The dark fog swirled in thick tendrils around Artorious, suffocating his senses, blurring the line between reality and illusion. His blade was tight in his grip, every step forward feeling like a battle through an unseen current.

But when he’d turned to meet his foe, it wasn’t the ridiculous little hat sitting atop the Undead Lord he saw.

Instead, it was a child. A grey-skinned child, hugging itself as flames licked around it.

He was looking at himself.

His childish face stared at him -wide-eyed, innocent - with pleading eyes. The boy whispered words barely loud enough to be heard over the eerie silence, “Why did you do it? Why did you choose this path?”

Artorious, teeth bared in frustration, cut through the apparition, and the figure dissipated into the mist. His breath came in short bursts, his heart racing.

The Archon was playing with him.

Yet another youthful vision appeared through the mist, this one from his early years as an initiate. Younger, more hopeful, less worn by battle. He knelt beside fallen comrades, bloodied and bruised, his hands trembling as he realized he couldn’t save them. The younger version looked up, his face smeared with dirt and blood, his eyes hollow. "We fought for a better world, and now you’ve become part of the very machine we wanted to destroy."

“Enough!” Artorious roared, cutting through the illusion with a ferocity that shook his entire body. But even as the image faded, the truth lingered like a sour taste in his mouth. The fog wasn’t trying to break him physically; it was digging into his mind, into his regrets, trying to unravel him from within.

“You think showing me my past will weaken me?” Artorious shouted into the swirling mist. “You’re wrong, demon!”

There was a long pause, the silence hanging heavy in the air, before Ethan’s voice echoed softly from the shadows.

“I’m not showing you anything you don’t already know, Arty. This is who you are—who you’ve always been.”

Ethan’s figure materialized through the fog, and Artorious spun to face him. His breath caught in his throat as he saw more figures around Ethan, each one a different version of himself, flickering in and out of existence. Young Artorious, the warrior, the leader, the broken man—every part of him that had once held onto hope.

Ethan had seen it all in the second he’d reached out the dark to pull at the Greycloak’s mind with his Summon Illusion skill.

But in truth, he could have guessed most of the old man’s past from his sad, wrinkled eyes alone.

Ethan stood, his expression one of calm resolve, the Moonlight Katana casually resting on his shoulder. “All those years,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet sadness. “All those battles… for what? To keep fighting forever? To die in someone else’s war?”

“Shut your mouth!” Artorious spat, his sword trembling in his grip. “My freedom comes with your death. Nothing more.”

Ethan shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve never even considered another way, have you? You’re so desperate to end this, but you’ve never stopped to think that maybe… just maybe, there’s more than one path out of this nightmare.”

Artorious growled in frustration, every fiber of his being rejecting Ethan’s words. “I do what I must. I fight for Argwyll. Your existence is a blight on this world, and I will end it.”

Without another word, Artorious lunged, his sword cutting through the fog with all the fury and frustration of a man who had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for too long. The blade sliced through the air, meeting its target—Ethan’s chest—with a sickening thud.

Time seemed to slow. Ethan’s eyes widened as the blade drove deep into his body, the sharp edge tearing through flesh and muscle. Blood erupted from the wound, spraying the ground beneath them.

Ethan Appraised his HP as purple blood spurted from his mouth:

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20/950

One more twist, and that was it. He knew it, and the man holding the sword before him knew it, too.

But that final twist never came.

Both Lightborn and Archon met each other’s eyes, their past selves probably raging at what they saw. But in the present? Both of them were starting to realize the truth of their situation.

Ethan opened his mouth in a sad smile. “You just can’t do it, can you?”

For a moment, everything was still, the fog hanging heavy around them. Artorious stood frozen, his face twisted in a savage snarl, but Ethan remained calm. He looked down at the blade embedded in his chest, then back up at Artorious, his breath labored but steady.

“And you won’t even let yourself understand why,” Ethan rasped, his voice hoarse but unwavering. “Why you can’t just…let go.”

Artorious’ hand wavered, not noticing Ethan’s as it drew his katana and channeled a very specific skill into it’s blade.

“You’re trapped, just like the rest of us. Desperate to end this torment, but you’ve never considered that there’s another way. A way that doesn’t involve killing every damn person who doesn’t fit into your version of peace. And you want it more than anything in the world, Arty, don’t you? Because the truth is: you just don’t wanna die.”

Artorious’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. “My freedom is your death, fiend. Nothing more. If it takes my life…I will pay the price.”

Ethan let out a long, weary sigh. “Then what are you waiting for, old man?”

Artorious’s eyes flickered with confusion for a moment, before he felt the cold, creeping sensation spreading across his skin. He glanced down, his breath catching in his throat as he saw Ethan’s katana embedded in his side, glowing with a strange, petrifying energy.

Petrification: SUCCESS

Stone began to crawl up his torso, hardening his muscles and freezing his movements.

“No...” Artorious gasped, panic rising in his chest as the stone enveloped him. He tried to twist his sword in Ethan’s gut, to finish him off, but the petrification was already too far along. His body was stiffening, his limbs turning to cold, unyielding rock.

“NO!” the Lightborn bellowed, his voice echoing through the mist as the stone reached his neck, his face contorting in a final scream of defiance before his entire form was consumed.

Ethan winced as he pulled Artorious’s blade from his chest. The pain was almost unbearable, but he pushed through it. He watched as the Lightborn’s body turned to solid stone, his face forever locked in a mask of fury. For a moment, Ethan just stood there, his chest heaving, blood dripping from the gaping wound in his armor.

Artorious was frozen, but Ethan knew this wouldn’t last. The petrification was temporary—a delay, not a victory.

With a grunt, Ethan hefted his Katana and hacked at Artorious’s stone limbs, the sound of cracking stone echoing through the fog. Pieces of the Lightborn’s body shattered and fell to the ground, but Ethan didn’t feel any satisfaction. There was no triumph in this. Only the bitter knowledge that he was buying time, nothing more.

When he cut his head clean off and let it fall to the ground, he heaved another sigh and Appraised the old fool:

HP: 1895/3000

He almost wanted to laugh. The old guy was made of the strongest stuff in the world. And yet, he couldn’t let go. Ethan wondered for a second if he’d ever be the same. He’d already given up one life, after all…

At any rate, the Lightborn would break free eventually, and when he did, he’d be more dangerous than ever.

He was considering hacking him apart some more when the Memory Charm on his hand pulsed again – this time sending a chill up her nervous system that plugged a void right into his mind. A voice tinged with authority, and age.

…Jun’Ei?

The old Lycae’s voice whispered in the back of his mind, soft but insistent. We are all prisoners here, Ethan Hawke.

Ethan’s grip tightened on the hilt of his katana as he stared down at the petrified Lightborn.

“Yeah. But I can’t make people see things they don’t wanna see.”

You are the Archon, came the response. You, and you alone, have the power to change the hearts and minds of men. To look through their eyes, and see as they do.

“Fat loada good that does me here,” Ethan scoffed. “This was just another pointless fight. I can’t beat the guy.”

Perhaps not as you are, now, Jun’Ei replied. But perhaps destiny did not take you here to dispatch the Lightborn…

Ethan’s eyes widened. He’d almost forgotten about the other one – and even now could hear the screams of his companions as they fought against their own harbinger of doom.

“…can we beat her?” Ethan asked the void.

Look within yourself, Jun’Ei replied, her voice a calming presence amid the chaos. Make your choice. Fight to the death, or live to fight another day.

Ethan’s eyes flicked back to his friends—Fauna, Klax, Tara—still fighting, still holding on. They needed him. They all had a future to fight for, a world to save.

“I’ll take the option that lets us live,” he muttered, his jaw set in determination. “Vengeance can wait. We’ve got a world to win.”

Hurry, Jun’Ei urged. I can seal the portals, trap Artorious and his Commander here, but you need to move fast. His petrification won’t hold forever, and though his wounds will take time to heal, you must move quickly. I cannot promise you can defeat Carliah Argent in a contest of brawn.

“No,” Ethan replied, a new plan forming in his head. “No…but I can play with her mind. In fact, if old Arty’s mind is enough of an indicator, I might just know what her weakness is.”

With one final glance at Artorious’s petrified form, Ethan turned away, ready to rejoin the fight. But before he left, he paused, looking back at the stone figure, his heart heavy with a strange mix of sorrow and regret.

“See ya, Arty,” he said.