Ah. There was so much blood. I’d lost myself so deeply in the slaughter that I had forgotten how much of it was mine and how much had drained from countless enemies. Yet they kept coming in from the north by the horde, dozens lying dead and immobile, a hundred more with their galvanized boots trudging in cadence while the rain poured. Their armor was dark like the sky above, blackening the horizon as their numerous score ebbed closer, marched down hillside, and brought their mechanized suits to me with spears clutched in hand. I can’t see faces clearly through their visored masks, but I’m sure they’re smiling as they bare down upon a dying man in the throes of his final stand. Then again, through crimson-stained eyes that stung each time I dared blink, I can’t see much of anything. Not even my own weary breath clouding up from the biting cold. 

Heh. I don’t dare count how many times I’ve found myself in this exact same spot, across uncountable other battlefields; it’s so familiar a feeling that it makes me sick. My love, how long has it been since I last remembered those words you told me? What were they again? Ah, right:

“Live for me, Marl…”

Even as I mouth the words subconsciously, I feel a sense of bleaker melancholy when I realize I can no longer picture your face in any of my memories. All I have left are the words, the sound of your voice, and the utter lack of meaning any of it truly serves me anymore. Isn’t it ironic, Heaven? You left me for your namesake, yet I rot down here in this hell. I wonder if you hear me, now. If you see me, broken and exhausted? Can you hear these words, feel the pain of this javelin lodged through my chest? Can you smell the smoldering stench of my fur and flesh wilting away from the bullet wounds? If you were here, would you still tell me to carry on our legacy? Or would you finally give me some modicum of peace? A chance to rest? I guess it doesn’t matter; my ‘friends’ are coming for me. I shouldn’t keep them waiting.

It’s difficult to move. All my muscles ache and I’d been fighting alone for over an hour now, since the last of my six-man strike team collapsed from a severed head. I didn’t even get enough time to recognize the lost until now, let alone mourn. I think the moment one of these faceless marauders rushed a spear through my lung was when I awoke from my trance…and put him eternally to sleep. I couldn’t pull it out. So I just left it there. I mean, you always told me to give my enemies a handicap, that it wouldn’t be fair if I went all-out. I’unno, sweetheart—I might have to eschew your advice tonight. I hope that, wherever you are now, you won’t hold it against me. Especially now that their leader seems to barking some gibberish that I can scarcely hear above the sound of my racing heartbeat and punctured lung wheezing feebly as the minutes roll by. The more he speaks, the more impatient I feel. Just get it on already. Stop gloating. Come for me. Rush at me. Fucking kill me already, you bastard!

I wish I could have seen his face behind that ghastly helmet of his. It probably twisted in shock before the glass visor shattered and splintered back into his big wide eyes. I guess he didn’t think I could still be as agile, having launched myself at him and my fist into his chin. Baby, remember back when we first met? Just a couple of small-time contact killers, the both of us? We were surrounded kind of like this. Enemies brought together by the mutual need to survive. God, those were the days. Even now, grinding a skull beneath my boot, ripping a spear away from the downed foe who’ll have little need for it in the afterlife, I keep seeing everything from the past. Everything I should desperately hope to forget; why can’t I remember your face? Heaven…what did you look like back then? What would you look like now? Oh, how this hurts. I’ve been stabbed again, haven’t I? Are they shooting me? My massive arms are like tower shields, but with only one left functional—am I even defending myself any longer? Do I truly want to? Please tell me the bullets are skimming harmlessly off? Tell me something, baby, anything. I want to hear you. I want to see you. All these marauders from the north keep clouding around me. I need to see you. Where are you? I NEED to see you.

Damn it all…


The flit of silver is all I can keep track of anymore, but my eyes are straining, burning. They ache from every target they dart from and the tip of my confiscated spear dances like a firefly in the night, just as your daggers used to. You made this seem all so elegant, Heaven. I wish I knew how you did it. Every arch of your blades were like art, like tender brushstrokes across a needy canvas—red, the only color you’d ever use to paint such vivid beauty. I had never learned how to wield a polearm so I let it flail and carve and it moved all on its own until enough bullets tore into me to sap what little strength in me was left. I knew that my clumsy methods won’t even come close to your grace, yet my adversaries had cowardice settling in. They’re backing away. Hahaha. What is this? A cruel joke? I’m a dying man; there’s scarlet pouring down my legs, from my eyes, from everywhere. Stop toying with me, you petty…arrogant bastards. I want this. Can’t they see it? The desperation? Heaven, make them fight me! Please. Why do they balk? Why are they cautious? Why are they always afraid when I plead for them the most?! This never makes any sense. Why won’t they end it? No. I won’t let them deny me this final request.

I’ve never asked for much in this life. Good beer. A cigarette or two. Someone to hold at night. Dear god, my life was supposed to be simple. How had it ever gotten so convoluted, my love? Why was I here, fighting nameless bandits on behalf of a country I’d never even heard of? Me. A mercenary-for-hire. I’m sure you’d laugh. But I’m sure you’d also cry. This would be how the legacy you and I created would come to pass. The Great ‘Lucifer’ Lightlender, the final remaining half of the once-renowned Heaven or Hell assassins—and your widower—brought to his knees by nobodies. My legs refuse to budge and I didn’t even realize I was so close to the ground now. They weren’t even there anymore, just the wriggling stubs where a beam saber must’ve cut and cauterized them instantly. Ah. I never imagined rogue brigands would have superior tech. I’ve made way too many oversights in life. Ironic that someone wielding your favorite weapon would bring those countless mistakes to light. Inwardly, Heaven, I just can’t stop laughing. I guess I’ve never once stopped to consider how much irony takes predominance in life…as well as death.

My bearings have escaped me. All I see now are the moving hues and shadows crowding as I’m rolled onto my back to peer aimlessly at the sky above. I wish I could feel the rain hitting my face, but everything is numb, my love. Maybe I should consider my blessings; maybe you arranged it this way. For me to die painlessly in exchange for the agony I’ve sewn in life. At least, that’s what I’d like to believe upon my dying breaths. But you, know…there was one thing you’d always encouraged me to do, besides living freely. It’s funny, but as I stare blankly up into the clouds with darkness swirling at the corners of my eyes, I think…I remember the way you smiled and told me to always finish everything I start. Oh, joy of my life, however could I leave you unsatisfied in my last precious seconds alive? I’ll go out with a bang, just as you’d always said. I wonder what they’re thinking now as I blindly smile and find what sense I’ve left of me to speak in so hoarse a tone.

“….over….heap…”