Epilogue: New Moon
And so, the battle for the Multiverse had reached its conclusion. Who would have thought that all those years ago, the chance abduction of a small handful of people would be the start of all of this? But truth is stranger than fiction, it seems, and Alice Twilight was no stranger to that. The first victim of the horrid rituals known as Murder Games had moved on, that chance abduction giving her a chance of her own, one to start over and leave behind the heartache and bloodshed of the past. All that senseless fighting...and for what? A life cut short for the entertainment of others? Glorified gladiators. That's what they'd been.
Alice was not sorry to leave that life behind her, but every now and again she couldn't help but wonder: what of the others? Those in her world who couldn't get out. Who were trapped even still in that endless cycle of death and despair. And there was one in particular she lost sleep over. In that fught, they had spoken of love. Love...Alice had lost everyone she loved. She was there, that night, when the only love that lived stopped breathing forever. And perhaps that had made her ready to accept her fate that night she got the call about Travis. But now, this was a brand new Multiverse. Anything was possible...including a miracle.
And a miracle did come, one day. Once Alice was finally able to buy herself a television set she happened upon yet another tournament. A different one, hosted by a man named Cell. One where all involved were able to rise up and destroy him...something impossible in the UAA. But there was someone there Alice had known in passing. Another Assassin, Cloe Walsh. Ranked 23. She'd been sliced to ribbons weeks before Alice's last night in Santa Destroy, but here she was, alive and well and able to start over. If she was alive, and so far down the rankings, then could that mean...? It was a small sliver of hope, but Alice would take it either way. Fueled by the hope left in her after this final battle, she wrote a letter and sent it out, hoping it would reach the person she wanted it to. Please...let it reach her in time.
---
"Okay. Let's try this once more."
Sitting at her desk, the girl gripped her pen, looking at the page before her. Nine words. That's all she had so far. Just nine. But did it really matter? She was as good as dead, anyway. Only two people who had ever survived their battles with Travis Touchdown were schoolgirls, and that time was far past. No, this could very well be her own requiem she sings tonight.
She tapped the pen on the edge of the desk. "Once more...ahem. 'I, Margaret Moonlight, being of sound mind and body...' Um..." You know...sitting here, writing this will? Really made the young assassin realize just how fucked up all of this was. Who writes their will in their early twenties? How did she even get to this point? A tragic life ending so early. It would almost be poetic, if it wasn't truly happening.
Margaret sighed, setting her pen down. This could wait. There was only one person she'd bequeath anything to, but even then, how long would she have left? If Travis won, of course. If he lost, well...the possibility of the two of them facing each other... No. No way in hell was she going to think on that. Here, let's look at the mail. A letter had come for her today. It was a tidy little thing, and smelled like...pumpkins? How odd. But the handwriting. It was so familiar...could it be?
Heart racing, Margaret brought her finger to the back of the envelope, starting to open it. She only got one centimeter in. "Huh?" That was Margaret's last coherent thought before her mind grew clouded and her sight grew dark, and she collapsed onto the table, sound asleep and blissfully unaware of the man in the gasmask behind her. He made quick work of the scene, slinging the young woman over his shoulder and stuffing that letter into his pocket. With his free arm he hooked her weapon, Le Croissant du Ange, in his grip by the elbow, and made his way to the window, which opened and let the sleeping gas filter out of. Looking up to the empty night sky, he grinned crookedly under the mask.
"The very last of 'em...heh. It's time for the show to start."
---
To be continued in Rot and Rule...
And so, the battle for the Multiverse had reached its conclusion. Who would have thought that all those years ago, the chance abduction of a small handful of people would be the start of all of this? But truth is stranger than fiction, it seems, and Alice Twilight was no stranger to that. The first victim of the horrid rituals known as Murder Games had moved on, that chance abduction giving her a chance of her own, one to start over and leave behind the heartache and bloodshed of the past. All that senseless fighting...and for what? A life cut short for the entertainment of others? Glorified gladiators. That's what they'd been.
Alice was not sorry to leave that life behind her, but every now and again she couldn't help but wonder: what of the others? Those in her world who couldn't get out. Who were trapped even still in that endless cycle of death and despair. And there was one in particular she lost sleep over. In that fught, they had spoken of love. Love...Alice had lost everyone she loved. She was there, that night, when the only love that lived stopped breathing forever. And perhaps that had made her ready to accept her fate that night she got the call about Travis. But now, this was a brand new Multiverse. Anything was possible...including a miracle.
And a miracle did come, one day. Once Alice was finally able to buy herself a television set she happened upon yet another tournament. A different one, hosted by a man named Cell. One where all involved were able to rise up and destroy him...something impossible in the UAA. But there was someone there Alice had known in passing. Another Assassin, Cloe Walsh. Ranked 23. She'd been sliced to ribbons weeks before Alice's last night in Santa Destroy, but here she was, alive and well and able to start over. If she was alive, and so far down the rankings, then could that mean...? It was a small sliver of hope, but Alice would take it either way. Fueled by the hope left in her after this final battle, she wrote a letter and sent it out, hoping it would reach the person she wanted it to. Please...let it reach her in time.
---
"Okay. Let's try this once more."
Sitting at her desk, the girl gripped her pen, looking at the page before her. Nine words. That's all she had so far. Just nine. But did it really matter? She was as good as dead, anyway. Only two people who had ever survived their battles with Travis Touchdown were schoolgirls, and that time was far past. No, this could very well be her own requiem she sings tonight.
She tapped the pen on the edge of the desk. "Once more...ahem. 'I, Margaret Moonlight, being of sound mind and body...' Um..." You know...sitting here, writing this will? Really made the young assassin realize just how fucked up all of this was. Who writes their will in their early twenties? How did she even get to this point? A tragic life ending so early. It would almost be poetic, if it wasn't truly happening.
Margaret sighed, setting her pen down. This could wait. There was only one person she'd bequeath anything to, but even then, how long would she have left? If Travis won, of course. If he lost, well...the possibility of the two of them facing each other... No. No way in hell was she going to think on that. Here, let's look at the mail. A letter had come for her today. It was a tidy little thing, and smelled like...pumpkins? How odd. But the handwriting. It was so familiar...could it be?
Heart racing, Margaret brought her finger to the back of the envelope, starting to open it. She only got one centimeter in. "Huh?" That was Margaret's last coherent thought before her mind grew clouded and her sight grew dark, and she collapsed onto the table, sound asleep and blissfully unaware of the man in the gasmask behind her. He made quick work of the scene, slinging the young woman over his shoulder and stuffing that letter into his pocket. With his free arm he hooked her weapon, Le Croissant du Ange, in his grip by the elbow, and made his way to the window, which opened and let the sleeping gas filter out of. Looking up to the empty night sky, he grinned crookedly under the mask.
"The very last of 'em...heh. It's time for the show to start."
---
To be continued in Rot and Rule...