1

After they calmed down, they parted ways. And by that he meant he separated from Christina and Amy. Amy wanted to stay with her, to take care of her and keep an eye on her. Understandable.

And he already had someone to keep an eye on him. He felt kind of slighted. Stupidly.

Even if they hadn't had that fight, that bitter separation, the same thing would have happened now. It was perfectly normal.

He was just a little too sensitive.

Desmond was hard to kill, but his feelings were pretty fragile. Like a child. As they always had been.

Abigail picked him up and carried him on the way to his room. Desmond wasn't too well, he couldn't really help Abigail much, but he was grateful that she hadn't lifted him in her arms. That she allowed him to "walk."

That way he felt a little better, at least. It would have been a little humiliating.

Nice and humiliating at the same time.

And hey, the patient's mental state was, of course, very important. So it was worth it.

At least that's how he was quick to justify it to himself.

Going down the hallway, he heard a door opening and, although he had no knowledge that there were any besides them around, he wasn't surprised.

He simply assumed it was "someone else".

"Hold on a moment." Until Amy's voice came from behind him.

Abigail stopped, turned, turning them both around in the process. Of course.

"What do you want now?"

"When the fight was over, you said you understood how this power you've granted me works. I want you to explain it to me."

How did it work? He didn't see the point of that question.

I mean, Amy gave an order and they either managed to resist or not. It was that simple, wasn't it? What answer was she looking for?

"Is that what you're worried about now?" Abigail answered the question with another question. And rather harshly. It sounded, in fact, like an accusation.

Desmond grimaced.

He would like that, even if everything wasn't going perfectly, he would at least like that his loved ones could be at peace with each other.

They didn't have to love each other, but at least not talk to each other like that.

That would be a good start.

And why had her tone of voice sounded like that to begin with, what had happened?

Unconscious, fighting poison...dying, Desmond could have missed all sorts of things. There was no point in spinning his head around.

He supposed there wasn't. But that never stopped him from doing sp, anyway.

Amy replied with a defiant look.

"Yes. Because, sorry, I don't want it. I need it. This isn't over. And the more I know about my biggest weapon, the better."

Abigail nodded her head after a while.

"You're right. All right. Listen to me."

Desmond didn't want to listen. He wanted to get back to bed as quickly as possible. But Amy wasn't wrong; this was the best thing, for her, for everyone. So he could hang on.

Had to, rather.

"It's very simple, really."

So it wasn't an answer worth enduring this for? All of this, the pain, the tiredness, the dizzy feeling, the urge to vomit.

It was as if after checking that Christina was... as well as she could be, all his systems had become ten times worse.

"First you ordered them to die," Abigail continued, "They resisted with all their might, and in the end only one of them killed himself with his own knife. Then you ordered them to flee. Then they all succumbed to the order, in fact, they didn't even resist very hard. That's the key. They wanted to do it."

"How?" Amy said, surprised.

"Think about it. They were dying one after another. Not really progressing. And like I said, the die was already cast, they really couldn't do much more. They were scared, vulnerable. So your power was the last straw that broke the camel's back."

Yeah. It was very simple, actually. Although he hadn't thought about it. Not that he'd "bothered" to think about Amy's power either, really.

He didn't even like to remember that Amy had a contract with Abigail, just like he did. To be blunt.

"It's like the difference between..." Abigail stopped and tilted her head in a weird way, as if she'd heard something.

"What?"

"Nothing." She shook her head slightly. "I was going to make a bad joke. But I thought better of it. Humor Isn't my thing. And anyway, this isn't the time or the place."

Amy didn't respond to that. Unless folding her arms and lowering her head, thoughtfully, could be considered a real response.

"So, when I "ordered" him to hit me, he did it so easily, even in public, because..."

"You know what kind of creature he was. You shouldn't be surprised."

"No," she said softly. "It's true I shouldn't. Well..." She took a deep breath, raised her head. This time to look at him. "Goodbye. Sorry for the inconvenience."

"It's nothing. Take care... take good care of Christina."

Amy nodded.

"Of course. I'd give my life if I had to."

Again. Desmond didn't want to hear about it, he couldn't stand any of his loved ones running to their deaths, obviously. But they kept talking about the same thing.

As if it was in their nature.

It was a bit... bitterly ironic that he should say so, but couldn't they value their own lives a little?

Even if it was just a little?

At this rate they were going to murder him with worry. He wasn't even joking. His heart was beating faster.

They said goodbye and parted again, this time for real.

But only for the moment.

He'd gotten out of this one, even though things had gotten very bleak. He wouldn't die. Not today, at least.

Abigail laid him carefully on the bed, when they arrived.

She put her hands on his shoulders and stared at him. Desmond was taken aback by her sudden intensity, shutting his mouth, returning her gaze, simply waiting for what she had to say.

"I know you must be angry. That you will want to seek revenge. But you need to take it easy. Because you're not well, Desmond, you're not well."

"I told you I don't want to fight. That I'm... I'm too scared."

"Who are you trying to fool? Yourself? Because you can't fool me. It's true that you're scared. As true as what I just said, at the same time. You want to see blood, I understand, but you mustn't be too hasty. In this state... and because it's even possible that the damage... is worse than we thought."

Desmond tensed, unconsciously. He was pretty screwed up, but he'd come out of it, so he'd get over it eventually, wouldn't he?

Desmond moistened his lips.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well, it's been hours, but you're not regenerating. At least not fast enough to mean anything. And we're dealing with a new poison, created by magic. We don't know what we're dealing with, come on. It's possibly... I don't want to scare you, but it's possible you've lost your power."

"What? But that's not possible. I mean, we're talking about magic... It's not a physical thing. How would a poison affect that?"

His natural instinct was to trust anything that came out of Abigail's mouth, even if it seemed crazy. But this was simply too much.

And this was something Desmond wasn't going to say out loud, but he wasn't buying it for another reason. If he had lost that power, then he was back to being a mage without a shred of talent, whose only way to fight was to turn his body into a ticking time bomb.

Without Abigail's power, he would have died a thousand deaths. He would never have made it this far.

In fact, he had died a thousand times. Only he'd come back a thousand more.

That power not only represented his ability to fight the world, but the contract. His special bond with Abigail.

That was a reason he wouldn't admit either, not out loud. But...

He couldn't believe it because of that too. That made believing it against his own nature. It was as simple as that.

"It's not entirely physical, but it's not like...." Abigail suddenly fell silent, dropping her hands.

What is happening now?

"Mom?"

"I was born in a time when magic was only the stuff of fairy tales."

It took him several seconds to simply process what he had heard. But he was a long way from understanding it, such madness.

"What?"

One curveball after another. He was completely unable to keep up.

"Is that... a joke? You're right," he said, forcing himself to laugh. "Your sense of humor isn't very good. But whatever. It's the same for me."

"It's no joke, Desmond," she said in a way that left no room for doubt. "That's why I was burned at the stake by people shouting that I was a witch. You saw that, didn't you? Or at least what I remember."

"But what are you talking about? You were burned at the stake because you wouldn't grow old... Didn't you? Because slowing down aging, even, that's not even possible for any mage?"

"That's why they'd burn me today. But no, back then... they burned me for just having magic."

Desmond didn't know what to say.

Abigail had no reason to lie to him. And if she did, she wouldn't choose a lie that was so hard to believe, she was cunning. The smartest person he had ever met, and surely, by dint of experience, the smartest person on the planet.

But he couldn't believe this.

Not for any of the reasons he had named earlier. Simply because... no. No one would have.

Desmond would have been less surprised if she had told him that, in the distant past, mankind had not needed oxygen to survive.

In fact, he would surely have nodded and accepted it at face value.

Because Abigail had said so.

But this... Not this. This was too much.

"Human beings are afraid of the unknown, the strange. As is natural. Like any other animal," Abigail said.

Desmond bit his lower lip hard, so hard that he drew blood.

He knew.

Of course he knew, but that wasn't the point. His worldview was reeling. I mean, he had always believed that magical energy was what separated the human from the animal.

What separated them from those monsters of the Empire.

But they had all been the same, magically sterile, two thousand years ago. So... what separated them, really?

What had caused the world to split in half like this?

Pure coincidence?

It seemed too crazy to believe. But the truth was right under his nose. He could see it reflected in those eyes, red as blood.

Like moons tinged with red.

"Maybe I shouldn't have told you," Abigail continued. "I don't want to worry you, like I said. But I don't want to lie to you either. You deserve to know. You deserve... to be prepared for the worst. Although I don't mean to suggest that it's likely. Just, you know... You know what I mean?"

"I'm sorry. I'm still trying to take it all in."

"Yeah."

"Promise me you won't get mad and I'll tell you some more."

It was strange that Abigail was so hesitant. Normally, she would just blurt it out, whatever it was, just like that.

As she had done with that... "detail" that had rocked his whole world.

Normally she wouldn't ask permission.

At least that was how he saw her. What could be going through her head? He didn't know. But he did know one thing for sure.

"You know I can't get mad at you. Not really."

"That's true," Abigail said, and smiled, though he could hardly call it a smile of happiness, nor would he say it was tinged with sadness. It was something in between. "Part of me wishes the damage was permanent."

Okay. He hadn't expected that. More than angry, he was confused.

"But only part of me. Because I know you wouldn't be able to stand by and watch while your loved ones risk their lives." Abigail put a hand to her chest. "Still, that... desire... flutters in my heart, like the flapping of a butterfly's wings. I guess this is what it feels like to be a mother."

To want to keep your child out of harm's way, even though you knew that wasn't possible. Yes... Abigail was the only mother he'd ever had, essentially. His "other mother" wasn't even a memory.

So he couldn't say he had much experience in this matter.

Abigail and he hadn't even been together very long.

Still, it sounded right to him.

Angry? Why would he be angry? Desmond smiled warmly.

"I'll tell you something, if you promise not to get angry," the boy said, realizing that he had borrowed Abigail's words only after they came out of his mouth.

Abigail did the same.

"You know I can't get mad at you. Not really."

"I feel... blessed that you've endured so much in this world. Long enough for us to get to know each other."

Yes. How else to describe their meeting other than with the word miracle?

He'd been doing it since the beginning, since he didn't know the half of it about her. About how truly miraculous she had been. A woman who had been born two thousand years ago, who had been trying to die and rest in peace for so long, had saved his life.

What's more, she had breathed life into him after he had lost everything. He didn't think enough about that. He really didn't.

Abigail, contrary to his expectations, replied with a smile.

"It's true. I spent a long time being bitter, I didn't understand. Why I deserved such endless suffering. But now I understand. Now I understand that this had to happen. The miracle of our meeting. And what is yet to come."

Desmond finally lay down on the bed. Not for any special reason, simply because he could no longer sit up. It wasn't just his body that was heavy. So were his eyelids. But he wanted to keep talking to her.

"Sleep, if you want to," she said as if she had read his thoughts. "In fact, it's better if you sleep. Don't worry, I'll be watching you. I'll keep an eye on you."

"I'm very tired, it's true.... So tired that I don't know if I'll be able to sleep. And sore."

"Yeah. That happens sometimes. Desmond..." Abigail sighed.

She dragged a chair close to his bed and sat on it, resting her hands on her chin. Not taking her eye off him at any time, just as she had said.

As if afraid he'd disappear if she did, if only for a second.

"I think I've been going around too much, trying to avoid the issue. But it can't be avoided. The only question is whether you feel ready to talk about it."

"What about?"

"What else? Your vision of the future."

Oh. Honestly, between one thing and another, it had slipped his mind. But he wouldn't say it out loud. Forgetting something so important.... Partly, he wished he could forget it, but....

As soon as Abigail mentioned it, everything exploded back into his mind.

Everything he had seen. What was going to happen. Maybe, after he got some sleep, that feeling would pass, that strange conviction that he had seen the future with his own eyes.

Yes, maybe. But he didn't believe it.

Did he want to talk about it? He couldn't say that he did. But he knew he couldn't help it. Sooner or later he would have to talk about it, so why not now?

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything else. Nevertheless.

He took a deep breath.

"Okay. Shoot," Desmond said.

"What else did you see?"

Desmond tried not to react. In vain, most likely. He wasn't a good liar. Certainly not good enough to deceive Abigail, of all people, even if he had learned a few little things over time recently.

Even if he had done nothing, not the smallest gesture, not even biting his lip or clasping his hands together, Abigail had surely guessed.

"What else?" It was a safe way to answer, passing the buck back to her. Or was it not? Would it look suspicious?

Whether it would turn out suspicious or not, Desmond was convinced she'd already seen right through him, hadn't she? So what did it matter? Besides, hadn't he made up his mind to be honest with her?

If only because he was aware that he couldn't avoid talking about this, no matter how much he wanted to.

So... why was he struggling?

What was he... Was he afraid exactly?

"Don't play dumb, please," Abigail said. "If you don't want to talk about it, I'll accept it. But you obviously didn't tell us everything. You looked too scared for it to be just about the destruction of our enemies."

"You told me yourself that they are not so different from us. A lot of innocent people would die in the process. It's not something I can just be happy about. I'm not the same."

He thought: What are you doing?

He thought: How can you be such a mess?

"Just like I said that this war has no solution other than the extermination of one side. " Abigail dropped her hands. "Besides, I don't think that alone was enough to affect you that way. What I saw in your face... It scared me. It scared me so much. Desmond, I'm serious. What did you see? You can tell me. Whatever it was."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"I... I... " He licked his lips. They were dry. Very dry. Like his throat, and they'd been that way for a while. Yes. He'd tried to hide the truth, but not too well, not at all. How scared he was. "Death. A sea of blood."

"I told you, if you don't want to tell me, you don't have to...."

"It's not that." Desmond gritted his teeth. "Let me finish. I was standing in the middle of that sea of blood. But not alone. With me were Christina, Amy and even Charlotte... All of them dead."

He struggled to look her in the eye.

"And so were you."

Then he saw it and understood in an instant, or rather stopped kidding himself about it. This was what frightened me.

Seeing the happiness on her face.

Of course, he had long been aware that she wanted the peace of death and that nothing he could do could change that. Still, it was crushing to see her face change....

And to realize that he had never seen her so happy. Not once.

Tell me, are the smiles you give me fake?

For a moment, Desmond feared he had succeeded in that moment of intense anguish, to communicate mentally with Abigail. But the moment passed and Abigail showed no reaction.

Good. That was good.

He was aware that he had ended up on the edge of a cliff....

No, that he was sitting on a fucking bombshell that could end their relationship. Break it into so many pieces that no one would be able to rebuild it.

So he made up his mind to forget about that question.

To throw it away, into a dark corner where he couldn't find it again.

2

Desmond fell asleep in the end, despite his physical and mental state, with that restlessness spinning around in his head nonstop. Though he refused to give it form again, that restlessness still assailed him like a toxic cloud.

But he fell asleep.

He fell asleep and his dreams were peaceful, without nightmares or visions of the future.

3

Abigail also fell asleep. She swore to herself that she wouldn't, that she would keep a careful watch over her little one. But she couldn't help it.

She hadn't done much, really.

The escape from the Empire's capital had been far more exhausting, it couldn't even be compared. And yet she stayed awake all night. Besides, she was used to... to, well, everything.

She'd been on the run for several lifetimes, literally.

She'd done everything and everything had happened to her.

But this time she fell asleep like a fool. Maybe because the exhaustion wasn't physical, but mental. Watching Desmond succumb to the effects of the poison. Consumed in front of her eyes, without her being able to do anything about it.

No, without her being willing to do the only thing she could do for him.

That's why Abigail had given up.

But she woke up in time. When the door opened. It made not the slightest sound, but, still, Abigail noticed.

Because she sensed the presence of an "intruder".

He wasn't coming for her. He was coming to finish the job.

Finish Desmond.

Abigail stayed where she was, eyes closed, despite the current situation. It's not as if she was doubting for a second that this was a golden mask coming to finish what they had started.

No, quite the contrary. She stood still, simply listening, precisely because she was convinced of that.

And she was waiting for the most opportune moment.

Could the enemy see in the almost complete darkness of this hospital room? Abigail assumed she could. It was too dangerous to assume otherwise.

She heard the chirping of steel. The sound, she was sure, of a knife being unsheathed. Okay, she had waited more than long enough. And the enemy was within reach, judging by the sound of footsteps.

The time had come.

Abigail leapt into action, interposing herself between Desmond and the enemy. As she had expected. He hadn't realized that she had been awake the whole time.

And now it was too late to fix his mistake.

Abigail caught the knife blade with her bare hands. It cut easily through the skin and sank into her flesh. Her back hit the edge of the bed. She uttered a silent apology for disturbing him.

If possible, she would like to take care of this without Desmond even knowing.

Abigail didn't care that the knife had sunk in so deeply. The pain was just pain. Passing, like any sensation or emotion.

She could take it, and something like this wouldn't make her drop the weapon, or lose the fight over it.

She'd thought this would be easy, after all. Because they had been too careless again. That she would snatch the knife from him and kill him with it, covering his mouth to silence him, so as not to disturb her little boy, and drag him outside. All in a matter of seconds.

But then she realized something she should have been aware of all along. It was as if she was losing her touch.

What she hadn't noticed was that there had been two pairs of footsteps, not just one.

The other golden mask tried to take advantage of her confusion to drive his knife into Desmond's skull.

Abigail turned around, dropping only one of her hands and still holding the golden mask with ease.

She extended her now free hand toward the other enemy.

Before he could complete the move, the stab.... She sent him flying a few meters with a blast of water. The enemy crashed hard and rolled on the ground like a dying rat, but he didn't utter the slightest sound, the water blast, directly in the chest, had been too much for him. It had knocked the wind out of him.

But not dead. Not yet. But she had bought herself some time to finish what she had started.

No wait, what was she saying? This was just a continuation of what had happened in the sewers.

And it wouldn't end until the last of them was dead.

Abigail struggled and snatched the knife from him with ease, taking advantage of the moment of surprise he had at what she'd done to his partner. She plunged the knife quickly, three times, into his chest.

With great violence, savagely. As if she was trying to pierce him completely with that blade. From end to end.

The fourth and last stab was in the throat. With such force that it pushed him against the wall.

He was a golden mask, without a doubt, a member of those sons of bitches.

But he wasn't wearing a mask.

He wasn't a person she recognized. That wasn't the important thing. The important thing is that she could see his face writhing in pain and fear, as he drowned in his own blood. See his eyes widening as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.

Watching as slowly, slowly, the light in his eyes... faded.

She enjoyed it, of course. Every second of it. She burned with rage.

After a while that felt longer than it should be, she withdrew the knife, letting the golden mask collapse.

He wasn't a corpse yet. But it wouldn't be long now, despite his futile attempts.

Bringing his hands to the wound, as if to stop or at least slow the bleeding. It was already too late for him. She was glad that his whimpering was barely audible. Because he wouldn't bother Desmond like that.

Abigail turned to deal with the other enemy.

The other golden mask had raised to his knees, but hadn't quite managed to recover or get up.

The aforementioned extended his hands forward, teeth clenched, concentrating.

Instantly Abigail was enveloped by an invisible force that held her in place. He had used his affinity, huh? Abigail could launch some attack at him from a distance. But she decided not to do that.

She simply... pushed, resisting the force that enveloped her.

And she succeeded, advanced again, slowly, but surely. The golden mask's eyes widened like saucers as if this was the first time someone had managed to resist his affinity. Maybe it was.

Or perhaps he was simply afraid of what was coming.

His attempts to stop her became more desperate, the effort soon left his face red as a tomato, covered in sweat.

To no avail.

He realized that he couldn't get out of this one like this, that he had to run away.

Also in vain.

Because Abigail had already caught up with him and pounced on him like a tiger that had been starving for days and days. She threw him to the ground and straddled him before savaging him.

Stabbing him dozens of times while covering his mouth with one hand. To make sure his scream couldn't get far.

She stabbed him so many times that by the time she realized the guy was dead and there was no longer any need, she had probably been stabbing a mere sack of meat for quite some time.

Abigail slowly rose to her feet. She stared at the knife, as if hypnotized. Watching the blood trickle down the blade and drip to the floor. This was a start.

But far from enough.

The black hole in her heart, which had opened up since she first feared losing Desmond, wouldn't close until there was none of them left.

She shook her head and looked away from the knife.

Then she picked up the corpse, slung it over one shoulder. She went for the other one, he must have been a corpse by now too, no matter how tightly he had clung to life.

Desmond was still in a deep sleep, dragged down by his exhaustion. Though it also helped that she hadn't made much noise, of course.

She'd leave his side. But only for a moment.

For she had a delivery to make.

4

Richard rushed into the office, his office, and slammed the door behind him. Surely everyone had heard it. And they knew what it meant.

As a leader, it was not good to show his emotions. But he wasn't able to hold back.

Not this time.

The walls around him, as expected, were so damp that mold and grass were growing between the cracks, and so much water was falling that it seemed as if the walls themselves were crying.

He wasn't crying, though. Not even on the inside.

Richard was actually burning with rage. Of course he was.

They lived in the sewers because secrecy was a necessity. Having a lair outside was too dangerous.

This was rat territory. And them, only.

Here they were in control, in more ways than one.

Outside they were in control, too. Or had been, at least. But it seemed that with every passing second, every day, it was slipping further and further out of their hands.

They had been so close to getting rid of that monster, but the princess had managed to save him.

He had sent two of his men to finish the job. But they hadn't been able to do it.

They had been killed.

In one night, he had lost too many men for... nothing. Literally nothing.

He couldn't let this go on. He had a mission to accomplish! And he couldn't stop until he breathed his last breath.

Richard stopped in front of the table in his office.

There was a lot of paperwork there, mostly illuminated by the artificial light of an equally artificial firefly lamp. Copies of the actual records. Sketches of plans and at least one backup plan for each, one always had to take into account every eventuality.

Intercepted communications and letters, to receive information.

To have material with which to forge a letter in someone's name, if it looked necessary, for example.

Richard vented his anger on the table, pounding it with both fists. He threw his arms to the right, causing papers to fly, then to the left.

And this time more than just paper flew.

A picture he had framed. a small picture of Jordan and him, in the old days, smiling as if they had their whole lives ahead of them. Ah, if only he'd known....

The glass exploded into a thousand pieces as it hit the floor.

Not that he failed to catch it, but distracted by his own thoughts, Richard didn't even try to catch it.

He was stunned, just staring.

When he woke up, the damage had already been done.

Richard stared at the shards of glass scattered on the floor. So intently, but, despite that, it took him a while to realize that they were covered in blood.

Had he cut himself?

No. It wasn't that. It was just that his mind, and the painting, was transporting him to a distant past. But still very close in his heart.

The blood spilled on the broken glass was definitely his. But it wasn't coming from a small cut on his finger, but from a wide one on his belly.

Richard crawled backwards with one hand. The other he put over the cut on his belly.

It hurt, of course. As much as if he were burning alive. Even though it was just a wound, his whole body ached.... The truth was that it was nothing to be surprised about.

The entrails could escape through the cut. His bloodstained hand might be the only thing preventing that.

He took a deep breath.

But, as long as he didn't die, he could recover. That was the wonderful thing about healing magic.

He could recover as long as he got medical assistance in time, of course.

Yes, as long as Richard could get medical assistance in time. There was the rub. It didn't look like he was going to make it. Nor was he going to get anywhere.

There was an Empire soldier in front of him.

The wound in Richard's stomach had been made by a bullet. Richard had tried to wriggle away from the enemy soldier, fallen through a window and was even now crawling.

In vain. The weapons of those demons could kill from a great distance.

Even if he crawled across the room, he couldn't outrun the soldier. But he couldn't fight either.

It only remained for him to accept his fate.

The Empire soldier raised the rifle, aiming it at his head. He was going to pull the trigger. Seal his fate...

And he did. But nothing happened.

He couldn't believe it. He had run out of bullets. That alone had...

Saved him? That wouldn't change his fate. It would only delay the inevitable.

The soldier snorted and threw the rifle to the ground. He would have more ammunition on him, of course, but he figured he couldn't afford to waste time reloading or it wasn't worth it.

Instead, he unsheathed a knife hanging at his side.

And he started forward to kill him up close and personal.

Richard extended his free hand upward, pleading. Not just his body language, his gestures. To his shame, a plea escaped beyond his lips.

"Don't do it! "As if that would change anything, in the end.

As if those inhuman monsters knew mercy in the first place. But he was too blind, too desperate, to see it. Of course.

Soon Richard would be dead. Soon it would all be over. He had never thought his life would end this way. He had always thought...he was destined for something more. Something great.

And not just that. In reality, now that he was facing his death, his aspirations were the least of it. He could only think about day to day things. Simple things that everyone took for granted, when they could be taken away from him any day.

And also... Richard thought about the person he would have wanted to share those things with for years and years.

Until they both withered away.

But apparently that would be nothing more than a dream. Richard closed his eyes, accepting his fate. He had fought hard, he had been fighting all his life, on every possible front.

But this was as far as he went. He supposed maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

To let go and rest. At last.

The knife cut. Gurgling sounds filled his ears.

They weren't his. The blade hadn't even come close to his skin. So Richard's eyes snapped open.

Just in time to see that the man who was going to kill him had been cut practically in half. On his face was stupefaction, more than fear. His eyes... Whatever spark there might have been in those eyes had already gone to a completely different place.

That piece of flesh collapsed, letting him see the person behind it, holding a sword.

Jordan, the rightful king of Albion.

Jordan, who had somehow become his best friend and confidant. He still wasn't sure how that had happened, to tell the truth. Sometimes he had the distinct feeling that he was dreaming.

Sometimes he feared he would awaken at any moment. From the bottom of his heart.

Jordan was a king and, unlike many, he looked like one in his golden armor and long hair of the same color. He gave the feeling that he had an aura.

It was as if he was being embraced by sunlight.

It was... He was beautiful. Larger than life.

Especially at a time like this, of course. Because he'd saved his life.

Jordan smiled at him.

"You've let yourself get caught. You seem to be losing your touch."

"Ha ha." He tried to sound irritated, but it didn't come out at all. There was amusement in his tone. How could his mood change completely just by looking at him, even after a near death experience. "Very funny. Give me a hand."

He did just that.

"I've got you."

Richard took it and Jordan helped him to his feet. Richard draped an arm over his shoulder.

Jordan put a hand over the bullet hole in Richard's stomach. Close, but not touching it. His hand was enveloped by a blue light, the glow of his magical energy kicking in.

The light brought him no relief, but only more pain. As if someone was literally twisting a knife in his wound.

Something similar was happening, yes.

Richard watched as the bullet was pushed out of the hole it had created. And he watched as it began to close shortly thereafter.

Jordan had used a simple healing spell, affinity"independent magic.

However, even with something like that he managed to stand out. He was exceptional in every way. Truly someone worthy of being a king. If he couldn't lead humanity to a better future, then who could?

They set off. Well, more like Jordan dragged him with him.

It was starting to heal, but it was still bad. They went through the window he had broken on the way in. So it was now just a hole.

Soon after they stopped, looking around. As far as they could see they could see nothing but the battlefield.

The wasteland that had been the ground had become a pile of rubble. Among the rubble were strewn corpses and, of course, with each passing second more people were falling.

On one side and on the other. It was complete chaos. Almost couldn't tell who was who, even though they weren't actively involved in the battle.

Almost.

"Seems like they can come out of anywhere, huh? Endless."

Yes. It was like an accurate way of putting it. As if, every time one went down, two others came out to replace him. At the very least.

This massacre was a usual repetition and would be replayed until one side died out. The gods were on their side, so Albion would be the surviving side, in the end.

But Richard wondered how long that would take.

How many soldiers and how many innocent people would have to die before that happened.

He wondered, too, if he would live to see it. The end of the war. Sometimes, looking at Jordan, he allowed himself to believe in that dream.

"Take it easy. Take a deep breath," Jordan continued.

Richard looked at him now, too. In profile he looked just as majestic. On top with his blond hair blowing in the wind.

Yes... Jordan made him dream. It was very true.

Richard moved his gaze to a soldier, one of his own, who was thrown to the ground and stabbed dozens of times to death.

That's the fate Jordan has saved me from, he thought clinically.

As if it had nothing to do with him. Even though he was one of his comrades. Just another hero.

Yes, that was the problem. One more.

Endlessly, he thought.

"Have you had your moment?"

Despite their surroundings, the horror of war, Jordan was smiling like a child having fun. As much as he dreamed, Richard had no idea what those eyes were seeing. He was only sure that it wasn't the same as what ordinary mortals saw. Like him.

Richard nodded his head.

"Then let's go, brother."

Together, they threw themselves into the heat of battle again.

They had done it time and time again in the past, as.... Yes, as brothers. Like the life partners they had been.

But now... now everything had changed.

Now he was alone, with this immense burden on his shoulders.

Now...

"Richard. Richard!"

They called to him from behind the door. No, they had been calling him for a while, surely, he just hadn't noticed.

Richard slowly came back to reality.

The past... was the past. This was his present. His dirty, dark present.

He didn't rush to open the door.

First things first, he had his priorities. He picked up the small painting from the floor. He removed the shards of glass by running his hand over it, silently apologizing to Jordan.

He was no longer in this world, but that didn't mean he wasn't with him.

That Jordan couldn't see him, somewhere.

At least Richard preferred to believe that. But no one really knew what waited beyond the veil of death.

No one except that boy, Desmond. And the witch who accompanied him.

Maybe.

Because none of them had really died. Their souls hadn't left their bodies. Actually, when they died it wasn't much different than getting a patient's heart beating again before they slipped away.

Yes. Even if they didn't know that, most likely.

Richard put the picture back down on the table. The glass might be broken, but there was nothing wrong with the frame.

He stared at the portrait for a moment.

Then he shook his head, turned away.

First things first, yes. But he had business to attend to. That he couldn't put aside forever.

He opened the door to his office, stepping out. He had only heard the voice of one person. Yet there were many of his men waiting.

Waiting for him to appear. Waiting for his word, his guidance. Because they needed all those things.

And it was his responsibility to give it to them.

It was his responsibility to protect the kingdom that Jordan had left in his hands in his last moments. And, of course, Jordan's daughter as well.... In fact, that was more important than the kingdom.

Because Jordan had made it clear to him, what his priority should be, should he have to choose.

But... not only for that... Not alone.

His heart ached at the thought of her. But she was precious to him, at the same time. The last thing he had of Jordan. And that little girl, Charlotte, she could have very well...

"You're scaring us. What happened?" one of his men asked.

The same one who had been calling him.

"The men I sent to finish the job are dead."

They didn't ask how he knew that, he was sure. They knew very well that if he said it, it was a fact. Rather: that he couldn't be wrong.

"What do we do now?"

Richard thought about it for a while. He opened his mouth to answer.

3

Abigail, carrying the corpses of the golden masks, one on each shoulder, opened the door to the room. She was determined to take the corpses to the morgue, have their identities investigated, which would lead to the leader.

Which would allow her to finish them all off, as she wished.

But she stopped before crossing the threshold. She turned her head back, and looked at her little boy.

Yes. You had to prioritize. He was her priority. Not revenge, no matter how much rage burned in her chest and pushed her forward.

She couldn't afford to leave him alone for even a second, in case they sent more men to finish the job. If Amy or Christina were with him, it would be something different, maybe. She could trust him to them.

But they weren't.

Christina could fight, but her current state of mind no longer made her trustworthy. And Amy was busy with her.

So Abigail had to stay. She should have known from the beginning, in fact, that leaving wasn't a good idea.

She didn't want the dead bodies here anyway. The smell could disturb Desmond.

Wake him up or disturb his sleep. He had been quiet, not dreaming of anything special, perhaps, but not having nightmares. She wanted to keep it that way so he could get some real rest.

Abigail dropped the corpses in the hallway like garbage bags. One on top of the other.

She wasn't worried about someone walking by, seeing them and being scared to death. Nor what might happen as a result. Except for one thing.

That they'd walk into the room, demanding explanations.

Because, of course, that would surely wake Desmond up. He deserved his rest. She pushed the corpses away from the door so that this wouldn't be the first place they'd think to come in and ask for explanations.

If they even dared, instead of running in the opposite direction at full speed.

That was also a possibility.

Abigail went back into the room, very, very carefully shutting the door behind her. Desmond was still asleep, as if nothing had happened. Good. Just fine.

That was the way it had to be. She hoped it would stay that way.

She thought about reaching over to give him a kiss on the cheek or forehead, but ended up dismissing it. If he had remained asleep despite the fight, then that probably wouldn't wake him up.

But there was no need to risk waking him up on a whim like that.

He needed to rest. He'd had a very bad day.

For that very reason Abigail set to work, cleaning the bloodstains in the room with her water magic. The smell could disturb him, wake him up.

Or worse yet, in a way. Awaken bad memories and turn whatever he was dreaming into a nightmare.

She was that boy's mother. It was her duty to take care of him.

4

"We have to get out of here before they come to find us. Move everything. The sewers... they're not a safe place anymore."

Richard stopped to think for a moment.

Everything he had said was true, so it's not like he should take it back. It's just that he had suddenly become blocked. He felt the urge to bring his hands to his head and run them through his hair, felt the urge to sigh in frustration. But he didn't because he was....

At least he was supposed to be the pillar of it all. He couldn't let his nervousness show.

Because otherwise the others would flounder too. Richard had a lot on his shoulders. The men around him, with their black cloaks and golden masks, were only the beginning.

A whole kingdom. And he was the leader of the organization that was supposed to save the kingdom.

That would lead it to a better future.

Sometimes, as at this moment, Richard wondered if Jordan had really made a good decision. If he hadn't been blinded by.....

He swallowed hard.

He couldn't help himself.

This was no time to think about him. But how could he not remember every time he had to play this role?

He started at last.

"The couple of safe houses on the outskirts of town will have to do. For the time being. Come on, let's get going."

Yes. His response was... simply to postpone making a decision. Give himself some time. But he still couldn't come up with an answer.

He wasn't seeing things clearly.

He was used to being in control. To get everything more or less smoothly.

The recent streak of failures... and all the losses along the way, had shaken that confidence.

Richard clapped his hands, ordering them to get going again.

So they did.

Him included, of course.

5

"Nothing."

That was how Charlotte answered her question, betraying her hopes. Abigail hadn't expected much, to tell the truth. But this...

"What do you mean, you have nothing?"

"They've investigated thoroughly, as much as possible. But there's nothing. No paperwork of any kind. Previous jobs, medical records, not even a birth record. It's like these two people don't... Well, they don't exist."

Under other circumstances, Abigail might have told herself that the investigation had only just begun.

That it had actually been too early to expect a big prize.

But, if by now they had found nothing of the sort, then there was no trail to follow. No, everything in this world had a trail. But it was currently far out of their reach, at least.

"How could that be possible?" Rather than an answer to Charlotte, what she did was speak aloud to herself.

"It makes sense, actually."

When Abigail glanced at her, Charlotte looked startled, shrank in on herself. Had her gaze been that intense?

Or how... insecure was the leader of this kingdom?

Well. That was being too hard on her. It was merely proof of her sanity. She knew Abigail could swat her like a fly any time she wanted, if she gave her the slightest excuse.

Just as she ought to know that she wouldn't do that, of course.

But the fear remains. Sometimes she believed that fear was the defining emotion of humanity.

Others, she allowed herself to dream that it was love, really.

"I mean..." She hastened to explain "I'm sure the leader sent some nobodies. Because if they weren't able to finish the job and ended up dead, as it happened."

"Or he would have sent his best men, to make sure they were capable of finishing the job. No, that's not the fucking point. How many people like that can you have at your disposal? People who don't exist? That's ridiculous."

Yeah. How many?

Because the same shit had happened to the other golden masks. The ones who had died in the attack on their house. Well, the few whose faces had remained well, despite the security measure of their masks.

Melting, melting the wearer's face as well, to leave no trace.

And they had been investigated not for a few hours, but for weeks. They were still doing it, in fact.

Supposedly, at least.

Abigail felt like throwing up...or screaming. Or whatever it was.

She felt like she was going crazy with rage.

"You're right, but... That's the way it is. I'm sorry."

As if you needed to tell me that, she thought. Yeah. Abigail wasn't being very "charitable" to the princess. She hadn't been from the beginning. And, really, she couldn't force herself to care.

She had far more important things on her mind. Charlotte was, at most, a stepping stone to the life she wanted.

And to Desmond's happiness. Yes.

That too.

"I have to accept that. Yeah. What about the golden masks? What do you plan to do about them?"

"I'll send my men in."

"I'll send my men after them. As many as I can. Last night, I should have done the same. Put my silly worries aside. I'm sorry."

If she had, they could have accomplished everything at once. Save Desmond from the poison and, as a bonus, Christina wouldn't have had to push herself so far... ending up the way she had.

But she couldn't blame the princess for this, really.

No more than she could blame herself for not wasting her time convincing her that night.

She had said she didn't care that she was being unfair, but....

Maybe I'm becoming like Desmond. Partly.

Abigail didn't respond. She put her hands on the table, leaning forward, and remained pensive. For a while.

"I get it!" Abigail exclaimed.

It wasn't a solution, but Abigail was thrilled to have gotten a little closer to the truth, if she was right, of course.

"What do you mean?"

"Where's the catch. I think. Follow me," Abigail said.

Charlotte didn't protest. She followed her without further ado almost as if she trusted her. Perhaps she did, but not entirely.

Abigail led her to the morgue. She saw lying on tables the corpses of the golden masks she had killed last night. Golden masks without their masks, nor their black cloaks.

But there were golden masks in this very room.

The ones they had been able to recover, from those from the attack on the house, sat on a shelf.

Abigail picked one of them up as she passed, without looking.

Abigail had fought those men just now. She had killed them. But, despite that and the fact that she could see without trouble in the dark, she didn't recognize them.

Only because of the implications of them being here. And the obvious fact that they were fresh corpses, that they hadn't yet begun to rot.

Abigail put the golden mask on one of them, at random. She made sure it was securely fastened, as much as possible without tying it down. Her hands were shaking for some stupid reason. Slightly, but they were.

"What are you doing?"

She wasn't surprised she asked that question. She could have explained herself before she started doing anything, but... she didn't feel like it.

"Wait and see. If I'm not right, I'll explain. If I am... You'll see for yourself."

She stood back, watching.

After a while, she removed the golden mask.

He heard Charlotte gasp. It wasn't for nothing. For what Abigail had predicted had come true.

The face of the person in front of their eyes had become completely different.

It Looks Like a Long, Long Way to Fall (3): END