This...
How could this be?!
The Black Racer stared in utter shock at the scene before it. It tried to speak, to form words—but not a single syllable would come out.
Pietro was equally stunned. His face still frozen in rage, he stood there dazed, staring at Alex, who had just slain the Black Racer.
Death must have a host.
If Death's host perishes, then Death itself is released—completely unbound. And when that happens, countless planets, civilizations, and entire worlds will be devoured by Death.
Everything in existence will be erased by the rules themselves. All known matter will meet its end.
But...
What if Death itself dies?
What if the rules are broken?
"Pietro."
Alex turned around, his voice solemn and reverent. In an instant, the fear and chaos in Pietro's mind began to settle.
"A-Alex... is that you?"
"Pietro. Take control of it."
Alex didn't answer the question. His words were serious, commanding.
"The New God is dead. There's a vacancy in this universe's divine order. Chaos will descend. To fix this—you must take hold of Death's power."
"But... but I..." Pietro bit his lip, trembling. "I don't know how."
"You must control Death's power. You must become Death. It's the only chance any of you have left."
Alex shook his head.
"This time... I can't help you anymore. But I believe in you, Pietro."
"I... I can't. I'm not strong like you. I'm just... I'm just—"
"Pietro!"
Alex cut him off—each word forceful and clear.
"The Black Racer was right. Death made you. But he was wrong too—it was rebirth that defined you."
"Rise from death. Master it."
Alex's gaze sharpened.
"Save one life. Just one. Like you saved mine... all those years ago."
"Save... one life?"
Pietro repeated the words, and something shifted. The fog in his eyes began to lift.
He saw it.
He saw the blood and the death.
He saw the people trapped in despair.
He saw the tyrant President X, ruling over the world.
And he saw that dark alley—the place where it all began.
His first meeting with Alex.
The first domino to fall.
That night, starving and broken, he'd eaten his first real meal after escaping the mutant prison. That night, Pietro's life was saved—or perhaps, they saved each other.
"Run, Pietro."
Alex's voice still echoed faintly in his ears, even as everything around Pietro began to dissolve.
The world spun. Reality melted into a swirling void.
And from deep within his body, Pietro felt something stir. A force—raw and overwhelming—began to rise.
Something was about to ignite.
"Hrrah… AAAAAHHH!!!"
The ferocious surge of power forced Pietro to scream uncontrollably. His vision gradually sharpened.
The Scythe of Death came into view—its black gleam hovering ominously close. And as the surroundings solidified, Pietro was horrified to find himself standing directly in front of Ashley.
The blade of Death's scythe… rested firmly against her neck.
Only a hair's breadth away.
-----------------------------------
"…Admit it, Watcher."
Alex set down the wine cup in his hand, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Somehow, the short blade gifted to him by Dean—always at his waist—was now completely gone.
"You've lost."
The Watcher's brow tensed. It didn't know what had happened, but it could feel it—its grand plan was unraveling, piece by piece, slipping out of control.
Even It couldn't predict what came next. It hadn't even seen what Alex did. And now… even Alex himself seemed to be changing.
Becoming more and more vague, his outline warping like a mirage—illusory, chaotic, ungraspable.
"Is this… the power of narrative corruption?"
The Watcher's expression turned bitter and defeated. Its head lowered, caught in some distant thought.
After a long silence, It finally broke it with a slow shake of the head.
"I… I only wanted to end it all. I just wanted true freedom…"
"Freedom?" Alex replied calmly, as if telling a story. "That word has always been a lie. No one in this world acts entirely of their own will. Some say freedom is just an illusion sold by those at the top... but I think real freedom is when you're immersed in your own world, unburdened by others' rules."
"Do you think I was free in my world, Watcher? That high-dimensional realm you obsess over?" Alex's tone sharpened slightly. "Truth is, the only time I ever thought about freedom was after I arrived here."
He gave a small smile and continued.
"I'm no philosopher."
"But I think... ever since I came to this world, I've finally tasted what 'freedom' really feels like."
Alex looked up again, meeting the Watcher's eyes.
"Earlier, you asked why I appeared here. I told you—it's my story. But the real reason… is to give you a choice."
"A choice?" the Watcher narrowed Its eyes, visibly confused.
"Yes," Alex said simply. Then he paused and continued:
"Abandon your plan. End this. Stop before you make an even bigger mistake. And from this moment on… never appear before me again."
"Everything you've done before this—I'll let it go."
"Heh… hahaha…"
The Watcher laughed, as if he had just heard the most ridiculous joke in existence. The kind of laugh that came from something deeply personal—tragic, not humorous.
It was a long while before the laughter faded. Slowly, the Watcher raised his head.
"You say you'll let me go… but will you ever be at peace with that?"
Alex didn't answer. He simply fell silent.
The Watcher absentmindedly turned the wine goblet in his hand, admiring it as if it were some intricate piece of art. Then, with a deep sigh, he finally spoke again: "Maybe… maybe you're right. Maybe there was never truly a right or wrong to begin with. Your ideals… my goal… perhaps neither of us was ever meant to win."
"There's no real conflict between us. We've never been enemies—not truly. If anything… we might've even been friends. You're not like those others we saw on the other side of the rift. No… you're very different."
The Watcher raised the goblet to his lips, then hesitated, setting it down instead.
"Those others—ruled by their base instincts, treating everything like a joke, like their own private playground… Alex... what a shame."
Alex finally lifted his gaze. His expression was difficult to read.
"So… you've made your choice then?"
The Watcher stared back, unblinking.
"You're right… this is your story. But looked at another way… isn't it also mine?"
There was a pause. Then the Watcher slowly set his goblet down on the table and rose to his feet.
"If not for the paths we chose… maybe we could've watched the rise and fall of civilizations together, across the multiverse. Traveled from one world to the next, as curious observers."
He stepped forward and extended his hand to Alex.
"I truly did enjoy our conversation, Creator."
Alex sighed softly, rising from his seat. He reached out and took the Watcher's hand in his own.
"Does it really have to come to this?"
The Watcher gently tapped his own chest, right over his heart, with his free hand.
"If I don't follow this path to the end… I'll never be able to move past what's in here."
.....
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