There was a rumble that shook the world.

The tower wept; its bearings tarnished. The gods bellowed in anger, and rulers cowered in fear. Roots consumed the world, its vice grip sucking away all the life left of it. The roots, which even the sun could not pass through. The faint glimmers of light extinguished.

The people lay on the street, elves, beastmen, dwarves, and dragonkin. Crimson blood made a river where they were buried. Their lives stolen from them. Their power turned against them. So, the tower wept, as the clasp that held it shut became worn out. The humans, they hid. The pain they inflicted on the tower so great that the world would shun them

May it be this cursed world.

For kings were made fodder, and queens as kindling. Kingdoms turned to battlegrounds. Homes to asylums. Palaces to ruins. Its once grand image gold, and marble, falling where they stood. The pebbles and dust on the ground, only to remind of its previous grandeur. The cobbled remains of its majesty, used as a message.

To the priests and clerics of good and of bad. Their temples turned to cemeteries. Their gods to stories. Their beliefs into humour.

Stood above it all, so grand and illustrious, the saviour of the world.

He who was shunned by the Gods. His brown hair, common for peasants and rabble. His dirtied clothes, made for mercenaries and adventurers. The callouses of a farmer and a serf. His gleaming sword brings light to the fallen. His trusty shield returns it, which was stolen.

For with his gaze, the tower weeps no longer.

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"So, what they say." A man spoke.

An androgynous face that could either belong to the most beautiful man, or the most handsome woman. His long blonde hair was slightly charred and cut. His eyes tell that they have seen better days. The faint smile on his face looked almost dangerous, deranged even. His hands placed inside of a robe which was tattered and bloodied.

"Fancy yourself an entire legend, old friend?" He continued, walking towards another man.

"Why are you here, Feyrith?" A different man asked, watching the approaching Feyrith.

His onyx eyes looked bleary; his hand placed at the sword at his hip. Feyrith continued to walk toward him as the man’s gaze pierced through him. His mind screamed to run away, to flee from the calamity in front of him. The man though, stayed still, tense, but still.

"Am I not allowed to visit a friend?" Feyrith replied in a snarky tone.

"Or is that no longer the case since you became a hero?" His expression suddenly turned grim, the smile on his face completely gone.

"The princess and the ogre, that was what they used to call us," He went on.

A crazed smile formed on Feyrith’s face as he spoke, a hand on his chin.

That familiarity, friends, he had called them. Those memories were fleeting as much as they were vivid, pain striking the man’s entire body. Feyrith if his golden eyes didn't scare the man enough.

"I wonder now… who was the princess, and who was the ogre?" Feyrith said with a pause, staring straight into the man's eyes.

"Answer my question." The man angrily spoke, the grip on his sword tightening.

"I think that's obvious," Feyrith responded, his tone heavy.

"Why?" The man asked, turning to Feyrith, the man who had once been his best friend.

Why would he stop him? Feyrith, who he knew lost more than anyone else in the tower, due to the Demiurge, would stop him from taking his revenge on them. For hurting his friend.

"Why? WHY?" Feyrith manically responded. His face looked like he was laughing at the world's funniest joke. "Hahahahaha!"

"I sure liked you better when you were a nervous wreck. The man said to Feyrith, his face dour.

"You know what, me too." Feyrith cheerily agreed.

He stopped his laughing, his expression turning stern.

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"I wonder why…" He muttered, loud enough so the man could hear it.

He hurriedly paced around before halting.

"Could it be, Gerald?" Feyrith slowly turned to Gerald, his head twisting like a doll inside of a horror movie. His smile slowly faded away from his face, his expression grave.

"My mother, Lillian, Rollo, Elle, and so many other lives." He said, holding back tears.

It had happened again, Feyrith’s personality and emotions swinging uncontrollably. Gerald stiffened himself, staying put, and Feyrith came closer to him.

"Were their sacrifices not enough for you?!"

"My kingdom was destroyed, its rulers killed!"

"Even the Valkyrie couldn't survive! The VALKYRIE!" He yelled out at Gerald, veins practically bulging from his head.

Gerald didn’t know how to react to Feyrith’s heavy outburst, his heart sunken.

"That's not what I meant. Gerald tried to say, attempting to console his friend.

"You are not a hero, Gerald," Feyrith said, his tone returning to normal. "You are a player."

He walked up to Gerald and grabbed him by the collar, a finger placed on his chest.

"Do not play a part not meant for you." Feyrith told him.

Gerald looked his friend in the eyes and began to speak.

"Feyrith, you are the greatest magician in the tower."

"You've broken every record, every achievement, everything." He said with admiration, remembering all the crazy things Feyrith had been capable of.

"Won't you help me?"

"Are you asking as a friend or as a hero?" Feyrith asked.

"…" To his question, Gerald remained silent, Feyrith’s face warping in displeasure.

"Then my answer will remain the same," Feyrith answered Gerald, lowering his hand.

"They are not people, Gerald. They are monsters." He said, looking at the view behind Gerald.

"The elves, nor the beastman, nor the dwarves. Not even the mighty dragonkin could stop them." He stated.

"So, what makes you think we can?" Feyrith asked, his face full of despair.

"What are we supposed to do then!?" Gerald yelled.

His face flushed red with sadness and anger, holding back the raging emotions inside of him.

"Sit back and let them do more harm? Let them kill the people we love? Let them take everything we want?!" He continued, stomping his leg on the ground as he spoke.

"No. We are not retreating. We are regrouping. We will regather our forces. Gain more power. Then strike back." Feyrith coldly replied.

"How much time will that take?! While we let them be, they will only get stronger and stronger!" Gerald yelled.

He walked up to Feyrith and grabbed him by the collar.

"Are you letting Lillian's sacrifice go down in vain?" He spoke out rashly. His face then paled as Feyrith’s expression distorted, regretting what he said.

"Do not bring her into this!" Feyrith yelled, absolutely enraged.

Hundreds of lightning-infused water spears formed around him. Gerald quickly leapt back as spears converged towards him. Feyrith still unable to get over Lillian's death this many years later. All Gerald had done was reopen his scars, causing Feyrith to go manic.

Gerald quickly reacted and activated his skill, a familiar mechanical voice ringing in his mind as he did it. A large translucent shield formed in front of Gerald, as the many spears raged toward it. Sparks flew, literally, from one spear to the next. As the barrier crumbled, cracks began forming in it like shattering glass. He raised his sword, retrieving it from its scabbard.

Raising the blade to the air, he sliced down, a torrent of mana flying towards the spears.

Boom!

A colossal explosion occurred as he did this, knocking both him and Feyrith to the ground. No longer having the energy to fight or move, Feyrith stayed limp on the ground, as tears flowed down from his eyes.

"She was a fool. She tried to play hero and failed. Neither she nor the people she tried to save are alive." Feyrith tearily said, his head faced to the sky.

He reached out his hands and tried to grasp something, only to be met with the touch of emptiness.

"My friend. I do not want you to make the same mistake." He begged, beginning to sob. "Please."

Feyrith cried out in agony; his eyes locked with Gerald's.

"I'm sorry." Gerald responded; his heart heavy.

"I can't say I wasn't expecting this." Feyrith smiled, his tears abruptly stopping.

He stood up and wiped the dirt from his legs, then he turned to Gerald. Staring him in the eyes, Feyrith wiped his tears. He then opened his window and scrolled through his inventory.

"Here."

Toss.

Feyrith pulled a spear out of his inventory and tossed it to Gerald. He caught it and gripped it with his hand, his eyes widening.

"Gáe Bolg…" He muttered.

A legendary spear taken from legend, which Feyrith had restored to its current form. The weapon that could kill gods. The only weapon equal in rank with Excalibur. Exceeding in power with even the administrators' arsenals.

"Good luck, hero." Feyrith said. He smiled at Gerald, his deranged eyes now sombre, and clear. "I hope we can meet again."

He turned around and began to walk, Gerald’s eyes boring at his back.

"Feyrith!" Gerald yelled out. He needed to talk to him one more time before he left. He wanted to ask his best friend one last question.

"Will you continue climbing the tower?" He asked. Gerald maintained a solemn expression, awaiting Feyrith’s answer, or lack of an answer.

"Maybe," He heard Feyrith mutter.

"It has always been my dream to see what lies at the end of this cruel place." Feyrith reached out into the sky before continuing.

"Without my partner though, I've had difficulties continuing." He spoke solemnly.

"I will return home for now. I'm sure the other royal children are incapable of continuing what their sister and parents started." Feyrith then said, trying his best to put a smile on his face.

"I will be going now." He spoke.

He turned around again; his face hidden from view.

"Thank you, Feyrith." Gerald smiled at his friend and thanked him.

Watching Feyrith leave, Gerald clenched his fist. He couldn't lose any more people. Especially his best friend. Even until now, Feyrith was watching out for him. Even giving him the spear, he had worked blood, sweat, and tears to obtain.

"See you, hero." Feyrith spoke, as his waving figure disappeared for the very last time.