A/N: Last chapter, and I'm unsure of when Origins will be completed, or when I'll post it. Not like this has a big fanbase, but if you are reading, thanks.

This chapter's song is Hellbent by Mystery Skulls.

Bickslow's POV

My pants are the only noise I can hear, my magic drained down to a fraction of what it should be, and I'm still. Not. In.

I nearly scream in frustration.

Then- in my mind, a memory surges forward.

Something that really should have occurred to me long before I got to this point of such frustration.

You must push the world harder than it pushes back.

I pause, taking a few steps back from the entrance to her citadel, and think back, the words struggling to come to the forefront of my thoughts, the flow incongruent and muddled.

Not Ro…. not Wuld…. Not Bex….. Wait, is it? No…. it's not….

I scowl and huff in anger at my inability to remember this word- it's one word, how can I forget it?

Finally- it pops up. I take in a breath of air, deep, deep into my lungs, feeling in my body, trembling in anticipation at being used.

I breath it out, the word coming out naturally enough that I only have to whisper-

"Fus."

As I open my eyes, I watch the magic make it's way out of my body, my soul, and into the foundations of the citadel- the door trembles, and releases a question in a low voice, so low I wonder if anyone but Listener could hear it.

"How many lights?"

I consider it- what the hell is the door asking?

Well, if a light is a purpose- then there's me, Luna, and the Black Hand….

Would she make it so easy? Half the people of this world would be able to answer that, with just a tiny bit of knowledge of her.

No…. she wouldn't make it that easy… But what if she did? Would she? The obvious answer would be three, but it wouldn't be that easy…. Could it?

No. I know Listener- she would never make it that easy, or that obvious. It's probably something impossible to quantify, and she just made up the number on the spot.

Or did she?

I open my mouth, and a strong wind comes through, knocking the word out of my lips and into the mysterious force. Nevertheless, it seems I qualify for entry- the door opens, but just a crack. It seems like it needs something else, but there is no way to tell what it might be- or if it's something that anyone but her can accomplish.

I dart forward, the door inching closer to the point of non-entry, and I jam my fingers into the opening, only a brush away from hitting the material that would undoubtedly be able to cut off my fingers in a blink of an eye.

I grunt as I push against the weight of the object, and as it opens more, my babies fly in easily, maneuvering around me with ease and grace only characteristic in them because of their practice and constant hovering.

Finally, I push it up enough for my entire body to get through- though I duck a bit, not wanting my head to get clipped unnecessarily. I am too gorgeous to just die.

The door rolls shut as soon as I dive into the structure, slamming shut with the ever so ominous sound of metal on stone.

My eyes glance around, the entire place dark and boding, lit by sconces along the wall with black metal attaching them.

Now, the small task of finding Listener. In this creepy and very large structure with defenses that could probably kill me.

I…. should have thought this through.

The bloodstains on the stone guide me to a staircase, one that seems to go up forever. On the railing, there's more blood, a dark red, almost a black, fresher than the ones leading me here. Looking to the side, I see Listener's pack, and out of the corner of my eye I can see blood on a steel pillar not too far away.

I hastily climb up five steps, my foot coming down on the sixth, when I'm suddenly hit with something- I can't quite discern it, but I'm suddenly put into the shoes of Listener- I think- and she's watching the snow fall on a mountain top, whirling around and giggling. I get the feeling she's a small child, which is further proven by the old man coming close to me- to her- and scooping her up in his arms, his eyes crinkling at the corner, mouth smiling brightly and fondly at the same time, but no sound coming from him.

I- she- reaches up, her hand touching his beard, grey with age, or stress, something, I'm not quite sure, but he smiles further at that, his throat making a strangling sound that makes the mountain rumble. She- I- laugh at this, and snuggle deeper into the arms of the old man, the familiarity radiating off of both of them.

I'm pulled out of the memory, my mind scrabbling to catch up to this new input being taken away so easily. I gasp, trying to shake myself out of it. What…. What was that?

Did Listener, as a last safety measure or precaution, actually imbue these steps with her memories?

…

Yeah, she'd do that. And likely, this is the only way up.

To what, though?

I guess the only way to know is to follow the memories.

…. And the bloodstains.

Listener's POV

The last memory fades from my mind and I pull myself up by the railing to the end, finally, of these infernal stairs. Again- why did I do that? Sometimes I'm too devious for my own good.

Nevertheless, my goal is in front of me.

The Eye of Magnus' power runs through this place, as it's built upon the ruins of Labyrinthian. Morokei would be so upset at this, wouldn't he? Hah. One good thing about it.

I twitch as I move forward, the pain hitting me much more fully than before, as I lurch towards the Ethereal Apparatus. Magic has been gathered in it since I created it; the whole point of this device was to keep me in an Ethereal state so that I might heal much faster than before.

I never planned on my wounds being this severe, though. My exhaustion will not aid it in this endeavor, or the fact that my soul was almost shattered not a few hours ago.

How long I will be in there? I do not know. The magic held in there is potent- only suitable in small, constrained doses, for almost any magical creature, even a High Elf. I could be healed in minutes, or in a century.

It will not matter to me- but it might matter to the world.

There is a console next to the Apparatus- it will allow me to set what I need to be healed. I doubt it can recreate my wings, and I don't need it to- but it's apparent- even to me- that I cannot heal the damage done to me.

Those idiotic Fairies, I curse them, but focus on my task. I push myself, trembling, desperate to be able to give out under the strain of these wounds, but I cannot. I…. I must survive. Did I not just prove it? The world may never be free from Alduin and his terror, his jaws, his, his, inescapable devilishness.

So I must remain. I am a pillar of righteousness that must always remain, the one thing, the one remnant from the past, the unending, unyielding, unrepentant stone that will never break, will never be defeated, eroded, destroyed, toppled, decimated.

Always, I must be. So others will be.

There is no cost too great, too high, too exuberant for my survival- for I am the world's last hope, the last remaining right they will have to eek out an existence on this plane.

Until I cease, the world remains. And it will always remain, as long as I am here to watch over it.

So I must…. I must…. must… re…. main…..

I am so close to hitting the last button, the one that will start the process to heal me, but my body gives out, toppling to the floor, the strain of my wounds unbearable and unable to be tolerated any longer.

Am I… defeated?

The last Dragonborn…. I have survived decades, centuries, millennia of torment, torture, bone-shattering and soul-tearing pain, yet I am defeated.

Betrayed by my own body. The irony…..

I would laugh... if I had the strength, but…. I can… just barely… hold… my…. eyes… open….

Will anyone… remember me? My…. achievements?... My…. Family?...

I can…

No….

Longer…..

Think….

…..…..

Bickslow's POV

I pull myself up another flight of stairs, looking up and finding the last one- maybe. My foot is almost stepping on the next one when I hear a thud up above me- is it Listener?

My eyes widen, my resolve firming up as I push forward, my foot landing on it and the memory ripping through my mind. In a matter of seconds, it plays out, and I have no time to steel myself in preparation for the next one- I merely push onwards, allowing the memories to pass through me. I can look at them deeply later- Listener might…. She might…

I shake the thought out of my head. No. Can't think like that.

The steps are too wide for me to jump up them two at a time- so I have to proceed like I'm a normal person with no place to be. (244)

I finally cross the last step and move my eyes upwards, finding a center of light cascading down from a small window, the light pure and untainted, a surprise from Listener's usual tastes.

I scan for her, but find nothing until my eyes focus more downwards. She's collapsed on the floor, blood pouring out of her.

"Listener…" My voice is but a whisper, but I move with as much speed as I can, practically flying to her side.

Her eyes are almost completely glazed over, and she doesn't look like she's conscious.

"No…" I mutter, and look around. The console nearest her has some blood on it- does she bleed everywhere, I wonder- but it might have a clue.

Her eyes flutter open for a brief moment, a soft murmur of a word exiting her lips.

"...bic…." is all she get out, though.

She seems to be alive. For now.

Oh god, what do I do?

I stare into the face of my Mate, my eyes scrambling to catch onto some sort of life left in her own blood-red eyes.

I find none.

Light dims around me as the world seems to lose color… How… How did this happen?

How could she be…. Dead?

How can Listener, the person who has done a thousand horrors and more, the person who literally conquered the land to get to me, the person who has maimed and tortured and killed probably thousands of people, be dead?

How- What- Why-

Why would she be dead?

"Isn't….. Isn't it….. That's out of character for you, Listener." I mumble, bowing my head over hers. My hands scramble to unlatch my helmet, wanting to look at her, one final time, with my bare eyes. No magic, no games, no regrets.

The visor falls into my hand easily, and I toss it aside. I have no need of it now. My other hand caresses her face gently, the flesh the same temperature as mine, something that is unnerving to me, even still. (245)

"Why, Listener….. Why…." I whisper, my eyes unable to close as they drop small tears onto her face, the only comfort I receive being that no color leaves her cheeks- the pallor of being a vampire stops it.

I glance up, unable to stand to look at her again, and my eyes alight on the console- what was she reaching for?

I gently set Listener on the floor- refusing to think of her as a body- and move to look at it.

A turquoise button is glowing, reading something in a different language- but it's the largest button on the console, and the bloodstains from Listener are near it- I hope she was reaching for it.

My fingers hover over the button, glancing at Listener on the ground. She looks so…..

Dainty.

Delicate.

Fragile.

Without another second, I push down with my entire hand, feeling the button activate with a surge of energy- magic pulses through it, activating some kind of dam release. The lines in the room light up, and what looks like liquid magic pours into them, which cascade until an entire web of magic lights up the entire room, floor, walls, and ceiling.

I watch in wonder as the runed panel in the floor glows blue, the magic emitting a different kind of light, which, strangely, invokes a calming feeling, as though everything is going to be all right. I dip my hand in the glow of blue, and find the cut from earlier, where Luna stabbed my hand, is gone, not even a scar remaining.

"It's…. A healing pod." I realize, as I gaze upon it, the blue glow summoning up something reminiscent of a bed, only vertical and enclosed on all sides. The top releases and pulls itself open, the magic swirling around it in all manner of blues, some gentle and light, some harsh and dark.

I glance at Listener- at her body- will this help?

Silently, I pick her up, looking at her, and wondering, how long has she had this place of hers? Did she construct it to hasten her end, or to lengthen it?

Will…. Will…

Will she… be alive, if she goes into this… contraption?

I don't know- but my question is….

Does even Listener know?

Morrigan POV

I feel something, as though it is reverberating deep in my bones. Something important is happening, and I can do nothing about it, nor anything to stop. I can only ride out the repercussions.

I pause in speaking to Decimus, feeling this, this power, surging through me at the… loss? Gain? Of someone.

Little is known about it, but grief can send out waves of magic, more potent than anything that could be conjured up by a person intentionally.

But…. it feels more foreign than that. Somehow…. More ancient and powerful…. As if it were a source of magic, used to power anything a civilization could need.

I sink down slowly into a chair, the tent walls that were set up as a temporary command station providing an effective cover for an exhausted leader, although the magic surge is even affecting them. These are inanimate objects, incapable of feeling any magic whatsoever.

"This does not bode well." I whisper, but Decimus catches it, just barely.

"What doesn't bode well?" he asks.

Before I can answer, Nightshade storms in. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes, which, upon closer inspection, look unhealthy, to say the least. Black spots appear at random in them, coming and going seemingly as they please. (246)

"Hello, Morrigan. I see you are well."

"Nightshade. What brings you here?" I question, tired from the battle, but on edge from her appearance. Nothing quite like the daughter of a former leader appearing after said leader has disappeared after making you the next leader makes you nervous.

"I am here to announce that I am the new leader of the Black Hand. Listener is dead." she says it somberly, but smiles as she does.

A wonderful sign, as always.

"Why should you be leader?"

"Listener appointed it to me, before she was murdered by her Mate, Bickslow."

"High accusations, Luna." Her hand twitches, but her fixed smile remains. "There is no evidence to back your claim up, and, besides, Listener turned operations over to me before she left."

"You were not there to see it." she claims, her smile sliding off her face with remarkable speed and ease.

"Then why should I believe you?" I ask, looking evenly up at her, a glint of steel in my eyes.

Her eyes narrow, and she turns around, moving back the few paces to the tent's exit.

She pauses, though, blocking both the entrance and the exit. Her eyes glitter, her pupils and sclera consumed with the black spots from earlier so no light can get through, nor any of the green and red can shine out.

The black recedes in a moment, then Luna looks at me evenly and says, "I will have my army standing ready to meet yours on the battlefield."

With that, the daughter of Listener turns on her heel and walks out, head held high, and a smirk on her face, self-assured at her claim.

Decimus steps out of the shadows, his eyes still locked on the retreating figure of Luna.

"What did she mean, Morrigan?" he asks, although I know he knows the answer. He just dreads it.

I sigh. "Regrettably, it means what you think it means."

He nods. "Of course. I will go set up a lacrima."

I walk outside of the tent, Decimus hurrying off, and I use my magic to make sure the sound of my voice reaches all the people in the encampment.

"We…... are going to war."

244- Well, I was a little faster than that. A little bit.

245- All vampires have naturally cold skin- it grants us immunity to the cold.

246- Unusual, but normally not a cause for alarm. Normally.