I tried to fight him. Tried to take control.
It was like wrestling with a shadow that knew all my weaknesses.
Elias's mind was a storm, and I was drowning in it. Every order he followed, every innocent life crushed by his hand, every comrade's scream as they bled out—it all tore through me at once.
My thoughts tangled with his. My betrayal. My debts. My rooftop fall. His war crimes. His despair.
I wasn't sure where he ended and I began.
The rifle shook in my grip. My hands—his hands—moved toward the pistol holster, unthinking. His voice whispered in my skull: One bullet. That's all. Peace.
I slammed the gun back into its holster, my chest heaving.
"No. Not peace. Not like this."
But the battlefield gave no answers. Only smoke. Only screams.
And somewhere in the distance, the mocking voice returned, faint but cruel:
"Save him… or suffer with him."