[ yeah. he. well, he's running, at first, but that run slows to a jog, and eventually, he's almost walking, shoulder aching, too tired and breathing harder than he'd like to even come close to running.

... but mika's smiling, now, laughing and delighted, and if he's winded and bleeding and looks like an idiot, at least there's that. it's infectious, a little - he smiles back, placid, gentle, tired. at least there's that.

he can feel the power of the holy light still, from earlier, and he makes his way over to where mika is standing, dragging himself half over the finish line before he drops down on the ground and pats the spot next to him. ]

... Hahhh. No chance. The Angel, the winner. The Hound, destroyed.

[ his expression flickers, tired, softening, because he knows now what has to be done. the timer ticks overhead. lower and lower. time's about to be up.

with a last breath to try and compose himself so he doesn't wheeze his way through it, he lets the warm light of the sacred flame curl around his palm, keeping it flat to the ground, and makes no note of it. they both know what's coming. there's no need to draw it out. ]

... Shall I say a benediction? What do you think?