First fanfic post *crosses fingers*

Title: No Turning Back
Author: Smirksweetly
Series: Games - Aveyond
Pairing: Rhen x Lars, hint of Rhen x Dameon
Rating: PG
Summary: "We're enemies now. It's either I kill you, or you kill me."

A/N: Basically, this is my take on the 'Evil Rhen' ending of Aveyond 1. At some point or another, evil Rhen has to fight her former teammates (unless she converted them to the dark side). And as the ending text claims that Ahriman succeeds in his bid for world domination, we could only imagine what happened to Lars and the rest of the company... *sighs* This has become a lengthy piece of angst-fest, with an awfully stilted style as well. And the present tense kills. I might edit this in the future (for grammar purposes). Gruh. Nevertheless, enjoy.

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It has to happen, and she tried to prepare herself.

She hopes her preparation is enough.

The dragon - a great, leathery crimson beast, claimed to be the swiftest in Ahriman's horde - deposits her in a forest clearing near the gates of Veldarah. The flight from the Southern Isle was uneventful, and even without a map, she easily recognized the smoke-shrouded city that was once the jewel of the Eastern Empire.

It had been her home, after a fashion, not too long ago.

Now, it burns.

Her entrance is unceremonious. She walks in through the ruined gates, the acrid smell of smoke and ashes far too familiar to bother her, the demons immediately recognizing her presence and scramble out of her way. No human defenders approach her - all of them had been slain, or in the process of being slain, perhaps. No one remains for her to kill - judging from the number of corpses sprawled all over the streets, most of the population had died. She has seen this before, though.

Clearwater in ruins and Veldt in flames haunted her for days, but Ahriman's influence helped her dull the nightmares. It is gift, a blessing, to forget.

The other events weren't so easy to efface.

Galahad and Te'ijal's deaths took weeks. Elini and Pirate John's took her an entire month. She couldn't remember the exact details, but she knows that they have died right in front of her. It was something to mourn about, she thinks, but the death of everyone she knew only strengthens her affinity to the darkness. She grows more and more comfortable with the black fog enshrouding her, hiding her from feelings of guilt and sorrow. Free from those hindrances, she continues to further Ahriman's ambitions, feeling less and less at each conquest.

And all of her choices lead her here.

Familiarity guides her steps, and she reaches her destination fairly quickly. Any dead body, demon, or stray piece of burning architecture blocking her way is destroyed by a careless wave of her sword. This mission is more than crushing the last resistance of Eastern Isle. More than killing the Empress - no doubt one of her demon-generals had done it for her - this visit in Veldarah has a more personal meaning.

She finds him at the Academy, on the topmost floor, bloodied and tired but still standing through sheer will.

How long since it had been since she last saw him? She recalls, more clearly now, the day he escaped from the lair with Pirate John, Elini and Mad Marge. His last look at her was one full of betrayed trust, one that never failed to unsettle her if she ever manages to remember it. If he saw the deaths of Galahad and Te'ijal - they chose to stay behind at the lair to buy them time to escape - his hatred of her would've escalated tenfold.

If it hasn't become hundredfold by now.

"Lars." The name has a familiar flavor. Even with the darkness obscuring her memories - memories evoke emotions, and emotions she had cast away - the name brings back flashes of warmth and laughter. "It's been quite a while."

It can't be too long, but he had changed so much, as though years and years had separated him ever since the day she had made her choice. They were children when they left Veldarah, learning and growing throughout their travels. Before that fateful day, she had reckoned that he was less of a child and more of a man. He is no child now - though he is still the tanned young sorcerer with wild green hair - not with those eyes, not with that deep, piercing anger - she almost thinks he is a different person.

She wonders about herself. She is no child, definitely...perhaps she's not even human anymore.

He smirks - he always smirks, that much she remembers about him - and he cocks his head to one side. He is tired, judging from the way his chest heaved; he is nearing his limit. But he is too proud to acknowledge that. "Six months, actually." He is the same, as always, cocky and sure of himself. She remembers, and finds a twinge deep within her chest. "I'm surprised you still remember me. How is life with your two-faced boyfriend and your devil master, Peta?"

Peta. A name she hates with a passion. But she feels only a spark of annoyance, a fraction of the anger she used to feel - but it is the first emotion she has for the longest time. "I have come to offer you a deal, sorcerer." She extends a hand to him. "Serve Ahriman, and live forever by his side."

He considers her for a second, actually looking thoughtful, before scorn fills his features. She knows his answer then. "I suppose Dameon suggested that I'll make a good lapdog for Ahriman," he replies, and his face twists in disgust at the mention of Dameon's name. "Back in Sedona, he hints as much. And I'll tell you this, Rhen Darzon, I'm no one's lapdog, and especially not a fool."

Something spikes up deep within her, stirring uneasiness. "You are a fool to reject this offer, and an even bigger fool to fight Ahriman." The feeling surging inside her could only be hopeful anticipation. Why does he inspire so many feelings in her? Because he is the last to remain? "Look around you, sorcerer. Your city is falling. Your Empress is dead. What more do you have to fight for? Do you want to die in vain? You're powerful; the most powerful mage in the land, and Ahriman would acknowledge your powers and reward you greatly if you serve-"

"You talk worse than the Oracle," he sneers, sharp and bitter and full of anger. Why? Why wouldn't he simply go along with her? "Is that an effect of Ahriman on you?"

"I'll say it again." Why is she feeling this urgency, this anxiety, this...annoyance? She and Dameon are enough, when you think about it. Why would she want Lars...? "Serve Ahriman and live."

"'Screw Ahriman, and die', is that it?" He laughs, derisive and bitter. It is loud in her ears, ringing over the distant roar of fire engulfing the city. He stops, and then looks at her with the same eyes she saw back in Ahriman's lair. "Rhen, what happened to you?"

The question, seemingly trivial and out of topic, actually makes her pause to think.

What happened to me?

"I chose the winning side," she answers simply. It was the reasonable choice back then, the most attractive one. "I chose to live. I chose Dameon." In the end, it all boils down to her love for him. It is her reason, the justification for everything she had done and will continue to do: she loves Dameon. She chose the darkness for him, damning the whole world in the process, and helped in the murder of the very people who helped her reach that decisive point.

Yet...yet...

His anger melts into something like sadness. Perhaps. She is bad in recognizing emotions now. "There's no way I'm going to choose Dameon's side. I'm sorry, Rhen." He raises his staff, and its orb begins to glow with magic. Danger. Battle. "We're enemies now. It's either I kill you, or you kill me."

How many times she had heard that - all too often from the mouths of those she had once shared her adventuring days. Too many times, and every time made her wince and grimace and feel terrible guilt. It is the price, she knew, the price of turning away from them. She had paid it, and is paying it again, and she could only continue to pay.

Dameon. She tries to reach into that well of love she has for him and feels nothing.

What is there to gain and lose after she has destroyed everything outside her dark, selfish world?

"Yes." She unsheathes her sword - the Sword of Darkness, a personal gift from Ahriman himself - and her limbs flow to a fighting stance, guided by an inner song. She could give him at least this - a battle where she will give him her all. "You're right. We're enemies. There's no turning back now."

A part of her muses that if things would have been radically different, if this fight took place through other circumstances, this could have been one of the finest battles in the history of the Academy. She relishes fighting, the thrill of strong opponents - and he never fails to deliver, even with his exhaustion. Sword magic against pure, destructive sorcery, and the sounds of battle fill her ears. She almost forgets, and she smiles from sheer pleasure.

But she has the edge, a weapon fueled by terror and darkness, and she didn't fight hordes of demons before the battle. And slowly that edge begins to show. A spell cast a bit too slow, or a reaction that almost never came - he is losing.

It's either I kill you, or you kill me.

"For the last time, sorcerer! Serve and live!" It is difficult to know which flames are hers or his, not with the wild bursts of magic that emanate from them. She whirls away from them nonetheless, inner rhythm changing from Trinity Fury to Flame Melody, movement more spontaneous and less fluid.

"And for the last time Rhen, I will not!" He changes elements, from searing fire to numbing ice, and she stares at the translucent crystals encrusting her black blade, rapidly creeping towards her arms. She swings it about, trying to break the spell and to regain feeling in her limbs. Her movement becomes clumsy, breaking the natural rhythm of her fighting style.

"I don't want to kill you!"

The force in her voice, animated by agitation, surprises even her. For the first time in what seemed to be an eternity, she is truly feeling again.

It must've been fate, she would muse much, much later, when all was black calmness and she could actually reach into those misty memories behind the fog. She never wanted to kill him, she never wanted to kill any of her friends, she never wanted to destroy, but she has to. There is a difference between those two, no matter how superficial. And in his case, perhaps, she wanted to make a difference, because he was the last. She wanted to appease the guilt ripping her inside by ensuring that at least, she didn't kill them all.

But it wasn't meant to be.

There is no grace in her killing blow, only the clumsy, raw and miscalculated force behind a two-handed thrust. For a split-second his eyes widen, the amber-golden irises catching the distant firelight, and his staff falls from his trembling fingers.

"No." She feels her lower lip tremble as well. "No. No." She mutely pulls the sword from where it had pierced his middle, and watches the blood dampen the fabric around the cut. Her world melts into something akin to a dream, as facts clash with disbelief. The ice encrusting her arms shatters; the sword hilt escapes her bloodied hand and it clatters to the floor.

He looks at her with eyes that make her want to howl in grief.

"I've...I've lost you to that bastard, didn't I?"

His knees refuse to support his weight, giving way beneath him. She catches him as he falls forward, arms wounding around his waist, the green of his hair against her face. The blood quickly soaks her as well, matting the fabric of her clothes, staining the metal of her armor and traveling down her legs, forming a scarlet pool at her feet.

She falls, and they sink to the dark red stain that clings and never leaves.

"Lars-you have your magic-surely you can heal yourself-" No. No no no.

"I have nothing now." His voice is a breath against her ear, a breeze unable to ruffle the smallest of leaves. Please, not you. Not you too. That's why I tried-I tried to give you the chance. The lament disintegrates into a mental babble of sadness. "Not even my magic. Everything I have, I've given..."

Even his life, something cold and spiteful whispers in her head. Who is it, she doesn't know, doesn't want to know. You've destroyed everything, taken everything. Be content. This is what you want. Her hands caress his back, finding numerous rips in the fabric of his robes. Her fingers find the largest tear - it is damp, and continues to be. He never liked his attire to be ruined. Many times - in the past - she had to sew them for him. He always said her sewing was bad, and she would retort that she knows something and he nothing-she chokes back a laugh. It seems to be a lifetime ago. Everything is spiraling back, in all of its painful glory. She remembers now, remembers once more what she tried to forget, the entirety of who had been her.

"This is what you wanted." Is it? Is it? "There's no point shedding tears."

The pain is unbearable. Recollection is a slow death.

He would never go away, not in this state, with his pain all too clear in his young face, but he is slipping away from her, even with her arms tightly around him, disappearing and leaving her to torment. "I didn't want this." Dameon. "You're wrong." I never asked for this. "We could've been together...you, me and Dameon...Ahriman...forever…" The future that never will be taunts her imagination, and her thoughts flit wildly, trying to save her heart from breaking.

"And...what? Share you with that traitor of a sun priest?" He laughs, the sound of dying pride. "I'm not as stupid as you, Rhen."

"Share...?" She looks into his eyes, and the truth stares at her, with all of its final clarity, and she almost recoils in horror, the gravity of what she had done finally coming on her.

"But it sounds...nice." He fades. He disappears. He leaves. "To be with you..."

There is no silence after it. Veldarah continues to burn, and the celebratory warcries of her demon army fills the air.

He stops.

And she breaks.

There is no melodrama in her grief, no last minute enlightenment, only a rawness that ripped the tears and gasps from her. She cries and feels and screams, until her voice becomes hoarse and she couldn't breathe, until she has spent the last of her tears and human feelings. It will be her last, she knew, because she has nothing else to mourn and nothing else to gain or lose.

This would be farewell.

"Lars," she whispers into his ear. His name has a familiar flavor - that of sun-kissed spices and salty tears. It speaks of Veldarah, of warm days and students and the Academy as her home. "We could've been together." The aftertaste was bittersweet and sharp, like wine on shattered glass. She smiles, every tug of facial muscle a tear to what remains of her heart. She holds his face with hands stained with his own blood. "I'm sorry." She means it with all of her tainted soul, if it is worth anything at all. "And goodbye." She kisses him, if only a little too late, if only briefly, if only - too much of 'if only' - but it is her parting gift - the last of her humanity for him.

She sets him down on the floor gently, as though afraid she would wake him up. The orb staff he so loved she places beside him, within his reach. For a moment she idly toys with his earring, remembering, recalling. If not for the blood beneath him, if not for the pallor over his face, if not for the stillness of his chest, he could've been sleeping.

But until she casts him a final glance over her shoulder, he is lifeless. She leaves before an urge to follow him overpowers her.

A demon-general approaches her as she is about the exit the city. There is nothing much left of it.

There is nothing much left of her either.

"The empress is dead, Mistress," it tells her in a thick, rough voice, pointing a monstrous finger at the palace to the north. No doubt that in their celebration, the demons placed her head in a pike or something similar. "What are your orders, Mistress?"

The answer was calm and abrupt. She did not even think. "Burn them. Burn everything." The last of her grows terrified at the new evenness of her voice. "I want Veldarah to be as flat as the lowlands of the West. Don't leave a trace."

The demon only nods and hurries to do her bidding.

This is her choice. She has a small hope that when the day comes, he - and everyone whom she had held dear and killed - would find it in themselves to forgive her. But for the meantime, she has no other road to follow. She would damn herself to the very end, wherever Dameon's love and Ahriman's promises would lead her, because there is no turning back.

Therefore, she would forget. Because remembrance would kill her.

She gets back on her dragon and rises to the overcast skies of Aia with every beat of its gigantic wings. The past continues to burn behind her. She leaves without waiting for the ashes.

WOW! This story is soooo emotional And there is so much depth in it! Amazing Job!

Oist, mareh, nice story! Whoot! Galing! Cheers!

Wow, that was powerful! Excellent writing.

Oh my. It's so beautiful. It's the best story I've read so far - it's so lovely. It made me cry. I really don't know how to describe it. It's just so sad. I loved it.

Please update soon, smirksweetly (name mo???) I just can't wait. It's very touching.

@twiceth: It's a oneshot - it only has one chapter.

@Kirroha: Yup. But I'd like her to write another one. I forgot . Should have PMd her.

@smirksweetly: You just saw that. Name mo? Me forgot.

@everyone: thank you, thank you!!! *sheds tears of joy* I'll be writing a sequel of sorts...it's in the conveyor belt...XD

@twiceth: Call me precks. XD (precious yun, kaso di ba, *maaaaahhhhyyyy ppppreeecccioussssss...*) masyado nang maraming gollum references...XD

@smirksweetly: Tweaky naman tawagin mo sa kin, mareng precks. *gollum rin naman aqko eh..heh!*

@twiceth: tweaky!!! XD ankyut XD

@smirksweetly: Salamat *hehe*! When are you going to post another story, anyway? And yeah, I like this story of yours. So emotional and beautifully written.

This was incredible. You made me cry, dang you! So bittersweet. The emotion you can put into writing is amazing; I look forward to reading other works of yours!

@KikoAyumi: Thank you so much! I've read your fics in ff.net...you're practically the one who made me start RxL stories. I'm so happy you read my story!
@tweaky (twicey!): Anytime soon, I hope (sa mga susunod na linggo siguro! Tama, wala pang pasukan!). I prefer completing fics before posting them...but the sequel's rather hard to pin and tone down (because it's not a one-shot anymore) - plus, a plot bunny for a non-angst RxL attacked me with seventeen carrot whacks (yes, it didn't make sense, sorry) and I just have to start it. But we'll get it rolling, I swear! XD

@precks: Nice, nice! Take your time! I'd love to see what else you've got to story-tell. Good luck, mareh!

Wow, this was really good! It's really powerful and touching, great job!

Btw, I didn't know you speak Tagalog.

Great story! I'm glad you are writing the sequel!

Crap! I read the comments before I read the story and was thinking, "Oh, I'm sure I won't cry..."

But you got be.

I agree with the others--it's really, really good. And amazing. And all sorts of other complimentary adjectives.

Oh... it's so great and... other. Lars- always at good side. Rhen- as a demon. I'm cry, too. This story is awesome. Lars, I'm stil love with you!

You suck D:< Almost started crying.
I can't write something as emotional as this D: Not unless I'm utterly depressed.