“Two hearts beat in Lucius Waters’ chest. One for vengeance. One for the dead. Neither for himself.”

  — Martian Funeral Chant, etched into Lucius’ cell wall

  Sweat dripped to the earth, dousing the flames of the flowers beneath Lucius’ muscled physique. His torn clothes, held together by threadbare needles, showcased his countless healing wounds.

  Most scars on a Martian faded over time, eventually turning into nothing but a lost memory. Only the recent ones remained upon Lucius’ body, and as he gazed forward with a hawk’s precision, he saw that the man across from him held no such imperfections.

  All his wounds were gone. The sight brought a twitch to Lucius’ lip as he strode forward. Opposite him, so did his counterpart, both gradually picking up speed. Two hurtling trains gathered their strength, step by step, and the ground shook beneath their power.

  Each footfall sent waves across the roses, eliminating their heat and leaving only lingering smoke. As he advanced, the soldier’s mind went to work.

  Is it a healed copy of me? If so... this won’t be easy. I just hope it’s missing something else, like technique or experience. But... I don’t think it is. Just the way it’s... he’s moving...

  A pair of thunderous footprints approached another as they drew their weapons, roaring with anticipation for their battle. Both the fake and the genuine article knew the struggle ahead.

  Lucius flipped a hatchet in one hand and a dagger in the other while his mirror did the same. Their hatchets clashed first, a ringing explosion of force that sent tremors down both arms. They separated instantly while twisting their weapons to disarm the other, eyes locked. Neither lost their blades.

  The daggers followed, striking and withdrawing like serpents, testing reactions. Both warriors moved with the fluid grace of predators, yet each step brought something to light. It was a careful dance of death, unlike their mountainous forms would suggest. Neither wanted to commit without finding a weakness. So, Lucius and his fake circled each other and trampled over countless flowers, hatchets and daggers gleaming in the fading glow of the dying roses. Each footfall was deliberate, and all movement was calculated. Knives darted in feints and probing strikes, testing defenses without committing fully while the hatchets waited for the killing blow.

  Driven by the steady rhythm of his dual hearts, azure blood thrummed through Lucius’ veins. The copy mirrored him more than perfectly. Its reactions were a tad bit faster, its lunges an inch further, and its power a beat higher.

  Lucius felt it clear as day. There was a sluggishness in his limbs. Hidden beneath the recent bandages and waning scars, his recovering wounds slowed him. The ghost of pain whispered with every motion, dulling his edge. Such pain remained a disturbance he could easily ignore, but it was a disturbance nonetheless.

  He clenched his jaw as the realization sank into his core; his copy was unburdened by such injuries. It moved faster, more efficiently, without hesitation.

  The duplicate’s eyes lit with recognition as it, too, noticed Lucius’ lagging reactions. A cruel smile spread across its face, and its strikes grew bolder, more aggressive. Each attack tested Lucius’ defenses with increasing ferocity. It took advantage of every ounce of power it had over him. The clone’s hatchet came down in brutal arcs, forcing Lucius to sidestep and counter to evade an instant loss. The dagger followed, slashing dangerously close to his chest. Close enough to leave trailing sapphire.

  Lucius felt his enemy’s weight pressing down on him. He was losing ground, his movements growing increasingly desperate. With each trade, he earned another slight wound. Wounds that were expanding with the growing contest.

  But, as the copy surged forward, a dagger aimed directly at his eye, Lucius saw it.

  Not the blade. Not the attack. He saw what wasn’t there.

  Resolve. The copy’s gaze held precision and calculation—but not the unwavering fire that had carried Lucius through his previous battle. The memory of his wife’s words seared his mind with realization.

  His synapses raced, Martian instincts slowing time as adrenaline surged. Twin hearts pounded furiously, pumping life into his battered body, sharpening his focus even as his lifespan ebbed. The dagger inched closer, its gleaming tip reflecting the flicker of distant embers. However, Lucius’ attention remained locked on the gaze staring back at him.

  The copy lacked something primal.

  It hadn’t faced the Dirge. The bastard hadn’t been beaten into an inch of his life with his own specialty.

  It hadn’t died and been pulled back from the abyss. No matter how Lucius wished to deny it, that is what transpired. Without the... Inferose’s meddling to snap him from where he bled out, he would have long been a corpse. He wasn’t even sure it was the dimension that did so, but it was the only thing that made sense to him.

  But more importantly than either of those two experiences...

  It hadn’t heard Meredith’s voice, her illusory blessing, the one that had reignited the buried rage deep within Lucius’ soul. The fire that had dulled with the passage of time burst into a bonfire at the touch of her hand. He hadn’t... seen her die once more in that dream.

  This copy lacked the fires of twice-forged loss and despair. It had lost its family but still held absolute belief and confidence in its abilities. It believed itself unbeatable. Maybe not consciously, but that didn’t matter.

  Lucius had felt defeat a second time. And it was the ghosts of the first who pulled him from the bottomless depths of which few returned.

  However, this thing, this Martian, didn’t know the depths of its own mortality. It wasn’t Lucius. Not really. It was just some being that was close to him. They may have shared minds, hearts, and even thoughts, but one thing set them apart.

  Only one had their self-bound chains released.

  Not all Martians had a file such as Lucius. He had killed many Dirge throughout his life. Many. But he had only killed one Anathema. It was a breaking point.

  It was proof that he was not just some soldier.

  Lucius growled low in his throat, a sound that grew into a roar as the dagger came closer. He didn’t defend. He didn’t retreat. Instead, he tilted his head into the blade, letting it drive deep into his right eye.

  The pain was white-hot, an explosion of agony that sent a cascade of blue blood cascading down his face. His vision blurred on one side, and his body screamed for him to stop. But Lucius was Martian. He had felt this kind of pain before. Pain was survival. Pain was fuel.

  Furthermore... he had been so much closer to death before. What was a knife an inch from his brain when he had already passed beyond this world once?

  As the copy’s eyes relaxed in victory, Lucius pivoted around the dagger and surged forward, slamming his forehead into its nose with a sickening crack. His good eye burned with fury as the duplicate stumbled back, clutching its face while the brain within bounced around.

  However, Lucius didn’t stop for a moment. He hurled his hatchet with an underhanded throw, embedding it into his opponent’s leg. The weapon sank into the flesh with a wet thunk, forcing the duplicate to stumble.

  Now was the moment to truly strike. All that came before was mere exercise.

  Lucius followed with a feral lunge, driving his own dagger into the copy’s side, piercing one of its hearts while it recovered. Blood squirted from both their wounds as the soldier slammed his foot into the ground and yanked on the dagger. With the rest of his body, he twisted, grabbing the fake Martian and exerting all his power.

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  The clone’s eyes widened, its mouth opening in a silent scream as both flew to the ground from the throw. The impact alone doused the remaining roses, delivering both to total darkness. However, neither had a problem seeing their reaper.

  He felt his enemy beyond the eyes that pierced the shrouding dusk. The heaving breaths, the tremors of pain, and the blood pooling between them, all of it entered his brain and dialed up his adrenaline.

  Lucius wasted no time. He straddled the copy, yanking his dagger free with a feral snarl. The motion sent a fresh spurt of blood arcing across his face, mingling with his own and dripping down onto the petals beneath them. Somewhere in the void, the roses’ embers sparked faintly, reborn from the azure nutrients, but the light was feeble.

  The copy hissed in defiance, swinging wildly with its remaining hatchet. Lucius raised his forearm, letting the blade bite into muscle and bone. Without a grimace, he retained the weapon with the muscles in his forearm. The pain was blinding, his limb screaming for escape, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he brought out his rage and drove his dagger down again.

  The blade found flesh, punching into the clone’s other heart. A shockwave of tension rippled through the fake as it spasmed beneath him. Its hands clawed at Lucius, nails tearing at his face, his neck, anything it could reach. In a single moment, it ripped the dagger out of Lucius’ eye socket, gaining a weapon back before plunging it into the original’s chest.

  Twice.

  In a split second between the thrashing, Lucius panted, his breaths ragged and shallow. His remaining eye burned, fixed on the dying creature beneath him. This was no ordinary exhaustion; it was the toll of pushing his body beyond its limits. He had recovered from the use of Brute. But...

  Not entirely. Deep within, Lucius long craved rest. Rest that he would not, could not, enjoy.

  Four hearts still beat, even the clone’s two that were damaged, yet Lucius’ rhythm faltered. The dagger felt slippery in his grip, slick with blood—his enemy’s and his own.

  But the fight wasn’t over. The copy, even with its second heart pierced, let out a yawp after his stabs. It bucked beneath him, forcing Lucius to stumble backward before steadying himself. Barely.

  Both of them rose unsteadily, swaying like wounded animals. The roses around them smoldered faintly, casting their silhouettes against their enclosure.

  It was almost as if all eyes were on the two combatants. The only spectators were these flowers, reemerging from the void the battle had begotten them unto. Nevertheless, the fires shifted into a sky-blue color and forgot their crimson as they fed on blood.

  The copy moved first, lunging with unnatural speed, its dagger raised high. Lucius, disoriented and with one eye blind, sidestepped.

  Yet not far enough. The blade grazed his ribs, cutting deep enough to make him stagger. His vision blurred as more of his azure lifeblood spilled onto the petals. Lucius’ feet trembled, his muscles grasping at reserves that had long been expended.

  The voice came then, in the fading shadows, faint but unmistakable, a whisper cutting through the haze of pain.

  “Why are you crying, bear?”

  He felt the dripping blood on his right eye alongside Meredith’s words. A memory, a hallucination—Lucius didn’t care. The sound ignited something deep within him, something he’d buried for years once more, just as it had previously.

  The only difference was... this time... It was stronger. Longer lasting. More.. enduring. The fire was already lit, after all. With the words... oil was tossed onto the blaze.

  Just as their love had only grown throughout their forty years together, it peaked upon her death. Lucius’ bloody, resplendent tears reflected his opponent’s struggle. It was at this moment that Lucius found purpose once more.

  Love. Was it truly so ephemeral? So... intangible?

  He didn’t believe so. She may be gone. He may never see her smile again. He may never hear Hope’s piercing laughter or Zachariah’s silent curses.

  The heartwrenching sentiment steadied his feet.

  Unbelievable powers existed in this universe of his. Things that he hadn’t imagined before. He was aware of the powerful and their endless might, but he hadn’t genuinely seen the impossible.

  Until he met Dante. And what was more impossible than making death bend the knee?

  “I’ll bring them back,” he declared. Lucius’ eyes burnt forward, searing into his copy’s descending strike.

  However, Lucius didn’t evade.

  He felt the hatchet cease upon his forehead, a slight laceration opening vertically. The duplicate glared at him with equal parts hate and bewilderment.

  They stood still for a moment, one giving up his life for his purpose, yet it was the other that broke first.

  “How? It’s impossible they’re dead!”

  It started as a whisper, gradually intensifying into a howl of unbridled fury. With it, the hatchet dug into Lucius’ flesh, tapping upon his skull.

  Against the sure death, Lucius’ eyes bore an even more defiant gaze as he asked, “Who decided that?”

  “Who said it was impossible?” his words echoed again in the motionless trial. His counterpart shook with disbelief. Lucius meant his every word. “Was it Vicar? Yarnen? Yiestran maybe? Or was it the Stranger? One of the Endless? Are they who decide what is impossible? No. None of them are.”

  Lucius caught the hatchet’s blade with his bare hand. His fingers wrapped around the edge, slicing open his tendons and flesh from its sharpness.

  Then, he ripped it aside with a strength he couldn’t possibly have.

  “I will be the one. I will be the one to decide who lives and who dies. I will be the arbiter of the impossible.”

  Stunned by his words, the fake didn’t fight back as Lucius stole the hatchet from him. They shared the same weakness, yet one had already lost once. The copy reacted only a moment afterward, but it was too late.

  The hatchet fell toward his neck. Blood spewed from the false Martian’s shoulder as he shifted a bit to the side. Lucius brought his knee up to seal the deal, driving it into the copy’s stomach, and followed with a savage headbutt. The sound of cracking bone echoed as the clone stumbled backward, collapsing onto the scorched roses.

  Lucius didn’t give it a chance to recover. He fell upon it like a predator, pinning it to the ground with a hatchet.

  His dagger rose, trembling in his grip, and plunged into the clone’s chest. The blade sank deep. But it was never enough.

  Spasms bucked at Lucius, yet the Martian lifted the blade up and slammed it down again. And again.

  Cries of pain and struggle continued for a full minute. Only after a minute from the fifteenth stab did it lunge a final violent time, its body arching as if trying to rise one last time. Then, with a shuddering breath, it went still.

  Lucius remained on all fours over the dead man. He knew if he fell here, it would be over. He’d never move again.

  Before his eyes, the void seemed to part, revealing a fragment of the sky from tens of thousands of blossoming roses. It was blue—bright and vivid, the color of his homeworld. For a fleeting moment, he felt a pang of peace. The memory of Meredith’s voice lingered, soft and soothing, until it changed.

  Her calming tone turned into the murmur of an ancient entity, no longer endearing but instead hopeful.

  “Rage, my bear. Rage. Come to me. A seed is awaiting your touch, unchosen. You are free to take as many as you can endure, my bear.”

  Lucius let out a shuddering breath, his vision darkening. Around him, the roses reignited, their flames dancing once more. The light ushered a modicum of energy into his flesh, just enough for him to fumble around into his duplicate’s pocket, praying that he had figured out the trick with the clones.

  He retrieved the Brute hidden within its pockets with a sigh of relief.

  A moment later, a midnight vial glistened beneath the sky as the petals above ascended into the sky. Lucius glanced at the syringe for only a moment before stabbing it into his neck.

  The hiss of the fluid entering his veins was unlike anything he’d ever heard. Instead of using it to fight, he put the Brute to work in a different way.

  He needed to heal, and nothing had ever affected his regeneration as much as Joan’s sinister drugs. Within a second of the abyssal liquid flowing alongside his cells, he felt a rising fire against his chest.

  It was a fire that ripped from Lucius all that he had.

  Then, he brought himself to his feet, stumbling with each movement. His arms hung backward and limp while bones cracked back into place and flesh twisted together. The depths of his body were expunged, and his dark hair turned a cruel silver while his eyes paled to a pure white.

  His face, stoic and ageless, shifted to that of a weathered general while the contours sharpened.

  All of the changes mattered little to him as his heart was set. However much lifespan he had lost was but dust in the wind. Beneath, he felt the rose climbing higher and higher, approaching the top of the rose.

  Two other enclosures were open, not yet rising, and Lucius saw the tiny figures inside with his sharp sight. Rejo and Eight.

  When did they... Right. The little fucking bastard can teleport. Even managed to break in here after it closed. Of course, he could skip past the wall. I bet it was easy, too.

  The Araki sat motionless, shuffling cards in his hand, ignorant of his position. The Anomaly, however, felt Lucius’ gaze.

  Eight met the soldier with a raised eyebrow as if asking, “How come you’re going up first.”

  Lucius didn’t answer him, though he knew the answer.

  Only he had made it this far with his power alone. And that... that was what the Inferose wanted most. A vessel without any other occupant.

  ************************

  While the thunder of Lucius’ petals rising into the air shattered the sky, Sonna stood still. Minutes had passed, but neither she nor her duplicate had moved. Both remained frozen.

  Neither wanted to fight. They lacked the confidence to enact the opening strike, to draw the first drop of blood. It took all she had just to enter. So, they didn’t attack.

  The Weren felt her heart pound against the distant noise, and she knew she couldn’t stay still any longer. Her crew was waiting for her.

  Yet, why did she care? What was she following them for? Because she owed her life to Dante? Because the Federation or the Church, or whatever it was, would come after her?

  Sonna didn’t know. After the Inferose, if she lived that was, she would have paid her debt. She would have her freedom.

  What then? Will she strike out on her own? No.

  Her thoughts flickered back to the time spent with Joan, Rejo, Lucius, and Archimedes. Even Astraeus, for the short bit she had known him.

  They had grown on her. With the lack of relationships and bonds she had ever had, it became difficult to turn from these things. The mere idea of walking away from those that had fought for her and with her...

  She recalled how Rejo had held her after he teleported her. The way his eyes scoured her body for wounds, not as some merchant scouting his goods but as a concerned friend.

  But that was not all. Her thoughts turned to the position she had held in Dante’s absence.

  I... liked leading. It was stressful and... back-breaking... and annoying, but it felt good. Really good. I don’t want to do it all the time. Still... every once in a while...

  Sonna’s feelings for the captain were complicated, split between ire and gratitude. Could she live under his wing? Could she grow and excel with his guidance?

  Did she even want to continue this life?

  So many questions ate into her time. However, her opponent hadn’t moved yet, either. She had the time to spend for now.

  I like getting stronger. Really, I do. It feels... exhilarating. Many things are scary and leave me with nightmares or shakes, but I don’t just want to give up. The old me would have done that. She would have curled into a ball and cried.

  Sonna balled her hands into tight fists as she promised herself, “I won’t be like that anymore. I’ll stay with them and become strong. I’ll never let anyone down again. I won’t fall behind. I’ll... live up to how Dante sees me!”

  Her words struck a cord within her own mind, bringing back the words spoken by Judas. Even if they weren’t said by the man she knew, they stung. That voice was the first one to believe in her.

  Which made it hurt so much more to hear those words...

  “The useless one.”

  There it was again, but this time, unlike as it had replayed countless times in her mind since it happened, it wasn’t only inside her mind.

  With a skip of her heart, Sonna turned to find Judas’ head and right hand peeking through the distant wall. Both Sonnas, the real and the fake, knew this was not their Dante through the vat of shadows in his eyes. Burns lined his body, scouring every inch of his flesh, but he stood without shiver.

  He had followed them, taking advantage of her long-held indecision and hesitation.

  While ripping apart the petals that restrained him from the inside, the mirror of their captain spoke with a facade of interest, “Two of them? How fascinating. Surely, you didn’t think I’d be left behind that easily.”