8 And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. [Book of Revelation]

Caesar raised his eyes to the west as Hoover Dam came into view. Legate Lanius stood at the edge of the Dam, his arms folded as he looked out to the sun which had just begun to set. Hoover Dam. It was his, at last, the last leg of the NCR had been taken from the faction, leaving them feeble and leaning in New Vegas. New Vegas. It was so weak without the Hoover Dam, so ripe for the Legion to pick off. It had flashed its hideous neon signs, a testament to greed and dissolution, up into the night sky every evening, taunting Caesar from afar.

But no longer, his Courier was taking the streets of Freeside as he walked the road to the Dam and soon, New Vegas would be his. His Rome, he had it at last.

So why didn't he feel more pleased about it?

"True to Caesar," Prime Legionaries guarding the edge of the Dam muttered as he passed by. Just a few days before, idle troopers had stood where they did now.

"Ave. Mars has smiled upon us with this victory," the Legate's voice carried easily over the few metres between them.

"Ave, Lanius. You have cleared the dissolute from the Dam?"

"There is not a trace that the degenerates ever held such a place," Lanius said, uncrossing his arms, "The Courier is an extraordinary man. Where have you sent him? I would have congratulated him on his competence."

The compliment surprised Caesar, who had never heard the Legate pass praise on another of his Legion before. He brought himself to nod as he stepped down, his first step on the concrete of his Dam.

"He is in Freeside," Caesar replied, wincing as the light hit his eyes, "But don't you worry, he'll be rewarded for this," he inhaled smelling the clean air, trying to raise his spirits a little more, to prove it was all real. He had won. He, himself, no other, he had brought the Legion to the Mojave and Hoover Dam was his. It had all been him.

Caesar looked out over the Dam and his new empire. Yes. He would be satisfied, when it had all sunk in.

"Legate, a figure at the hilltop!" a legionary at Lanius' side muttered. Caesar raised his eyes to see where the man had indicated and was immediately blinded by sunlight. He could just make out the dark shape of a man at the top of the mount, and as the sun began to drop, he saw something glint in his hand. Something bright.

"What the fuck is that?" he exclaimed, snatching the binoculars off an explorer at his side. He squinted through the glass and saw the man raise his hand, the bright object catching and glinting in the sun. He flicked a dial on the side and saw the man's face.

"No," he said softly, dropping the binoculars.

Joshua Graham raised the detonator and looked, and before him he saw the Beast and his old friend, Edward, the man who had thought to cast him into darkness but had instead brought him light. About them there was a wash of blood, both by the crimson of the Legion flag and true, reddest of blood, gore, signs of the war which had taken place. It was hideous and yet Joshua could not bring himself to hate the man who had brought it about. He could not hate Edward.

Graham raised his eyes and arms above him, "Lord. I am he that liveth, and was dead; and behold, I am alive evermore, Amen, and have the keys of hell and of death." His fingers hovered over the switch for the detonator; "Your Will is mine and it shall be done, on your Earth."

He flicked the switch.

Follows-Chalk threw his arms about the body of his lifeless friend, true tears, the first of his own in Mojave, raining down over Arcade's cold face.

"Arcade," he whimpered, shaking the man's shoulders, lifting his head, "No, Arcade, don't be gone, be here, Arcade-" his face crumpled, the scarf slipping from where it had covered his tattoos. "Please-"

"Get down!" a King shouted out, and a frag grenade exploded to his right, sending his ears ringing once more as he covered his head and Arcade's body as best he could. A King had been knocked off his feet and coughed, blood trickling from his lips. Follows-Chalk's expression hardened and he snatched himself off the floor, rolling out from behind the burned out car.

The Courier lined up a shot, taking the King's member who'd been choking on his own blood following the blast and reloaded his sniper, snapping in a fresh cartridge to train his sights on Jean-Baptiste, who was preoccupied with shooting at the head of a Legion recruit who'd made his way over the Freeside line. The red sights lined up and the Courier closed one eye, his finger on the trigger. He never missed a shot.

Follows-Chalk vaulted over the Legion line and punched the Courier in the face, knocking him off his feet.

"Follows-" the Courier began, but was cut off as the tribal sunk another punch into his face, breaking his nose. Blood spurted over his lips and the Courier roared with rage, breaking free of Follows-Chalk's grip to shake him off, throwing him to the floor and kicking his stomach. He drew out his gun and shot him in the leg to keep him down, before drawing out his sniper rifle. He aimed it at Follows-Chalk's head.

"I told you not to come to the Mojave," he said shortly and squeezed the trigger.

The Courier shouted out as suddenly he was thrown backwards, a silver bullet glinting in the midst of his body armour. Pacer smiled over the line as the bullet found its target and was immediately cut down in his moment of triumph by a Legion recruit who'd seized the distraction.

The sniper rifle had been thrown out of the Courier's grip as he'd been knocked to the floor and Follows-Chalk groaned as he staggered to his feet, pulling himself along the ground as his fingers desperately searched for it. He could tell the Courier was doing the same and he strained, almost falling forward in his efforts to reach it, his bad leg dragging pitifully behind.

The Courier's fingers found the weapon first, the tribal a second later but with better grip. He tensed and ripped the gun from the Courier's fingers, batting him about the face with it, blood exploding from a gash on his forehead.

"This is not what you want to do," the Courier said. He didn't even plead; he merely stated it, as though he knew it was not in Follows-Chalk's heart.

"I gave you my trust, Courier," Follows-Chalk said, tears running tracks in the blood that caked his face.

"And I trust you, Follows," the Courier said, "You won't kill me."

Follows-Chalk looked at the Courier who had been his friend through Zion, who'd helped conquer the White-Legs and had brought peace to his valley and now instead, lay before him, a bullet in his side and blood tricking down his face. The Courier was just a man, for all he'd done and all he'd killed; he was just a man.

"You know I am not superstitious, Courier," Follows-Chalk said, "But you will go straight to Hell."

His finger snapped shut on the trigger, just as a loud boom echoed in the distance.

Caesar's world abruptly fell.

The Dam, the Legate, his Legion all ruptured, thrown up into the air as bombs exploded along every seam of Hoover Dam, both inside and outside its concrete walls. His world, the world he'd built with Joshua Graham, the world which he'd led and had led him to this final point, this final victory, collapsed about him.

He could hear Lanius, enraged like the bull of the Legion as he fell backwards, the concrete pathway he stood upon falling about him. Recruits, new and full of merriment also fell, the world beneath them slipping to give way to a tonne of water, water which had been bought by blood and by death of NCR and Legion alike, water which when contained had meant so much Caesar's world and yet now, cascaded away, freed by Graham's action.

Caesar felt the path he was on collapse and he was cast down, falling over and over, head over heels in a mash of concrete, death and pain. He could feel it; he hadn't died yet, but he could feel every bone in his body being cracked and snapped, punched and pulverised by the slabs of Man's ingenuity which had built the Dam. When would he die? He was in agony as he tumbled, but his lips would not open to let out a scream as the air whipped past, stealing his shout of pain from him.

Then came the water. At last, the water came; a flood, a torrent, a wave of calm. It took the Legion from Caesar, carrying the Legion bodies away and washing them downstream. Then it took the pain from Caesar, stealing it away as it bit his broken bones, pushing him under the great flood.

"Joshua," he tried to speak, but the flood took his words as well. It took everything from him and gave him only death, which after all that had been done, was the greatest mercy it could bestow.

Joshua Graham looked up from the hilltop as the light began to fade behind him and lowered his hands at his sides. Water had been thrown up all about him from the explosion and he took a step forward, and knelt at a pool, quickly before the Mojave dirt sucked the moisture up again. He crossed himself with the Dam water, which was now mixed with the blood of the Legion and closed his eyes, allowing the water to trickle across his brow.

"I am done." He said and stepped off the hilltop; to fall through the air once more.

And so, the Legion and NCR were brought to an end. The man who had felt water, then flame finally felt water again and was given a final baptism and, in his mind, fully accepted in the eyes of the Lord as he lay to rest at the bottom of the Colorado River; having finally been killed. Edward Sallow of the Legion lay beside him, his bones broken and his limbs smashed but even then, not quite sorry in death.

In the end of all things, it proved to be that the Courier who had cheated the Divide, Mr. House's robots, the NCR Rangers and the Brotherhood of Steel of his death was finally dealt his hand by a tribal of Zion. The body of the man was dragged outside of Freeside's walls. Despite telling the Courier he was no longer superstitious, the tribal would not allow the Courier to rest in a grave for fear he would walk out of it and the body was burned. It was a sight few turned out to see.

The Kings had been sorely wounded by the battle for the city and it is said the faction never recovered. Their leader lived on as a cripple and refused to allow the people of Freeside to call him the King, saying the title belonged to the tribal boy, who had saved the city by defeating the Courier making him, truly, the King of Freeside.

The Followers of the Apocalypse left the Mojave following the loss of much of their number, taking the body of Julie Farkas with them to rest in better ground than the dirt of the Mojave. The researcher known as Arcade Gannon was buried in the Old Mormon Fort, which was turned into a graveyard for all those who had died in the struggles against the Legion. Many of the graves there are unmarked.

The tribal who had come to the Mojave seeking civilisation was given a gift of a broken robot by a passer-by in Freeside as thanks for his work. After spending months scouring the city for parts, he eventually gathered enough resources to repair the eye-bot. Following this, the tribal set back out into the Mojave with ED-E at his side, saying that he was leaving on his quest to find civilisation, having not found it in the Mojave. He took with him a stick of chalk, to mark the path he walked in case someone should wish to find a way also.

The chalk markings lead a long, hard road, out of the Mojave and it is unknown where they end.

A/N: Wow, thanks to anyone who is reading this and so got this far! This was my first ever fic, so i hope you enjoyed it^^ i just felt like there wasn't enough Joshua in the fic world, and i figured if he ever got to the Mojave things would get pretty heavy pretty quickly, hence the whole drama and damnation. anyway, thanks for reading and thanks to anyone who dropped me a review, it really helps:3 thank you!