The two figures hovered in the vast silence of space, Earth glowing in the distance like a fragile gem. The surface of the moon, cracked and cratered by their battle, had become a graveyard of shattered stone and shattered ideals.
Maxwell hovered above the wreckage, blood pooling under his eye, ribs cracked, heart thundering—not with rage. With grief.
Elijah stood again, but barely. His body trembled. His mask hung loose. One eye swollen shut, the other glassy. His chest heaved with every breath like a dying engine.
"You should've left me in that place," Elijah rasped, voice soaked in venom. "You should've left me be. This is all your fault."
Maxwell landed in front of him, slowly.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice low, trembling. "What they did to you… what we let happen… it wasn't right."
Elijah didn't move.
"But this isn't justice," Maxwell continued. "It's just more pain. More blood. You said you wanted to fix the world, but all you've done is burn it."
Elijah swayed, mouth twitching. There was no fury now. No fire. Just a dull, vacant glare.
"I wanted… to be free…" he whispered.
"I know."
Maxwell reached forward.
With one arm, he wrapped around Elijah's neck. Not in anger.
But because there was no other way.
"You could've been more," he whispered. "But now… you'd only destroy."
Elijah didn't resist.
He didn't blink.
Maxwell stared into his eyes, waiting for a spark.
There was none.
With a quiet motion, he twisted.
A sharp, sudden snap.
Elijah's body went limp.
Maxwell held him there for a moment longer, trembling. The stillness was worse than the fight. He looked into the blank eyes and felt something break inside.
Then, slowly, he let the body fall.
It drifted down to the moon's surface with a soft puff of dust.
Maxwell stood there in silence, staring.
No victory.
No pride.
Just silence.
And Earth still spinning in the void above them.