"You despicable bastards!" I roared, pouring every shred of strength I had left into the words.
The soldiers standing behind their leader recoiled. Several instinctively took a step back, fear flashing across their faces. None dared approach. My voice alone was enough to remind them who I was.
The First Angel.
I clutched my wounded side as warm blood spilled between my fingers. Pain burned through my body, but I forced myself upright, driving my broadsword into the shattered earth to keep from collapsing.
I could not fall.
I would not kneel before traitors.
I glared at the man standing before me.
My brother.
He smirked as he leisurely twirled a dark dagger between his fingers, the black metal still stained with my golden blood. A thin sheen of poison clung to its edge, oily and iridescent, like liquid shadow.
It had already seeped into my veins, spreading with cruel patience—first as a cold numbness in my limbs, then as a burning ache beneath my skin, as though something vile were crawling through my body and gnawing at my soul from the inside out.
"This is the end, *****."
I bared my teeth.
"The end comes when I drag your corpse to our Lord Father's feet."
His smirk vanished.
"That senile fool is dead."
I froze.
Our father had indeed changed over the centuries. He had grown withdrawn, suspicious, burdened by fears he never shared. Yet—
"He was your father," I hissed. "My father."
My brother faltered for the briefest moment before shaking his head.
"That is only what we believed. To him, we were never sons. We were servants. Weapons. He feared our power—especially yours."
"Lies from a traitorous scoundrel!"
Father had loved us.
He had created us from fragments of his own soul so that we would never be alone as he once had been. We were family, not servants like the countless lesser beings he fashioned afterward.
My brother sighed.
"No matter what I say, you'll never believe me. In your eyes, he will always remain the benevolent god we once worshipped."
Behind him stood thousands—soldiers, nobles, citizens. Once, they had been peaceful people satisficed under my fathers rule. Now they looked upon me as a defeated enemy.
"The war is over, brother," he said quietly. "You are the last one standing. Surrender, and I will let you live."
His gaze hardened. It was the look of a king eager to return to the throne he had stolen.
A hollow grief settled within me as I stared at him.
My older brother.
The one who had carried me on his shoulders when I was newly created. The one who had sworn to guide me along the path to godhood. The one who had promised that we would rule this world together.
Where had we gone wrong?
Was it the day Lord Father created us from his soul-light?
The day I left the kingdom to wander the stars as a warrior?
The years I spent pursuing strength while neglecting politics?
Or was it when we welcomed the Lleagans onto our world?
Had that been the beginning of our downfall?
"Our sweet and loving father," I said, my voice trembling, "was so weak that your pathetic poison killed him. Yet he was incapable of harming even a fly."
I shook my head.
"Just admit it. You wanted the throne. You knew Father intended for me to inherit everything, and you could not bear it."
"Enough!" he snarled, marching toward me.
"But I never wanted it." A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "You stupid bastard... I convinced him to leave the kingdom in your hands."
He stopped.
"What?"
Disbelief overtook his features.
"N-No... you were the chosen one."
"I am a warrior, brother," I whispered hoarsely. "I never desired to rule."
Blood spilled from my mouth.
The dagger had pierced too deeply. Combined with the poison, it was only a matter of time.
"*****!" he shouted as I swayed.
Yet he did not move.
Perhaps he believed himself unworthy to catch me.
Perhaps he feared I would strike him down even now.
I no longer cared.
For ten years, this war had consumed my life.
Ten years of battle.
Ten years of slaughter.
Countless brothers and sisters had fallen, and now I alone remained.
I was tired.
So very tired.
"I will not be taken prisoner," I said, forcing the words out.
Even if I survived this day, I would never know freedom again.
Locking my knees, I straightened.
With trembling hands, I raised my sword.
It was one of the few weapons in existence capable of killing those who carried golden blood. The dagger in my brother's hand was another.
I rested the blade against my shoulder. The edge bit into my skin.
Before I departed, I would leave him with one final gift.
"You have won, brother," I said softly. "But when loneliness consumes you, as it did Father, your children will repeat our tragedy."
Terror crossed his face.
We were immortal.
We were infertile.
To create life, we had to sacrifice fragments of our own souls, just as Father had done when he created us.
"No!" he shouted. "Shut your mouth!"
For the first time since this war began, true fear gripped him.
He knew my words would come to pass.
They always did.
The mana of this world bent to my will.
This world itself had chosen me as its successor.
I, the First Angel.
Son of the Lord.
Master of the Sun.
And rightful heir to creation.
I smiled.
At least, in the end, I would deny him peace.
My blade swept across my throat.
The horrified face of my traitorous brother was the last thing I saw.
I do not wish you well, brother.
May you suffer for all eternity.