Gunmage
Chapter 82: The one that remains

Chapter 82: Chapter 82: The one that remains

Lugh died.

But he was alive.

He died again. And again. And again.

The collapse of a building crushed him beneath stone and steel. He felt his body rupture as he fell from impossible heights.

He drowned in the Roch River, lungs filling with cold water before darkness took him. He was impaled, burned, shattered, torn asunder.

Each death was distinct. Each pain was real. Yet none of it was final.

Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of times—Lugh perished. As a soldier, as a child, as an old man.

As a beast, clawing and howling against the tide of fate. His mind fractured, stretched beyond comprehension, holding lifetimes that did not belong to him.

He remembered streets he had never walked, wars he had never fought, voices that had never called his name.

A version of him stood. Thirty thousand others lay broken in the ruins.

The will to live had long since fled him. He did not resist as the multitude of memories poured into him, reshaping his mind, twisting his being.

He was not Lugh anymore.

He was John. He was Michael. He was Elizabeth, Natalia. He was within, he was without. He was everywhere and nowhere.

The shell he wore—a mere mockery of a body—drifted through the devastation. The space around him wavered, as though reality itself struggled to contain his existence.

Objects flickered at his touch, phasing between states of being. His form did not move so much as the world adjusted around him.

He looked down upon the wreckage of the city, its once-proud streets now swallowed by rising water and ruin.

A single thought surfaced, cutting through the chaos of countless minds.

I caused this.

The waters lapped at his knees. Flashlights flickered through the choking fog, voices calling out.

"Is anyone there?!"

A soldier in red approached him, rifle raised.

"W-who are you"

The man stuttered, unnerved by his presence. Lugh tilted his head. Then he spoke. His voice was layered.

"I am Lugh. No, not Lugh. That was before. Now I am many. We? No, I. Singular. Fragmented singular. The pieces do not fit, but I wear them anyway."

Lugh saw the bullet enter his skull before it was fired. The pain lingered in his mind, though his body was untouched.

He raised his hands to stop it and already, he is dead. He did not know which version of him killed the soldier.

"It was one of us. One of me."

...

General Garrick had given the order. The rescue operation had begun.

Ropes descended into the chasm, disappearing into the thick mist. Soldiers moved with urgency, pulling survivors from the wreckage.

"Found someone! She’s still breathing!"

A group of soldiers heaved a slab of stone off a fourteen-year-old girl, her frail body barely clinging to life.

They hoisted her onto a stretcher, securing the ropes as she was lifted skyward. An endless procession of the barely living ascended into the night.

Men, women, children. Soldiers of Ophris. Soldiers of Heieg. In devastation, only ’human’ remained.

A shout rang out from another corner of the ruins as a soldier called his comrades.

Another survivor. A woman, barely conscious, her chest marred by a deep wound. Her unnaturally long auburn hair coiled in the water. A mutation, perhaps. One of the many which they had seen.

The soldiers hesitated only for a moment before lifting her. She might not survive the ascent. But they had to try.

Further away, near the operating area of a rescue squad, two figures emerged from the darkness.

A woman limped forward, dragging someone alongside her. Her steps were slow, each one an agonizing effort. She had been carrying him for a long time.

"Please... help us."

Then she collapsed. Soldiers waded through the rising water, reaching the fallen pair.

An elf. Gasps of surprise rippled through the squad.

And the man beside her—

"It’s the Prince!"

The urgency of their movements doubled. The operation continued.

For long hours, they pulled the living from the ruins as the water rose, creeping ever higher. But some things could not be saved.

Lugh moved through the devastation, seeking something. Someone.

He found him.

The elf lay sprawled in the wreckage, his body wasting away, the enchantment eating through him. And yet, he clung to life.

Lugh placed a hand on his forehead. Emrys did not resist. Perhaps he had already accepted his fate.

He was gone. Another name added to the cacophony within Lugh’s mind. Another set of skills, another lifetime folded into his own.

He lifted the enchanted sword the elf had once wielded, its edge glinting with stolen power.

A presence stirred as someone emerged from the darkness.

Xhi. The priestess.

She stepped forward, scrutinizing him with those unfathomable eyes. Her form was steady, her movements almost human. Almost.

But Lugh could see the hints of something else. The way the air warped around her, the way her words stretched beyond sound.

She sighed. Her voice was something old, something weary.

"I warned you, didn’t I?"

Lugh said nothing.

Another sigh. She reached out, placing a hand on his head. Reality ceased its stutter. The space around him settled. But his mind remained an ocean of echoes.

"This happened too soon. Way too soon."

"It was always going to happen."

"Yes. But not like this."

Lugh tilted his head, gazing at her with eyes that did not see as mortals did.

"It has happened. It is still happening. Nothing can stop it... I can’t stop it."

Xhi exhaled.

"You disregarded our deal. You tried to die."

"I... I, we—"

But no words came.

"Lugh."

"I am not Lugh. I was once Lugh. Not anymore."

She smirked.

"Give it a century or two. I’m sure you’ll feel it"

"I already feel it. The thing that keeps me here.

I do not know what it is. It has a thousand faces and no shape. It burns, it devours, it sings. It is in me, but I do not know if it belongs to me.

Perhaps it was hers. Or his. Or theirs. I must find it. I must know. Until then, I will carry it with me. And if I cannot have it—"

His eyes burned with something beyond mortal comprehension.

"I will become it."

Xhi’s smile did not waver.

"Good."