Shadows of war (1)
He crossed the threshold of the door.
His shadow was undulating. It was unsteady, as was he. He wouldn't fall. Not that... but surely that presented a sorry spectacle.
The clothes were full of burns. The skin of cuts, of bullet holes.
Worst of all was, of course, his face. A face that not even a mother would love.
If he had a choice in the matter, he wouldn't have presented himself in this state in front of Abigail. But he didn't.
But he didn't, and, besides, it seemed that even when he got what he wanted, it had to be at the cost of something.
He could never achieve what he wanted with a good taste in his mouth.
This is temporary, he told himself. And it's not going to change the way she thinks about you.
He told himself, too, that these were wounds he had inflicted fighting to protect Abigail. To save her.
And that he should be proud of them.
That Abigail would be proud, too. That didn't help him feel any less bad about it, though.
However, all those worries disappeared from his head as he laid eyes on her.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen her in person since the day he'd died and been born again.
They had had a sweet, short, dream-like moment, the night they fought Laura and her men.
And on the night that had set this fateful chain of events in motion, he had had the pride and happiness to fight beside her. To talk to her. To... even to touch her, though he didn't deserve to even breathe the same air as her.
But, when he saw her, it was as if he had seen her for the first time.
It was always as if he had seen her for the first time.
Such was the power of her presence. Even in this place, this cold steel prison, she gave him the same impression as she did that night.
Someone intimately connected with nature.
Someone whose breath was the breath of the world.
Before someone like that, who could only be considered a goddess, who could maintain composure?
His legs shook harder.
It had nothing to do with Desmond's injuries, with a sudden weakness that had pounced on him.
His body could still stand, physically speaking.
But the shock of seeing her almost made his mind forget how to stand.
It made him forget everything else too, incidentally. The things around him. The situation he was in.
But almost. Only almost.
Everyone here was a 'scientist'.
The last line of defense had fallen, and now they could only run around like headless chickens.
It was too late to do anything, though. Or to run away.
If they were going to do anything, they should have done it much sooner. Eren smiled. An ugly smile, without a single tooth intact.
That woman, the head of the investigation, approached Abigail with a knife.
They had her bound hand and foot.
Suspended a few feet above the ground.
They had wires... machines, connected to her. Her veins, her...
They treated her like she wasn't even human, when she was more human than all of them. Than anyone else.
And those... those damn machines, those damn creatures...!
Someone approached him. Pretending to be a hero, apparently.
Desmond gave him what he deserved.
Desmond hit him with the baton until the skull of that inhuman being exploded.
Screams.
Of course, now they were screaming. It was a laughing matter. Actually, it was for hysterical laughter.
They should have known this would be the result.
After what they had done, what did they think they deserved? They couldn't have deserved anything but this.
He snapped the baton in two. The electricity disappeared.
He threw the two halves to the side.
He kept moving forward.
As if it had been there from the beginning, the sword manifested in his left hand.
The hateful woman in charge of this had tried to put a knife through Abigail's neck.
However, Abigail had dodged it with ease, turning her head away.
Instead of wounding or killing her, what the knife did was stick in the wall. And he didn't give the thing a chance to try again.
It got to them. No, "them" was a sickening way of putting it.
Like putting them on the same level.
That 'thing' was nothing more than an animal. A worm or a cockroach, on top.
He grabbed it by a shoulder... and threw it, without putting much force into his throw, forward.
Over a rail. There were several tables.
Her back hit a control console. She gasped and shrieked as if that had been the greatest pain she had ever experienced in her life.
Something as insignificant as that.
He'd show her what pain was, but.... First things first. He turned his back on that worm, writhing on the ground.
Eren raised his head.
Afraid, but determined, he held Abigail's gaze. Those eyes were warm and she harbored nothing but love for him.
He had been a fool to fear how she would look at him in this state.
He ripped off the shackles.
The wires.
The needle stuck in one of her arms... he made it explode, squeezing, realizing its existence. Out of pure rage.
The crystals flew out.
They fell, jingling.
None of them stuck in his hand, let alone made him bleed. He wasn't weak enough for that yet.
Desmond couldn't say the same for Abigail, unfortunately.
As soon as he released her, the poor woman staggered forward, losing her balance. He had to catch her in his arms to keep her from falling to the ground.
He would like to say that it had been a momentary weakness.
However, it didn't seem to be that at all. He felt her... too limp in his arms. As if she had no strength left to stand.
"They've been drugging me... to keep me controllable," she explained.
Then he felt it.
As if those words had been the trigger.
Pain.
Pain, pain, pain.
Life was painful. Regeneration healed, but even that caused pain.
No, nothing even. The pain of healing was greater than any other.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
That was because his teeth were growing back.
It felt like knives were being stuck all over him, in the most sensitive area of his body: his mouth. And stirring in the wound.
Red hot knives.
Life was painful, indeed. And it gave the impression that with each passing day his threshold increased.
It could always get worse, he thought.
But...
Pain was nothing but pain. Time was above all else.
The pain was immense, but it passed as quickly as if he had imagined it.
Eren flicked his tongue, checked the condition of his teeth. Even though he already knew the answer, already felt it perfectly, he needed to confirm it.
They were there.
So suddenly, so fast.
... of course. The regeneration had been accelerated by the closeness with Abigail. By the contact he had had with her.
He was back to normal.
Not soon enough, but at least he hadn't had to put up with her seeing him this way for long.
"Careful," Abigail warned him in a weak voice.
Eren turned around, Abigail still in his arms.
The knife.
He stopped the knife, millimeters from his face, grabbing it by the edge.
The creature's face twisted after that. As if it had believed that that surprise attack would work, even though he had managed to get so far.
Even though she should have seen what he was capable of doing on those monitors.
She couldn't have missed that, no.
Ridiculous.
He snapped her wrist, causing her to drop the knife in the process. He'd like to say that her scream was like music to his ears.... But, in reality, it sounded hollow to him.
It sounded to him like an echo of a scream, and what it made well up in his heart was the same: echoes of feelings. He wanted to end this, as soon as possible.
Besides,
Besides... Besides, there was a juicier prize awaiting him than merely breaking her wrist.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Desmond looked around, as the thing writhed on the ground as it had until a moment ago, again. And he knew. Knew they had understood. The other scientists began to form a circle around that creature. The creature's hands were the only ones that were empty. Without getting up from the ground, that thing looked around, at the dark faces around it, as if it didn't understand what was happening.
... What was about to happen.
"What are you doing?" And she put that doubt into words.
Was it really necessary to ask?
They were about to do the only thing that could be expected of animals. Anything to survive.
For an animal, a barely self-aware thing, nothing was worth more than its own life.
And the predictable, of course, happened.
They did not back down at the last moment.
Something like that couldn't happen under any circumstances.
They didn't back out, they threw themselves at her.
They had grabbed anything that could serve as a weapon.
Fortunately, there were plenty of such things within reach.
The very things with which they had cut, cut open and tortured Abigail for 'the sake of progress' became the instruments of death for the chief instigator of his beloved mother's suffering.
Desmond threw his head back and closed his eyes.
Concentrating fully on the sounds of skin being ripped. Of blood flowing.
Concentrating on the screams.
Ah, what a delight. This was it. This could indeed be called music to his ears.
But he stopped enjoying this beautiful spectacle when he noticed Abigail moving. She was...
Working to stand on her own two feet.
Without much success. Right now, she was clinging to the railing. Bent in front of it. It hurt his heart to see her so weak, when she was so strong.
This is not how it should be, he thought.
But of course. A lot of things weren't.
Desmond put a hand on one of Abigail's shoulders. She looked up at him, seeming vaguely irritated.
He understood why. She... she was used to being alone.
To not need help.
Desmond only wanted to help her, only wanted to be there for her. However, that gesture hurt her pride a little.
It's not like he couldn't understand those feelings.
He was... the same kind of person, in that sense. He would have reacted the same way, surely.
At anyone's hands but Abigail's.
Except Abigail's, of course.
Abigail didn't feel the same way. But that could be fixed with time. Spending time together would eventually fix itself.
As soon as they got out of this one, they would be inseparable.
"We will always be together.
"Yes. From now on... always.
Her forehead was beaded with sweat. Not only were her legs weak, her arms were trembling too. No matter how hard she tried, she was in no condition to move under her own power. He would have to carry her, no matter if Abigail didn't like it.
He heard someone vomit. Not someone, but something.
One of the animals that had killed their animal companion, following his 'order'.
Making her suffer instead of killing her quickly, as he wished.
All for the chance that he would spare their lives.
It had a strong reaction to doing that. Turning its back on that thing, betraying one of its companions.
But still had done it...just like everyone else.
It didn't mean anything.
They weren't even human.
"What are you going to do now?" Abigail asked him.
"What do you mean?"
"With these people. You said you were going to spare their lives if they killed Victoria."
Victoria, huh? That was her name?
Well, it was rather ironic.
"Were you serious?"
The lambs were paying attention. They couldn't wait to hear his answer. Desmond was silent for a while, though not too long, to enjoy the terror on their faces more than anything else.
"That's right," he answered at last. "But, if you want me to kill them, I'll kill them."
It would be a waste of time, but perfectly understandable. After all... everyone in this room had been torturing her for days.
They would have done so for months, years even, had he not come to save her.
Tied up. Cut. Drugged, even.
Maybe things like this have happened to her many times in life. However, that probably didn't make it any easier at all.
Thinking about what these things had done was almost enough to make him forget his priorities.
So he wouldn't be surprised if Abigail, who had suffered all of that personally, wanted revenge.
He would accept it and do it for her.
With his own hands. It would be a source of pride to take revenge on her.
"I didn't say that. I'm surprised you're not going to do it, though, since you hate them."
You hate them?
Didn't she, by any chance? Well... she had lived for thousands of years being persecuted by some and by others. To her, she supposed there wasn't much difference between the Albionese and the dogs of the Empire, in that sense.
So she had no special hatred for the Imperials.
She hated them all equally. So to speak.
Yes... It must have been something like that.
"What's changed?"
"Nothing's changed. I hate them as much or more than... than the day we met. But... They're like cockroaches. No matter how many I squash, more will come out to get in the way. There's no point in wasting time squashing these cockroaches here. Not today."
"I see. Let's get going, then."
That was exactly what they did.
——
He had taken out all the obstacles on his way here.
However, just as he had said, more cockroaches came out to try to get in his way. The key word was try.
Abigail was indisposed, he had to carry her, so he couldn't move around freely.
But just having her by his side was a great help. They hadn't been able to stop him before. Now, with his regeneration speed so increased by proximity to Abigail, they didn't stand a chance.
Getting out of the building, at least, would be easy. What awaited them next...
Getting to safety, even though they were in the heart of the Empire?
That would be more difficult.
Especially with Abigail in this state. It would take her a while to recover from what had been done to her. From the drugs circulating through her system.
But he could think about how to get out of that one when he found himself in said situation.
Yes, all in good time.
It happened step by step.
What was next... was simply a one-sided massacre.
At one point, one of the bullets didn't hit him or his sword. It hit Abigail in the forehead, blowing her brains out.
He had to see that... with his own eyes, so close....
It was easy.
Of course it was easy.
Abigail wasn't particularly strong. She wasn't capable of using physical reinforcement, instead relying on regeneration that was ten times faster than his own.
Fast enough to allow her to continue fighting instantly, as if nothing had happened, after suffering the worst injuries.
It didn't take her long to recover even after being shot in the heart... or in the head, like now.
Desmond knew it.
He knew it perfectly well, just as he knew that nothing could kill Abigail.
That it was the same as if she had cut her finger with a piece of paper.
Still...
He went into a rage. He killed and killed, but avoided killing the one who had shot Abigail. So that he would be the last one standing.
He cut open his stomach. With the sword, he twisted his entrails.
As if it were a knife or a spoon.
As if he was preparing... a feast. Abigail hadn't yet recovered from the shot. She couldn't see or hear anything, she was still dead.
That's why, just for that, he could do this.
Unleash the beast inside him. If Abigail was able to witness this, he would have killed the bastard efficiently and gone on his way.
He liked the idea of her seeing him doing this as little as he liked the idea of her seeing him as he had been before. An ugly mouth, with mangled teeth.
And why, an inner voice whispered to him.
You're not doing anything wrong. Nothing you should be ashamed of or regret. So what if she saw you?
Where would the problem be?
Desmond stayed his hand. He didn't pull out the sword buried in the animal's entrails. He left it where it was.
The animal wasn't dead yet. But it might as well be.
Its ears, its eyes, no longer registered its surroundings. Probably... it no longer even felt the pain it should feel.
Its mind was shutting down.
No, not its mind. First the body, and then the mind would follow.
Slowly, slowly it was leaving this world. Like a ghost... Behind the veil, between life and death. That's how it was.
What would be wrong with her seeing you do that, the voice asked again.
Desmond stared into nothingness, as well as at the animal writhing, dying, beneath him.
Thinking about it. Turning it over in his head.
Because... Because...
The animal breathed its last breath. He still hadn't found the answer. He had the feeling that it was already too late for that.
That, if the answer had ever been within his grasp, it had already slipped through his fingers.
Desmond moved on.
Between and over the corpses. Wading through a sea of blood. As usual.
He didn't hate this life... But he wanted something more.
Needed something more than this.
Eventually, Abigail's head fully recovered and she regained consciousness instantly. Truly in an instant. As if nothing had happened.
Any trace of what had happened had vanished like the morning dew.
The bullet wound, the shredded skin and flesh.
The shards of bone, like broken glass. They had left that behind, but he knew they were gone.
Even the blood was gone.
Her clothes were pure white. Just like her. Just like her soul.
Desmond imagined it must be disorienting.
To be in the middle of a fight, struggling to walk, worried... and suddenly, without a break, to find that it was over. That they were in a different place.
It must have been disorienting, no matter how used Abigail was to that happening to her.
"Hey..." Desmond began, feeling like an idiot. As usual. "It's good to see you again."
That was what came out of his mouth at the end. Which didn't help him not to feel like a complete idiot. But hey, it was something. Less than nothing.
Abigail smiled as if he'd said something normal and nice.
"Me too," she said.
No, she couldn't be used to that.
To many things, to almost everything, but not to that.
Because... she had always been alone.
All that time.
When she was hurt to the point of dying and taking a long time to recover, she stayed where she was. Because she had no one to carry her.
She never had. Until now.
Until him.
This was the beginning of a new story. For both of them.
A story they would write together.
Yes. Nothing more than that was needed. No one else.
The faces of Christina and Amy appeared to him.
They were there. He couldn't deny or belittle what he had shared with them, the feelings in his heart.... But what was that?
A dream.
Just a dream, and sooner or later the sleeper had to wake up.
They reached the elevators. He couldn't be one hundred percent sure, but he believed that they had only deactivated the elevator where he had come down.
To allow reinforcements to come to help.
And, well...
After the mess he'd left behind, they'd probably be too disorganized to sabotage the elevators.
They had other things to worry about.
He could at least try.
He hit the button... and the doors didn't open. He closed his eyes, listening, concentrating.
It wasn't like there was an elevator going down and that's why the doors still wouldn't open. He couldn't hear anything.
He couldn't hear anything besides their breathing.
And the beating of their hearts.
So... He must have been mistaken. He forced open the elevator doors in front of him, one-handed.
He saw the elevator, not the darkness of the shaft.
Yes, he had been flatly wrong.
In all probability none of the elevators were working.
It wasn't even worth going door to door, looking around, hoping that at least one was operational. He could already sense what he was going to find.
But still... He supposed he should start with that.
To be sure.
"Get in there," Abigail said.
"It doesn't work."
"I know, my son. I'm not so far gone... that I don't realize that. You go in there. And close the door."
Desmond nodded his head. He obeyed her orders as he should have done from the beginning.
Who did he think he was to question her?
Once together, in the dark....
Abigail rested one of her hands on the console. Not on a particular button, but on the entire console. The small screen and numbers had lost their light.
What was she doing?
The elevator gave a jolt.
An enemy attack? No. He knew it wasn't when the lights came on. It was only an instant, a flicker.
But soon after it happened again.
Desmond kept silent, kept watching.
Yes. It was easy to forget, but Abigail didn't just depend on her special knife and her immortality, which canceled out any kind of damage, even the dust and dirt on her clothes, her body.
She... He had seen her set one of the Empire's dogs on fire just by touching it.
She had shown that she was capable of using magic.
Or not, or maybe magic was an exceptionally vulgar way of putting it.
He had said it, hadn't he? That Abigail seemed to be one with the world.
So what was so odd about the fact that the forces of nature responded to her call naturally?
Fire and also...electricity.
The lights came on and stayed on.
At breakneck speed, Abigail sent the elevator shooting up, up, up, up, up.
Desmond had to brace himself against a wall with his hand to keep his balance.
To keep them both on their feet. Abigail was depending on him, at least for the moment. It wasn't a good thing, but the thought filled his chest with pride.
That such a big person had to depend on someone as small as him should make his heart ache, not fill him with pride.
And it had. He had been devastated to see her in that state. But...
But both things were true.
Anyway, he'd never had any illusions of being a decent person. Which was no excuse for abandoning himself to his baser instincts. But it was still true. Desmond was not a good man, never would be.
But can I be the man you need?
The elevator was going too fast. And it wouldn't stop.
"Why so high?"
"I'm taking us to the roof."
The roof? Desmond wanted to say something about the lines that didn't sound like a very good idea, but sensibly decided to keep quiet.
It had already been established. That he had no right to question her.
She, her thousands of years of experience.
If she wanted to go to the roof, that was the best decision, even if he couldn't see why.
His job was not to make the decisions, but to obey them.
He was a soldier and soldiers obeyed orders.
The elevator stopped, the doors opened. They stepped out onto the roof, Abigail leaning against him as before.
What his inexperienced eyes saw around them were nothing but dead ends.
It's not as if any of them could take flight, after all.
He'd like to see a fraction of what Abigail's eyes could see.... That would come with time. Like all things.
But we won't have enough time together.
She will die, and I will be left alone.
Forever.
Desmond shook his head. He shook those useless thoughts away.
"What do we do now?" he asked.
Only seconds later...
Desmond found himself on the ground. He had instinctively broken his fall with his hands.
For no reason, however, he had fallen.
Abigail also fell with him, of course.
"Desmond?"
But that was only the beginning. Quickly, things went from bad to worse. Desmond had the feeling that his bones were melting as if exposed to the heat of an incinerator.
He had the feeling that his ribs were cracking and bending.
Splitting open like the petals of a flower.
From the immense pain. And also from those terrible cracking sounds.
But it wasn't like that.
His bones were perfectly fine. What was being damaged was the wall behind him.
On that wall, gradually, the shadow of soot"black wings was etched.
Just like that time. And again.
Black wings.
It had been so long since the last time, so many things, that he had almost forgotten about it. Or perhaps better said, he had wanted to forget about it, rather.
Of that strange uncontrollable power. And what it could mean in so many ways.
But here it was, again...
Why now?
He had to keep this under control or it could be more harm than help to him. He couldn't rely on a power he couldn't control.
... But Abigail seemed to think otherwise.
At the sight of the wings, her face lit up.
Wings. They were more than shadows, against the spider, that war machine, he had flown. He had managed to take to the skies. If he could do it to fight, he should also be able to do it to flee. It was the only way to get off this rooftop without coming down again.... Did Abigail know this would happen? Or had she at least bet on it?
Desmond stood up slowly, laboriously.
"Y-yes. I don't know if I can make it, but we have to get out of here."
Though it wasn't like Abigail to trust something so dubious.....
"No!"
Desmond gasped, looked at her with wide eyes.
"No? No what?"
"We can't leave yet. You're closer than anyone's ever been."
"I don't... I don't understand..."
"I don't have time to explain now. But... we have to stay here. And you should... prepare for a battle."
He didn't understand.
Of course he didn't understand, she refused to explain.
Even so, he did not need to understand, but to obey. Desmond had already established that. That he had already accepted.
Moving uncomfortably, with the wings on his back.
He felt as if he had been implanted with two extra limbs.... Well, actually that was exactly what had happened to him.
But shoddily implanted.
He hadn't felt it then, but he did now, very acutely.
Every little movement of those wings caused him pain. They might not look solid, but they were. They were solid enough at least.
More than wings, they felt like swords stuck in his back. All the way to the fucking bottom.
Desmond took a deep breath.
He clenched his sword, the real sword, tighter.
Ready.
He'd been ready long before he'd gotten this far.
"Okay. Let's do it."
Whatever it takes.
Shadows of war: FIN