Snippet #2756484

Some time prior:

It was a suicide mission. Darius had known that going in. But if he couldn't kill Oblivion, then who could? So, as the motley collection of the Samurai's warships and the Guardians' broken fleet shattered themselves against the wall of darkness that was Oblivion's army, Darius could only hope for a miracle. But there were none to spare, it seemed.

"Get me to the surface!" Darius roared, hands gripping to the top of the pilot's chair as his ship bucked and tore apart from the frenzy of Oblivion's fighters. "Get me there!"

"Trying, sir! But..." the pilot's words were cut off in a wash of sticky blood as bullets tore through the windscreen and pulverized his brain. With a great groan, the ship tore completely in half, fire washing through the remaining oxygen in a brilliant explosion.

To Darius, it all happened in slow motion. As he felt the vacuum of space peeling at his skin, he gave a great cry and launched himself forward with all his power, towards what remained of Kalva. He could feel himself falling, falling... and then there was only darkness.

But, strangely, darkness was not the end. Darius continued on, though his body remained. As if being pulled by a magnet, Darius found himself floating forward, into the endless night that was Oblivion. After all, it does make sense, Darius thought. We are the same person after all.

For this truth Darius had come to understand in the dead worlds. So close now, the two looked at each other as if on two sides of a plane of glass. One made of utter darkness and cold death, and one composed of pure light and dancing fire. How long they peered at each other, Darius did not know. He was aware, yet he was not. He could feel Oblivion's pulsing heart, his own heart. He could feel the Eight inside Oblivion, the Eight inside himself now, the power that Oblivion so craved but could not use.

Only a complete soul could use that power, and Oblivion was not complete. Fractured, broken, and though Oblivion's madness and pure will acted like a form of duct tape, it could not compare to Darius' sense of self. Thus, Darius was the stronger soul, the stronger half, and could not be swallowed up. But, perhaps, the other way around... But no, Oblivion knew what Darius intended, and kept up a barrier, a shield that kept Darius at bay.

Yet, Darius could feel Oblivion's concentration waning. In some dim alternate reality, he was aware that his friends were battling the body of Oblivion. He could feel them losing. Darius couldn't let that happen. So he reached out, and tapped the glass.

Spiderweb cracks began forming in the thin pane that separated their twin souls as Darius slowly chipped away to Oblivion's mental block. Oblivion tried to recover his focus, but fighting a battle on two fronts was trying. Without warning, pain, sharp pain - Oblivion had been hurt. Darius pushed more of himself through the glass, reaching into Oblivion with his essence, drawing the darkness towards him.

Oblivion fought still, trying to take more power from the Eight, but Darius stopped it. How, he was not sure, but he knew the end was close now. Oblivion's last desperate attempt: as his mortal frame collapsed into death, he tried to consume Darius. But without a body, without a foundation, all that was left were their souls. And Darius was the stronger soul.

***

Six minutes after the battle:

Enigma lay in a pool of his own blood, contemplating death. Not his own - he'd never much cared if he lived or died in the first place, and now that his end seemed certain, his only regret was that he would not get to see his goal come to fruition. His life had only ever been a method, and his dream had only ever been a selfish one. But he had sacrificed everything.

He'd never felt truly human, Enigma reminisced. No one had ever treated him as anything but a tool, an object to be used. His creators - his parents, perhaps - trained him to be emotionless, nameless, and observant. He had been a historian, born to be the silent watcher of history, born to record it for the sake of records itself. For years, centuries, he had done just that. On the planet that would someday be called Libary, Enigma remained faithful to their cause, using the powers his creators had given him to be everywhere, but nowhere, at once.

But his creators had long since passed, and boredom plagued Enigma's mind. There was no joy in his work. He was near omniscient, but omniscience was cold and passionless. So Enigma began an experiment - he joined the annals of history as a player, on a lonesome world on the fringes of life. He mimicked the men and women of the world, becoming a warrior and mage, but always a shadow, always just a whisper on their tongues. The enigma in the night.

Perhaps this too would have proven ultimately fruitless, but it was on this godless world that he had met Sage. To Enigma, she had shone like a bright sun in comparison to the dull stars of the other residents. She became something more to him. Indeed, she became everything to him, and he lost his vision of the universe, giving up his omniscience to gain something much greater: true love.

Rain began to fall, splattering his face, but Enigma did not feel the drops. If only he had continued to watch: then he would have seen what was coming. But because he was blinded by Sage's light, he did not see the darkness that arrived from beyond the edge of the universe to swallow the planet as their own. Enigma was once again reduced to a helpless observer as his love was taken from him, and the world she'd once called home transformed into a mutative monstrosity that would become known as Planet X.

It had taken hundreds of years. But Enigma had gotten his revenge. He'd tried for so long to believe that he could get Sage back, pull her from death's grasp. But Darius Lionheart was the only one who that was possible for, and he would have required Oblivion's power to do it. Now, with both of them gone, Enigma lay in the rain, tired of hoping.

Blood bubbled from his mouth as Enigma slowly breathed in and out. His thoughts were elsewhere - another side, another story, one where he still walked hand in hand with the woman he had loved so deeply. And though there was no one there to hear it, a whisper seemed to escape his throat.

"I'm sorry."

***

Two months after the battle:

Tera Roth stood on one of the many grassy hillsides of Larenska, leaning on the crutch he'd been forced to use ever since the battle with Oblivion as he overlooked the graves of those he had once called friend. His leg might not ever fully heal, they said. Phoenix magic could only go so far, and so many of their healers had been cut down. So many Guardians lost.

Darius, one who was seemingly invincible, now lifeless and buried below him. Enigma, a man who had been friend and enemy both, left to die on Kalva's remains. Cora, his fiance, the woman he'd loved, the woman who had saved him, dead from some Oblivionite bullet. Tyre, his best friend, consumed by the powers of the Eight even as he had sacrificed himself to save others from death.

His chest burned. His leg ached. The Guardians looked to him, but he'd become distant, withdrawn. His hair had grown, his lips and chin first covered by unshaven stubble now turned to tangled beard. His golden eyes, once as piercing as a hawk, were now dull. Tera Roth knew it in his bones. He was a changed man, a broken man.

"Mr. Roth!" a voice called out, and Tera Roth turned his head to see a slim, dark-skinned man with well-worn but expensive clothes climbing the hillside to greet him. The man waved cheerfully, a pleasant smile gracing his face. "I hope you don't mind me bothering you, but the others I spoke to said I could find you up here."

Tera Roth frowned. "I'm sorry. Who are you?"

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man said, approaching and sticking out a friendly hand. "The name is Seidman, Kendall Seidman. I am one of the members of Queen Anaszia's core staff members, and Joachim's older brother by a few years. Did you know him?"

"Joachim? Yeah, I've heard of him," Tera Roth said dryly, shaking Kendall's hand with some weariness. "Maybe kidnapped him once. What is it I can do for you?"

Kendall blinked at the mention of kidnap, but his smile stayed in place. "Well, as you might have heard, Joachim perished in an act of invaluable heroism to our country, and upon recovery of his will, there was a letter that was addressed to you. The instructions were to deliver it to you in person."

"You don't seem too torn up about his death," Tera Roth snorted, as Kendall retrieved a small black box from his pocket, and held it out to the Guardian.

"We weren't close," Kendall said politely, as Tera Roth popped open the black box and pulled out the single sheet of paper it contained. He read it once quickly, shook his head, and read it again, this time much slower.

At length, Tera Roth lowered the paper. "Have you read this?"

"Does it pertain to me in any regard?" Kendall asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"No," Tera Roth said after a moment. "I suppose not." He folded up the piece of paper quietly, and slid it into one of his pockets before handing the small box back to Kendall. "Is that all?"

"Ah, well, while I have your time," Kendall said, stepping forward slightly and inclining his head. "It would be greatly appreciated if the leader of the Guardians, one of the great heroes of our time, would make an appearance with the Queen and fully announce his support of her leadership. We'd be willing to give you some compensation."

"You want to bribe me to endorse Anaszia?" Tera Roth sneered, raising an eyebrow. "You're not really anything like your brother, are you?"

"We weren't close," Kendall repeated, smiling again as he bowed. "I'll take that as a maybe, then. Please let me know when you've reached a full decision." Kendall bowed once more and turned back down the hill, striding with the confidence that only one who believed themselves to be important could muster.

"Joachim..." Tera Roth muttered to the graves below. "You had a daughter?"