Chapter Text
Adrenaline surged through his body, strengthening his posture. He could feel the dark energy filling his limbs, even his whole body which no longer had a connection to his previous power. Even as Phainon fed off this intoxicating black power, he could feel a silver of pain deep within his chest. Regret, for the path he had chosen. Guilt, for the pain he caused. For a moment, he almost slowed his thunderous charge into the place he once called 'home'. He could still turn back. He could fall at the Council's feet and beg forgiveness. He could right the wrong by mending his deep-rooted sins he had caused... and then he could stand by and watch the person he loved the most die in front of his eyes. To end his long-term mission, he had held onto.
No!
He would not allow himself to feel remorse or sorrow or guilt. What he did... he did it for her sake. For his people's sake. He would not let her die. He did this... all of this, for Cyrene.
His cloak billowed behind him as he crashed through the Grove of Epiphany with his forces, reaching the luminary Throne where he found Anaxa, his former teacher and comrade. Three more ran up, their weapons illuminating their consternation and fear, bathing their expressions in a wash of their auras - death, power, and passage. Did he know these people? Had he fought side by side with them against any danger they encountered? No matter, they must face their fates, even as he faced his own. One slash to the Servant of Death... two slashes to the Gatekeeper and the Grey-haired Trailblazer. Even fighting together, no demigod could hope to beat the flame reaver and the black tide.
Once a place of religious sanctuary, the 'Abyss of Fate'. The temple now posed as a tomb for anyone who came in his way. There would be no escape from the cold, dark flash of his claymore or the precise targeting of the forces that followed in his wake. Phainon could feel the fear and dread spreading through the building, as his former comrades are there for an audience with Oronyx. But no... no longer could he claim any kinship with the Chrysos Heirs. He forsook that privilege the moment he took that trial.
Why?
How could he give up so easily that which he had strived so hard to attain? Never would he forget the pride which engulfed him as Lady Aglaea declared him, The Deliverer, or the proud and challenging look on Mydei's face when they faced each other as close comrades, as brothers, no longer enemies and rivals.
Why?
For her. For love. For Cyrene.
Another level. Another group of bodies. Another pang of distress quickly submerged into the deepest part of his consciousness. He could not feel, he could not mourn. He could only act, repeating her name like a mantra to shield him from his own actions.
He strode into the halls of this temple, his eyes scanning the ruins with unfeeling efficiency. No signs of life. He allowed his weapon to extinguish, so that it might have a chance to cool and recharge. Onward, he moved, like an unstoppable cloud of death. A sinister counterpart of the peaceful death that servant holds.
There! Movement. His hand twitched, but the Tribios were spotted together. All in one room, alone.
Trianne... Tribble... and Trinnon.
All of them appeared hurt and scared from his dangerous presence, never knowing that the sight of someone they knew very well and trusted - the tall young man they knew and cared as the Nameless Hero himself, Phainon.
His clones charge an attack at the fate siblings, to end them without any doubt. Until Trianne manages to shield her sisters whom are vulnerable in their state. Without hesitation, he reaches Trianne who successfully pushes them away to safety.
The red-headed child gazed at Phainon with her innocent defiance and bravery.
It wasn't too late...
He could still make things right.
Phainon closed his eyes behind the mask, ever so briefly. The image of the Tribios standing before him burned itself onto his eyelids. The sisters were smiling happily at him... with such purity and kindness... So much like his childhood friend... If Cyrene were alive, she would get along with them well.
The Flame Reaver opened his eyes. His claymore appeared with a sinister hiss.
For Cyrene.