The pain was crushing.
It hurt to breathe.
“Rune!” Alora’s cry pierced the haze, dragging him back.
She knelt at his side, her hands cupping his face. When had he shifted back? Somewhere between the fall and the agony, the beast had fled him.
He tried to sit, but his body refused. Claws had torn him open. His torso smoked and burned, his wings lay torn, bones splintered. He could not heal.
Not against dark forces of the Abyss.
“Rune.” A beautiful, teary face blurred in his vision. “Oh, please, can you hear me? You need to stand.”
He tried, but his limbs wouldn’t obey. His armor hung in tatters, his chest drenched in blood, his shadows flickering like dying embers.
Behind Alora, the world burned. His army had scattered, mortals fled, their screams rising like smoke. The ground split open, rivers of molten earth spilling like torn veins. The Wild Hunt breached Argyle’s gates.
Vorak moved like a force of death.
Soldiers and demons were crushed like ants beneath his heel. Fae dissolved like paper in flame. He demolished Argyle’s towers with a flick of his hand.
Alora sobbed, pressing her magic into Rune’s wounds, but the blood only spread faster. “He showed me this…” Her voice shook. “Oh, gods, there is no stopping him, is there? It’s impossible.”
Perhaps he had always known it would end this way.
Every major battle Rune fought had ended in loss. Whether through oversight, betrayal, or the curse he carried from his first breath. He looked up at the rolling sky, wondering why fate had brought him here.
Why had he been birthed from a star, only to be cast into darkness?
Rune coughed on his blood, a bitter smirk curving his lips. It really was a lost war from the beginning. No matter his Seraph strength, he couldn’t defeat Vorak. Not even the Heavens could destroy a Primordial… without another to fill the void.
Rune’s mind went silent as realization struck.
“Nothing is impossible.” Rune whispered.
“What?”
Then he laughed, the sound caught between shock and madness. Elyon…truly had been playing his own game. Rune had often wondered why he was made. Why had the shadows chosen him if he were not a trueborn god?
Because this had always been his path.
To surrender his will completely and serve as Elyon’s weapon when the time came.
“A god cannot kill a god,” Rune breathed as he met Alora’s wide eyes. “And only a god can create his own undoing.” He brushed her cheek with trembling fingers. “You are the Devourer’s creation, Alora. A semblance of his essence.”
She went still as understanding settled in her eyes.
“The only way to contend with Vorak’s power was to take it all.” Rune looked up at the storming skies. “And I will serve as the final strike…”
Thunder rolled, the force of it vibrating down to his soul.
“Rune, no.” She shook, her voice wild with sorrow and fear. “You will die!”
He already was.
His life was draining with every beat of his heart. Perhaps he always knew it would end like this.
Villains didn’t get happy endings.
