Cries of anguish
Beyond the ancient facility, the sky darkened as a colossal flock of crows materialized from the void, their ebony wings blotting out the heavens. Thousands upon thousands of them gathered like a storm front, their cries rising in a dreadful cacophony. Feathers tumbled through the air, carried by unseen currents, a harbinger of something far more sinister than mere carrion birds.
They circled in the sky just above the crumbling structure, forming a writhing, seething mass. Their raucous cries echoed through the mountain pass, reverberating off the jagged cliffs in an unholy symphony. It was as if they carried the very weight of an impending death sentence, their calls a dirge to the fallen.
Yet within the shattered remnants of the battlefield, Orion remained motionless. His hands trembled at his sides, fingers twitching with the echoes of adrenaline, yet he did not raise his head to witness the sky's mourning. His gaze was locked upon the severed head before him—a grotesque thing with gnarled horns, its lifeless eyes still carrying the remnants of its final, futile rage. A trophy of death. A monument to destruction.
And then, from the billowing smoke, a figure emerged.
Lisa.
She stumbled forward, a ghost of the warrior she had once been. Blood dripped in uneven trails from what remained of her left arm, severed at the elbow. Her once-pristine armor was torn asunder, a great gaping wound carved into her left torso, as if something had gnawed at her flesh like a ravenous beast. Her face—her once-beautiful, determined face—was charred beyond recognition, the blackened skin still smoldering with dying embers of dark flame. Her breath came in shallow gasps, yet she did not falter.
She pressed onward.
The sword in her grasp, now cracked and dulled from relentless battle, served as her crutch. Each step she took was agonizingly slow, her battered body barely able to support itself. And yet, despite the agony that should have driven her to the ground, Lisa reached the ethereal barrier. With the last reserves of her strength, she lifted her remaining hand and pressed it against the glowing surface, her fingers trembling.
Her gaze found Orion's.
And she smiled.
A soft, fragile thing. One that held no resentment, no regret, no fear. Only warmth. Only love.
Orion could feel his body locking up, the storm of rage that had consumed him moments before dissipating like mist under the morning sun. In its place, something far heavier took root—something that squeezed at his chest with a suffocating grip.
No.
Not like this.
Lisa's eyes softened as she gazed upon him, and in that fleeting moment, the years unraveled. She saw Orion as the helpless infant she had cradled in her arms, the bright-eyed child who had clung to her when he first learned to walk. She saw the reckless teenager who had laughed as she scolded him, the young man who had tried so desperately to prove himself. She saw it all, every moment, every memory—the times she had ruffled his hair, teased him, scolded him, protected him.
She saw the boy who had grown into a man, standing before her now, breaking apart under the weight of helplessness.
And despite the unbearable pain, she smiled even more.
Orion's lips parted, but no words came. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her to stay, to tell her to fight—but he knew. He knew the truth that was staring him in the face. His sister, his protector, his guide—she was dying. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
She was still smiling when her lips moved.
"I'm sorry."
It was barely a whisper, but it cut through Orion like a blade sharper than any steel.
"No," he choked out, shaking his head violently. "Don't—don't say that. Don't apologize. You—you didn't do anything wrong! Don't—"
But Lisa didn't argue. She merely let out a soft breath, her body sagging against the barrier. Her sword slipped from her grip, clattering against the ground. A slow, painful descent followed, her palm sliding against the glowing surface, leaving behind a stark smear of crimson.
Even as her body gave way, her gaze never left Orion's.
Then, finally, she was still.
Orion's breath hitched. His entire body trembled, a violent quake that he could not control.
And then, the dam broke.
"Lisa…? Lisa!"
He lunged forward, slamming his fists against the barrier, his voice rising in desperation. "Lisa! Open your eyes! You can't— You can't leave me! Lisa!"
His voice cracked, splintered, fragmented like the very soul inside him. His vision blurred, his throat tightening as his cries turned to a broken, choked sob.
"Why?" His voice was barely a whisper now, his forehead pressing against the barrier. "Why do you always do this? Why do you always leave me behind?"
But there was no answer. Only silence. Only death.
And then, the grief twisted into something else.
Rage.
A searing, unrelenting fury that clawed its way up from the depths of his gut, burning hotter than any fire. His hands balled into fists, his knuckles turning white. And then he swung.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!"
The facility trembled with the force of his unrelenting strikes, the sounds of his fists meeting the barrier like thunderclaps in the void. His body screamed in protest, his muscles screaming, his skin tearing, but he did not care. He had to break it. He had to shatter it. He had to do something.
But the barrier did not yield.
An hour passed. Maybe more. Orion had long since lost track of time. His rage had burned itself out, leaving only a hollow, empty husk where it once had been. His hands were bloodied, his knuckles raw, his entire body aching. But the pain was nothing. Nothing compared to the void inside him.
And so, with what little strength remained, he staggered back. He found himself near Lisa's fallen form, his legs giving out beneath him as he collapsed to the ground.
His knees drew close to his chest. His arms wrapped around them. His chin rested upon them.
His gaze remained locked on Lisa.
The world was silent now, save for the distant cries of the crows still circling above.
And in that silence, Orion was alone.
Completely and utterly alone.