Brenden regarded the sight with a half look of disappointment. Perhaps he thought Shin might have stood a chance. Perhaps he had his bets on Shin. The entire time, he'd been watching from a distance, calculating the next move--but Shin Shiden was a damaged man. Strung out on such a journey, he must have been weakened--he must have lost the will to continue. Was that it? Was it that he was a lost man? Brenden didn't know. It was . . . numbing, in a way. Brenden, who had his arms folded the entire fight, let them fall by his sides, whilst his head and shoulders sulked ever so slightly. He'd fought Shin before, personally, yet it was hard to imagine that the man would ever die.
__________
On the shore of a Cizokian river, two boys sat watching the afternoon sun in its gradual descent. One had just awoken. He was alive and well, against all the physics of the universe. For all intents and purposes, he should have drowned. That boy was older than the other--he had outlandish azure hair, wet and matted to his skull, just as his tattered gi did to his skinny, frail looking frame. The boy next to him, that pulled him out of the river earlier and stayed nearby, waiting for him to wake up, was a year or two younger than the azure haired boy--who was, himself, a year or two shy of his tenth birthday. This boy, a bushy haired brunette, wore unfitting clothes of Ulsterian nobility, a vest, undershirt, dress pants, and all the like. Indeed, he was from Ulster, but he hadn't the discipline to keep his clothes clean.
They were children, the two of them. They knew nothing of consequences; death and despair, to their minds, were temporary. Death was just a lengthy sleep, and it was just a matter of time before the deceased awoken. They were children with all the ignorance of children, all the blissful ignorance so many wished to return to.
They'd spoken, but they did not introduce themselves. The brown haired boy looked to the one who'd nearly drowned and decided to fix this.
"I'm Brenden! What's your name?"
". . . Shin," replied the wet, weary, and broken boy.
They were children, and even as children, Shin Shiden had a stark inability to
die. Stricken by horrible head trauma, Knocked into a river with a strong current, and left to die. The weakness of frailty of Shin Shiden the child could not be put to death by man and nature.
__________
But, perhaps, immortality was a temporary, fleeting thing. Shin Shiden came out alive in so many impossible circumstances--but whether it was luck or fate's unwillingness to accept him, perhaps it was all bound to run dry eventually.
Everyone died, someday, sometime.
But that didn't make death a pleasing thing to see. Nothing could truly glamorize death. Brenden folded his arms over his chest and shut his eyes.
Sturm bent down. With one hand, he lifted Shin by the back of his shirt. Brenden looked up from the stones at his feet, only to observe this with a frown.
"Shiden . . ." Sturm whispered to himself.
Sturm shifted the man in his grip; Shin wasn't too tall. Sturm himself was much taller. Lifting him up was an effortless task. He held him by the collar, but though his hand at first was guided by an austere strength, it loosened when he turned the destroyed remnant of Shin Shiden to face him. He was bleeding out, and hadn't much time. Sturm hadn't much time. None of them had much time. When Shin Shiden died, he would inevitably become the death of this city of shadows and all those within it. Containing this was an impossible feat.
In truth, Sturm had no love for Shin Shiden. For the most part, he possessed only a subtle loathing of the man. Truthfully, he hated Shin when he first saw him again. By now, though, he'd come to terms with certain facts that Shin could not: Shin Shiden was the blade and Silver was his wielder. When Shin killed Sturm's men, it wasn't anything personal; he was simply doing Silver's work. Now, that blade was turned on him, and Sturm acknowledged the fact that he'd very little choice but to break it and make sure it was of no further use to Silver. Destroying Shin Shiden was an impersonal act for Tyrian Sturm; he was doing little more than disposing of a valuable weapon.
But that didn't mean he could not acknowledge Shin Shiden's humanity. It existed
somewhere, deep within a heart and soul perverted by the outside world and its own inner power. At some point, Sturm knew, Shin was a good man. It was a fundamental fact about humanity: no child was born inherently evil. Morality could not be bred, only taught. At some point, Shin Shiden was not an amoral man; he was not a veritable killing machine, nor could he be turned into one. At some point, Shin was a genuinely good person. Sturm regretted snuffing out whatever was left of that.
"You never were supposed to be part of this," Sturm remarked lowly. Perhaps Shin could hear him, perhaps not--it mattered little. One could always hope he could, but in the end, how would it effect a thing? Shin was gone--dead, in body, yet alive in mind. "You only became a soldier of Silver's because I hadn't intervened in time. I knew of the possibility--yet . . . I only skirted the issue. This is as much the fault as yours as it is mine. You cannot forgive me, and I haven't a want for your forgiveness."
"You and I are soldiers--as were my men, as is Silver, Eilert, Icsorue, Exitus, and everyone you've come to know in this damned organization," Sturm began as he turned towards the cliffside; it was little more than a vertical plunge, with only darkness at its heart, "One of us had to die today, whether we liked it or not. As soldiers, it is the risk we took, every day of our lives. But . . . Shiden, if there is a life for us beyond this world, understand you will not be alone. Silver and I will meet you there soon."
Sturm took a step forward--and then another, and another, pacing forward until he stood at the farthest reaches of the cliff-side, the very point that he could look down in see into forever. This battlefield was chosen for a reason. It was safe--for the city, it was safe. Shin's death could kill them all, unless he died too far away . . .
Shiden dangled from Sturm's tight grip, turned as he was to face the former doctor. Below, there was nothing--an endless nothing, a dive into the farthest reaches of darkness, one that Sturm himself, nor any of his Ersatzshad, had the courage to probe. Even science had its limitations.
"Revenge yourself when we meet again. I expect no less," Sturm admitted as he looked down into the abyss, only to let his eyes trail back up and lock with those of a near lifeless Shiden's, "Until then . . ."
With his arm reached out and Shin dangling before him, Sturm narrowed his eyes and willed his fingers to move, to distance themselves from Shiden's collar, to allow the darkness of Oblivion to swallow him.
". . . goodbye."