Relentless

Envy's laughter shattered the silence as reality snapped back into place. The swirling void of her mind disappeared, replaced by the smoldering ruins of the village. Changra blinked, disoriented for a moment, his breath coming in shallow gasps as his senses returned. He was lying on the scorched earth, the sharp smell of ash and death filling his nostrils.

Envy stood over him, her staff glowing with an ominous green light. Her once-conflicted expression was gone, replaced by a cold, unyielding hatred. She no longer looked like Berethia, the girl struggling with her identity. She was fully Envy now, her eyes blazing with malice.

"The boy of prophecy must die," she hissed, her voice sharp and venomous. She raised her staff, pointing it directly at him. "I don't care about the Crimson King, or this stupid prophecy, or the world they want to build. I just hate you."

Changra pushed himself to his knees, his heart pounding as her words echoed around him. She didn't wait for a response, stepping closer as her grip tightened on her staff.

"I hate the way everyone looks at you," she snarled. "I hate the way they whisper your name like you're some kind of savior. I hate the way you stand there, still trying to act like you care, like you understand. You don't."

Her voice cracked, but the intensity in her eyes didn't waver. "You were handed everything. Purpose, power, attention. And me? I was left with nothing but this—this curse. This endless, gnawing envy that consumes everything I am."

Changra clenched his fists, forcing himself to his feet despite the trembling in his legs. His mind raced, searching for something to say, something that might reach her. But as he looked into her eyes, he realized there was no point.

She's gone. This is Envy now. Berethia might've been in there for a moment, but she's drowned in it. This is all that's left.

Envy's lips curled into a sneer, her voice dripping with venom. "You don't even want this, do you? This power, this destiny. You're pathetic, and yet… you have everything."

She took another step forward, her staff crackling with energy. "I'm done being a part of this. I'm done being a tool, a pawn in their games. If I can't have what you have, I'll destroy you instead."

The ground trembled beneath them as the energy around her surged, her hatred manifesting in raw, destructive power. Changra's chest tightened as he braced himself, his eyes locking onto hers.

"Do it, then," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. "If that's all you want, then do it."

Envy's eyes widened slightly at his words, but the storm around her didn't falter. Instead, her sneer deepened, and she raised her staff higher.

"I will," she spat. "Because I'm done waiting. I'm done pretending."

Envy didn't wait for Changra to defend himself. She dropped her staff to the ground, its glow dimming as she lunged at him, her fists flying with raw, unrelenting force. The first blow slammed into his jaw, sending his head snapping to the side, but he didn't move to block or retaliate.

"Fight back!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the empty village as her fists rained down on him. "Do something, you pathetic excuse for a hero!"

Changra staggered under the barrage, his body swaying but refusing to fall. He made no attempt to block her strikes, even as her punches grew harder, fueled by her fury. His thoughts churned, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions.

Maybe she's right. Maybe this is all I'm good for. A pawn in their prophecy, nothing more. What's the point of fighting back? What's the point of any of this?

Envy's fists slammed into his chest, her breath ragged as she shouted, "You think you're better than me, don't you? You think you're above all this, just because you don't want it?"

Changra's head snapped back as she landed another punch, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His vision blurred, but he stood his ground, his voice low and strained as he muttered, "I don't think I'm better than you."

"Liar!" she shrieked, her fists pounding against his chest again. "You're a liar, Changra! You act like you care, like you're some noble martyr, but you don't care about anyone! You don't even care about yourself!"

He flinched at her words, his hands hanging limply at his sides. She's not wrong. I don't care. Not anymore. Maybe I never did. If I just let her kill me, maybe it all ends here. Maybe the prophecy dies with me.

Envy froze for a moment, her fists trembling in the air as she glared at him. "You're not even trying to stop me," she spat, her voice thick with rage and confusion. "Why? Why won't you fight me?"

Changra's gaze flickered, meeting hers for the briefest moment. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Because maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not worth saving."

Her next punch faltered, the raw anger in her expression giving way to something more fractured—confusion, hesitation, and a flicker of something almost like pain.

But then the storm in her eyes reignited, and she screamed, slamming her fists into him again. "You don't get to say that! You don't get to give up! Not after everything you've taken from me!"

Each word was punctuated by another blow, but Changra's body didn't give out. He remained standing, swaying but unyielding, the weight of his thoughts heavier than the force of her strikes.

Maybe this is how it ends. Maybe this is how it should end.

Envy's fists pummeled Changra relentlessly, each strike more forceful than the last, her screams of rage filling the charred, desolate village. Changra's vision blurred, his knees buckling, but he refused to fall. Blood trickled from his lips, and his body screamed in protest, but his mind was heavy with thoughts of surrender.

Maybe this is it. Maybe I don't deserve to fight back. Maybe it's better this way.

His breathing grew ragged, his thoughts swirling in a dark, numbing haze. But then, amidst the chaos, he felt it—a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't physical, but it was there, firm and steady. A warmth radiated through him, cutting through the storm of pain and despair.

"Keep going, Changra," came a voice, calm and unwavering. It was Merrick. His presence was strong, almost tangible, as if the man himself stood behind him. "This isn't how it ends. You're stronger than this."

Changra's chest tightened, a flicker of life sparking in the darkness. Merrick? The weight of the man's hand felt real, grounding him, pulling him back from the brink.

Memories began to flood his mind—Merrick teaching him, guiding him, offering wisdom when no one else seemed to care. The older man's face flashed in his mind, stern but kind, his words echoing louder now. "Don't give up, kid. There's still more for you to do."

The image of Merrick's lifeless body, slumped on the battlefield, jolted through him, and guilt clawed at his chest. But along with it came a surge of determination. No. I can't stop here. Not like this.

Faces flashed before him, one after another: Jane's soft smile, her unwavering belief in him even when he didn't deserve it; Thorne's clumsy encouragement, his loyalty unshakable despite everything; Aria's sharp wit and bravery. Each one was a tether, pulling him further from the edge.

And then, Lysa. Her face came to him so vividly it made his breath hitch. He saw her silver hair glinting in the sunlight, her quiet laughter, the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him. She was waiting. She believed in him. I have to find her. I have to make sure she's safe.

The dagger pulsed faintly in his sleeve, almost as if responding to his flickering resolve. But this time, it wasn't the dagger's voice that filled his mind—it was his own.

I'm not done yet.

With a sharp inhale, Changra's vision cleared, and he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to straighten under Envy's unrelenting assault. His body screamed in protest, but the fire in his chest burned brighter now, fueled by the memories of those who still needed him.

"I'm not done," he muttered, his voice barely audible at first. Then louder, with more strength: "I'm not done!"

Envy froze mid-strike, her glowing eyes narrowing as she saw the shift in him. "What—" she started, but Changra cut her off.

"You're right," he said, his voice steady despite the blood on his lips. "I've taken so much from you. But you're not taking anything more from me."

His fists clenched at his sides as he locked eyes with her, the storm of emotions within him settling into a sharp, unwavering focus. "Not my life. Not my hope. Not the people I care about."

Merrick's hand seemed to linger on his shoulder for one final moment before fading, the warmth of his presence replaced by the resolve in Changra's chest. He wasn't fighting for himself anymore. He was fighting for them—for all of them.

Changra's fists trembled at his sides as he stared at Envy, her twisted smirk and glowing eyes daring him to act. She tilted her head mockingly, her voice dripping with venom. "What's the matter, Changra? Finally decided to fight back? Or are you just going to stand there and let me finish the job?"

He hesitated, his breath uneven as his thoughts churned. She deserves this. She's killed so many. Hurt so many. But… His mind flickered to the girl he'd met back then, the one who had helped him when he first woke in this world. The one who had saved him, even if it had only been to nurture him for her own twisted purpose.

His fists clenched tighter, his knuckles white. She's not that girl anymore. She's Envy now. She's made her choice.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, a shaky exhale escaping him. "I don't want to do this," he muttered under his breath. "But you're not giving me much of a choice."

Envy sneered, stepping closer, her voice laced with mockery. "Oh, what's wrong? Afraid of hurting poor little Berethia? You should be. She's long gone. All that's left is me—Envy."

Changra opened his eyes, something sharper, harder glinting in them. "You know, for someone who claims to be all-powerful, you talk an awful lot. Is that, like, part of the Sin package? Endless monologuing?"

Envy's smirk faltered slightly, confusion flickering in her expression. "What—"

Before she could finish, Changra surged forward, his fist connecting with her face in a solid, resounding crack. The force of the blow sent her staggering backward, her staff clattering to the ground as she stumbled.

"Sorry!" Changra shouted sarcastically, shaking his hand as though the punch had hurt him more than her. "Didn't mean to interrupt your villain speech. It was super compelling, though. Very Oscar-worthy."

Envy snarled, clutching her face as she glared at him, the green glow around her flaring brighter. "You—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Changra interrupted, rolling his shoulder with an exaggerated wince. "I'm a dead man, right? Honestly, you've been saying that for a while now, and I'm starting to feel like you're all bark and no bite."

Envy lunged at him, her fury palpable, but Changra sidestepped her attack with surprising agility. "Careful there," he said, his tone laced with faux concern. "Wouldn't want you to trip and fall. Or do you need help? I'm great at helping people hit the ground."

He laughed, though the sound was strained, his jokes more a shield for himself than a taunt for her. Keep joking. Keep talking. If I stop, I'll lose it. If I stop, I'll remember everything.

Envy recovered quickly, her glowing eyes narrowing as she stalked toward him again. "You think this is a game?" she hissed.

"No, of course not," Changra said, his grin widening as he raised his fists. "Games are supposed to be fun. This is just depressing."

Her storm of energy flared to life, crackling dangerously as she raised her staff once more. But Changra didn't back down. Instead, he stood his ground, his smirk unwavering, though his chest tightened with the weight of everything at stake.

This is for them, he thought, his resolve hardening. For Merrick, for Jane, for Alsta… for everyone she's taken from me.

His voice rang out, loud and clear, cutting through the chaos around them. "Bring it on, Envy. Let's see what you've got."