Logan was in shambles as he dragged the barrel after him, his strength quickly fading. He had expended himself too much in between using the symbiote, regeneration and his strength. The blades were bent and dulled at his hip, but he had work to finish.
So with the barrel dragging after him, he set out from the gate and journeyed fifty meters to the left alone the wall to find the famished remnants of the beast’s massive chest writhe and jerk with what life remained in the biological construct.
He was alone - as he had been for so long. Michael had been swallowed up by the beast and with it, perhaps the boys had finally understood what it meant to be a servant of Humanity. There were no songs or cues - no sign you were ever in the right. There was no glory, no joy - only a ceaseless gratification of a hatred that never grew silent, only ever stilled as he unleashed his monstrosity on fellow monsters.
From a ways up the hill, he popped the cork of the barrel and set it rolling down the slight slope for it to come to a halt next to the bone-thin torso. He fell to his knees and with his trusty tinderbox in hand, gathered the rest of his strength to light a match - setting the trail of ethanol ablaze to conflagrate the dried-out, disappearing husk.
Upon seeing his signal, a few of the remaining barrels of gunpowder and ethanol rained down from above - adding fuel to the fire of their victory.
It took him a great deal of strength to recall his wings. He winced as they coiled back beneath the skin of his back - cold with lack of energy; something the symbiote was far from pleased to feel. “I’ll feed you once the fire goes out. There’s plenty of meat to go around…” He muttered and sat down with his back against the wall, hoping to see the sun set, only to see a disheartening form had succeeded in sneaking up on him.
There he was - the Ghast that had bid his time well and orchestrated so much of what had happened on that fateful day. Logan tightened his fists as the Ghast approached him with the eternal grin of his mask - his long, black gun held up at his colleague’s head.
The snarky, nasal voice spoke with disgust: “I knew you were a monster worthy of your reputation, but I’ve never seen anything like this…” He shook his head at the disheveled monstrosity in his crushed mask. Logan cracked his neck back and forth, having heard it all before.
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“I’ll give you another chance. Write me the letter for the Governor and I won’t kill your little friends in there.” Logan flashed his shark-toothed grin at the Ghast and chuckled - seemingly irking the fucker. “You’re still on about that? You shouldn’t have tried to throw another brother to the hounds.” The Ghast cocked his gun and trained it back on the monster.
“I’m sure he’d be pleased to see your head. Maybe I’d even get your title if I brought that head of yours back. I’m sure you’ve got another mask somewhere, maybe I’ll use it to trick that hussy of yours - oh, I can hear her moans now.” Logan was enjoying the exchange. He made it far too easy with his attempts at provocation.
“I’ve actually got a secret to share with you, nameless Ghast.” Logan leaned his head back against the wall to grin once more.
“Back when you were crying in the Administrator’s office, Zeke fucked your houn-” The Ghast pressed down on the trigger. A loud, rippling explosion shot across the planes, sending a thick high-caliber round into the monstrosity’s face.
At least it would have, had it not stopped mid-air in front of his face, barely touching his forehead.
“What the fuck-” The Ghast began, only to be interrupted by a stern voice from behind: “We all saw it. The moans you mentioned were likely your hound’s.” The Priest spoke with glee.
The Ghast turned around to see Isaac’s blue, bright eyes and bared, writhing scalp shining in the dying, red sunlight. Next to him stood a boy no older than sixteen, but with the stare of an old man - a warrior. His hands crackled with lightning.
“You coward. If you’d have been there, M-Michael could’ve-”
“Kneel!” The Ghast’s voice had that familiar twang to it - the one that had forced the boys to their knees, but to his dismay, it seemed none of them reacted. Not even a wince of pain, even if Abraham was suffering the full of it.
Abe’s hands exploded into a storm of blue lightning, crackling in the air around the Ghast, but never striking him. The man was a skilled mysticist, he’d have to give him as much.
He turned around to raise the gun at the boy, resting his hand atop the trigger, only to hear the priest speak: “A monster is always weakest in its moment of offense. Teachings of the Commander - you really should read it.” The Ghast scoffed and continued to press down on his trigger, only for a second shattering of porcelain to clatter across the still mountain planes.
With a thud, the Ghast collapsed forwards, his porcelain face shattering on the granite before his limp body rolled down to join the burning thorax down the slope.
Logan was still unable to move, looking at the approaching, miserable duo. He voiced: “Smart move. I didn’t even see the barrier… He had to drop it to shoot.” Isaac nodded and looked up the wall, at a red eye staring down a rifle.
“It takes a monster to kill a monster, Logan.” When the priest smiled, it was not with the bemusement in his voice, but with barely concealed rage. He knew that fury - that wrath. He knew it had festered in the priest for decades and only now bobbed out of the depths to rear its glorious face at them.
“Ain’t that the truth…”