Pitter patter… Pitter patter… Pitter patter…
Heavy drops rained down from the skies, creating a great deluge that obscured the vision of all. The bright morning Sun was blocked by darkened grey clouds, making the late afternoon seem on the cusp of dusk.
And perhaps that was for the better.
The clouds acted as a curtain, blinding the heavens from the horrific scene beneath. Hundreds of bodies were drawn out on the cold forest floor, with many entirely dismembered from head to toe. A good number of them had their heads separated from their bodies, and it was highly unlikely that they would reunite again.
Rivers of blood coloured the grassy forest in a deep crimson hue as the rain gently washed them into the soil beneath. Sheets of grey rain continued falling like a waterfall, seemingly to wash away the sinful nature of the massacre.
"Nine hundred dead, while the rest of us are fatally wounded… The price of eliminating you is steep, Lunar Blade."
Titus, the Pyromancer and the second-ranked Transcendent in the world remarked with a heavy sigh. The man wasn't in the best shape either. His well-dressed suit was now drenched with blood, sweat and rain. One of his eyes was eternally closed as well, with half his face covered in crimson blood and bits of flesh.
His right arm had been severed entirely while numerous cuts and wounds decorated his once pristine body. However, even with the heap of injuries, Titus wore a big smile on his face.
Why?
Number 23, the world's greatest Transcendent and the man responsible for winning the Great War lay motionless on the ground. His trusted blade flung far away from his body while his four limbs were incapacitated, either by burns or irreversible injuries.
The number of injuries on the man's body was too numerous to count, not that it mattered to a dying person. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Number 23 felt his mind go in and out of consciousness. The world was hazy, and the strength in his body had completely been drained.
It was quite possibly the weakest he'd ever been. And yet, this feeling of powerlessness didn't give Number 23 fear. Instead, there was a different emotion that he'd thought he'd abandoned during his years as a lab rat.
"…"
"As expected, you were too strong to keep alive."
Since Number 23 had no means of replying, Titus continued his melancholic monologue. They had won, but it was a pyrrhic victory at best. The Transcendents killed in this battle could never be recuperated, and it would take years, decades even, for the Alliance to rebuild their forces.
Even as Titus looked around at the remaining survivors, all he could see were broken humans. Many were severely injured, losing multiple limbs, eyes or even half their bodies. Others were so mentally traumatised they may not be able to fight another battle ever again.
A thousand of the world's mightiest Transcendents were now reduced to a broken mess.
However, Titus didn't regret his decision.
A cold shiver ran down his spine as he recollected the Lunar Blade's destructive power. That wasn't the power of a human. Heck, there were no Transcendents alive that could match that might. Number 23 was indisputably the strongest singular existence the world had ever seen. And all that power, in the hands of a single person, was too dangerous to be kept alive.
Titus walked over the weary and broken God of War, carefully watching for sudden movements. Blood and rain made it hard for the Pyromancer to truly see Number 23's expression, but he could tell that the Lunar Blade was about to breathe his last.
However, Titus wasn't going to leave anything to chance.
Holding out his palm, he gathered what little ether he had left and concentrated it into a dense fireball.
"Do you have any final words?"
Though dazed, Number 23 could see Titus' face in stunning detail. His eyebrows were lowered, and his chin slightly elevated. Biting down on his lips, the Pyromancer's last remaining eye was tearing up as it hid a plethora of complex emotions.
'What was going on in his head?'
Number 23 wondered to himself.
Even at this very moment, Number 23 didn't hate the enemy that brought him to his knees. No, he didn't feel anything at all towards Titus. In war, it was kill or be killed. That was his life's purpose and what he was taught from a very young age. But now that he was at the end of his life, his memories slowly resurfaced.
Like a movie, Number 23 watched his life flash before his eyes.
The day he first held a sword, the day he first killed another human, his first battle, his first Transcendent kill, the day he ended the war…
All his life, Number 23 was defined by the battles he fought.
The more he won, the longer he could live his life.
Alas, even with all his accomplishments, all his successes, and all of his victories, his life was going to end at a meagre twenty-five years old.
'Was my life… meaningful?'
Number 23 couldn't help but wonder.
Even though he'd lived as a cold-blooded machine all his life, there was one last shred of humanity left in his soul. He yearned to be something more than a killing machine. He wished his life had some impact. And finally, he wanted to know that his short life… wasn't for nothing.
'Did they make it out alive?'
In his last moments, Number 23 remembered the face of the young Lieutenant and his other subordinates. Before engaging the thousand Transcendents in a final battle, he made an opening for his men to escape. Truth be told, he didn't know if they survived after running away.
'I hope they did…'
Perhaps… This was Number 23's first actual act of heroism.
Everything else he did was someone else's order. If he truly wished for it, Number 23 could have escaped alone. However, if he did so, his men would have unquestionably perished. Therefore, he stood back and single-handedly fought against a thousand Transcendents.
And that, in turn, had cost his life.
All of these thoughts happened in a span of less than five seconds. Unable to lift a finger or even move his mouth, Number 23's silence gave Titus a grim affirmation. The Pyromancer knew there was no point in delaying it any further and delivered the executing blow.
"Goodbye, Lunar Blade…"
As the Pyromancer's fireball expanded in size, Number 23 could feel the world slow down. Bit by bit, the executing flames were creeping towards him like the whispers of death. The ice in his veins gradually melted while the searing light blinded his eyes.
'Bright… Ah, speaking of which… I never did get to see the ending of [Bright]...'
Burning alive, Number 23 remembered the title of his favourite story. If he had one regret for dying this early, it would be that he'd never gotten to see the ending of [Bright].
'In the end, I never did learn what it means to be a hero…'
Even if he regretted it, there was nothing he could do now. Oddly, even though he was on fire, Number 23 didn't feel pain. Instead, a suspicious sense of warmth enveloped his heart.
It was warm.
Warmer than anything that Number 23 had ever felt.
And so, he welcomed the warmth with open arms. For the first time in his life, Number 23 was letting everything go. The warmth permeated his soul, bringing him into a strange lull of peace. The world was burning around him, and his body was breaking down, but he didn't care. All that mattered in his final moments was enjoying the sensation he'd never felt before.
And finally…
The world turned bright once more.