When Bartholomew finally dared look out from between his fingers, the purple mist had thinned. There- on the dark, scratched, bloodied floor ahead of him, Titus sat on his knees- holding a naked form in his arms. Not one of the citizens remained- in their stead, the golden Duke had his Divine Mate in his embrace- sobbing.

“Petrus- my beloved Petrus!” From behind his brother’s back, Bartholomew could only see the Purged’s face. The rotten husk in the corner had disappeared and, in its place, Petrus now lay- cradled up against Titus’ golden plate... once, the pyromancer’s dark eyes had conveyed such a hatred for Bartholomew- the same way his smile had exuded an unending unrivaled love for his beloved Titus- his Emperor-given Charge. Now... those very, same eyes were void of all that had once made them human. In a glance that lasted barely more than a second, Bartholomew could see that Petrus’ body might have been returned by some ungodly entity, but Petrus-… Petrus was still dead.

The naked, famished man moaning and roiling against Titus’ golden plate was not human. It had a human body, yes, but it lacked everything that had made him Petrus... The pyromancer’s rolling eyes never fixated on either of the two Sargerrei brethren. His lips never stilled from his ceaseless moaning- this... was barely more than a braindead animal. Bartholomew looked away from Petrus’ golden hair and caught sight of Titus’ blade- thrown to the floor, where it lay in a pool of congealed blood.

He could not form the words to describe what he had seen- even if he had been given a lifetime to ruminate, he might never have found neither the wisdom nor the strength to speak of it. The citizens were gone- not even their scent lingered in the frigid darkness of Titus’ chamber of filth and sin.

“What have you done, Titus?” Bartholomew questioned as the pale, tall, silver Sargerrei spun about to view the silent room. But the fallen Duke would not answer- all his lips did was to kiss Petrus’ wide-agape, drool-covered mouth and whisper some unheard apologies. Titus’ laugh still echoed through Bartholomew’s shattered mind- the disintegrating girl, those screaming, panicked people... and his brother’s laugh...

For days, he had doubted his sanity. His decision to side with Asrael- his decision to stay his blade and not charge at his brother- his decision to not kill Titus had had such consequences- such terrible, gruesome consequences... had he only been stronger- had he only dared to do what he knew needed to be done, he would have been able to save them all... He should have struck out when he had killed the Council- taken his blade and cut Titus in their stead.

He looked down on the crumpled paper boat in his hand and felt his heart shatter once more. He could hardly see the folded boat for all the tears in his eyes and as he turned to face the window where the girl had stood, he could no longer contain his pain. He sniffled as he made his way over the floor and bent down to grab the heavy sword from the floor. For too long, had he trusted Titus to handle the people and business of Pilta- for too long had he relied on Asrael to do the dirty deed. Titus might have been the one responsible for the heinous, insane ritual, but Bartholomew had been no better than Asrael in his hesitance- he had allowed it to happen, all because he refused to act... all because he did not wish to take responsibility and do what had to be done.

He would hesitate no longer.

A glint in his peripheral view stole his attention towards the mirror, where he found himself looking at a gut-wrenching, heart-rending sight. It was him- there, in all his might, clad in Bismuth armor while clinging to his Brother’s sword. Atop his head, the gilded-and-gemmed wreath of the Emperor gleamed its magnificent radiance into his eyes. The Bartholomew in the mirror was older, but his eyes revealed no more wisdom than his own- his hand still trembled around the golden hilt. He was powerless but to turn and look at his own image- the reflected picture of perfection... The Emperor and Lord of all of Man... Him.