Twain twitched. Blight surged through him. Pain burst from his core and swirled through his gut. He collapsed to Reihann’s back, hands balled into fists. This—it hurts! Stop it! Please, stop!

Xenozar chuckled. He put a hand on Twain’s back, a hand Twain felt as though he stood beside him. “Did you think you had defeated me? You had contained me? All those years the humans thought me contained, and I snuck out. With the only barrier as your feeble body, did you really expect you could stop me?”

“F—felix!” Twain called.

Felix glanced down. “What is it? Twain?”

“I—” His voice stopped. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Xenozar shook his head. “I’m afraid it won’t be that easy.”

His hand pressed into Twain’s back, through his skin and inside. Icy pain surged through Twain. Blight twisted inside him, digging thorny fingers into his innards. His hands moved of their own volition and closed around his sword. It hissed from its sheath.

No! Twain held back with all his might, refusing to let his arms move any further. The blight cut him, burrowed into his guts and tore. He bit his lip. No!

“Twain? What’s wrong?” Concerned, Felix turned to him. The fire above him dimmed.

Blood leaked down Twain’s chin. His hands twitched, turning the blade toward Felix.

“You know what I want. Thrust it home. Free me of that menace. Set me free upon this world,” Xenozar hissed into Twain’s ear. His hands coiled around Twain’s, taking control. Shuddering, against his wishes, Twain turned around on Reihann’s back and stood. His hands leveled the blade at Felix’s chest.

“Twain?” Felix asked, scared, hurt. Uncertainty welled up in his eyes. Disbelief. He met Twain’s eyes, and pain worse than the blight surged into Twain’s heart at the betrayal he saw there.

No! I would never! I won’t! Twain shouted, but his voice wasn’t his. His lips refused to move. He shuddered, fighting back against Xenozar.

“Give in. I am inevitable. I am ancient, and so much more powerful than you, elf-child. I made your race. I am your creator-god. Give in, and let me have this victory, at long, long last!” Xenozar growled, excited.

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I refuse! Twain replied silently. His hands shook, fighting to drop the sword. If I stab Felix, if I hurt Felix—that’s the end of this world. I can’t kill the Mage-Emperor. I can’t let everyone down.

Another voice whispered in his head, quiet but firm. No. That’s not what it is. This isn’t about the world. If there was nothing riding on it, if the world didn’t depend on it, even if I was angry… I still couldn’t stab Felix. I couldn’t hurt him. Not for the world. Not for anyone.

Something warm rushed up from inside him, a gentle feeling that had nothing to do with the blight. He held onto it, his only island in the pain.

“Felix, run,” Twain mumbled.

“Twain? What’s going on?” Felix asked. The fire spluttered out, forgotten. He reached out and caught Twain by the hands.

“Push me!” Twain snapped between gritted teeth. If I fall off Reihann, at least I won’t hurt Felix.

“Why? Twain, why? What’s going on? Should I purify you?”

“Try. Oh, try it, little Mage-Emperor. I want to watch you fail,” Xenozar laughed in Twain’s ear.

Twain flinched, flicking his ear, and shook his head. He caught sight of his hands: black, flesh churning, the blight struggling to distort him. “It won’t work. It—it’s too late. You have to—”

“I can’t, Twain. I can’t. Fight it. I believe in you,” Felix said, staring him in the eyes.

Twain looked away, unable to meet the trust in Felix’s eyes. I’m too weak. I can’t. I can’t fight him. His hands twitched, pushing the sword toward Felix again. He felt resistance against the blade and snapped up to find it pressing into Felix’s chest.

“You can do this, Twain. Don’t let it take you,” Felix said. His hair swirled in the breeze. Full of faith, his big eyes searched out Twain’s and captured them.

I can’t do it. I won’t. I refuse.

“Why not? You’re under my control. How dare you disobey me?” Xenozar snarled, impatient. The blight roiled inside Twain, snarling everything it could reach. Pain spiraled inside him, growing with every passing moment. “Kill the Mage-Emperor!”

Not Felix. Never Felix.

Twain took a deep breath. “Felix.”

“I’m right here. You can do this, Twain.” Felix squeezed his hand, staring at him.

Twain tapped into the warmth, let it encase him. For a moment, the blight broke its hold on him. Xenozar’s control faded.

“What? How?” Xenozar howled.

Blight bit at the edge of the warmth, eroding it. Twain felt his world falling away, his control fading. It won’t last for long. I only have a moment.

He looked Felix in the eye at last. The warmth surged, holding back the blight, and he realized what it was. Why he couldn’t hurt Felix. Why he had gone so far for him, why he would do anything, fight anyone, to keep him safe.

I should have realized a long time ago.

There was no time for hesitation. He pushed out of Felix’s grasp. “Felix, I… I love you.”

Felix stumbled back, startled. His jaw hung open. “You—you—”

Now. Before Xenozar takes control again. Twain lifted the sword and plunged it into his own chest.