Chapter 199: The End

  Prota stared at John, trembling.

  Of all the battles she’d fought in this world, two of them had been against her brother.

  The first, during training.

  Not a real battle of life and death, but a challenge. A challenge to kill him, not with the intent to kill, but simply to win. A test of will and strength, with the lesson ultimately being that of a skill she would never forget. A skill that had kept her alive during countless battles against countless foes.

  Ironically, a skill taught through death was what had given her life.

  The second time, in a trial.

  Technically speaking, it hadn’t been John. It was an illusion conjured by her mind, a vision of strength she idolized and chased. A being made up of the strange conceptual energy both she and John bore, created to see if she could continue her fight. It hadn’t exactly fought like John, but it was close enough. She’d won, not entirely from her own skill, but doing so had taught her resolve.

  Ironically, it was this skill that was giving her the resolution to end the life of her brother before her.

  Life.

  Death.

  Both lessons, taught by the same teacher.

  And now, she was preparing to bite the hand that fed her.

  “...do you even understand why we’re fighting?” John said quietly.

  Somehow, he looked tired now. As if killing the people he’d once called friends had taken a toll on his state of mind that, until now, had seemed perfectly fine.

  “No,” Prota said quietly. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t?”

  John’s tone was one of genuine surprise. Prota, too, was surprised. Had he meant to tell her?

  “Hm… I wonder why I didn’t… strange. Well, I mean, I don’t think it’s that complicated. I’m trying to leave, right?” John sighed. “I can’t leave unless I collect everything that belongs to me, if you know what I mean. It’s a pain in the ass, but then again, what’re you gonna do?”

  With a start, Prota realized something.

  [Deus Ex Machina] energy. Right. It was what had given her existence. It had helped her, resurrected her, kept her alive.

  But ultimately, it was John’s. Ultimately, it wasn’t hers to use.

  For a moment, she hesitated. Should she just give it up? Unlike the others, she had calmly accepted the truth of this world. At the time, her mind had been in the perfect state to accept it; unsure of herself, broken by the world, ready to be moulded and grown.

  She had spent most of her conscious life aware of the fact that she was a fictional [Character] in a fictional [Story]. But because she didn’t understand the implications of this fact, she was less likely to snap under its weight.

  But now, knowing this truth, she was forced to make a decision. John was real. She was not. Then… was the better choice not to simply give up? There was no one left to fight for. Even if she ran away, John would just plough through countless lives until he eventually found her.

  In the end, the world would vanish, with or without her death. All she was doing at the moment was delaying the inevitable.

  But…

  Victory.

  She wanted to win. From her time in the streets of Solaris, she had always lost. She’d always received the short end of the stick, always had to suffer and bow down.

  No matter what she did, it was never truly her victory. It was always growth. Struggle. Pain, over and over. Sure, she’d dominated in fights, but when had she ever had the satisfaction of winning?

  Maybe she had gained such a victory at some point. But if she had, it hadn’t been significant enough to stay in her memories.

  None of that mattered, anyway. Now…

  She was fighting for herself. For her own ideals. For her own desires.

  She had made her choice.

  Even if this life didn’t matter. Even if her existence was meaningless. She would keep fighting. She would fight until the bitter end, fight until she dropped, because her life mattered.

  She wanted to live, even if life itself held no meaning.

  “If your version of victory means you don’t sacrifice anything, then don’t sacrifice anything. If your victory is the utter defeat of the opponent, no matter what, then sacrifice everything. You need to decide what ‘victory’ is to you.”

  Prota wouldn’t give up. Not here. Not now.

  She held no ill will against John. She hated what he’d done, but she also understood it. Her mind was a mould of both [Character] and [Writer], understanding both worlds. She understood John’s mentality.

  But in the end, she was a [Character], through and through.

  So now, victory wasn’t against John. It was against someone else. Someone she could never hope to defeat, but then again, what was defeat?

  The opposite of victory.

  And if victory was what Prota defined…

  “Hey! Fuck you! Are you having fun up there? Sitting in your chair, writing away, thinking, ‘I’m a good writer! I can make my characters suffer!’ You feel good about yourself? Yeah! You know exactly who I’m talking to, and you know exactly what I’m talking about! I’m just as much a [Writer] as you are, you know that? So I’ll be taking over!”

  She would endure an endless struggle against the one who’d put them in this situation.

  All she wanted was to get John back. As long as she could do that…

  “You’ll protect me, huh? I’ll hold you to that. From now on, you’re my protector. Keep me safe, ok?”

  That was “victory.”

  She would win.

  Anger began to boil in her heart. Fire began to burn within her soul, blazing hot, so hot it could melt matter itself… no, not just matter.

  Mana.

  Slowly, the mana in her core began to boil, first gaining an attribute of fire, but then evolving past that. Evolving past flame, past burning, past magma, past lightning, become the very concept of heat itself.

  Heat. A concept. Not matter. Not energy. Although Prota didn’t know what this was, it wasn’t even the scientific definition of heat energy and entropy.

  On a conceptual level, what people understood as “heat…”

  That was what had formed within Prota’s core.

  Then, for a moment, Prota lurched forward. She felt as if a piece of her soul had been expended. Something came to mind.

  Last Stands.

  Was that what this was? Was she using a final resort? Would she die upon casting this spell?

  But no. She was fine. She wasn’t dying. In fact, after that initial hiccup, she felt better than ever.

  Blue flames began to swirl around Prota, but they weren’t quite fire. They just seemed to be light, or something like a mirage, not entirely visible but there nonetheless.

  And it was beautiful.

  Like a dance of flames, a symphony of fire…

  “A dance of fire,” Prota muttered, her eyes shining despite everything she’d been through.

  Magic truly was a beautiful thing.

  “Are you done?” John sighed, standing up.

  She hadn’t even noticed he’d sat down.

  “Let’s get to it.”

  Prota nodded, grabbing her staff in her hands. The staff that had once been passed down was turning against the very hands that had gifted it.

  But for Prota, she could think of no greater gift to give. To defeat John here…

  That was all she could do for him.

  Her mouth opened.

  “Go.”

  The flames shot forward, and John vanished, his body turning black. The attack hit the tree behind him, and it blew up, creating an explosion so massive it blew a huge crater the size of a mountain in the ground.

  There were eleven flames left.

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  Prota had effectively created a spell twelve times more powerful than the Tenth Seda.

  “What the-”

  For the first time, John showed emotion, and his darkness flickered. Prota’s heart rose. She could do this. If she just kept fighting long enough, just struggled hard enough, she could make him lose.

  And if he lost, so did the [Author]. She would disrupt his plans. She would—

  “I need to step it up, then.”

  Like before, John’s body grew even darker, absorbing the light around him. For a moment, Prota felt chills run down her spine, but fear wouldn’t make her back down. She charged forward, not too close, but making sure her attacks would land. She needed to close that gap. Missing wouldn’t do here.

  Getting close might get her killed, but that was a risk she was willing to take. Her life was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. If she were truly a [Character] with free will, then she would use that will to defy every action laid out for her.

  She would do what she willed.

  The earth shook with each of Prota’s explosions. The trees were decimated, the ground evaporated, and not even ashes remained. Each attack summoned a ball of light like the sun, blinding and burning hot, blazing with incredible glory.

  Even still, John managed to dodge each and every attack.

  Normally, this would have discouraged Prota, but now, it was the second-best thing that could happen.

  John dodging meant he felt the need to do so. This only confirmed her theories that his time was running out. The more he used that strange power, the more he faded, and it seemed he didn’t want that happening.

  That just meant she needed to exhaust him.

  Unfortunately, she was running out of spells. Only three left. She had to make them count.

  “One last struggle… damn it,” she heard John mutter. “I should’ve seen this coming…”

  The [Story]. Was it working for her?

  For a moment, she was conflicted. Did the [Author] want John to lose? What if killing him was just playing into the palm of their hand?

  That moment of hesitation was fatal.

  John reached forward, extinguishing the remaining three flames. With a twist of the body, he managed to land beside Prota. She hadn’t even seen him move. Her lack of understanding regarding his power was proving to be part of her downfall.

  Still, she managed to just barely dodge out of the way in time. She was alive. If she was alive, she could keep fighting.

  And if she could keep fighting, victory was still possible.

  “Hey. You don’t mind just giving up, do you?” she heard John ask.

  Her vision was blurry. She used a healing charm, but it wasn’t enough. She used another. Then another. Only after the fourth was she even somewhat recovered, and even then, her body felt like it had been run through a blender.

  She didn’t know if she could cast that spell again.

  “Seriously… well, I guess I’m the one who made you that stubborn.”

  She looked up. John genuinely looked annoyed. Previously, Prota might have taken that expression to heart, but now…

  No. There was still a fighting spirit left within her.

  “[Author]. There’s not much left to see. I don’t really have anything to cut out of the [Story],” John called out. “Can we just… end it here? You lead me down this path. Are you gonna squeeze as much content out as you can, or what?”

  There was no reply. Prota was grateful for the stalling time, trying to recover as much as possible.

  “Fine,” she heard John say. “I’ll do it the hard way.”

  One last time, his body turned dark. Prota clenched her teeth, preparing whatever spells she could.

  “John,” she said, calling his name out one more time. “Please.”

  “Please, what? Prota, what do you want me to do?” John’s tone was apologetic. “I can’t save this world. It would be nice if I could, but logically, it’s best if I just get out of here. Like I said, what do you want me to do? Stay here forever? You’re fighting a pointless battle. I’m… I’m sorry for leading you all on, but that’s really all I can do.”

  For a moment, he hesitated, the darkness flickering.

  “...this is why I shouldn’t have made any relationships to begin with.”

  With that, the battle began anew. Prota flinched as John teleported forward, but she leapt back in time, avoiding a fatal blow.

  She had to remember that. There was no taking damage here. There was no powering through pain. A single touch, and she was gone. Just one mistake, and it was all over.

  And this time, the one who usually came to her rescue was the one trying to take her life.

  Spell after spell was cast. Even basic icicles and fireballs were used, whether it be to obscure vision, or just to try and deal some kind of damage. Even if attacks landed, though, it seemed to make no difference. Prota could see no relent in John’s onslaught.

  Absolute Zero didn’t slow him down. Plasma Disk passed through without leaving a trace of harm. Blossom of Ice and Frozen Flame merely managed to create a fancy show of ice and fire. Hail of Arrows similarly did nothing, and Frozen Bullet was of no use against someone who held no defensive properties to begin with.

  What could she do? Keep attacking? For what? When would this end?

  “John,” she pleaded again, this time her voice failing her.

  The fire in her heart was slowly dying. Even with all her experience, all her lessons, she couldn’t keep it up against the brother she loved. The act of fighting him, even if it was for his sake, was just too much.

  Her movements were growing slower. Her reactions, duller.

  If she didn’t do something soon, it would all be over.

  And then it was.

  Prota almost dodged it, but almost isn’t quite perfect enough. Just a brush of a finger. John’s hand against her index finger, just a slight touch.

  But it was enough.

  She watched as her hand slowly turned black, slowly losing feeling. It wasn’t just going numb; it was as if it literally did not exist. As if it had never existed to begin with.

  “That took way too long,” she heard John gasp.

  She looked over. John was back to normal, no darkness, no nothing, just a regular, plain John, albeit sweating and panting.

  “...if it’s anything, I guess I’m sorry. If there's consciousness in there… I didn’t mean for things to hurt. But I don’t really have another choice.”

  John’s voice cracked for a moment.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  Slowly, Prota began to feel cold. It was cold. So cold. Like the first time she’d died. Her vision was growing dark, her soul growing empty…

  What was the point in all this? Why had she fought? The false hope she’d been given. The inspiration in her mind, fading as soon as she realized it was pointless.

  In the end, the world hated her. But now, she knew it wasn’t for no reason in particular.

  It was because there were those who thrived off her pain. Her suffering.

  And in the end, there was nothing she could do about it.

  Loneliness. That was all she felt. The one who had stayed by her side for so long was no longer there. And that feeling was oh so cold.

  But she couldn’t give up. Not yet.

  That cold. That bitter, soul-gutting cold. Mana began to gather, just like with her flames, but this time, it was that of ice. First, ice mana. Then evolving, to that of snowstorms, gales, storms, freezing temperatures, until like before, it evolved to cold.

  Not the lack of heat. Not the vacuum of space.

  But the concept of “cold.”

  The world had felt her fury.

  If she couldn’t stay warm, she would show others her pain. Her suffering.

  Everything would freeze.

  Twelve orbs surrounded her, turning the surrounding air to a temperature of Absolute Zero. Like before, Prota could feel that each one had incredible destructive power, ready to obliterate everything in its path.

  But right now, there was only one target left.

  “Go,” she whispered, sending it flying forward.

  John wasn’t ready. He was too tired. Too exhausted. But, in the last second, he managed to react, turning his body black, negating the attack sent his way. There wasn’t even an explosion or any show that a spell had been cast at all.

  Just… nothing.

  Prota closed her eyes. That was it. There was nothing left she could do.

  Two spells bearing destructive power beyond that of any being in this world… reduced to nothing.

  But something felt different.

  “Haah… haah… seriously, what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

  Prota’s eyes snapped open to see John, eyes wide and trembling. He was almost gone, now. If he’d seemed pale before, he was almost completely invisible, as if he were an afterimage or mirage.

  The darkness on her hand was gone, too. It had taken everything up to her arm, but it had stopped spreading, leaving her alive.

  Hope.

  There was still hope.

  A shiver ran down her spine.

  “Can you not just give it to me?” John pleaded, his voice cracking.

  Prota struggled to sit up, but it was hard. So hard. She didn’t remember it being so hard to merely get into a sitting position.

  “Why are you making this so hard?” John continued.

  His face was still blank. His voice, mostly flat. But emotion was beginning to show.

  “...fine, I’ll do it myself.”

  A sword dropped out of nowhere. But it wasn’t a sword from the pocket dimension.

  It was one of the swords John used when [Infinity] was active.

  “Prota. Just end it here, please.”

  He swung, but his swing was weak. Clumsy. Despite her fatigue, Prota threw herself back, face-planting in the dirt, but she survived.

  She was still alive.

  “Just die!” John said, his voice growing louder. “Why are you struggling so much?”

  “You struggled,” Prota said, spitting out the mud in her mouth. “John. I said… I would protect you.”

  “There’s nothing to protect! What are you even doing?!” John exclaimed, his voice now a yell. “Just… just give it up! I don’t want to do this either!”

  Prota’s eyes snapped open. That was it.

  Just one last push.

  “John. Maybe… maybe I’m not your sister. But you… you are always my brother. And you asked me to protect you. So I’m protecting. I am… your protector.”

  The line was cheesy. It was cliche. Prota didn’t know what those concepts were, but that didn’t make the statements any less true.

  But ultimately, what better phrases to use against John?

  Someone who hated cliches. Who hated cheesiness. The man who hated sloppy endings, poorly written stories, rushed endings, messy solutions…

  Was currently being done in by that very thing.

  In reality, things were sometimes cheesy. Sometimes cliche. But emotion is emotion. It is not logical. It does not obey rules. It simply is.

  To love someone is to love someone. There doesn’t have to be a reason.

  In the same vein, pain is pain. Joy is joy. Despair is despair. Rage is rage. Sometimes, one feels such things. There does not have to be a reason. There does not have to be a solution.

  Emotion can not be done “well” or “poorly.” It is. And one either chooses to accept them or deny them.

  That is all there is to it.

  What comes next… well, that is a separate matter.

  But the present was what was hitting John so hard.

  “I… I have to…”

  John clenched his teeth, tears pouring down his face as he grabbed his blade.

  “I have to finish it…”

  Prota couldn’t move anymore. She’d exhausted all her energy. All she could do was watch as John brought the blade down.

  She closed her eyes. The last image of John… this couldn’t be it.

  The ring on her finger flashed as she pulled out one last photo. The image of her and John on the beach, waiting for the professors to come and get them.

  That event hadn’t been particularly important or interesting. Sure, they’d almost died, but that happened all the time.

  But it was the first time John had spoken of Earth things. It was the first time he’d involved her in such activities, bringing bits of his world into hers. The two of them, smiling in the sunset, so happy, so calm…

  A gift from Earth. The first gift he’d given her that wasn’t from this world.

  Yeah. This wasn’t so bad of a memory to have. This wasn’t such a bad way to go.

  Finally, her body gave out. The photo slipped out of her hand as her arm went limp, her eyes slowly closing, embracing death for the last time. It was an old friend, but now, it was time to say goodbye.

  …but death never came.

  Suddenly, she felt something warm in her leg. She opened her eyes to see John, collapsed on the ground, his blade sticking out of her thigh. He was holding the image in his hand, gripping it tightly against his chest. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, wetting the dry ground beneath.

  For a while, the two stayed there like that, not budging an inch. Prota wanted to do something.

  But what?

  She couldn’t even move.

  “Zero,” she finally heard him call out.

  Surprisingly, the soul appeared. Prota looked at him, but he wouldn’t look at her.

  Why not?

  “I want to do a [True Reset].”

  Prota’s heart skipped a beat. A what?

  “You can’t do that,” Zero said. “It’s… well, you know.”

  “...but I can do something like it, right?”

  “You can… hm. Well, you can do something that’s basically the same. It’ll be good enough for what you want. All [Zeroed] [Characters] will return, and you’ll permanently forget what happened here until you recover your memories in the [Library].”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I’ll remember this life. That’s all.”

  “...what do you mean?”

  “Look, a [True Reset] is when… well, whatever. The point is, in a [True Reset], I’ll forget what happened, and you can’t do that. But you can make it so everything else is the same.”

  John hesitated. “You said you’ll remember?”

  “...yeah?”

  “Great. Do me a favour.”

  For a moment, Prota thought the soul looked incredibly sad.

  “What?”

  “Don’t let me meet Prota.”

  Her heart sank. What? What did he mean by that? She wanted to speak, but was too weak to do so.

  “...John-”

  “I’ll use [Deus Ex Machina] energy if I have to. Do we understand?”

  “...yeah.”

  “John, wait-” Prota started, but it was too late.

  “Initiating [Wipe].”

  John’s body began to vanish, slowly glowing brightly, particles of light scattering into the air. Prota watched as the world around her did the same, slowly vanishing into nothing.

  But one figure remained.

  Zero.

  For the first time in a while, he turned to her, a bittersweet smile on his face.

  “It’s all up to you, now,” he said quietly.

  With that, the world vanished.

  The [Story] came to an end.

  For that is what stories do. Just as they all have a beginning, they must all come to a close. How this looks may change from story to story. Some are abandoned. Others have happy conclusions, tragic endings, or an open interpretation left to the reader.

  But no matter how one puts it…

  They all come to a close.