Why! Why! Why!
Torma Grunted as he faced his pitiful demise.
Fingers twitched weakly. Anger. Regret. Shame.
The Boy smothered with blood and mud, crushed by his own failures. As the night's rain turned from drizzle to a nasty downpour, beating the open wounds on his face.
His vision blurred but seeing his own truth as bright as day.
"What was my fault in all of this?"
"Why! Why! Why!"
"Why must I be so Weak?!!"
"What did I ever do to deserve this!!!"
His limbs, broken and numb, dragged him forward along the slick road. In the puddle at his side, his reflection stared back—half-swallowed by crimson. He curled his bloody hand into a fist and slammed it into the water. Red spray scattered across the cobbles.
Am I going to die like this?
The rain hid his tears. But the blood flowing from his eye sockets made it crystal clear.
He coughed, crimson splattering the road, then forced his body forward again. His destination wasn't clear, but his heart knew it.
The thunder cracked overhead. The streets grew narrower, darker. His limbs trembled. Yet, even as death's shadow hovered close, the boy's rage burned hotter.
Every inch left a bleeding streak on the cobblestones, washing thin beneath the merciless rain.
Somewhere beyond the city walls, the night had been curved into ruin.
The fifteen crusaders sent to purge the Vile— lay scattered all over the outer capital, dead.
Armor was slit, spears snapped, noble cloaks drenched in dark. Only two figures moved among the carnage.
One, young swordsman, on the bloodstained grass, ribs broken and breath held but legs immobile, unable to escape as the humanoid beast that was approaching him.
Another had tucked himself into the crook of a ruined tree, still as a corpse and praying to wake alive at dawn.
Oh God!
His survival was being tested, the beast was slowly striding towards them.
Then a calm voice cut through the carnage.
"Quite a show you put on here."
The man in a spotless white suit stepped into the clearing, cufflinks catching the dim light. Blonde hair, round shades, a smile that did not reach his eyes, walking towards the conflict like an invited guest.
The crusader's eyes shot open.
"What are you doing here? Run!" He croaked.
The Vile did not hesitate. Its jaw unhinged and a column of flame ripped from its throat—enough to swallow the stranger whole.
The blast detonated, black smoke boiling up and swallowing the street. The beast exhaled slowly, satisfied.
Then—cough, cough.
"Damn the smoke," the white-suited man muttered.
His figure stepped out of the haze completely unburned. The swordsman's voice trembled. "H-he's alive…?"
The man tilted his head toward the tree. "Hey—what are you doing up there?" he called casually.
Oh no did he notice me?
The man in the tree gave a small whimper. "I'm—pretending—dead!" he shouted.
"Why?"
"Huh! You're asking why!!" "Can't you see what's in front of you!!!"
"Hmm I mean yeah still why." "It ain't that big a deal to handle."
"What!!"
"Just Go Or else You're going to get us all— killed," the swordsman hissed, then lunged from cover in panic. The Vile leapt with him—flying claws slicing the night.
Crash! The Vile's attack would have split the swordsman's back open, but the white-suited man slid between them and delivered a blunt, surgical blow across the creature's face.
"I wasn't done talking to him," he said, as if resuming a conversation.
The beast recoiled, furious, its chest heaving. It bore down, knuckles clenched like iron. "If you want to talk, wait your turn," the man told it, voice amused and flat.
It stood with resolve. He turned to the onlookers and lowered his shades.
"Don't worry," he said. Cobalt glass caught the moonlight. "I got this."
Then Both man and beast charged—steel-tipped claws against polished shoes.
At the same time, at Nava, Torma dragged himself back toward the platform.
Each step was a negotiation with pain. The mountain had lost its shine; the silver mist looked like ash. He stumbled up the platform's steps, rain lashing his face. He stood at the center, breathing like someone who had run from a fire that never stopped.
He stumbled onto the platform.
"This is your fault…" His voice cracked, blood spewing out of his mouth. "All I wanted was to make a difference... to stop all this."
Tears mixed with rain. Images flashed—Han's face, Wan's laughter, the day the flames took everything.
"I tried—" the word broke. "I tried so hard to be better!"
"Is my fate so cruel that I can't even have that desire?"
Lightning split the sky.
They look down on me…
He thought of Han and Wan. An image of his friends then creeped in.
They all look down on!
"Why do you have to look down on me?!!"
"All I wanted was to fight the viles and make sure no one goes through what my parents went through,"
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"You had the power to change everything!!"
"And yet you still left me this way!!!"
"Why!!!!"
"I WANTED TO GET STRONGER!"
"WAS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!"
The heavens answered.
A colossal bolt of crimson lightning tore down from the storm, heading straight at Torma. Staring wide at the doomsday, it struck him and Nava with earth-shaking force.
Magic circles started to glitch and flare to life beneath him, shifting from gold to an ominous, blood-red glow. Inscriptions warped into unfamiliar, sinister shapes. Energy surged upward in spiraling revolutions, blinding light swallowing the mountaintop then exploded outward with a shock wave.
Elsewhere, while Torma's rage clawed at the heavens, the outer capital was drowning in its own heated situation.
HHRAAAAA!
The Vile hurled another inferno as fire raged in their Surroundings.
The man stepped aside, glancing up through the smoke. "Is it just me, or is there a bit too much fog today?"
A second blast roared past his shoulder, singeing the air.
"Okay… that one almost stained my suit."
"How are you still breathing?" the Vile rasped, staring at his scorchless body.
"…So it can talk?" the man replied dryly. "Well, that makes things easier."
He grasped his dark shades and lowered them slightly.
"I'll explain this once. Your candle lights… need to get a little brighter if you wanna touch me."
Rage twisted the Vile's face. It lunged a third time—closer, teeth bared.
Pat. Pat.
The man cleaned ash from his sleeve, as if tidying before dinner. "Cute," he said.
"Now let me show you how a real flame burns."
He snapped his right arm out. Blue flame roared along his limb, spiraling like a living tornado. The air trembled with heat and so did the crusaders.
That flame… So this is…
"Soul Flame," he murmured, eyes glowing.
The Vile hesitated, twitched for the first time.
"Too late."
The man drove the blue fire through its chest—through bone, heart, whatever ancient core kept that shape together. Flesh blistered and fell away in a smoking curtain, leaving a hole in its heart, literally. A blackened vacuum now resided in its chest.
The crusader's jaw fell open. "What in the hell!" As he watched from the tree.
The creature collapsed, barely breathing. The man approached slowly, as if inspecting a work of art.
"Any last words?"
The Vile's cracked lips formed a grin as it glanced up into the clouds, catching a glimpse of crimson lightning tearing through the sky.
"You will rue the day you—"
Crack! The man placed his boot on its neck and crushed it.
"Sorry I didn't quite catch that."
Then the heavens screamed—
TTWWAAKKTZZHHH!
He saw the crimson bolt slam into Nava.
The man's lips curled slightly. "That shade…"
"That was incredible!" the swordsman who'd been hiding blurted, stumbling forward in awe. "The way you—"
"Carry your wounded comrade," the man said bluntly, implying of the other on the floor, without looking back.
"Right!" He saluted. "And Thank you very much sir!" Then he started to match to his comrade.
"Oh and Call the Guard," the man said, eyes still fixed on the mountain. "I believe there's something bigger at Nava."