As much as he would have liked to move, Mark found that his arms had been trampled and broken while his legs were completely useless. Some of his ribs were probably shattered too.
It was a wonder that he was still alive.
His face was positioned toward the everlasting sky. Dust clouded the blue lurking behind, making the sun show itself in an irradiant red.
The red ball of fire had passed through his sight at least a handful of times. Each appearance stuck him with malignant heat, slowly but continually baking him under its gaze.
There was... no rain. Somehow there hadn't been any rain in a while. The blood puddling from his legs had long been dried.
Pain pelleted his body incessantly. He could not even be granted a moment of repose amidst the agonies of his mortal vessel.
Yet, he didn't care.
He stopped caring some time ago.
Maybe it was when he had first come to the trenches, maybe it was the mind-numbing days spent.
Maybe... it was because of all the times he had touched against death. He stopped caring so that he could survive - the unnecessary feelings that stopped him from acting were all erased.
Morality, conscience, ethics - they were all gone, never to come back. It helped him kill without thinking of the consequences, on the moment, instinctually.
Right. It was all to survive.
Survival had always been his goal...
That's it.
How disappointing.
What better did such a vision make him than an animal? He simply wanted to exist? Even a plant can do that.
There should have been more.
He should have had... ambition.
Yeah. That's what he had been trying to find.
It made sense.
The leader of the Spheks wanted to expand. Dean, his boss in the Hounds was going to use any method in order to achieve his goal of strengthening his power in the city.
The brunette...
She must have come from a terrible family situation, whatever it was. Yet she ended up surrounded by love, money, and every other good thing that he could think of.
How did that happen? Surely not luck. No, she must have had a drive that helped her. She was a Blessed, after all. With the ability to manipulate, how would she not be able to fight for what he wants?
Mark had the same capability, yet he did nothing.
He just wanted to remain as he was.
That was a mistake.
By only trying to survive he limited himself from growing.
At that point, the only way his life could go was down.
He had no ambition, so he became vulnerable to the whims of others.
That red-eyed lunatic of the Spheks tried to use him with force, almost successfully brainwashing him into an obedient servant.
'And especially Dean. That loud, deep, sonorous man was cunning behind the unsuspecting surface. He made a deal with Anton, exchanging the defeat of his enemy, the Spheks, with what Anton really wanted - me.'
'So I failed, ended up here.'
None of it was his fault, yet it was all his fault. He didn't do anything, so things happened to him.
He, despite having the blessing to be a puppeteer, allowed himself to dance at the rhythm of marionettes.
Everyone he knew had a level of control over him.
Even if it was the brunette...
'Wait, could it be?'
That woman had manipulated him...
He ultimately became a throwaway bait for people in power. From the time they ran away from the Spheks, to the time they were actually caught in the bar, it was Mark who was focused on, as if a spotlight had suddenly been shown on him.
It had to be her doing.
And so, he was reduced to a contingency - a last resort.
Was she feeling the same way he did right now?
Dead inside, empty?
There was usually an expression on her face, yet at times her expression slipped, revealing nonchalance.
He always had the right feelings at the perfect moments when with her, making the time together seem better. Was his feelings to her all just a lie? A lie that had simply been made up so that he would become her protector from danger. And his role paid off. He fended off dangers that could have ended with her death.
Her expressions were perfectly made as if precisely made beforehand. She was perfect, but was that really true? Or was it just how he was made to see her?
All that time spent with her was just to make him into more and more of a tool. And a tool he eventually became.
Even her parents might have not been spared. Was there really true love between the two? Or had the brunette fostered it so that she could become the child of a wealthy person?
It wasn't impossible. Especially if she lost her morality as Mark did.
Every feeling he had to her, every smile she shone him with, every moment that they shared. it was all a masterfully crafted scheme to turn him into a tireless supporter and guardian against danger.
How terrible she was...
But he didn't care anymore.
He had been controlled, lied to, betrayed, and left to die.
No man was coming to save him.
At that moment, he could hear a few steps approaching.
A man looking through the dead man's land was coming toward him. As soon as he neared Mark, his eyes widened.
After all, he was alive amidst piles of dead bodies, it would be a surprise to see a man in such a broken state.
Especially if it was an enemy.
Mark was internally indifferent.
He wasn't expecting for much, but he also didn't want to die.
Stretching his mind, he felt an untapped potency residing in his ability.
The soldier that approached opened his mouth and tried to call for help, but Mark was faster.
Suddenly, the soldier's face froze and paled. The man clutched his chest before falling to the floor, dead.
So this was the level his ability could reach.
He could simply instill so much shock that a victim would just... have a stroke and die.
If he was able to do all that stuff back in the city, maybe he would have been able to remain there.
But he didn't care about all that anymore. It was irrelevant.
The fact of the matter is that he is between two trenches, dying.
Dying...
Mark realized his vision had long since blurred.
His lips were cracked and his skin had no moisture.
Now, the pain was in his head more than anything.
He was dying of thirst...
Wow, he was actually dying of thirst.
Of all the ways he could have gone out, this was not what he was expecting.
It could have been something more dramatic, but whatever.
He didn't care anymore.
Everything was null and dull, absolutely lifeless.
Aside from the pain, he might as well already be dead.
Heat brushed his face again as a red blur of a giant ball appeared in his eyes as the ashes of war parted and rested at his side, at times blanketing him in an embrace of their own.
Perhaps this dullness was for the best. It protected him from having to suffer from emotions. Kind of like the way he had eventually grown despondent to his mother so that he wouldn't be psychologically tortured by seeing her degrade herself.
Otherwise, he would probably be wild with emotions, dragging himself back to his trench in an attempt to live.
But what would happen then?
His arms were broken, his ribs were crushed and god knows how his organs were. His neck was damaged in a way that had luckily not killed him, but a certain part of it... the voice box... was not working. He couldn't speak, he couldn't walk. His brain is slowing, though maybe that's the heat.
There was nowhere to come back to. There was nobody willing to receive him. The gang had no use for him, neither did the brunette. His mother might already be dead, not like she would care either.
No matter where he would go, there was no way to live.
Living itself had become an agony. Would he be more at peace after death?
Maybe, but who knows what would happen.
Perhaps he will be absolved, or condemned to eternal suffering.
Though to be fair, living in itself was pure pain at the moment, so the latter option didn't sound too bad.
He sighed.
Or he would have, but it was hard to.
As his thoughts slowed down, ashes drifted slowly from the sky, angelically dancing down the wind, blanketing him, warming his face under the scarlet sight of the sun. He was losing all feeling in his body, leaving him without pain. There was only his mind weighing him down to the mortal plain
So this is it.
I'm about to die.
I can't even struggle a bit.
And there's no reason to lie.
I'm simply... becoming one with the sky.
Ah, in that wretched, solitary city.
Those who used to rest on the floor.
Those who I had abhorred.
Yet, they had been so free...
...I should have tried to do more.
How I couldn't see.
But that doesn't matter.
I'm done rolling the dice.
I don't need to be further hurt.
This will suffice.
Warmed in ashes.
I am blessed.
I'm in paradise.