A/N: First Madoka fanfiction! My absolute favorite fandom, but I've never read too much Madoka FF or written one before. Not in a great mood and feeling a bit emotional. This is rather cathartic in a way, so excuse my sloppy proofreading.

Rated M for violence.

Please review if you...enjoyed it? Hahaha...

One day, I decided that I had finally had enough.

12,432 cycles.

I watched her die 12, 356 times.

372960 days.

I put a gun to her temple 76 times and I pulled the trigger all 76 times. She didn't always want me to, but I knew it was necessary. I knew what was best for her, of course.

8951040 hours.

And I managed to stop the incubator's contract 5, 126 times.

In the end, did any of it matter?

537062400 seconds.

That's all it took before I realized that no matter what I did, I wouldn't be able to save her.

That's all it took before I knew that I had to end it. I thought I would be her savior, that one day I would stumble into a timeline that worked out, but I was naïve. I was weak. It was a painful realization that I wouldn't be able to last an eternity in this endless maze of death and despair.

And so, I decided that enough was enough.

That's why I invited Madoka over today. If anything, I want to be remembered in this timeline.

She sits in my Spartan living room, refusing the tea I offer her, apprehension growing as she sees my weary smile.

She speaks, dispelling the haunting silence.

"Homura-chan…are you alright? You seem a bit different today. Is…everything okay? If you need someone to talk to, I'm always here for you."

Her voice is sweet, soothing, and so like the Madoka that I know and love, but I can't. I can't accept her empty sympathy.

Not anymore.

My lips twitch up into a wide smile, but I feel like screaming. I feel like laughing. I feel like crying.

And I do just that. My empty laughter fills the room, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears as the tears stream down my face.

The silence from Madoka is deafening even with my outburst. Her stare bores into my skin.

"H-Homura-chan…?"

I hear Madoka. I hear the concern in her voice as she stands. I hear the alarm in her voice as she approaches me.

Her hands touch my shoulder and I pull away, her soft touch lingering, burning.

I stand at a distance from Madoka, taking in the sight of her slightly flushed cheeks, her tousled pink ponytails. Her red ribbons are in her hair and I remember the times she survived long enough to give them to me on her deathbed.

Again, I smile at the memory.

Again, another piece of my already damaged heart chips off onto the floor. I swear I can hear it crumble against the tiles.

Arching my neck, I look up at the ceiling, into the bright lights, at the eerie décor I affixed to the walls in every timeline. I had grown accustomed to the gloomy art. My neck stays craned in this unnatural position and I almost think it would be wonderful if my spine splintered, if my head could be torn from my body.

"Y-You're really scaring me, Homura-chan!"

I straighten up and I look at Madoka. There was a time when my heart would have ached at the sound of Madoka distressed cries, but that was ages ago.

Now, I feel nothing, only apathy.

I look at Madoka, studying her, trying to burn her face, her scent, and her innocence into my memory.

I release my magic, an ethereal glow enveloping my body as my transformation occurs. My new outfit swirls around me, tightening as adheres to my skin, to my soul, constricting me for the last time. I feel the weight of my shield as it latches onto my wrist, the gears turning in the magical apparatus. The sequence ends with a breeze, a rushing breeze that fills the room and swirls around my feet.

I feel stronger and safer and capable and invincible.

But I know I'm not.

Madoka stares at me in awe, in shock, but she is not afraid of me.

I activate my magic, reaching into my shield as I search for a large caliber handgun. My hand wraps around something familiar and its weight satisfies what I'm looking for. I pull it out and its silver body catches the glare from the overhead lights. The weight feels comfortable in my small hand, the cold metal soothing against my skin.

A Desert Eagle, .50 caliber.

I detach the soul gem from my hand, and I hate the thing. It stares back at me, tauntingly, as I catch the gleam of its dark amethyst. I wedge it into the barrel of the gun.

I know this is overkill, but I have a flair for the dramatic, or so I think.

Madoka's eyes widen, her usually pale pastel orbs darken into a deep, almost blood-red color.

I can't help but smirk at the look of horror on her face as I raise the gun effortlessly with my right hand. I press the barrel against my temple, feeling the metal dig into my scalp, feeling the edge of my soul gem draw blood as it pierces my skin.

I tilt my head slightly as I look at Madoka, as I burn the image of her smile, of her fear into my mind.

I think that some last words are appropriate.

"Madoka, I'm sorry I lied. This endless maze wasn't something I could endure. I wanted to save you, the you who is my most precious person, but I'm weak. I've seen you die in front of me too many times to count. I've killed you myself with my own bare hands."

Madoka flinches as I say this.

"Homura-chan…don't do anything crazy…"

Tears are in her eyes and for a split second, I feel my heart beating again. It aches.

My finger finds its place on the trigger.

Shaking my head, I smile at her, a genuine smile that reaches my dull, empty eyes.

I release the safety on the gun.

"It's too late for that, but I love you, Madoka. I've done more than my share of crazy things for you."

My finger squeezes and my entire hand tightens around the grip.

A deafening blast fills my head, the sound making my ears bleed as a searing hot pain cuts through my skin, through my skull, and through my brain.

My mind goes blank for a second and I wonder if I'm dead.

But the screams and the crying brings my consciousness back and I feel my eyes snap open. Blood is all over my face and instinctively, I put my hand to my head where I expect to feel jagged bone and mottled flesh, but there is nothing. I look around and I see the gun on the floor, shards of dark purple embedded into the blood-soaked floor, into the blood-stained walls.

The screams continue.

Panic fills me and my eyes open wide as I stare at Madoka who is as pale as a ghost. She is afraid of me, but I find comfort in that. Her throat is already raw from screaming, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, I wonder if it's possible that I made a mistake. I stand and smooth out my skirt. I pick up the handgun lying on the floor. I reload the chamber.

The grating of metal against metal fills the air.

I shove the barrel into my mouth, the taste of steel and sanguine copper distracting me for only a second before I pull the trigger again.

My teeth break, my eyes burn as the bullet rips through the roof of my mouth, through the viscous fluid in my eyeball, tearing a jagged pathway through my brain before exiting out the top of my skull.

I feel the impact as I fall. I feel my blood, my organs spilling out onto the floor.

The pain is unbearable, but again, I sit up once I regain consciousness. Almost no time passes. My wounds are gone, the fragments of my soul gem turned into a fine dust now.

The physical pain is nothing I've ever experienced and I think that dying would be much easier. Reloading the chamber, I remind myself that I have more than enough bullets to try again.

As a morbid afterthought, I wonder how many times I would have to die before I decide that I've had enough.

Without hesitation, I press the barrel against my skull and I pull the trigger.

I hear Madoka's screams again. They seem to echo endlessly in my mind.