Faunus's wings twitched as he perched on Yuki's shoulder, his crimson eyes glinting with an almost predatory awareness. The heart demon realm was growing thinner, its fabric fraying at the edges, but there was still one memory left to drag him through. Yuki's body trembled, his tears from the last scene not yet dry, but his lips pressed into a tight line of resolve.
"Show me," he whispered. "I'll face it all."
The void stirred, shifting like a great tide. The air thickened with dread, and slowly the new memory formed.
It was the same study again—the floor-to-ceiling window, the heavy silence, the old wooden desk polished smooth by years of use. Carl sat in his usual chair, shoulders squared but weariness bleeding through his posture. William stood opposite him, tense, his hand hovering near the gun at his side.
The atmosphere was suffocating.
Carl's lips curved faintly. "I guess it's time, huh? Hahaha… how long has it been since our last talk?"
William's throat tightened. "Three days. The night you told me about the Alistairs' request."
"Right." Carl's smile wavered into sadness. "So it's really come to this."
William's fingers twitched around the cold steel. But his heart screamed in protest. He thought back to the nights spent drinking with Carl, the laughter, the advice, the warmth he had never received from his blood family. His chest burned with rage at Janet Caiser, at the Alistairs, at the chains of loyalty and blood debts Carl could not escape.
"It's time," William forced out, his voice breaking. "I really enjoyed my time with you… More than I ever expected to."
Carl tilted his head. "And yet, here you are."
Silence pressed between them, heavy as lead. The weight of the gun seemed unbearable. William finally raised it—then stopped, trembling.
"…No," he muttered.
Carl blinked. "What?"
"I won't do it!" William shouted, his voice cracking. "Damn the mission, damn the Alistairs, damn their family politics! You're my father—the only one I ever recognized. If I kill you with my own hands, then what am I?!"
The weapon slipped from his grip and clattered onto the floor. William's chest heaved as he strode forward, gripping Carl's arm with desperate strength.
"I'll take you away. I'll hide you myself if I have to. They'll never find you, no matter what I have to do."
Carl's eyes widened, then softened. He saw the sincerity in William's eyes, the trembling conviction of a man refusing to break. For the first time, Carl's façade cracked, and something like peace flickered across his face.
"…Stubborn child," he murmured.
That very night, William set his plan in motion. Under the cover of darkness, he smuggled Carl out of the compound. He used his most trusted subordinates, securing safehouses, moving him from city to city like a shadow. For days, William felt hope—for once, he had defied fate.
But fate was crueler than he imagined.
It happened without warning.
One evening, after returning from scouting a new hideout, William found the safehouse door wide open. His instincts screamed, and he rushed inside. The room was ransacked, the guards gone, the air heavy with blood.
Carl was missing.
William's mind blanked. He searched every lead, interrogated informants, tore through underworld networks, but the trail was always one step ahead, always cold.
Then—two weeks later—it arrived.
A small wooden crate, left at his doorstep. No markings, no sender. Just silence.
His gut twisted as he opened it.
Inside… was Carl's severed head.
The expression was peaceful, almost serene, as if even in death he carried that faint, mocking smile. But the sight shattered William's soul.
His knees gave out. The crate clattered against the stone floor, and he screamed—an inhuman sound, raw and agonized, tearing itself from the depths of his being.
The man he had called father, the one he had tried to protect, the one he had chosen over everything else—stolen from him, desecrated, and returned as a trophy.
Yuki, reliving the memory, fell to his knees as well. His body trembled, his nails digging into his palms until blood dripped onto the void's floor. Tears streamed freely.
"Why…" His voice cracked. "Why did it end like this?! Why, no matter what I did, was I always powerless to save the people I loved?!"
Faunus, calm and grim, finally spoke. "Because that is the nature of weakness. You thought you could shield him, but you lacked the strength to stand against the true storm. The world does not forgive defiance without power."
"I tried!" Yuki roared. "I gave everything! And still… still they ripped him from me. Was there ever a chance, Faunus? Or was it always impossible from the start?!"
The crow's eyes narrowed. "That is the question of every man who has lost. But answer me this—are you content to stay broken? Or will you rise, even carrying the corpses of those you could not save?"
Yuki's tears blurred his vision, but through the haze of grief, something else stirred. A flame. The same flame that had carried William through blood-soaked battlefields, through betrayals and despair.
He clenched his fists, his crimson eyes blazing.
"…No. I won't let their deaths remain in vain. Carl… Elise… all of them… I'll carve a new path, even if I must drown the world in blood to do it."
The memory dissolved, shattering like glass. The crate, the head, the study—gone. Only Yuki remained, trembling, but standing tall.
Faunus spread his wings, shadows rippling from his form. "Then you have faced it. The worst of your demons. The burden of your failure. And you still stand."
Yuki wiped his tears roughly, his grief transforming into a cold, resolute fury. "Yes… it's now all in the past. But I'll never forget. I'll carry them with me—not as chains, but as fire. Fire to burn a path forward."
The void pulsed, light spilling from the cracks. The heart demon realm was collapsing, its work complete.
Faunus smirked, his voice low but certain. "Then let us rise again, Yuki. Past and present, blood and shadow. Together."
Yuki nodded, his aura blazing red. "Together."
And with that, the realm shattered, releasing him back into the world beyond.