The cold of the throne room floor was the first thing he registered. It seeped through the tears in his leather tunic, a chilling finality that was more real than the searing agony in his gut. His vision swam, the ornate obsidian arches of the ceiling blurring into a dark, smoky vortex.
He tried to push himself up. His arms, thin and trembling, gave way instantly. A wet, gurgling cough escaped his lips, and the coppery tang of his own lifeblood filled his mouth.
It was over.
The Demon King, a mountain of black-scaled flesh and shattered armor, lay dead twenty feet away. Its six eyes were glassy, staring into an eternity of defeat. The legendary sword, 'Light's Vengeance', was still buried to the hilt in the beast's heart.
They had won. Humanity was saved. He should have been cheering.
Instead, he was dying.
And his saviors, his comrades, his friends, were watching.
"Is he… still breathing?" The voice belonged to Leo, the Hero. It was a golden, resonant voice, meant for rallying speeches and royal decrees. Now, it was flat, laced with a casual annoyance, like a man checking if a campfire had gone out.
Ashe, the party's F-Rank Porter, tried to turn his head. The effort sent a fresh wave of fire through his torso. He could only manage a slight twitch, enough to bring them into his failing line of sight.
Leo stood with his arms crossed, his radiant silver plate armor unstained. He looked magnificent. He looked bored.
Beside him, Silas, the shadow-cloaked assassin, remained perfectly still. His face was hidden, as always, behind a dark leather mask. Silas, his oldest friend. The one who had pulled him from a gutter and taught him how to survive. He was a statue of indifference.
And then there was Celeste. The Saintess. Her white and gold robes were pristine, her hands clasped before her as if in prayer. Her silver hair seemed to catch the dying light from the enchanted braziers, framing her face in a halo. The same face that had smiled at him just this morning, promising to share a bottle of vintage wine when they returned.
Her smile was gone now. Her expression was one of mild pity, the kind one might give to a stray dog hit by a carriage.
"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice like the chiming of a tiny, perfect bell. "The Abyssal Poison is absolute. Another minute, at most."
Ashe's mind screamed. 'Poison? No, it couldn't be. It had been an attack from the Demon King's royal guard. A stray spell that had slipped past Leo's shield. An accident. He had believed it was an accident.'
He remembered the moment. A flash of purple light. The searing pain. And then Celeste's hands on him, a gentle golden glow. She had told him she was healing him, holding the poison at bay.
She had been lying.
The pieces of the puzzle, so scattered and meaningless before, slammed together in his mind with the force of a physical blow. The way his food had tasted slightly off this morning. The way Silas had avoided his eyes all day. The way Leo had ordered him, the party's baggage carrier, to the most exposed position, "to guard the retreat path."
There was no retreat path.
"The relic from the King's vault is secure," Leo stated, nudging a small, lead-lined box with the toe of his steel-plated boot. "As per the agreement, my share is fifty percent. Thirty for you, Celeste. Twenty for Silas."
"And Ashe's share?" Celeste asked, her voice laced with a false, saccharine sweetness.
Leo scoffed. A harsh, ugly sound that didn't belong to a hero. "His share was to carry our burdens. He has been relieved of his duty."
The words were colder than the floor. Colder than the death creeping into his limbs. Ashe had dedicated his life to them. He had charted their maps, carried their potions, managed their supplies, studied the lore of every dungeon until his eyes bled. He had been the weak, useless porter, but he had believed he was the foundation upon which their heroism was built.
He had been a tool. A disposable pack mule.
His gaze flickered to Silas, his last, desperate hope. 'Silas… say something. Please.'
The assassin remained silent. Unmoving.
Rage, pure and undiluted, began to burn away the pain. It was a black, hideous fire, consuming the memories of their laughter around a campfire, the shared stories, the promises of a future where they would all be hailed as legends. It was all a lie.
Celeste took a graceful step forward, her shadow falling over him. She knelt, her face close to his. She smelled of lilies and betrayal.
"Don't look at us like that, Ashe," she whispered, her voice a venomous lullaby. "You were never one of us. You were a means to an end. Your knowledge got us here, and for that, we are grateful. But a legend has no room for baggage."
She reached out, her hand gently brushing a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead. It was the most intimate gesture she had ever offered him. It was also the most cruel.
With her other hand, she drew a small, ornate dagger from her sleeve. Its blade was coated in the same viscous, purple poison that was dissolving his insides.
"This is a mercy," she said, her eyes devoid of all light. "So you don't have to die alone."
Ashe opened his mouth, wanting to curse her, to scream, to spit in her angelic face. All that came out was a choked, bloody sigh.
The dagger plunged into his heart.
There was no pain. Only a profound, final cold.
The sounds of the throne room faded. The image of Celeste's beautiful, monstrous face dissolved into darkness. His last sensation was the distant sound of Leo laughing as he finally kicked open the Demon King's treasury.
Then, nothing.
Blackness. Silence. The absolute and empty void of non-existence.
He floated in the abyss, a disembodied consciousness stripped of name and form. Was this it? The end? An eternity of nothing, his last memory one of absolute betrayal?
No.
NO!
The rage was all that was left. A single, burning ember in an infinite void. It was not a grand, heroic anger. It was a petty, spiteful, all-consuming hatred. A desperate, primal need for a second chance. A chance to see their faces again. A chance to make them pay.
As if in answer to that single, impossible wish, a line of cold, sterile text shimmered into existence within the void. It was a language he had never seen, yet understood perfectly.
[Soul Signature Confirmed: Ashe. Cause of Death: Betrayal.]
[Profound Regret and Malice Levels Exceed System Threshold.]
[Activating Hidden Protocol: Last Will.]
[Initiating Emergency Reboot...]