Joseph and Reinhard remained silent, their faces showing grim understanding rather than surprise.

"No." Honor's voice rang out differently without the helm, more human but carrying notes that suggested vocal cords not entirely natural. "I am simply a wretch who was experimented on by others. Nothing more and nothing else."

Reinhard stared, his grip tightening on Zenuken and Hjorleifa until knuckles went white. "No wonder..." His voice emerged hoarse. "Why would you go so far… That friend of yours... He took you in and gave you a home."

His light blue eyes searched for the hybrid features in Honor. "Could it have been the Saint-"

"It wasn't the Saint." Honor interrupted. "The Saint wouldn't allow this."

Joseph's voice erupted. "Regardless, why would your friend allow you to go so far! Doesn't he care for you-"

"It doesn't matter."

Amiya's brows furrowed, her curly black hair falling forward as she stared at Honor. "What do you mean? It's obvious that a friend is treating you like a tool-"

"I know." Honor's admission came without hesitation or shame. "But it doesn't matter. I always knew deep down I was another tool to him, but I gladly accepted it."

His amber-crimson hybrid eyes swept across them all. "Because he saved me and gave me purpose. He paved the way for me, and I'm willing to be the best tool for them to carry their will and belief."

Stunned silence fell, all of them staring at Honor in a daze.

"Still..." Honor's gaze found Veryn among the group, and his expression softened. "I was a bit happy how much you cared, Veryn. It meant a lot."

Veryn trembled violently before another bit of tears streamed openly down her face, cutting clean tracks through dust and blood. "Lord Red Priest..."

"What a beautiful world this is." Honor's voice carried something approaching wonder. His hybrid eyes tracked across the grey sky, the golden architecture of Helios, the faces of warriors who'd fought him with everything they possessed.

"It's so difficult to leave it behind. Even though there were harsh times..." Honor's lips pulled into a small smile that showed both human and Werefang teeth. "There were also many good ones."

Everyone fell silent as this figure, who had tried to kill their friend but also been a person who protected and helped them, was about to die.

Reinhard sighed before his eyes hardened as both swords began moving once more. He couldn't trust this. Couldn't trust someone who wouldn't die despite catastrophic injuries, and didn't want to risk Honor somehow recovering.

Zenuken and Hjorleifa positioned themselves at Honor's neck before he then swiftly slashed out with both blades. The swords sank through flesh and bone, black-blue wisps mixed with molten gold and hoarfrost blue as the blades worked through Honor's neck.

But then halfway through, an arm wrapped around Reinhard's neck.

Honor's remaining arm had clutched onto Reinhard's neck before then, Honor pushed forward with his remaining stretched arm. Reinhard's feet left the ground as his boots kicked uselessly, as Honor pushed them both over the edge of their elevated position.

Even as his swords completed their cut, Honor's head separated completely, tumbling away from his shoulders.

But momentum carried forward. Reinhard fell with Honor's headless body toppled forward, following gravity's inevitable command.

Honor's severed head tumbled after them, antlers catching light as it descended.

Three forms fell together toward the crimson-black tide spreading below. The flames that consumed through creation's failures, that dissolved anything touched through billions of curses and sins.

Reinhard's eyes widened as comprehension struck. His mouth opened to scream, but no sound emerged, only the rushing wind of descent and the distant roar of malevolent fire waiting below.

They struck the tide.

The fall ended in a suffocating bloom of crimson-black.

It wasn't an impact but submersion as Reinhard plunged into a substance that defied categorization. He felt the sea made of all the world's hatred, all the world's sins, and all the world's grief washed over him.

And then it swallowed him completely.

Reinhard's mouth opened to scream, but the tide rushed in, filling lungs with substance that tasted like rotting despair. His arms flailed from the terrible pain rushing through him, while his legs kicked against nothing, finding no bottom to this endless depth.

For a single moment, Reinhard felt everything.

A storm of curses crashed through him.

Thousands of voices screaming simultaneously, accusations, condemnations, pleas for mercy that would never come. Despair threaded through his chest like frozen needles, each one carrying the weight of lives destroyed by hopelessness.

Jealousy crawled along his spine, whispering comparisons that turned accomplishments to ash. Regret wrapped around his throat, choking him with visions of roads not taken, choices that led to ruin.

Violence exploded behind his eyes. He saw murders committed in rage, in cold calculation, in desperate survival. Felt the impact of every blow, the tearing of flesh, the cessation of breath. Not as an observer but as both victim and perpetrator simultaneously.

The curses threaded into him like needles.

They passed through bones, leaving trails of corruption that whispered their histories as they traveled. A father's curse upon learning his son died in war. A mother's hatred toward the disease that took her child. A lover's jealousy that curdled into poisonous obsession. A soldier's guilt over atrocities committed under orders.

Billions of curses, sins, and sorrows began pressing down on him. But then the golden cape around him shone even more, and then it began spreading over his body.

Instantly, Reinhard no longer felt the curses as golden light wrapped around him and made him feel at ease.

Then darkness took over, as he felt himself being pulled somewhere.

…

Then Reinhard's eyes opened, and he saw he stood in a nightmare given form.

An endless plain stretched in all directions with ash covering everything like grey snow that never melted. Broken stone jutted from the wasteland at irregular intervals, fragments of structures that had been consumed and incorporated into this realm.

Melted architecture rose like frozen waves, and buildings solidified into shapes suggesting screaming faces.

The sky burned crimson-black.

Not with fire but with malevolence that pressed down. No sun existed here, no stars, only the hellish glow that painted everything in shades of damnation.

And scattered across this wasteland, Reinhard saw dozens upon dozens of familiar figures.

The Golden Melo Warriors.

They lay like fallen statues across the ash plain. Some curled into fetal positions, arms wrapped around knees in desperate self-protection. Others sprawled flat, limbs splayed at angles suggesting they'd collapsed mid-flight.

A few knelt with heads bowed, as if hoping this would block out everything around them.

Some screamed without breath with their mouths open wide, throats working uselessly, producing silence despite obvious agony.

Some wept without tears, faces twisted in expressions of grief, cheeks moving as if liquid should flow, but only cracks appeared on their face.

Some spasmed as curses crawled visibly through their veins. Black lines spread beneath golden-translucent skin like infection racing through the bloodstream.

And through all of this, none moved or even attempted to stand up.

No attempts to flee, to help each other, the only thing that they did was accept their situation. They remained frozen in their individual torments, trapped by the weight of curses pressing down.

Reinhard went silent while clenching his fist at the sight of these warriors who helped him so much to end the Dark Silence. Now, they are subjected to this terrifying and terrible fate as if this were the consequence of their actions.

How ridiculous.

Then he stepped forward.

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