"What are you thinking about?" Christina asked.

"That I'm in no hurry to see Charlotte again," Desmond admitted, with a wry laugh. "The last time we saw each other... well, we had a fight."

He felt the need to explain, not to fill the silence, but because, honestly, at this point he couldn't even remember if they had heard about it or not.

So he could explain it while he was at it, just to make sure.

"We?" Christina repeated.

He supposed that they hadn't known anything about it. Either that or she was confused by the plural.

He supposed it wasn't correct to use it, given the circumstances. He was to blame, but he hadn't been involved in the fight.

"More like she fought. I just... took the blows. Not literally." Desmond added as he saw the surprise on her face. And the momentary anger.

Christina looked embarrassed for jumping to the worst possible conclusion. And to have been flatly wrong. She didn't blush, though.

It always... Well, it used to seem that nothing could make her flinch. She was anything but an open book, with a few exceptions.

"Ah. Right," the girl whispered.

Not that it would have been that big a deal even if she had physically assaulted him. Even in that pathetic state he could have withstood a few punches from a little girl.

And that would have been all, at most. A few punches.

Charlotte wouldn't have lost her temper to the point of reaching for the sword, under any circumstances. She still needed him and it hadn't been that big a deal in the first place.

"She won't even remember that by now," Amy said after a while, but not one so long that he was confused as to what she was referring to.

"You sound very convinced, for some reason," Desmond replied.

"I guess from personal experience."

Desmond nodded as if he had some idea what she meant by that.

"I'm not so convinced. But, of course, I'd love for you to be right."

It sounded too easy for a life like his.

They finished crossing the scarred city. The former splendor of the capital was no longer more than a shadow, but.... The light hadn't been consumed. That, at least, he could say with certainty. There was hope for the future.

For the future of the city and for his own, for all of them.

That was what he had to believe.

They entered the palace, and someone came to ask them to head for Charlotte's office as soon as they set foot inside. As if they had been waiting for them all this time.

She didn't keep them waiting. Quite the contrary.

She made time for them, shooing the people gathered with her away as soon as they knocked on the door. They went inside once everyone had left. Desmond was the last, closing the door behind them.

He looked at Charlotte with some nervousness, as if fearing to see something in her gaze. A spark of genuine hatred, perhaps, and not the temper tantrum of that day.

He didn't see that. In fact, he didn't see much of anything.

Charlotte's expression was so neutral that it was clearly forced. Standing there, hands on the table, leaning forward, looking at them as if they were being examined.

"I'm glad to see you safe and sound." Her tone was just as impenetrable. "I feared the worst. Every day I feared... " She shook her head. "Is it settled?"

"Yes." An easy question, to start things off. He had no choice but to tell the truth.

"What about Theo? He didn't want to return."

That wasn't a question, but she'd been wrong. From now on was when the complications began.

"He was dead.

Charlotte frowned.

"It had to be true. You look... different." Ah, was it obvious to the naked eye? He supposed it was natural. For her, especially, considering that the last time she'd seen him, he'd barely been able to stand. "But then how did you do it?"

If the man she had seen as the last hope was dead, how had he managed the impossible?

That was a good question. A very good question. He wasn't even sure why he'd found everything fixed when he'd come out, or they'd come out, of the belly of that monstrous winged serpent.

Desmond shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Oh gods, he didn't even know where to begin. But sooner or later he would have to.

"It's a long story," Desmond said, and resigned himself to blurt it all out. Or at least everything he needed to.

***

"You expect me to believe that? I was willing to put our quarrels aside, but now you come to treat me like a fool? Like a child?"

Yes, she was even angrier than the last time she saw her. As expected. Even with certain parts omitted, it wasn't the most plausible story. He wouldn't have believed it himself if he hadn't experienced it firsthand.

And yet it seemed somewhat unreal to him, still, almost as if he had been daydreaming.

"It's the truth." Abigail came to his defense.

It hadn't been his choice, but Abigail's, that he hadn't told the whole truth. Before arriving in the capital, she had approached him one day to talk to him alone. And to tell him the following.

"If that childs finds out about the time travel, she will want to try to use it as a weapon to save her kingdom. It's too dangerous."

She was right, as usual.

Playing with time and space could have disastrous, irreparable consequences.

He could think of many frightening possibilities.

Surely Charlotte would be intrigued by that possibility, especially if the rumors about Albion's situation were true.

But it wasn't worth it.

"Something has happened because I can tell. You can tell he's fine. But... A giant snake, out of nowhere. It ate you and when they pulled you out you were just fine? That's it?"

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what happened, but... it happened."

Charlotte fell backwards and for a moment she feared she would end up on the ground. Desmond moved forward to catch her, but stopped just as quickly.

Because the girl simply fell on top of the chair behind her.

Of course.She hadn't fallen, she'd let herself fall. Of course. How stupid he was. But... After watching Christina die in front of his eyes, watching her light go out....

All in all, the possibility of his loved ones dying had become more real in his heart. It wasn't as if he had never known, like a stupid child. As if he had never feared it. But... This was different.

That was why his heart was pounding hard against his chest.

Charlotte didn't seem to notice his nervousness, but she wasn't even looking at him in the first place. Her head was down. She took a deep breath. Tired.

"Hey. If you found Theo and made a deal for him to help you, in exchange for letting him escape and saying he was dead, you can tell me. I don't need him. Not compared to you. I wouldn't mind."

It wasn't a bad guess, Desmond supposed. A reasonable enough alternative explanation, from the princess's point of view.

The problem was that they had all already been aware of what she had just said. That Theo was worthless to her, at least in comparison. There was a reason they hadn't bothered to resume the investigation, after reaching a stalemate five years ago, until Desmond was in danger and needed him.

"No. That's not what this is about."

Charlotte looked into his eyes for a while. Finally, she sighed again. Bad sign?

"All right. I believe you."

"How's the situation? Along the way, we've heard... rumors."

It might sound like he wanted to change the subject more than anything else. But it wasn't true. This was more important than a conversation that could be written off. That was it.

It was about the future, after all.

"Sadly. Too bad. I could give you detailed explanations, show you maps... the before and after. But I'll leave it at this. We've lost several cities. And I have the impression... that the end is near. Whether we have you on our side or not."

Charlotte was frank, devastatingly frank. At the same time speaking with a dry tone. As if she didn't have the energy to show how much this hurt and worried her.

Desmond's heart dropped to his feet.

So that was the way things were. He gulped, feeling as if he had something stuck in his throat. It didn't help.

Desmond didn't know what to answer. On the drive back, he'd heard similar things along the way, of course. It wasn't a complete surprise. But it wasn't the only thing they'd heard. Rumors that didn't paint the situation as dire, and also of victories. Of hope. Besides, it was very different to hear things like that from the mouths of strangers exchanging gossip on roads and in taverns, especially, who might as well have no fucking clue about anything, than to hear it straight from Charlotte's mouth, who had a complete picture of the situation.

All in all, she had hoped that the real situation was not as hopeless as the worst rumors painted it to be.

Desmond should have known better. Since when did optimism pay off?

He should have believed the rumors about the kingdom going to shit because that was more believable. It was the natural way of things.

How hard it was to care for something, nurture it and make it grow.

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And by contrast, how easy it was to destroy it.

How fucking easy.

He had to do something about it. He didn't even know where to start, but luckily he wasn't the person making the plans. He was a weapon to be directed.

"Give me a mission."

Abigail looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"You just got here. You could rest for at least a day."

Rest. As if he could sleep, considering everything that had happened to him in that town, the two maddening weeks on repeat, and also the current circumstances in the kingdom.

It's not as if only strangers were in danger.

They depended on Charlotte to protect them from their enemies. If the kingdom fell, if she fell, then they would have to live the rest of their lives on the run.

And if it was just Abigail and him, even that wouldn't be so bad, really.

They had only each other. The two of them against the world.

But if the worst happened, it would also drag Amy and Christina into a life on the run. Which they wouldn't survive. Not for long.

Charlotte fixed her gaze on him, again. Her eyes were full of determination. No matter how black the shape of things to come, she wouldn't give up until the end. And even then, she'd fight.

In that they were alike.

The girl's spirit was one beyond her years.

"All right," Charlotte said, slowly and after a while.

***

When he more or less regained control of his breathing, he raised his head slowly. Because it was spinning. Not with much force, but it was still annoying nonetheless.

Desmond hadn't expected what he saw.

An Imperial dog, of course. And in a tenth of a second, as he was being grabbed, he recognized the armor that fist was wrapped in. The armor with a bloodred sheen, from that fateful night. The training camp.

Back then, everything had gone to shit, but at least they had managed to escape. Almost all of them.

Abigail hadn't. Abigail had been captured, and....

It was since then that everything had started to spiral out of control. But the same wouldn't happen today.

He was a huge guy, completely covered by that armor, and as a weapon he carried a kind of wheel three or four times bigger than him. But it could take him and more.

It was a wheel like the ones on the gates of a dam.

However, there was one important difference.

The wheel, its entire length, was covered with something like blades. Spikes, perhaps better said.

The enemy grabbed the wheel with his free hand, the hand he had used to catch him and go through the gate with him, tightening his grip on the weapon.

There was another one walking beside him. The same, only this one had a giant hammer. That threw sparks.

He hadn't forgotten the bad reaction he'd had when he'd stormed the lab where Abigail was being held. Hit with an electrified baton, he had almost died right there, the current destroying the flow of magical energy inside him, turning the physical reinforcement against him. Exploding the time bomb.

The wheel giant's armor glowed, coating itself in a red like the blood that was to be spilled, here and now. Covering itself with a red even more intense than that of the flames of the fire he had set, whose reflection danced on the armor's plates.

Next...

It pounced on him, dragging the giant wheel along the ground as it ran. The spikes spun at blinding speed. Only a blur could be seen from them.

They could tear a normal person apart just by grazing him, with that speed.

It was clearly wreaking havoc on the ground, as it moved forward. Scratching. Causing sparks and chunks of concrete to fly off.

It was an intimidating figure, he had to admit.

Especially since the giant wasn't silent. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, in fact, his voice charged with rage. It wasn't a personal rage, but one that directed equally at all Albionese, he was sure.

Still, rage was rage. It helped. It gave strength.

No one knew that better than he.

The one with the hammer had stayed where he was, not moving a step. It wouldn't last, of course. But he was letting his partner make the first move.

Desmond managed to get to his feet before the wheel reached him. Albeit with some effort. And he was still struggling to breathe, slightly.

Desmond raised his sword, facing his opponent. He didn't move. He wasn't going to move. Not to dodge, at least.

"Here we go," he said fearlessly.

He waited for it right where he was. And, only at the last instant, Desmond moved quickly, putting his sword in the way of the attack. He managed to stop it from reaching him.

But not stop it. Not that, that would be asking too much.

The force of the impact was great enough to drag him backwards, against a wall. Along the way, his feet, planted hard on the ground, created furrows in the concrete. Shattering everything, sending chunks flying, scattering around the room. More of the same as the wheel, in short.

The blades kept spinning. They couldn't reach him, not now. But they weren't too far away either.

It was as if they were the jaws of a living creature, wanting to devour him.

Sparks flew between them, almost hitting him, as the wheel blades grazed the edge of his sword.

Desmond tried to push the enemy back. But his efforts were fruitless, as the armor was illuminated in a blood red. In other words, giving him strength. Allowing him to go beyond the limits of a human body.

Kind of like what he did.

Since he was trapped against the wall, the hammer Imperial finally moved, acting. By that he meant he gave a shout and jumped towards him.

The hammer was raised above his head, two-handed, and covered in electricity. It was sparking. Like an electrified fence.

Desmond couldn't afford to get hit by that weapon.

Nor could he push the wheel guy back with his strength. Maybe, if he had more time, or was in a better position.... But no.

He had no time at all, and the position wouldn't change. So he had only one option.

He dropped the sword, lunging to the side.

The sword bounced off the spinning blades, sending it flying. Meanwhile, he ran as fast as he could. Without looking back.

The bastard with the hammer had jumped, and he couldn't control his landing, already in mid-air. He landed next to his partner.

At that very instant, no, before his feet touched the ground, the hammer hit the spot where Desmond had been a moment before.

Cracks, like a spider's web, spread across the wall. So much so that he thought it would crack open, splitting in half.

For a moment.

It didn't. A shower of debris and dust. That was all. For the moment.

Desmond turned back to them, called the sword back to his hand and it came as it had so many times before. There was no doubt or weakness within him.

That experience had cleansed him.

The boy laughed in his opponents face, sneering with the flames of the fire crackling and tirelessly advancing behind him.

"You bastards. You think I'm that easy to kill?"

Soon after:

"There is a fire in the AF zone! I repeat, there is...!"

That voice reached him.

It came from far away, through an intercom, or whatever it was called.

Good. Let everything burn. Everything.

The guns, the drugs, everything.

He and his enemies were on a direct collision course. This time, too, Desmond had no intention of moving out of the way.

As he had observed in the previous attack, the guy with the hammer was understandably faster than his partner.

So the hammer guy was the one who got there first, the one who first brandished his weapon.

And his attack would have reached him too, except that Desmond had an ace up his sleeve. That would change and decide everything in a heartbeat.

Because he could afford to waste one here, he threw one of the fireballs in his pocket towards the hammer. Of course, it exploded immediately when it came in contact with the weapon, moved by the momentum of a powerful blow, on top of it.

And the explosion, the resulting blast of fire, had several effects.

For one thing, it deflected the blow from the hammer. The Imperial noticed, of course. But he couldn't stop it. It was too late.

And it wouldn't have mattered if he'd hit the air, nothing else.

But the blow ended up on the side of his companion's head. It sounded as loud as a shotgun blast in a cramped cell. The hammer cracked his armor, caved in his head, and knocked him to the ground. For his legs couldn't hold him up anymore, after that.

He moaned weakly, writhing like a worm. Pathetic. How pathetic.

His head was caved in, split open. He could see the skull bone glistening amidst the blood, the split skin and other mess.

In that state, he couldn't keep hold of the spiked wheel, of course.

It slipped through his hands and rolled around, eventually coming to a stop. Both the spinning of the wheel inside and the spinning of the blades it was covered with.

A small wall of fire had risen between his enemies.

"Son of a bitch. Now you'll see how..." The one with the hammer, still standing, though barely.

See? See what?

He had already seen all they had to offer. That was what he thought as he chuckled internally.

Desmond lunged for the bastard with the hammer.

Grabbing the sword with both hands, using it as if it were some sort of spear. The tip of the sword struck him under the chin. Penetrating.

Not very deeply, thanks to that pesky armor. But somewhat.

He was actually surprised it had been so easy to damage it, to be honest. His memories of that night were a little fuzzy, thanks to time and emotional distance. But he believed it hadn't been that easy.

Had he instinctively hit a weak spot? Or had he just gotten stronger along the way?

Either way...

Desmond leapt backwards, doing a full flip in the air, using the guy's chest for support. Of course, he left the sword right where it was. Where he wanted it.

He didn't need it, here and now.

As the other Imperial staggered backwards, trying to grab the sword, pull it out, what Desmond did was walk past the guy on the wheel, lying on the ground.

To pick up the weapon that had been that one's. He lifted it with ease, thanks to his superhuman strength.

He didn't need one of those armors to handle the spiked wheel.

He took a look at the weapon.

"That's how it works? I see."

He activated it.

It started up again. The spikes spun again, rubbing against each other, raining sparks. The wheel screamed, screaming for blood.

It was going to give it.

"Wait, wait!" The enemy, lying on the ground, raised his arms, pleading with him. He had not recovered from the blow of the hammer. And he would not.

He brought the gigantic wheel down, striking right into the chink in his armor.The spinning blades sliced through skin and flesh, immediately grazed his skull, even.

The shriek that escaped the bastard's throat was like none he had ever heard in his short but violent life.

But it didn't stop.

He was merciless, but also quick. His shriek only lasted a couple of seconds. After that there was nothing.

After that... his head was gone.

The whole helmet was shattered, in pieces all over the floor, mixed in with the pieces of his skull and the blood that flowed and flowed.

There was nothing recognizable left in all that bloody mess.

Nothing, not a speck.

Finally, the other son of a bitch ripped off the sword, tossing it aside. Ignoring his wounds and the blood trickling down his neck, he mustered his strength to try to attack.

However, Desmond was faster.

Just a little faster. But it was enough, even if the difference was less than a second.

That's how fragile human beings were. That's how arbitrary life and death could be. Speaking of which, this enemy's death wasn't as easy as the other's.

There was no convenient chink in the hull of his armor. So it couldn't be any other way.

Desmond attacked his chest. The wheel blades devoured the armor, getting to his flesh quickly. And it got worse from there.

It practically ripped him in half, along with his armor. He suffered great agony until the very last second.

And his death did not come quickly.

He thought his screams resembled those of a person burning alive, at first. Then they faded, even the echo disappeared, and he forgot what they sounded like.

He didn't care either.

Desmond dropped the wheel. Over the pool of blood formed by the two mutilated corpses, splattering.

It wasn't a very practical weapon. Better not to carry it with him.

Better, just as well, for another reason. With a weapon that could shatter empire armor so quickly and easily in his hands, perhaps he would be tempted to stay and fight, though that wasn't his goal.

He had to focus, and with that in his hands, he might lose himself.

Lose himself, yes, lose himself in the mad dance of combat. In the supreme violence that made his blood burn, sing.

"Goodbye, motherfuckers," he said to... no one, he would have added until recently.

Now he knew that ghosts existed. He knew that maybe their lost souls were listening to him. If they had such a thing as a soul.

He wasn't sure about himself, either.

He heard footsteps approaching.

Voices. A particularly loud shout. Cavalry was coming, sure enough. Many pairs of footsteps. And it was time for him to really get to work.

But... what excitement.

His heart was pounding, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. Quite the opposite. It made him feel more alive.

Gambling his life, taking away the lives of others.... It was like a method of testing his own existence.

Killing always felt great, in the end. To outdo his enemy. He didn't like what it said about him, but that was the truth that beat in the center of his chest.

Neither he nor anyone else could escape the truth. Just run.

Until the last day came.

And it would come sooner or later.

But he had never hidden from his pleasure for violence. He had always known it, since the first time he killed someone. He had writhed, he had vomited his soul out.

But at the same time... satisfaction. Of having protected what was his.

Of having earned a place with his own hands.

Desmond called back his sword. Then he broke into a run. He had a lot of work to do, he sure did.