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Elizabeth 'Heartless Decree' Stroudwater
"Johnny Caldwell will not die!"
Crying out into the heated winds, I hold tightly onto Johnny's arm, gripping it with all the strength in my body, hoping, praying, and speaking under my breath with all my Power that he'll live. That... he will get through this.
But as I meet his blank eyes, I know the truth, leaving my heart trembling. I thought I had been through enough, lost enough, and killed enough that I could move forward no matter the loss. How wrong I was.
My strength flows into him, returning dome aspects of life, but it is not enough. For all his power, cleverness, and charisma, Johnny is not a tough Angel.
He can shrug off a million deaths and chug on like it's just a day in his job, but... he's just a man with a gun at the end of that day.
There are some things that cannot be lost without severe damage. My heart beats in pain as I feel the warmth and pressure leave Johnny's strong hands. Quickly, he loses more strength, falling toward me and placing all his weight on my body. I take the burden without complaint, and I am just happy to hold him a little longer.
The emotions crashing within are unlike any I had ever felt for my genuine family.
Cradling the father I wish I were born with, I watch the life fading from his eyes. This man, this mentor, has taught me how to fight, how to think for myself, and how to believe in myself. How to plot, scheme, and take after others, learning with each failure and success. He has shown me how to set goals and how to find something worth dying for, something worth living for.
Without him, I'd never have made it this far. I would... I would still be an ordinary woman without a Sigil and left long behind by my friends. I wouldn't have any power. Any Power. I wouldn't know how to shoot like the Gunfighter. I wouldn't know how to wield a blade like the Bloodbeast. I wouldn't know... I wouldn't know so much about this beautiful man and the lessons he carries with him for others to learn. I wouldn't know of the many weights he has withered under so others could prosper.
He's always been an intense and devout man, wholeheartedly set on his goal of bettering the world. He's one of the few with such a purpose while believing in his Colts just as a man would a God. Many just want to live, to survive, but Johnny Caldwell has the spirit of the old Hunters, desiring a warless world. The ones before the Estates muddied it all up. Before the world... went to shit.
Every day, every hour, and every minute of his life was set onto this grand ideal. And... he got so close... so fucking close. This is the last battle, the last war that will ever come, win or lose. And yet... he'll never see the ending.
I embrace him close to my chest, feeling his breath slow, his body growing colder with each passing second. There's nothing I can do to stop it, nothing I can do to keep him here with me. Liquids waterfall onto his cheeks from mine, but none of that matters.
His eyes go dark. The once vibrant, flawless gaze that could spot an ant miles away vanishes into the encroaching void. I hold his bloodied and scarred hands, the hands that have guided me, protected me, and shaped me over the past two years.
He's a tough son of bitch, rarely ever showing a second of weakness, but he showed it to me. Not often. But when he did, I cherished it.
Tears and snot run down my face as memories flood my mind. I remember the countless hours we spent training, the late nights discussing ideologies and tactics after the day's worth of combat, and the quiet moments when he encouraged me to find my own path, not just to follow him or Wyatt.
He was loving in his own tyrannical way.
His voice, laugh, stern but caring demeanor—everything that made him who he was is now slipping away. Never... never to be seen again by anyone. Not by me, not by Blake, and not by anyone else.
His breathing grows shallower, and I can feel the end approaching. Despite the pain and the sorrow, he manages to find one last spark of humor, his personality shining through the always-serious facade.
"Mind lighting me another smoke? I'm not too fond of the dark, girly."
Johnny asks softly, his voice weak but unmistakably his.
I choke back a sob, a bittersweet smile forming on my lips. I doubt he even knows he said that.
I hate his smoking habit. The smell. The taste. The distraction. I hate it all. But...
"Of course, Johnny."
I whisper, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his old lighter and a cigarette. My hands tremble as severely as his were just minutes earlier while he could still move. Cursing myself, I get the shakes under control as I light it, the flame flickering in the dim light of the sunless sky. I bring it to his lips, watching as he takes a slow, deliberate drag, a final one.
He exhales, the smoke curling into the air like a soul rising to the heavens above, and for a moment, there's a sense of peace in this war.
Only a few hours have passed since Onyx Gate was attacked, and yet... Johnny Caldwell is destined to die in my arms. Still, the serene sensation lingers for a while longer. His grip on my hand tightens slightly, and I know he can feel my tears falling onto his skin, soaking his burnt flesh with salty liquids.
Nevertheless, Johnny speaks some more through his end, stubborn to the very last gasp. The old gunslinger refuses to go quietly, just as the General he looked up to asked him to. Marshall passed his will onto Johnny. And now... he passes it to me.
Even still, based on his look, I know he has already died. These are the words of a soul unwilling to leave his corpse.
"When I die... Go to the Stele. You'll... understand..."
I nod, unable to speak, my heart breaking with every word. He leans back against me, and I hug him around his back, closing my hands across his front while placing my face against his burnt hair.
The smoke. I smell the cigars, and... I'd give anything to never forget it.
We've never been this close before, not even when he was showing me how to maneuver for his techniques. Despite that fact, his body relaxes, and the last bit of tension leaves him. I cradle him as his breathing slows further, each breath more labored than the last.
"I'm... proud of you. All of you. But you the most. You're... just a girl... just like my girl..."
He manages to let out some final bits of smoke left in his lungs, his words slurred and faint. I wait for him to say a little more, but I quickly realize there will be nothing more to come as his lips struggle to move, and the air stops coming out of his throat.
Those were his final words.
Hugging him tightly, bringing my face close to his, I tell him what I always have wanted to.
"I'm proud of you, too. Amelia would be so proud to see her dad right now. You did what she always dreamed of, tearing down the Pillars and the Prime. You've made the world better, Johnny. You killed a God, Johnny. You've done the impossible. Without you... we never would have gotten out of Bonedunes. We... we never would have saved the world. Because we will. I promise."
Johnny's grip loosens, and I feel him slipping away. The cigar falls from his lips, extinguishing itself on the scorched earth. His eyes, long blind, stare up at me, the last thing they'll ever see. I hold him tightly, my tears falling freely, as his breath finally stops.
For a long time, I sit there, holding his lifeless body, the weight of his teachings, his guidance, and his love pressing heavily on my heart. Explosions, rumbling thunder, and constant chaotic warfare ring out in every direction, but I just keep my hands on him, the tears refusing to go.
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Already, the world feels emptier without him, but I know that I have to carry his legacy onward.
As movement approaches from the sky, I rise, gently laying Johnny down on the charred grass, blood leaking from his lips and out of many of his burns. The smile on his face... content. Happy. Why? Why, Johnny? Why are you happy? You... you didn't see the end?
"Because you will finish it."
The winds rushes past, carrying nothing but heat as I must be hallucinating meaning from the noise in my hysteria. Ruined dust flies into the air while Johnny's eyes close on their own, never to reopen. This moment... The calmness between gusts sits with me, a scene that will remain with me forever.
I bite my lips, one step away from a breakdown. Trembling lips open wide as I take a deep breath, wipe away my tears, and look up at the sky, the same one his blind eyes peered towards. He...
A figure falls from the sky, covered in steel from head to toe, and I know who it is before it even lands, creating a tiny crater around its metallic form. Earl. He was too late to do anything. Not that I think he could. None of his Ails are more mighty than my Power.
The Coiled Steel and all his other creations act like Pygmy's armor, but only his is far better. And, of course, they are. He's Earl. My friend's tears are audible through his visor, but he doesn't address Johnny's death. Still, I can hear the tears in his voice, hidden by the steel.
"Elizabeth. We need you. I... Rich isn't a good enough commander to replace you on his own. I let you go for a while, but... we need you. Now. Wyatt is MIA, and Lennon is getting his ass kicked across the west while Virgil is missing, too. All we have left in the city is Bonfire, Abraham, and Aniwye. I don't trust the other Dominions. Please."
I want to scoff, to tell him to fuck off, how I won't change anything by coming with him, but I don't. Because that's not true. The current me wouldn't. But... Johnny brought the Stele into Onyx Gate, placing it at the heart of the city. He brought it there for me. In case he was to die. In case... this was to exactly come to pass.
Plus... I'm sure Earl feels more guilt than anyone. It's his invention that did it, after all. He... he got Johnny killed. A piece of me roils in fury, but like before, I control myself. It's what Johnny would want.
We just need to reach the Stele. And... then I'll be able to do what he can. It won't be easy. In fact... it'll be the hardest thing I'll ever do. But I will do it. I will do it for him. I will do it for the man who never stopped believing in me, even when I was just a worthless little girl without a token of purpose.
And I will honor him by living, by fighting, by believing in myself just as he believed in me. And if need be, dying, just as he has.
So, I turn around and offer my hand to Earl. He's faster than I am with the Monarch Steel, anyway. Earl wraps the dark bronze gauntlet around my hand, and I glance at Johnny one last time before Earl takes me away.
"Goodbye, old man."
I whisper under my breath, my voice breaking with each syllable. It's hard to look away, to turn away from the man who had given me so much. When my own parents left me behind, when my family gave no shits but for what I could deliver them with marriage, Johnny picked it all up. He made it clear he wouldn't take after children or useless people, but he did nonetheless.
"Thank you for everything."
My gaze lingers for several seconds, each counting tick within my mind seeming to be longer and longer as I want nothing but never to look away. The short but overgrown stubble from the bone-breaking stress on the man who was always clean-shaved. The early wrinkles from the years of smoking to cope with his issues. The black rings around his eyes from months with just as little sleep as me and half the youth to deal with it.
I imprint the vision of his face into my mind for all of eternity. There is no amount of thanks, no words that could ever be said, to cover the feelings I have for this great man. He always spoke of others, how amazing they were, how weak he felt, how little he was in comparison.
In my heart, Johnny, you are the most legendary man ever. Without you, I am nothing. And for that... the tears come back, stronger than before. I raise a hand to Earl, having him wait a moment as I step over to the side of Johnny's final resting place. I can't just leave like this.
There is one last thing I have to do.
Fate Sealer is destroyed, turned to ash by Johnny's Ether, and so are all his other Colts. Except for one, the final one that ignited a sun on the surface of our planet.
Kneeling, I wince at the heat of the Colt, the simple 5th Mark burning into my flesh from the Godsinker only minutes prior. Pushing through the pain, I walk over and place it into Johnny's hands, cradling the weapon over his chest.
"I'll be back. When you're ready for me."
If anyone is to become an artifact, it'd be Johnny. He... he has too much work left to be done. He had a dream, a final goal that still had to be accomplished. There is... so much for him to do, and he would never settle for a simple death.
This is Johnny Caldwell, after all. He and his stupid 'duty'... who am I kidding? I love him precisely because of those things.
Unable to wait any longer, I address Earl as tendrils of metal burst out, latching onto the nearby soil, rock, and rubble to accelerate our figures. But as Earl prepares to launch us, I notice a visible spark appear on Johnny's corpse.
"STOP! Go back!"
Quickly, we are shifted back around, nearly crashing as Earl looks at me weirdly.
"What!? He's dead! We need to go!"
I can tell he thinks I'm having second thoughts, but I don't worry about it and push Earl away, walking to Johnny's body. My steps are hurried yet excited as I see golden lines tracing the outside of the Colt.
"That's not it. The Arca is ready."
"What!? That's impossible! Arcas take weeks or months to develop after a death!? How in the world?!"
Laughing, I reach down on the rock, prying the simple Colt, rudimentary in every way except for its power and the thin, barely perceptible gold on its lining.
"Johnny Caldwell works on his own time."
I hold the revolver aloft, caressing the metal carefully as I sense the Sigil within. It's... terrifying. A chill runs down my spine as I discover the eight Sigils inside it. A Virtued iron, huh? The absolute rarest form of an artifact.
Hmmm... I wonder, Johnny, what can you do?
Opening the center, I find twelve rounds already placed inside the once six-round cylinder, each with a different number on it from one to twelve, like that of an old-fashioned clock. The same kind he used to keep in his house in Gravecross. A light sigh leaves my chest as I realize I'll have to figure it out on my own beyond that.
But that's just it. As I hold the weapon, I can tell it is mine. There is no battle. There is no resistance. There are no negatives or downsides, no danger. It is just the old gunslinger's wishes watching me from the lead.
Yet that's not all. The Stele is still waiting for me.
"To the Stele. I'll make a difference with his legacy."
The steel helmet nods with a rumble as Earl picks me up again in a far greater hurry than before. We soar across the sky, heading directly for the pillar that gave Johnny so much power. As we do, I spend the time investigating the Colt further, sending my Ether inside of it and attempting to discern what exactly it does.
As I do so, however, I feel some strange connection between it and the dead God that we left behind. After all, neither Earl nor I can withstand the Divinity even slightly.
Wyatt, the bastard that can't die no matter what seems to happen to him, nearly croaked with Blodwyn, who ascended. No way in hell I'm trying that shit. I watch the connection of Ether, and then I squint, confused, as it doesn't seem like anything I've ever seen before.
That is until the aura of the Colt deepens to a profound depth that rattles my core—a 9th Sigil.
What? How!? I spin it all over, utterly bewildered by the occurrence. Did the Arca somehow take a Sigil from the God to get its ninth!? From this far!? How!?
I'm so confused. But with that confusion comes fear as I prod the Arca, worried that a mind will appear. After all, every Arca I've heard of has some kind of sentient mind, though most are twisted.
The only explanation... is that... beyond the grave, Johnny reached the resonance required to pull another Sigil to him. Only... only Wyatt has done that, right? Oh. And Virgil. But...
But no matter how I attempt to speak to it, whether verbally or with Ether, I get no response. I try and try, to no avail, until we reach the Stele deep within the city, still held by our soldiers.
Earl and I land running, waving to the nearby men and women while they shoot at flying Motherbound or toss their own abilities upward. The war has already reached the centermost section of Onyx Gate, where our defenses end.
Not good. Something needs to change.
As I head for the Stele, a grand pillar sticking right out of a park in the city now surrounded by barricades, I see a streak of blood in the air as a familiar swordsman is sent hurtling across the sky.
A three-way battle blinds me within a second as another God attacks him, only to be struck in the back. What the—?
No time. Lennon will handle himself. If not... it's only a better reason to hurry up.
My feet reach the bottom of the Stele just as bursts of flame are visible on the other side of the park, beyond the barricades. Bonfire. Shit. If he's fighting this close... then it's bad. Real fucking bad already! Shit. Shit. I was gone for too long. Where's Rich!?
Not now. I need the Stele. With strength like Johnny's, I can stabilize the situation enough to search for Wyatt.
Breathing in a deep breath, I hold a hand to the Stele, the surface suddenly turning reflective as I approach. My hand presses against it closely, and I see myself—disheveled and scarred, the woman who has walked this path of leadership and death.
It is jarring to see myself so clearly. I have mirrors, but this... this is different. It is... introspective. The sights, sounds, and happenings around me vanish as I feel time slow, a Dominion of some kind covering me from head to toe.
My back is bent, my eyes shadowed. The look in my eyes is utterly different from what it once was. All the innocence is gone, replaced by a hardened resolve. I have seen horrors that would make the old me die of fright, and I am glad for the changes.
I wanted nothing more than to be helpful, to be powerful, and now I am. I am an Angel, near the pinnacle of might in this brutal world. But it's still not enough. I need more. And that is why I'm here.
Gazing closer, I notice tiny bits of silver at the roots of my hair, the stress changing its color. It is a color I wear proudly.
The reflection then shifts after my acceptance, and instead of my face, scenes play out on the Stele's surface.
Wars from nearly a thousand years ago flash by, the era after the Collapse. The character here is a young woman, her visage unfazed by the countless who die before her—a Graves. The knowledge is instant in my soul. The battles she fights, this Heather Graves, are mesmerizing, but the scenes do not end there.
The reflection skips to a grisly young man gradually turning old through his decades of battle. Long after her death, he is guided by the previous woman's spirit and taught how to fight, how to survive, and how to be a human no matter the darkness within. Eventually, time takes that now-aged man, Canyon, going peacefully into the long dark.
It then shifts to a different man, shooting a target from afar with both eyes closed, shouting in joy and opening them as his father pats him on the back. I recognize the face without the withering lines of wrinkles and healed scars.
As I watch, the man grows older, his gun changing often, but the marksman endures the wounds of loss. His parents pass first, then allies. Then, loved ones. Eventually, even the ones he gave his heart and soul in love enter that great beyond. Scene after scene, his struggles and victories unfold until, eventually, it is his very gun that does him in.
The reflection fades, leaving me staring at my own face once more. The weight of those lives, those battles, presses down on me. At first, it is only emotional. Then, I feel the souls of the three bare onto me, their spirits lodged within the Stele. Simple words are shared, overlayed by three voices as if preset somehow before turning silent.
"I am Heather Graves. You shall take after me. You shall inherit my might. The Stele Of Life will take yours once you pass in exchange."
"I am Canyon Crease. You shall take after me. You shall inherit my might. The Stele Of Life will take yours once you pass in exchange."
"I am Johnny Caldwell. You shall take after me. You shall inherit my might. The Stele Of Life will take yours once you pass in exchange."
The three voices dig deeply into my mind, sprouting intense pain, but I bear it with a simple Command into the air, pointed at myself. Johnny and I had already discussed this. It took him months to digest it all. I only have minutes at best.
"Elizabeth Stroudwater will receive all the gifts of the Stele of Life."
Pure agony tears through my mind, etching pathways of Ether, of physical knowledge, and experience through my soul. I feel hundreds of cumulative years of life forced down my throat in a single, awful second before my eyes open.
Gasping for air, I hear only a nearby voice's subtle, pleading question. I glance over, noticing it to be Skyshell, once named Skysword, Johnny's most recent apprentice. The Bado stares at me, heartbroken yet hopeful.
"You're touching the Stele. He said no one is to come near it unless... Is... Sir Caldwell okay?"
My eyes fall to the Colt still held in my right hand. A name comes to mind, formed by the memories and experiences of the gunslinger himself. The reason it has no mind is because the extra emotion was put into the Stele, too. All it has is his Sigil and his oh-so-amazing talent. He would say otherwise, that he was merely average, but that cannot be the case, no matter how much he thought it was.
He is one of two in all of history who could control time. And... he kickstarted it all. Not Wyatt. Not Lennon. Not Marshall. Not even Vincent. It all began when Johnny pointed that gun at that horde. That's when we all came together. To do that... he could only be extraordinary. It is just a shame he reached the end so soon.
I... I... I had imagined him giving me away at my wedding, being there in place of my real father. I imagined him smiling like a loving grandfather with my children. I... I... I just imagined him overlooking the world, happy and content with the good he had done on a porch of some kind, rocking in a chair. Blake would be next to him. And he would have adopted a dog, like the one his family used to own. They would be happy. Blissful. Finally.
Now...
A tightened grip keeps the tears back as I meet Skyshell in the eyes. The anger comes back, and I direct it all toward action, toward the future Johnny fought so desperately for, the one he died for.
"No. Our teacher is dead. Now, it is our turn to save this world he loved so dearly."