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They had fought together. Since the beginning, it had been the four of them. Maybe not all at the same time, maybe not all with the same agenda, maybe not even all in the same world, but they had fought. Together. And they won. They won continuously, they won with passion and heart and virtue. Most importantly, they won together.
It was written in the stars, this fate. Written since the beginning, since before the angels and the demons and the wars. The end of all things. It was destiny, this was. No one could stop destiny. It was never ending and always beginning, an endless circle, unbreakable. It was above those puny mortals, the ones who knew naught and cared for nothing.
But that’s what fate didn’t plan for- those puny mortals. Those puny mortals who had made mistakes and consorted with demons and made deals with death. Those mortals who had been to hell, heaven, and everywhere in between- but had made it back, still willing to fight.
Not all the time, no. There were dark days, where one of them would stumble, or fall, or even turn their back and set off in the other direction. But they always found their way back. In the world of puny mortals, that was so small compared to the gods, the angels, the demons, lay the fight. The fight of those people who knew naught and cared for nothing. That was a lie. They knew little, but when they pooled their knowledge, they learned much. They couldn’t afford to care for much, but they cared for each other- more than any of them ever really knew.
After all the suffering, the losses, the heartbreak- they finally won. Bruised and beaten, and maybe even a little bit broken, but they won. Even when it seemed like all was lost, the four were reunited eventually. But it wasn’t the same. Things had changed. The goal, to win, that had seemed so virtuous and pure at the beginning, took on a new meaning. For different members, it meant different things. It was then, after the war, when the cracks really started to show. They ran from fate, they defied it, even. It wasn’t enough.
The fallen angel, after rising so high, after finding what he stood for, after going against everything he had ever known, became corrupt. And he paid dearly for it.
The old drunk, who for so long had held the group together, finally faced his demons. He was falling in love. He had a new family. He was as comfortable as he would ever be able to get. And for that, he paid dearly.
The blood addict, the one who had perhaps strayed the farthest from the group, was never able to fully regain his true self. He knew that there was a piece of him that would stay forever in the pit. The piece that was still attached to him, but so blackened by the fire, so charred by the heat, that it burned him every waking moment. It would never leave him.
The dropout was tired. The good soldier, who would never disappoint his general. The good soldier who always followed his orders. The good soldier was tired. It was a plaguing sickness, one that couldn’t be remedied by even the subversion of the end, or a woman, or a friend. It slowly spread itself throughout his body, from his hands that wearily cocked his shotgun, to his feet that weren’t sure how fast they could run anymore, all the way up to his eyes that saw only pain and misery, when all the shades of grey in the world were beginning to bleed together.
This was their reward. The fallen angel, the old drunk, the blood addict, and the dropout. The ones who beat fate in the war were the ones who lost to it in the battles.
This was Team Free Will.