They were coming to destroy Him.

They had finally unraveled the mystery which surrounded Him and the lives that He had led to this point. The mystery of the very world that they were a part of. The mystery of the world that He had created and that they were now traveling in order to destroy Him once and for all. The end of Times had truly begun. He would not have to fight for His life... or perhaps... die and then return just as He had time and time again. His loved and gentle Iterations had been mowed down by their swords, just as the Others had been; good and evil alike now United in death, their cadavers leaking the last of living red blood. Deaths that He had felt, that his soul had suffered once again, tearing Him apart before leaving Him with nothing to His name.

The last of his iterations had not even wailed aloud in pain; their last breath had been whispered away, offered willingly. A whisper which resonated in His domain, echoing into nothingness, the enormous final monument to prove that He had once existed. Their voices now whispered in His ears, some cursing His name, others speaking guidance, and others silently watching, awaiting the final, inevitable confrontation which would soon be His to end.

Rising from His knees, He threw the black cloak behind him, his cold silver eyes looking upon the statue before Him ; an image of the twin gods which had cursed Him and the lineages which had come after. A small part of Him wondered how Maveric had fared, that radiant leader which had taken His place eons ago. Maveric, who had evaded the agony and the shame of this eternal Purgatory, able to permit his spirit to move on and be without pain. This world had gone on without him... why couldn't it have gone on without Him. Why had He been chosen as the Gatekeeper, the Immortal Pinnacle? Has there been reason for this, or had it been for the sake of the Gods' entertainment?

The doors to the enormous cathedral which He had made His home were blown open with a blast of untempered fire. The heroes, some great, some small, rushed into His domain, oblivious to the beauty which was held therein: the statues of the deities, the depictions of the history of the world. The twins of Fire and Lightning and the demon which had possessed one to kill the other. The power that had departed from the twins, or perhaps, the righteous twin and the demonic slayer of the same. Each power finding its hold in a mortal coil, a coil that would carry the power for eternity, until it would return to this world to be reunited with the Immortal Gatekeeper which waited as a shade of Himself for the inevitable end. The end. The end. 

End.

Thoughts pounded inside of His head as the voices hissed and whispered, as the heroes stormed the cathedral and began to stare at the high ceilings, the dark tapestries depicting a Raven with silver eyes, who carried a pocketwatch in its talons. To their eyes, He was still invisible, the darkness of His cloak and of the shadows created by his will hiding Him from their mortal eyes. Not yet. He was not yet ready to do what it was that he had been appointed to do. He had tried so hard to guide them on the right path... the path that could have redeemed Him, the path that could have redeemed His tortured soul.

There was a frightened young boy, a part of Him that he had forgotten. A boy who looked into his eyes and saw the monster that lay in the future of the innocent. The boy did not deserve such hatred. The torture that he had yet to experience would break the boy. The hatred which had been His even before the mantle of timelessness had been forced upon his shoulders. All He had wanted was to belong. All He had wanted was acceptance. No more. No longer was that a viable dream. No longer could he continue the cycle. Once again. Another scratch on the wall.

They would shout and point to one another as they looked upon the god which was gently floating over the cathedral's alter, dressed in black, his corpse-like skin emancipated and almost dead. The black cloak would flutter like a pair of Raven's wings, a pocketwatch visible upon His breast, the clasp of the same inky black cloak. In His left hand, He held the scythe larger than himself, the reaper's accomplice. In His right, he held another pocketwatch, which swung back and forth hypnotically. He, the visage of Time. He the Eternal Father.

His face was bare to them, permitting them to look upon his scarred appearance. The slit upon his throat healed to quickly to be lethal, the handsome face scarred, silver eyes cold. Spirits surrounding Him as a grave shroud, the spirits of those that they had met, singing out in their dissonant chorus that marked the final battle to be at hand. His name was exclaimed by them, the name that he had long ago forgotten. The name of the boy that was frightened of the monster they he was destined to become. They had no choice. They would have to kill Him, else they would die in the attempt. 

"You have come to my domain for one purpose, and for one only." His voice resonated in the walls, the pillars which began to shake with the volume and the intensity of His tone. "Time now holds still for Us. Together, together we are matched. Hand in hand, We go to embrace eternity, and whatever Hell awaits us."

He had had so much hope for them. He had fooled himself into thinking perhaps this could be the end. This pattern was to go on forever, as He aged without growing old, as the world reversed upon its axis for Him and Him alone. 

"Hand in hand." His voice said in unity with those who had fallen before. "Hand in Hand, we fight to the death, driven by madness, by fate, or both. Kill me, just as you have killed the others. Uccidimi. Stasera andiamo a ballare con il Diavolo..."

The Scythe rippled, transforming into a lordly rapier, fit for a king. He held it tenderly, pointing it towards these Heroes. Not yet. Perhaps there was hope. Perhaps...

Perhaps...

The boy gazed upon the monster he had become and wept bitterly, his hand still strong as he held the rapier, knowing this could not be the end. Not yet. 

"... Uccidimi. Favore."