--Vendetta-- (The end of a potential series)

…A crack of bone. The scream of a man in pain. Falecurst hit the dust-covered stone floor hard on his head and watched as the god fell, seemingly in slow motion, to fall atop Christian, crushing him from the legs down.
A figure ran towards them, his hurried, shuffling footsteps pattering away, creating small dust storms in the dirt that swarmed over Falecurst’s face. The figure swung his spear into Falecurst’s already battered body like a bat again and again, striking painfully against his knees, his ribs, spine, shoulder, arms, testicles, his skull… And as the spear came down to penetrate his heart… Falecurst’s arm shot up in blind defense, the spear-tip piercing through the flesh on both sides of his hand, the spears momentum and attacker’s force checked, Falecurst reversed the spear’s thrust, sending the butt back to bash in the nose of his attacker. He forced himself, shaking, to his feet, pulled the spear tip from his palm and swung the long bladed spear tip in an arc to connect with his attacker’s neck, severing it from his torso.
Through his blood-matted hair, covering his eyes, Falecurst watched the head fall to the dust, his own form, sapped of energy from the final defensive burst, fell to land beside the head. Falecurst rolled painfully to his side to see the face… He was crying, he was bleeding, he was battered and broken and could not bring himself to rise again.
“Oh shit” Falecurst whispered, as he looked in horror into those large, dead, brown eyes, the dirty purplish dreadlocks, the narrow, rat looking nose…
Falecurst collapsed onto his back once again, down into the bloody, swirling cloud of dust. Shaking. Trembling. Crying.
Sage… He had killed Sage…
Sage had tried to kill him…
Why!? Why!?
Falecurst looked at Sage’s decapitated head again, he puked, he didn’t want to see Sage, not like this, but he felt he had to.
An insect, not much larger than an ant, burrowed through the skin of Sage’s forehead. Falecurst puked again, stared in horror, waiting for other parasites to follow, escaping their host in it’s time of death, freeing the host’s mind in its final moments, but no more came…
The lone parasite grew, bloating up to the size of a rat, before exploding it’s guts over Falecurst’s face.
He raised a shaking despondent hand to his face and pulled what remained of the sick bloated parasite from his cheek. He looked at it, silent, as it disintegrated to a powder that fell through his fingers and disappeared into the swirling dusts…
… The fallen god had regained strength, had risen to its knees, Falecurst watched, helpless, his body unresponsive as the god lifted the abandoned spear…
…Bringing the spear down slowly, unenergetically, as one skewering a morsel of less than appetizing food, to stab through Falecurst’s heart.
The god fell, the last of its energy exhausted in that final thrust of a spear, he fell forward, his weight shattering the spear handle to splinters as he fell atop Falecurst, crushing his body from the chest down…

..And as Falecurst, crushed and dying, lay beneath the god, in the dirt, on his back, blood flying, jagged splinters of wood still seeming to hang, suspended, in midair. As he gasped for breath, knowing they were his last. He did not regret any of it. His resolve was as steel as the spearhead now protruding from his heart.

The history books may record Falecurst as an evil, despicable and even selfish rebel. But at least he, he who had endured it all, he who had tried to win no matter what the cost, he who had not cared how future generations would decipher his seemingly evil acts, at least he had tried to save the Humans from illusion. And hopefully his actions will have, in some distant time, in some remote way, have helped to save his people. To bring truth to light.
Though the Humans would never realize this, they would remember their wayward child, Falecurst, as an evil soul.
But at least the Humans were alive, at least the Humans would, possibly, if the puzzle pieces would somehow be fit together, if Earth could unite, maybe someday, somehow, Humans would run free, with souls liberated and enlightened once, more across the green, green grass of the Earth, just as he, Falecurst had, so many years before.
All he could do was hope, only hope that Humans hatred for one another did not forever burn a searing hole of hatred through the very heartstrings of this beautiful planet.
But as Falecurst looked up at the small, clear-blue patch of sky not yet wholly surrounded by the seething toxic clouds from his helpless position, as dust swirled around his dying skull… the fallen god… crushing him… the last god… slowly breathing… slowly dying… each exhale from the god’s enormous lungs crushing Falecurst further… Falecurst’s past  flitted before his eyes in a horrible slideshow of events… He saw all that he was… All that he had ever been… And the pieces fell together… Tumbling from the great bucket of his memory, and by the most amazingly lucky chance, piled up to form a mighty pyramid of comprehension, and truth, so strong, that it could not be denied…
…And atop the pyramid stood Yama! Behind him Azrael, Odin, Osiris, Michael, Thanatos… all the rest… Glowering, contemptuous, reveling in his defeat.
…His war had been useless. His efforts futile, a failure from the start. The fact had been slapping him, violently punching him in the face with the force of a freight train for his entire existence; He had just chosen to ignore it. All he had ever wanted was to save his people. To protect the Humans. To help them pull the blinding, itching, scratching shrouds from their tired eyes. To run free from illusion alongside billions of beautiful Human souls, each radiating in truth…
…Yama floated down from his perch atop the pyramid, Azrael, Odin, Osiris, Michael and Thanatos, bearing a stretcher, followed close behind
The six stared grimly down upon the fallen rebel…
…Falecurst drew his final breath.