*yep, we're living. New chapter, closer and closer to the end. Let me know what you think, since I feel like my writing quality is going down a bit, so please be honest. Enjoy the chapter. Peace out and Deus vult*
Mark felt his battered body cry out in pain, his vision blurry as the two halves of his mind crashed against one another, reuniting as the whole they had been once. It all came to him at once, striking like a sledgehammer aimed at a nail that rested on his forehead, ready to strike through his skull. His memories had dashed back to him once, and Ena's Dream tried to reenact the same things as much as it could, forcing his mind into that state he remembered, of memories that weren't his, yet it couldn't fully replicate the foreign effect.
The lack of blood from his nose was also a subtle hint that something different was at play, while the strange sense of continuous deja vu added to the effect, yet he forgot about it all thanks to the plethora of issues that ended up emerging on his way, from Himeko's feelings for him taking a complete turn, to his connection with Acheron, one of the few characters that made him wish to just go and comfort with a gentle touch, to remind them that loneliness is never complete, that there is someone out there waiting.
His vision was slowly clearing, the fog of forgetfulness finally lifting itself from his vision, allowing reality to sink in. The red stain that he had gotten used to seeing, her skin pale, covered in red marks of a stark contrast to reality.
"It seems that you're so determined to wake up you simply chose to snap back to reality without stopping by the realm within. You're bent on defeating Sunday, right?"
It was Acheron, her beautiful red eyes staring deep into his soul, her Emanator form in full display, the black hole floating in the background. She helped him to his feet, holding him close in her arms, using her body to support him from the side.
"I... I think Black Swan managed to reach me somehow, just for a moment, enough to make me realize where I was."
She nodded, looking over at him, the soft strands of white hair brushing softly against his neck, tingling his numb skin, awakening sparks in him.
"Yes, she's awakened not too long ago and tried to wake you up. You had stood up to Sunday, being the last to succumb to the dream. Perhaps it's also why you were able to wake up among the first ones, going straight to the waking world. You're lucky I could intercept you on your path."
He sighed, clenching his fist, feeling as the numbness in his body was dissipating with each breath he drew.
"I was weak, right? Our combined strike carried power, but... I was too weak to defeat him alone, at least the first time. I shall try again, as many times as I have to..."
Her fingers danced along the side of his neck, coming to a stop on his chest, feeling the soft beat of his heart against them.
"Mark... you wished to drag me out of Nihility, to reach out and offer a hand..."
He nodded, the words ringing true.
"I did say that... and I plan to hold true to my words. Perhaps I'm too weak to do it now, but... I will achieve the strength needed to do so one day."
She smiled a little, speaking softly.
"You'll ruin yourself for others, Mark... that's not a good choice, and you know it."
Tiny was the smirk that graced his lips, but it represented more than any other gesture could.
"I'm selfish, that's the path I tread, the road I myself will forge against all odds. It's my own wish to achieve such an ending, where everyone can smile and... feel joy... I want it to become real, not a stupid dream like what Sunday plans to do... I tried arguing with him, but... it was useless. He's too fixed on his own idea of Order, on making his own paradise where no Aeon rules over humans... foolish of him, for Aeons don't rule to begin with. They're mere slaves to their Path..."
Acheron looked at him, holding his gaze despite the smoldering intensity they harbored, the burning desire in them for a future shaped by his own hands. He wasn't strong enough to reach it, at least not in the present, but she felt it in their combined strike, in their union—he could grow to reach that level one day.
"To reach that ending, you need to become stronger, to not succumb to anything during your journey. You fear severing bonds, Mark... you fear too many things, but the one you fear most, the one I felt in that monster within your mind..."
She pulled him a bit closer, feeling a knot in her throat as she spoke. Something about him had become familiar to her in the short time spent together. Perhaps it was but a fleeting ember of companionship, a moment of respite found in another person, but for him it all held true.
"...you fear loss, Mark..."
His lips pursed in a pitiful attempt at reconciliation with himself, with the fatal flaw that would never leave his being. Flaw, why even call it that? He wasn't like others who would sacrifice whatever for their goal. He had a single thing he could give up, albeit hesitant at times, but it could go and he'd still smile—himself. It's also why him reaching the ending would be hell incarnated, like his nightmares turned into a creature that sought to consume him.
"I do... but I won't falter. I'll choose what I lose, and I will lose only what can be given up without regrets... myself. Bit by bit, I shall reach my ending, Acheron... I want you to be part of the journey and that beautiful ending I envision..."
His cheeks took on a soft, red hue, the words spoken like a confession, almost like his heart had made a choice—it was far from the truth. He was in turmoil, but like most cases, simply diving into something would be the best choice. When neither thing can prove better than the other, you grab something and hold on to it, for both have the same value, even if for a moment. Actions have consequences, and choices will leave a bitter taste at times, but that bitter taste was part of life too.
She gave no answer at first, taking a few moments to process his words, to feel the depth of his emotions. His heart beat faster beneath her touch, each thud a stark reminder of his determination, of the light that never went out inside the man she had at her side. She sought light, the one behind Nihility, something eternal that not even the meaningless darkness could swallow. Still, his light was too weak, too frail to resist it. He was about to drown in the same river that she tries to guide the dead out of.
"Mark... we shall see... for now, return to the realm of the living and show me that you can uphold what you promised..."
Their gazes met, breaths mingling as one from the proximity. Mark could only stare into her eye, bringing up a gentle hand to move her hair aside to see both her eyes fully in their beauty. He whispered softly, like he was afraid to ruin the moment.
"I will do my best to the sweet end, not the bitter one... for I don't plan on falling until I reach that which I desire. For that, I shall most probably be deemed a selfish, greedy sinner, but... I want that joy, so make sure to watch and hear me, Raiden Bosenmori Mei... never think I will forget this name, or that of Acheron, river of the dead..."
Her breath hitched, coming to a short halt as silence settled in. He could feel himself slowly slipping away, returning to the real world where he'd have to face Sunday himself, most probably alone at first.
"I shall make it work, don't worry about me. For now, focus on guiding the others outside. I'll hold the fort until they arrive. You wish for everyone to save themselves, while I understand that we're too weak to do that. We can only try, but our strength wavers at some point..."
He let go slowly of her, letting his fingers linger on her cheek for a few moments before his eyes closed, opening as the feeling of raging winds grazed his skin. He was falling from the sky, gliding to the ground, ready to stand before Sunday once more.
Thus, he prepared, creating himself a sword of ice unlike any before, forcing it to be as compressed as possible, increasing the pressure while creating it, molding the ice with more than just his mind but also his hands. With increased output, his palms pressed together tightly as the ice began forming between them. He began separating them bit by bit, bracing for the fall by spreading out a large ice ramp from his feet, shooting it down to the ground to anchor it there and slide along so the height wouldn't matter at all.
The sword was born out of his hands, his grip on it steady thanks to the ridges carved into the handle. He slid on the ice, falling in front of Sunday, standing there all alone, the ice behind him vanishing at a thought's notice.
"Have you broken free from the Dream of Order?" asked Sunday, his form that of 'Harmonious Choir' The Great Septimus, a robot-like entity that somewhat resembled him, thanks to the wings on its head.
"Have you broken free from the Dream of Order?" he asked, the voice resounding in a commanding way, with an echo to accompany it.
Mark scoffed, pointing his sword at Sunday as he summoned the Sword of Will, staring at the turquoise light that morphed around the blade into an extension, turning the weapon into a broader sword with an edge sharper than steel could ever be.
"Screw your dream, Sunday. I said it once, and I shall say it again..."
He stepped closer, powering his body with 35% to boot, not yet pushing past his limits out of fear that a prolonged battle might ensue. He could use a far higher output for attacks, but he needed some time to charge it, and he also risked ruining the blade sooner.
"...your dream is nothing but an illusion, a coward's way out. Sure, it helps people, but it also takes from them. There's nothing free in the world, not even the joy brought by that dream. It takes away real opportunity, the type you have to fight for before reaping its rewards."
"Foolishness. You fail to see what liberation true Order can bring. I shall put an end to you here and now," it replied, twirling the baton it had to guide the musical notes into battle. They were attacks shaped like notes and various other symbols used in composition.
Mark dashed for Sunday, pushing past the attacks, cutting through them with his sword, yet more and more kept coming, the Odes of Harmony mixing with the control of Order, causing a maelstrom of attacks to engulf him. He kept cutting and dashing, throwing large ice pillars to disrupt their flow, creating an opening for him to push through.
Sunday swung the baton around, throwing more notes at him, entire scores with melodies flowing in tandem, twisting and twirling from all sides, pushing him back with sheer number. It was worse than Aventurine's chips moving all around since Sunday didn't relent, pressuring Mark even more and more with his movements.
"Tsk, he's putting too much pressure on me. Acheron did warn Stelle in the game about how Sunday in this form was on the level of an Emanator or something. Let's hope I get to at least buy time if nothing else... or, I should go bananza..."
He smirked, creating a dozen ice pillars, the ice connecting him to them all through thin ice lines on the ground. Mark poured his energy into it, pushing it as fast as possible, then, before Sunday could send more attacks, he simply lifted them all up into the air with his mind, twirling them around from all sides with swift motions of his fingers.
"I've trained at least a decade to use those things, you know? They should be problematic. After all, you're not a perfect Emanator, at least not in my eyes... you're just a WATERED DOWN COPY!"
The ice pillars began spinning, hitting in from multiple angles, crashing against the musical notes Sunday kept shooting his way, yet the pieces that broke off were still filled with energy, so Mark could keep controlling them, simply decreasing the size while increasing the number of weapons.
"Your little tricks are of no use!"
He swung the baton right at the pillars, shattering them with no issue, unbothered by the tiny shards that Mark sent flying at him at high speeds, tanking them without even feeling it.
"Damn, watered down or not, this guy can still take a punch."
Mark moved, leaping from spot to spot, cleaving apart everything in his path with the Sword of Will, moving it with mastery and grace. With a flick of his wrist, a wall of fire was erected, blocking off Sunday's view as the turquoise flames rose to the sky, keeping firmly even as he tried to put them out.
"Nothing but tricks that didn't work the first time. Just give up and embrace the Dream of Order."
Mark came out of the fire, his sword held high above his head, swinging it down with all his might. Sunday met the blade with the baton, the sheer force of them both sending sparks flying around. Mark was slowly cutting through it, but the material wasn't normal, it wasn't something humans could easily replicate.
"Meager resistance, Mark," he spat out, sending him away with a backhanded slap he could barely brace for in time.
He slid along the ground, trying to regain his footing, but the impact was strong enough to knock the wind out of his lungs.
"Damn, I'm kinda fucked... isn't Stelle waking up anytime soon? I don't really want to push myself to the extreme at this point like I did against Phantylia..."