up at her through hazy eyes, her jaw was set but those eyes—those blue eyes that were so like Adora's and yet so different, so alien—were full of panic. That didn't make much sense. She'd meant to stab Catra, after all. Maybe Catra was just hallucinating.

She dragged in a painful, rattling breath and sank to her knees as the feeling in her limbs began to fade. She-Ra knelt with her, flickering back into a more familiar form in a ripple of gold. That didn't make much sense either, but Catra was past trying to make sense of what was happening. Her vision was darkening at the edges and she didn't even hate the way it narrowed her focus to Adora and only Adora.

"Ad—" Her attempt to speak was cut off by a groan and a cough. An eruption of more blood. She could feel it on the front of her shirt, too, sliding down her abdomen in streams of misleading warmth. She was afraid to touch it; afraid to look at it.

She was going to die. The knowledge dawned on her gently, casually, as if it weren't the most terrifying realization a mortal could ever have. She should have felt more afraid, but her senses seemed distant, fuzzy, as if they belonged to someone else. Even the pain was fading.

Catra slumped forward with a strangled sigh, hardly caring that the movement only sent the Sword of Protection deeper into her body. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. She was slipping. This was it.

She blinked to clear her eyes for one last look at Adora, who was pale as a sheet and frozen in place like she couldn't quite believe what was happening. She really was beautiful. Catra had always thought so. She hated her for it for longer than not, but she'd always thought so. Her gray-blue eyes, though afraid, were a sort of comfort to Catra now, in her last moments. She'd missed the way those eyes used to look at her. She'd missed the tenderness; the care. Somewhere along the line, she'd buried those feelings deep. She'd twisted them into fuel for her hatred and honed them into a vicious tool to use against the girl she…the girl she loved.

She missed Adora. She couldn't remember exactly why they'd been fighting, now. All she wanted was to trade the feeling of the blade in her chest for that of Adora's warm, gentle arms around her, but that was impossible now.

Anything but slipping slowly into death was impossible now, and Catra deeply regretted that.

Her breathing was shallow, wet. She couldn't feel anything. She reached for Adora anyway.

"Ad-Adora," she managed this time. She could see that Adora took her trembling hand; she could see the tears in those gray-blue eyes, but she could not feel even that. Even though the sword was still in her chest, it felt as if a gaping hole were in its place instead. An empty pit; the cavern that had once held the true Catra, abandoned long ago.

Adora pressed Catra's hand to her cheek and those tears spilled over. Catra couldn't remember why she was crying.

But, "I'm sorry," she mumbled through bloodied lips, hoping it would make Adora feel a little better.

I'm sorry.

Then her eyelids fluttered closed and she knew no more.

…