Abigail wanted to kill him, of course.

The leader. The one to blame for everything that had happened. The one to blame for the suffering Desmond was going through.

She had no intention of leaving any of the golden masks alive, of course.

She would gladly kill all those sons of bitches. What's more, she was obliged to. She couldn't risk leaving a single one alive.

But the leader, the one who had set all this in motion, deserved death especially.

He deserved to suffer more than anyone else.

He was the one who had put poison shot after poison shot into her Desmond. Her little boy.

She had to kill him. Her body was asking for it. Her very soul.

But, even though she was immortal, it had never hurt her to know...how to pick her battles.

So what she did, though tense as a bow, was speak.

"Look around you. So many have fallen, and for what? Why go on? The die is cast.”

The best way to hurt people and deceive them was to use the truth. Selectively, though.

Nothing she had said was a lie.

The best thing for them would be to run.

He had already succeeded in poisoning Desmond and they hadn't been able to stop some golden masks from going after Charlotte.

So he'd already accomplished his goal.

To keep fighting, to keep falling, would only serve to reduce their numbers uselessly.

Now, for both sides, it was all a matter of luck.

As much as it ate her up inside to think that way, it was true.

There was nothing more she could do except... pray.

Her fate was cursed. She'd never had much luck. Since the beginning. Even before the beginning.

But now, that was all she could depend on. As much as it bothered her.

Abigail bit her lower lip.

Wondering if he hadn't made the wrong decision, because of his selfishness. If she shouldn't have... passed her curse on to Desmond. If that hadn't been her last chance to save him. And she had passed it up, like a fool.

The golden masks were also hesitating.

It wasn't hard to see, even despite the masks. Body language was more than enough. She didn't need to be able to see their expressions.

In their entirety. Because she could see their eyes, and they also said quite a lot.

The eyes were the window to the soul, after all.

They were hesitating, but in all likelihood not enough. They wouldn't cease in their efforts, despite her words. Of her actions. The many who had fallen tonight for so little.

Abigail would have to prepare to continue the battle. And to protect Amy, who had been too stubborn to back down, along with the other girl.

She wouldn't be able to look Desmond in the eye if he recovered....

When. When he recovered, and she had to say his friends were dead.

So she had to protect them.

Just when she thought the tension would explode and the battle would be resumed again, Amy stepped forward. And gave an order as well.

"Run away!

Abigail merely blinked, incredulous that she believed that would work. That it wouldn't end up like her previous attempt. That's what she thought, at first.

But then she was stunned, watching them turn and flee the way they had come.

Through the sewers.

Into the fetid darkness of those sewers.

They hadn't even put up much of a fight, that she could see. If they had resisted, even a little, she would have seen it. No matter what.

"That... worked. I can't believe it was that easy," Amy gave voice to the same thing that was going through Abigail's head.

But not that it had been easy, no. She had a flash of inspiration.

"I think I understand now exactly how your power works. But that can wait. Christina?

"In that house. Back there," she said, pointing a finger. The girl grimaced and put a hand to her stomach. "Fuck. This hurts like hell.

She imagined it. She'd probably broken something.

Now that the enemies were gone, the adrenaline had gone with them, allowing her to feel the real pain her body was going through.

That is, normal. She had forgotten what it was like to be normal in many ways. But she wasn't so far removed from human that she had forgotten some things.

Things like that.

"Go on, then. Pick her up. We're going back home... To the palace. And the faster the better.

She said that because she didn't want to be here by the time the city guards came. If they came at all, because at this pace, what a disgrace.

She was aware that they hadn't actually been fighting for as long as it had seemed to her.

But still, by the time they came, if they came at all, it would all be long over.

Not very effective.

Anyway. She couldn't complain too much when she'd rather avoid meeting them, to be honest.

It would only lead to useless questions, headaches.

A big waste of time, all in all.

She just wanted to get back to Desmond as soon as possible. And check with her own eyes that her son was okay. She just wanted that and nothing more.

She watched the girl go to the house where she had kept, so to speak, Charlotte. Abigail put a hand to her head. It hurt. And not a little.

She couldn't wait to see his sweet face again.

It was as if she was short of breath and that was the only thing that could give it to her.

——

Desmond was crawling on the ground, among the corpse of a city. His every movement, no matter how slight, was a great effort. And it sent waves of pain throughout his body.

It was practically unbearable pain. But despite the pain, he had to keep moving.

Whatever happened, he would keep moving forward.

That was what he had always been doing. For so long now. If there was one thing he was good at, it was that.

Not giving up.

He was a fighter.

And that's what he was still doing. His progress was slow and painful, but he was moving forward. Even if it was little by little. He was moving forward. That's what matters.

Gravel and debris dug into his chest as he passed.

Desmond just gritted his teeth and kept going.

He had no idea how he'd gotten here, how the hell he'd ended up in this situation. The last thing he remembered... Even that escaped him, for some reason.

But instead of thinking about that, Desmond concentrated all his will on moving.

Moving forward. Moving forward.

He had never stopped his march. This time would be no different. It would be no different, but…

As he stepped over the debris, which stuck him, and felt pain, he realized that something was wrong. Namely, the lack.

He looked down, before he could think better of it. And he saw it.

His right leg...it was gone.

Desmond took a deep breath. It wasn't so strange, he told himself. It wasn't the first time he'd lost a limb and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He wouldn't let it be the last.

He only started to panic when, fifteen or twenty minutes later, it hadn't even begun to regenerate.

It hadn't even started.

What happened to me, what's going on?

Desmond had ended up relying too much on Abigail's power. The very idea that it had been taken from him would have been enough to shake him, even if he had been perfectly fine.

In a situation like this, even worse.

Much worse.

Desmond swallowed saliva, along with the urge to scream.

He was afraid of attracting attention.

Attracting someone or something. This city is in ruins... It couldn't have just fallen apart. Even if he couldn't remember, something had happened. And as usual he had been at the center of the disaster.

Hadn't he?

Useless. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember shit.

All he needed to do was... move forward.

For the moment at least, he didn't have to worry about anything else. Betraying that conviction, however, he couldn't help but turn his head to look behind him.

All this time, he had believed he was alone.

As if he was the only being, living or dead, wandering among these ruins. Turning around, he saw that he had been flatly wrong. However.

Pale skin that was falling apart. Skin so pale that it didn't even look like human color. It looked, rather, as if they were made of salt.

Statues of salt. Inside still writhed an accumulation of a thousand regrets and curses.

Advancing towards him, hands outstretched. Like... pleading.

He could almost understand what was reflected in their blind eyes.

He could almost hear what they wanted to say with their mute lips.

Desmond knew that if they caught him he would end up joining them. One more lost and damned soul, wandering forever in silence. Searching for the salvation whose chance of attaining had been lost long, long ago.

For they couldn't be further from the hand of the gods.

Desmond turned his head, coming to himself finally. He picked up the pace. Or at least he tried to.

Not like he could do much, when he was missing a leg and wasn't even beginning to heal.

If it would ever heal at all. If he wouldn't stay like this for the rest of his life. The rest of his life... which could be a very long time or a very, very short time.

"It's your fault."

Their lips were sealed, but he had been wrong. They could speak. They could make their will heard.

"It's all your fault. You did this to us."

Desmond shuddered, though without stopping to move, and somehow he knew they were right. He was to blame. For their deaths. For the devastation around him.

For everything. All of it. All of it.

But that didn't mean he should give up. That didn't mean it would be okay to stand back, bow his head and accept the resentment of those lost souls.

He gave everything he could.

He gave everything he had and more. After all, he couldn't expect help. He could only depend on himself.

But it wasn't enough.

Even his desperate attempts failed to get him very far. He supposed he should have expected this outcome from the beginning. They were ghosts, after all.

Ghosts, no more, no less.

Trying to escape them was like trying to outrun death.

Which, in the end, always caught up with you. One way or another.

The ghosts came to him, grabbed his arms, his legs, grabbed him by the neck and lifted him up like an animal to be executed in a slaughterhouse.

And then they dragged him into the dark depths of a collapsed building.

His screams echoed through the rotting skeleton of the city as he was torn to pieces.

——

When the torment ended, Desmond found himself back in a completely different place. Or it was the same, but he wasn't able to see it. Since a white light, very white, burned his eyes.

It transformed the world into a painting. All brushstrokes of colors, of shapes.

Of what could be and what couldn't be.

Above all, what was there was light. But not only that. Something else.

He saw human shaped shadows above him, moving back and forth. Although they appeared to be human, Desmond couldn't let himself be fooled. They could well be dogs of the Empire, who had captured him again.

Or those ghosts that haunted him.

Just because they had human form, didn't mean they were human.

That was something he became painfully aware of every time he looked in the mirror, wondering if he was doing right. Wondering if he deserved to have been saved. If he had made it yet.

If he ever would.

He didn't know who they were, what they wanted from him. All he knew was what they left in their wake. Snakes crawling inside his body, everywhere.

Explosions of cold, of heat, a heat so intense that it created the illusion that his skin was falling off in strips and his flesh was charring.

But, above all sensations, there was the pain, of course.

Above all the pain.

Desmond was more than used to pain, but everyone had a limit. The pain was such that he couldn't even think. He would forget his own name in this whirlwind of pain, if he was careless.

"I don't understand what's happening to him. "A voice broke through the fog of his mind. A voice from a person he didn't know.

If he could at least beg them to stop..... But he couldn't even open his mouth, in his state.

Every movement was involuntary. He felt as close as one could get to a corpse, though he was still clinging to life.

He was clinging... because he had never learned to give up.

And he wouldn't start now.

"Yes... That poison... didn't exist until a few days ago in this world.

Poison.

A black poison, coursing through his veins. Being pumped throughout his body. An evil he could not get rid of.

Ripping it out of him meant bleeding himself dry. To the last drop. Like a slaughtered pig.

A mere filthy animal.

He remembered himself. His present was a tidal wave of pain, so he took refuge in the past. But not one of the few good times in his life, which had recently increased, since joining the academy he'd already left behind, along with the life and mission he'd thought he'd wanted.

No.

He remembered one of the bad moments. Which had also increased since then, and not just a little.

Himself, in the capital of the beasts, towering over the ruins with black wings. A terrible abomination. But powerful. In control.

That counted for a lot. Especially when he didn't even have control over himself now.

A right... no, something anyone could count on. At least that much. control over oneself.

Suddenly Desmond saw himself from the outside. As if his soul had been detached from his body.

And now it was tied to him only by a few thin threads that remained.

Desmond reached out a hand to try to get to himself, with the vague idea in his mind that, if he could just get back, everything would be all right.

But his fingers didn't even come close to brushing his body.

"I'm afraid we're losing him."

——

Abigail and Amy, who insisted on carrying Christina despite the pain, finally arrived at the palace. By now everyone knew them. They knew who they were and why they were here.

So they let them pass through without a problem. To walk freely.

Better. For them.

If they had tried to hold her back, Abigail would have become violent. Undoubtedly. Without being able to help it... or wanting to.

And that would have caused all kinds of trouble. She already had more than enough.

So that was a relief.

Inquiring, they approached where Desmond had been taken. Charlotte was waiting in the hallway, sitting on a bench, head down. Looking down at her clasped hands.

Her expression gave no hint of Desmond's condition.

If they weren't finished yet... or if it was all over. One way or the other.

Abigail gulped, her heartbeat quickening.

Nothing was over. Not yet. Everything had an end, everything had its time, even her. But for Desmond... not yet. Not yet. He still had a long way to go.

So he had to be okay.

But, for some reason, she'd just stood there. Just staring at that girl, and Amy too, only she was looking at her, as if she didn't understand.

Of course she didn't understand. Abigail herself didn't understand.

Charlotte noticed their presence and looked at them. She seemed relieved. Of course she was. She had left them in a dangerous situation. And it never hurts to have something to be happy about.

"I'm glad you're alright. Hasn't Christina woken up yet?"

No.

She hadn't, and earlier she would have said that worried her. If only by extension of her concern for Desmond. But not anymore.

She could only... think of one thing anymore.

That's what she told him.

"That doesn't matter now. How's Desmond?

"I... " The girl turned her head away before answering. She didn't want to jump to conclusions. She really didn't. But she did anyway. "I don't know. I don't want to interrupt to ask. Every second counts."

Abigail's face twisted in anger. She didn't need to be told. Of course. She was already well aware of that.

"But I'm sure he'll be fine." She had been about to say “was”, huh? Yes. Very sure, yes. " He's come out of worse, hasn't he?”

Abigail wanted to open her mouth and say she was right.

Of course she was.

Of course he'd come out of worse things, and he'd do it again today. But in the end she choked on her own words and the question hung in the air.

Her silent, unspoken prayer took root deep in her heart.

Behind the shadow of fear.

——

Desmond found himself standing in the middle of a sea of blood.

The ghosts had caught him and had been about to tear him apart (just about, right?), but now he was in a completely different place.

However, there was no turmoil in his heart. Not like the other times.

(Other times?)

He had a feeling this wasn't the first time he'd been in this place, so to speak.

It's true, he thought. I've been here before. This is where...

I witnessed the end of the world.

A shiver ran down his spine. The end of the world was his death. For him, the world would end, what difference did it make that for others it would continue to spin? None, of course.

The end of the world was a ridiculous concept.

The world had existed for billions of years and would continue to exist for billions of years more.

At the very least.

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

(Unless the gods got bored with the whole thing.)

But...

He had seen it here, hadn't he? Only it wasn't accurate to call it the end of the world. He'd only seen... the end of humanity.

The world, certainly, would go on as it had been for so long.

But humanity was another story.

Looking around. There was nothing but blood as far as he could see. But he had a feeling that there was more, much more, in the unfathomable depths of the sea of blood. Right under his feet.

Piles and piles of corpses.

Piles of…

"You see? This is how you'll end up. This is your end."

Victims.

Desmond finally woke up, his eyes opening wide with a start. His heart, which had been on the verge of stopping, galloped again.

There was no more light burning his eyes. No shadows. His loved ones were all around him. They were all... No, not everyone. Christina wasn't there. But almost, and that filled his heart with happiness anyway. He didn't worry because she wasn't among all the possible people.

Maybe it was selfish, but he allowed himself to be happy.

To be... not well, his whole body ached and he couldn't taste the blood in his mouth, who knew how much he'd thrown out, who knew how close he'd come to having everything....

But alive.

But alive. That was what mattered, in the end.

Abigail's eyes filled with tears.

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed as if she wanted to crush him. It hurt. But Desmond didn't complain. He lifted, weakly, his hands to place them on her back. Returning the embrace.

"Are you alright? Are you alright, my baby?"

"Yes... " As well as he could be, at least.

"I'm sorry." That was the next thing she said. A complete surprise, he had to admit. "I'm sorry I was so selfish.

Desmond thought about answering that as a question.

But it would do him no good to feign ignorance. Nothing but to run away like a coward. He could be a coward, but he didn't want to stay that way forever.

She... He knew what she meant. In fact, he had no doubt.

"I asked you," he said, instead of continuing to be a coward. It might be a small step. But it was a step. It was... enough, for the moment. "You're not to blame for anything."

He felt something wet fall on his head. Abigail's tears, it couldn't be anything else. It couldn't have been anything else from the beginning. But, when he lifted his head and saw them running down her cheeks, he was surprised anyway.

Desmond reached out a hand to her face. He wiped away her tears with his fingertips.

One by one.

"You're not to blame for anything," he repeated like an idiot.

He repeated himself, but...

"I was glad to see you all well. But... you're not all here. Amy, don't tell me that..."

"Christina's fine. Don't worry about it. Knocked out, but fine. Nothing serious."

Desmond nodded. Okay. If it was serious, Amy would be even more worried than he was, surely, and yet she seemed completely calm.

He had no reason to suspect she was lying to him.

"Okay, I..."

He remembered the dreams he'd had while fighting the poison he'd been injected with.

In fact, he remembered every detail as clearly as if he had lived it.

And, really...

In reality he wasn't sure if they had been mere dreams.

"Mom, do you believe in gods?"

Amy and Charlotte seemed surprised by the simple question. It was natural. Magic, which was part of everyone's life, in one way or another, was proof enough of the existence of a higher power. So they weren't angry to hear someone question it. It's just that people had no reason to doubt it. It was a given, like the sun rising in the morning... At least, that's how it was for most people.

As for Abigail, who had lived for two thousand years?

"Sometimes I believe, I'd rather have someone to blame for my fate. Other times I don't. Because I hate the idea that they exist and let me go through this. Anyway, why do you ask?"

"I think I've had dreams... that weren't dreams at all." Desmond swallowed.

It was crazy.

They wouldn't believe it. He himself didn't believe it one hundred percent, actually. It was what he felt, but not what he thought. There was a big difference between the two.

He couldn't even explain to himself why he felt it, so how could he find the words to explain it to others? But he couldn't help but do it. Did he want to stop being someone who was running away from himself? This was the time.

"I think they were visions of the future."

They looked at him as if he had lost his mind, with some pity, even. He couldn't blame them. It was the natural reaction. What had been expected. He knew that, in their same positions, he would have reacted the same way.

Because such madness couldn't be believed just like that.

He didn't even have proof to show them.

How to prove, in the first place, that he had seen something that had not yet happened? That... might well not happen, actually.

Maybe if he rested for a while, that feeling would fade and he would see this whole thing with clear eyes as the madness that it was.

It might. But somehow he was sure it wouldn't.

"You don't believe me," Desmond said. "Not even you, mom. And I understand. Don't worry about it."

"Desmond," Abigail said slowly after a while. "It's normal that after what happened to you, the poison is coursing through your veins, your body shutting down and going crazy at the same time... You had some hallucinations. And now it's hard for you to distinguish what's real and what's not. It's completely normal."

For perhaps the first time in his life, Desmond felt real anger towards Abigail. But it only lasted a moment.

Gee, he couldn't blame them for reacting that way.

Intellectually, he knew it was true.

But his heart didn't. His heart was frustrated to no end by this fact. In his heart still beat the horror of seeing the end of the world, the fear of.... many other things.

Loss. The loneliness.

The guilt.

The condemnation, with no hope of redemption.

Many other things.

"I understand that you think so," Desmond said, "but, inside me, I'm sure of it. Somehow I know. It was a divine message."

There was silence. Which, after a while, Amy broke by taking a step forward. Moving a little closer to his bed. The bed was full of blood and stank like it.

He'd noticed that just now, though.

"First of all, before thinking about whether it's true or not... Tell me, is it good news? Because you look terrible."

"I saw, uh..."

Are you really going to say it? Here and now? When we haven't even gotten out of one problem, get them into another, whispered an inner voice.

The voice that was always nipping at his heels. That made him hesitate.

That tripped him up so that he would stumble.

A tireless voice that never ran out of arguments to sabotage himself. But... he didn't have to listen to that voice.

It was not the voice of reason. Only the voice of his own insecurities.

"I saw the end of the Empire. I saw storms... of ice, of fire. I saw the elements themselves rise up against them, tearing down their cities, killing and destroying everything." Desmond swallowed. "I wandered through that devastation. In... a sea of corpses."

Literally speaking.

Amy didn't know what to say, again. Neither of them seemed to really know what to say. The girl crossed her arms.

"Well, that's good, isn't it? What's with the face? And besides, it wouldn't hurt, really. A little divine intervention. An end to this eternal war."

Desmond looked at Amy and felt angry, he couldn't help it. He thought about saying: in the beginning you woke up many nights with nightmares about the attack.

Because you couldn't bear the burden of killing someone, even if it was a non"human.

And you feel humiliated and ashamed of this fact.

And now it seems that you're over it. That now you don't even remember. And I'm happy for you, I'm happy for you, don't think I'm not.

But my struggle with it has only just begun.

He didn't say any of that, though.

What he did was lick his lips.

"I think it was... It must be my fault. I saw the dead rising. Blaming me. They were going to tear me apart."

"How could you do something like that?" Charlotte asked. "I mean, you're powerful. Maybe the most powerful person in this world. But we're talking about wiping out one half of the world."

"I don't know. But I did..."

"And even if you could do it, even if you do, in the future, what's wrong with that? You'd be a great hero. You'd go down in history as the man who brought peace to mankind."

Desmond was thoughtful. He thought about what to say. No, more like how to say it.

And whether it was worth saying.

He came to the conclusion that it was not. He shook his head.

"Forget it. The future is the future." He lay back on the bed. Desmond was still very weak, just talking was making him short of breath, so he wasn't in the mood to walk around. "We have a very... present problem on our hands."

"We do," said Abigail, "but you don't. YYou'll stay there, while I take care of all of them. I promise."

Desmond didn't think about it too much. He nodded his head.

"I'm surprised you accepted it so easily."

"It's just that... "Be honest, he said to himself. "I don't really want to fight. I'm... I'm afraid. That was close.

I'm so afraid. He thought, an echo of a faded memory. From which he thought he had distanced himself.

Not so much, it turned out. Maybe he never would.

Abigail placed both hands on one of his, squeezing gently.

"Yes. Too close. So you don't have to worry about anything."

"There's something... that worries me. I know I need to rest, that it's probably not good for me to move now. But I need to see Christina. I can't rest easy until I see her."

Abigail didn't think too much about it. She nodded, then helped him out of bed.

"I'm surprised you agreed so easily."

"Because I know it's true. You won't be able to until you see her. And you won't give up either."

Desmond smiled at that answer. Now was not the time, perhaps, but he couldn't help it. How well she knew him.

Helping him walk, the four of them left the room.

All was well.

Christina was alive. It was obvious. Amy wouldn't be this composed, otherwise; she wouldn't have been able to pretend, even if she'd tried.

Christina was too important to her. To both of them.

So she was okay. And when he got to the room where they'd put her, he'd be able to see the obvious truth with his own eyes.

Just a little longer and everything would be fine.

If she was still unconscious, he wouldn't wake her, he wouldn't talk to her. It would be enough for him to be able to get even a glimpse of her.

He wasn't asking for much. It couldn't be said that he was demanding.

He didn't want more, more and more.

Keeping what he already had was enough for him. He had enough.

When they arrived, Amy seemed nervous. Desmond told himself she was worrying for nothing, that they were both doing it.

Then Charlotte, at the head of the group, opened the door and Desmond was convinced. For he saw Christina there. Lying on a bed, eyes closed.

But unharmed. Breathing calmly.

If he hadn't been told, he would have imagined that she had simply fallen asleep.

Desmond let out a sigh of relief. Even that cost him more energy than he was willing to admit. Yes, they'd been too close, those sons of bitches. Too close.

Not just his life. Christina's too.

Everyone's, really, but Christina had been especially close. Christina was only weaker than Abigail because she could be killed.

Though that was easier said than done.

She was so powerful, he had always seen her as the closest thing to literally unstoppable....

Surely she had been hurt protecting the others.

She had a good heart.

Good and sincere intentions. The world could eat people like that alive. Without even leaving the bones.

That won't happen, he thought.

I won't let it happen. To any of us.

Desmond turned his gaze to the future, close to making a decision. Amy took a few steps forward. Toward, of course, Christina's bed.

"Maybe you shouldn't do that," Abigail said, suddenly.

Desmond instantly tensed. What did she mean by that? He couldn't dismiss those words as meaningless nonsense. After all, they had come out of her mouth.

She must have had a compelling reason.

Whatever that reason was, it was a bad thing.

His stomach was twisting like a snake coiling in on itself. But Christina was fine, wasn't she? She was perfectly fine. It was just like she was asleep.

"It's going to be okay. I don't know what you're thinking."

Amy didn't know why either, apparently.

He'd like to say that was enough to put his mind at ease. But no. Abigail's words, as always, carried more weight than any other.

Something is going on here. Something that's being overlooked.

That I haven't been told about.

Amy put her hands on Christina's shoulders. She shook her lightly, very gently. As if she were made of glass.

The girl's reaction wasn't proportional at all to the treatment.

Christina's eyes opened wide. And she screamed.

He'd never heard her scream in such a horrible way. She sounded so scared. She twisted in Amy's grip as if she were surrounded by enemies and not by her family.

"Christina, it's okay, it's okay, it's all over now, you're safe!"

It was only a momentary scare, he told himself. Because she wasn't quite awake yet.

She would regain her composure and everything would be alright because nothing had happened. Absolutely nothing. No matter how many times he told himself that inwardly, however, he didn't quite believe it.

"Don't come near me! You won't take me alive."

Amy's words had no effect either.

And what Christina had said in response? What was the point of that? If she was conscious enough to speak, she was also conscious enough to recognize them. To...

"What are you saying?" Amy asked, her tone tinged with desperation, as if she wished this would stop and Christina would say it had been a silly joke. As if she thought that could happen in the first place.

He supposed she did. Desperation could take people a long way.

Fear was the most powerful emotion in the world, wasn't it?

"Even if I fall, there will be many after me. Ready to continue with the mission."

What mission? What the hell was she talking about?

Everything was completely crazy, again. Desmond... disconnected from his body. He could no longer distinguish between up and down, left and right. He had the sensation of floating and spinning endlessly.

Desmond would have fallen, in fact, had Abigail not been holding him.

That was because, deep down, subconsciously.... Maybe it was because...

"It's me! It's me!"

A voice full of fear, yes. But not only fear. Also love. Only love, really. Fear was a shadow cast by love.

Christina opened her mouth.

Amy, without thinking, put a hand in her mouth. Desmond didn't understand until he saw Christina's teeth sink into her skin hard enough to draw blood.

He realized that Christina, whatever was left of her, had tried to bite her tongue to kill herself.

Gods. Gods.

This couldn't be happening. It was the same thing, over and over again. One problem after another. Always the same thing.

Couldn't they rest? Didn't they deserve at least a little peace?

"It's me! It's Amy. Your friend."

"That's not the problem," said Abigail. "She doesn't know who she is."

It took Desmond a while to understand the meaning of her words. He immediately wished he hadn't, though.

He looked back at Christina, lying on the bed, struggling and resisting Amy, who had put a hand over her mouth just to keep her from biting her tongue and killing herself.

Her words made no sense. Nothing she was doing made sense.

She didn't seem like the same person.

And it wasn't. It really wasn't. Worst of all, this wasn't something the golden masks had done to her.

It was something she had done to herself.

Why hadn't he realized this before?

Because of the shock of seeing her like this. That must be why. After all, Christina had confessed to him that she could feel other people's emotions as if they were her own. And that her greatest fear was losing herself in that whirlwind.

And had that moment come?

After all they had been through, was Christina now essentially dead? And what was left was nothing more than an amalgam of other people's emotions and thoughts?

Emotions and thoughts gathered in the fight against the golden masks?

That was it? It was over?

Was it all over...so easily?

Desmond gritted his teeth and took a step forward, determined. Determined to what? It's not like this was an 'enemy' he could cut down with his sword.

"There's got to be something we can do," Desmond said, growling through his teeth.

"I don't know, my darling," replied Abigail, very softly and sweetly. As if speaking to a child, as if preparing him for the worst. "Half of Christina's true abilities are a secret. Surely there is a solution. But... as to whether any healing mage has been allowed to do enough research to find it out...."

It was cut short, but she'd said more than enough. She didn't need to finish the sentence. She understood it wasn't going to be easy.

As usual.

But he hadn't asked for it to be easy. He just believed, he had to believe, that there was some way to fix this.

"Christina, please. I'm your friend. I'm... I'm your family," Amy said, desperate, on the verge of tears.

She saw blood trickling between Christina's lips.

For a moment his heart skipped a beat. He thought she'd somehow managed to bite her tongue, that she'd choke, that it would all be over before they even had a chance to try to fix this.

But it wasn't.

It was Amy's blood. Christina had bitten her so hard she'd drawn blood. No, not Christina, it sounded like she was blaming her.

It wasn't Christina, it was a completely different person.

The mission... was to bring her back.

But how? How?

A malicious voice, hissing like a snake, whispered from the dark depths of his heart:

If there was going back, hard as it was, this wouldn't be Christina's greatest fear.

Oh, sorry. It wouldn't have been. It's over after all, haha.

Desmond gritted his teeth even harder. He'd end up cracking a few molars in the end.

He thought of something, in the end.

Maybe it only seemed like a good idea since he was this desperate, but it was worth a try, at least. Desmond held out his hand.

"Give me the knife."

Abigail looked at him as if she didn't understand what he meant. But what else could he be referring to?

Christina... What was left of her realised instantly.

Although she had clearly misinterpreted his intentions, as she fought Amy even harder. In the end it did her no good. She was too weak for that. Anyway, if she was self aware, she would have used shadow magic to easily shake her off.

However, she was only using her physical strength.

That was a good thing. That is, within reason. It was still possible for her to use it, but accidentally. Accidental bursts of magic weren't exactly common. Even less so in people Christina's age, only in children and the elderly. But it was something to keep in mind.

Besides, it might not be strange at all. So little was officially known about shadow magic, after all,

"Give me the knife.

Accidental bursts of magic, besides being rare, were not usually dangerous. A mage with an affinity for the element of fire, for example, might create a few small sparks accidentally. Not set fire to his house.

But...

As he had already said. Shadow magic users were the exception to many rules.

"I said give me the knife," Desmond repeated, not looking at her.

Abigail said nothing. But she passed him the knife. Desmond squeezed the handle with his trembling hand.

Christina (not her, not her, not her, not her) was looking at her now.

(it's not her anymore)

Her eyes were wide and full of tears. Terrified. Completely beside herself with terror.

(don't look at me like that! not you!)

And Amy...

"What are you going to do?" she asked, looking sideways, most of her attention and energy still focused on keeping Christina pinned against the table. And keeping her from hurting herself.

She sounded nervous.

It hurt Desmond that he had to ask that question. And that nervousness. In another situation it would have broken his heart.

But now, the pain was nothing more than a hollow ache.

Compared to the pain of seeing Christina reduced to this. The thought of losing her. Forever. Worse than anything, to lose her while she was still alive, still able to talk to her, touch her, feel her.

A loss the likes of which no one had ever experienced.

Too crushing.

Cruel. Inhuman.

So... This has to work, he thought.

"Abigail's knife can cut through magic," Desmond explained, slowly. Every word is an effort. "Like everything else. Any kind of magic."

Desmond really wasn't ready to get out of bed, but he had. And he had no right to complain. Charlotte, physically, was perfectly fine. But her situation was a horror he couldn't even imagine.

Amy understood. She opened her mouth to say something, hesitated, then closed it again.

Abigail may have had her doubts, but she helped him to Christina's bed. Desmond couldn't move without help in this state.

"Desmond. We're not talking about a wall of fire or anything like that," Abigail said. "It's not something physical, something you can cut through."

"I know. But we have to try."

If the knife could undo the effect, then not only could it fix Christina's mental state. It would also allow her to live in peace for the rest of her life. Without the shadow of that fear hanging over her.

That would be the best possible outcome.

(And that's why it will never happen.)

Desmond gritted his teeth, again. He raised the knife in one hand. Bracing himself. It's not like he's going to... kill her. He was doing this for her own good.

He knew that.

But still, hurting her made him sick to his stomach. He would do anything to make this unnecessary.

But, as he had said, he had to try.

Desmond couldn't just sit idly by. Hoping for the best. Or leaving it in the hands of others. All the while wondering if 'it' could work, if it could save her. He had to at least try.

And if it didn't work, then he could discard it.

But until then he wouldn't be reassured. He would always keep that in mind. Of course.

Something changed in Christina's eyes. That's why Desmond stopped. Maybe it was just a figment of his imagination, but...

No. It wasn't.

Amy seemed to notice something too, judging by her expression.

"Desmond? Amy?" Christina said, only it came out quite wrong. Because of the hand over her mouth. Amy withdrew it, though cautiously. "Are you...? you?"

Desmond didn't drop the knife, nor did he lower it. It looked like her, sounded like her. But, for his luck, everyone's luck, this seemed too easy.

He would like, in a sense, to be the kind of person who accepted this turn of events at face value. Who simply rejoiced in his good fortune.

But that would be too stupid. Even for him.

He wouldn't believe... in something so convenient, just like that.

Christina's face twisted in a way that was painful to watch. It looked as if the skin might peel off.

Desmond didn't look away at the end, but only because Christina covered her face with both hands before he gave in. She began to tremble from head to toe.

Not very hard, but the tremors shook her whole body.

She was so powerful. But now she seemed so small and vulnerable, and no wonder. Losing your identity, your sense of self. Something anyone could take for granted even in the worst of times; even when you had nothing, you had yourself.

Anyone could count on that. Except her.

Desmond had known about her fears since that confession months ago.

But it wasn't until this moment that he really understood them. How horrible that was. The sword hanging above her head.

"What have I done?" Christina said.

Her voice was trembling too. She was clearly on the verge of tears.

Okay, that's her, he told himself. She had no idea how, but there was no need to question it. She just couldn't be acting. It wasn't possible.

"Listen, it wasn't your fault," Amy said. "You... You know it wasn't your fault. And no one got hurt in the end. Just yourself. So you have nothing to apologise for."

Her words of comfort were met with silence.

"Actually, it's my fault, more like. It happened because of that, didn't it? "Amy continued. What did she mean? "When you used your secret weapon. I pushed you to do it. I'm the one who should apologise."

Desmond put the knife down, finally. He forced himself to relax. Slowly.

But the lump in his throat wouldn't go away.

"No one is to blame. We're all...

Victims? It seemed wrong to label himself, to label them, that way. A humiliation. So how to put it?

He shook his head, not coming up with an answer, deciding simply not to finish the sentence. Move on to the next thing, without letting his doubt show. That wouldn't help her. Quite the opposite. If he didn't believe in himself and it showed, it would give her reason to disbelieve him.

"The important thing is that you're alright," he said at last. "That's all that matters. That we are all well."

After a moment that took forever, Christina dropped her hands, slowly, slowly, revealing her face. To his surprise, there was no hint of her emotions anywhere.

His expression was empty. His eyes hollow.

A drastic change. From a painfully human face to a dead face.

"Give me the knife," Christina said, her voice like the sound of dry leaves being blown by the wind.

Far, far away.

Too far for anyone to bring her back.

Desmond looked back at her. He focused as if trying to burn her face into his mind. Almost as if he was resigning himself to it.

"What do you want it for?"

Now came the trap? Had she managed to trick them after all?

"What do you mean, what for?" Christina was on the verge of tears, so on the verge that her chin was trembling and her teeth were clashing. But she wasn't bursting yet. She still didn't. “To kill myself, obviously.”

Oh. It was the other possibility, the one he hadn't allowed himself to think about.

"But... you're all right now," Amy said, "You're back with us. Don't you dare say... a thing like that!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But I have to die while I'm still myself. And it seems to me that my time... is running out."

Charlotte is here, Desmond thought, for some reason, instead of responding to what she had just said. She's here, watching all this. Hearing things she shouldn't be hearing.

Interrupting.

He felt angry, and he felt like throwing her out of here. But if he tried to do that, he'd fall before he could get to the girl without help.

Desmond didn't turn around. Trying to concentrate on what mattered. But, even though he was scared to death for Christina, at the same time he couldn't get that... indignation out of his head.

Indignation. Yes, that's what he was feeling at that moment. Above all else. Indignation.

"So what, you're just going to give up like that? So easily?" Desmond said. He clenched his hands into fists, which shook hard.

Christina was shaking too.

Her own identity had been shaken hard, being someone else. She must have felt alone and scared. She should be very scared. But, for some reason, it was hard to concentrate on that.

It was hard to understand what she was going through.

Desmond understood... he was indignant.

"I've been fighting all my life," Christina said. "Do you think I want to die? But I'm going to die anyway, if this goes on. So at least... I want to die before I stop being myself. I've already reached my limit. You've both seen it. You know I'm right, even if you don't like it."

"No." He was surprised to realise that it had come out of his mouth.

"No? "Christina repeated, as if she couldn't believe her ears.

"You think I should have given up?" The words were coming out of him without his consent, without him really being aware of what he was saying or where he was going. Not until he got there. It was almost as if someone else was speaking through him. Almost. But it was him, all right. The usual despicable person. "I know what it's like to lose yourself. That day ten years ago, I lost everything. My home, my family, my city. Even my own identity."

"That has nothing to do with me," Christina replied, beyond furious.

Desmond wasn't bothered by that reaction.

Anger was a thousand times better than indifference or resignation. The last thing he wanted was to see her resigned. If the anger was directed at him, well, it didn't really matter. Let her rage, let her hate him even. Whatever it took to wake her up. To make her fight.

"The only thing I had left," he continued, pretending he hadn't heard her, "was my name. And my life. I stopped being myself that day. For a long time, in fact, I stopped being... human. Inside me there were only a handful of poor roots: a gifted sword, an imaginary mission. And the smile of a woman completely unknown to me. My saviour. That was all I had left. All I had, for a long time. So should I have given up? Should I have died, Christina?"

"That has nothing to do with me," she repeated, but not with the same conviction as before.

Desmond took a deep breath. He had to calm down. He was speaking too harshly, Christina didn't deserve that, especially at a time like this. He knew he had to calm down, but....

How could he be calm in a situation like this? After... hearing something like that... Again.

Well it seemed like all the people important to him were running towards...

"Stop lying to yourself," he said, as tears finally began to run down his cheeks. "You're scared, but you want to live. You want to keep fighting. So fight! Nothing is over. It has only just begun."

Was he talking to Christina or to himself? Maybe both at the same time. And maybe that was right.

Christina went from lying down to sitting on the bed in the infirmary, looking at him. He thought she was going to say something. He thought that was it. But then she lowered her head into her lap.

I failed.

Amy walked over to her and gave her a tight hug, burying her head in his hair. Christina didn't return the hug. She just looked surprised.

"I'm begging you... Don't do this to me... Don't leave me alone."

Desmond joined in the embrace.

"Even if you lose yourself again... We'll always be by your side to bring you back. Always."

Christina let out a sigh.

"I'm going to... regret this. I know I'm going to regret this."

But she closed her eyes and returned the hug.

I'm sure I'll regret this. Wasn't that what he'd said, or at least thought, in the first real conversation the two of them had had, after the attack on the academy?

That he would regret it. That this was bound to end badly.

Because they were only looking to fill a hole, not each other. A relationship whose foundation was false was destined to fail.

That was what he had said, more or less, on that distant but warm day.

And what had Christina replied?

That it didn't matter. They wouldn't know if it would work or not until they tried. She had convinced him. And it had all started from there. All this... and for a while it seemed like it had all ended in one of the worst possible ways.

The inevitable separation, the broken hearts.

But in the end they had been reunited. They were together again.

Now...

Was he the one who was pushing her down a bad path?

No. Regardless of how things turned out, he wouldn't believe the right decision would have been to put the knife in her hand and let her do that.

He couldn't believe something so cruel.

He would make sure he never had to think like that. To save her.

Again and again.

As many times as it took.

But he had contemplated the future. In his visions, he was pulling Amy and Christina's corpses out of a sea of blood. His sanity was sinking in those lightless eyes. In fact, they were all dead and he had been left alone. Alone. In a sea of blood of his own creation.

This was going well, for the moment. Against all odds, they were managing to stay on their feet.

But...

He imagined that vision so strongly that he could almost see the floating corpses.

But, O gods, how long will it last?

How long will it last?

It Looks Like a Long, Long Way to Fall (2): END