Wishington

"No matter how hard I try, right? You'll always be the star, YOU'LL be worshipped on your knees by EVERYONE... but you're just a coward... and you know it, Jesse."

He said, his voice filled with... arrogance? anger? He couldn't be sure, but reasoning was no longer an option, and the harder he tried, the more his offer would be trampled underfoot. The storm behind them was the only sound accompanying the clash of blades, along with cries for help and terror just meters away, a reminder that they were still in a city on the verge of destruction.

Jesse defended himself with agility, but his opponent was an animal, willing to bring down anyone in his path, even if it led to his worst crime. The clash of swords grew louder with each movement. Defense, attack, feints... the ground became increasingly slippery with the accumulating water, the stones on the bank shifting precariously.

– "Wake up! Everything is going to crumble!" We shouldn't do this! -

— WELL, I DO WANT TO, BECAUSE I ALWAYS HAVE TO SPEND YEARS IN THE SHADOWS. "NOT LIKE THAT LITTLE MR. JESSE WHO LIVES OFF FLATTERY AND RELICS AS IF THEY WERE TOYS!"

...

For a few seconds, that sword aimed at Jesse reflected something it shouldn't, something that shouldn't be exposed... and that... was the last straw.

The same rage his opponent felt now relentlessly intensified Jesse. In an instant, he launched a more aggressive attack with his sword, giving his opponent no time to react, driving him to the edge of the thinnest rocks, disarming him, and leaving him vulnerable, defenseless.

His opponent went from red to pale with fear, cowering the second he saw his own sword fall into the void, his eyes then turning to the one who stood before him with the strength he had underestimated moments before.

"W-wait!"

Without a second thought, Jesse grabbed his enemy by his clothing, pulling him toward him and his right hand. He aligned his sword toward the stomach, and then… A silent groan escaped his opponent before he could speak, more like a scream that never uttered, a prayer that remained a lump in his throat. From the stab wound, that dark, crimson hue began to flow rapidly, but in a slow and elegant way, so unlike its bearer. His eyes met Jesse's gaze one last time, his legs gave their final tremors, and the last thing he managed to hear was:

“…I hope you find forgiveness on the other side, because I never will if it comes to you, Aiden…”