IDEAL

France | Paris | Eiffel Tower – Midnight

Lucil stands at the railing in red camouflage trousers, city lights flickering across his coat like dying embers. Beside him loiters Jake— green camo pants, combat boots, bomber jacket. Their shoulders almost touch, yet they stand worlds apart.

Jake’s yawns, breath fogging the chill air. “Awkward starting a chat when we’re supposed to kill each other.” he says with a crooked smile. “My invitation— my fault.”

Lucil responds with silence, gaze wandering over the broken skyline. Memories ache in his chest— cafés once full of laughter, festival houses where friends once danced.

“I’m not fighting for this war.” Jake admits.“And this chaos right now— it ain’t my fault. I’d rather die before submitting to the factions steering it in the background.”

“For me.” Lucil murmurs, “Paris is only memories. And one day, even those will fade. Nothing is eternal.”

Jake taps the railing. “You know the mage kids down in the underground? Orphans who taught themselves spells. They’re fighting for freedom.” He grins. “I admire that. ”

Lucil’s lips twitch at a private thought. Cecile. He almost chuckles.

Jake studies him. “I keep wondering why you never join me.”

“I dislike killing.”

“That’s it?” Jake barks a laugh that echoes through girders. “Blood is the toll for freedom, Lucil— freedom and truth. That’s what you want. The truth. And escape from your personal life.”

“It’s not a matter of principle… why I don't join.” Lucil replies. “I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”

He tilts his head, moonlight catching in his rose-pupil eyes. “Describe the world you truly want. Convince me of it.”

Jake’s stare softens into a dreamline gaze. “A world where everyone starts equal. Same knowledge. Same chances. No power ladders, no hidden truths— pure equality.”

He exhales, almost wistful. “People swear loyalty to broken systems, accept the life they’re handed, then stop fighting. That obedience disgusts me.”

“You kill anyone who tries to defend it?” Lucil says quietly.

Jake smiles. “I kill those who fight to protect a rotten system. Strength should stand alone— not hide behind hierarchy.”

“So— no ranks, no nations, no chain of command.” Lucil summarizes.

“You think it’s dumb because you don’t understand.” Jake retorts.

Lucil lifts a hand toward the white moon, fingers closing on emptiness. “I understand.” he says.

“You really don’t judge my goal?” Jake asks.

Lucil keeps his eyes on the city. “If every soul begins on equal ground, no one can complain. From the same starting line, anyone can change the world.”

Jake’s eyes flare “And in the end, only one answer is right. The world has a single solution. Only one. Do you understand? My foe— and my only friend.”

“So you’ll murder whoever can’t live with it.” Lucil replies.

“I will.” Jake says, unblinking. “If purging every last individual is what it takes for humanity to grasp perfect freedom, I’ll do it. There is one undeniable truth, Lucil: All things reduce to mathematics.” He lifts a hand, as if counting the stars. “There may be countless paths— but the outcome is absolute. The path you choose to walk— that’s freedom.”

Lucil’s smile turns almost melancholic. “In that world, I wouldn’t fit in or belong.”

Jake cocks his head. “Why not?”

“I break chains.” Lucil murmurs. “Rip holes in fate. My desire to live has nothing to do with your equation.”

The muzzle of Jake’s gun appears like a sudden star— cold and black against Lucil’s sleeve. Lucil’s gently closes his hand over the barrel, guiding Jake’s finger to the trigger.

“Come, shoot! I live for others. In my long life— through every revenge, every corpse— I learned two truths. First, even without a thirst for living, I can still shatter fate. Second, I know exactly who I am— and why I can’t stop fighting.” Lucil monologues with confidence.

Jake lowers the weapon, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Breaking fate, rewriting the rules… I may have misjudged you.” He holsters the gun. “So— what is your ideal?”

“The heartbeat that drives every mage.” Lucil answers softly. He glances down at the war-lit maze below, as if the rooftops might have the answer spelled across them. “I’ll explain someday.”

Jake grins. “Then share a drink with me. One last toast— before we try to butcher each other?”

Lucil nods once. “Your ideal has made you strong.” he admits.

Jake strides toward the stairwell, the tower shuddering beneath distant artillery noise. “Strength is the only sane choice in a cluttered world.” he calls back. “Come— let’s drink to the single right solution.”

Lucil follows, moonlight mapping fragile silver on his crimson coat. Above them, the night sky yawns— wide, star-crowded.

Kibo staggers to his feet, chest heaving and thrusts a trembling fist toward the sky. Shadowy wisps coil upward.

“I finally understand.” he rasps, voice raw but ringing. “Your blows weren’t born of superiority, Jarkata— just of resolve. That’s what I lacked.”

Images flash behind his eyes— every corpse he’s stepped over, every scream he’s silenced. Shame twists into something fiercer.

“I was a coward.” he admits, laughter cracking out of him. “Too afraid to sacrifice— too afraid to die for anything that mattered.”

Across the dune, Jarkata narrows his clock-face pupils. “Yet you still cling to your ideals.”

He lunges— white lightning in human form— fist arcing for Kibo’s heart.

Kibo meets the strike. Shadow surges over his knuckles, hardening.
“Doppelgänger— support me, even if flesh and bone collapse.”

He catches Jarkata’s punch with his right hand— the impact reverberates through his spine. With his left, he drives a midnight-black fist into Jarkata’s abdomen. Pressure builds— deep and heavy— until skin splits and ribs buckle. Kibo’s hand fractures, flesh peeling into black dust that reforms around the shattered bone.

“I will never surrender!” he roars.

Doppelgänger’s mass swirls, reinforcing the ruined limb. Jarkata screams as a gaping hole tears through his torso. Blood spatters over the sand.

Kibo’s grip tightens on Jarkata’s trapped fist, refusing to release it, even as agony lances through what remains of his arm.

Staggering back, Jarkata rips free— strips of skin left clinging to Kibo’s palm. He sways, studying the wound tunneling through his body, then lifts his gaze with a grim smile.

“You’ve stopped holding back.” he concedes, blood dribbling from his lips. “At last, you’re willing to live— and die— for your ideal.”

Blood beads and patterns onto the sand-gears at his feet. The blue clock above them begins to tick again— louder, as if the desert itself counts down the final showdown.

“Äon—Last Onslaught.” Jarkata’s whispers with a raspy voice.

“Doppelgänger—All or nothing .” Kibo replies, locking eyes with him.

A silent nod passes between them— respect forged in pain— then both explode forward.

No feints. No guards. Only raw fist against raw flesh.

Jarkata’s blows land like seconds on a stopwatch— fast, merciless. Kibo mirrors him, though each hit shreds more of his already mangled arms.

A flurry of four punches from Kibo punctuated by a final fifth heavy punch.

Kibo’s knuckles finally breach Jarkata’s sternum. Bone splinters. His flesh parts. A crimson-lit heart beats in open air.

Jarkata retaliates the same way as Kibo— four quick punches ended by a fifth heavy punch. Going eye for an eye with him.

A cavity yawns in Kibo’s abdomen, but black mass floods in— Doppelgänger’s shadow shielding organs that should spill. Jarkata’s forearms snap, his hands reduced to pulp but he continues on until Kibo seizes his exposed heart.

Äon dives in, trying to wrench Kibo away.

“Zeitraffer!” the seraph cries, attempting to slow time.

Doppelgänger echoes, “Reffartiez!” canceling the time spell, locking the moment in perfect parity.

“Forgive me, my wielder.” Äon whispers as the temporal field collapses.

Kibo feels the frantic flutter beneath his fingers. He crushes the heart— feeling Jarkata’s final rhythm.

Shadow knits his own wounds while Jarkata’s life unravels.

“Äon… thanks for everything.” Jarkata breathes.

Äon dissolves into glimmering dust. The blue timer sigil fades overhead. Jarkata leans forward, pulling Kibo into a blood-slick embrace. Fully aware his end was looming.

“You’ve found your ideal.” he whispers. “Promise me— you’ll protect the beauty of this world.”

“I will.” Kibo vows.

A mournful fog swirls around them through the domain, drawn to Jarkata like its his final breath. Kibo closes his fist; Jarkata’s heart bursts into crimson motes. He smiles as his body drifts away in blue grains.

“We are Kindred spirits.” his last words echo, then scatter on the wind.

Kibo drops to his knees. Flesh knits rapidly wherever shadow covers but his arms remain ruined stumps. Doppelgänger hovers behind him— a silent sentinel.

The desert fractures.

“Against all odds…I will save the innocent.” Kibo murmurs, tears streaking dirt and blood. “Even if it means fighting my master— I’ll push on.”

Exhaustion overtakes him. He collapses onto the cold, gleaming sand, eyelids fluttering shut. As the realm crumbles around him, Kibo surrenders to sleep— holding a promise, and an ideal, in the hollow of his shattered hands.