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month record rogue 4 6 1
Light has long since left.
Driven by the singular desire to survive, the concept of hatred has been eradicated. From the surface, all life on Terra begins to die. Desperate, its dwellers dig deeper in search of an escape.
They know that if they burrow too far, liquid fire will erupt and consume them alive. But they no longer care. Their instinct to live commands them, and they will blindly follow it until they waste away in futility and agony.
...
Aefanyl wraps his tattered clothes tighter around himself as he ascends the staircase. His footsteps echo softly, leaving a long trail in the dust. Behind him, another figure follows like a shadow.
Together, the duo makes their long climb to the surface. The air changes from warm, to stifling, to devoid of all life.
The singer of death wishes to sing one final song for himself, and his companion hopes to hear its melody. And so, two madmen form an ill-fated alliance in their march towards oblivion.
Their wishes will soon be granted.
...
During their last rest, the Banshee and his Sarkaz companion sit together and use their remaining light source. In the flickering glow, the Banshee sees his companion for what may be the final time: he has cut off his horns and wrapped himself heavily in bandages. The lenses of his sunglasses have shattered, leaving only the frame. A comical sight. Weapons are useless in this dying world, so he discarded his sniper crossbow, keeping only its aiming scope—to better observe the approach of death.
In the eyes of his companion, the Banshee fares no better: His ear tufts have transformed into a 'helmet' of sorts. His body is almost entirely covered in Originium, as if he might crumble into dust at any moment. At this point, it is neither his brain nor heart that keeps him alive, but the very Originium consuming him.
Neither of them speaks. They simply look at each other, then at the light. It flickers, shimmers, and finally goes out. As the last afterimage from the light vanishes from their retinas, two hands—one wrapped in bandages, the other covered in Originium—clasp together. They help each other up and stumble onward.
...
Hours or days could have passed, but the road gradually grows more even. Their eyes see only darkness, their ears hear only the hollow echo of death, and they feel nothing at all.
The Banshee takes a step back, unsure if his companion is still there.
There is no one behind him.
Is he still waiting, or has he left? Aefanyl does not know. He can feel what little parts of his body that are still flesh crystalize.
And so he sings the song of the Banshee.
A stream of air travels out of his depleted lungs, past his vocal cords, and through his crystallized lips. It sweeps past the lens still clutched in his companion's hand, carries away the remaining heat of the dying planet, and drifts into the dark nothingness that has long remained still.
At this moment, matter ceases to exist. Only the lingering voice of a man echoes in the silence.
Listen. This is the song of Aefanyl.
