They failed.
The silence amongst them was forever deafening—but that crushing thought invaded every student's mind; as they stood, crouched, laid helplessly on the dirt.
An accumulation of their decisions had been left for them all to stare at. A large ravine of pulverized stone and broken trees had been created—from the brown beast that rampaged through them all.
It was definitely still going. Soon, it would reach the cities and civilians, with not a single person to stop it.
The golden baton had been passed to them, only to be dropped into an abyss.
They couldn't stop it. The sedative didn't work.
It never even considered them enemies.
Giving assistance was impossible. The Pros were too far—Majestic had long since whisked them all away.
—Your actions and actions were right. You kids played this right. Whatever happens now, don't ever doubt that!
Those words were optimistic. Those were the words of a hero who'd protected them.
It ashamed them, it ashamed them so much, that their hearts began to doubt him. Question every move they'd made. Not just their own, but every Pro fighting. What did they do?
If they were truly heroes, wouldn't they have won?
In another world, was there a future where they could walk home, smiles on their faces?
How desperately they wanted it—how desperately they wanted to leave this nightmare.
Horror and ruin clouded their sight.
Close their eyes, and they would only reopen. Turn the other way, and this was all they would see again.
For longer than they would ever want—this world was the sum of results.
Reality, and nothing more.