He hadn't seen the sun in decades.

As he stood on the top of the crumbling remnants of the old harbor, built a long time ago, before the first Leviathans settled into the surrounding sea, he reminisced about the man who had given him that chance at freedom. The insignificant, kind-hearted traitor that spoke with a stutter, whose fingers shook, his eyes were wide and fearful, concerned and horrified at what he saw.

A mouse stuck in a slaughterhouse.

'I'm Julius', the man had said when he'd snuck into the Black Box.

Without him, Ghoul might not be what he was today. He might not be a person, he might not be free, and Ernest Tillenhall might still be breathing. All because the mouse cut a single wire, before he lost his courage and snuck back into the shadows.

That was almost forty years ago. Since then he'd gone through a thousand names and left a thousand coffins empty, on a single-minded crusade to topple an empire. He never met the man again. He never met the man before.

It was but a single meeting. It was but a few words.

But he remembered them. He remembered the name, those eyes, the impression of his imprint upon the human consciousness. He had hopes that he had simply died, that perhaps he'd simply gone in a quiet bed, a good woman in his arms, painlessly. Ernest's son had proven just as cruel as his father, unfortunately.

He brought his arm forward, his fingers crushing the chain links in his grasp as the charred black mass of flesh, spines and grafted skin they held was dragged forth.

To see the sun for one last time.

A collar sat around its neck, a dog tag glinting in the fading light.

It rasped and whimpered with torn vocal cords, limbless, one spine arching, another jutting out of the side of its ribs, trying to straighten reflexively. Jagged spikes of metal rattled across its back, stabbed into bleeding, slowly repairing flesh. Black skin stretched over wings made out of its own ribs.

Ghoul knew its pain.

He knew no flame nor dismemberment could possibly compare to the pain of living.

The creature wriggled, twisted, leaving charred, melted flesh onto the rotting wooden planks beneath their feet. What remained of its face turned to the golden, fading light of the sun.

He didn't need to look into its eyes to know what it felt. He could see its emotions, radiating off its tortured form. Awe, wonder, despair and acceptance. As he bent down and ripped the dog tag off the collar, he felt a faint prickle of forlorn sadness, a wish that things had turned out different.

It was with a clear conscience that he let go of the chain links and stepped back.

"Rest easy." He whispered.

Holocaust's flames shone white for the first time that day. A show of mercy and respect, a quick death that left behind nothing but a pile of crumbling ashes, to be carried off into the sea and wind by the summer breeze.

His eyes turned to the dog tag.

Julius The Traitor.

He wouldn't be missed, not truly.

But his soul could at least rest knowing what the sun looked like. Knowing that his actions had an impact. That he did not suffer for decades for nothing.

Even if little to nothing yet remained of his mind by the time Ghoul ran into him.

They had to get going. They had a new member to watch over, the insect woman.

"Let's go, before someone decides to investigate the light." He said and turned away as Holocaust nodded, her gaze lingering on the scattering embers of the man who gave them a life without knowing it.

-

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