Professor Layton and the Angel's Prophecy

Hershel and Luke

Costillos was always a bitter, obstinate man. He could not accept defeat. He could not be changed. And yet... He saw it in his eyes. Those proud, beaten and wise eyes that the Professor now fixed on him. Hershel was certain of his victory, but without greed or gloating. He did not see his victory as one to celebrate. He just knew he fought for a better world, and he had withstood the trials that Costillos had thrown his way. All of them. And he proved he was the better man. And what did Costillos have to show for it?

Every instance of his defeat only fuelled his anger, drove him further into insanity. For the first time, he saw the futility in vying for another chance at triumph. Hershel Layton proved to be the better man that day. His friends more cunning, more courageous: they truly fought on the side of angels.

So instead of allowing the rage to take hold, he felt the fight leave his body, and he slumped over. Descole, to his left, took a defiant step towards Hershel, but Costillos held his arm out, blocking him. The man stared at him curiously, and he sighed.

"No... No. He is right. It's over."

Hershel wasn't sure who was more surprised by Costillos' statement: himself, or Descole.

"But, sir!" Descole stammered. "I am a match for him!"

"No you're not. Or at least, you shouldn't be. You are his brother, after all. And I release you."

The effect wasn't visible, but after a few seconds, Descole blinked a few times and then looked around, his eyes fixing on Hershel.

"Brother," he said quietly. Hershel nodded. "I don't know how I am here... Or why I'm wearing this ridiculous outfit... It's all so fuzzy."

Hershel frowned, crossing his arms.

"That was always the way with Imperium. Once free of its grasp, it's as if it was never there from the start. Only traces remain, and even then they quickly disappear. I would worry not, Descole. Leave. Leave and continue the life you started without me."

Descole glanced down, considering. He was torn. A reunion with his dear brother wasn't on the cards. At least not yet. Not now. Not when he hadn't found the path he was certain of. He glanced then at Costillos.

"Who is this? What is going on here? And where's your hat?"

Hershel looked to Costillos, the man still slouched over, his strings cut, and then he turned back to Descole.

"Just another evil villain defeated, a plot foiled, another day saved. As for my hat..." He sighed, remembering now that his hat had flown out the smashed airship window during his scuffle with Costillos. "I suppose I'll have to find another."

Descole shook his head, snorting.

"Always the way with you, isn't it, brother? Always the moral superior."

Hershel smiled, marvelling at how Descole's cynicism remained as potent as ever.

"Come," he grinned, extending an arm of friendship. Of brotherhood. "Allow me to tell you all about it. We shall free Raymond of his infliction, free the prisoners, and get down. That should be plenty of time."

"Raymond's here?" Glancing around, he shivered. "Never a dull day when you're involved. That's why I always gravitated towards you I suppose. Why I tested you so much, brother. Call it what you will, but I always saw it as a challenge. You make life... Dare I say it... Fun."

Hershel shook his head, feeling unbelievably weary.

"Fun is the least of it. But interesting it certainly is."

Descole accepted his brother's arm around his shoulder, and then Hershel looked once more at the broken Costillos. The danger was over, certainly, but he had a feeling his time with Costillos wasn't at its close just yet.