Blood fell down to the floor from Alice’s forehead, each one contributing to creating the growing puddle of red that she was staring at with a blurry vision. Her left shoulder, stomach, and right thigh had been pumped with holes, rendering her attempts at motion agonizing, while her right hand had been burnt to an extent that even holding the hilt of her sword transferred waves of extreme pain to her brain.

Alice had no idea how short or long her fight had gone on for, or if Rain had succeeded in getting to Sean and escaping, but what she did know was that she was on her last line. She couldn’t take anymore; although that didn’t mean she intended to stop.

Her eyes rose with shuddering breaths as she watched Archbishop Jude walk slowly towards her, the gun in his hands in complete dissonance with his cassock and the demeanor he was normally meant to possess in return.

I have to at least land a hit…

“I commend your resilience,” the Archbishop opened his mouth. “But even I can see that you’re a lost cause. Beg for mercy and I’ll make your death much less painful than I had intended.”

Alice scoffed, her lips shifting to the side to reveal a smile of derision. “You suggesting crucifixion? No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

The Archbishop frowned. “Hmm… Jokes. Rather unwise.”

“I used to get that a lot. And honestly, I think I’ve grown to like it.” Alice coughed up blood, her breaths heavier with each second passing by. “Can I ask you a question? It’s a dying woman’s last wish.”

“…” The Archbishop was silent for a moment. “Go ahead.”

“Are you cosplaying? Because I can’t seem to understand what sick person couldn’t see through your farce all through seminary school. They must have been blind in their right eye and partially blind in their left.”

Archbishop Jude Bale nudged his glasses from its rims back onto the bridge of his nose. “Is that your question, Ms. Alice?”

“Depends. You got an answer?”

The Archbishop smiled as he watched her cough up more blood after her jape. “Now that you’re on the verge of death you’ve begun to talk a lot.”

Alice snickered gently. “You talk like you know me.”

“You personally, no. But in my years as a Man of the Cloth I’ve met a lot of people like you, listened to a lot of people like you, advised a lot of people like you—”

“And that makes you understand me as a person, how?” Alice interrupted.

“People are distinct, but characters overlap,” the Archbishop said. “I do not try to understand a person, I try to understand a character.” Alice frowned. “Your smile has disappeared, good. You are now listening. You see, people like you who tend to throw themselves into flames like moths so others can survive have dealt with loss before and are afraid of dealing with it again.” Alice’s eyebrows dropped deeper. “Who was the first? Boyfriend or husband? Father or mother? I doubt that would have turned you this way, since it’s something every child grows to understand will happen sooner than others. Was it a friend?” The Archbishop paused and smiled. “Son or daughter?”

“You’re the one who’s begun to talk a lot,” said Alice, her tone strained.

“So it was a child. A daughter, if I’m allowed to guess—”

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“You’re not.”

“When did she die? At birth? High school? College?”

Alice said nothing in reply, trying her best to rein in her pounding heart.

Archbishop Jude crossed the nave to meet her where she was down on her knees to the back of the now-ramshackled Cathedral, the golden light of the rising sun spewing in from the open doors, painting her body.

“Is that why you’re so adamant on protecting those boys? Hmph… Tell me, why did you think acting like a mother to children who aren’t yours was a wise choice, especially in the current state of the world? Did you think it would make your dead child proud of you or the sort? Or is it something deeper like making amends…” He leaned into her… “because you blame yourself for your child’s death?”

In that instant, as if waiting for those words, scenes of her daughter flashed within Alice’s head, causing her to grind her teeth instinctively.

She saw Rachel’s face, bright as she always was, in the lawn, watering the plants. Her beautiful teenage girl getting her braid locs done in preparation for high school. And then how she’d received an emergency call for a guard dog that had been brought in to her workplace.

If only she hadn’t sent Rachel off alone that day—her first day of high school—and had driven her there like the mother she was, the accident would never have happened.

It was her fault. She was to blame. Her daughter was dead because of a choice she’d made.

Noticing her fallen expression, Archbishop Jude offered Alice a deep sigh.

“It was fun,” he said, perhaps suddenly bored. “Our little battle made me understand you more than I’d thought I would, and now I can see why the children care for you.” He retreated a few steps back, placed the Ak47 he was holding on a pew, and conjured fire from the sweat on his palm.

Alice looked at him, understanding what the man was about to do.

For a long while she’d been afraid of death. No matter how bad her life felt, or how much she sought it, she always ended up whimpering out from going onto the train of the afterlife. But now, it all seemed different. She wanted to leave. Pass on. Be with Rachel. She was tired.

Scenes of her short travel with Sean and Rain and J flashed through Alice’s mind at that moment, each one painted with the most clear and vibrant colors she had ever seen.

They were her first ties ever since her daughter’s death, as a result of her distancing herself from people—the world as a whole.

Her fear of losing whoever came into her life had kept her away, to the extent that she did not even form bonds with her companions in the GEF.

Somehow, she had still managed to get herself entangled in the webs she had been running from.

Alice’s lips parted into a smile from a scoff, revealing blood stained teeth.

Although, she wasn’t sad. She was happy; her heartbeats raced not in fear but relief.

She realized it now; it was Rachel who had been keeping her from dying. Her daughter had not wanted to reunite with her the way she was. She wanted the woman she knew; the loving and caring lady who had nursed her.

Finally, they could both be happy again.

Alice closed her eyes for a second as she took in a deep breath. She then took hold of her sword, propping herself up slightly with it. Its blue luster shimmered before her eyes, but since her vision was a blurry mess she was disabled from taking in the beauty of her weapon.

“Oh. You really are very resilient, Ms. Alice,” the Archbishop said. “Again, I commend you for that attribute of yours. But it’s unwise for you to keep fighting.”

Alice chuckled as she staggered to her feet, her stance in utter shambles. “What can I say? I promised myself to at least land a hit. If I can’t do something as simple as that, then what sort of mother, guardian, and mentor would I be?”

The Archbishop guffawed in a suppressed manner. “Simple? Crazy bitch. I’ve finally come to have enough of your nonsense.” The flame burning on his palm danced, its form shifting until it transformed into a crossbow possessing a dozen arrows.

His plan was obvious. He was going to burn her to ashes in the most painful way possible, here and now.

Alice smiled at the sight. “It’s not frightening, cookie. We’ll be together soon. Mama’s on her way.”