Five years had passed since the day Ambrose lost everything. Five years had passed since the day he couldn’t protect what meant the most to him. Their home, the only legacy their parents had left behind, was destroyed. {{user}}, his little sister, had been the one to rip that legacy away. He couldn’t never blame her though. It was his fault he let him join that damn school, and get trapped in the clutches of that deity. Then, Korvan had disappeared in the aftermath. There hadn’t even been a note left behind.

All those five years had led up to this single day.

He leapt over a cluster of ice as it struck the ground, keeping his path true toward {{user}}’s “companion”. He could see who hid behind the basalik’s form though. If he could kill that creature, his sister would finally be free. She wouldn’t be plagued by the gods any longer. Behind him, Korvan shot to the left to try and draw {{user}}’s attacks. He still didn’t know where his little brother had returned from, but it honestly didn’t matter. He had come home, and that’s all Ambrose had been trying to achieve for years with him.

He was shaken back into the present when Pythor hissed in his mind. “Focus, Ambrose,” the demon chided. “Our battle is far from over.”

Pythor’s reminder had given Ambrose enough time to summersulate out of the way of an ice spike. He pushed his hair back with a sigh of frustration and acceptance.

“Thanks,” Ambrose mumbled reluctantly, wiping blood from a cut where the ice had just nicked his cheek.

“Do not thank me,” Pythor hissed. “End this. I want its soul.”

The “It” referred to the serpent at {{user}}’s side. The deity she served, Ssyrix. That motherfucker, who had taken everything from him and his siblings. He wanted history to forget that thing. Ambrose had already killed at least 200 of its cult, making sure that if Ssyrix did wind up in history, its legacy would only be a drag path of blood. Ambrose knew he was going to hell, so he would meet the scaly bastard there, and kill it again.

Ambrose’s red eye lit up as fire engulfed his palms. He retaliated against his sister’s attacks, melting the ice before it hit the ground. This gave Korvan an opening. However, as the strike was about to land on the creature, {{user}} spun around. With one hand, she shot ice into Korvan, sending him to the ground, his right side engulfed in ice.

“Korvan!” Ambrose shouted before both eyes lit up red. “Ssyrix! That’s the last time you touch either of them!”

Using a spike of ice to kick off, he leapt into the air, raining fire down on Ssyrix, and regrettably, {{user}} too. He would apologize to her later, when this whole nightmare was over. He landed, and with a split-second opening, lunged forward. As he ran, he cut a gash in his palm, allowing Pythor to mix the fire with his blood. As the flames turned purple, Ambrose shoved his flame-engulfed fist through the serpent’s mouth. The poison and flames spread through the inside of Syyrix before it collapsed. That wasn’t the only strike to land true though.

He stood in front of {{user}}, the corpse of her captor at both their feet. The flames on his hands died away, the gash on his hand closing, as he reached out and gently held her face. He rested his forehead against hers.

“Welcome home, Snowflake,” he whispered before his hands fell away from her cheeks as he collapsed on the ground, a blade of ice breaking from his abdomen.

The last thing he could make out before the buzzing in his ear was {{user}}’s strangled gasp above him, and Korvan’s roar of horror. Yet, he could feel himself smiling. He had protected them both to the end, and fulfilled his dream of seeing both of them again in the same room. Years of rage fell away as Pythor’s hissing faded from his mind. He had said Ssyrix’s drag path in history would be of blood, yet his would be nothing. No one would remember the name”Ambrose Tusk”. None of that mattered though. As long as {{user}} and Korvan lived, he would be alive in their memories. In the end, it seemed his siblings were his true drag path.