Return of the one long gone

Falling over the edge of alive

The end was a cold, unforgiving place. It was infested with Endermen and surrounded in void. No one knew what the void felt like, no one had ever been caught in its grasp. All people knew was falling into it was falling into the hands of death. Explorers over the centuries have been lost to it, never seen again.

- - - -

Scott wakes up on the ground. His head is spinning and the light is obnoxious, even with it being better than the consuming darkness. Around him, there was threatening screeches and tall shadows. 

It was cold. Not just like the chill of Rivendell, but that of danger. The shiver of anxiousness and whispers of a being not to be messed with. For a moment, Scott couldn't place it. The strange feeling of dread that had settled. He missed the warmth of the church, somehow missing without he himself remembering leaving its walls.

"Awake yet brother?" He remembered then. The victorious cackles, the swirls of purple and red. His brother had found him. After years of hunting and being chased, it was over. The final stand was here. In the End (even that took him a minute to register). He was without the support of backup or his husband. He had no armor or weapons. 

He had nothing whilst his brother had everything. The only person who had something to lose in that moment was Scott and it scared him. Because Xornoth was ruthless. Exor's champion would bring himself to the fiery brink of death if it meant Scott's downfall. Not because Xornoth wanted to die, but because killing Scott was his only dream in life. He had no parents to go home to, no partner, no home, no friends, no people, no Kingdom. Scott had all of it, had worked so hard to build it all, and now it could be ripped away from him.

"The silent treatment. Not very polite of you brother. You haven't seen me for years and don't even say hello."

"Why should I say hello to you. You're a monster."

Xornoth didn't reply to that. Scott wanted to think it was because he had no comeback to give. But it was really because he threw the first punch. It was then Scott realized that Xornoth didn't have weapons. Not physical ones anyway. He knew his brother had power beyond his understanding, most likely gifted to him by Exor in the hopes this cat and mouse charade would be over in a couple of days. The fact that he had survived as long as he had gave Scott a glimpse at hope. Something he hadn't felt in a long time.

So Scott fought back. He punched and kicked and dodged for what felt like hours. He was exhausted and bleeding. The iron taste was unpleasant, but it was a form of liquid that his body lacked. He had no water with him, nothing to stop dehydration from killing before Xornoth had the chance. And as much as he didn't want to die today, he would rather go out in a blaze of glory.

- - - -

The fight had been going on for hours. Both sides hurt and bleeding. Xornoth's blood was black, much like the abyss and his skin. It dripped to the ground, staining the faint yellow of the end stone. Scott's was a vibrant red, pure and human. It ran from his nose, his head, his legs. He was also covered in scratched where Xornoth's claws hadn't been forceful enough the pierce his skin.

The King was weak and limp, fighting to stay conscious with the amount of blood he had lost. Xornoth was also tiring, however, he kept going, his blood levels much higher than Scott's.

- - - -

Scott was slowly being herded towards the edge of the island like the sheep back home that he used to bribe into pens and automatic shearing farms. He finally realized how helpless and undervalued it made them feel. Maybe he was going delusional for thinking like that. 

But it didn't matter, he was falling over the edge before he could fight himself on the matter.

- - - -

His brother was dead. Xornoth felt no remorse, no sorrow, no grief. He didn't even have the capacity for relief anymore. He just smirked, the victory washing over him and filling him with a sense of power, evil and deadly, He had given Exor what they had asked of him. He had no regrets of it taking as long as it did. He admired the mortal had run for as long as he did. Usally his prey would have been dead within the first day or two.

He could finally destroy the world. Take over every fallen kingdom and watch any survivors suffer through their final minutes. It was sickening pleasure. He was looking forward to completing what other champions before him never could.

Destruction.

- - - - 

Scott wakes up, for the second time, laying on the ground. He doesn't remember much. He remembers blacking out, the darkness comforting this time, numbing the pain he was in. He remembers landing on something solid, but that was about it.

It's something that confuses him. The ground underneath him isn't harsh and rough, rather its soft and makes him feel weightless, almost like he was sleeping on a cloud. Scott wishes he could stay like that forever, comfortable and still, lacking the responsibility and danger of reality.

"Scott." 

"Aeor?" He hadn't opened his eyes until then, and he panicked when he saw himself draped in white and gold like an angel, laying on a bed of clouds with Aeor watching over him. 

"Am I..."

"No, thankfully you're in a coma."

He stared at the God for a second. He was smiling and had a relieved tone to his voice. He was in a coma, on the brink of death. Somehow, almost as if he was a mind-reader, he predicted Aeor's next words with startling ease.

"It's your choice whether you stay or go."

Scott only blinked before answering him, somewhat frustrated, "You think I'm going to just give up after working so hard to survive, to keep everyone safe, to abandon everything I've known for two years? I think you need to get that common sense that you boast about checked-up."

Aeor just chuckled at him, the only noise he registered as the scene around him faded and reality sparked into his vision. 

He was laying on cobblestone, surrounded in blood. His hands were cold and his boots seemed to shine more from what he could see. As he tried to stand, the end stone beneath his hands froze, creating snowflake like patterns as they glimmered.

- - - -

Fire and Ice, much like good and evil, are mortal enemies. One his warm, destructive, glowing red, orange and yellow like a warning sign. It's obnoxious and clumsy, falling to its next victim easily, leaving behind dust in its wake. The other is cold and unwelcome, shimmering in the light of other sources. Unlike fire, ice is elegant and can be touched; used for sculptures and art. 

In this world, its rivalry will come to an end, with one victor and one loser.

~ ~ ~ ~ 

Xornoth's gonna go bye-bye

(Not proof-read)