Well, here it is. All this buildup, and it comes down to this. I hope it's satisfactory.

This is the second to last chapter before I take a long break. Is the next one another "season finale?" Sure. Why not? Mostly I don't have time to be writing fanfiction anymore, and I won't for a while. I'll talk about all this later, though.

In the meantime, to get you in the mood: watch?v=9piElENpvmM

They waited, in the darkness, for a long time.

Astraea herself became a human shrine. They came, and they worshipped her there, and Garl was ever present, watching. They hardly spoke, there was nothing to say. Soon, the days began to blur together.

When invaders entered their swamp, they knew, but they held off as they always had. Warrior after warrior came, but none made it through. In the end, the depraved ones finished them before they ever reached the first archstone.

But they knew, the moment that the Leechmonger was killed, that something was different about this recent group. They were hardened in a way that the others hadn't been. Bloodied in a way that only served to benefit them. They had survived the fog before, and would continue to survive it, and it showed.

"He's here," Astraea said, suddenly. Connected throughout the swamp, to every demon, she felt the Dirty Collosus as if its death were her own.

"He?" Garl said.

"There's only one...but he's stronger than the others."

"How strong?" Garl asked.

"Perhaps too strong."

Garl stood.

"Leave now," Astraea said.

He turned to her.

"I've done what I came to do...and you won't win. He's here only for me. Leave, and only one of us will die. You can tell them that you tried to defend Osford. You can go back to a normal life," Astraea said.

Garl only drew his mace.

"As your Saint and your Lady, I command you to leave," Astraea said.

"You're a Saint no longer, and I am a Knight no longer," Garl said. "And I choose to defend you."

She watched him step forward, then gazed to the ground.

"Then so be it. Go, Garl Vinland, if you must...then go."

Nameless stepped out of the tunnel to see a large group of the dreglings...standing. Their arms were raised. Their backs were to him, and he moved as stealthily as he could in full armor. He was surprised at how none of them seemed to hear him. When he reached one, he came up behind it, wrapped his fingers around its mouth, and cut its throat.

When he looked up, he saw that another had spotted him. He threw the Dregling's body down, and then turned to the new foe.

"Stop!" he heard a woman's voice say.

He looked down, and saw her sitting there. At the end of the giant cavern, built almost as a makeshift chapel. In front of her stood a man in heavy, at least partially ornamental armor: Garl Vinland.

She glowed white, and held something in her hands that looked like the sun.

"They will not fight you," she said. "This is a sanctuary for the lost, and the wretched, and you are an intruder. Go back."

He turned back to the demon facing him, and saw that it wasn't facing him anymore. Like the others, it had its arms raised in praise toward her, and seemed to neither care about him, nor the companion that he had just murdered.

He sheathed his sword.

"We only mean to help these people," Astraea said. "The only way that we can. Leave us be, please."

But he stepped forward.

"I will face him," Garl said, and approached with his club held in both hands.

But when they stood ten feet from eachother, they stopped.

"What are you waiting for?" Garl asked. "Draw your weapon."

Nameless did not.

"I told you to draw your weapon."

"Why?"

Garl stopped, confused for a moment, before he answered. "Because I assume that you wish to fight."

"Yes. But it would be easier for you if I didn't draw my weapon, wouldn't it?" Said Nameless.

"I will not strike an unarmed man," said Garl. "Draw."

Nameless stood still for a moment, and then laughed, harshly. "Some demon's servant you are...you clearly haven't adjusted to your new role."

"The world is not that simple," said Garl.

"No," Nameless said, without hesitation. "It isn't."

There was a pause between them.

"Are you going to draw your sword?" Garl asked.

"That's not why I'm here."

"Then...why are you here?" Garl asked.

"I want you to tell me why," he said.

"I don't understand," said Garl.

"No...no, not why," Nameless said. "I think I know why. I...I want you to tell me how."

"How?"

"Tell me how you...why..." Nameless struggled, his head drooped, and his voice cracked as his calm facade nearly broke. "Tell me how you can follow her...but...explain it. Make me understand."

"I swore that I would," Garl said, without thinking.

"That's...that's not enough," Nameless said, and now his voice was cracking. "Please...she...you gave up everything, I mean, for her. You gave up your morals, and your life, you gave up...who you were, you gave it all up. Tell me, please...make me understand how."

There was a pause.

"I can't explain that," Garl said.

"Try!" Nameless suddenly screamed. Then took a step backwards. "Please...just...just try. I want to know. Please, tell me how you do it. Tell me how you can devote yourself to someone or something like that, and sacrifice everything. Because I...I..."

Garl's weapon lowered.

"I chose a path," he said. "I will follow it to the end."

"But how did you choose it?" Asked Nameless.

Garl was silent for a long time, then said. "In some ways, I had no choice."

"Explain that."

"I love her. I love her more than all of the creatures in this room, the ones who worship her, combined. I love her enough to die for something that I don't believe in. I love her enough to help her destroy this world."

"Why?" Nameless said. "Why do you love her so much?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me."

"I can't."

"Please, tell me how to keep fighting!" Nameless screamed. "Tell me how to not give up! Tell me how to keep striving even when every step takes you deeper into hell!"

"I don't know." Garl said.

"For the love of god, please!"

"There is no god." Garl said. "I serve Astraea. I always served her, and to death I will. The church was nothing in comparison. Vinland was nothing in comparison. I knew, from the moment I met her, that she was what I would fight for. There is no universal. There is no secret. I made a choice, and if you wish to be as dedicated as I was, you must make a choice, too. Because there are limits to how far you can push yourself when someone is asking for you to do something. There are limits to what you can accomplish.

But if it is something you have chosen for yourself, there are none."

Nameless was silent.

"Thank you," he said.

"I take it you aren't here to fight, then," Garl said.

"No. I am," said Nameless. "I have to."

"Why?" asked Garl.

"Because if I don't, my friends will," Nameless said. "And if someone is going to kill you, it needs to be me."

Garl raised his weapon, again.

"Then draw your sword."

Nameless drew.

One of the depraved ones lowered its hands. The others followed. Their eyes turned away from Astraea, and down, down to the two knights who stood in front of her, watching eachother, standing on the edge of the putrid water.

Nameless kept his distance, and felt his boots sinking into the mud. There wasn't very much space, here. That massive thing that Garl was wielding had a lot of range. His best bet was to get in close, but he had to make sure he caught him off guard when he did.

Garl was silent, but his eyes did not move away.

"Your sister is out there," Nameless said.

Garl was silent.

"I just thought that you deserved to know."

Garl just stood, and waited.

"Do you even care?"

"Fight me," Garl said.

Nameless growled, and then charged.

The sound of steel hitting steel resounded throughout the room as masses of metal collided with eachother. Everything was a blur and an echo of fury for both of them. Nameless felt Garl's mace hit him, he felt his ribs crack and his stance wobble but his sword was undeterred, and there was a loud clang as it hit Garl's helmet, denting it, Garl staggered and his sword rose again, but it only hit Garl's shield, the rebound left him open, too open. The mace came upward this time, and his stomach seemed to hit his lungs. He coughed up enough blood to stain the inside of his beaver and spray out through its holes. Pain blurred the world. But when Garl tried to hit again, he was too close, he charged into him, headbutted him, tackled him to the ground. He didn't know where his shield had gone, it'd be useless here, anyway. He held his sword in both hands and beat it against Garl's armor, again, and again, but it didn't seem to go through. Garl's struggling arm swung, and the mace hit him in the side so hard that he was knocked off. He rolled on the ground and nearly sank into the frothing water. His sword, however, flew out of his hand, and did. He watched as tiny hands came out of the pool, grabbed the weapon, and pulled it under.

He didn't have time to wonder what they were, Garl was trying to get up. He scrambled over and before the mace could hit him this time, he held Garl's arm down and then beat it furiously. Finally, the gauntlent was dented, the fingers let go. He knocked the mace away. They struggled on the ground with nothing more than clumsy, armored fists. There was no way to avoid the punches. It was a constant onslaught and flurry of blows given and received. He felt his jaw crack, his crotch burn in pain, his eye shut and he couldn't open it again, his shoulder throbbed and he lost his wind. The pain seemed in a different dimension. He grabbed Garl's helmet by the fin and pulled it off. He didn't give himself time to see his enemy's face. His fists came down, again, and again, and again, steel hit bare flesh. Garl's punches became weaker. Soon he couldn't feel them, soon they weren't there, but he kept going. His fists were hitting skin, and then bone, and then the ground beneath it, but he didn't stop. He didn't even look at it. He just kept punching.

And then fatigue hit him, instantly, and he collapsed.

He expected retribution, a hit back, but he heard only his own pants. Garl was silent and still beneath him.

He was dead.

Nameless scrambled forward, trying with each grasping hand to pull himself up, but failing to do so. He didn't want to see what had happened to Garl's face. If he did, he'd have to connect it with himself, and he couldn't. His hands pulled him forward, and finally, by climbing up along the wall, he managed to stand.

He looked up. All around him, the Depraved Ones were still watching, and sitting at the end of the water, far across from him, was Astraea.

There was only one thing to do.

He shambled forward, his leg hurt with every step. He must have broken it at some point. He couldn't remember how. The moment that the water touched his skin, he felt weak, so weak that he might fall over, but somehow, he held himself up.

Then came the hands, pulling at him, grabbing him. They tore his armor away, they exposed his legs, and he felt them biting him. He looked down, and saw them: children so young that their hair had not grown in, rising from the water and tackling him, pulling him down. They grinned malicious grins, some of them cried, he felt their desperation.

One climbed up onto his back. It whispered into his ear, and somehow, over the distortion of its voice, he understood.

"Don't hurt her," it said. "Don't hurt mammy."

He pushed it away, and it fell back into the water again. But more came, and soon he was coughing. The blood from his mouth hit the water, and stained it redder. But he kicked, and struggled, and finally fell forward, he waited for the water to hit him, for their claws to reach up and grab at his face.

But beneath him was dry ground, and when he crawled forward, he was on the other side.

"You killed him, didn't you?" he heard.

He looked up, and saw Astraea there, staring at him.

He wanted to say something, but instead he just coughed, and more blood hit the dirt.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why..." he murmured, trying not to cough again. "Why...you? Why do this...you sacrificed everything...please tell me. Please..."

"I won't give you that satisfaction," she said.

"Please..."

"You've come so far, all for your precious Demon's Soul," she said.

"No...no that's not it," he said. "I just...I just want to know. Please, tell me..."

"I'm no fool," Astraea said. "I know the plan of the Monumental. The Maiden. We all do. Tell me, how does it feel to crawl your way ever closer toward being an archdemon?"

"Toward..." his mind was racing. "Toward what?"

"They've turned you into a pawn," she said. "You don't even know. I pity you. I pity you for your losses, and for your accursed gains, and for the lust for power that drove you to Boletaria. I pity you even more because you don't remember it. You are a wretched thing, no longer human or demon, no longer even a phantom, and you will never find the solace that you seek. All that you have done, or will do, is destroy. But you won't destroy me," she said.

"Do you...do you know me...?" he asked.

She pulled a dagger from under her frock.

"Wait, wait!" he screamed, and tried to get up. "Wait, do you know me!? Please, just tell me! Do you know who I am, what I am? Did you see me enter the fog? What was I like? Who was I? Please!"

She smiled, softly.

"Yes, I know everything about you."

And then, looking into his eyes, she stabbed the dagger into her heart.

"Take it," she repeated, as the light in her eyes faded. "Take your precious Demon's Soul."

No...he scrambled toward her with energy he hadn't had before. No. No, no, no, no, NO!

He grabbed her, he held her, he felt his hands running toward where the bleeding was, trying to stop it. Her face was blank, she wasn't breathing.

"Please!" He screamed at the dead body, and clawed at it. It was supposed to speak again. It was supposed to tell him where to go, and what to do, and who to be. It was supposed to tell him what the Maiden had planned for him, it was supposed to strengthen his resolve, and to pull him onward.

But it was simply dead.

Silently, he placed his head in Astraea's bosom, and wept.

The Depraved Ones did not. They only watched, as they lost the closest thing to hope that they had ever had. They weren't angry, they weren't sad, they had always known it would happen with the quiet certainty of those who have never had stable comfort. One by one, they left the cave, and returned to the marsh above, their lives now as without meaning as they had been before.

Nameless felt it, the rush, the power, the rejuvenating glory. He didn't want it. He struggled against it, he pulled away at it, but it was there. Throbbing within him, and there was no way to avoid it. It was the fourth, and only one Archdemon's soul remained.

And with the soul came a voice. Soft. Softer than a whisper.

Bring me...bring me...souls...

How does it feel to crawl your way ever coser toward being an archdemon?

He realized what the plan had been, what it was all along.

He scrambled toward the water, and placed Astraea's body in it. The hands took her, they pulled at her, and her trainquil face fell beneath the waves. Her features as bright as ever.

And then he turned, behind him was the archstone.

"Do ye think we should trust him?" Biorr said.

"He didn't kill us," said Ostrava. "He could have, and he had every reason to, but he didn't."

"Yeah, because ye convinced him, lad," Biorr said.

"There's still no reason why he would suddenly betray us after that," Ostrava said.

"Ye never know," Biorr said. "He could be a crafty one."

The Maiden's gentle hands wrapped bandages around them as they spoke.

"Thank you for this, milady," Ostrava said to her, changing the topic.

She was silent.

"There's something missing around here..." Biorr murmured. Then he perked up. "That's right, where's that old guy, whasshisname."

"Sage Freke?" Ostrava asked.

"That's right, the Freak. What happened to him?" Biorr asked the maiden.

She froze, and then there was a pause.

Finally, she said, "Gone."

"Well lookit that," Biorr said. "She went'n said something. She has a pretty voice, too. Ye should speak more often, lass."

She was silent again.

Biorr sighed, "Oh well."

Then, one of the nodes made a familiar sound, they looked over, and saw Nameless forming out of the ground, his body coming into existence.

"He's back!" said Ostrava.

Biorr was the first to notice how beaten up he was. "Well, most of him."

But the moment that Nameless was fully formed, he fell forward.

"Oh god," Ostrava said, and tried to stand up, but couldn't.

Instead, the Maiden took off running, and again they were surprised, as they had never seen her run before. She ran to him, and she grabbed at him, and tried to help pull him up.

But as soon as she touched him, he pushed her away. She almost fell, but without her to balance on, he did fall.

"Get...get away from me," he said. "Get away. You...you're trying to make me into a monster."

She stepped back, and frowned deeply.

"I can hear it," he said, as he tried and failed to get to his feet on his own. "I can hear its voice. It's constantly there. It isn't going away."

"I-"

"Don't..." he said. "Don't say anything. I killed two good people...because of you. When I said I wouldn't fight for you anymore. And I found out, now. I know the truth. I know what you're trying to do."

"To draw out the Old One-" she started.

"Shut up!" he said. "I..." but he didn't say anything else. His words broke apart into sobs, and he allowed himself to fall to the ground. When she came close to him again, he kicked at her, like a child throwing a tantrum. Finally, she backed away.

And in the back of his mind, he heard it scratching at him, pulling him toward it, begging him onward.

Bring me. It whispered. Bring me...souls.

"How long do you think that we can be here?" Garl asked, as they sat in the dark, waiting, long before Nameless arrived.

"Not forever," said Astraea. "Perhaps not even for long."

"Then why?" Garl asked.

Astraea looked at him.

"If we are going to die, if this is all going to be for nothing, then why do it?"

"Because we have to," said Astraea. "Because anyone who does not is a part of the problem. And because, short lived as it may be, as long as we're here, we can change this place for the better, which is better than doing nothing at all."

"But they'll come for us, milady," Garl said.

"Yes, but when you choose a path, you stand by it," she said, with a soft smile. "That's all there is to it."

Garl tried again to hide his feelings, and wasn't sure if he was successful. She already knew, he thought to himself, so why bother? Still, something kept him embarassed, and easily flustered.

Neither of them spoke, and they sat there, calmly, in silent, restrained bliss.