Ah, the final chapter to this grim little story. Didn't bother waiting for many reviews, 'cause I was intent on finishing this one and getting it out of the way. A large thanks to Morias for her review and all of her reviews. I hope you enjoy this ending. Not surprised that you're the only reviewer, though, since I've upped all my ratings to R. Just out of paranoia, I guess. I don't want another FF.net TOS…. Sheez, that sounds pathetic.

A cruel smile played over Tomoyuki's lips as he surveyed the damage that Marth had done. The Melee House had been reduced to little more than a smoldering pile of ash thanks to the rampant psycho. Somewhere beneath the ruin lay the mage's adversary, Roy, now scalded and burnt and dead. The mental image of Roy's corpse struck Tomoyuki as amusing and he tilted his head back as he laughed.

"Roy, you silly fool!" he chuckled, turning his face to the ominous gray sky. "I knew you were coward, but I didn't know you were fool enough to fall by the work of your closest friend. The very fires you had been trained to tame have eaten you alive! A pathetic end, indeed."

Tomoyuki leaned from his rooftop perch to spit onto the ash pile that was Roy's grave. "Rest in pieces, you bastard," he growled as he turned away and vanished into the dwindling twilight.

--

The first thing Roy noticed about death was the absence of pain. Yes, he felt nothing, not even the choking of his collar anymore. There was something comforting and warm about the atmosphere around him, but at the same time, it was almost smothering. The pungent scent of smoke filled his nostrils as he drew a deep breath. Perhaps, even in death, he would reek of the flames that had consumed him.

Roy was curled in the fetal position and he lay on his side, smiling as he gradually awoke from his deep slumber. He didn't want to open his eyes. No, he wanted to linger in suspense. What, exactly, did the afterlife look like? Would his friends and family be there? Was there really a God? The fiery-haired warrior was just about to wet his appetite for curiosity when he felt something cold and wet hit his cheek. He opened his eyes, groaning in disgust as he wiped the glob off of his cheek. "Yuck!" It looked like it was spit.

When his repugnance faded, Roy lifted his eyes to survey his celestial surroundings. Funny, this place sure was dark. Could it be Hell? The swordsman tried to get up but when he did, he whacked his head off of the low ceiling above him. The shock of pain that made him yelp was what really woke him up. He hadn't died? Roy was still alive? He crouched on the bed and looked around at the black cavern he seemed to be stuck in. He wasn't trapped in the bowels of the Underworld, only in his demolished dorm room! The furniture had been scorched and burned beyond recognition and all of his and Marth's possessions were destroyed. The only recognizable thing in the blackened room was the Sword of Seals, whose spotless blade was embedded in the weakened floor.

Realization struck him harder than the ceiling had. Of course! Roy and his precious weapon were immune to the fires that had ravaged and destroyed the Melee House. The swordsman had trained for years to be able to tolerate those scorching flames and whatever enchantment had been placed on the sword long ago insulated it, too, against the raging inferno. The Sword of Seals had remained completely stainless and it shined even more brilliantly than before. In addition, Roy's collar had been burned right off of his neck, but his skin was flawless.

Roy rose from the bed and crawled through the cramped room toward his beloved sword. Determination was written across his scowling face. The Marth who had done this to him and the rest of the Smashers wasn't the Marth he had once known and loved. No, that Marth had died. This Marth was a new and treacherous villain, one that only Roy could stop. Grasping the hilt of the Sword of Seals in his hand, Roy wrenched the magnificent weapon out of the floor. He lifted it up above his head and thrust it into the ceiling, cutting right through the thin layer of debris and letting fresh twilight filter into the room. Tears spilled over his cheeks as he made his silent resolve: to make Marth pay for the lives he had taken.

Well, after he got dressed, of course.

And the moral of the story is: never trust the author. Look for the final part of this trilogy as soon as I think up another title with the "-less" theme to it. Read and review!