Torch turned away from the hanging remains of the bridge and looked back at Horan, Quet and Omet, their bloody face grim. They removed their torn cloak and shut their eyes for a moment, standing still.

Horan traced a line of glyphs in the air and summoned a sword into his hand. “…Whatever we do, we can’t let them get through us to Mark.”

Quet rifled through her pockets with increased desperation. “Just… Something to stop…”

“Are you nuts?” Horan’s gaze switched rapidly between Quet and Torch. “They’re gonna tear you to shreds!”

Omet looked down at Horan’s sword in bafflement. “Then what are you doing?!”

“I–I don’t–”

Torch opened their eyes. “Correct. My purpose here is not complete.” They slowly began to walk towards the three Primoi in front of them. “The penultimate component has yet to be directed.”

Omet stepped forward. “Look, I– J–Just don’t kill us, okay? We don’t want anything to do with whatever grand plan you’re a part of, we’re more than willing to get out of your way if it means my family can–”

“Incorrect,” said Torch, wiping blood out of their eyes and clutching their ribs with their free hand. “Subsequent discovery of the current status of the Aztec Domain will invariably lead to attempted retribution, regardless of present demeanour.”

Quet’s eyes went wide and her search through her pockets stopped. “…What’re you…?”

Torch winced. “A delay in the fulfillment of my assignment is… not recommended. Haste will be prioritized if psychological destabilization becomes imminent. You are to stay put and allow me to finish my duty.”

Omet walked forward and held their arms out to their side, attempting to block sight of Horan and Quet. “We’re not doing anything like that. You aren’t going to kill my friends if I have anything to say about it.” They glanced back at the two Primoi standing frozen behind them. “You’ll be fine. All three of you. I promise.”

“Even if you presently had access to your abilities,” said Torch, still calmly walking forward, “you would be incapable of harming me, even temporarily.”

“Big talk,” snarled Omet. “You really think it’s that easy? Killing someone?”

“Over the course of the one thousand, three hundred and twenty-seven days of my existence, I have personally ended a total of two hundred and fifty-one sentient lives. The number of those dead by my order is at least two orders of magnitude greater.”

Omet walked forward until they were within arm’s reach of Torch. Their bright purple gaze bored into Torch’s soulless blue eyes. “Answer the question. Do you or do you not see the consequences of what you’ve been doing? Are you proud of what you a–?”

Torch lifted their sword and ran Omet through.

Quet gasped and fell backwards, struggling to take another breath. Horan stood stock-still, eyes flashing sporadically. Omet coughed and stumbled, collapsing to the ground with one hand weakly gripping the blade buried in their sternum.

Torch listened to the frail, desperate gasps coming from the Primus at their feet. After a moment, they gripped the handle of their sword and pulled it out of Omet, provoking a long, slow rasp. “It is naïveté to think of yourself as anything other than the two hundred and twenty-second. My duties do not accommodate those who consider themselves special.” They wiped a smear of blood off of their face and stepped over Omet, looking at Horan and Quet. “Do any of you feel like acting special, or has my point been proven?”

Through the stuttering flash of his eye, Horan looked down at Quet on the ground next to him. “A–Any tricks you might wanna bring out right now? Any convenient powers?”

Quet curled up and wrapped her arms around her head, utterly silent.

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Torch shifted their grip on their sword and clutched their side as they stepped onto the bridge leading to Quet and Horan’s platform. “There will be no–”

With the sound of a gunshot, something sped past Horan’s head, impacting Torch’s face. Torch stumbled backwards, their head reduced to a roiling mass of bloodless flesh and shattered bone. Cracks spiderwebbed across their armor, revealing blinding chasms of blue light.

Torch began to tip over the edge of the bridge, their sword. Their arms and legs snapped into new, unnatural angles with loud cracks before eventually returning to their natural positions. The cracks in the armor hastily sealed themselves back up, and the indistinct blob that had once been Torch’s head folded into itself, then spat out the splintered remains of a bullet onto the ground. With what looked like great effort, Torch’s head reconstituted their face.

Torch grabbed at the bridge and attempted to steady themself, but a weak gust of wind sent them toppling over the side and following Waia into the darkness.

Horan turned to see Mark standing breathlessly in the doorway behind him, a smoking hunting rifle resting against his shoulder. The flashing in Horan’s eyes came to a stop.

Mark let the gun fall to the ground and ran out of the doorway. “It wa– Is everyone okay?! Where’s Waia…?” He spotted Omet lying on the ground a short distance away. “Oh…”

Quet shakily stood up, hands still pulled over her head, and staggered towards Mark. “D–Don’t just s–stand there, Omet nee– You’re human, y–you need to focus on Omet o–or…”

Mark rushed over to where Omet was lying and pulled them to the side so that they were lying on their back. He pulled his hand away and looked at their gold-soaked chest wound. “Okay, tha– That’s right through the bone…”

Omet smiled. “…Hey.”

“Hey, hey, okay, just–”

“Not you.” Omet looked past Mark at Horan and Quet, who were both standing behind him. “…Really blew that one, huh?”

“No, c’mon, it’s…” Horan knelt down beside Mark, who was busy staring in horror at Omet’s chest. “You didn’t blow anything, you did great. You’re gonna be fine, okay? Mark’s brought me back from the edge before, so thi– this is gonna be–”

The chest wound, which had already been shrinking at far too small of a rate, sparked with bright blue light and widened back to its original size.

“…Flip side,” mumbled Omet, “it hurts less than you’d expect.”

Mark desperately waved his hands over the wound, as if he could end up casting a spell through random guesswork. “C’mon, c’mon, just work!”

Omet sighed, winced, and let their head fall back on the ground. “Odds are, I… I won’t make it back home, so–”

“Shut up!” snapped Horan. “Just hold on!”

“…So, uh, sorry I can’t be there to help you guys with the rest of all this. Not like I could’ve…” Omet let out a ragged sigh. “Guess they were right on quite a few fronts, huh? This is what we get for thinking that we get to be the exception…”

Mark brought his hands away from Omet’s chest and attempted to slide his hands under Omet’s shoulders. “C’mon, we need to take them home, someone migh– there might be something we can do there.”

Omet gritted their teeth and screwed their eyes shut as Mark and Horan lifted them up by their shoulders and legs. Once they were able to think through the pain again, they looked to the side and saw Quet nervously shuffling next to the funeral procession, eyes fixed on the ground in front of her and hands stuffed into her pockets. They tried to make eye contact with her, opened their mouth to speak, then turned and looked away.

A few minutes later, the four managed to exit the pit and came across the ruined hulk of the borrowed car, sky-blue flames leaping into the sky from twisted metal.

After a moment of stunned staring at what had been too good to be true, Omet struggled to clear their throat. “Can… Can you two put me down?”

Mark and Horan complied, setting Omet against a nearby dead tree. Quet continued to stand off to the side, but after a moment of silence, she sat cross-legged next to Omet, with her hands balled into fists and her head turned away from her sibling. Mark and Horan soon joined her, forming a row in front of the burning car.

Omet stared into and past the blue fire in front of them. “…So, past thirty minutes aside, how was everyone’s day?”

Mark and Horan stared at Omet in bafflement, but before either could say anything, Quet responded. “Well, uh, most of it was spent doing things that I would rather swap out for something less productive, but my day had a couple standout moments. I won’t forget them, I swear… How about you?”

“Oh, you know.” Omet struggled to manage a shrug. “Got knocked down a few pegs, tried to do my best to be who I was supposed to be, saw a bunch of dead bodies. In no particular order.”

“Cool.”

A moment later, Quet shuffled closer to Omet and took their hand in her own.

Omet looked down at the gesture, then up at Quet, and smiled. “Appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

Mark looked up at the sky. “I miss the stars.”

Omet chuckled weakly. “Don’t we all?”