Jensen coughed as he looked up to the sun, eyes filled with tears. He had been reanimated only a few hours ago as the rescue teams and cleanup crew worked to take of the night’s activities. The Chaplains were hard at work speaking to several troubled souls. Many women, men, and children cried as families were reunited despite the best efforts of the Cult, but too few did their joyous tears get drowned out by the despair filled wails of those who were lost forever.
The immortal looked at the wreckage of Twice Baked Tower, heart heavier than ever as he was part of the team that pulled the warrior Ta’gaz out. He had been killed under the weight of the tower. Even for all his prodigious might, the man was not able to hold a tower all by himself forever. Some survivors mentioned William Arcus not lifting a finger to help. Jensen knew why. The bastard had betrayed them all. His mentor passed in the night in agonizing pain, trapped under the ruins of the castle he served to protect. What an ignoble end to a noble, honorable warrior.
Adolph, for all his strength, had been unable to stomach the loss of his second in command. Harold Andres’ body had been taken away, found beheaded in the castle foyer. A woman had stuck by him, who witnessed his fight with the bitter mercenary, and spoke of his valor. Jensen seethed as he watched the toughest man he knew crumble in Aislinn’s arms, crying. One more to add to the list of people to avenge.
It took considerable effort for Jensen to find Andrew Octance, his bloody and broken body still breathing and still fighting. Laconic, nearly destroyed in the night, stood vigil over his hiding place. The child genius had gripped the Thayne gifts of Yedda and Jomil in his hands, protecting them with his very life. It had almost cost it his own, but the teenager proved to be made of sterner stuff, giving them back to Sei and then passing out. Jensen carried him to the Medical Ward, and he nearly balked at the sight.
It was filled to the brim with bodies. There was a hole in the wall, a collapsed dead spider in the wake, and the back of the room looked like it had seen battle as well. Aislinn and pierce were running back and forth, both covered head to toe in blood as fresh linens were draped around them, the best of the mages sterilizing their hands to the best of their ability. Jensen placed the child on a chair, waking him up. For once, the loudmouth had not much to say, just a nod of understanding and a weak thank you. Jensen turned to see Laconic trailing down the hallway. He waved the robot to see Andrew, who nodded to the immortal. With that closed he ran off to the next disaster.
All morning Jensen was moving from one fire to the next. He helped clear out rubble, rescue families, give mercy to the dying and took cruel, twisted pleasure in killing Cultists who were unable to escape into the night. When he made his way back to the courtyard, the knight found a body he was fundamentally unprepared to see.
Lying against a wall, his eyes shut, and a pool of blood at his seated position rested his father. Jensen ran as fast as he could, hitting the wall and bouncing off it as he landed next to the man who he had just started to come to terms with. He never loved his father before, the two having so much animosity between the other, but they had begun to patch things up, fixing the damage done. Jensen carefully lifted his hand to his face, slapping him hard as he urged him to wake.
“Wh-wha? I’m awake, jeeze, leave me alone,” he muttered weakly. Jensen breathed a sigh of relief. Nathanial opened his eyes, looking to his awakener and sighed, eyes blinking in pain. “So there he is, in the flesh…crybaby,” he teased. Jensen let out a soft sigh.
“Well, ya know, I’m not as tough as you are,” Jensen said dryly. “You told me so every day.”
“I suppose,” he wheezed. “There’s some truth to that...” he coughed, blood coming up and out onto his chest. “I don’t have long,” he admitted.
“Please, dad, don’t,” Jensen begged. “I lost enough people to the Cult, I don’t want to lose even an asshole of a father like you!” His father gripped Jensen’s hand. It was cold to the touch, but there was warmth in the meaning behind it.
“I did nothing…to prepare you…for the world…” his cheeks reddening from his shame. “And yet…despite me…you turned out okay,” he laughed, a half coughing, half wheezing noise. “I…I never really said this at all, and it’d be a fucking shame to waste it now.”
“Dad…please don’t go…” Jensen sniffled.
“Look at me son,” He said sternly. Jensen did, his tears matched only by his fathers. They looked to one another for a long time, saying nothing. “I am proud of you, my boy. And I love you.” Jensen wept as he grabbed his father’s head, burying it into his chest as his father did what he could to wrap his arms around his son. They held one another for a long while, before Nathanial broke it off. “My arm…the talons of the wind hawk…they are yours. Don’t be a fucking embarrassment. Use them when you’re ready to be a true Oracle of the Wind.” He fought to rip the arm length plating off his left shoulder, the segmented titanium plates softly chiming in the wind. The feather’s and leather creaked as Jensen helped him remove it, putting it aside as he looked to his father.
“Hey dad,” Jensen choked. Nathanial closed his eyes, wheezing softer and softer as the life left his eyes.
“What?” he grunted angrily.
“Tell mom I said hi.” Nathanial looked to him, nodding to him as his grip on Jensen’s fingers went slack. The immortal whispered his dad’s name. There was no response save the wind in the air. Jensen fought hard to stem the tide of emotions, but one tiny hand, gentle and warm, touched his shoulder. He fought as he turned, looking into the maroon eyes of his daughter.
“Grandpa is…” she whispered. Jensen nodded. The little one looked to her grandfather one last time, her eyes closed as she sniffled, before nodding and looking to her father. “I wanna say a few things before we go.” Azza asked reverently. Jensen nodded, moving off to the side.
He went down a corridor to a secluded ally, still covered in blood and bodies. No matter what, it seemed every nook and cranny of Ixian Castle was covered in dead or saw battle. He leaned against the wall, his body fighting so hard as he shivered, slumping down the sides to his buttocks, kicking his legs out and holding himself in check. He looked up to see Azza come and sit next to him. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sniffled some more. Jensen leaned his head on hers, both looking off into the sky. They were the last two surviving Ambrose family members, their family killed by the Cult of Blessed Torture.
“It’s just us now, Kiddo,” Jensen whispered. Azza nodded.
The two sat in silence for a while, sniffling and holding one another as the night ended for them, a terrible memory that would haunt them forever. So much betrayal, so much anger vented out on the Ixians. The innocents were the largest casualties, and Jensen felt each loss of his slowly dwindling pool of friends and family keenly.
He looked to his hands, and felt the weight of a thousand worlds collide on him at once. He sniveled, feeling the deaths of all his loved ones impact him at the same time. He cried, unable to cope any longer. It was just too much for him.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, sobbing into his hands.
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