He's the best shot on Bionis!
He'd snipe you before you had time to tie your shoelace.
~Sharla (Heart-to-Heart "What's On Reyn's Mind")

Chapter 4: Life

The high ceiling of the great hall called the Corridor of Silence loomed overhead, its farthest edges wrapped in shadow. Outside, the sky's perpetual red twilight contributed to the dimness of this place. Stone carvings and sculptures of dragon-like beings could be seen here and there, their eyes wide and their mouths frozen mid-cry as if to offer testimony to what happened to anyone, man or beast, who was unable to escape this Prison Island.

Near the middle of the floor lay a round disc made of greenish metal. Small clusters of narrow poles made of the same material extended upward from the perimeter of the disc, like the legs of a dying Arachno that had been flipped onto its back. This structure was a transport. And as the seven companions slowly approached it, they could hear the faint hum that announced that power was flowing through the device.

Dunban studied the transport for a moment and then turned around to address the rest of the group.

"We must be near the top now," he stated. "If we use this transport, there's no guarantee we'll be able to come back here. Are you ready?"

Shulk gave a determined nod. "I'd say we are." He took a step toward the greenish structure but was forestalled when Melia stepped into his path.

"One moment, please," she said with surprising firmness. Her gaze traveled to each of her fellow companions in turn. "I have been given to understand that some of you have known this Dickson for a long time?"

"That's right," Fiora answered. "Shulk, Reyn, Dunban and I all knew him in Colony 9. He was Shulk's guardian, and he fought alongside Dunban in the war one year ago."

"That's what I thought," Melia went on. "In this upcoming battle, it may become necessary to kill him. Are the four of you prepared—truly prepared—for that?"

"Of course," Reyn said enthusiastically, forming one hand into a fist. "He deserves what's comin' to him."

Riki's dark, beady eyes studied the big redhead. "Riki no believe Reyn."

"Don't matter if you believe me, furball," Reyn retorted. "It is what it is."

"I think we're all in agreement on this point, Melia," Dunban cut in. "But it's good that you asked." He paused and did his own survey of the group. "However… we might not want to rush into this fight immediately. We could make camp here, rest for a while."

There was no subtext to the suggestion, no ulterior motive—they were all still somewhat winded from the battle they had fought against the Dragon King—but even so, he instantly regretted making it when he saw the bleak look that came over his sister's face.

"I see no reason to put it off, Dunban," she said quietly. "In fact… I'd prefer it if we fought this battle as soon as possible."

Shulk turned to her in alarm, took in her less-than-straight posture and her bowed head. "What does that mean, Fiora? Are you not feeling okay?"

She looked into his concerned face and managed a halfhearted smile. "I'm fine, Shulk. Don't worry."

"I'm with Fiora," Sharla put in, taking a step forward. She, too, had a sort of grim shadow over her visage, and the area under her eyes was very dark as if from fatigue. "Let's put an end to this war."

"All right, then," said Dunban. "If we all agree… then let's do this."

The party moved forward as a group and walked onto the Arachno-like transport. A few seconds later, they were gone. The Corridor of Silence was quiet once more except for the crackling of the bluish-white torch-flames and the whistling of the wind outside—and, a short time later, a loud clang of approaching footsteps.

...

Metal feet rang against stone Gadolt made his way up toward the top of Prison Island. It was slow going, for his body was anything but completely healed… though perhaps "repaired" would be a better word now. The damage, both internal and external, had been severe; his energy stores were nearly depleted; and the explosion had even left one leg slightly warped in shape, so that he walked with something resembling a limp. The Machina medic had said that he was in no condition to be up and about, and he might have been inclined to agree with her, but then she had given him the latest update about what was going on in the war: Sharla and her friends were on their way to fight a dangerous battle. In that moment, all choice in the matter had been eliminated. The medic had protested; he had spoken to her firmly, until she had finally seemed to realize that argument would be fruitless. After that, it had been a simple matter to ask the Machina to fly their ship into the Bionis' interior, where there was a transport to this Prison Island place.

Behind him, he could hear loud metallic scraping noises: the Machina who had come along on the journey were readying the second stage of their plan. He paid them no heed. In order for their part to be relevant at all, he would need to do his part first.

Lowering his head a bit, he tried to quicken his pace along the narrow, curving slope. That was a mistake. Immediately, what energy he had left drained out of him; he veered off course and was barely able to put his left hand against a wall to keep from falling. For several seconds he stood there, gasping for breath with his hand against the wall. This trip through the island had already gone on too long.

Once the feeling of weakness had subsided, he snatched his hand away from the wall and studied it for a long moment. The mechanical fingers were foreign to him: a mockery of his normal form. It had to be some quirk of fate, he thought—that he, who had fought against the Mechon for so long and hated them so much, was now one of them. There had to be some reason why they had chosen him to become a Face.

The thought, unpleasant though it was, did not distract him long, and he forced himself to keep moving. He had to be close now. A few more steps brought new sounds to his ears, these ones originating from just around the next bend: shouts, battle cries, the bestial roars of the party's opponent. The crunch of a sword hitting flesh. Shots from an Ether Rifle…

Sharla.

The volley of shots soon ceased, but it was replaced by a feminine voice, rising above the din of battle.

"Can you still fight?"

The question had obviously been meant for one of her companions, who now could be heard giving a reply, but as far as Gadolt was concerned, it might as well have been directed at him.

Could he still fight? Yes, he could.

Armed with this resolve, he accelerated once more, this time holding his hand against the wall as an extra support. It worked. Within a few feet, he had reached the bend, which coincided with a leveling of the terrain. Around the bend was a plateau: the top of the island. That would never do. Fortunately, however, the area was bordered with narrow stone spires of various sizes, and the one that was nearest him was particularly large and particularly misshapen—it combined a narrow peak on one side with a leveled-off formation on the other, like a high-up shelf of sorts. Perfect.

As quietly as he could, he climbed this structure and then did his best to conceal himself behind the tall portion of the spire as he looked out with a soldier's cool eye across the battlefield. They were all there, the people he had met in Agniratha, all alive but in various states of fatigue and injury. He could see them running about and gesturing wildly as they exhorted and encouraged one another, but so high was his level of concentration that he could no longer hear their words at all.

It did not take long to locate the entity they were fighting against: a hideous, otherworldly giant with brown-and-purple skin. Gadolt had never seen a creature like this before, but even so, there were enough clues in its visage to evoke the scruffy-looking face of the man who had spoken in his dream:

"He simply led you to the inevitable…. That grunt Gadolt's miserable demise."

His eyes narrowed. This was going to be sweet.

His plan made, he descended a few feet and edged sideways so that he was just under the flat shelf, then slowly lifted the rifle that he held at his right side. It was a Machina model and was somewhat clumsy to handle—made even clumsier by the fact that he had to touch it with those odd fingers of his—but it was better than nothing. Methodically, he went through the usual series of weapon checks as a feeling of calm—the flow of battle—settled over him. The rifle was locked and loaded. Ready for action.

Nodding in satisfaction, he carefully took another step or two up the steep slope. These things could never be rushed. This done, he raised the rifle to his shoulder. Settling down just behind the flat shelf, he leaned forward, peered through the sights, and took his aim.

...

"Can you still fight?"

Sharla's dark eyes seemed full of concern. Hastily, Shulk nodded.

"Yes. I'm fine now, thank you."

She gave a brief nod and moved away. When she was gone, Shulk let out a long exhale and wiped sweat from his forehead. In truth, this battle was not going according to plan. The bravado of before, the confident statements the group had made—that they were going to teach Zanza a lesson about the determination of Homs, High Entia, and Nopon—seemed far away now. And they were not even at Zanza himself yet. This was still only his minion.

"What's this?" Dickson shouted gleefully. "Are the little insects getting tired? Funny, 'cause I'm not! I could do this all day!"

"Do you think you can intimidate us, you monstrosity?" Melia asked sharply from the other side of the battlefield.

"I don't just think I can—I know I can!" the giant bellowed. "Take this!" So saying, he lashed out with his massive sword in the direction of the High Entia girl. Melia was only just able to use her staff to deflect the hit. She stumbled backward, gasping.

"That's it, Dickson!" Shulk yelled. Giving a wild battle cry, he made a furious charge at his enemy and hacked savagely with his replica Monado.

"…What?" he asked a moment later, in bewilderment. Dickson just laughed.

The replica Monado had barely made a scratch on the giant's thick skin.

Shulk stared at the glowing sword as a conversation he had had with Fiora replayed in his head.

I think he just wants to kill me. He's realized that I don't need the Monado to defeat him. And that scares him. That's why he wants to end this.

"I'm too powerful, Shulk!" Dickson roared. "Do you think your imitation Monado can do anything against me? Even the real thing would barely scratch me. The Monado is of Bionis, just like me."

"The Monado is of Bionis," Shulk murmured. His hands were suddenly sweaty; he struggled to maintain a grip on the replica sword's hilt.

"Get out of there, Shulk!" Sharla yelled from behind him. "I'll cover you!"

His head spinning, he did as she said. His peripheral vision soon caught her strafing off to the side, firing her rifle. In seconds, she was out of ammunition; she paused briefly and deftly reloaded; then, lifting the weapon to her shoulder once more, she squeezed the trigger—and let out a cry of pain.

The rifle was overheated.

She stopped once again and put the front end of the gun's barrel against the ground to vent the extra heat. A wicked smile spread across Dickson's hideous face.

"Look at you, girl—using that old model of a rifle, and then wondering why it barely works. What a pathetic little wretch you are. Just like—"

Her head snapped up. "Don't say it," she hissed, her teeth clenched in anger.

"I don't think you can stop me," he returned triumphantly.

"We can, and we will!" Reyn shouted. "Hammer… Beat!"

The blow connected, with minimal damage, but it accomplished its purpose. Dickson turned away and could soon be heard insulting the other companions.

"Is that the best you can do, you dumb oaf?"

"It's better than you can do," Reyn retorted. "We're not goin' down that easily—looks like you'll be here all day after all…."

Shulk tried to catch his breath as he scanned the field. Sharla knelt motionless, holding tightly to her rifle while she waited for it to return to normal function. She would need to be protected until that time, and even now Reyn and Riki—the strongest of the bunch—were working together to lead Dickson toward the far side of the terrace. Teamwork. Shulk smiled.

Several yards behind Sharla, a brown object could be seen lying on the ground. Shulk examined his replica Monado. It had been all but ineffective in this battle, but what about…?

Swiftly, he moved in that direction. Letting the replica Monado fall, he picked up the brown object: Dickson's shotgun, which he had dropped when he had transformed out of his human shape.

"Do you know how to use that weapon, Shulk?" Dunban called.

"I…" He fumbled awkwardly with the gun, trying to orient it properly in his hands without pulling the trigger. He did not have the slightest clue about how to use it. But he had to use it. Dickson had shot him.

"I wouldn't recommend it," said Sharla. "It's more difficult than it looks."

Horrific laughter split the air. Shulk looked up; Dickson's huge form was practically right on top of him. His hands slammed into the ground, and the resulting shockwave knocked Shulk over and sent both shotgun and Monado replica skidding away.

"Are you all right, Shulk?" Fiora shouted. Several tall figures gathered around him; everyone was winded and exhausted. Dickson laughed some more.

"This is it!" his voice thundered. "Exactly what I knew would happen. Lord Zanza, I have not failed you!"

So saying, he lifted both of his massive fists into the air. Shulk tried to make his legs work enough to crawl toward the spot where his Monado lay. If he could just reach it….

POW! POW! POW!

He looked up again in time to see Dickson falling back, clutching at his chest in obvious pain. Blood could be seen seeping through his fingers. As one, the party turned to look at Sharla—she was still tending to her overheated rifle.

"Who?" roared the giant. "Who dares defy me?!"

His bestial voice reverberated off the stone spires that surrounded the battlefield, and when the echoes had died away, a new sound could be heard. The click, click of a rifle being reloaded—coming from some distance above and behind the group.

"Get down!" Dunban yelled.

All the party members who were still upright hit the deck as the second volley exploded into the air. The action was unnecessary, however, for the shots were rapid, violent, and merciless but also precisely aimed. Each successive one dug into the same wound that the first round had created, opening it up further and further as droplets of blood spattered in all directions. Dickson staggered backward, waving his arms in a vague gesture of rage, until finally he collided with a stone wall and collapsed. When he was down, the gunshots ceased.

"…Wow," Reyn exhaled in wonder as he picked himself up off the ground. "That was…."

Dunban held his index finger to his lips for silence. In response to Reyn's questioning glance, he pointed in the direction from which the mystery shots had originated. There, atop a flat surface of rock partway up one of the spires, a large dark-colored rifle could be seen. No sign of the sniper.

In the next moment, however, they obtained the evidence they needed. A resounding clatter filled the air—as of something metallic falling onto stone.

...

After the loud excitement of the battle, the sudden silence atop Prison Island seemed almost oppressive as Reyn made his way toward the misshapen spire near the path that led back to the lower regions. The rest of the party was clustered a short distance beyond it.

Most of the group turned around at his approach.

"What is the status of that man Dickson?" Melia inquired. "Or… whatever he was."

"Dead," Reyn replied triumphantly. "Dead as a doornail. Trust me, he ain't gettin' up again."

She nodded as she turned away once more. "A fortuitous turn of events."

For once, Reyn was inclined to agree with her. That had been some great shooting.

A quick look past the assembled party members revealed the man who had done the shooting, who was collapsed and motionless just in front of the rock wall—no doubt the same spot where they had heard him fall at the conclusion of the battle. Sharla knelt close beside him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Her face was averted from her friends, and her entire upper body was shaking violently.

As he looked on at the scene, Reyn could feel his smile slipping. "Why is Sharla crying?" he asked. "Is he…?"

"She's crying because she's happy, Reyn," said Dunban.

There was a pause, and then Dunban turned his head to cast a sidelong glance at the young redhead. A barely perceptible raise of his eyebrow was all that was necessary to communicate the question he wanted to ask.

"Nah, man," Reyn said firmly. "It's him she loves—always has been. I mean, she was close to marrying the guy before the war. As soon as we're back home, I'm gonna work on finding myself a girl—though it may have to be a girl who's just like her…."

"I see." Dunban gave a brief nod. "You've grown up quite a bit, Reyn."

Reyn gave a start. "Now, what's that supposed to mean?" he demanded hotly. But Dunban just chuckled and looked away.

A couple of feet from where that exchange was playing out, Shulk cautiously separated himself from the small cluster of people. Walking forward a few steps, he crouched down and held his replica Monado in front of himself, blade downward, as a support.

"Is he able to speak, Sharla?" he asked. Sharla nodded but did not move otherwise.

"Good." He picked idly at his sword's hilt as if trying to gather his thoughts. "Well, I'll keep this brief, but I just want to thank you, Gadolt. You've saved us twice now—first in Agniratha, and now here."

Gadolt stirred—his first obvious movement since the party had found him—and cut his gaze to the young man who knelt in front of him.

"I believe… I should be the one thanking you," he said at last, hoarsely. "You all kept me alive."

The companions murmured among one another at this, and the smallest member of the group jumped up and down as if excited. "Riki keep Gadolt alive? How Riki do it?"

Gadolt showed a hint of a smile as he looked on at the enthusiastic Nopon. "It was the concern that you all showed for me in Agniratha. And then that young woman's spell"—his gaze shifted to Fiora—"and after that…"

Reyn's eyes widened; Gadolt was looking right at him.

"Yes, you. Reyn, is it?"

"Yep," he affirmed, with a nod that was less confident than it looked.

"You gave me this." His hand twitched as he tossed something small into the air. "Thanks, kid."

Reyn's hand moved instinctively to catch the tossed object, but only when he had it safely in his grasp was he able to identify it as the water flask he had given Gadolt in Agniratha—now empty. "Wha…?"

"Faces need only water and ether to survive, but the ocean beneath Mechonis is not drinkable. If I hadn't had that before I passed out, I never would have made it through those few days."

"Well, um…" Reyn's face turned red as the echo of his words in Agniratha played in his mind. Don't go dying on us…. "I'm, uh… happy I could help?"

"And, what's more important, you reminded me what my true destiny is. To love Sharla."

That awakened another echo in Reyn's mind. He fidgeted nervously. "About that… I'm just a loudmouth. I'm always talking when I should keep my mouth shut, and I shouldn't have yelled at you like that…."

"But you were right."

Reyn shrugged and muttered something incoherent. Gadolt turned his head in Sharla's direction; her fit of crying was long since over with, but she was much too overcome with emotion to speak. He studied her for a long moment and then looked at the rest of the group once more.

"I want you all to forgive Egil."

"Egil?" Fiora asked. "What do you mean?"

"The Machina can't go into water. Egil used the Mechonis' arm to push the remains of my armor to shore; it was one of the last things he did before he perished. I believe the deed meant he was starting to understand. By seeing me down there and taking action to help me—one of the people he had hurt and one of the only ones left whom he could still help—I think he wanted to tell us that he finally realized he was wrong. That even as he was fighting against the Bionis, he had no quarrel with the peoples of Bionis."

"I think so, too," said Shulk. "Don't worry—it's settled, as far as we're concerned. He did some terrible things, but he repented for them; that has to count for something. And what we're doing now… it's for him as much as it's for the Homs or Nopon or High Entia or anyone else."

"Indeed," said Melia, and the other companions nodded their agreement. A pause ensued, and it was then that Sharla finally spoke—in a low murmur that was nearly inaudible.

"What's that, Sharla?" Shulk asked, leaning forward where he crouched.

"She's talking to me," said Gadolt, smiling slightly. "She wants me to go back to the Machina medic."

"She has a point," Fiora put in. "It's dangerous for Faces to be outside their armor—their energy will run out. And you were damaged very badly in that explosion."

"True… but there's something else I need to do here." He pointed in the direction of the downward-sloping path. "Look over there—the Machina should be done by now."

Sharla did not move, but the rest of the party took a few steps down the path. As soon as they did so, they found themselves confronted with the sight of an immense green figure and an immense silver figure. Jade Face and Face Nemesis, standing silently before them on the narrow slope, both clean and smooth and shining as if brand-new.

"How did you…?" Fiora gasped.

"The Machina made the necessary repairs. At first they were going to fix only my armor, but when I learned of the silver one's existence I persuaded them to work on it as well. You could probably use the extra firepower as you try to put an end to this conflict."

Tentatively, Fiora walked over to stand beneath her silver armor as thoughts and emotions swirled in her head. "I never thought I'd use this again," she said quietly, looking up at the silent metallic face. "But I will, if it's needed."

Meanwhile, Gadolt had managed to rise to his feet with Sharla's help, and now he made his way slowly to the spot where the green armor stood. He laid his hand against one of the long legs and then turned back around. "What do you think?"

"…Extra firepower," Sharla murmured.

"It could certainly help," said Dunban.

Shulk nodded to himself as he studied the image before him. Fiora and Gadolt, two people who—despite being very different from each other—had so much in common. Had been through so much; had lost so much. And had so much to fight for.

Zanza was the deity of the Bionis. It was only fitting that his opponents should have Mechonis on their side.

"I think it's great," Shulk said, nodding again. "And I have an idea."

...

"It beautiful!" Riki effused. "Riki like this place! Look, Sharla!" And so saying, he lifted his paw to tug on Sharla's arm.

This was the fourth time that such a scene had played out since the party had entered this strange space realm. They moved among planets and stars, with no obvious ground beneath their feet and guided only by a glowing red line that weaved and wound its way through the area, and every time they encountered a new landmark, Riki would stop, say something about beauty and liking this place, and appeal to the person who stood nearest him. Thus far, they had passed three majestic planets; now they stood near a dark moon that, although smaller and not as colorful as the planets, was every bit as awe-inspiring. Sharla appreciated the beauty and power of this celestial object as much as any of the other companions did, but even so, she did not move as Riki appealed to her. Her eyes were fixed on the path ahead of her, which passed just to the right of the moon.

"Every time we've come into a new area, we've had to fight someone we encountered on our journey," she mused. "Mumkhar, Xord, and one of the Telethia. But here…"

"You're right," said Melia, as if this fact had not occurred to her before. "It's unguarded."

A silence fell. Melia looked up at the taller woman and was instantly alarmed: Sharla's eyes looked more distant than ever.

"Are you all right, Sharla?"

"Zanza wouldn't deliberately leave this place open," Sharla murmured. "I wonder…"

"Hey, everyone," Shulk said suddenly. "Look at this."

He pointed with his replica Monado at a point far in the distance, where there was a patch of yellowish-white light, similar to the light of the sun. In the middle of this light, a figure appeared to float: a figure that, though it appeared dark against the bright backdrop, held a glowing object in each hand, so that part of the space to one side of it looked red, while some of the area on the other side was blue.

"It would appear we've arrived," Dunban remarked.

"Zanza," Reyn spat. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time."

"Once we start this fight, there's no turning back," Shulk cautioned, looking around at his five friends. "Are we ready?"

Reyn, Dunban, Sharla and Melia nodded. Riki jumped up in the air and brandished his weapon. Shulk smiled and, turning back around, led the way forward.

On and on they went, until finally the yellow light in the background could no longer be seen. The entire environment was filled with a sort of dark red mist, which was broken only by the red and blue glows from earlier. Those glows now seemed to emanate from either side of the huge godlike figure that descended at a slow, leisurely pace toward the party. The figure was still vaguely humanoid in shape but was now covered from head to toe in strange clothing. Even its face was hidden except for a small opening near the mouth.

"Welcome, Shulk," said Zanza. His voice seemed to bounce off the dark red mist as he lifted his right hand, which held the blue-glowing Monado. "I see you've brought your friends with you. Just like I saw in my vision."

The voice sounded almost bored. Slowly, Zanza moved the sword in a horizontal arc, as if to point at each of the assembled companions in turn. "Look at them all—so weak, so misguided. They think they have the power to defy me, but then all they do is come willingly to stand before me like so many spiders waiting to be cru—"

There was a pause.

"…Wait," the voice continued. "Something is different." The covered head moved from side to side, much as the sword had done a moment before, then—suddenly—the mouth curved into a twisted smile. "Ah. I see. Tell me, Shulk: where is Meyneth's little vessel? Did her pathetic body finally give out?"

"Shut it, Zanza," Reyn snapped. "We didn't come to talk to you."

"Very well, then," Zanza proclaimed, his voice now perhaps twice as loud as before. "In that case, you shall feel the wrath of my Monados—instruments of destruction and rebirth!"

With that, he charged at the party, both blades outstretched. The group spread out in a semicircle around the angry deity and prepared for battle.

And a battle it was. It seemed to last an eternity. Even outnumbered, Zanza dodged most attacks gracefully; he periodically changed his own appearance, evidently by sheer force of will; and his sword strikes did immense amounts of damage. Shulk's group was making some progress, as evidenced by the fact that Zanza let out an occasional grunt of pain after a successful hit, but if it came down to a question of attrition, their bodies would give out much sooner than his.

"You should just give it up now, Shulk," the god intoned. He was now a massive, multicolored figure with huge, thick arms; far from his previous Homs-like form, he looked almost mechanical, like a Mechon. "I am not like the other opponents you have fought, for they were mere mortals, like yourself. Accept my offer and become my disciple."

"Never," Shulk gasped, swerving to avoid one of the huge arms as it swung in his direction. All around him, every single one of his friends was bleeding from multiple wounds. His mind raced as he thought of his plan. It was a good one, to be sure, but even with it, they would have only one chance. They had to wait for the right moment. Not yet… not yet….

On the other side of the battlefield, Dunban let fly with a powerful Worldly Slash. Zanza, while still engaging Shulk with one arm, flicked the other one almost casually, and Dunban was knocked backward several yards. The blow had not taken his life, as he could be seen moving soon afterward, but he appeared dazed. Even as Shulk watched, Reyn and Melia went over to try to help him up.

It had been so easy… almost like swatting a pesky insect.

Zanza's laughter filled the void. Shulk remained where he was, parrying the god's sword strikes almost automatically, watching Reyn, Melia, and Dunban. For some reason, the sight made him think of his own words, which he had spoken only a short time before. "I just want to live my life as a Homs." He thought of those words, thought of all those who would never get a chance to live their lives, and those whose Homs lives had been all but ended by Egil. They mattered. Every last one of them mattered. And right now, their memory fueled the young swordsman's resolve.

Swiftly sidestepping Zanza's Monado, Shulk climbed up onto the massive forearm, and leaped from there toward the evil deity's head, giving a great swing with his sword as he did so. The hit dealt little damage, for Zanza raised his arm at the last second to shield his face, but when Shulk landed again on the odd reddish ground, a new, pale blue glow caught his eye. He looked downward.

Instead of the replica Monado, he now held a new sword in his hand. Blue in color, translucent yet beautiful, it crackled with an as-yet untapped power, which radiated from the blade like sparks from a burning flame.

A third Monado.

Shulk stared at the sword for a fraction of a second before the decision solidified in his mind. He would do it. He would change the future.

Leaping a step backward, he raised the third Monado heavenward. "NOW!"

In a flash, they were there, seemingly flying out of the ether itself. The two immense figures, one silver and one jade green, alighted on either side of Zanza and reached out to take firm hold of his upper body. Zanza writhed and struggled, but the grip of the two Mechon was not to be broken. He turned his head this way and that—and in either direction, a huge mechanical face stared back at him.

"…You?!" Zanza bellowed. "How… how is this…? Why did I not see…?"

"That's right, Zanza," Shulk declared. "No matter how hard you try, you will never stop us from helping the people we love. No matter if you think it's possible or not."

"And you can't take away our will to keep going no matter what," Sharla added. "That is a fire inside us that cannot be extinguished!"

So saying, she fired a volley of shots from her rifle. Zanza let out a roar of pain, and his writhing slowed as the two Face Mechon tightened their grip. Shulk gave his new Monado an experimental swing. Above him, the two mechanical faces were turned toward him now, in expectation—faces that he had once considered to belong to an enemy but that he now knew were just the opposite. Faces that had cheated death, that wanted nothing more than a second chance at happiness.

Shulk hefted his sword and leaped high into the air once more to land on Zanza's shoulder, then used all the strength he had left to stab his Monado into the god's head. Almost immediately, the surface he was standing on gave way as Zanza started to collapse. Calmly, he dropped back to the ground, lowered his sword, and bowed his head. It was done.

Gadolt and Fiora released their hold on Zanza and stepped backward. Without them to hold him up, Zanza's collapse continued. He looked small, now, and almost seemed to sink into the ground.

"Every…" his voice gasped. "Everything… that I am… is fading…"

No one else spoke. The group of several Homs, one High Entia, one Nopon, and two Face Mechon stood silently, watching their enemy's demise. And for a long time after Zanza had disappeared, the echo of his voice seemed to reverberate throughout the space realm:

"How is this… possible?"

...

Some time later, Sharla stood on a wide expanse of beach, looking out at a great ocean. Behind her was the loud hustle and bustle of a town—what Shulk called the "new world." Movement off to one side caught her eye: Shulk and Fiora were walking together a few hundred yards away. She was completely back to normal now, and the two were talking and laughing as they made their way along the shore toward the spot where Reyn stood trying to explain something to Riki. Sharla smiled at the sight, but it did not hold her attention long. Taking a deep breath, she turned toward the town, in the direction where she knew Linada's infirmary was. All indications were that the Machina medic's other patient would be released soon.

A few more minutes, and those indications were proven right. A figure appeared in the distance: tall, with the unmistakable pale blond hair and moderately muscular build. He, too, was back in full Homs form; there was no trace of a machine anywhere near him, and he was even dressed like a Colony 6 soldier. Best of all, his gait was rapid and steady, indicative of good health.

He was headed in Sharla's direction, but she moved toward him, to meet him in the middle. "Now there is the Gadolt I know," she said, nodding in approval. "I've been waiting for your return for a long time. Since… well, since we were separated by the evacuation of the colony."

Overcome by the memories, she bit her lip and fell silent. He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked at her fondly. Looking up at him, she smiled again, and it was difficult to tell which she enjoyed more: being looked at by him, or looking at him in her turn.

"I am eager to see Otharon," he said at last. "And Juju, if we can find the boy."

"Neither of them should be far from here," she replied. "But before we go looking for them…" Letting her voice trail off, she took a step backward and removed the rifle that she had been carrying on her back. This done, she held the rifle out in Gadolt's direction. "This is yours."

He accepted the weapon from her, and as he turned it over in his hands, a sort of rueful half-smile appeared on his face. "This model must be severely outdated by now," he commented.

"You can make improvements to it," she stated confidently. "In any case, I want you to have it back. It's a part of who you are."

"Then I will take it back," he said with a nod. "Thank you." A pause ensued, in which he looked the rifle over, checked the cartridge and the various settings. "You took good care of it."

As she watched him work, a new feeling stole over her. The feeling that things were finally returning to normal. She truly had been waiting for him for a long time. And now? It was time to do what she had been waiting for his return to do.

At length, he let the rifle fall to hold it as his side, and she reached out and took hold of his free hand, her fingers entwining with his as a memory of her own words echoed in her head:

A promise is a promise.

"It's good to have you back for real, Gadolt," she told him. "Let's rebuild Colony 6. And the rest of the world. Together."

Author's Note: So, that's that! Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my story. More than anything, it grew out of a sense of fascination: namely, fascination with a character whose storyline absolutely captured my imagination from the Ether Mine on. I made dozens of theories about him and his disappearance, loved the techniques the writers used to build his character, and couldn't wait to see where he would turn up. And even though I think the "canon" ending to his plotline creates problems in the game's last few segments, the fact that I was led to think in that direction is a testament to the writers' care and thoroughness in designing their world—that, minor though Gadolt may be, he is still complex and interesting enough to be someone's favorite character. Playing the game has definitely been an interesting journey. Now, if only they would make a prequel that is all about Colony 6. ;)