A/N Part four of The Seven Words, don't own em, as usual. Enjoy.


And in the ninth hour, He shouted in a loud voice "Eli Eli lema sabachthani?" which is translated "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" -Mark 15:34

Even on the battlefield, he was standing all alone. Even with hundreds around him, surrounded by people, he stood alone, separate from the rest. He didn't fit in. Not onto either side. He was the outcast, the pariah, the forsaken one, whom nobody cared about. The one side thought him a traitor, and the other side had only ever considered him a pawn, to be used to achieve their ends.

He couldn't help but laugh at these people though, fighting for their so-called cause. Fighting for, dying for something that they thought they believed in, but in the end, the only thing it would do was kill them. There was no such thing as good and evil. There were simply those who thought they were right. The idealists who thought they were right, and the other side. And each side thought that they were the idealists, and that they were right.

He stepped over a nearly-dead body of some poor boy, whimpering and babbling on, crying out to God to save them, to stop the pain. He gave a snort, not quite of laughter, but of derision. God would not rescue the boy. God did not care. He killed the boy, putting him out of his misery. If God wouldn't do it, he would act as God.

He had believed once, in salvation. He had dutifully gone to church every sunday with his father, he had gone to Sunday School, and said his prayers every night. He had been told that prayer could move mountains, and if he prayed enough, if he believed enough, his prayers had been answered. So he prayed, for his father to love his mother again, he prayed, to be accepted by the other boys in school, he prayed to escape his life.

But his prayers were never answered. His father and his mother were as loveless as ever, both of them leaving him to fend for himself while they fought with each other. He was still the outcast, the boy who wasn't quite the same as all the others in primary school, and once he had gone on to Hogwarts, he hadn't been accepted there either.

God didn't care about the lives of mere mortals. God did not care about those dying on the battlefield. God had left them all here to die like dogs, to kill each other off, until there was no one. War does not determine who is right, but who is left. He saw that first hand for himself. It did not matter that there were those fighting for what they believed to be good, they would die anyway. They would kill and be killed. And he would be left alone again.

He was the forsaken one. Abandoned by everyone. Abandoned by those he thought he could call his friends. The closest thing he had to friends. He had been cast out, abandoned by all. Abandoned by his family. Abandoned by his colleagues. Abandoned by love. Abandoned by a god he had been told would always be there for him. All of them forsook him, all of them cast him out of their lives, out of their world.

And so he lived, as a pariah, never actually a part of anything, but always on the fringe. Always wavering between camps, between people. He flickered and flitted on the outskirts, never actually darting in. It allowed him to be more objective, he could watch, could observe, could interact without being a part of anything. Being forsaken wasn't horrible. Not to him at least.

Perhaps it was to these falling on the battlefield. Perhaps the realization that the one person that they had put faith in to be there, ready for them with open arms didn't care was too much for them. He had been able to stand it, but it did not mean that they could. Being forsaken by all, even God, didn't affect him, but God only knew how it affected them.