Alfonse trod the wasteland like a resurrected corpse, ignoring the beeping of the Heavenly Charm, flashing in red before him. His hand clasped the deep gash on his bicep, and his shoulders were hunched as he squeezed through a small gap between two collapsed walls.
Smoke.
Smoke was everywhere, thickening every breath with grime and lacing it with the ever-present repulsive subtlety of death. Far too many corpses littered the ruins. Some were burnt, thin, wrinkly-looking black husks, contorted like burnt trees carved into the shapes of writhing men, while others were simply mangled and costumed in dried bloody cartilage and ash.
However, the morbid landscape barely bothered him. Nor did the crying of the Heavenly Charm.
Alfonse, after all, was resolved. Far too much considering his chances.
Simply put, things had spiralled way out of control. Way out of scope in every sense of the word.
It had started as a political conflict. A difference in ideologies he wasn't even aware of, then... this.
He was certain that not even the Absolved himself had wanted things to get this far. And thus, with the surrealness of this damned situation, despair had not yet sunk in. The only annoyance was the pulsating pain of his mortal wounds and the smoke.
And so, Alfonse trod ahead.
He hadn't even noticed the glaring hole in his thigh yet, or the blunt indent where his shoulder blade should've protruded from, because he was still too grateful to be alive.
Too grateful to not do anything but trudge ahead.
One step, then scraping his other, shattered foot to the next.
One step, scrrrrrrrrr to the next.
Again and again.
To move was all he had.
To move was all that kept him alive.
But to where?
To the light, of course.
The distant sole light that shimmered softly amidst the smoke like a white campfire in a foggy night. The light was the only hope for everyone, triumphant or vanquished.
Many just like him, from all corners of the devastated wasteland, were running, trodding, hobbling, crawling, or even clawing their way to the light.
The light offered what every human wished so ardently for:
A do-over.
And the light was getting closer now.
So close that Alfonse would've smiled if his cheeks weren't scorched.
But Alfonse did manage to drool when the light grew more distinct. He managed to gasp like a starved child when he made out the amorphous edges of the WarpGate, and whimper like a pup when the smoke no longer bit at his lungs.
But then, his exhilaration all died away in an instant.
Because sitting no more than three meters away from the light was he.
Him.
The abominable devil.
The Absolved himself.
It was the first time he'd seen him without his mask. He sat there, legs dangling, staring absently into the very heart of the light. His glasses glared back the faint writhing of the WarpGate while his dark, dead eyes remained eerily unblinking and far too wide as if seeing much more than what was there. His coarse yet incredibly charming face was as placid as when he slaughtered all those who stood in his path.
And he was furnished in his iconic, refined attire etched with his vile emblem in unnervingly unmarred gold like the scribing of the Heavenly Charm itself, while the folds of his long, black cloak elegantly folded near his feet.
Alfonse staggered to a halt.
He now understood that the Absolved was who he had made to be, after all. He was the man who won despite everything.
He was Heaven's Null.
And then, Alfonse saw more.
It was that despite his serene stillness, he was sitting atop a mound of champions. The ones who once vaunted insurmountable power and were Graced graciously by Heaven.
They were all powerless and lifeless now, lying beneath him like mere slabs of mass and meat for the crows.
The Absolved, as always, had massacred his prey.
So then why was he still?
Why wasn't he bothered by the WarpGate pulsing before him? Why wasn't he afraid of a do-over?
The answer, most likely, was in the sky, because just then, it growled like the grumble of a god, and the clouds of smoke and ash parted for an incoming blitzing missile.
The missile screeched and careened sharply down to earth, homing for the Absolved like a vengeful falling meteorite.
Alfonse gasped and staggered back, expecting the earth to quake upon impact, and Heavens knew he wasn't in shape to handle that, but...
Nothing happened.
The missile landed no harder than the falling ash, and it landed mere meters away from the Absolved.
Silence settled for a brief moment, then:
'Nothing!' It cried. It was a noble voice. A grandiose voice. One that was now grated with anguish and seething rage. 'Nothing is left! Nothing you rotten bastard, nothing!'
Alfonse saw the stranger now as he stomped out of the smoke, and when he did, his breath caught in his throat and his eyes snapped back to life.
Of course, he'd know this man.
Who wouldn't?
Reiss Son Wrightworth. And seeing him now was perhaps the only spark left in this damned world.
Alfonse would've felt a little more elated, except that the Absolved still did not move an inch. He remained as he was, distant, contemplative, and wistful.
Alfonse tucked himself behind a tilted column lest he gain some unwanted attention. He was certain they were aware of his presence, but still, it wouldn't hurt to peek from behind something other than smoke.
'Was this it?' Wrightworth continued, softly this time, as if he was earnest for a conversation. 'The path you preached like a bloody messiah, was this it?'
No response.
'I know I've wronged you. I've wronged you most terribly, and I'll never stop apologising for that, but isn't this too far? Was I too late? What happened to you?'
Then, startling both Alfonse and Wrightworth, the Absolved lifted his head so imperceptibly that if they weren't keenly watching him, they wouldn't have noticed.
'I'm tired,' he croaked softly. 'I'm so tired.'
Wrightworth reeled back, breathing heavily in incredulity.
'Tired? Is that it? Tired?' He paused, and hearing no response, he yelled while gesticulating in anger, 'Is that it?! You bloodied it all, Han! The clouds! The Heavens! The Earth! All are red with your deeds and you're tired?! Did you forget the value of a human life?! Do you- Do you even feel anything anymore?!'
The Absolved nudged his glasses in place and let out a long exhale.
'Feel? I'm exhausted. I'm drained. I haven't felt anyhting in so long and I... I've lost myself, Reiss.'
Wrightworth choked on a retort, and his nose flared in emotion.
'Then, is there nothing more I can do? To say? ... Do I even know you anymore?'
'No more than I know myself.'
Wrightworth clenched and unclenched his fist repeatedly while his jaw locked and his lips pursed. He was stuck- No, he was anguished. And considering who he was, to display such emotion, his anguish must've been so exceptionally horrible.
'Ah...' Wrightworth groaned. 'Agh! So it is as they say!'
No answer.
'Then say Han... do you understand what I must do?' He choked, bit his lip once more until it bled, then added hoarsely, 'Do you understand that I must take your life?'
The question seemed to intrigue the Absolved rather than hurt him as he inspected his hand wistfully.
'My life? Ah... My life, yes. I'd forgotten... It is as you wish.'
Wrightworth's lips quivered for a moment, but then he suppressed them, and in a moment of impressive composure, he let all the emotion die away from his face, and he wore that imperious expression Alfonse was so used to seeing.
One that dared the enemy and promised protection for the weak.
'Then don't resent me in your death.'
And his hand moved to summon his weapon with practised, yet slightly hesitant swiftness, but just before he did, the Absolved stuttered on something to say.
'J- Just...' he uttered with effort, eyes glassy and dark, scars wrinkling from a slight grimace.
Wrightworth paused, apprehensive as was Alfonse.
'Just... If I could voice the last speck of me, Reiss, I want you to know that I am regretful that it all happened this way.'
Alfonse's whole body twitched.
He was in disbelief.
He was in disbelief and angry. Angry at the gall of this rotten beast. This sick devil. This horrid, abominable existence that it even dared to express its non-existent remorse in such a manner.
'Go!' Wrightworth suddenly shouted, and not to the Absolved, but to him.
He shouted it without even sparing him a glance.
'Go!' He repeated, but this time to everyone else. To all the miserable survivors crawling to the light.
Alfonse didn't wait to be told again, for he had already subconsciously continued his way to the WarpGate. And then he noticed the many others moving in the smoke like he was, all looking as bad as him and even worse.
All moving like moths to a flame, despondent and silent.
All moving despite their mangled bodies and the cause of it all sitting before them.
Alfonse trod ahead. One step, then scraping his broken foot to the next.
One step, then scrrrrrrrrr to the next.
On and on until he was a mere one meter away from the Absolved.
But the monster did not turn to him or even regard him with the slightest flinch. He merely stared ahead. Still as a rock. Nothing. No sound. No reaction. Not stopping any of them from disappearing into the light one after another.
But why?
Why?
Did he really not care anymore? Did he really do all this just to submit to his hollowness and let it all slip away?
Wrightworth watched them go with cold eyes, waiting with his hand outstretched and the air fizzing around his palm, impatient to summon his Gift.
Alfonse continued.
One step, sccrrrrrrrrrrr to the next.
He passed the Absolved with no harm done, and was about to step into the light when he decided to give the vile, cunning devil one last glance.
And when he did, his blood ran cold, and he felt his wounds gnaw at him with all their might.
How dare this rotten bastard?!
The Absolved had looked up at Wrightworth and shed a tear.
And how dare he?! How dare he feel this way?! After everything is dead and done, he sheds a tear?! How dare he?!
Suppressing his opportunistic fury, Alfonse took his last step and let the light suck him in, whizzing his reality to black.