There was a firefly tracing circles in the darkness of the night. Desmond reached out to grab it.

But the bug pulled away at the last moment, managed to escape, as Desmond had done so without energy. He wasn't being very serious. The firefly's light flickered like a light bulb about to explode, or something like that.

How fragile, he said to himself. Fragile and transient. Like the rest of us.

He made a second attempt, and this time he did manage to catch the firefly in his clenched fist.

Desmond squeezed harder. Crushing it.

He felt its internal organs, blood and other slimy juices spreading across his hand.

Fragile indeed. Too fragile.

He opened his hand and dropped what was left of the firefly.

The sun was still far away. They were in the palace, in a rich, elaborate garden, like everything else. Sitting on the edge of a raised platform where a tree grew, removed from the rest of the vegetation.

There were three more trees like it. A platform in each corner of this garden that was a box.

Especially seen from above.

Moonlight filtered through the leaves of the tree. Since they were just below, it painted them with brush strokes of pure white.

Who was next to him?

The person who was always by his side. Abigail.

The other two were elsewhere. And they were here, waiting. For what, he didn't know exactly.

Anyway.

The princess hadn't been able to identify any of the corpses. Neither had the men she had called.

He'd run out of clues, this was a dead end. How frustrating.

"What's wrong with you?" Abigail asked. "You squashed that bug as if you had something personal against it."

It was rare for her to joke, but he didn't feel like laughing now, unfortunately. Or was she not joking at all, even if it sounded like a joke?

In any case...

There was no need to ask a question like that. She well knew what was wrong with him. He supposed it was to make him talk. Well, he would talk. Although half the time talking didn't fix things, the opposite could easily happen in fact. As he knew from experience. At least Desmond supposed that by talking he would feel as if the burden on his shoulders was lighter.

"What do you think? That we're at a dead end."

"We'll figure it out. We always do."

"It's funny, but I'm even convinced of it. That's not the problem. It's still frustrating, though... Story of my life, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"That's what I always do. I kill and kill, and I always succeed, I always get the upper hand over the enemy. But meanwhile my personal relationships go to shit. They fall apart more and more."

"Not what's between you and me."

"True, but there's nothing I could do to make you hate me." By the time he realized what would come out of his mouth, it was too late to turn back.

Abigail's expression was... complicated. But she averted her gaze when Desmond reached for it, and that said more than enough.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You're right. I would never hate you. No matter what you do. But... "She put a hand on the edge of the platform and moved it along the edge until she found one of his hands. Wrapping it around. Squeezing. She turned her head to look at him again. "Isn't that a wonderful thing, Desmond?"

"Yes. I don't have to fear losing you... and being alone."

What a lie.

It only ends one way, Desmond. She's already warned you. Since that night you've been warned.

"I don't have to fear, in general, when I'm with you. You're an oasis of peace and security in the midst of dark uncertainty. Sometimes I wish we were the only two people in the world."

"To me we are," Abigail confessed. No, actually, hearing that wasn't a surprise at all.

"Yes. But..."I

"I understand what you mean."I

Did she understand? He wasn't sure he did himself. Not completely, at least.

"It's a wonderful thing. But it's part of the problem, at the same time. Because I don't know how to get someone to like me, you know? You... you fell out of the sky, like an angel. And Amy and Christina had their own reasons for feeling so attached to me from the beginning. For trying so hard to make 'this' work."I

"Do you really believe that? That you had nothing to do with the two of you becoming friends?"

"I do," he answered easily. He didn't even need to think about it. After all, that's why he'd said it. Because he had already thought about it, and believed it. He had no choice but to believe the truth. "Christina confessed it to me directly. That she wanted to hold on to me because I remind her, or at least reminded her... of someone very dear to her, who is no longer with us. As for Amy, her father... he was never a father to her. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to... belong. And that's why things went well until I screwed it up, with my own hands. That's all."

Desmond ducked his head. It was hard to say it out loud.

As if saying it would make it more real....

But it was time to admit it. That he didn't deserve that. That they would be better off without him. That he shouldn't fix anything, even if it was within his capabilities to do something like that.

"You don't respect yourself. But, if you really think that's the only reason, you're disrespecting them."

"I didn't mean to..."

"Maybe you didn't mean it. But that's what you did." Abigail took both his hands in hers, squeezing, both their hands trembling under the pressure. She forced him to look back at her. “Believe in them...and believe in yourself. They wouldn't have stayed by your side, they wouldn't have chosen this, if that was the only reason, as you say. They don't have so little respect for themselves. And you shouldn't have so little respect, either.”

——

Abigail found Christina alone and made her stand up, grabbing her arm. She had found an opportunity, at last, to talk to them alone. And get something out of her that she had to know, one way or another.

"What's the matter?"

"I just want to... no, I need to ask you a question. Why did you come here? Why did you agree? Just because it was a request from the princess, and royal requests are seen as orders? I made sure she was clear that it was a simple request. That the decision was in your hands."

It scared her, she had to admit.

It scared her that that's all it was, because her little boy was too dependent on them. But, if that was all, then they could only hurt him even if they were close to him. So she'd have to remove them from the game board. One way or another. Lest they finish him off; the people you loved the most were the people most capable of hurting you. That was a truth you couldn't escape.

"It's not about that."

"Then what is it about? Explain it to me."

Christina tugged, releasing her arm from her grip. Abigail let her do it. Because she knew she wasn't going to run away.

She gave her a defiant look in return.

Challenging, but not intimidating in the least. Christina, without exaggeration, was one of the most dangerous people in this world. A wielder of shadow magic and incredibly talented to boot. To top it off, she had confronted this girl in the middle of the night.

They were engulfed by the shadows of the night, and all those shadows Christina could use freely to crush her enemies.

But that was the thing about not being able to die.

That, over time, things like pain and fear lose meaning.

Besides, Christina wasn't going to lay a finger on her. Because she hadn't given her reason to go that far. If she did, if they ever had cause to fight between the two of them, Abigail knew who would be the victor, though. Whether it was night or day.

Me. As always, me.

Sooner or later.

"It's not like we had much choice in the first place," Christina said. "What else could we have done?"

"You just told me it wasn't because..."

"And it's true. It's not because it was a demand of the queen. But soon even simple students will be sent to the frontlines, okay? And if it was just that, well, we knew what we were getting into with this life. We knew something like this could happen. We could have accepted it."

"But?"

"We've been seen on many occasions. With you and Desmond. We're targets. The weakest links in the chain are the first to break... and when they break, they can ruin the whole chain."

"You feared they would hunt you down. That they would hunt you down, without rest. Because they can use it against us. I mean... Against Desmond."

"Of course, we feared it. Anybody would be smart enough to realize that that's an inevitability. At the same time, you're at the center of the danger. But we're safer here, close to you, than we are fighting on the frontlines being the target of your enemies. Because you have so many of them. And they are everywhere. Even here. In Albion. Satisfied?"

No, she wasn't satisfied at all. That wasn't the answer she had wanted to hear, but one that had broken her heart into a thousand pieces.

"Yes."

The girl and the witch parted once more, going their separate ways.

——

"They care about you. That's why they're here, that's why they've come this far.... Even if it seems like things can't go back to the way they were before, believe in what's between the three of you. Because it's real. Very real."

Desmond nodded his head, slowly. There was a lump in his throat.

Even if he tried to speak, he wouldn't be able to.

But he didn't even know what to say. Abigail had cut through his doubts and insecurities with precision.

He felt they were like bleeding wounds...but, when the bleeding stopped, he could begin to heal. And they would close in the end. Would they?

Desmond buried his face in Abigail's shoulder, in her long hair.

He didn't cry.

He didn't shed a single tear. Still, it felt like he was crying, if that made sense. And, just as if he were crying, Abigail hugged him and rocked him in her arms, stroking his back slowly.

When he calmed down, they separated. Some time later, Christina and Amy returned at last. At last. He had the impression that they had been waiting for quite some time, but maybe he hadn't really been waiting that long.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

In any case, here they were.

"What were you doing?" Abigail, right now, had adopted the same pose as yesterday while sitting at the edge of the window. Leg raised to her chest, arms around it, chin resting on it.

"Asking the princess a few questions," Christina said. "More importantly, I think you owe us an explanation about what happened tonight."

"We know as much about it as you do."

"Not about those golden masks. I'm talking about what happened with Desmond... what almost killed me."

Desmond became tense, very tense. His heart rose to his throat.

He had wondered what had happened to Christina that she had been out of the action, but he had never...never connected the dots.

Now he felt like a fucking building had fallen on him.

"I suppose you deserve that. But this is not the place to talk about it. We'll do it when we get home."

"We can talk here just fine," Christina insisted. "There isn't a single person within range of my magic, except, evidently, the four of us. This is as good a place to talk as any other."

"All right," Desmond said. "Let's talk, then."

Amy and Christina took their seats.

"I only half"understand it myself, but.... I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize. I understand that it wasn't something that could be helped... And now you're going to tell me that doesn't stop you from feeling guilty."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right."

Christina laughed, as if he'd said something funny.

"We've been away for a while... But not long enough for you to have changed much. I can still read you like an open book.

You have an unfair advantage, he was going to say, but decided to keep quiet. He shouldn't mention something like that so casually. Something so important to her. So painful.

"In a way, I'm glad about that," she said, grinning from ear to ear.

A strange way to start a conversation like this. Strangely positive, to be more exact. It had started with an 'accusation' like that... and now this.

But he believed her.

He believed she was telling the truth. That is, she had no reason to lie in the first place.... But, beyond that, Abigail was right. They had come here for a reason. If "it" wasn't real, or if there was nothing left, if there was no hope of rebuilding, then they wouldn't have made that decision. So, therefore, she had to be right.

"I'll explain. Although there's not much to explain. Now, Desmond's body is ready to receive my curse. Last night's disaster was about that very thing. The changes in his body. And you reacted to his intense emotions. They were too much for you, and you almost didn't make it."

She was explaining it all in such a clinical way...

"I've never had anything like this happen to me before."

"You've never felt anything like it. But I don't have to tell you. I'm sure you yourself already suspected the truth, at least."

"Yes. I thought: what else could it be?"

"There it is. And you were right, it turns out. Congratulations." She said it in such a... Such a bitterly sarcastic way. Completely out of place. Why was her voice filled with such feelings all of a sudden? When just a moment ago... she had said those things to him. He didn't understand. He really didn't.

There was something that escaped him.

But he knew that...

"Don't talk like that." He didn't want this. That hostility, as sharp as a knife.

It was the last thing he wanted in the world.

Abigail remained silent for a while.

"You're right. It's unnecessary. I'm sorry."

"You said that what happened... was for him to change, so that he would be ready to be given immortality. Isn't that right?" Amy asked. "But I don't sense anything different about him. Absolutely not."

"You don't perceive it with your five senses, it's true. But he has changed. Everything."

A shiver ran down Desmond's spine. That sounded, frankly, ominous. But it was a good thing. That Abigail wanted to die and was a thousand steps closer to getting her wish, now, was not a good thing at all. But the transformation had empowered him.

"When the golden masks defeated you and came up after us, I killed one of them.... "Desmond said.

"I never thought they'd be anything resembling a threat to you. What of it?"

"Let me finish," Desmond said, a little irritated that she'd jumped to conclusions. "I killed him...but not with my sword or my gun. I killed him without touching him at all, from the bed. Simply by moving my hand... and squeezing it. I crushed his chest as if he were an insect."

He remembered the firefly he'd crushed not long before. The sensation of blood and other internal juices spreading through his hand.

He felt like vomiting.

"I see. That's new," Christina said, quite unnecessarily. "Did you know that was going to happen?"

"Not that, specifically," Abigail replied. "Each person I make a contract with receives a power according to their desire. In other words, everyone is different. And, therefore, the evolution of each one follows independent paths."

"A no would have been enough, thank you."

Earlier she had blamed Abigail for starting it, but now that Christina was acting the same way, he felt just as bad.

It's not like he had a preference. It's not like he was picking a side.

Well, he did have a side.

Abigail's. But…

Amy gave Christina a sidelong glance and, none too subtly, nudged her. Asking her to calm down. Or rather demanding.

Christina rubbed the area where she had elbowed him with one hand and looked at Amy, a little irritated.

But she relented.

"Okay. So far, so good. But there's something that hasn't been clear to me. Unfortunately. While I was unconscious... struggling... In the meantime, I had some strange visions."

"Product of the pain. From the great shock to your system," Abigail offered as an explanation. Although, for some reason, despite that she didn't seem very convinced of her own words.

Christina shook her head.

"It's not about that. Or at least I don't think so. I saw... I saw a lot of things. I saw you, naked, lying on the floor of a strange building."

"Strange in what way?"

"Stained glass windows, forming elaborate paintings of figures completely unfamiliar to me. And..." She shook her head, "I don't know, strange in general. I have no words, but I've never seen a building designed that way. You were lying on the floor, covered in blood, but not dead. You were still breathing. And then I saw you, Desmond."

"Me?"

"Yes, only you were a little boy. And you were carrying a knife... this woman's knife, precisely."

He didn't want to say it, so he was keeping quiet for the moment. Listening patiently and waiting. But he agreed with Abigail, at least for the moment.

That all sounded like complete madness and nothing more than a result of the great shock she had experienced.

A kind of hallucination.

Nothing more or less than that.

He glanced sideways at Abigail to gauge her reaction. He was surprised to see that Abigail looked serious and thoughtful all of a sudden.

"Did you see that?" Abigail asked.

"I just told you," said Christina. "I wasn't going to say anything. I think that's the easiest explanation too, but it was too strange and...."

Abigail held up a hand, asking her to stop.

"What happened after that?"

"Desmond... blamed me for... Apparently you were dying and.... He jumped on me and tried to kill me with that knife. And then the building, everything, vanished," she said slowly, as if hypnotized. "And we fell into darkness. And I saw... I saw mem... What looked like... memories. Mine. But yours and Desmond's, too."

Desmond didn't like the direction things were taking. He still didn't see how that could be possible, but he was too busy wondering what kind of memories she'd seen to worry about little details like that.

If she had seen him... transformed into a beast.... If she had seen... the things he had done, with a smile on his face, then....

Christina put a hand to her head, clenching, as if it hurt. As if it would burst.

"Memories, huh?" Abigail asked. Offering nothing.

"First of all, tell me. Is it possible that what I saw was real? Real enough?

"It's possible that you connected with Desmond's mind during the experience. That you saw what he saw."

"I don't remember any of it."

"It doesn't mean you didn't see it," Abigail said. "I think that's more likely. Although even I can't be a hundred percent sure, Christina."

Her expression, for some reason, darkened.

She nodded her head.

"All right, then."

——

There were many people gathered in the throne room. Nobles with their heads in the clouds, mostly. The princess's knights, watching over the event. And, of course...

The princess herself, sitting on the throne, with the scabbard of her sword on her lap.

That was what Desmond saw when the doors opened. As soon as he appeared, many of them went silent. But not all of them. And he heard them as he walked down the red carpet, toward the princess.

"Oh, what a sight. The things you have to put up with."

"To think that the princess would choose a man like this. Not even a member of her personal guard."

"He doesn't look bad, I suppose. And well, the princess is... blossoming." A woman's voice, this time.

Desmond heard malicious whispers.

Whispers that would be with him from this day, from now on. For a long time to come.

But he had made this decision. Besides, it was too late to regret it. Truly, too late.

He reached the end of the red carpet.

He climbed the small stairs, which put him right in front of the throne. In front of Charlotte. As the princess rose to her feet, Desmond's body sank. Sinking to one knee on the floor. Ducking his head like a dog, causing his short hair to get in his eyes. Desmond crossed one arm over his chest. The open hand touched his opposite shoulder.

"Desmond Orosco." Charlotte's voice, calling his name, spread through the throne room like the aftershock of an earthquake. There was complete silence. She was a member of royalty. A physical manifestation of the will of the gods... or at least they liked to say. Forgetting about money, her army and other resources....

In her voice alone, there was more power than most people could amass in a lifetime.

"Do you swear to protect the peace of the kingdom, to put an end to its enemies, until the last day of your life?"

"I swear," Desmond said, loud and clear, still on his knees, still with his arm in that position. And his head down.

"Do you swear to serve and protect me until your last breath?"

"I do."

Charlotte could be a kind of messenger of the gods.

But Abigail... Abigail was a true goddess.

"I name you my personal knight, Sir Desmond Orosco," the princess said. She drew her sword slowly, with it she touched one shoulder, then his head, then the other shoulder. "From this to the last of your days, you will be my protector."

Desmond stood up and turned around, facing the silent crowd. The gazes that judged him.

In complete silence. It was time to applaud, but no one applauded.

Of course, Abigail and the others were in the crowd. Abigail, especially, didn't approve of this decision. But... She wanted to get it over with.

As soon as possible. Without putting anyone in unnecessary danger, and without casualties.

After talking with his team and Charlotte, he had come to the conclusion that this was the best possible decision.

He truly believed it. Even now.

Charlotte raised her hands... and began to applaud.

Forcibly, the throne room was soon filled with applause 'celebrating' his appointment as the princess's personal knight.

But he didn't care.

Desmond cared neither for the crowd's silence nor their applause. They expected his knighting wouldn't be received favorably, to say the least.

That was part of the point in the first place.

Desmond took a deep breath and stood up straight in the face of that hostility"filled applause. He had to play his part in this, if he was going to put an end to the golden mask business in the most efficient and least dangerous way possible.

This was the beginning of that.

Besides, he didn't care about the hostility of the crowd. The only reactions he cared about were those of his group.

Christina and Amy seemed... Neutral.

Neither happy nor angry with him, as expected. They had no reason to be.

Abigail, however...

Abigail looked furious.

Desmond swallowed saliva.

——

There were many people gathered in the ramshackle building. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and, if that wasn't enough, it also reeked of alcohol.

Discarded bottles, broken glass and here and there.

The biggest trace of the alcohol was, of course, in the voices that were raised, though.

Talking about this and that.

All those people were trash drowning in their vices. There were even men and women, men and men, women and women fornicating in plain sight. Not a care in the world.

That was what Desmond Orosco saw as he forced open the doors.

Many eyes (not all, some were too distracted) turned to him.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" someone demanded to know.

By way of reply, or at least one could say so, Desmond slowly unsheathed the sword that hung on his back. He gripped it with both hands, twirled it around.

"I know him. He was knighted a few days ago."

Another, not the one who had spoken, left the man he had been groping to reach for a pistol placed on the table. He had no trigger discipline. Well, discipline in general. Most assuredly.

"A certain Desmond Orosco. No one knows how he reached his position. Though rumor has it our little princess likes to have him between her thighs."

There were a few mischievous chuckles, but not free of tension in the face of the inevitable battle.

"'ll tell you one more time, what are you doing here? What are we charged with? What charges? Do you have a warrant of investigation?"

Desmond decided to answer at last.

"My name is Desmond Orosco, as you have said. Today, I have come to kill you all."

Everyone reached for their weapons. Swords, spears. Pistols and rifles. Lying on tables or underneath, hidden behind furniture. Everywhere.

In the blink of an eye they showed themselves for what they were.

A gang.

Worms that were going to be exterminated. Crushed until there was nothing left.

The atmosphere in this room had completely changed in seconds, thanks to the power of his words.

It would become a slaughter ground.

But not for him. They believed they were going to get on top of him and get the better of him, sooner or later.

If sheer numbers were enough to finish him off, he wouldn't have made it this far.

One of them stepped forward.

Pistol in hand.

Seeing him use 'the enemy's weapon' instead of preparing spells against him would make this easier for him. Easier to think he was doing the same as always....

Desmond smiled without realizing it.

Oh, who was he kidding? Last night he had killed Albion citizens without a second thought. And he would do it again.

Somewhere along the way there had ceased to be a difference for him.

The worm pulled the trigger.

The bullet flew out, slicing through the air. Desmond raised his sword and nonchalantly parried it. Power coursed through his veins. He had always felt... a difference, in the middle of a battle. As if...

As if he were more alive.

He fired several shots himself, the others, frozen, did nothing but watch.

Needless to say, he deflected all the shots with ease with his sword. Long ago, doing it just once had seemed like a great feat to him. Now he did it with casual ease. It helped, of course, that he had completely lost his fear of dying.

With a casual ease, he reached the shooter....

And severed his head from his shoulders, with a single blow.

The stream of blood flew to the top of the lamp that illuminated this room. The bulb that illuminated his slaughter had been dyed red.

The fall of the head to the floor was the starting signal.