Chapter 17: The Final Choice
Chris lay still in Damian's arms, blood soaking through his tunic, lips pale and breath shallow. The relic chamber trembled with each passing second—arcane runes pulsing a sickly crimson from the ancient obelisk at the center of the room. The relic had awakened.
"No no no—stay with me," Damian whispered, pressing his forehead to Chris's. "You said you weren't planning to die. Don't you dare start now."
The shadows around them stirred of their own accord, not with fury, but desperation—as if the magic itself sensed what was coming.
Behind him, Lucan groaned, pinned by rebel fighters. The commander was defeated, but it didn't matter anymore.
Chris's voice rasped weakly. "The relic… it's calling to you."
Damian turned. The obelisk—an ancient shard of divine magic sealed beneath the mountain centuries ago—was humming, leaking raw energy into the air. It was destabilizing. Ready to rupture.
Then the vision struck.
A burning battlefield. Cities consumed in flame. The world cracked in half beneath a red sky.
At the center of it—Chris, eyes aglow, consumed by uncontrollable magic.
And Damian... standing over him with a blade, expression blank. The prophecy.
"To stop the chaos… one must end the other."
"No," Damian growled. "No more fate. No more damn prophecies."
He looked down at Chris. "I'm not killing you. I won't."
"You might not have a choice," said a voice from the shadows. She had arrived during the chaos, her face pale. "The relic's power is tied to the bond between you two. If it's not broken, the explosion will consume everything."
Damian rose slowly, eyes glowing. "Then I'll break it another way."
He stepped toward the obelisk. The magic lashed out—flames, whispers, visions of death. But Damian kept walking.
"Damian, don't—!" Someone shouted.
He placed a hand on the relic.
Memories surged. His childhood. His training. The first time he killed. Chris smiling at him over a campfire. The masquerade dance. The barn explosion. Chris bleeding in his arms.
The magic tried to consume him with guilt and fear.
But love burned brighter.
"I choose him," Damian said. "I choose a future with him, not one written in blood."
The obelisk screamed.
He felt his body unraveling—magic tearing through flesh and bone. But he held on.
A blinding light burst from the relic.
Then—silence.
When the light faded, Damian was gone.
The relic lay in pieces. Silent. Dead.
Chris stirred on the floor, coughing weakly as Lorian rushed to his side.
"Where is he?" Chris asked, voice trembling. "Where's Damian?"
Lorian couldn't speak.
Chris crawled to the center of the chamber. Only Damian's cloak remained, fluttering in the still air.
He clutched it to his chest, eyes filling with tears. "You idiot," he whispered. "You really meant it."
Outside, the storm cleared. The sky softened.
The world had been saved.
But at what cost?