I feel nothing.
It's the same question, over and over. Why? Why does the void inside me seem endless? The world is a blur, distant and hollow. I've lived long enough to know that searching for answers only leads to more questions. For so long, I thought I didn't care. I thought I had moved beyond feeling. But now, standing here, surveying the ruins I've created, there's something stirring—faint, like the last flicker of a dying flame.
Relief.
For the first time in eons, my heart feels the weight lift. I did everything I could… for them. And now it's over.
But gods, I am tired. Not physically—no, this is a deeper kind of exhaustion. Every step, every decision, every sacrifice circles back in my mind like a haunting. I thought it would pass with time. I thought the ache would fade, the pain would become nothing more than a distant echo. Instead, it has sharpened, growing unbearable with every moment of reflection. Regret—a word I never thought I'd feel, let alone say. Yet, here I stand, alone, weighed down by it.
The world beneath me is nothing but rubble. Corpses, too many to count, piled high, stretching toward the heavens as if trying to claw their way to some distant salvation. Blood flows like rivers, carving through the valleys and mountains, a torrent of red that stains everything it touches. Above, the sky is a black canvas, split open by the ominous glow of a red moon.And yet, it's beautiful. A twisted kind of beauty. The destruction feels like a balm to the emptiness within me, a familiar embrace. My lips twitch into a smile, unbidden. The blood, the chaos—it feels like home. Like this is where I've always belonged.
"You're smiling," a voice says, soft and melodic, yet sharp enough to cut through the chaos. "Did you really enjoy what you've done? I've never seen you smile like that before."
Her voice. A sound I once cherished, now laced with a bitter memory. It is beautiful—too beautiful, too pure for this broken world. But that's what makes it dangerous. It deceives. A sound so gentle, hiding something far darker underneath.
I don't turn. I know who it is. I don't need to see her to feel the loathing that rises in me, a hatred that has grown roots in the ashes of what we once were.
"Yes," I say, the word slipping out like a curse. "This is all thanks to you."
And it is. Without her betrayal, none of this would have come to pass. She knew, and she said nothing. She used me. After everything I did, after everything I gave, this is how she repaid me.
"I'm sorry."
Three words. Meaningless now.
I turn, slowly, to face her. Even amidst the destruction, her beauty is undeniable. She seems untouched by it, standing like a pillar of light in the midst of shadows. Her long white hair falls in waves, the ends stained red, a reminder of the blood on her hands. Her pale skin glows under the sickly moonlight, and her green eyes—the same eyes that once held kindness—are now filled with something else. Resignation, maybe. Or pity.
She radiates authority, a serene calm that only deepens my anger. She stands as if she is above all this, a beacon of peace amidst the storm of chaos. But I know better.
She is not innocent.
"It's too late for that, don't you think?" My voice is colder than I intended, but it feels right. She deserves no softness.
Her gaze doesn't waver. There's a steadiness in her that makes me hate her even more. How can she still stand like this, as if she wasn't the one who set all of this in motion?
"Why did you do it?" I ask, though I already know the answer. "Your answer won't change anything. But I need to hear it."
Her lips part, and for a moment, I see hesitation. But then she speaks, and her words are as steady as ever.
"I couldn't let you destroy yourself. Or the world. I've tried everything, you know that. I've done everything in my power to stop this, to change you, to change the future. But in the end, I had no choice. My duty… my responsibility… it was to save the world. Even if it meant losing you."
There's a tremor in her voice now, slight, but enough for me to notice. She's not as composed as she seems. Good.
"I had to choose the world over you," she continues, her eyes pleading with me to understand. "I couldn't be selfish, not with you. Not with the fate of everything at stake."
Her words are laced with the same arrogance that has always been there—the arrogance of someone who believes their decisions are justified because of some higher purpose. She speaks of fate as if it's a force that can be reasoned with, controlled. But fate doesn't care about justifications.
"I've tried to defy fate," she says, her voice growing quieter. "But it's impossible. I've learned that the hard way. Fate runs through me like blood in my veins. I am bound to it. But you… you are not. You're different. You are darkness. Fate despises you. It's why I had to use you."
Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning.
I take a step closer, narrowing my eyes. "You used me because you're too weak to face fate on your own."
She flinches, but recovers quickly. "It was the only way. You think I wanted this? You think I enjoyed betraying you? I had no choice."
"Everyone has a choice." My voice is sharper now, cutting through her excuses. "You just made the wrong one."
Her eyes flash, a flicker of anger behind the calm facade. "And what about you? What choices have you made? You talk about regret, but you've done nothing but destroy. You care about your 'desired outcome,' but what have you sacrificed for it? You think you understand fate, but all you've done is bend to its will like the rest of us."
I remain silent. Her words are empty, hollow. She still doesn't understand.
"It doesn't matter," I say, stepping closer. "The world you tried to save is gone. And I am the one who destroyed it. This is fate. This is the prelude to creation. And you… you can't stop it."
"You speak of fate," she says, her voice steady once more. "But you don't understand it. You never did."
The conversation is over. There's nothing left to say.
"Let's end this," I say, raising my sword. "You're the last one."
Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see it—fear.
"Yes," she says quietly. "Let's end this."
Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see it—fear.
"Yes," she says quietly. "Let's end this."
We move without hesitation. The distance between us is nothing now, just a thin veil of time and destiny stretched taut, waiting to snap. Her sword gleams in the red light as it clashes against mine, and for what feels like an eternity, we are locked in this final dance. Creation against destruction. Light against dark.
But there's something else. Something neither of us wants to admit.
A deeper connection. A bond forged long before this war began, before betrayal, before blood.
Our blades sing in the air, the world around us crumbling further with every strike. Each clash sends ripples through the earth, shaking the ground beneath our feet, the sky overhead splitting open with thunder and flame. But she doesn't falter. Her movements are precise, graceful, and filled with purpose, even as exhaustion drips from her every motion.
My strikes are fueled by something darker. Not hatred—no, that's not enough. It's the need to break free. From her, from fate, from this endless cycle of destruction. I can feel it with every swing, every step.
The world trembles as if even the heavens are watching. Waiting.
Finally, I see my opening. With a swift movement, I disarm her, her sword clattering to the ground, and before she can react, my blade finds its mark—her heart.
She gasps, her lips parting in shock, then slowly, she smiles.
Her blood stains my hand, warm against the cold air, but there's no triumph in this. No victory. Just an end.
Her hand trembles as she raises it, fingers brushing my cheek with the same tenderness I once trusted. Her touch is cold now, and her breath is shallow. Still, she looks at me—not with anger or hatred, but something far more unbearable.
"Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely audible as the light fades from her eyes.
She collapses into my arms, her weight light, almost fragile, and for a moment, I stand there, holding her as the world around us falls to ruin.
And then I drive my hand into her chest.
The golden heart, still warm, pulses in my hand as I pull it free from her lifeless body. Even now, it radiates a holy light, as if it belongs to a different world—a better world.
I don't hesitate. With one swift motion, I tear my own heart from my chest, the agony shooting through me like a fire. Dark, twisted, and covered in blood, my heart is a grotesque contrast to hers.
Two hearts. One of light, one of dark. Opposites in every sense.
I bring them together, and as they begin to spin, the ground beneath me trembles. The blood that has soaked the earth rises in a swirling vortex, the sky above cracks, and the fabric of time itself begins to tear.
A giant river of blood appears, winding through the heavens and the earth like a serpent, its waves crashing with the screams of the lost and forgotten. The air is thick with the stench of death, the sound of fate unraveling in the distance.
Without a second thought, I leap into the river, letting its currents carry me away.
For the first time in centuries, I feel alive.
And as the river pulls me toward an unknown future, a single thought echoes in my mind, louder than the chaos around me.
Without any regrets, I stand alone against the heavens and earth.
To rewrite the written.
To defy the heaven..