A/N: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them.

1 Fate Hollow Ataraxia OST - Stranger (Extended)

2 I'll protect you from everything (Fate/Stay night: Heaven's Feel - III. Spring Song OST)

3 Fate/ zero OST -Painful-

Kyrazis dragged another one of the bridge crew out from beneath the wreckage; Araldir, one of the comms officers. Both of his legs were missing, crushed under his terminal when the cruiser crash landed on the planet. Luckily, he was still conscious, and holding back his own blood from spilling out from the wound with his telekinesis.

The ship's bridge was a mess. Shattered Wraithbone lay in jagged splinters of all sizes, some falling down upon them and impaling the bridge crew while the crash itself flattened the ship under its own weight, trapping some like the grimacing Aeldari in his arms.

If this was a human ship, there would have been sparks and flames, but as most of the ship was psychically powered, there was no fire and smoke to burn and choke them. However, with the Wraithbone shattered, the innards of the ship were dark as a starless moonless night, and it was only thanks to their eagle eyes and enhanced senses that they could move around safely.

Mordraxus was busy at the somewhat intact command throne, backrest laid backwards to its fullest to function as an impromptu surgery table. Another Aeldari lay there, fully awake and cognizant as the bent form of the biomancer loomed over the hole in her midriff. His hands were raised above the wound, as if to protect a candle from being blown out by a harsh wind, using his psychic telekinesis to hold the various ruptured blood vessels and displaced organs of the Aeldari who had been pinned to the ground like an insect by a shard of Wraithbone. He lifted the blood that had spilt out when they extracted the shard in a single globule, and proceeded to knit the various broken tissues together in a patchwork that would stop the bleeding. The patient grit her teeth. This would save her life, but the treatment would cause immense discomfort as these new connections and forcefully grown scar tissue would tug and pull her innards in odd ways if she moved too quickly or forcefully. Empty bottles and depleted equipment were placed in a neat row next to his feet. Mordraxus's supplies were virtually exhausted, meaning he had only his psychic talents left to treat the wounded.

"The Mon-keigh will come soon." Kyrazis said, as he carried the Aeldari with the missing legs to lie with the other grievously injured. "How many more can we get mobile?"

Casualty reports from the psychic net told him that every other deck was more or less in the same state. On average, one fifth had died in the impact, with a third of the survivors severely wounded; immobile and unable to fight or flee. Everyone else was bruised, bleeding, or had minor fractures in their bones, but kept all their limbs and organs in the proper place.

"Another couple hours, and I should be able to get another 5 or so moving if they have all their limbs." Mordraxus replied calmly as the wound closed beneath his hands and he squirted some organic sealant to hold the scar tissue closed as a sort of spray on bandage. "Most of my medical supplies are already spent, and my mind grows weary from the psychic exertion of these surgeries."

Kyrazis frowned as he tore off part of Araldir's uniform to tie a tourniquet around his thighs. The man's eyelids were fluttering, and if he passed out he would bleed to death in seconds.

"We need to get everyone out of here as quickly as possible." He said as he pulled the strips of cloth tight, cutting off the blood flow to the wound physically. "The ash clouds above us hide our position and should dissipate their laser weapons, but we are easy targets here."

"And do what, Kyrazis?" The woman on the surgery table suddenly spoke up, raising herself with her arms even as a trickle of blood ran out the side of her mouth. "Run into the wilderness of this gray world of ash and fire and live like those young souls and hermits who ran before the Fall?"

"I would appreciate it if you did not move, Ysolara." Mordarxus admonished as he inspected the work he had done on the wound. "There, all done. Next patient, please."

Ysolara, one of the several Aeldar who had been in charge of firing the ship's weapons, slid off the impromptu surgery table, as two other bridge staff lifted another injured Aeldari into position for Mordraxus to work on.

"What would you have us do then?" Kyrazis stood up to his full height, looming over her. The helmet he wore was gone, shattered by a piece of falling rubble, revealing the pale white clammy skin of his face; red scar on his cheek clearly visible.

The battle with the Mon-keigh had been lost partially due to his decision to focus everything on the enemy flagship. He had felt discontent from the others through the restored psychic net, but he would not tolerate a mutiny here at this time. He could not die here, after everything he had been through.

"I do not know what you or any of the others should do, but I wish to stay here and meet her."

Kyrazis blinked, dumbfounded for a moment before scowling at Ysolara.

"She does not understand us. She does not accept us." He hissed.

That woman who was on the Mon-keigh ship told them only to land on the planet, where a new life awaited them. After everything they had shown her, she told them to live like the Exodites who ran before the disaster struck.

That was not why he had shown her what he had been through; why he relived the horror of losing everything as his mind poured out across space into her heart.

He had asked for an answer to why they had suffered, for what purpose. In return, she offered a solution that was too late, too little, and already attempted by those activists ages ago. That advice fell on deaf ears for thousands of years. Why did she think listening to them now would yield a different result?

"She does not accept what we've done…" Ysolara nodded. "But she has not forsaken us."

Kyrazis snorted at this. "After everything we've just been through, how can you say that?"

The sudden loss of contact with the slave carriers was noticed by all of them. That woman had played a direct part in their defeat. She had chosen the side of the Mon-keigh. What other evidence was necessary to show that she was the enemy?

Ysolara looked downwards, but Kyrazis could feel through the psychic net that she was not cowed by him. She was searching for something inside herself, some way to phrase what she felt. He waited while she formed the sentence in her mind.

He knew this was a waste of time. It had been several hours since the crash, and the Mon-keigh were surely on their way. However, something stopped him from turning away from her answer. Some part of him needed to hear her out.

"I felt her, even in the heat of battle." Ysolara finally opened her lips and spoke. "More than once, her arms brushed against the frame of this ship, passing through my soul and mind as she took all those who died." She stared up into his eyes calmly, and slightly questioningly. "Do you know what I felt at that moment?"

Kyrazis remained silent. The emotion she felt was clear from the psychic signals she sent, but he waited for her to vocalize them.

"Love." Ysolara whispered, and Kyrazis's fists balled as something struggled inside him.

He knew what she felt, because he had felt it as well. Even as hard as he rejected that woman, he could not help but feel her in his very essence.

"Even though she hates what we've done and despises how we've lived our lives, she does not hold it against us." Ysolara finished her sentence, and it was her turn to wait as Kyrazis stood before her, fists shaking as he struggled within himself, rational mind fighting against his irrational emotions.

"Then why kill us?" Kyrazis finally spat out, logic winning over his emotions. "Why drag us into the Mon-keigh trap? Why sabotage our ships, and send us hurtling to the very planet she picked to live on?"

Every action marked her as the enemy. She acted against them both passively as bait, and actively as the saboteur of some of their ships.

"I do not know why she does this to all of us, but after seeing and feeling her, I think I understand why she does this to me." Ysolara took a deep breath before continuing. "She does this to me because I want her to."

"You want to die?" Kyrazis's tone was calm, as if part of him expected the answer.

Ysolara smiled sadly before answering. "I have lived 4000 years, Kyrazis. Every day stopped being an adventure eons ago. In my many lives, I filled the emptiness in my heart that returned every time I reclaimed all the memories I ever had with empty victories over green skins and other primitive aliens. I had already experienced and explored the complicated philosophies and moralities of my actions ages ago. Only the basest acts could bring chemical and hormonal joy in my biological brain, for my soul stopped feeling anything in a forgotten moment of the past. I had everything I ever wanted. I did what I wished and ignored or obliterated everything that annoyed me. That was how I lived, and those actions are what I am now. Trying to live another life now would be to give this body to another person who uses my name, pretending to be someone else, ignoring 4000 years worth of experience and memory."

Ysolara looked up into Kyrazis's eyes, and he saw the weariness in them as he felt the exhaustion radiate from her heart.

"I abandoned our home and followed you for only one reason. Now, I have no need to fear even that."

They were both silent for a while. Kyrazis understood how she felt. It was similar to the mix of emotions he experienced when he stared into the eyes of that daemon back home, but calmer and warmer.

Where his secrets had been brought up from the depths, forcefully reflected in those obsidian mirrors embedded in the orbits of the daemon's skull, hers flowed out naturally like clear water from a newborn spring.

Where he had wanted an escape from pain and guilt, she simply wanted to lie down and rest.

A sudden shiver crossed Kyrazis's skin and Ysolara rubbed her arm as if a chilly wind had just rushed past them.

"She comes, Kyrazis. Do you feel her?" Kyrazis could only nod as Ysolara turned towards the direction they instinctively felt her to be. "She comes for us, even after everything we've done."

There was silence on the bridge and within the psychic net. Only the wet squelch of Mordraxus's surgery interrupted it.

"I was everything I wanted to be on our home world." Araldir, the legless Aeldari spoke up from the ground.

Kyrazis turned to the man, propped up on his elbows, breathing shakily from pain and blood loss.

"I am my past actions and perverse pleasures. There is no changing that. Living any other way would be living a life that was not mine." The man licked his lips and snickered to himself. "I've had enough fun, and finally felt a love I never knew existed." He turned his eyes to Kyrazis. "Everything is good in her arms. This is her mercy."

Kyrazis stepped backwards, and leaned against one of the broken terminals of the bridge. He understood them, even without their emotions radiating out of the psychic net. Their words rang within him, resonating with a feeling that part of him continued to reject.

"I will fight till the last moment." He finally said, and several of the bridge crew chuckled, as if they had all known what he was going to say.

"That is how you've lived student of Qa'leh…" Araldir said, lying back down on the floor. "Not me."

"Go…" Ysolara stepped backwards, out of the way to the most direct path to the corridor that led out of the bridge. "She is waiting."

Kyrazis slowly walked towards the exit, pausing as he passed the impromptu surgery table.

"... And you Mordraxus?" He asked, without looking behind him. "Do you plan to stay here with these suicidal fools?"

"I must say, I agree with most of what's been said. I can only live the life I have had until now. Although, I do wish to see her with my own two eyes. Everything I've ever wanted to know and learn lies within her. Although she is certainly disappointed in me, I too can feel her love. I will join you, once I fix this one's wounds. I'm sure some others would like to follow, and it would be my pleasure as a biomancer to work my craft a few more times before I meet her."

Kyrazis chuckled to himself. "You are all fools."

"As are you." Mordraxus replied, chidingly. "You're more tired than you think you are. I can see what you intend to do. For me, I'd prefer to go quietly."

At this, Kyrazis could only shrug as he started walking out of the bridge again. "Then I guess I'm just as foolish as the lot of you, but what are we all but a race of self-destructive fools?"

"Life does that sometimes." Mordarxus called out after him. "I've seen even simple worms cause their own self-inflicted extinction, destroying the very bacterial mats they evolved in before…"

Kyrazis threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Save your trivia for when you meet her, although I'm sure she knows most of what you do already."

There was a chuckle behind him, muffled by the mask Mordraxus wore. "Yes, I look forward to standing underneath her branches, and listening to the wisdom that flows beneath her bark."

—-

1

As Kyrazis walked down the dark twisted corridors of the crashed ship, back towards his cabin, he reflected on his last conversation with the bridge staff. For so long, he had always referred to them internally by their role or responsibility on the cruiser. Now, he actually bothered to remember their names.

What they had said to him resonated with him, but he wanted to reject it as well. Being in such a jumbled state of mind wouldn't do. This would be his last act. He wanted his thoughts to be as clear as possible, as all the best fighters who survived the longest in the arena always did.

'I wanted to be punished.' He thought to himself. 'It was the same for all the others who took up arms against you. We wanted to be worthy of you, once again.'

They had wanted her to tell them the reason for their suffering. That was not an idle wish or fleeting curiosity. They had wanted the shame and guilt they felt before her to be validated. To be admonished and lectured as to what they had done, and how they should have lived their lives in order to better follow her teachings.

When she told them to live as the Exodites did, they rejected her.

That was the answer the activists had given them over and over again, and not hers. They hadn't chosen that path then, and it was meaningless to choose that now after everything they had lost.

They did not want a new life. They wanted their old ones to return. But, they knew that was impossible. So, they did not bother asking her for that. Instead, they asked for a reason for their loss.

If it was due to them disobeying her, then they would suffer her punishment.

If it was some test they had failed, they would have done their best to try again.

If it was because they had been discarded for some new race, they would have done their best through violence or guile to show that they were better than the Mon-keigh.

But, her reply was none of these.

She did not judge them or answer their questions, merely watched them all with those silver eyes.

At first, they all thought it was a rejection; that she did not understand their pain or hear their cries. But, as the battle progressed, as they felt more and more of their number fall into her embrace, they understood what the emotion was within those eyes.

'It's funny.' Kyrazis chuckled to himself as he entered the crooked doorway of the cabin he used. 'Even though I don't know your name, I still wanted your approval. However, we had nothing to prove. You would have welcomed us back with 10 times the blood on our hands.'

He had told her she had never understood them, but in reality it was the reverse.

She knew all the reasons for their failure.

Their cultural indolence slowed their response to the warnings.

Their unearned pride in their ancestors' work blinded them to all danger.

The technology and grandeur of their empire, built upon the long forgotten sacrifices of thousands of others, allowed them to live lives of endless luxury; dulling their senses, and sapping them of their instincts of self-preservation.

Their psychic senses, biological sturdiness, and immortal souls could experience things that would have killed lesser creatures, and even if they died that was never the end for the Aeldari.

All and none of that was the reason for the Fall.

He knew all that, and felt the same assessment from others in the psychic net as his jumbled thoughts leaked out into it.

What other race listened to the same music through different mediums; enjoying the different sounds a single note makes passing through water, air, or mist?

What other race could discuss the most interesting death one had in casual conversation, and joke about bleeding out after stabbing oneself with their own weapon?

'I do not know whether your unconditional love is a good or a bad thing…' Kyrazis thought as he picked up the Shuriken catapult he had taken from the guard on his home planet. 'But I am still glad to have met you before my death.'

He checked the crystalline ammunition block, and tied a makeshift sling around the butt and barrel of the weapon, hanging it over his neck and shoulder.

'This was how it was always going to end. Whether it was at some Mon-keigh's hands or with a knife in my back, my fate was sealed the day I lost my sister. I only moved forwards because she told me to. If I didn't keep my word with her, then I would have lost the last thing she gave me.'

There was a distant rumbling, the sound of the Mon-keigh's fiery engines and noisy ships. The time he had for musing was almost up.

'Such a path leads nowhere, only away from things. Eventually, someone with an actual plan or aspiration would have taken my place, if I didn't lead us all into a different ambush.'

Kyrazis checked the Spiked Kiss on his wrist one last time before heading through the door, walking to the nearest hole in the ship's hull that faced the direction he felt her coming from.

'Now, all I have left is the life I have lived, and how I have lived it.'

Kyrazis wrinkled his nose as he stepped outside, covering his mouth with a shred of cloth he tore from his clothing with his mind to protect his throat and lungs from the abrasive ash filled the air.

The planet was almost as dark as the insides of the ship, lit up only by the lightning in the clouds, dull sunlight barely percolating through the sky.

'If this is how it all ends, then I shall show you all that I am and ever was, Mother.'

A few other Aeldari and Mordraxus appeared behind him, following him outside as he jumped from the wreckage to land on the dusty ground of the planet.

Boxy Mon-keigh carriers were landing in the distance, and he saw huge hangar doors open revealing titanic walkers armed with weapons that could pierce voidship hulls. The boom of their footsteps echoed like massive drums, growing louder as they approached; a regular repetitive tempo, like the tolling of a church bell.

It was time to meet their maker, and return what they no longer needed, as all their forebears had in ancient times.

1 END

—-

Human Warlord-class Titans surrounded every crashed ship the Aeldari had, as the Aeldari themselves waited for the machines to encircle them. The abrasive ash in the clouds and friction lightning had abraded away most of their ships' weapons, and what was left hadn't survived the impact of the landing. There was no fighting against the Mon-keigh War-walkers with what hand-held weapons remained. Furthermore, they were so far away that the building-sized machines looked like miniature figurines on the horizon, yet every gun and laser was already in range, charged, and ready to fire.

None of them tried to escape, for only the oldest souls had survived here. The youngest ones had already returned to their mother on the slave carriers, and it was their turn now.

A gust of wind blew and a single Aeldari woman with blond hair flew from the direction of the Mon-keigh War-walkers, landing in a gout of ash and dust several hundred meters before them as she slid across the ground with the force of her landing, like a surfer upon waves.

2

Her eyes were silver and her skin pearly white. Her features were soft and her silhouette was lithe yet strong. Although all that clothed her was a simple white shift, she held herself with pride and there was no shame or embarrassment on her face.

All the Aeldari who could see her cast what their eyes saw into the psychic net, so those who were too injured to move or pinned within the rubble of the ship could also see their mother.

"I came to ask you to surrender." The woman said and the Aeldari prepared to answer her, but before they could she raised a hand to silence them and continued. "I know you never will, and I cannot force you to obey me."

There was silence as the Aeldari waited for her next word.

"You cannot abandon your path, and you cannot forget your nightmares. Your lives have become nothing but pain and sorrow, and the brief moments that you can forget them. However…"

The ground suddenly shook beneath their feet, and several cracks appeared along the valley walls.

"The violence and killing must end. If you wish for an end to your misery, you will have to do it alone."

The cracks widened, and clawed Wraithbone hands with curved blade-like nails several meters long reached out, as deep baritone notes rang out from the dark depths of the ground.

"But I know you cannot do that. My poor children, too tired to live and too afraid to die."

Black Wraithbone arms followed the clawed hands, 3 pairs appearing from each ancient grave.

"Hate and despise me as the goddess that could not lead you; as the goddess that could not save all that you loved and cherished. I will take your pain and anger with me."

The head of the buried War-walkers emerged, angular and sharp, shaped like the tip of a saber with the blade pointed upwards; the proverbial spine of the saber attaching to the walker's segmented neck. A curved serrated crest ran down the length of its elongated head, like enlarged saw teeth running down the blade of the saber. Humongous curved blades were attached to each of its 6 forearms and even its 2 legs had blades on its knees with separate articulated clawed toes on its feet. Multiple spikes jutted out from their backs. Small holes and bumps covered these; jet exhausts and anti-grave generators for flight and propulsion.

"They were your birthright and your forebears." The woman said sadly, looking up at the waking Psychomatons towering over all of them. "Do not let them suffer."

Her last words were spoken to the towering War-walkers and they all answered with a high pitched warble before turning towards the ships. Ancient songs without words began to flow from the Psychomataons, Wraithbone weapons forming in each of their palms. Titanic swords, spears, and javelins grew rapidly in their hands as they approached the ships and survivors. Psychic energy ran through the completed blades and tips of their weapons, enveloping them in a white glow. They raised their arms, and brought them down on everything before them. Glowing weapons cut right through reinforced voidship hulls; the psychic energy surrounding them sparking and crackling, incinerating the bodies of those inside in an instant before they could even feel pain.

—-

Kyrazis watched the Psychomatons cut through the ships. He had only seen them once or twice on the psychic net; in news clippings of another trivial planet conquered by their hands. They were just small images in the background of the worlds they worked to include in the Aeldari empire, so he had never paid them much attention, believing them to be another form of Spirit Drone. However, to see them with his own eyes was to know what they truly were.

They were autonomous machines, but at their core burned an ancient soul so twisted that he could barely recognize it as having belonged to his species.

Almost infantile joy radiated from their minds while, at the same time, a deep anger was directed at them; the insolent children who had dared to even inconvenience one of their deities.

One of the Psychomatons turned away from the ship, and although there were no eyes on its bladed head, he knew it was looking at them; the ones who had exited the ship to see their mother. Its feet cracked and rocked the earth as it approached them in a slow stroll, but even then its long legs accelerated it to breathtaking speed.

Kyrazis looked back at his mother. She remained there standing almost 500 meters away from them, watching them with a sad expression.

It was as she said. He was tired of running. He was tired of scheming, planning, and keeping one eye open to watch for anyone who would stab him in the back. He was tired of leading.

'However…'

Kyrazis shifted the Shuriken catapult in its makeshift sling, using his right hand to hold onto the base of the barrel to make sure the butt of the weapon would not hit his legs when he ran.

'I cannot simply stop here.'

He ran towards his mother, his first stride forcing him forwards just as the giant sword of the Psychomaton slammed into the ground behind him. The impact created a gust of wind like an explosion, sending him flying but he somersaulted mid air and landed on his feet; slightly bruised and bleeding from several cuts where the rocks and gravel that had been sent flying from the sword strike had hit him. Without pausing even for a moment he ran forwards, only to leap to the side this time as another one of the Psychomatons arms brought its weapon down upon him, stabbing the ground where he had been.

Kyrazis did not regret the bloodshed and slaughter he conducted. He did not regret the pain and suffering he inflicted on the alien races of the galaxy. He did what he had to do and thought was right. Everything he had done was done with conviction, even the betrayal and trickery he had committed on his home world that haunted him every night.

To look back on all that with shame was to betray everyone who had followed him and make their sacrifices worthless.

If he was to be hated, so be it. He deserved it, and would shoulder it for all eternity if he had to. But, he would not forget what was won with those actions. Even though all their lives ended this day, they had finally escaped the horror that consumed everyone else.

As Kyrazis dodged another one of the angry Psychomaton's blades, drawing closer to the goddess as he stared into her eyes.

He could see it now, the barren world within the body of his god.

So connected was he to her that he could see himself through her eyes.

This act had meaning, for him and for her; this petty rebellion against his divine parent, and the pointless battle between the Mon-keigh and the Aeldari.

She did not judge them and would not lead them. There would be no path set by her, no lessons uttered with her voice. However, those silver eyes saw their future, their potential, and within the mirror-like sheen of her unwavering gaze he saw the resolve to stand with them no matter what happened.

He ran towards her, using the Shuriken catapult as a shield against the shattered rocks hurtling towards him, sent flying by the impact of another of the Warwalker's giant swords he had barely dodged.

He could not simply die.

He had come this far for only one reason.

His sister had told him to go, to live.

Even if he didn't want to, he had to keep moving forwards, no matter the cost.

If he gave up or died without fighting, he would have lost the last thing she had given him.

Therefore; even if he wanted his mother's mercy, even if there was no way to survive, nowhere left to run, he would have to try.

Kyrazis threw away the broken Shuriken catapult; shattered while shielding him from several jagged pieces of rock.

He was only a few meters away from his mother.

His left arm pulled back, like the hammer of a gun being cocked.

The ground beneath him cracked and fell away, disappearing into the darkness as another grave opened, and a humongous clawed hand reached out from the abyss that had opened up beneath him.

Kyrazis swung with his left arm, having kicked off the falling ground moments before it gave way, and the Spiked Kiss shattered against his mother's neck.

The hand reaching up from the darkness seized Kyrazis, crushing his legs and lower body, forcing blood out of his mouth onto the ground at the goddess's feet.

—-

3

Isha stared into Kyrazis's eyes as he gave a wistful smile.

'Kyrazis, my beloved son.'

There were no words exchanged between them, but Isha could not help but think of this one child who had reached.

'If you were born 60 million years earlier, you would have been a great warrior, crying Khaine's name as you headed into battles that decided the fate of the universe. You would have charged first into combat and been the last to retreat.'

The Psychomaton which held him began to rise, taking his battered form into the sky as it lifted itself from the ground she had buried it under; shaking the earth as clumps of ash and rock fell from its body like a landslide caused by a volcanic explosion.

'You would have given orders that would send thousands of your brothers and sisters to their deaths to grab victory from the jaws of defeat. Guilt would hold you down, and their memory would forever bind you.'

She turned her head upwards, following Kyrazis as he rose, gazing into his eyes as he did into hers.

'In the end you too would have died; protecting many and saving even more. But…'

Kyrazis was now a distant spot, if she had human eyes, but both of them could still see every expression on the other's face.

'You were not born 60 million years ago. You were born, through no fault of your own, into a world without purpose, culture, or enemies. Over thousands of years, that world perverted your passions, and destroyed everything you could have been. I cannot change the past, and you cannot continue on as you have; now that you have seen the reflection of your face in my eyes.'

She watched as the Psychomaton turned Kyrazis away from her, rotating its wrist so that it could glare at him with its featureless face.

''The best I can do for you is give you the peace you wish for.'

The Psychomaton rumbled, angry at its younger insolent siblings.

'I love you, my son. Forgive me Kyrazis.'

—-

Kyrazis looked at his mother for as long as possible, even as the hand that held him lifted him higher and higher.

'This was what I was born to do.' He thought as he watched his mother become smaller and smaller. 'I was born to fight. I was born to die. That was all I wanted, and I can never change that, nor do I want to change that.'

The clawed hand turned him away from the gentle face of the woman who loved him, and towards the angry bladed head of the woken War-walker.

'This is who I am. Know me for who I became, and what I always was.'

He was a killer, not a bonesinger nor an artist nor an artisan.

'This is how I lived, and I cannot repent or regret anything.'

He sent the Mon-keigh to eternal suffering to save his and the others damned souls.

He sent those people on his home planet on a blind trip to false hope to save all those he could.

There was guilt and pain from those actions, but he could not save any of those he had harmed.

Any action that cried for forgiveness or absolution would be a hypocritical lie the moment it was made. Even dying would not bring them back. There was no point promising something he could not do to make himself feel better.

But, everything was good.

His mother would welcome him back regardless, and he would give her the strength to do what he could not.

A shadow fell over his face as the Psychomaton's thumb moved over him.

"Goodnight, mother."

And the Psychomaton clenched its fist around him.

CRUNCH! SPLATTER!... drip… drip… drip

"Goodnight Kyrazis. May your dreams finally be silent."