Author's Notes:

So I decided to break the vow in Chapter 3. I've decided I rather like good writing, which involves having good grammar and spelling. So I tweaked some mistakes on some past chapters (no content changes) and actually read through this one.
I apologize for both the lateness and the brevity of this chapter. APs have been hitting me hard, and I haven't had the time nor the will to write recently. But the idea for this chapter was too good to pass up, and I knew I had to get it out while the fire that used to light my soul when I wrote was still flickering. Hopefully, with school over I'll have relatively more time to potentially crank out more chapters. We'll see.

Marcus bolted upright, gasping for air, eyes darting around furiously, trying to locate the source of the snapping noise that had woken him. As nothing but darkness loomed in front of him, his muddled mind managed to cobble together the conclusion that his fire had gone out during the night.

Damn. He had forgotten to feed it more wood last night.

Marcus got up and began inching forward in the darkness, keeping his ears open for any more sounds piercing the night. Little rocks dug into his feet, stabbing at him with their sharp edges, but he ignored them. Couldn’t make a sound right now. Can’t lead them back here. This was his last haven in this godforsaken world, the last oasis where he could rest, the last place where he was safe.

Until he killed that bitch Celestia, of course.

Marcus grunted as he felt his face smash against the solid wall of the cave. Taking a step back, he began to grope around in the darkness until his hand came upon a smooth handle, rejoicing in the familiar shape of his club. Despite the biting edge of his newly procured sword, this was a world of a ferocious nature; and here, the only thing he could trust was the friend that had kept him alive all this time, despite the odds.

Grasping it firmly, Marcus continued to creep onwards to the mouth of his cave. As he approached the mouth of his sleeping hollow, however, a luminous light blinded him. Marcus gritted his teeth and shielded his eyes with his off hand, continuing on. The light continued to increase in intensity, seeping through his fingers and worming its way around his arm, until he could no longer handle the searing pain in his brain. He dropped his arm and leapt out, club held high.

A thin, gaunt face loomed in front of him.

The face of a monster.

Marcus gasped and stumbled back before once again assuming a guard stance. He dissected it with his eyes, taking in every detail that might help him defeat it. It was a hideous thing, a twisted, blackened skeleton covered in filth. Its form shimmered, wavering between familiar and alien. One of its arms ended with long scalpels of claws as fingers, and the other in a lump of gnarled tumors and twisted flesh. It stood there passively, a stoic statue gazing upon the rabble that dared to enter its territory.

Upon looking into its eyes, however, Marcus saw that they were filled with uncertain certainty and certain uncertainty. He became entranced by those eyes, lost in those eyes. It was a soulless stare, seeing a sight far beyond where Marcus stood. Cautiously, he moved closer to the beast and tapped it with his club. It shattered into countless little sparkling shards, rippling through the air with an effortless grace before congregating to reform the image of the sorry savage. Having retreated in shock, Marcus waited for any sign of reaction from the thing.

It just stood there, impassive as ever.

Marcus once again reached out, this time touching it with his hand.

A stream of different emotions surged through his body, electrifying his extremities.

Contentment, from the smiles on faces at the edge of his memory.

Sorrow, for those same smiles on blank, unfamiliar faces.

Rage, towards those who took them from him, sweet and bitter at the same time.

Euphoria, drowning out everything else.

Remorse, for taking the lives of so many innocent, sentient creatures—no, that wasn't right, they were devils, as much as the being that loomed in front of him was. So why did he feel this way? He'd slaughtered countless hundreds of their numbers by now without a single thought; and yet, here, something was...off, something was...wrong?—

An unearthly scream, haunted by the weight of sinless souls, was let loose; it rattled around in Marcus's head, echoing the leftover agony he felt from when Lyra—

A sudden blow knocked Marcus off his feet. He landed in a heap, groaning as he shakily propped himself back up. He tried to get back up, but as much as he was able to, as much as he wished to, he still found himself on his knees. What had he been thinking about again? It was something important, yet so unbearably painful he got the sense it was something better off not being remembered.

The intruder! Marcus scrabbled for his club as he forced his eyes to focus, and felt his jaw slacken when they did.

A hero stood before him: straight, proud, steady, the future yet to come, the ruddiness of health, a crusader of justice, heralding a world without evil—a shining shield.

A demon crouched before him: hunchbacked, undulating, hated, the bane of peace, the epitome of horror, a bitter soul seeking vengeance, sacrificing everything for his hedonistic delight—a pitiless prosecutor.

A man who had sacrificed everything wavered before him: defeated, alone, determined, the ferocity of a cornered animal, the soulless shell of a man, a haunted look in his eyes, steely resolve taut in his throat—a sacred symbol.

Before him stood a martyr.

Marcus looked away from the lake and wept.