Rating is PG.
Hawkmoon dreams. He sees the Black Sword wielded by a crimson eyed albino demon, and Hawkmoon moves own mouth to match this fearsome creature's bloodless lips. Elric is more damned than most, but he finds the joy in killing that Hawkmoon wishes he could lose. Neither of them is truly happy, and may never be. But Hawkmoon is not fated to kill his lover, and he has countless dreams about the day Elric earned his most hated title, Womanslayer. Poor tired Elric, child of Chaos and dragons, burdened with an unnatural conscience, and doomed to be the pawn of the Balance. Hawkmoon felt sympathy for the alien man, but it was not his fight. And he would never be Elric. Not yet. Not again. Not until his next life.
When Hawkmoon slices through yet another Granbretan, his wild war cry comes so easily to his mouth.
"HAWKMOON!" He screams and red blood stains him again. It doesn't matter, nothing does. The Granbretans slaughtered his people, and so he slaughters them. And it is a massacre, because the pure, clean rage that fills him is as powerful as any magic, and there is nothing that the Granbretans, with their crazed self destructive violence can do to counter him.
Half mad, the thin blond man hews and hacks, and screams.
The Black Jewel glistens.
Hawkmoon dreams. He is Jherek Carnelian, and this is the life in which he is the happiest. Jherek is a child, and he finds joy and beauty. Jherek can't understand the concept of death or murder. Nothing that Hawkmoon feels makes sense to beautiful, innocent Jherek. Hawkmoon loves these brief moments in this strange man's mind. Though Jherek is human, and Elric something else altogether, Hawkmoon knows that he and Elric share so much more than he and Jherek. But love, and devotion, and a curiosity that conquers all drive Jherek. And Hawkmoon wonders if that means something more than his own quest for vengeance. Jherek bears no mysterious mark, nor sword. He will never be anything more than he is, a gentle being dedicated to enjoying his life, and that is beautiful. He turns his power rings, and Hawkmoon laughs softly. So very pure, young Jherek, yet more of a whole man than he.
Hawkmoon is running, and he feels the wind on his abraded skin. He ignores d'Averc's habitual complaints about his feigned illness and he lets out a wild whoop of unexplained joy. All around him lay the ruins of dead and dying countries. His own abused land is soaked in the blood of the innocent. And yet, now at this moment he is free, he is alive against seemingly impossible odds. His cruel fate seems not so terrible right now, for he has defeated the Dark Empire again and again, and he lives to fight on. Sunlight gleams off the oily blackened surface of the Jewel, but Hawkmoon laughs, and d'Averc, who runs quite swiftly for a man so apparently afflicted with ailments joins in with Hawkmoon's laughter. Their torn ragged clothes, sodden armour, and battered blades are the raiments of conquerors for a brief second.
The Warrior in Jet and Gold does not laugh, but he rarely does anything. Hawkmoon loves him, too just for a second.
Hawkmoon dreams. He is Jerry Cornelius, the English Assassin, pale Perriot and this is an incarnation of the Eternal Champion that can never end, not really. Jerry is a cycle, a lost signal. Jerry is death in a car coat, a lover of music and drugs, lying through his smile, laying Catherine's body down.
Hawkmoon knows that Jerry has killed his lover so many times, and is doomed to never remember more than once. Jerry's memory is the stuff of legends. Hawkmoon knows not to delve too far into this man's? being's? head, lest he become part of a story that has no end. Jerry smiles his death's grimace at Hawkmoon and they are comrades of the Balance for a second. But Hawkmoon knows not to trust Jerry too much. Besides, Jerry is bound down by magics stronger and wilder than any Hawkmoon has known. He watches as Jerry goes down once more, and he knows that this won't be the last time either.
Hawkmoon is a victor, a killer and a lover. Hawkmoon is the King of his own family, and his children are more beautiful than any Jewel or Sword.
He killed the gods, but will that stop them? The Balance is ever doomed to shift and change.
Hawkmoon is the last Eternal Champion, but he is also the first in the next line. Nothing, not even the universe's death can destroy the Champion, and he sees their line stretch out into the distant future, just as it goes back to time forgotten.
Hawkmoon smiles. He is the Mad God, the Lord of the Dawn, and Dorian. Just Dorian, a husband and a father. He loves that title the best. It is his finest hour.
Hawkmoon is a lord, a warrior, a Champion, and a man. The man is the most powerful here. And the Black Jewel is long dead.