A mission.

The earth shakes beneath me, bringing my heaved-over body to collapse against the naked earth. Another burst of energy corrupts my back, the wave searing me under my layers. Rider stands beside me, his rage rolling off him in a despicably quiet manner as he reaches down to pick up his king's crook.

"You stole from me. And you belittled my possession with your dirt."

I need to concentrate. I need to focus.

A mission

A mission.

A mission? For some stupid reason, all I can visualize in my darkness is that damned homeroom teacher of mine; he lingers over me at my desk, my desk of blood that is this earth, and commands me forward.

Breathe, girl. Breathe and count your breathes.

"No. Yes, no, yes you are right."
"Which is it?"

Wait.

Count.
"Yes. I am a commergirl and I have wronged you. You are the king of kings, aren't you?" I wipe my eyes and heave a shaky, single breath. "You are absolutely right. You have every right to kill me. You-"

"Then I should." A flicker, not unlike a fly suddenly running into my neck; but it stays, a metallic threat, cold to the touch despite my burning body.

"Yes." He rolls the staff in his hand, the metallic growing and shrinking against my body as my eyes remain unmoving. They rest uselessly in the space between my uncurled, useless hands.

Useless.

Useless.

Useless.

I can hear my father, I can see him sitting across from me at dinner, newspaper in hand, protecting his face from my bleeding eyes.

Useless.

The metallic sits still, and my goosebumps rise uncontrollably. The sphinx roars.

Count, you damned failure, count!

He has every right to kill me.

And this wait is killing me.

Seconds drip by. Hours, days, years. An eternity of awaiting my ultimate (and rather untimely) demise before he retracts.

"You will serve me henceforth."
"Yes."

"You will do your part."
"Yes."
The cold removes itself from my neck. The breath I didn't know I was holding in is release, my heart scratching against me for oxygen.

"Now get up and move."

I have a mission. I have a duty. I need to stand up, and I do. One leg at a time. One fist against the ground to push up.

One mission. One responsibility.

One chance.

I look at Rider without flinching. He must be exhausted, I can see bags beginning to develop under his perfect eyes. Those golden veins still flex under his skin, rivers of power. Those eyes are almost as beautiful as Lancer's. I can almost count the veins, the pulsating gold.

I step closer to him

"I need to get to the waterside. Can you… grace me with your presence?"

"Why?" He seems somewhat actually puzzled, but my expression remains unchanged. I start walking towards the many explosions, like the utter idiot I am. "If he won't let me touch him, I'll have to expose him to what was put in me. The next best thing would be to indirectly get to him, like how Lancer died the first time."

"Speak clearly to your king, commergirl."

I turn around and watch him. My hair is thrown to the side, then to the other side, before settling down again. I must look rabid with this fire behind me.

"Can you come with me to get to Caster?"

He reclines a little before walking towards me. He considers his options. "No, but I shall continue pressuring him. His mana should be depleting, at least a little at this time."

"That's fine by me. Where's Archer?"

He nods his head to the forest behind me, and I run. I never would have figured that the one thing that made me who I am would be the thing leading me to my death; then again, I never thought that, if I were to end my life of my own free will, it wouldn't be for something as damn stupid as this. But I can't think of anything better.

Between me and the warzone is the game of chess between the Sphynx and the monster from the forest. They slam and slam, claws raking and mouths agape as they try to tear out each other's throats. One foot slams into the earth, followed by a body, and I run between them. For some reason, the sphynx is on fire, or it ignites on this instant. The winged beast thrusts its foe up and throws it to the side, somewhere beside me and too close for comfort. If I looked up, I'd be under an archway of terror, bodies colliding into one another. The instant I clear them, the warzone suddenly explodes in a fury of dust, as the monster-beast from earlier (you know, the one with the eyes that are too big) is catapulted into the earth – I can only assume he was thrown here from the moon, based on how hard he hits the ground. Beasts and tentacles are thrown aside, and I can't tell you which is which anymore. The ground is coated over in a dark red, and I trek through, legs pounding in my trademark, messy run. Past the beast, past the petite woman who lands beside me as she finishes him off. Past the man with the daunting eyes who quarrels with the knight with green hair. Tentacles still wiggle across the earth as terrible terrors consume them, blood and devastation reeking on a whole new level of disgusting. Someone that I can only imagine must look like me – at least, me with my hair out of control, covered in blood, and in worst shape than a prostitute on Labor Day - moves at a dazzling pace as it throws itself at the petite woman. A man with a roaring, boastful smile draws back a sword, and charges in after the variant version of me. Running in slow motion wouldn't have helped me catch a full glimpse, nothing could. Not with this insanity. Beyond the last few trees, and I almost am thrown over Archer's collapsed body.

Almost

I jump at the last second and spin around to go to him – bad choice. Something hits me from behind, and instead I'm thrown at him.

I get up, hands in fists as I push against everything I know. Slowly but surely I'm back on my feet, right hand thrown back as if to protect Archer's lifeless body. I grind my teeth and look at the end of the world: eyes even, neither of us moving.

He seems unfazed, that gruesome grin still terrifying consuming his face. I breathe steadily, forcing myself to behave like any hero would. The thing that I thought I saw earlier has amounted to a beast nearly thirty feet tall and continuously growing.

My knees buckle a little under me, but like hell I'm about to give up.

Caster is saying something, but I'd be lying if I said I was paying attention; he stands a few steps away from the last bleeding star, the eighth one in this puzzle with seven pieces. The song of life, the birds, the bees, the rustle of the branches underfoot, ceases to exist. The only sound from the forest and world around me is that of fire, the cackle of Death, the terror within us all. I want to fall to my knees – god, if only I could! – and lie down. I want to curl up and cry and wait for my end. I want to, I want to, I want to!

And for the flicker of an instant – a heartbeat, really, the same amount of time that spans a lifetime – everything that has lead up to this burns within my mind. What I saw that Wednesday. The flower that blossomed as Assassin loomed just outside of sanity's reach. Lancer's birthmark, smile, and tears. The glint in Berserker's eyes under the moonlight. The knife in my protector's back. My… my guardian, that hero in red. Caster's death-defying face, the lips that curl around those sharp teeth. The heart of the fire on my back ignites me, my horror, my resolve.

I turn to look at Archer and nearly sob outloud when I realize he's still alive; barely, but he IS still here. I whisper, barely audible as Caster takes two steps closer to me. Three. Four.

I stop looking at him and stare at the still-glowing ball of energy, the eighth one. Who is that? What is that? Caster begins speaking to me, but like hell I'm going to listen to that crack job. His face is lit up by the ball of light, his hands almost touching it as he marvels at… something or other. He may be saying something about his dearly beloved, but it sounds kinda religious: sorry guys, but I was never very good at listening in church.

"Archer, I have one more trick up my sleeve." I can't look at him, I can't afford to. All I can do is pray in internal screaming that he can hear me. "I need you to watch me and help. I need you Archer, okay?" I can hear him cough, and I take that as a yes.

And somehow he rises; I don't know the fullest extent of this – the hows or the whys or any of that shit – but he rises, and that's all that matters right now.

I inhale crisp air. There's a pain in my side (maybe my rib?) and a throbbing in my head. My ankle feels a little swollen, and I'm pretty sure that, all in all, I look like the shit I feel like.

But I inhale and I run.

Not at Caster – hell no, he'll just keep throwing me into the ground with his sea monsters – but rather at the ball of light. The eights ball of light in a war of seven servants.

No, I don't know what it is. I don't know who it is, I don't know where it came from or where it's going. No, I'm sorry, not it, but they – it is a light after all, and all life is light.

And life, at the end of the day, is opportunity.

Caster must be screaming, because that is all I hear. As my fingertips extend into the light, I am consumed (again) by everything that is and everything that never was, all that never will be. This blinding light that drips… how do I explain it? I really can't. My soul ignites, my heart chokes on its sobs, and my vision turns indigo.

Everything. Everything that is and all that is not and everything in between. Time. Life. Death. The Earth spins beneath me as I'm suspended in a reality that is not real. That blind spot? That one in your eyes that you never noticed until someone pointed it out? That blind spot that you can never pinpoint, but is always there?

That is this.

That is here.

And this is me.