And I'm back, hello again everyone.

I know I'm going to upset some people with this, but I came to this decision after a lot of thought. Firstly, I'm not going to continue the story as is. I didn't realize it at the time but I wrote myself into a corner which, barring plot induced stupidity to the highest degree I could not save what I had written without turning the story into a pile of shit.

Plus I'm not particularly proud of my writing as it is. So instead I'm going to rewrite the whole thing, it'll have some new characters, some old, and it'll be slightly better than the last iteration. Featuring all the new lessons I learned about writing!

But I am sorry about being gone and not writing for like, half a year. I was dealing with a lot of emotional problems and every time I wrote my heart wasn't in it.

I think I'm just going to leave this story up since a few of you liked it, and create a new one shortly thereafter.

Speaking of rewrites, I'm also rewriting These Vagabond Shoes. My writing sucked there too.

In the meantime, stay tuned for the rewrite. Coming: eventually

Anyways, since I don't like leaving loose ends even if I abandon them, here's the bad (non-canon) ending to The Fateless!

The ground quaked while the air above it rippled with latent heat from the bombardment, every dusty scrunch of his footfalls reminding Eliphas of his victory.

There was a distant rumble and for a moment the champion of Chaos considered the possibility that there were yet more Imperial forces that had survived before he brushed the matter aside. As far as he was concerned, whatever minor artillery pieces that had survived the Carrion's assault, if there were any, were in no shape to counter him now.

Not to mention the ensuing warp-storms.

As he stepped across the once-grand palace that had born witness to a slaughter the likes of which Meridia had never seen Eliphas breathed in. Char, gunpowder, expended promethium, and above all else, the quiet stillness of billions of harvested souls.

The rumbling noise came back, and this time he spared it a glance, only to find it was just another skyscraper. Massive chunks from its superstructure and supporting buildings caking off of it, and it collapsed in on itself in a shower of rubble and dust.

Eliphas grunted appreciatively and continued onward. Only one thing left to do now.

He stopped midway through his stride and turned at the sound of something else, much closer. The scraping of metal against rock.

From out of a small mountain of ruined barricades and the front of the palace, a lone figure staggered out, and fell to its knees after taking a few steps forward.

Without realizing it, Eliphas had narrowed his eyes. This one, that had dared to come so close to utter ruination of his plans, and all but flaunted any of their plans to slay him, had survived.

…Scratch that thought from earlier. He now had two things to take care of before he was finished.

Flicking his wrist, Eliphas's sword appeared in his hands as he approached the 'Savior'.

Some savior he turned out to be.

Clearly, the Guardian wasn't in the best shape. His pure black and white armor that had all but perpetually remained immaculate was now burnt and tattered. That shining sigil on its front was dented and pierced beyond recognition, as well as leaking a stark white fluid that the Guardian failed to stop from bleeding. One of its legs and both arms were dotted with blackened marks that gouged deep holes into the robes, the mark of the Bloodletters, Eliphas noted with a small sense of satisfaction.

It finally lifted its head up, helmet covered in a web of cracks and dents, and though he was half-dead and probably not all that lucid either, Eliphas could feel the Guardian's eyes on him.

There was a tense silence save for the crackling of dying fires, and then the Guardian charged, bringing with him a sword that was caked in blood and dirt but still shined with lethality.

It was more of a leap, really. Born from what, Eliphas didn't know. Desperation, hatred maybe?

It will be a shame. He would have been a fine lieutenant.

And as Eliphas brought his blade across Glatisant's midsection in a lightning-quick motion, he had an idea.

Light sprayed from the wound, and the Guardian fell to the ground, his helmet impacting on a piece of rubble with enough force to pop off the glass of his visor. He twitched for a moment, reaching for his sword that lay not a few feet away from him, only for his limbs to fail to respond.

All your 'holiness' and still you fail.

Eliphas grinned at the display. "I expected more from you, son of the Traveler."

No response but raggedy breaths that sounded like a series of short gasps. Whether his lungs were filling up with blood or the air was too toxic to breathe, he didn't particularly care.

Gauntleted hands reached further, fingers succeeding in scraping against the blade's hilt but failing to pull it closer. "At first I had thought of you as another brave fool, like the Seer, or the human meddler," Eliphas said, each step bringing him closer to his downed opponent.

Still no reply. So be it then.

He could have been so much more.

I agree, Eliphas thought, and hoisting the Guardian into the air by the throat with his free hand, he continued.

"But I began to see there was more than defiance and your blind faith to a corpse-god, Glatisant."

Even as death, real death drew nearer to the Sunsinger, the Guardian managed a glare filled with more hatred than Eliphas had ever witnessed. He squeezed, maintaining his chokehold even as whatever retort the Guardian had come up with died on his lips.

Eliphas's sword began to ripple like tar and oil.

"Let it never be said that I am not a merciful servant of Chaos," he stated, noting the fear and abhorrence in his captive's eyes. "For I have offered you a place by my side once before, and you refused.

Glatisant's limbs finally responded to him, a fact Eliphas became aware of when a fist as hot and as luminous as a small star smashed against his head, again, and again, to no avail.

Feeble, but it can be fixed.

The sword had finished now, black tendrils like small hands seeming to reach out of it as if to escape their confinement as the Guardian's strikes became faster and wilder. "Now Guardian, let me make you an offer," Eliphas smiled as he plunged the bar into the Guardian.

The last coherent thing Glatisant ever did was to cease struggling and stare straight into his eyes with a haunted look that said what have you done.

And then his face disappeared in a blanket of blackness.

As the fires faded from his skin, Glatisant felt more alive than he had ever before.

The old Guardian is dead.

His hands came alive in a blinding display of purple lightning and pure, unadulterated power. And as Eliphas released his hold, the New One fell with enough force to crack the ground, and it let loose a roar that shook the world.

The new one is just getting started.

The End (kinda)