Good luck and Godspeed.

- Neil A. Armstrong

Chapter 44

[Snake Report]

Gorf's gone.

For real, this time.

His core broke into a thousand pieces, all so he could protect me. To the bitter end, he was just a big softie. He was never meant for violence, or war.

And through him, I have been saved again.

Rising up in the sky, I wonder if this is just how life's gotta be.

People come, and they go just as quick. You can care about them, but you can't stop them. All it takes is a blink, and they're gone.

Life really is just one battle after another.

Mentally, physically, emotionally... it doesn't ever let up. The punches start coming, and all you can do is trade blows and take the hits, or run.

For a long time, I ran from those battles.

I guess that's just my flaw.

I've never been very brave, and I've never been the type to seek out glory.

There's almost nothing I can truly remember from my time as a human anymore, but even with what little is left, I know I haven't changed much. I know I didn't face all my problems head-on back then, either. Instead, I always took the easy way out. Over and over, again and again, I turned away from the risks and the dangers. I was content living the easy life.

Was that wrong?

At some point, there's a real choice to be made. There's a time when you've gotta ask yourself the hard questions. About who you are, and who you want to be.

Do you just keep living like that forever?

Do you just let your actions define you, past the point of no return?

Do you keep on running?

It's not as if being brave is always the smartest choice, after all. Sometimes, being brave means being dead. Sometimes running away means living another day. Even for the strongest people, sometimes there is a fight you just can't win.

But I've found that each time I've chosen to run, it gets a little harder to do anything else.

It's like a poison, eating away at me.

Just run, it says.

Survive.

Escape.

Deep down, I hate that.

I hate that more than anything.

God... I'm a mess. Even now, soaring up into the sky on the corpse of my friend, I feel the temptation to flee. Somehow, I still want to run away. It would be so easy. All I would need to do is just take the stone around me, and form it. All I would need to do is breathe fire, and propel myself far, far, away.

Even now, a part of me wants to.

Just give up, and run.

Just survive.

It's like a stain on my soul that I just can't scrub out. That part of me is still there. It's always there.

I thought... I hoped, really, that after all this time, I would finally be different. I thought that maybe, just maybe: I was ready to change. To be better than I used to be.

But I'm not.

I'm still just me.

No matter what I do, there's always going to be that piece of my existence. A part of my identity, to the bitter end.

But even so, I'm tired of running.

I'm so tired of always being one step behind. Of always being just a little too weak. Of always being a little too late. But more than anything: I'm sick of watching horrible things happen, that I could stop.

Things that I could fix.

It took me so long to realize that I have a purpose here, if I want it. That in this world, there are things that only I can do. That I'm not just a human anymore. I'm not just a normal person, wandering through a normal life.

I'm a God.

In a world that needs one of those, so very badly: Here I am.

I can bend the Earth to my will. I can call up flames that will set the sky ablaze. I can conjure water from the air. I can save lives on the brink of death.

I am a God of the Wastes. I am the Blue Death. I am a Leviathan of the depths themselves. And the potential I have is almost limitless.

But if I run?

If I run, right now, even holding all of this power?

I will never stop.

I will never change.

And I will never stop hating myself for it.

I've struggled. This power I've acquired came in leaps and bounds, and is almost entirely undeserved.

With what I have, a selfish person would have already twisted the world to their likings.

A better person would have already tried to right the wrongs.

An evil person would have burned cities to the ground, and become a legend.

And yet, I'm none of those.

I've never wanted this. And I've never really understood how much I've gained. At best, I could rationalize it only for immediate goals, or problems that crossed my path. Yet, I never stopped to consider what it really meant to me.

And I think that now, I know.

I think I finally understand: there is an obligation.

It's not to the people of this world.

It's not to Imra's last wish, or the Golems, or the Farstriders, or even the city.

It's nothing more than a simple, selfish, demand.

I have an obligation for myself.

It's time to put that line in the sand, once and for all. And if I die, so be it.

Do you see me, Gaia?

Are you watching?

This is who I am.

I am not running.

Not anymore.

....

Like a speck of blue, in a sky of green: There was fire.

High up, far above the clouds, far above the world: Stone and crystal formed in the air, shifting and spinning about as they reached the peak of their flight. Shaping beneath the will of power, brought about by the God of the Wastes.

Power tore across the sky like an aurora, and the people watched.

Warriors who were charging across the land, weapons in hand, let their eyes lift up. From the walls of the city, hands pointed and voices raised. From the homes, sheltered and protected, they looked towards the power residing there. Some prayed, some cursed, but no one dared to look away.

Stone found solid form, as it crested there: a beacon above the lands below.

The spear took shape, deadly and sharp. Sand and fragments pressed together, from endless clumps. Crystal shattered, in a shower of mana.

And the stone condensed.

It melted, molten and scorching, as it shook under the pressures containing it. Harsher and harsher as it began to crest, sharper and denser: it became violent as the energy ripped apart clouds of smoke and fire. And on that fire, it rose higher.

Above the clouds, it soared. Above the world, it soared, until there was nothing but a tiny speck, far off in the sky. Until those who watched it, thought surely it must be among the stars.

And then, the spear began to descend.

On a halo of green fire, it fell from the heavens. And as it fell, those green flames did roar. Trailing flames back up towards the heavens, the spear grew faster. As cracks of force came like booms of thunder, leaving rings of clouds in its wake, it continued to fall.

Turning away from the foolish mortals, who dared to raise their weapons against it: The Dragon, too, stared up. From where it stood, it roared with all its fury. Jaws opened, letting free the power of lightning, striking out towards the coming threat. In challenge, it bellowed out with rage that any would dare to defy it. And it spread what remained of its wings wide, bellowing with all its might.

After it had already lost, this pitiful, tiny, thing... It would still dare to defy the Dragon?

With all its strength, the Dragon let its lighting free to the air above. And such power moved out and struck, as lightning often does, in the blink of an eye.

But the falling spear of stone did not break, and it did not slow. It did not stop, or scatter to the wind.

The spear only moved faster, and faster still, as it continued its flaming descent. Until it was moving so quickly, that the very air seemed to shatter in its wake. Until it seemed to burn like a meteor in the sky.

The pillar of sharpened stone plummeted towards its target.

And it did not miss.