(hi please make sure you've read chapter xix as these were uploaded simultaneously)
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"Who wants to live forever?
Who dares to love forever?"
–Queen, Who Wants To Live Forever
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THE ride up in the elevator was smooth. It neither shook nor did it stop and start again. They had evacuated the building a few minutes earlier, made sure it was completely empty before they went up to the roof. Mark and Signe did not speak. His throat was dry and his eyes were burning, there was a big pit in his stomach and a slight tremor in his hands. He tried to keep his mind blank, to not let her hear any of the racing thoughts in his head, because they were not something he wanted anyone to hear.
He was Markiplier, the brave superhero who people were counting on to put Antisepticeye away for good, and if he couldn't do that, what was he in the end? Not a hero. No, definitely not.
He couldn't fail everyone. He couldn't fail the world, fail his family, fail Felix—
—Fail Jack.
He swallowed.
God, he couldn't think about Jack right now. He felt a stab in his heart remembering how they'd left it—he had fucked it up. But, at the same time, he couldn't completely regret it, because he could not hide the truth much longer.
It was only a matter of time before it would've fucked up their relationship anyway, Mark thought.
Still, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could not bear to look at Signe and see the judgement in her eyes, but really, there was nothing for her to judge, didn't she know love—
He didn't finish that sentence in his mind. That was too cruel and he did not want to die—if he were to die; the possibility seemed likely enough—a bad man. No, if he were to die, he would die the way he wanted to. (Even if it wasn't like this, even if he still had a life to live).
He thought, pointedly, that Signe should let him have this moment to think about Jack without judging him—he didn't know why, but he suspected she disapproved of his feelings for the Irishman.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod, and could only be thankful she let him have this. As the old elevator slowly rattled up to the roof, he thought of the life he would never have. He would never have a family, never get married, never live in the beautiful house on a hill he had always dreamt of. Sure, it may have a white picket fence and there may be a golden retriever playing with two young children like an old cliche, but to him, it was his dream. He wanted to love and be loved, he wanted to have a future. And yet, there he sat, mourning the life he would never have. Still, in the end, he had had Jack, even if it was only for a little while, and not in the way he had wanted. He had known love, at least, and maybe he could live with that being enough. Or die, if he was going to be more accurate.
"Mark," Signe questioned, "Why do you think you're going to die? We can win this fight—"
"We can't, Signe. He's too strong. You saw the state I was in the last time, I don't...Maybe with you by my side, I have a bigger chance of living, but it's still...small."
She looked at him softly, and her face spelt out her confusion. She asked him why. Why would he fight in a fight he would lose?
Because I couldn't live with myself if I didn't, Mark thought at her as the elevator doors slid open.
He stepped out cautiously into the hallway before them. It was cold and rather big for an empty room, and as he placed his feet on the ground they echoed a little bit. At the end of the room, he could see a heavy, metal door with a small window that let in a minimal amount of light.
"Last chance to back out," he whispered. Signe shot him a grim smile.
"He owes me a debt. An eye for an eye, a life for a life."
Mark's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly nodded at her. She had said before Anti had killed someone and, somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a little bit of a realisation creep up on him. Like so many things these days, he was glitched back to the start and had no idea whose life he might have taken.
Mark forced his feet to move forward as he stood in the eerie hall and wrapped his fingers around the cold, metal handle when he reached the door. His hand pushed open the heavy door that groaned slightly at the feeling of movement after what was probably a decade of not being used. He and Signe stepped onto the roof, eyes on high alert.
Against Manhattan's skyline, glitching in the moonlight, sat Antisepticeye, right on the edge of the roof. His back was straight and his shoulders were pushed back as he stared out across the city.
Mark had the idea to push him off of the building, just to have it done with, but his plan could not come into fruition as, then, Anti spoke.
"I didn't think you were going to show up."
He froze at the statement.
"Well, you wanted me here, so here I am," Mark managed to push out, unaware (and yet so completely aware) of what he was saying. Words, words and more words. They were familiar, but he couldn't remember where he had said them before. He couldn't remember anything! God, his memories—they all left him as he saw the strong glitch around Anti's shoulders and heard his messed up, glitchy voice cut through the air. They were pushed back by a wall as everything so often was.
As he was thinking, Anti turned around and teleported away from his spot so he was standing in front of them. The air whipped around the three of them through the silence of the city. Eerie, he had thought before, about the hall they had just exited. It did not compare to the hush that had fallen over New York. Everything in the world was gone, it had disappeared and left only them, standing on a dark rooftop where everything had continued to exist.
For a split second, Anti directed his gaze to Signe, before focussing it on Mark. He startled slightly—the eyes that met him, usually light blue and acidic green, were nearly completely black. All that remained was a green ring around the irises. He was by no means religious, but by God, as he stared into his enemy's eyes it felt like he was looking at the devil himself, come to pick him up and take him to Hell.
"I see you've brought a friend."
"You've lost your accent." Mark observed—there was something so different and yet so familiar about his voice, but he was still not able to place what. All it did was glitch him back to the start.
"It was never mine to begin with, but I could put it back on, if you'd like, lovie. Might remind you of a special little someone—"
"—Cut the crap, Antisepticeye. It's over," Signe sneered.
"Oh, I know," He hummed, "But for who?"
Mark reached for his back pocket as Anti said this. There, he felt the hilt of the dagger Signe had given him before they had entered the elevator. For protection, she had said, just in case your strength isn't enough. He had scoffed internally at the time, but now, standing before the supervillain whose confidence was so terrifyingly monstrous, he was grateful to have something to protect himself with.
"Oh, you're both so ready to fight. Loosen up a little, dears, I'm not ready for battle. No, I just want to chat first."
The plan was to arrest him as soon as possible—no banter, no talk. No distractions. Fight him and overpower him, then take him to the police—dead or alive. Still, he, against all rational thought, told Signe to listen to what Antisepticeye had to say. He needed answers to his questions. Desperately. (And he needed to prolong his imminent death, he thought quietly.)
Signe had heard what he thought and responded quickly with an 'about what'. Anti, yet again, barely spared her a glance before returning his gaze to Mark. "Everything."
"Then talk," He said. Abrasive, maybe not the smartest of plans, but he had no respect for the man in front of him. He could spit at his feet.
"Fine, let's talk about the beginning, then—Jacksepticeye."
Mark's heart sank—his suspicions had been confirmed: Anti did have something to do with the hero's disappearance.
"He was just a little boy when I came to him, but he was so easy to manipulate. Young, lonely and lacking confidence. It was perfect—I showed him what powers I could give him, I let him practice. And then I let him ruin it all for himself. I poisoned his mind and now—well, now he's gone." Antisepticeye paused as he saw the shock washing over Mark's face. "No, not like that—he's still alive, somewhere deep inside. But not for long. It's too late for him now."
Tears burned behind Mark's brown eyes—even after all those years, somewhere, deep inside him, he had hoped that Jacksepticeye was still somewhere out there, alive, even if it was deep inside of Anti. He had hoped he could get him back, but if Anti was right...
The wind still whipped violently around them, and Mark closed his eyes against the cold burn it caused. He wiped away his tears—he could not believe he stupid he had been.
"And then?" He shakily asked, a few moments later.
"Well, it's a long story. And I think your little friend knows more about it than she's told you—I have to say I'm curious as to what she knows."
Signe glared daggers at him and not-so-subtly placed a hand on her belt, which had a gun strapped onto it. Still, she spoke.
"He took over Jacksepticeye. Made him change his name, rob banks. You made sure he did it willingly, though, as to not scare him off," She directed that last part at Anti, mumbling a little as she did so.
"Yes, that's right," Anti said, nodding his head, "And it was all going so well. Until you showed up, Markimoo. You became friends with him, charmed him so terribly—"
"—He became reluctant to rob banks. He was falling fast, and Anti couldn't stop him," She explained. Falling? "—Yes, falling. But that's not important. He still fought you, still poisoned you. And he forced himself to think negatively of you—God, he tried to hate you so much."
"But he just couldn't." Venom dripped from the words—quiet, yet violent.
"No, he couldn't," Signe agreed, shaking her head, "Then...well, then Anti killed someone. But he doesn't completely remember."
"Oh, now I see why you're here," He turned to face Mark again, "She never told you, did she? Why she's with you? Why she really got her powers? She told you his backstory, then she told you yours—but never her own, not properly. She probably just said she lost her husband, but she never did say how...She doesn't want to get rid of me for the greater good, Mark. No, she just wants to avenge her dead husband. Because I killed him."
"What..." Mark breathed. How? Why? A million questions raced through his head but he could not follow them as Anti had continued to talk to Signe—
"—It was amazing, really. Been awhile since I've killed. You want to know how I did it? It was simple. I made a deal with him to turn good, and I only needed one thing in exchange—a kiss. It's all I asked, and he gave it so willingly. It was quite pleasant. Until I burnt his heart—"
A scream tore through the air; Signe hurled one of her daggers at Anti and flew towards him. They collided and she laid on top of him for a brief moment until he fought to seize control. His strength was far greater than hers, but she was a faster thinker and threw her fist into his face above her. He reeled from the hit and swung blindly until he struck her body. It knocked the air out of her and she cried out in pain as Anti clammered to tower over her. He wasn't quick enough—she kicked out her foot and made him topple over into the ground. He raged as he felt the warm stream of blood slide quickly down the side of his head and glitched so intensely it was hard to even see his human form in it anymore. Acid green flames emerged from his hands and Mark—frozen during this entire ordeal—could only scream out a loud no. He reached out, but it was too late—Anti had burned half of Signe's face.
"What have you done?!" Mark roared, face red from anger as he reached for Signe's body.
"She interrupted my story, darling. I don't like being interrupted."
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR DAMN STORY!" He frantically tried to fix Signe's face. It wouldn't heal, though, not fast enough; Anti's burns never did. The marks the villain's fist had left healed just fine, but the injury on her face remained the same—hot red with just a hint of green. She was panting in his arms and tears streamed down her face as she silently sobbed. He was going to die, and Signe was as well.
"Shame, it's a good one."
Mark grinded his teeth together in anger. Fury surged through his veins and made his heart beat a loud, fast rhythm, the bass line of a song in a busy club.
"I only need to know one thing about your fucking biography, Anti," Mark seethed, "How do you know who I am?"
He could feel Anti's smirk as he spoke.
"Ÿøū tøłd mę ŷøüršęłf."
With a cry of rage, Mark flung himself into Anti, clawing at his throat. He shook in rage as the villain cast Mark off him and scratched Mark's arm, who cried out in agony as the smell of blood reached his nose and he distantly heard himself kick at the criminal. Through his blurred eyes he saw Anti's flames crashing down towards his head, and he instinctively threw his arms over his head. A semi-translucent blue and red shield formed as it had done a few times before, but he had no time to be surprised as it fended off another blow easily. The impact made his entire body shake, and he saw the shield fade. Eyes wide, he rolled over and Anti stood above him with his fire in his fists, ready to strike—in a stroke of luck, Mark struck his crotch and made Anti fall over. He reached for the dagger Signe had given him, but it was knocked out of his hands and Anti hurled himself into him. They punched and rolled around the roof, and his lungs had never felt so alight. He could feel the blood rushing through his ears, all sound being drowned out by it and his knuckles burned as they hit his nemesis again and again.
Mark choked as Anti's fist slammed into his jaw and he tasted coppery blood as he bit his lip. He felt a scream leave his lips, but couldn't hear anything as adrenaline coursed through his veins. His knees scraped against the ground again and again as he and Anti tried to overpower the other, his wrists ached from his former injury from the villain. He was sure he was screaming and grunting but all he could hear was the pounding of his heart and the ringing in his ears. Blood, everywhere, he was getting injured so fast his healing powers had no time to keep up. He was not used to such pain, and couldn't take it anymore—his limbs refused to fight back against Anti. Far too quickly, he was overpowered. He was struck again and again by his nemesis' fists and, throughout Anti's wildly thrown punches and kicks, he caught himself thinking this is it, my final moment.
But he couldn't let it be his final moment—he wasn't ready.
So with a scream he threw Anti off of him and regained his speed. His fist collided with Anti's bruised and battered face and he saw Anti's eyes unfocus. With all his strength, he pulled up Anti by the collar and held the nearly unconcious man out in front of himself.
"You've lost." He breathed, disbelief evident in his voice. The wind rushed around them, and they didn't move—not that Anti could. It was cool against Mark's blazing cheeks and he tried to gain control over his heaving chest. The silence in the city had never sounded so unnatural.
"No, no not yet—" He startled, not expecting to hear Anti talk, but before he could ponder what he meant—
BANG.
A shot ripped through the still air, a tearing the silence to shreds as they stood there on the rooftop. For a long, quiet moment, the three of them stood there, unmoving. Not a sound left their lips, not even their breaths—nothing disturbed the hush that had fallen over them, except the echo of the bullet.
Mark's breath returned to his lips. It was shallow and harsh in the dark night, it made him feel faint but he could not get any more air through his lips as it felt too thin. His vision was blurry and his heartbeat was steadily growing louder and louder as it pounded in his ears. He stumbled and swayed drunkenly as he turned around to look at Signe. He could not see properly—everything was too intense for him to focus—but the gun she was holding out in front of her was ever so sharp in his mind. The dark metal form was steady in her hands.
"What have you done?!" Mark yelled. The sound was distant to his ears, but he felt his mouth shape the words and his throat ache ever so slightly as he spoke. "I had him we— we could have brought him in!"
She snapped out of the daze she'd been in and moved her lips. Words—she was speaking words, yet they didn't reach his ears. Still, he could guess what she was saying—it was the only way. She had said many times before he should be prepared to do anything, and he thought he had been—he really did—until the bang had sounded across the whole of New York City.
No, he argued back, no it was not the only way. He was not sure if he had said it; the ringing in his ears was too strong. But whatever he might have done, Signe still turned her back and ran to the elevator they had come up in. He stared after her for a moment.
Then, finally, he turned around. His feet shifted loudly on the dark rooftop, a short step followed by another short step. In his gut, he felt dread stir. A deep, cold, sinking feeling sunk into his heart as he saw the pool of blood on the floor. There was a lot of it, some of it still slowly bleeding out of the body of his enemy. He stumbled forward, unable to properly look at Antisepticeye but eyes never leaving the wound.
"Anti?" He asked.
"Mark..."
No. Mark lifted his big, brown eyes to the beautiful blue ones before him. In that moment, it was as if a veil finally lifted from over his enemy's face, because the glitch in his mind finally fixed itself. There was nothing distorted, nothing inhuman, no mask that he could hide behind. It was him.
It was Jack.
"No.." Mark breathed. Hurt flitted through Jack's eyes, broken and bruised and blue, so blue. A sob left Mark's mouth.
"I-I love..." The breath left Jack's lips in a cloud. He had neither the strength nor the breath to finish it, nor did he have the time. Mark's body trembled as he held him gently in his arms. And still the cold wind whipped around their bodies after he had spoken his final, unfinished goodbye.