"The end" was a brief, flickering laugh in the eyes of the Fade. Weston charged ahead, blindly, into the group of abominations - some resembling faces I could painfully remember of less-caring days - with his sword held high.
I begged him not to go.
Foolish boy.
She raised him high above her head with a piteous laugh. I could see the tears in his eyes, the horror on his face to know all of our brethren had fallen such ill and easy prey to these beasts. His anger was mocked by their souless laughs, and the empty smiles on their twisted faces. He wanted to pain of their memory gone, the mockery of puppeted corpses out of his eyes. I could not stand to look at them.
I could not move.
This, this is what it had come to. This is what they had turned to, despite the effort. Despite the warning. All of them. Fallen. Dead.
Weak.
How could you?
I was so overpowered by my anger, I could not think. The will to remain to my spot disappeared. I wanted nothing but to see their corpses on the ground, and to remain there. They deserved a rightful, violent death for what they had done.
How could you do this?
My blade severed through the hearts of my brothers, of my sisters, and of my charges. The ones I swore to protect. There was no longer a line between the innocent and the corrupt - they were gone. Their soulless, laughing eyes spoke enough for my heart to endure.
They must all die.
They fell at my feet effortlessly; sickeningly. I watched the bodies pile before my eyes, and still I charged on until all I saw left in my red vision stood Weston, the templar. My friend and enemy, now a threat in my eyes.
"C-Cullen, it's me! Weston!" he choked out in a fearful voice, but I saw the eyes. I saw the soulless, trapped eyes of a corpse mocking me. I had seen the demon twist him into the air and kill him. Weston was no more; he was but a mockery to my former friend and brother.
"You will die as the rest, abomination," I snarled before raising my sword and plunging it into his heart. He seized and gripped the bloody sword with both palms. I saw the blood spill over his palms as the blade cut through his soft flesh. He wretched, looking up at me with hollow, sorrow-filled eyes, then fell to his knees and slid off my sword edge with a sickening noise. His body hit the floor, dead. My nose wrinkled as I looked down at my hands, stained with the blood of those I had looked after.
"I am sorry, Weston," I murmured.
With that, I fell to the ground and wept.