The deadly attack that was launched with blinding speed stopped with menacing immediacy.
No, it didn't stop.
It was stopped inches from Abigail's chest, who, as she had promised, had neither moved nor shown any intention of resisting in any way.
She had left everything in his hands, and he....
"What is this? I can't move a muscle," the enemy said.
It was trying.
Desmond could feel it, but as it had said, he was powerless. The roles had been switched.
If he had control of his body, right now Desmond would be grinning wildly like an animal that had caught its prey.
However, it was enough for him that neither of them had control.
Or rather, enough control to keep the bastard where it was.
Abigail stepped forward.
Fluidly, she drew her knife from its sheath.
"That's one of the many things beyond your comprehension, grain of sand. You think you're in control of Desmond. Here's the truth. Now you may be able to move his body like a puppet, but Desmond is mine from head to toe. And he would never lay a finger on me.
Yes, he thought. Exactly, damn it.
"You underestimated him. Now you'll pay for your mistake."
Without flinching, Abigail plunged the knife into his chest.
The shadow (and he?) gasped in pain, fell to his knees.
But it was not an attack intended to kill him, just a deep wound. Blood flowed out profusely.
Desmond... no, the shadow stared at it instead of looking at the enemy in front of his eyes.
It looked at the blood as if it was the first time it had ever bled in his life.
"Abigail!"Christina shouted.
"I know what I'm doing," she replied without looking at her. She was only looking at him, after all. The knife was dripping blood. It sounded like a muffled scream. "Give me back my son."
"Son?" The shadow repeated as if it had heard the strangest thing in the world. "Your womb cannot conceive a child. Or conceive one, but not give birth to it at all. I'm sure that was thoroughly proven."
Desmond's blood froze in his veins.
What had it said?
It couldn't be referring to.... to... Could it?
Abigail didn't rise to its provocations. Instead, she sank a knee to the ground to get to eye level with it.
To get face to face with it.
She grabbed his face with the fingertips of her free hand.
Abigail was close to the sword he still held in his hands. Dangerously close, if he lost the grip he didn't know how he had managed to gain in the first place, then....
His heart was pounding a mile a minute.
But not because of that.
Actually, that was a very distant concern as if it were someone else's business.
What concerned him was what that thing had said.
He couldn't get those words out of his head.
Abigail spoke, clearing his mind, drawing his full attention.
"I' m not expressing my own desires. I am whatever this boy wants me to be. Friend, mother... lover. Whatever he wants, whenever he wants, however he wants. Now at least, this is what he wants from me. So give me back my son."
She couldn't conceive a child.
No, that was not what it had said. That Abigail couldn't give birth to one, which was different. And also...
It had also said...
"And if I do, will you let me go?"
"No. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to destroy you completely so that you pay for doing this to my son, and so that it won't happen again."
"Then why would I just let go? Huh? Tell me."
Abigail dropped her hand.
"To make things easier for everyone involved. And painless. You're going to die anyway. It's not worth it."
"I'll take my chances."
It had said that...
That it had been thoroughly proven. That she couldn't, which meant....
A growl escaped from the back of Desmond's throat.
That growl... it was his, no doubt about it. Not the shadow's. Only his. That anger... That murderous intent...
Desmond screamed, completely beside himself.
He couldn't see himself, of course. But he could feel his eyes widening. He could feel, even, pain. And something wet.
Tears?
Was he crying?
No. That wasn't it.
Due to the superhuman effort to regain control of his body, his eyes were bleeding. That was not good. Not good at all, but...
He couldn't stop himself.
The anger that burned inside him...! That his savior, his goddess, his mother...! How dare they?
Each and every one of them had to die.
And they will. They will die by my hand.
"I told you," Abigail declared. "You should have surrendered while you still had the chance.
Desmond doubled over, groaning, whimpering, screaming his head off, rolling like an animal in a trap.
His muscles ached, as if they were on fire.
His bones creaked.
Desmond went on without fear. Maybe he would wreck his body in the process, but, as far as he was concerned, that would also be a victory.
At least the shadow couldn't hurt Abigail.
"How is this possible, this has never happened to me before!"
There's always a first time for everything, you little piece of shit.
Could it hear his thoughts?
Desmond didn't know. He had no way of knowing.
Yet for a moment he wished it were so. He wished it knew what was in store for him.
He wished it would experience the humiliation of being trapped in the prison of its body as he had made many people suffer before him, no doubt.
No, worse still.
To be trapped, helplessly, inside someone else's body.
I'm going to win this, he declared, assuming it could actually hear him. Thoughts didn't have a tone. They shouldn't... but those words tasted like victory.
He could already taste victory.
Blood was still dripping from his eyes.
At this rate, he wouldn't be at all surprised if one of his eyeballs exploded.
He was already losing sight in his right eye, mainly. Desmond didn't know why precisely that one, but it was happening that way. In the left one he barely noticed the difference, but that one was failing him.
I'm going to rip you away from me and crush you.
Desmond pulled himself upright.
He regained enough control to let go of the sword.
He was full of confidence.
He was not acting under the assumption that he would lose this battle for control, not at all. But it never hurt to be cautious. It didn't hurt, at the very least.
Desmond slowly rose to his feet.
It was truly something he had intended to do, not a shadow action he was mistaking for his own.
"I'll kill you," he said, his hands raised, his face contorted like a lunatic's. They did not coordinate well. Because of his condition, the movements of his face, eyes and mouth were out of sync, yes, he must have looked completely insane. "I will tear you to pieces... and devour you!"
Abigail frowned, briefly, her muscles tensing in preparation to move.
But then she relaxed.
She relaxed as she saw him raise his hands to his face and claw at his cheeks, tearing at the skin. Letting thick strands of blood flow.
His savior, his goddess.
They had... They had...
Desmond couldn't even say it in his mind. In any case, maybe he should have thought they would be capable of that... that Abigail would have had to go through "it" before.
But he hadn't, not really. And in any case, to have to hear that it wasn't just speculation, to hear confirmation....
He couldn't stand it.
A world where something like that could to a person like Abigail was not a world worth protecting.
Yes, that's right.
It wasn't worth it.
The shadow wasn't the real problem. Just a symptom of the problem.
But it deserved to die, anyway.
And he'd promised he'd kill it, hadn't he? He couldn't quite remember, but it seemed right.
"Desmond!"
Christina's voice.
Christina, who was approaching him despite the situation, despite the state she herself was in. If he lost control, even if only for a few seconds....
Gods, in that case it would be so easy to kill her. So easy.
Human beings, the world around him, had never seemed so fragile as on this night. He was acutely aware of the fine line between life and death.
"Don't come any closer," Abigail warned him, but Christina ignored him.
She got to him and he...
He pushed her away, so that she would get the message.
But with more force than really necessary, as he couldn't control himself well, or it was just because of Christina's condition.
In any case, with that push he knocked the girl to the ground.
She was no longer holding herself with her own shadows.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to throw her even if he had put all his strength behind the push and had been in perfect condition.
Desmond looked away and continued to stagger forward, gradually moving away from the rest of the students. From his classmates and from Abigail.
Just in case he lost control, but only partially.
Keeping moving was part of his struggle for control.
He had no idea how this worked.
Desmond had never faced an affinity like this before, but it seemed logical to him that he would need to be continually on the move, that if he left a gap for the shadow and it took advantage of it, moving the way it wanted to and not the way he wanted to, then the enemy would gain the upper hand.
Then, next time it would be easier for it to beat him in the struggle for control.
He didn't even know, incidentally, if it was possible in the first place to win this fight.
But it didn't matter.
It didn't matter.
Desmond had to keep fighting, anyway. Christina was still fighting, too. Despite what common sense should be telling her and what he had just done to her, she had gotten up and gone after him.
He could feel it, hear it.
As well as the fact that he wasn't alone.
Two pairs of footsteps followed his. Abigail's and Amy's footsteps, no doubt.
The rest of those present had no reason to risk their lives following someone who could turn on them at any moment.
To them, he was nothing more than, to put it mildly, a rabid dog.
Surely...
Yes, they all want to kill you.
Desmond's body was shaken by a chill.
That voice, that dark doubt... it was what he thought, secretly. But not expressed in his words. With his inner voice.
It was the voice of the shadow, actually.
It was in his head. Speaking. Perhaps it shouldn't surprise or frighten him seeing as it had proven to be able to control his body, to speak through his mouth, to even make use of his affinity as if it were its own....
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But it scared him.
He had never felt so scared. So terrified.
A line had been crossed.
Focus, he thought. If you waste time, it will win, and then....
Nothing.
Desmond had to focus, and thinking about what might happen didn't help him at all. One foot in front of the other, and so on. Little by little.
Each small movement was like an equally small victory.
But, little by little...
Yes, little by little, he would eventually win.
Soon after, he fell to his knees.
At least that was what he would like to think....
The alternative, however, was rather more likely. That he had not fallen but had been knocked over by the enemy that lived inside him.
Desmond reached out his hands, leaning against the wall.
Slowly, with effort, he worked to get to his feet.
You cannot stop me.
"I will destroy..." Every word was an effort. Like movements, however small, a struggle against himself. "I... will destroy... everything in this world!"
It shut down.
His right eye went out like a light bulb that had exploded, plunging the right side of his field of vision into total darkness.
Desmond finally managed to get to his feet, but he felt uneasy.
For he wasn't sure if he had managed it on his own or because the enemy had helped him.
Yes, he had gotten rid of the sword... but that didn't mean much. His body itself was a weapon. Desmond brought a hand up, covering his right eye, as if to check his condition. To check that it was really that bad.
By accident, he touched it. He touched something slimy because his eye no longer closed automatically when something came near.
He pulled his hand away immediately.
Desmond turned away.
Amy and Christina stopped then. Abigail continued forward, but not for much longer. She stood to the side, the knife wet with his blood still clutched, still at the ready.
She, however, didn't look quite ready.
She wasn't tense, she didn't have a combat stance.
She...
She hoped he could pull this off. And Desmond had tried to meet his expectations. He really did try, but....
But...
He couldn't take it anymore, Desmond was pretty sure.
"Kill me," Desmond told her. "If you kill me..., maybe you'll kill this thing. You might kill it too. Or at least..."
Force it out.
But he was too hurt to finish the sentence. Desmond was breathing as if he had a lung that had been crushed to a pulp.
His eyes had suffered the result of his efforts, his eyes, his bones, his muscles.
So why not one of his lungs?
There would be nothing strange about that.
"You can do it," Abigail told him.
Desmond couldn't speak.
He just shook his head.
Desmond trusted Abigail completely, who had saved him, who was like a goddess to him, who had shown him the way and saved him from himself.
However, that absolute trust did not extend to himself.
Not even when Abigail showed confidence in him.
That was almost... almost like doubting her judgment, but.... No, that was precisely what was happening, but it was that Abigail had too good an impression of him.
Because she was too nice, too kind. And that wasn't a problem.
It was part of what made her so perfect, so... so... so...
Pure, distant from the humans, who were all about rolling in the mud. Just like him.
When he was with her, though, he felt everything was different. He felt more...
Well, pure. Like her.
He pleaded with his eyes. Abigail's expression of resolve weakened.
Desmond felt a great pain in the center of his chest, as if someone was trying to grab his heart with their hands, as if they had a hold of it and were pulling, pulling, pulling.
He thought it had been Abigail.
That she had done something, fulfilling his wish.
But no.
It was Christina who had stepped forward. She had her hands outstretched forward, the book lying on the floor between her legs.
She had dropped it in the middle of a fight.
This was serious. But for some reason... Maybe because of her expression, or because he was still conscious, he doubted that what she intended was to kill him in front of everyone like he wanted.
What was Christina trying to do?
Yes. If that were her will, then he would already be dead.
He wouldn't have had time to think, to react. So what did she intend to do?
Please, before things get out of hand again, kill me.
... She wouldn't.
Desmond realized that she wouldn't, even though it was quite possible that the enemy would die when his heart stopped (the heart that, in theory, they now shared) and then he would be resurrected as if nothing had happened.
That she was unwilling to hurt him was only a small part of it.
If that was all it had been about, she would have done it by now.
The problem was in the last phase of the plan.
Death and resurrection. If they saw him resurrected, confirmed that it was him who had that power and not Christina who had resurrected him that time, then he might suffer the terrible fate she had described.
It was the safest thing to do because he didn't possess a shred of the political and social power that Christina had, only by virtue of being a user of shadow magic and even more so considering her family.
She wouldn't kill him because it could mean the end of "this" in a completely different way.
But there was no better option.
Christina should understand that better than anyone. Desmond fell to his knees, held his hands to his chest, had the feeling he was going to explode, that he was going to be ripped open in an explosion of blood, flesh and rib bones opening like the petals of a flower.
Having the feeling that he was going to die, really die.
That he had misjudged Christina's intentions.
And her willingness to act.
He didn't die. Instead..., something started coming out of his mouth. Black smoke. It's working, motherfucker.
Slowly, and the pain was hellish, but he could take it. The pain was just pain. A passing sensation, like a dream. He could take it... his extraordinary body could withstand and recover from the damage inside. There was nothing to fear.
Not for him, at least.
Not for him, but he wasn't the only one he had to worry about.
Christina's arms were shaking. Her face contorted as if she were feeling on her own skin the pain she was inflicting on him.
She had let go of the book, too. Her protection, her barrier against the world.
It had to work even if she wasn't touching it directly, that protection, it's not like she'd never let go, like she'd even sleep with the book, nothing like that.
But the effectiveness of the protection surely diminished when she wasn't touching it.
That's why she almost always had it clutched or at least on her.
That was also something worth worrying about, but....
His heart stopped.
It was like the blow of a hammer.
Christina had fallen forward. That in itself perhaps wouldn't be a big deal, considering the state she was in, not yet fully recovered, with no time to recover, but it wasn't all.
Blood.
Blood had come out of her mouth.
She quickly raised a hand to wipe her lips, but it didn't stop Desmond from seeing it.
It didn't stop his soul from dropping to his feet.
Amy helped her up.
The black smoke was still out of him, it hadn't taken the opportunity to get back inside his body.
Because Christina hadn't given him such an opportunity.
Because, despite what the effort was doing to her, she had refused to let go of the black smoke. She still had a firm grip on it. And Christina seemed to have no intention of letting go. Her face was full of determination.
"Christina, you have to stop," Amy said.
"What about Desmond?" She answered simply.
"I understand, but... "She couldn't finish the sentence. Amy swallowed and said no more. Had she convinced her to take the risk? Just like that?
Stop it, he thought desperately. Stop it, don't you understand that you won't get a second chance?
That if you die it's over? Everything!
"You've only managed to get a little bit out of it and you're already like this. "Amy hadn't given up, after all. Good. Very good. "You... you might die... before you get it out."
"We won't know until I try."
"Christina!"
Desmond shouldn't, but partly, just partly, he felt perversely happy that Christina showed such determination to save him. But with that determination, refusing to back down, she would only destroy herself.
And even if she managed to save him in the process, it wasn't worth it.
To even think of continuing this was madness.
Christina hadn't continued yet, she was simply keeping the black smoke where it was, gathering strength for the next attempt.
But she would.
"Your friend is right," Abigail said. "You are an important person to Desmond. I forbid you to die."
Desmond smiled.
His savior was always there when he needed her most.
Christina didn't listen to her.
As feared, there was an explosion of pain in his chest that then spread throughout his being like ravenous flames.
As feared, this had begun again.
Slowly, black smoke poured out of his mouth as he felt the inside of his body being ripped apart, shredded.
Abigail took a step forward.
Christina didn't look at her. She could only concentrate on this...on destroying herself for his sake, something he could never make up for or forget, something he could never redeem himself for.
Abigail reached in between and grabbed Christina's arms.
Of course, she didn't know that she didn't need a direct line of sight to manipulate the shadows, that as long as they were within her reach it was okay.
Stop," said Abigail; no, she commanded.
"No.
Abigail nodded her head slowly.
The pain disappeared.
Desmond fell forward, breaking his fall with his hands before his head hit the ground. His head was heavy, well, his whole body.
He lifted his head to see what had happened.
Christina was on the ground. Amy's gaze shifted between Christina and Abigail, surprised, a little worried.
She punched her, he thought. fuck.
Christina coughed loudly several times, rolled over on the floor. But she was weak. It looked, at least, like she wasn't going to be able to get up.
Abigail turned her head toward him.
"You can do it," she repeated.
Really?
No, it doesn't matter if I can or not. I have to.
From the punch, Christina had accidentally let go of the shadow.
And she didn't have time to get it back.
Instead of looking for another body, Abigail's body for example, it fortunately went back inside his mouth, back down his throat. He wasn't just saying that because Abigail mattered more to him than anything else in the world.
It was also because Abigail possessed by the shadow would be more dangerous than he could ever be.
He couldn't stop it before it entered him again, much less get it out of him completely.
But he would get it out.
He would get it out, he had to! Whether this went well or ended in tragedy was entirely in his hands.
He couldn't count on anyone else.
Nothing has changed, he thought.
I've always been alone, haven't I?
It was incredibly painful, the entrance as well as the exit.
But when that thought crossed his mind....
Desmond forgot about the pain. He only felt cold in the center of his chest, as if he had become a block of ice.
Desmond focused on fighting for his existence, not for the lives of all the people he cared about. That was the only thing he should be worrying about right now.
Anything was better than following that line of thinking. Going to that place... cold.
The black smoke passed all the way inside.
Desmond could close his mouth again, and could finally breathe properly again. But from now on things would be more difficult and not the other way around.
For now that the shadow had returned to its place, so to speak, it could actively resist his efforts that had not borne fruit even as it entered.
You cannot stop me, the enemy whispered inside his own head. Itwill be the death of everything you love. I will kill your friends, make them suffer.
Keep talking, keep wasting time, effort, I'd like nothing better.
And that witch... I'll fuck her. I will fuck her in your body before I take her anywhere.
Desmond's heart seemed to have turned into a block of ice.
Now, that block of ice melted instantly.
His chest was on fire.
Desmond roared.
Roaring like a wild beast, arms outstretched at his sides, he bent backwards. A mixture of blood and saliva leaked out of him forming a sickening froth between teeth clenched as tightly as the teeth of a bear trap.
He had reached his limit.
The limit of what he could mentally endure turned out to be a new phase for his physical capacity.
His whole body had been filled with strength, as if he hadn't been fighting all the time so far, as if his insides weren't all messed up.
Desmond roared and roared and roared.
His limbs were taut as a bow. The veins in his arms stood out against the skin as if they were about to explode just like his rampaging heart.
He came out.
Black smoke began to pour out of his body soon after, just as it had when Christina had done it.
But this time it was a result of his own effort.
Abigail had prevented her from intervening and since then Christina had done nothing, although he had to admit it was a little strange that she hadn't even tried.
Don't get excited. You haven't won yet.
Black smoke was coming out of his throat. It was like something physical, although once inside, for some reason, it didn't hurt him, going in and coming out did. Both were torture.
Besides, he couldn't breathe properly with something like this "stuck" in his throat.
It wouldn't be strange if he died from lack of oxygen before he managed to expel the shadow. He was making progress, but he couldn't tell whether it was fast enough. If this would be enough.
But he was making progress.
Slowly, he repeated himself.
Desmond was a mess.
Desmond's right eye couldn't see anything anymore, his insides were in a state he didn't want to imagine, and now on top of that he was in danger of suffocating.
But he would make it.
Suddenly, he was very sure of that. And so he did. He made it. As if he had vomited out his dark, mutilated soul, the black smoke was completely expelled from him through his mouth.
This was a victory, but not the victory. It could try again, or find itself a new body, Abigail's as he had feared before for example.
Focus.
Desmond works on getting to his feet.
Meanwhile, Christina intervened again. With her magic and great willpower, she forced the black smoke back into its human form. The closest thing to a human form it had shown them, in any case.
Desmond seized the opportunity. He pounced on it, knocking it to the ground.
And he savaged it.
He didn't have his sword in hand, it didn't matter, his whole body was a weapon. And he made his enemy test the strength of that weapon all over his body.
He punched non"stop. He heard bones crunching, although it looked like a creature without bones like some kind of worm.
Blood flew out, which was the same color as that of any human being, even though it didn't deserve to be considered as such nor did it look like one.
Desmond grabbed his enemy by the neck and headbutted him.
Breaking his nose in at least three places. A blow that left his enemy disoriented.
"I'm free! "Desmond shouted at the top of his lungs, as if challenging anyone who dared to tell him otherwise.
Abigail approached him.
She passed him her knife without a word.
Christina lowered her hand, took a knee on the ground, breathing hard, labored breaths.
Desmond plunged the knife into the shadow's chest, staring into those burning white eyes that had struck fear into his heart before.
Not to kill it. To make the son of a bitch suffer. It didn't deserve the luxury of a quick death.
Despite the state he must have been in, inside and out, he actually felt as good as new.
Desmond felt unstoppable. And maybe he was. Maybe he was, yes.
"Shit," the enemy mumbled.
It didn't go up in smoke again, didn't try to escape or attack in any way. It simply dropped its shoulders and head as if surrendering.
Of course, Desmond wasn't fooled by that.
He didn't let his guard down like an idiot, but... he didn't think it was faking in an attempt to make him let his guard down.
That the enemy was stupid enough to believe something like that would work on him.
Especially after everything it had done.
No, that wasn't what this was about.
"My knife is special," Abigail explained without him needing to say anything. Well, he figured his face had told her enough. "It cuts magic. Any kind of magic."
After a moment, Desmond nodded his head.
"Ah, shit! I was so close..." The shadow lamented its fate.
"Finish him," Abigail ordered.
"Yes, mom. I mean... "Desmond spat out the blood that had accumulated in his mouth, along with some saliva too, of course." I.... Not yet. I still need to..."
"Okay," Abigail replied, interrupting.
She hadn't interrupted him because she didn't want to hear what he had to say, but because she didn't need to. His judgment was enough. The explanation was superfluous.
"Where are the teachers? "Since they'd left the burning cellar, they hadn't seen a trace of them.
Not even a few bloodstains.
Before he slit its throat, no, before he drove this through its heart, he had to know.
Make sure.
The shadow laughed. For a moment, he thought it sounded like his own voice.
But that was just his mind playing tricks on him, of course.
Their bodies were separate now.
Voice included.
That inhuman voice full of perverse pleasure had nothing to do with his own.
"Not here," it said simply.
The enemy wasn't going to cooperate. Desmond didn't know why he had thought it would, especially now, when they had it on the ropes and not the other way around.
In its position, he too would refuse to yield to the enemy.
He supposed it was natural as a soldier.
"I told you, didn't I? That I would destroy you. My chance has come sooner than I expected," Desmond said, and he couldn't help chuckling. "So thank you," he added, "thank you for not cooperating, for giving me an excuse."
Desmond's muscles tensed as he made a gesture to pull the knife out and then finish it off with it.
However, the enemy spoke.
It gave up at last.
"I killed a few of them. But they were too much for me in the end, I thought I was going to die... so I sent them far away from here."
Desmond took a few seconds to fully process what it had just told him.
"What?
That didn't make any sense.
Not even the slightest bit of sense.
Turning into black smoke, shaping its body, its physical changes, taking hold of someone, instinctively knowing how to control their affinity as if it were its own? And now teleporting?
No.
That was simply too much.
He'd already been in trouble trying to fit all of the above into the same box, but now it was completely impossible.
Powers too varied, too diverse.
No one had a vague affinity that would allow it to do so many things that had none or barely any relation to the others. The teleportation thing, at least, did have no relation no matter how he looked at it.
Why was he trying to make sense of it?
Turning it over in his head as if there was an answer to be found?
This was the truth: it didn't make sense because it hadn't told him the truth, plain and simple. The thing was still refusing to cooperate. It was no wonder, for it had no motive, it knew that one way or another it would end up dead before this....
"He's not lying," Abigail informed him.
That was settled, then.
"Okay," Desmond said, "Where did you send them, the survivors?"
The shadow stared at him, silent, for long seconds. He laughed without energy, without real desire. Only to mock him and try to provoke him.
"What a good little sheep you are. Believing and obeying everything you hear without question. Anyway... Away. I'm pretty sure they won't be able to get back to this building before the night comes to an end. Anything else?"
"She..."
"The witch?"
"Did you? Did you lay a hand on her?"
He felt bad asking it in front of Abigail herself, but...
But he needed to know.
The shadow didn't smile. It had no lips to smile with, though that obviously didn't stop it from talking or laughing.
But it had the feeling it was doing so.
Maybe it was because he assumed that was how it would respond.
Maybe it was that he could feel it, somehow, because until recently they had been connected on a sickeningly intimate level.
In any case...
"No. But I would have loved to have had the chance to bone that bitch.
Desmond pulled the knife out violently.
Before it could escape, he ran it across the throat. More red blood dripped everywhere. It splattered over his face, but Desmond didn't even blink, barely felt it, in fact, like the touch of a ghost.
A vague sense of unease, and then you weren't even sure if something had touched you or it had just been your imagination.
He stuck the knife a little below the enemy's neck, preventing it from transforming into smoke.
The knife was like a stake holding it in place.
"Desmond," Abigail said, "I know you want to make him suffer. But it's not worth dragging this out. Kill him or give me the knife, your choice."
Desmond made a decision.
He pulled the knife out again and plunged it, so quickly that it could be described as almost at the same time without much exaggeration, into the enemy's heart.
It made no sound. Just blood, blood.
And those eyes fading.
And it writhed on the ground for a few seconds, with the knife buried in its chest up to the handle, before standing up.
That was it.
Desmond half rose to his feet, still holding the knife.
He removed it, and instantly knew that nothing had changed.
The enemy exploded, passing quickly between them, all around them, before gathering in a dense black smoke that went towards the glass doors. Towards freedom.
The black smoke crashed against the glass and could not bring it down with its force.
It couldn't because red glowing symbols appeared on it. Someone in the crowd had intervened.
Desmond didn't look around to see who it was.
That was the least of it.
And it didn't matter anyway. Because it tried again and managed to create a small crack in the glass, just a small crack, but more than enough for a little smoke.
Desmond staggered behind the shadow. Along the way, he picked up the sword. He didn't have the strength to lift it. At least, not with just one hand, and as a consequence he was dragging the tip along the ground as he walked toward the doors.
It wasn't simply running away. The shadow returned to its human form about ten meters away from the building, on a small hill. It emitted an inhuman, gultural sound. A signal. Out of the darkness came soldiers wearing armor he had never seen before. Dozens and dozens. They didn't have with them one of the empire's war machines, but it didn't matter, it might as well be enough with the numbers they had here.
More than enough, probably, to wipe out their decimated group whose best fighters were on their last legs, whose most experienced members had almost entirely been killed or sent away. With the sole exception of Abigail, of course.
The battle was inevitable.
And the outcome, a complete defeat, a bitter tragedy from which no one would emerge alive, seemed so too.