Ethan straightened his pointy tip, assuming as much of an air of gravitas as he could in his pure hat form, before he declared what fate was going to befall old Arty.

"You know I can't let you live," he began simply. "As long as you remain alive, the Hybrids of this world will call for your head."

The fallen angel did not pout, did not nod. All he did was sat, eyes fastened to his now useless hands, and listened.

"And yet, there's value in your life that none of us have ever seen before," Ethan went on, much to the Lightborn's dismay. "We might be the only two people on this entire planet who have had the exact same journey – the exact same one – and come out still believing that we're in the right. That our way is the only way. One side has to die, and that's it – Hybrid or human. There's only room for one species on this planet.

"We've believed this, as has everyone else, because of one person and one person alone: Kaedmon. So, in a sense, my killing you accomplishes very little. Like you said before, you – the Lightborn - are already dead. And in killing you, as you are right now, I am slaying the one person on this planet who can truly say that they have the freedom to be whoever they wish to be. You're the future, Arty. Whether you know it or not, it's my hope that one day every single person on this earth will be exactly as you are right now."

The angel scoffed at that. Whether it was at the ludicrous nature of the idea itself, or the sheer irony of his own position, Ethan couldn't know.

"So, what will you do with me?" he asked.

Ethan did not hesitate. He'd planned this speech, believing that a sense of disgust might hit him as he uttered it to the angel himself. But now that he was here, seeing Arty as he was, and remembering the crimes he'd committed as well as the value in his life, he couldn't really say that he felt anything at all.

"I'm going to possess you," he said.

Artorious stiffened. It looked like he went cold. His mouth gaped open and yet no words tumbled out. Ethan let him digest the thought before he finished his death sentence:

"You will die, in a sense," he said. "Everything you are is going to become me. Your angel form will be mine, and will serve as a symbol of the new Hybrid power that will soon become a big player on this world's stage. In doing this, I give you everything you ever wanted, Arty: a chance to die, and a chance to do your duty. The form Kaedmon gave you will usher in a new dawn for Argwyll. And though you will not have your own eyes through which to see it, know that it will be a world for Hybrids and for humans, both."

Now Artorious looked at him, eyes strained and jaw slack. His forehead was practically slathered in sweat that marred his once angelic features. Now, Ethan truly was looking into the eyes of nothing but an old man. An old man who knew that the end he'd put off for an entire century had finally caught up with him.

Ethan expected a final cry of rage – one last, defiant cheer from the Lightborn made against the demonic overlord of Kaedmon's enemy. Instead, what he got was a simple question:

"This form means nothing, now," he said. "You said it would serve you as a symbol, but its powers have been stripped. Surely a better symbol of your supremacy would be drawing and quartering me publicly, scattering my limbs for the whole world to see?"

Ethan rolled his eye one last time at the Lightborn.

"Honestly," he sighed. "First: 'supremacy' isn't what I'm going for here. Second: I'm not interested in creating a society of savages. Third: I'm gonna let you in on a little secret."

Ethan hopped forward and stuck his hem through Artorious' cell bars, nudging the Lightborn's foot so that he could conjure his newest skill acquisitions up for his old foe to see:

Skill Siphon (Grade B)

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Can transfer unlimited skills from one Host to another, in addition to any skills gained from your prior Hosts.

Any Skill you transfer is automatically upgraded to Grade B, unless its power level is already higher.

Cost to upgrade further: 6000 Spirit Cores.

Skill Siphon (Grade A)

Any skill you transfer is automatically upgraded to Grade A, unless its power level is already higher.

Cost to upgrade further: 9000 Spirit Cores.

Skill Siphon (Grade S)

[Memory-Mantle] Unlocked!

Able to transfer any skills that have been used against you in combat from memory alone.

Artorious didn't even blink as he read the skill text, his mouth quivering as he formed the words that stopped his human heart.

"Memory…alone."

"Correct," Ethan said. "See, Arty, with this, I don't even really need to possess you. That's just an aesthetic choice. Something to show your Greys and Cardinals in the East exactly what's coming for them. Kaedmon might have stripped you of your skills, but I remember the stings of your attacks. And that's all I need to make them mine."

The Lightborn seemed stunned. He rocked back in his cell at the words as though they were a set of daggers that had been plunged into his vulnerable mortal chest. His head shook of its own accord, his eyes flickering with profound disbelief and disillusionment all at once.

"Kaedmon didn't know?"

"'Course he didn't," Ethan surmised – the same thought had occurred to him when he'd saw the end of the Skill Siphon upgrade path. "Can't see something that he didn't design himself. I was brought into this world to break all the rules, after all."

What happened next shocked Ethan more than any revelation he'd gotten from anyone in the last year – more than anything he'd seen on Argwyll at all.

Old Arty at first seemed like he was about to deflate – to melt into the ground of his cell in utter defeat and shame, having understood the sheer weight of his defeat. Instead, a small, chittering sound emanated from the Lightborn's lips.

Only after a few seconds did Ethan realize that he was laughing.

Artorious threw back his head, spread his charred wings wide, and let laughter spill from his throat and fill the dismal chamber where his life would soon end. He laughed – the echo of his sudden, manic joy traveling round every corner of the Sanctum Keep dungeons – and Ethan sat with him, smiling inwardly at what he assumed was either insanity or relief taking over his old foe in the end.

"By Krea…" Artorious sniffled as his spree came to an abrupt end. "Till the end, you spit in our faces. All of us. You mock us in ways we could never even conceive. You take everything that we hold to be true and dissolve it away to impotent ash."

He wiped a tear from his wrinkled eyes. Then, he folded his hands together and regarded them reflectively, like a monk who had finally achieved nirvana.

"…you did what I was told could not be done," he said. "You defied Him. You spat in his face, too…"

Ethan regarded Arty with no small amount of revulsion – but the emotion was muddied. The old bastard deserved the fate he'd be getting – a fate worse than death in many ways. Yet, Ethan knew that Arty's weakness was his own weakness, too. That, and that fact alone, had compelled him to have this whole conversation. He'd expected it to be shut down within minutes. He hadn't expected Arty to entertain him at all.

The fact that he looked almost at peace, right now, told Ethan that something else had happened here entirely.

And just to confirm it, he Appraised the old Lightborn's Willpower:

Artorious Pendragon [Unclassed]

WILL: 1/5000

He was ready.

"A new order for the world…" he mused. "You believe in it, Archon, but I tell you now that it is a misguided notion. This world cares little for order. And it cares even less for heroes."

Ethan furled up his hem in a shrug.

"Maybe it doesn't need a hero," he said. "Maybe it needs something else."

Artorious gave him one last indignant scoff.

"Something else," he echoed.

Nothing else was left to say. Ethan straightened again, summoning up his [Possession] skill and a quick, reflexive [Remote Possession] spike just in case – you never could know with old Arty.

But it seemed that the surprise the former hero of Argwyll had in store for him was of an altogether different kind.

"It is customary to ask the condemned for their last words," he said.

Ethan shrugged again. "I can guess what they'd be. Don't hold back, old man. I'm sure you know plenty of good curses."

"It's more of a request."

"Now that I gotta hear."

No laughter this time. Instead, the withered face of Artorious looked him dead in the eye, serious as stone.

"Go on," he said. "Go off on your quest for unity. And if you ever discover how to live without a master – any master – then tell the rest of the world. Tell your Hybrids. Tell the humans that are left. Because you'd be the first person in history to do it."

Ethan rested his gaze on Artorious Pendragon for one final time, swallowing the old man's words and the odd desire that lay behind them. He didn't know exactly what the Lightborn would say to him, but he hadn't expected that. He hadn't thought that the angel would have anything but spite on his tongue.

But those final words, freely given, just seemed all too perfect.

"Arty," he said, "that's a promise."

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