The battle was over, just as quick as it began. Today, Skaia learned that it can't just send 32 God-Teir humans and trolls to fight Lord English.
Yeah. Nice lesson.
But in all seriousness, Lord English mopped the floor with these kids. I guess they did have a failed session after all. All those years of training did nothing for them.
Lord English laughs as he sits back down in his thrown. Ms. Paint is mopping up the mess. Lord English couldn't find it in himself to kill her. She was just too...
Too Ms. Paint.
Among the bodies of trolls and humans alike, Ms. Paint found two fortunate living souls:
John Egbert and Rose Lalonde.
She's heard the gossip about these two being cosmically joined but she never really knew what was fact. In the off chance something good would come out of it, Ms. Paint dragged the limp John over to the equally as sprawled out Rose. The two picked up on the fact that the other was living and began to speak. Lord English only looked and listened on and chucked at the two dying fighters.
"Oh hey Rose," John coughed out. "I'm so happy you're alive."
"It is nice to see you too, John," Rose softly replied, holding her stomach from where she suffered internal bleeding.
"So," John began, "I guess we weren't the alpha timeline after all. If I would have known that, I would've done so much differently." John seemed to be doing pretty well for having a pool stick where his lungs should be and being riddled full off bullets.
"Yeah." Rose spat. She was slowly scumming to the pain. She felt herself blacking out in the near future. She decided that if she had to die, she'd like to do it next to John.
"What would you,-" Rose entered a coughing fit. John grabbed her hands. "What would you have done differently?"
"I would have never scratched the session or gained windy powers or ever learned of Skaia," John pushed aside all his pain to comfort Rose. "What about you?"
"Much the same," she coarsely whispered. John drug himself closer to her.
"Do you know what I'll never regret Rose? Meeting you." Rose stared on at John. "I had a lot of respect for you when we became friends, but over the course of this game, I've really grown to love you. When you went grimdark, I hoped for your recovery and over these years of training, you became so beautiful but you remained the Rose I loved so much," he said with his cheeks blushed.
Rose blushed and smiled at the flushed boy in blood-stained pajamas and stained her remaining energy to pull herself closer to him.
"Thank you John. Thank you for staying with me here and thank you for being my little dork." She said.
They met in a simple kiss.
"I love you," Rose said, with he remaining strength.
"I love you too," John returned.
The two grimdorks laid there, hand-in-hand, slowing giving into their injuries.
Silence once again filled the room.
Lord English jumped up and flew into a fit of laughter. He howled like a mad schizophrenic.
As the event lost its humor, English began to stare at the dead duo. He felt something wet craw on his neck.
No.
He wouldn't believe it.
Was love actually destroying him?
He felt his hands go numb, his knees buckled.
He felt his stomach curdle and his head ache.
His jaw hung agape and his vision blurred.
The Lord fell dead, right in front of his throne.
When eons past and the names of our heroes slowly ceased to be remembered, all the legend remembered was that love killed the evil one.
But only I truly remember the real tale, the real truth.
The day Lord English died, the fatality was not caused by the burst of pure love.
It was the back of Ms. Paint's mop breaking his vertebrae.