Chapter Thirty-Two: Twilight of the Gods

"All things end."

Martin stood in the snow, letting the wind whip across his face. The cold stung his skin, biting through the layers of his armor, but he hardly noticed. For a moment, the pain in his body felt distant, as though it belonged to someone else. He closed his eyes, breathing in the sharp, freezing air, feeling it rush into his lungs. Despite the blood caked on his skin, the agony in his muscles, and the ache in his bones, he felt strangely alive. More alive than he had in years.

It was almost like a religious experience, standing there alone on that snow-covered mountain. He didn't believe in gods or fate, not anymore. But there was something about this—standing on the edge of everything, with death a constant companion—that made him feel connected to life in a way he hadn't in so long. Maybe it was the cold clarity of his impending end. Maybe it was knowing that he had pushed through more pain than anyone should ever have to bear and still kept going. Whatever it was, it filled him with a sense of peace, a meaning that had been lost to him for so long.

He let out a slow breath, the fog of it disappearing into the swirling snow.

A sound behind him made him turn.

Velpia stepped out from the shuttle, her eyes locked on him. She had been hiding there the whole time. He hadn't sensed her, hadn't even considered the possibility that she would follow him. His gaze dropped to the case in his hand, and for a moment, he hesitated. Then, without a word, he tossed the case into the snow a few feet away. It landed with a soft thud, half-buried in the icy powder.

When he looked back at her, she was holding her old Carnifex pistol in her hand. The heavy weapon gleamed in the dim light, pointed directly at him.

Neither of them said anything. The silence between them was louder than any words could have been. Martin's hand floated near his own pistol, but he knew he was at a disadvantage. Velpia had him dead to rights. He didn't know if he could draw fast enough, and for a moment, he considered not even trying.

But then, without warning, Velpia raised her weapon. Martin's instincts took over, and he grabbed for his pistol, pulling it from its holster. They fired almost simultaneously.

Velpia was a fraction of a second faster. Her shot hit his chest plate, the armor absorbing the brunt of the impact. But the force of the blow sent shrapnel into his shoulder, and he staggered back, pain shooting down his arm.

His shot hit true, cutting through the cold air and striking Velpia square in the chest. The force of the impact knocked her back, and she collapsed against the shuttle, sliding down until she was sitting on the ground. Blood spread across her chest plate, staining the snow beneath her.

Martin recoiled from the pain, but somehow, he remained standing. He gritted his teeth, his mind reeling from the shock of it all. Velpia had a pained, confused look on her face as she tried to take in a breath, but nothing seemed to come. She let out a wet gurgle, blood spilling from the corner of her mouth.

Martin watched, his heart racing as she struggled to breathe. Her chest rose and fell, but each breath was more strained than the last. It was clear that her lungs were filling with blood. She was dying.

Panic shot through him. His mind flashed with guilt, with regret. He hadn't meant for this. He hadn't wanted it to end this way. Despite everything he Staggering forward, Martin dropped to his knees beside her, trying to administer medi-gel. He applied it to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it wasn't working. The gel bubbled against her skin, but it couldn't heal damage this severe. Not in time.

Velpia's eyes fluttered open as she tried to speak, but only blood came out. She coughed violently, her body shuddering from the effort. Her breaths were ragged, shallow gasps. She managed to choke out two words: "I'm... sorry..."

Martin felt his throat tighten, tears stinging his eyes. he whispered, his voice breaking. He pulled her closer, cradling her head in his arms as she bled out in the snow. "I know."

Velpia's body trembled in his arms, her life slipping away with each labored breath. She was trying so hard to hold on, but there was no stopping what was happening. Her chest rose once more, then fell. She let out one last gurgling exhale, and then... silence.

Martin sat there for what felt like an eternity, staring down at her still form. The wind howled around them, but all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the guilt gnawing at him like a relentless beast. He had killed her. She had betrayed him, yes, but still... she hadn't deserved this. She hadn't deserved to die like this. No one did.

The sound of another shuttle approaching snapped him back to reality. His head jerked up, his eyes scanning the sky as the hum of engines grew louder. He forced himself to his feet, his body screaming in protest as he pushed past the pain. Every step was agony, but he kept moving.

He couldn't afford to stop now.

The shuttle was getting closer. He could see its silhouette against the sky, a black shape descending toward the mountain. Bracing himself against the pain, his vision blurred and his body heavy with exhaustion. The wind cut through his armor, stinging the exposed parts of his skin, but he was hardly aware of it anymore. His mind was spinning with guilt and regret. Velpia's lifeless body slumped against the shuttle haunted his thoughts. He had killed her. The shock of it still hadn't settled in, and his stomach churned from the weight of what he had done.

He raised his pistol, feeling the pressure and weight in his grip as he leveled it at the approaching shuttle. He didn't know whose it was, but it didn't matter. Friend or foe, he was ready for whatever was coming. His breathing was ragged, each inhale a struggle, and a deep, burning pain settled into his chest from where the shrapnel had lodged. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on.

The shuttle cut through the sky, its engines loud and threatening as it came closer. It wasn't descending toward him directly but angled slightly off to the side. The side door of the shuttle lifted open with a hiss, revealing a Turian gripping a rifle, leaning out of the side.

"Shit," Martin muttered under his breath.

Without thinking, he fired several shots in quick succession, his pistol barking with every pull of the trigger. But his aim was off. His strength was waning, and the shots missed, disappearing into the swirling snow around the shuttle. The Turian inside didn't miss.

The first shot hit Martin square in the chest. His kinetic barriers had already been obliterated in the fight with Velpia, leaving him vulnerable. The impact tore through him like a sledgehammer, his armor offering little resistance. He barely had time to react before a second shot followed, striking him again in the chest, this time lower.

Martin staggered back, the force of the shots sending him reeling. His legs gave out beneath him, and he fell into the snow, staring up at the open sky as the cold air filled his lungs. The pain was unbearable, a sharp, searing agony that radiated through his entire body.

He tried to lift his head, blinking through the haze of pain. The shuttle was landing now, its engines roaring as it touched down a few meters away. The snow swirled around it, kicking up in violent gusts, and through the chaos, Martin saw a familiar figure step out.

The Colonel.

Of course, it was him.

The Turian left the shuttle calmly, his boots crunching in the snow as he made his way to Martin. He didn't even glance at Velpia's body slumped against the shuttle. His focus was on the metal case lying half-buried in the snow a few feet away. With deliberate slowness, the Colonel bent down and picked it up, brushing the snow off the surface with his gloved hand.

Martin watched, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to breathe. His entire body was screaming in agony, but he forced himself to stay conscious, to stay aware of what was happening around him. He couldn't let it end like this.

The Colonel turned and began walking back toward the shuttle, the case in hand. He moved with the same calculated confidence he always had, never sparing Martin a second glance. It was as if he already considered the fight won.

But Martin wasn't done yet.

With a shaking hand, Martin reached down to his belt, his fingers fumbling as they found what he was looking for. He gripped it tightly in his hand and forced himself to raise his arm. The Colonel had just reached the shuttle, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Martin could see him through the shuttle's viewport as he opened the case, a victorious smirk playing on his face.

With the last of his strength, Martin raised his arm into the sky, holding the detonator in his hand. His thumb hovered over the button for a brief moment, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he pressed it.

The explosion was deafening.

The shuttle erupted in flames, the force of the blast sending a shockwave through the mountain. Martin felt the heat of the explosion even from where he lay in the snow, and he watched as the shuttle was torn apart, pieces of debris scattering across the mountainside. The wreckage crashed down in flames, smoke billowing up into the air.

Martin let his arm fall, the detonator slipping from his grasp and landing in the snow beside him. His body was numb now, the pain in his chest growing fainter with each passing moment. He tried to take a breath, but it was shallow, and less air filled his lungs with each attempt.

He raised his other arm, trying to access his omni-tool. He had to get more medi-gel, had to patch himself up, but his strength was gone. His fingers hovered over the interface, but the screen blinked red—he was out of medi-gel. There was nothing left.

He felt himself slipping, his vision growing darker at the edges. The sounds of the wind and the crackling flames from the shuttle grew distant, like they were happening in another world, far away from him.

But strangely, he wasn't afraid.

The thought of death had always haunted him, followed him like a shadow through all the fights, all the wars. But now, here at the end, he felt calm. There was no fear, no panic, just a quiet acceptance.

His body was heavy, sinking into the snow beneath him. His breaths came slower, each one more difficult than the last. He knew he didn't have much time left.

As his vision faded, his lips moved, forming words that no one else could hear.

"On my terms."