“Your expression, the way you say it, your vital signs. You really believe it, don't you? I don't understand why, but you believe it," Victoria said.

She was the boss of this project.

She hated her and liked to see her suffer. However, she wasn't about getting her hands dirty.

She was about power, about control.

What is power, in its purest essence? Desiring something and being able to get it.

She wanted her to suffer.

Others were making her suffer for her. Of course, the main goal wasn't to torture her, but to find out the secret of her immortality.

Still, this pleased Victoria.

She was an easy person to understand.

That wasn't because Abigail was a witch with two thousand years of experience in everything, or almost everything.

It was because Victoria was a terribly simple person.

She was... in other words, she was like a child.

“I think so," Abigail replied. "No, I don't think so. I know."

As if she had seen it with her own eyes.

She had warned her captors that a storm was coming.

That Desmond was coming and would leave nothing standing in his wake. These weren't empty words. It wasn't a poor attempt at intimidation, either.

It was a warning, simply.

As if she had seen the future with her own eyes.

“You say he's coming alone," Victoria continued, "Do you think he can attack the heart of the Empire, run through all our men and get you out of here like it's nothing? Have you finally lost your mind?"

“No." Abigail chuckled to herself loudly, her whole body moving to the rhythm of the laughter. "Although sometimes I wish I had. Although sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't make everything easier."

“So...?"

“I know something you don't. That's all."

***

Shock.

A wave of commotion had swept over those present.

Closing throats.

Blinding the eyes.

Leaving them trembling.

That was how great the difference was between a mage and uneducated people. Their reaction couldn't have been otherwise.

They were nothing more than street thugs. They could dominate and become strong against people like them, but against a mage?

No. With a mage, it was a completely different matter.

“How is that possible?"

“He's a mage. He has to be a mage."

They didn't want to accept it, naturally.

But it was impossible to deny something they had witnessed with their own eyes.

Desmond lowered his sword slowly, his gaze fixed on the person who had shot him.

Roman, behind his desk, with the pistol.

He was in the same state as his men.

In a state of confusion, of fear.

But...

“Ridiculous. “Roman replied, "A mage, and he's only been wielding the sword so far? Those bastards are too arrogant to fight like the rest of us mortals. And not boast of their 'superiority'."

“So... so what?"

“He just got lucky, that's all. Not magic. Luck. And it won't happen again."

Roman had apparently managed to convince himself that this hadn't been a demonstration of magic.

Or maybe he was simply trying to suppress the fear of his men by saying he wasn't a mage and trying to sound convincing.

No, Desmond didn't think he had the composure to do something like that still.

All right, he thought.

Suit yourself, let's play.

“If that's what you think, shoot," Desmond said, defiantly.

“What?"

“You heard me. I'm not a mage? It was luck that won't happen again? Very well, then. Shoot."

Roman hesitated.

“Come on, shoot!"

And he'd be ready to act. To put an end to this.

Roman was going to shoot.

Desmond lowered his stance, like a wild beast preparing to pounce on its prey. An instant before Roman pulled the trigger, he shot out.

He dodged the bullet with ease.

He jumped over the table, before Roman's astonished eyes.

He swung the sword.

The gun fell in two pieces to the floor.

Desmond grabbed the man and turned him around, putting the blade of the sword against his neck.

In about five seconds, the situation had completely changed.

Maybe he should have done this from the beginning. Maybe, from the beginning, it had been inevitable.

“Son of a bitch!" Roman shouted.

He gritted his teeth. He knew it was a generic insult, but....

He was wild and free. He had no reason to hold back.

So, even though Roman was helpless, even though he didn't need to do it, he grabbed one arm and twisted it like it was made of clay.

A crunch.

Roman, looking at his broken and bent arm, screamed at the top of his lungs.

Pathetic.

How many times would he have done precisely this?

How many times would he have damaged other people's bodies, left their minds scarred?

But now that it was his turn, he was reacting this way. He lived a life of dishing out misery and death. At least, now that it was his turn, he would have to face what he had to deal out with dignity.

Otherwise, he would be nothing but a hypocrite.

But he was not even capable of doing that.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He was in pain and afraid, so he screamed.

He couldn't understand how his arm was twisted at that angle, so he screamed.

Pathetic. It couldn't get any more pathetic, really.

The reinforcements finally arrived.

Thanks to the physical reinforcement magic, Desmondhad no trouble seeing them first test the door and then try to break it down, noticing that it was locked, despite the commotion.

That wouldn't hold for long.

But it didn't matter. It was done, he had won.

With the boss's life in his hands, he could get out of here without having to fight.

That would only get him through.

Desmond wouldn't achieve his real goal, the one that had led him here.

To get transportation to the Empire.

Still, he would have to settle for survival. For the time being.

And remind himself when he forgot that things could have turned out much worse.

In fact, it had come close.

“Don't talk about my mother like that, you filthy animal," he said in Roman's ear.

Not whispering.

He said it in his ear, literally, because he was close to him.

“Boss," someone said hesitantly. That sounded like a question.

As if he was asking, what can I do?

In any case, it was a question that received no answer.

Eventually, Roman fell silent.

He gritted his teeth, still enduring the pain, but he shut up.

“What now?"

“Now go."

He approached the door.

That is, they approached. The door was the only way out of this office, beyond the window. Desmond hadn't jumped out the window before simply because he wasn't willing to use his magic. To reveal himself, and on top of that in such a spectacular way as that.

Now that they knew he was a mega, they could do it, he supposed.

But Roman wouldn't survive the fall.

He didn't care if someone like that died. But he still held out hope that things could return to their original course.

Driving Roman to his death smothered any hope that might exist.

Might. Yes, it was probably too much to ask.

Roman's men still surrounded him.

Inside and out.

The entire building was filled with Roman's men. Like a stone under which a bed of insects crawled.

He'd seen it with his own eyes on the way to the office.

But he shouldn't have any problems now.

Now, he was in control of everything.

“Don't try anything foolish."

Desmond pressed the blade of the sword against Roman's neck.

The man whimpered like a beaten puppy, but he had no intention of ending his life.

If he had, his head would already be rolling on the floor, dripping with blood.

What he intended and succeeded in doing was to cut him, causing a trickle of blood to run down Roman's neck.

Making it clearer what was at stake.

And he was willing to do it.

Of course, if he killed Roman, the thugs would be all over him, they would no longer have reason to hold back.

But they didn't want their boss dead. For purely selfish reasons, maybe partly sentimental.

In any case, it would be a delicate balancing act.

He would have to perform that balancing act until he could get out the door.

And if he screwed up, he would have to get out of danger by cutting down all the lives in his path.

As usual.

He was a wild beast, and maybe that was all he was really good for. But at least he could try to do things right.

The door was forced open. Those behind it came in and saw the current situation.

“What's going on...? “The man fell silent, unable to finish the sentence.

The newcomers didn't react in the same way as the others. One of them became enraged, rushed forward, to rescue his boss.

“Stop!" Roman said, gritting his teeth. "He's a mage."

The man stopped at his boss's command.

As if something had changed.

Even if he wasn't a mage, how did he think he could have saved his boss when he had the edge of the sword against his neck? If he had tried anything, nothing would have stopped Desmond from slitting Roman's throat open like a lamb in a slaughterhouse.

Now that the situation had ended this way, he was in control.

Mage or not.

“Get out of the way," Desmond said, walking toward the door.

Roman wasn't even trying to resist. But it was no wonder.

He had shown enough strength to break an arm as if it were a toy. There was nothing that could give him any hope of escaping his grip, from strength like his.

He walked out of the office.

He rounded the corner and went down the stairs.

Roman's men came out from everywhere to watch what was happening. Like insects crawling out from under the stones.

They all watched him like crows waiting for someone to finish dying, to feast on.

However, none of them dared to take a step forward.

They watched in silence as he went through the corridors and down the stairs, walking towards the exit, dragging Roman with him.

He remembered the way perfectly, even though it was the first and only time he had passed this way.

That was another of his rare good points.

Memory.

He pulled Roman out.

Followed by his men, he dragged him into the narrow, dark alley beside the building. He didn't take the sword from his neck.

There were nearly half a dozen enemies behind him, watching, unable to do anything.

“What are you doing? “Roman protested like a frightened child. "You're free now, you got what you wanted, you can let me go. We had a deal. Do you hear me? We had a deal!"

He thought he was going to kill him.

Nothing could be further from the truth, though.

If it were for him, he'd kill him, rid the city of this scumbag.

But he still needed it.

Desmond could deal with stuff like that another time... or never.

He didn't have to care about trifles like that. His goal was to be reunited with Abigail, with his goddess, his mother.

His adored savior.

In the face of that, everything else was insignificant.

Once Desmond was reunited with her, forever and ever, such nonsense would cease to cross his mind.

He was sure of it.

“You seem to have forgotten, but no, I didn't get what I wanted. But I will. If you want to live."

“What? What do you want?"

“What I asked you for from the beginning. Arrange things so that I can have passage to the Empire. " Desmond added quickly: "Free of charge, of course. As compensation for trying to kill me."

“That's not..." Roman fell silent immediately after feeling the pressure of the sword again.

“Free? I spoke wrong, sorry for worrying you unnecessarily. I'll give you something as payment."

Roman's men were still standing at the entrance to the alley.

Covering this scene from anyone who might pass by, though surely without intending to.

They couldn't make up their minds to act.

Not with the boss's life in his hands.

Besides, they must have been used to taking orders, not thinking for themselves.

“Your life. I'll give you your life in exchange. Deal? Huh?"

“You win," Roman mumbled.

***

“Oh, something he doesn't know himself? And what's that about? “Victoria asked.

“That would be spoiling the surprise.

Then Abigail burst out laughing as only a child could.

Pure, without holding back.

A storm was coming. Abigail couldn't wait for that storm to engulf her. Though it should be the last thing she wished for the child who would save her, she couldn't help it.

The urge to laugh.

She was so happy.

He chose me, she thought. Me. Me.

***

They would meet at midnight, at the harbor.

Until then, Desmond simply wandered around the city, doing nothing in particular. Killing time.

And, as usual...

Trying not to think too much. Needless to say, to no avail, for the most part.

Finally, the blanket of night fell and enveloped the city.

Desmond made his way to the port.

They were already waiting for him, Roman and his men. The first thing he noticed wasn't the size of the group. That only vaguely registered to him. What immediately caught his attention was the arm.

Roman's right arm was healed.

It had been tended to. By a mage, of course.

Only way he was healed so soon.

There was nothing unusual about that, of course. But, still, it was a bit shocking to see a person using the arm you'd broken as if that had never happened in the first place.

It was attention-grabbing.

Roman was using the healed arm to hold a cigar.

The smoke from the cigar floated into the night air and disappeared.

He approached Roman.

“I'm going to be frank. I don't want to fight you," the crime boss told him. "The only thing I want is for you to get out of my damn city as soon as possible."

Desmond thought about saying something like this city wasn't his, it belonged to the people.

It wasn't worth it.

“That's what I intend to do. As long as you keep your end of the bargain. "

Roman gestured with his head toward a ship.

This was a pitch-black, starless night, where the sky seemed a reflection of the black sea stretching to the horizon.

“I have dealings with some people in the Empire. We receive information, weapons, supplies. And we return what we get."

“Didn't you say you hated traitors?" He couldn't help himself, unfortunately. Roman's expression darkened. "That sounds like treason to me. "

“Depending on how you see it. Through these treaties I also make sure they avoid touching this city. I am a protector of everyone, from the most pretentious and prideful politician to the lowest common citizen. That sounds like they should build me a statue, if you ask me."

Desmond chose not to answer that.

He had already said too much, and anyway, to be honest with himself, he didn't know how to respond.

It was possible that Roman had made it up as he went along as an excuse, but....

No, there was no good answer to that.

One way or the other.

“As I was saying, that ship will get you to your destination." Roman discreetly stomped on the ashes that had fallen to the floor. "Since I want you out, the sooner the better, the ship will sail right now. So come on, get on. And for your sake, I hope I never see your face again."

He didn't dignify that with a response.

Desmond went to the ship.

***

Desmond was given a room away from the rest of the crew. He wouldn't have to share it.

Still, he wasn't going to let his guard down, he wasn't going to sleep a minute all night. He couldn't afford it.

Just in case.

Besides, even if Desmond could afford to sleep peacefully... sleep like in his team' quarters, he wouldn't be able to. He was too nervous. Thinking about too many things.

Abigail, how she was doing, why she would be going through.

He was thinking about her, of course, as always. But especially now since the connection had suddenly gone dead and he hadn't seen her since. It had been hours now.

But he was even thinking about Emerald. About that poor girl.

Desmond wondered if she would know how to make the most of what he had given her and make it through, or if she would end up like so many others.

Alone and dead. Without anyone knowing.

Without anyone caring.

He was even tormenting himself with thoughts of a little girl he had seen for the first time today and would most certainly never appear in his life again.

Part of the blame for the girl lingering in his thoughts lay with the memories of his past.

Of the terrible experiences he had lived through.

But not all of it.

He was a mess on the inside.

That was certainly nothing new.

Desmond got out of bed and went out into the hallway.

That was because he was hearing a loud noise and the smell of something burning.

There he checked with his own eyes what was going on.

Something he would never have suspected.

Flames. Flames were gradually engulfing the hallway, heading towards him.

“Fire! “he shouted.

Only later did he realize that there was something profoundly strange here. All he could hear was the fire. By now, there should be noise, commotion.

The ship's crew organizing to put out the fire.

However, none of that was happening.

What's more, he didn't notice the shaking of the ship. How had he not noticed it before?

It's a trap, he realized.

Roman had set him up as revenge. Now Desmond was caught in a flaming death trap, in the middle of the sea, destined to die being reduced to ashes.

A death from which, without any doubt, he would never be able to return.