~The Grubs, Pierce's home~
It was empty once again. His room, the hole in his heart, felt empty and very open. He had left; the blowing of air from above the open room flooded into it, hitting and striking at the villain. It was so cold, so empty.
Pierce felt his body flame up, heat closing around him. It was still cold, no matter how bright his body grew from the flames he created. It was still fucking cold.
There was noise from outside the home. It was short but a cunning sound that slid right into the villain's senses. He didn't think he was desperate for release. The anger was building up, ready to burst in a fiery rage at anything and anyone.
He moved very quickly, suddenly standing at the front of his door, his hand on the knob as it swung open from the rigid frame. It opened, revealing a woman standing on the other side with a cold face.
To Pierce's surprise, it was Mercy.
The woman took a step back, looking up at him to see the expression on his face. She took it in, understanding his feelings but not seeing what lay behind them. She took a breath, closing her eyes as the villain's flames burned down.
Slowly, silence was all that burned between the two. Looks and feelings passed between them without words. Mercy didn't know how to start the conversation, but she knew for sure that Pierce was out for murder.
She could either move out of the way and let him go off to kill a poor soul, or stay in front of him and risk him killing her. She did have a purpose for coming; running away from this problem would tear her apart. She was already losing her mind about what Pierce had done.
She had to get this over with, even if it might cost her life.
"Pierce—"
"Move, Mercy," Pierce said coldly, casting a glare down at her.
The woman huffed, her body tense with fear. But she didn't move; she stayed in place on his porch, looking up at him. Pierce stayed silent, looking down at her, tempted to push her away. He had the power to do it, but he hesitated. That meant he didn't want to. The small sense of familiarity coming from her was too strong for him to push away.
His mind quietly focused on Mercy. He pushed away the anger of Oxzy leaving him, looking down at the woman he had once been so close with—the woman he had tried to kill.
Pierce turned away, guilt hitting him when the bruise on Mercy's neck came into view. It hurt to see it, but it hurt even more to know that he had caused it. He had never meant to hurt her; he wanted to believe that it wasn't him who had done it.
It wasn't true. But it was easy for him to tell himself that.
"Did he run away?" Mercy hesitated to ask, but she did anyway. The reaction from the villain made it obvious. She was tempted to mock him, but it didn't feel like the right place. "It's going to be like that if you continue."
"You don't know shit." The villain smirked, shaking his head.
Mercy scoffed, crossing her arms. "You're right. I don't know about the hero, how he felt before running away." Her face suddenly grew serious. "But I do know you. I might even know more about you than you know yourself—how you connect to things, how you think with your feelings."
"Shut up, I don't want to hurt you—"
"You turn to violence to cope. To deal with your emotions, it goes straight to anger. You lash out and try not to hurt the ones you love, but that's exactly why they run away. No one wants to be hurt as much as you hurt them."
"Shut up—"
"The worst part about emotions you can't control is the pain they bring others. It's about not wanting to hurt them. It's regretful, bringing pain onto the ones you swear to yourself you won't hurt. But you do, and you don't even realize it until it's done—until they run away from you."
"..."
The villain didn't respond. He looked down, his eyes cast with a shadow of regret. What could he say? He didn't know how to feel; it was all so true. Hearing the truth spoken by the person he had trusted for so many years hurt more than he could have expected.
The only response was a long sigh. The villain turned his gaze to the wall on his right, wanting to say something. Yet nothing came out.
He heard Mercy give a sad laugh. "You're strong in everything except your love—your emotions. You have no control over them. You don't WANT to control them, since it's too difficult." Mercy waited, expecting him to respond, to protest. When nothing came, she continued. "Pierce, if you truly love him, out of all people... you will have to learn. To at least try. That man has been broken too many times, hurt by other men, not just you. He will run as fast as he can. It will be his instinct when you go toward him."
"How do I stop him from running away from me?" The villain finally spoke, his voice soft.
Mercy gulped, her mind going blank. She didn't have an answer. If anything, there was no true way. The hero was beyond her understanding; she didn't know much about his character, only what he had been through. She did, however, know Pierce, the villain who could still be unpredictable. But she knew enough to understand why the hero had been running in the first place.
Or maybe it was just a very accurate guess.
"You can't stop him. You'll have to change for him, just to get him to stay close..."
The words hit the man hard in the chest; he felt like throwing up. The thought of Oxzy being gone forever didn't feel real. It couldn't exist anywhere near his world. The hero and villain could never separate—Pierce wouldn't even be a villain without him.
He wasn't going to let him run away. He would try to make him stay, no matter what it took.
Pierce's hands clenched tightly against his body. He didn't want to explode. It wasn't the end yet; he could still find a way to make sure it wouldn't be. So, don't freak out just yet.
Mercy stepped out of the way as Pierce walked forward, keeping his head low but his senses higher than normal. He searched the air for the familiar mist of cold. He searched and searched. It was faint, but a fragment of the hero's usual presence lingered there.
Pierce was ready to chase it, to follow the man, to make him stay with him.
Mercy decided to stay silent; it was as clear to her as it was to Pierce. She couldn't stop him—she was so far from his thoughts. Her eyes dropped to the ground as her surroundings blurred together, her vision doing the same.
Maybe it was the cloud of tears welling at the bottom of her eyelids.
"Hey, Mercy," the villain said suddenly, jolting her from her welled-up emotions. She looked up, shooting her hands out to catch the keys that flew toward her.
She caught them, looking at her hands to see the villain's house keys. She knew he never usually used them; she hadn't even realized he had any keys. But a small chain dangled below, hanging alone as she held the key. Looking closely at it, she saw a small silver frame shaped like a skull.
Mercy felt her throat clog up, her breath hitching at what she saw. It was the picture she had taken years ago. Pierce had threatened to kill her if she kept it, since he hadn't known it was taken. It showed all three of them, under the tree behind the school. Pierce lay comfortably, eyes closed in deep sleep, a soft expression on his lips, as Rosamee leaned on his sleeping form with a goofy smile and a peace sign held high. Mercy was the one who had taken the picture. She had put her own face in the frame, mouth open with a mocking tongue hanging out while looking at the camera.
She remembered that day like it was yesterday—replaying the relationship she would never have again, a relationship so deep it had cut to the bone.
The tears went uncontrolled, her emotions wracking her small frame. They fell and fell, landing on the picture of the past, striking her buckling knees as she collapsed to the ground. She sobbed loudly as all the memories hit her with merciless force, pain after pain thrown her way.
She hadn't cried like this in years. It hurt her throat; her head pounded as the tears kept coming. When she finally came back from the sobbing, she looked up. The woman watched her friend walk away.
He didn't look back, leaving her with the key and the picture—the last remaining reminder of their friendship.
~Past, ???~
Mercy knelt over herself, holding her bruised and beaten knees. She was cold, her body stiff and sore after the beating. At least six other girls her age had jumped her, ganging up on her all at once. Some had even brought boys to help beat the downed girl.
She was crying, pain coursing through her body at an alarming rate. It hurt; she was shaking and sobbing. It had been a terrifying encounter, being so overpowered—and over something so trivial, too, just because she had stolen lunch from one of the girls. She'd been starving; her parents couldn't afford to give her lunch money. It had left her with one choice for food, and she hated that it was her first time doing something like that. Now she couldn't even get a meal.
Mercy held her knees close, hot tears running down them as she sobbed to herself. She wanted to stop, to stop crying, but the pain was overwhelming—it hurt too much to do anything else.
So that was all she did.
Then a tall shadow fell over her. She looked up, meeting the glare of a boy with a hood over his head. She stared at him while he looked back, silence passing between them.
Mercy studied the young boy, who seemed close to her age. He wore a large hoodie covering his upper half, his face shadowed, though she could faintly see spikes of red hair poking out. He looked fiery, his body almost steaming.
The young girl gulped, shaking her head away from him. "It's rude to stare..."
"It's rude to cry so fucking loud," the boy responded with a snort.
Mercy growled, shaking her head as more tears fell. "Well, go through what I just did and see who cries fucking loud!"
"Oh, really?" The boy turned toward her, tilting his eyes in her direction. "You wanna compare what I've had to deal with to that?"
"What's so bad that happened to you?"
The boy scoffed, looking away. He didn't answer, prompting a scoff from Mercy in return. "Right... must have been shit."
"What happened to you, then?" The boy knelt down, avoiding eye contact but asking with ease in his voice.
Mercy drew a breath, trying to calm her tears before answering. "Got jumped by a bunch of sluts."
"Ouch, so sad." The boy rolled his eyes with a shrug.
Mercy laughed aloud, moving her arm and wincing. "It is, when they bring guys to join in! I got hit everywhere—ah!"
She grabbed her wrist, which felt broken, cradling it to her chest. Her body screamed in pain, begging her to stop. She did, crying, trying to hold back tears as the boy watched her in such a weak state.
She hated it and wanted to hurt him for looking down on her. She assumed he thought little of her, that he was laughing at her misery like the others who had done this to her.
Instead of laughing as she expected, the boy stayed silent. She heard an annoyed sigh before he reached forward. She winced loudly as he pulled her wrist toward him.
"What the fuck—!"
"Shut up, I'm helping you, idiot."
"Helping by fucking pulling me—ouch! You prick!"
He ignored her, gently holding her hand. She didn't have the strength to pull away, so her hand went limp. For a while, it was quiet; the boy was gentle, holding her with a soothing glance.
The silence grew too heavy, and Mercy couldn't hold back her voice any longer. "What are you doing...?"
"It was hurting, since you were holding it too tight," he said quietly, crouching down to sit in front of her. She looked at him, eyes glaring, but what met her was different—a soft, almost joking expression. "You were causing yourself more pain, idiot."
Mercy huffed, looking down. "Fuck you, I didn't know that."
"Now you do." The boy shook his head, not bothering to hide the smile spreading across his lips. Mercy couldn't help but smile back, her body slowly relaxing as the pain subsided—still there, but duller now. It was easy to smile, her body relaxing further as he held her wrist.
"What's your name?" she finally asked.
The boy looked up at her, a smug smile on his lips. "Pierce."
~Daylight, ruined old home~
It was dark at the gravesite—no light, no people, no human sound. He was alone, and that was what he wanted. The silence washed over him, painting his figure in moonlight that faded into the pale grass below.
He looked down at the ground, watching his shadow sway with his trembling legs. His knees felt weak, his eyes heavy.
The hero drew a hard, painful breath. He didn't want these last moments marked by pain and tears. He would never see this place again, never visit his mother and Cirilla May. They would follow him like ghosts, casting memories that would bring him neither light nor joy.
It would just be a memory now. He had been plagued by thoughts of his mother since the day she died—innocent, hopeful thoughts that she would be there when he came home, that she would hug him warmly, holding him close with a bright smile.
But that was only wishful thinking.
He knew she was gone, and that it was because of this town he had so desperately tried to protect.
Now there was no need for him here. He wasn't giving up; he simply knew he no longer had to stay. The only thing that might have kept him was the villain—the man he had run from.
That man was the only real danger left. The police had caught the drug dealers, guarded the area, and dealt with the bandits—dead or behind bars. The sheriff wouldn't need a distraction; the hero's leaving would only help him focus on what mattered.
The other question was where Oxzy would go once he left.
He had thought that far already—he knew of a place in the city where he could hide. In the end, it didn't matter much, as long as he was away from Whitedail. That was all he wanted.
The hero looked down at his mother's name engraved in the stone. He smiled sadly, offering one last farewell to his mother and Cirilla May.
"I promise to be safe..."
He knelt and placed a bright blue orchid before the grave—his mother's favorite flower, one she had tried countless times to grow but never managed to. Now he left it as a goodbye, grown through his own abilities.
He had made it himself, a gift for his mother.
~Hallway side, the roofs~
The hero landed on the rooftop, steadying his feet as they met the surface. His legs shook, but he didn't falter. His eyes lifted toward the trees and greenery he had regrown over the years. He turned his attention to the side, where an exit lay hidden behind overgrown bushes.
It was a way out—a path from the town's grounds to the freeway leading to the city. It was far, too far to walk, though he hadn't planned to. He knew that if he truly wanted to leave, he could do so anytime. The only thing that had ever stopped him was Genna, his mother, and Cirilla, the cat he had raised himself.
Now they were gone. Nothing held him there anymore.
The bushes leading to the outside world seemed to pull him closer. He steadied his breath, feeling as though he might finally release the anger he'd kept buried—the hatred that had grown into rage toward the townspeople, ready to burst free.
—But Oxzy wasn't like that. He wasn't going to direct his emotions the way Pierce did—
"Ox," a deep, somber voice called from behind him.
The hero turned to face the unwelcome presence. The villain stood tall on the rooftop, matching his stance. Their eyes met in a long, steady gaze—Pierce's pleading, as if bracing for the fight or flight he saw in the hero's expression.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the cold wind, until the villain finally snapped. "Were you really thinking about leaving without telling me?" His voice came out almost timid, though the hostility in his eyes was unmistakable.
Oxzy gulped, clenching his fists. "Why would I have to tell you?"
The words stung more than expected. The villain hid his flinch, glaring at the man standing only a few feet away. He wanted to grab him by the back of the neck and drag him along—not back home, but with him.
"You can't leave—" Pierce scoffed, shaking his head. The hero watched in confusion as the villain's thoughts seemed to spiral. When Pierce regained himself, he looked up again. "It's cruel to leave me like that—without a word, hoping to vanish from my mind?"
Oxzy flinched, gritting his teeth beneath the burning stare. It felt like a madman pleading and raging at once, the words carrying feelings the hero couldn't make sense of. Why did Pierce cling to him so desperately?
"Why—" Oxzy turned fully toward him. "Why do you act like you care about that? About... us?"
Pierce said nothing, feeling familiar anger rise in his chest. He couldn't let the hero leave, yet he didn't know how to stop him. He was desperate now—but what was he without the hero?
He would be no villain if Oxzy left, no man of worth even to himself. Loneliness would crawl up his back and sink its teeth into him with quiet satisfaction.
"You can't leave..."
Oxzy lowered his eyes. "You can't stop me."
The villain held back his anger, letting the pain settle into his fingers instead. Pain—he hadn't felt this in years. He'd forgotten how much it hurt, how painful it was to lose someone, to be hated by someone who mattered.
It was his fault, just like Rosamee's death. She had died because of him, his brother's twisted influence bleeding into his own mind, driving him to those acts. All of it traced back to him.
He had made the hero run away—so what right did he have to hold onto him now?
"Ox..." Tears filled the villain's eyes; it was unbearable. His chest ached, as though something clawed at his insides, tearing them apart. His throat burned, tight and raw, and holding back tears proved useless.
"...You can't leave me."
He said it—the truth he had been hiding, the fear of being alone that had spiraled into uncontrollable anger, the very anger he had used to "justify" hurting others.
In the end, he was weaker than the hero. He couldn't accept being weak to emotion, that fear and sadness could frighten him so deeply.
Now here he was, crying in front of a man he had grown attached to—the man he wanted so desperately.
Oxzy stared at Pierce in shock. Never had he seen the villain cry, let alone weep so openly, his body trembling with emotion. It was staggering, so much so that all Oxzy could do was stare in disbelief, unable to form a single thought.
He couldn't grasp it—the villain had thrown him through a storm of emotions, and even now, without meaning to, Pierce was still doing it.
Oxzy didn't like it. He had no control as he took a step forward, catching himself, swallowing hard. Even trying to speak, no words came. He was too stunned to think.
The villain sobbed, angry tears streaking his face, lips pressed into a tight line. He forced his head up, meeting the hero's eyes with his own stained red. "Please, at least let me come with you..."
He was asking—no, pleading.
The villain pleaded with the hero, wanting nothing more than to stay beside him, to never be left behind.
The answer should have been clear to Oxzy—a hard no. It should have been simple. The villain had put him through hell, driven by nothing but his own wounded hatred.
Why should the hero let him come after everything he'd done?
But the vulnerability in Pierce felt too real. Looking at him, Oxzy saw himself—the same pure, fearful look he recognized from the moment he'd lost his mother.
He looked at the villain, and he saw himself.
Lost, afraid, and desperate.
Was he really so different from Pierce?
The hatred no longer stared back at him; only honesty remained. Nothing stayed hidden between them now—the villain had let himself go, made himself vulnerable to the hero. Something he had feared his whole life, something he had never managed even with his own girlfriend.
The hero finally looked up and saw something true—something real that no longer hid behind a hard, painted wall. It wasn't pretty, but it was the most honest thing he'd seen in years, and the sight of it settled something restless inside him.
Oxzy said nothing at first. His head turned away, his eyes dropped to the ground, and a long moment passed before he finally spoke. "Do it then."
Pierce looked up at the man's back, confusion and shock chasing each other through his eyes. He didn't understand what had shifted, only that something had.
The silence stretched between them until it made Oxzy turn his head, and their eyes met under the dim light of a clouded sun. For a moment neither of them moved, as if testing whether the look would hold. "Follow me if you really want to..." Oxzy said, his voice quieter than before, almost reluctant to let the words out.
The villain didn't bother hiding the smile tugging at his lips. His throat loosened as he breathed out a sigh of relief, and his chest, so tightly wound moments before, finally eased. Watching Oxzy's black curls toss against the gray sky gave him a comfort he couldn't quite name, something between gratitude and disbelief that this was really happening.
His legs quickened almost on their own, and soon he stood alongside the hero. He stayed close as they walked, matching his steps to the other man's, careful not to fall behind. Oxzy felt the warmth radiating from Pierce's body beside him, and his face grew hot even as the rest of him stayed strangely calm. He sensed the villain's tension melting away in turn, and some of his own guardedness melted with it. Together they walked past the last stretch of greenery, toward the bushes that marked the border of the only world either of them had known.
The hero and the villain pushed the branches aside and stepped through, taking long, deliberate strides as they left the town behind them.
Neither looked back.