"I'm sorry... my king."
Yang's low, raspy voice drifted through the quiet dark mist, repeating the apology he had uttered moments prior.
Standing directly before the massive dragon was Amon. The boy was hunched over, his left hand pressed tightly against his ribs. One sleeve of his black robe was shredded to ribbons, exposing an arm covered in deep, bleeding wounds. Dark bruises mottled his face, and his whole body was completely soaked with Black Water.
His messy white hair hung heavy and wet over his forehead, leaving him looking exhausted and battered.
Yang's massive form lay motionless on the liquid floor. The right side of the white dragon's body was slowly turning into floating, brilliant orbs of light. Deep bite marks, severe injuries, and heavy, dark blood covered his massive scales as particles of white energy drifted upward into the sky.
"Yang...What's happening to you?" Amon rasped.
Yang took a few long seconds to respond, his breath coming in low wheezes as if every word consumed his remaining life force.
"I am dying," he whispered softly. "I do not have much time left... I am sorry that I failed you. I failed my king."
Amon continued to stare at him, his three red eyes wide in the gloom. After a silence, he asked quietly, "Why do you keep calling me 'king'?"
Yang paused, his eyes fixed on the small boy. "I... do not truly know. Or rather... I do know, but I lack the strength to explain it fully. To put it simply... it is instinct."
Amon slowly lowered his small frame, sitting down onto the wet liquid floor beside the massive beast. He reached out a small, trembling hand, resting his palm gently against the side of Yang's snout.
"I think I can understand that," Amon murmured. "It's the same way I instinctively crave power. You instinctively call me king."
Silence settled over them for a moment, save for the quiet sound of drifting particles of light.
"Let me ask you something, Amon," Yang spoke up again, his voice dropping to a faint rumble. "Think of it as a last conversation before I pass away. Why... do you want to protect Albion?"
Amon blinked, pulling his hand back slightly. "Why are you asking that? What brought that on?"
"The black dragon... Reiga," Yang answered honestly. "He spoke of wanting to protect Albion. In the same way that I instinctively want to protect you and call you king. Though I suppose his circumstances are a little different."
Amon went quiet. "I see." He stared down at his bloodied, soaked hand, giving the dragon a completely truthful answer.
"At one point in the past...back when we first met in this world...I did want to protect him," Amon admitted."It was strange. On one hand, I hated how weak he was. I enjoyed watching him suffer. But deep down... looking back... I actually wanted to protect him in my own way. That was why I originally wanted to become king—to shoulder the burden he couldn't carry. It was a warped way of trying to shield him."
His red eyes narrowed into a cold glare.
"But that was then. This is now. Right now... I want to kill him. I want to be the king, not for his sake, but for my own ego. I want us to become one, and I am the only one worthy of killing him."
Amon's warped sense of possession burned through his words. He did not view Albion as an enemy to simply throw away; he viewed Albion as something that belonged solely to him, something only he had the right to destroy.
Yang let out a soft, heavy sigh, understanding the darkness rooted in his master's heart. "I see. Then let me ask you one more thing... What do you mean by wanting to 'become one'?"
Amon raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Do you mean simply killing Albion, leaving only yourself in this inner world?" Yang elaborated weakly. "Do you mean letting Albion kill you, leaving him as the sole survivor? Or do you mean forcing Albion to submit—destroying his sense of self and leaving him a hollow shell while you rule?"
His eyes searched Amon's face. "Is that what you mean? Or do you mean something else entirely?"
For the first time, Amon looked uncertain. "I... I don't know," he muttered. "Is there really that much of a difference? What else could 'becoming one' mean? What else could 'only one remaining' possibly mean?"
"I think it means something much simpler," Yang whispered, his voice fading to a thread. "For the two of you to accept one another... and for a single, complete soul to remain in its place. But...I understand that is unlikely. It will probably never happen. The war between hatred and compassion will always exist in this world. That is simply how it is."
Yang's breath hitched as his chest began to dissolve more rapidly into glowing particles.
"But if there's one thing I know..." he continued, looking at Amon one last time, "...it's that compassion alone will never beat hatred. This fight will prove it."
Amon watched as the dragon's physical form deteriorated beyond repair. Knowing this was the final moment he would ever see Yang, he spoke one last time.
"I may be the only one worthy of being king," Amon said, his voice quiet and firm. "And I am the only one worthy of killing Albion. But you, Yang... you were the only one worthy of understanding me."
A small smile touched Amon's bruised, stitched face.
"Be proud, Yang. You were strong. You were worthy."
A rare, warm sensation welled in Amon's eyes. A single droplet spilled over his lower eyelid, slowly rolling down his bruised cheek.
Amon raised his hand and wiped the moisture away. When he looked at his fingers, it wasn't water.
It was blood.
A dry, bitter chuckle escaped his throat.
"I see..." Amon muttered, staring at the blood on his fingertips. "I've become completely inhuman... outside and inside. I'm not even capable of shedding tears. I guess this truly proves it... I exist only to destroy everything."
Beside him, the last remaining scales of the white dragon dissolved into brilliant streams of light, drifting up into the dark sky before vanishing completely.
Yang was gone.
Amon sat alone in the expanse for a moment, his breathing low and even. Then, with a cold focus returning to his three crimson eyes, he slowly turned his head, fixing his gaze directly across the dark sea toward where Albion stood.