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The sky over my head exists through the eyes of madness: a perpetual twilight of sharp violets and deep purples, an eternal never-night of white stars peering through mauve clouds.
It is a cursed sky. Beneath it, a cursed planet, a cursed city that stretches over every inch of this world. Glass and neon. Silicon and steel. It folds in on itself, over and over, devouring its own flesh, built upon its own corpse, reborn.
Acid rain pours down on every street, on every head, on every addled mind and wayward soul. On every broken heart.
Amidst the multitude, I eye you. Try to hide, you may, but yours is a face once known and never forgotten. Anonymous you march, invisible to all but your own shadow.
Left corner past the clandestine chop shops, past the hordes of cyber-addicts, you stop to gaze at your own reflection. Has time been kind to you? I wonder what you'd say should I ask directly. Be honest. Best not to lie at a wake to be.
It is a warm summer. Air smells of fresh fruit and moist earth. The wind howls softly, rustling chimes on every porch. In the distance, green fields stretch unbound, the lake's glistening blue rivaling the sky.
It is a happy time.
I have been chosen, and everyone celebrates. My mother covers me with kisses; my father weeps with joy. Friends and family hug me and stretch my hand, proud to see me rise, sad to have me leave. Tonight is my party, my long farewell.
It is an important time, the most important one there could be. Tomorrow I leave for Idhai, for the Empire's capital. I have been called; I must answer.
It will be years until I set foot on Earth again, on this little stretch of land where my parents will pray to the gods of their ancestors for my triumph, to the Feathered Serpent for my safety. In their embrace, I tell them that I love them, that I hope to honor them.
Inside I tremble, I gasp for breath. I fear what lies ahead: my name has been called, and I must answer.
Your steps make ripples, perverting the tapping of rain on concrete. I can't help notice you have no boots, no coat for this downpour. You are soaking wet, baptised in acid rain. Do you think this will excoriate your past, wash away your guilt?
For a minute, I think you're pathetic, a lost child wandering through the streets of an uncaring world, afraid of what may lurk in the corner of his eye. But little boys don't have a past from which to run away, no trail of shadows to haunt their dreams— or to hunt them down.
At last you stand still, but I can tell you're drowning.
We step onto a world of white and gold, of silver and green. Idhai, utopia, gem of the Immortal Empire, world of worlds. We stand before its peaceful magnificence, before its benevolent might, and shudder.
This is what we are protecting, we chosen few: the Empire and its peace. This is our purpose, our honor. We have been chosen, and we have answered.
There are ten of us, each chosen to serve in a way most humble, handpicked from ten different worlds. Well, nine worlds. Amidst our peers from across the stars I see you, the only other human of the bunch.
You smile at me.
Your breath is wasted in the cold. Whatever warmth you have left within abandons you every time you exhale, puffs of vapor coalescing from your mouth into the sky, mingling with the noxious odors from the nearby gutters. It almost seems as if you'd like to lie down there, waiting to be flushed away with the rest of the biohazardous trash, with the shit and filth this ecumenopolis seems to revel in.
What a sad thing you've become.
I watch you from the shadows, pitying you as you pant and hurl, trying not to belch out what little fuel your body can still process; you're too far gone if biochemical isn't cutting it anymore. You might have better luck plugging yourself to a power grid. Might even make it easier for me.
That's how it always was between us, wasn't it?
The first months are brutal. We are meant to purge out doubt, to break the weaker link until only the strong remain, and so we are made to suffer.
Bones splinter under each blow, bruised skin and flayed knuckles our daily bread. On our fourth day I go to bed coughing out blood. On our fourth month I almost have my eyes gouged out. Promise fights promise, our clashes defined by who bleeds out the most. As my rival stomps one of her seven legs on my head, I beg to escape into unconsciousness; as I hear her cry at night, I wish for it all to be a bad dream.
All the while, you stand firm, and I don't know how.
Physical pain meets the agony of the mind as our brains are probed again and again without warning, without mercy. The children of Barsoom are a peaceful people, my parents and teachers told me, but for us there is no kindness, no help: the Martians tear into our mindscape with surgical precision, laying our fears bare, forcing us to confront each other in a battle of wills which knows no shame, no limits. I can hear you screaming in my head, even though your face betrays no suffering.
On our fifth month, I am exhausted. It is a miracle I've made it this far. My parents know not what is happening; I lie through a holographic mask that hides my bruises, my swollen jawline. Calls end with "we love you" and "we're proud of you." There are tears, but there is no joy to mine. I have come to realize that I am the weaker link.
I near my breaking point at light speed.
By the time we are allowed to actually use magic, I feel like I can barely stand. I am a broken thing of countless splinters, shambling forward as I try to cobble myself together. But you… you're still whole, still fighting with all your might. Fuck, you even dare smile from time to time. What is it with you and optimism?
One day I bump into you as you finish painting a sigil on a wall. I can tell I've just ruined hours of work, but your eyes hold no anger towards me. Instead you ask if I would like to help you finish it. It's good practice, you say, for when we have to use this to tear at each other.
I am taken aback. I could use this spell to rip breath right out of your lungs, to make you drown on dry land, and still you'd teach it to me? A trap, I suspect, and yet your smile seems so sincere…
You pass me a knife and extend your open palm, inviting. Into your eyes I gaze, still trying to undertand the meaning of it all, trying to steady my pulse as I drag the edge along your tender skin so that we may paint magic upon the night.
This is our pact, our hope to make it out of here. This is our strength.
There was a time when I did not know what to make of you, a time of doubt.
First I thought you arrogant, cocky, full of yourself. The only two humans to be selected to be Shadows of the Empire, and it just had to be you who overshadowed me. Everything I lacked, everything my spineless self would have hoped for, you had it.
Unfair is an empty word, my parents tell me to this day. Nothing is granted; all is earned, be it by rite of birth or by struggle. Winning is not something one achieves, but a goal one races after, forever. You may fall, you may break and crumble, but you never quit. Keep walking.
When I met you, I wondered if this was also your truth, the reason you kept going even as we faced the impossible. Everything you did was not easy, did not come to you naturally. But you kept coming, kept rising even as you faced rivals far more skilled than either of us.
I admired you.
And now… well… All that is left for you is this empty name, this empty man that somehow manages to find in himself more and more bile to expel onto an already filthy street. A man who is about to—
Night after night we practice our spells, our incantations. We carve sigils in our own blood, we summon things obscene and terrible, things that prey on our pain. We offer it unto them to make us stronger, to make us hard enough that we may endure, that we may endure it all.
You break your fingers punching your rival into a paste. They put you back together, but you are still in pain. I try to help you with whatever I can. "It will hurt only slightly less," I tell you. "I'm not a very good healer." You smile and caress me with your good hand. It's enough to make me blush.
I botch a spell and end up in a regenerative tank for a week. I get one visitor: you. You sleep next to my frail form, to keep an eye on me, you say. For the first time in months, I dream peaceful dreams. When I wake up, you're still there. I cannot smile with my broken jaw, so I gaze longingly at you. Your eyes lock on mine, and I see dawn through your smile.
One year.
It has been one year. We are taken deeper into the facility, into a place where no sunlight can reach. There are four of us standing, and I'm only still here because you hold me tight, because your hands pull me up every time I stumble.
Four of us still standing.
Four is not a powerful number, we are told. One must fall. We are given two weeks to prepare, to hone our powers, our magic. Then it will be a free for all, until one breaks, until one yields. I want to break down crying, but your hand holds mine as the sentence is read, and I gather the strength to face the darkness.
Day and night (or what passes for them) we rehearse and try out some last-minute ideas. It makes us unpredictable, even to each other. We are meant to take out one of us; it wouldn't be fair if we knew all that the other is planning.
Still, I can tell you are doing everything you can to help me. Don't really know why. Tomorrow we'll be trying to tear off each other's head. It would be in your best interest to keep me—
Our first kiss comes suddenly, unspoken. The tenderness of it all, of your lips on mine, of your hands holding my face, is intoxicating. I do not wish for it to end.
The glint is enough for me to dodge and roll into the nearest mass of shadows, the echo of your knife cutting through my ears as I try to find you anew, but you've disappeared. Shadow-walkers, you and I. A match made in hell.
I cannot fully immerse myself into the shadows without risking you finding me first. That means I cannot travel, that I cannot run away. But then again, neither can you. It's a game of patience we play, a game of seeing who gives in first. One mistake and someone's brains will decorate the walls.
My wetware races to action, releasing chemicals meant to keep me calm, focused. I'm still more man than machine, but that does not mean I'm weak; not anymore. My eyes are still my own, and with them I see…
I see you, your shadow cast by neon light. Gods, you really are pathe—
The punch comes out of nowhere and lands me against the wet, cold floor. A dark figure approaches me, a thing without a body, without a man to project it unto the world.
Shit. It's not the shadows of the street you're using for this, are they? It's your own.
The night before our final test we lie together, skin to skin. There is a strange, unearned peace in your touch. How can you not be worried? Arrogant! Foolish! Beautiful…
I struggle to grasp the danger that is just a few hours ahead, appeased by the tender touch of your lips on my forehead. I have been with other people before; with other men, with other women. But you… you are contagious, infectious. A whole year I've spent with you, getting my teeth kicked in by your boot, clawing at your face with the wrath of a thousand demons. And now, when one of us may fall, here I am in your bed, sharing warmth, dreaming of the nightmare's end.
This is our duty no longer. This was not part of the plan. But for the moment, I nuzzle against your chest and let my mind drift off.
Imbecile.
Shadow-walking your own shade… you are either an imbecile or a far more powerful wizard than I ever took you for. I cannot even imagine the amount of stress you must be putting yourself through, fighting the backlash even as your own shadow tries to expel you, to reset the natural order. It's only a matter of time before you—
I am forced to back off as a blade of pure darkness pierces the floor where I was standing. It takes me a fraction of a second to realize that I am trapped, caught in a circle of light as the shades around me coalesce into a thorny wall of violence, a writhing thing where you have every advantage.
It always was like this: new tricks under your sleeve every day, the hallmark of a talented magician. You've taken it up to another level, forcing your enemy's specialty to play against him. In the light I am vulnerable. In the shadows I am dead.
But in the rain…
My throat opens and lets out a silent cry, an evocation of mute rage upon Tláloc, the name of god the rainmaker. Droplets seem to freeze before they change trajectory, spilling like tiny daggers to every direction, bending neon light into the mass of shadows. They pierce your wall of thorns, your cloak of darkness, only a glint before they're gone, but enough to let me see you past your shade.
I point at the man behind the curtain and fire.
I stand at the center of the room, barely breathing. It is over. At last, it is over. The fallen one lies at my feet, my mouth tasting his blood and my own. No holding back, they said, so I obeyed.
Magic still hangs in the air, ashen and profane. Our mana is depleted, our hands scraped from casting far too many spells. Everywhere around us is spattered with blood, burnt to a crisp or torn into unbearable unreality, the fabric of space struggling to hold itself together. We feel the backlash of the cosmos reforming itself even as we are congratulated, as we are praised by voices unseen for our prowess.
I should be content, proud, but I feel… I feel…
Shame.
I look at the fallen one, at the one cast down by my hands.
I look at you, at your mangled form, and finally break down.
I did this to you.
I am sorry, so sorry…
Lightning uncoils from my fingertips and lunges towards your hiding place, its vicious fangs ready to tear you asunder with the might of the heavens. The god's voice echoes through my own, Xolotl's blessing scorching everything it touches. The shadows break apart and dissipate, except for one.
Fuck. I missed.
I pant and try to gather my breath, keeping my eyes on your unmoving shadow. A spell this powerful takes a heavy toll on both the user and its victim, so I am forced to stand my ground.
What the fuck are you waiting for, you piece of shit? Make your move.
I visit you at the infirmary, hold your hand while you recover. Every minute I spend next to you feels like torture, my stomach turning as I dread what you'll say to me when you wake up… if only you'd wake up…
I really did a number on you: your eyes are swollen shut, your skin rent along your back, your spine shattered in three places. You'll walk again, thanks to the Empire's infinite generosity, but I still feel like shit. I have robbed you of what was yours, used your teachings against you. Would you ever find it in you to forgive me?
They're taking us away tomorrow. We knew this from the start. And yet, I wish I could remain here until you're better, until you find your way back to the waking world. At least that way I could thank you for everything. At least that way we could say goodbye.
My tears trickle down your face as I kiss your forehead, my farewell to you.
I'm sorry. I wish it need not be like this.
We stand in silence as the rain keeps pouring over our heads. Your shadow has not moved, so either you're as out of wind as I am or you're just mocking me.
"You're a long way from home," your voice echoes at last. There is no condescension, not even a trace of surprise. Did you always know it would be me they'd send?
"We both are," I retort. "Away from Earth, away from Idhai. Far past Tannhäuser Gate."
"The Empire's frontiers stretch ever further," you say with bitter irony. "And its spooks lurk in the shadows."
The tapping of rain drowns every sound, every gasp and creak of our bodies. I raise my voice in solemn judgement.
"We are the Shadows. That is what they trained us for, what they made us into. It's only a few foolish ones who've forgotten who they serve, only a few cowards who think of darkness as a place to hide away in."
"Who says I'm hiding?" Your voice rings in my ears, past the droning of rain. The sharp agony of a punch aimed at my kidneys makes me gag, and I fall down on my knees.
To be a Shadow requires strength. To be a Shadow demands loyalty. To be a Shadow one needs indomitable Will.
These are the lessons imparted upon us chosen three, upon the triune who now serves the Archmage's designs. We carry out his will, his vision for the Empire he once ruled and still protects with all his might.
To be a Shadow is to serve, to defend the Empire and its people at any and all costs. It is to renounce oneself and give in to the greater cause, to spill our blood and that of others if need be. We follow orders, we strike, we end threats.
I serve the Archmage, I serve the Empress. I serve the Immortal Empire, I serve peace and prosperity.
To be a Shadow is to be a warrior and a scholar. We research the secrets of magic, we cast a light upon forgotten lore. We tame the unknown, exploit our findings, uphold order.
This is our place in the Cosmos, my place.
But as years pass, as I carry out my duty, I know that something is missing. I have achieved my purpose, become what I was always meant to be.
…
I wish you were here.
The pain grounds me as I clasp my side, trying to assess whether you've ruptured anything important. Shit. My kidneys are still organic and, thus, vulnerable to being pulverized by cybernetic fists. I should have had them replaced when I had the chance; now I might have no other option.
Nice trick you got there, projecting your shadow away from your body. I'll add it to my repertoire, assuming I make it out of here alive.
At last I get a clear look at your face by neon light. What scars you have cannot unmake the pretty boy whose face I've known for nearly a decade. Shame about your lower jaw, though. Guess that warm smile of yours is gone forever now, replaced by a perpetual shit-eating grin in shades of gold.
"Too slow," you say, putting a finger under my chin. Fuck you.
"No fair," I groan. "I'm not full metal yet."
"You have metal in you?" you sound genuinely surprised. "All these years I took you for a purist. Never thought you'd follow me down the rabbit hole. Still not enough to catch up with me, is it? It takes more than just a few upgrades. It takes skill."
"I still beat you."
Your next blow rattles my head, and I crash down.
I spend three years cloaked in darkness, bathed in blood. I spy, I hunt, I kill. I am Lord Mortis' most trusted agent, the hand that lays down his judgement.
On a remote forest I slaughter poachers, offering their bodies to the animals they sought to harm. In the entrails of a derelict spaceship I place a bomb, leaving no trace for the Empire's rivals to find. One night I slip into my host's bedroom and crush her throat, quelling her rebellion before it starts.
I am a Shadow of the Empire. I do what must be done. My family is proud, my people are safe, my master is pleased.
One cold winter I am sent to the final frontier, to the edge of the Empire's reach: Tannhäuser Gate. For once, I come in peace, intent solely on delivering a package. Even now, a day may pass without bloodshed.
As I roam the streets of the ringworld, gazing at the ships coming through the warp gate it encircles, a voice beckons.
"Can a drowning man still cry?" it utters.
"Only in a flood of despair," I answer the code phrase almost instinctively, my mind frozen at the realization, my heart beating as I turn around to face you.
"Hello, handsome. I believe you have a package for me."
Barely believing my eyes, I hand you my precious cargo. It is you, like out of a dream. Your golden locks are longer now, curlier, angelic. Your eyes now bear the weight of experience, the strains of a life entire. Discreet circuitry courses your cheeks like tattoos; it tells a story I ache to hear. Your smile, unblemished, is still the same. Beautiful…
I say nothing as you inspect the contents of the package, for I know nothing I could say — nothing I could scream out — could be my truth. Regret and longing. Pain and joy. All these things burn in my chest, my eyes begging me to let them weep, to let them gaze into your own and find your warmth anew. But such things are not appropiate for a Shadow, and so I—
"Well don't just stand there!" you laugh, reaching out for my hand. "Come join me for a drink. We have a lot to catch up on, Aníbal. I'm so happy to see you."
I am a fool, for I believe you.
The world is made of pain and light and rain. My eyes struggle to focus as I slowly get back up, your face a blurry mess of gritted teeth and barely contained rage. I can tell you're holding back; else I would not be conscious.
"Yeah, you beat me," your tone is corrosive, accusing. "You took what I taught you — what I helped you learn — and used it to tear me apart!"
"You say it like you wouldn't have done the same," I cough out. I hope that memory hurts as much as my head.
"I wouldn't have. Not everyone is as rotten as you are."
"Of course you would have. But you missed your chance. I saw an opportunity and took it. It was the logical choice."
"The logical choice?" you seethe. "You really are a monster."
"And what are you, Michael? What is a man who betrays his own Empire, a man who sells out his own people? What is a man who shatters the one who loves him?"
I brace for another blow, clasping my fists in anticipation of renewed pain. But it doesn't come. Instead, you kneel down before me and meet my gaze with your tired blue eyes. The same hands that have struck me caress my face, a gesture that is equal parts tenderness and pity. Your voice is a calm stream amidst the deluge's wrath.
"I am free."
Here we are at a restaurant at the end of the Immortal Empire, drinking our night away, trading laughs, sharing what precious moments we are afforded. We could pass for an ordinary couple, for two lovestruck fools without a worry in the world. If only…
Tonight is full of memories, good and bad alike. I blush as you recall our first kiss, the moment we became something more. You laugh as I remind you of our botched experiments, of our failures and lessons learned. Our voices dim when we recall our suffering, however, and I speak not of my sin, of how I hurt you. I cannot yet face my shame.
I tell you about my dreams, about going to college while serving the Archmage, about my victories big and small. You speak about your life beyond the Empire's frontiers, about how you continue to serve our cause even though you are not a Shadow. There is pride in your voice, but also quiet regret and — I fear — unspoken resentment.
"It's a living," you smile still. I avert my sight. The alcohol has made my emotions unstable; I struggle against myself. You squeeze my hand reassuringly, understanding. I want to let go of everything, of pain and regret. Holding back tears, I kiss you tenderly. But the past does not go away.
I visit you again after that, and many times after. A year flashes by. What little time we can spare is spent together, tending to a small hearth made of our little hopes. We hope for a future together, for a quiet, cozy life. But it is not enough. It will never be. This is all I've ever wished for, and yet…
I've noticed the way you frown when I speak about my work, about our work. Dissatisfaction seeps through the cracks, your belief waning despite your attempts to reassure me. Have you forgotten what this has all been for, our sacrifices and woes? Have you forgotten why our lives became entwined? Who is it you doubt, Michael? The Empire or me?
"Free?" I scoff, bloody spittle dripping from my lips. "You call this being free? Look around you. Look at yourself! Alone, lost! Broken…"
"Oh, Aníbal," you say, your hands still warmly grasping my face. "Everything has a price. This is the one I've paid."
We get on our feet slowly. What fight we had in us seems to have dissipated, soaked and hurt as we are.
"I came here to kill you," I say bluntly. There is no point in denying it. There never has been.
"I know," you respond. "I knew they'd send you sooner or later. That's the way the Empire works."
"This is not freedom, Michael, being persecuted every waking moment, hunted down to the farthest reaches of Midgard. You could have had it all, everything you wished for! And you still could… Why? Why do you keep resisting us? Why do you keep lying to yourself?"
You are silent for what feels like an eternity. Do you know not the answer, or do you know it all too well?
"Why did you, Aníbal?" you say at last. Something taints your words as you speak them. Sorrow. "Why did you resist me?"
Here we are in bed, alone and vulnerable. I wish I could speak my heart, tear down the walls I've built, shatter the sepulchre of denial in which I've entombed myself. But as I lie on your chest, as I hear the soft beating of your heart, I am overcome, dragged back to the depths of my own psyche, torn from the truth I so desperately wish to tell you.
What is truth? It has been so long, so very long. I no longer know the person I was. Why, then, should I know his regrets? Did I not do what I was meant to? To be a Shadow requires sacrifice, even of one's own desires. And what have I ever desired as much as I desire you?
"We could leave it all behind." Your words come out unprompted, unprovoked. Bewilderment follows, my eyes locking on yours inquisitively.
"What are you saying?"
"Think of it. This life, this curse… we could be rid of it. We are at Tannhäuser Gate. Beyond it there is no Empire, no Archmage. There is… there is freedom out there."
Dread creeps upon me. What you suggest is defection, treason. To abandon our cause, our calling… it is unthinkable! At least it should be. This is not who we were meant to be. This is not what we are meant to believe.
"The Alliance of Free Worlds would take us in, Aníbal," you insist, your image breaking as I realize you are no longer the person I once knew. "We could disappear, start anew, free from the Empire's grasp."
My pulse thrums with smouldering wrath, my mind burning with a thousand questions of faith and loyalty, of anger and disbelief. In the end, I ask only one.
"Why?"
"Aníbal, please…" you beg as my eyes burn through you. It cannot go your way. I must not.
"You speak treason, Michael. You speak of betraying our own people!"
"No, no! Can't you see it?" Your voice screams frustration, disappointment. Did you really think you could convince me to join you just like that?
"See what? That you've turned against all we stand for? That you've forgotten all we've sacrificed?"
"All we've sacrificed?" It is now you who sounds wrathful. "I lost everything that final night, Aníbal! Everything I was, everything I had fought for! But I gained something new: clarity. Like a seed it has grown, and now I can see… I can see that what we're doing, what you are doing, is wrong!"
So this is it. This is what you've become. I cannot— I will not—
"I protect the Empire." My mouth is dry, my words heavy. "I protect its people."
"You perpetuate a stagnant regime, Aníbal. You kill and terrorize. And for what? For more and more planets to join in, caught in a honeytrap of peace and prosperity."
I cannot believe my ears. I cannot believe a word that comes out of your traitorous mouth.
"I trusted you… I looked up to you…"
"Yes. Yes you did. It still wasn't enough to keep you from stabbing me in the back, was it?"
No. No it was not. It is here at last, that confrontation. My shame bubbles up from the depths of my mind. It haunts me, it hurts me as my hands start sparking and glowing, my rampant emotion pushing me towards the brink of my self-control, my magic leaking through my self-inflicted wounds. Still I find myself trying to deny it, to bury it all. I want to escape, to hide away where no one may find me.
"I didn't mean to! It was—"
"The only way? I've heard that one before. It's how they program us, how we justify ourselves and all the atrocities we commit."
You draw in closer, daring me to look you in the eye, to know the truth you speak of. But I can't face it. I can't—
"Three years I spent thinking this was all my fault, that I was not decided or ruthless enough," your voice stabs me deeper than any knife ever could. I can feel my hands trembling, losing control. It burns. "But now I can see it. I can see that it is not my fault the Empire is this way, that you are this way!"
Please don't come any closer. Don't—
"It is not my fault that you are weak!" you scream.
A surge of power lifts you off your feet, a magically-enhanced push that throws you against the wall like a ragdoll. The crash is thunderous, your fall final. You lie limp on the ground and don't get back up.
I have done it, now as before. I look at your naked, unconscious form, blood dripping from your nose and mouth, and know that I have broken something more than just your body. I cannot face it, not again…
So I run. I run away from you, from us, escaping the ringworld and its vain promises of freedom, past our laughter and the warmth of our embrace— past your forgiveness. I step into Tannhäuser Gate and don't look back.
It is over, now as before. What could have been will never be. I've kissed you a hundred times, gazed mournfully into your eyes. I meant to say I love you, but instead I've said goodbye.
"You were asking the impossible, Michael!" I try my best not to scream, to stop myself from showing you my weakness, my despair. "Where you have gone, I cannot follow."
"Yet here you are," you shrug. You sound so tired, so crushed. "It only took a command from your master, a loyal dog following orders."
"You have been working for the enemy," I retort. "That information I delivered to you all those years ago… it was your way out, wasn't it? Your way out of the Empire and into the Alliance of Free Worlds. Were you using me all along, or did you really hope I'd join you?"
"This is not about you. It never has been."
I can feel my upper lip quivering, my fists clutching as I try thinking of my next move. But my mind echoes with every memory of foregone love, with every half-remembered kiss… and with the unkindness of the now.
"No, I guess it hasn't," I sigh at last. "It could have been— We could have been so much more."
"No."
"I loved you! I would have done anything you asked for, Michael! Anything but that!"
"It's too late now either way."
Your word is final, I can tell. Tears well up in my eyes as the memories rush back in. The deluge is past the floodgates now, my mind a sea of anguish.
I say nothing, as do you. What else is left to say anyways? Nothing. There is only silence and pain.
For an instant, nothing moves, not even the raindrops falling over our heads. The world is frozen as we gaze into each other's eyes, as shadow seeks shadow, as memories burn and pass us by.
Now it ends.
My spell is lightning fast. Light explodes from every corner of the street, from every lamp and neon sign. Shadows writhe as they are devoured whole, as my dreadful luminosity cuts off any chance to escape; there is no way out. Your pupils shrink in a vain attempt to keep out the pain, the blinding blight I cast upon us. You raise your arms to protect yourself, to counter me before I lay down my blow.
Too slow.
It takes me two seconds to reach you, to catch you by the throat and bring you down. You fall in slow motion, eyes still struggling against the light, mouth agape with shock and rage. You try to grab ahold of me, to inflict pain like the one I've visited upon you time and again. It's no use.
Water splashes as your body hits the ground, droplets reflecting light as they fly around us before joining their brethren in the downpour. My spell is about to end, reality about to reset itself, but I don't care. I've got you now.
One
I smash
Two
your head
Three
against the ground,
Four
and your throat
Five
I spare.
Six
You don't get to die that fast.
At the seventh hit I pick you up by the back of your head, your eyes wild with fear as you realize you can't escape my grasp, as the pain seeps into your brain, preventing you from focusing enough to take the returning darkness and shadow-step away. By neon light I see the blood that runs down your face like ruby tears. For a single second, for a single painful instant, I hesitate. My mind flashes past our every moment together, memories rampaging in a storm of joy and sorrow as I struggle to deliver the final strike. The taste you've left in my soul is bittersweet, your touch a blessing and a blight upon my heart. And now I have you here at my mercy, my beloved. You look so… weak.
A fist to my gut makes me gag, ribs shattering as my grip tightens and I push you against the wall, my brain doing its best to dampen the pain as my wrath finally erupts and you hit the concrete surface with a sickening crack. There are no second thoughts now, only pure focus, only unyielding Will.
You try cursing through a broken nose, through a dislocated jaw, but I pay you no heed. No more words. No more doubt. No more shame.
I can feel my back burning with power, my whole body charging itself for its task. My insides light up, the glyphs hidden in my cybernetic arm shifting and turning, aligning themselves under my command. You scream as it begins, as the focusing crystal emerges from my palm, white hot, and makes contact with your naked skin. This is my strength, my instrument of triumph. It burns, doesn't it? Good.
The surge of life energy pierces us both, threatening to tear us apart with its sheer force. But I'm not letting go of you. Not this time. My grip tightens, the crackling of raw mana drowning out the sound of crushed bone. You scream and scream and beg as I drain you, as my fingers leave indentations on your skin, on your burning flesh, on your mangled skull. Shhhhh. It will all be over soon. Your scream dies in your throat, your eyes open and blank.
At last I release you, your body falling to the ground with a muted thud, a smouldering hole where your cerebellum used to be.
MISSION SUCCESS.
I slump next to you, next to the empty thing that was once a man, a man I loved and hated.
It is over now, unlike before.
The peace is protected. The Empire is upheld.
It is over…
Then why do I feel— why am I—
It is over…
I gaze at you, at your bloodied face, at your vacant eyes. I remember tender kisses. I remember peaceful nights. I remember love and trust and slowly beating hearts. I remember finding and losing you anew at Tannhäuser Gate, and under this weeping purple sky.
It is over…
There are no tears.
SESSION ENDED.
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