His wish was granted.

After a horrible eternity, Desmond came back to reality. He at least opened his eyes, back in his body, but immediately doubted what he was seeing.

There was blood dripping on the floor. Dripping endlessly.

For a moment he thought it was his own. He wished with all his might that it was his, more like. But only for a moment. Then he ran out of ways or possibility to fool himself.

It was impossible to miss that that blood was dripping from his sword.

Desmond lifted his head, heart in fist, hoping he was wrong. Though deep down he already knew what had happened.

Princess Charlotte had somehow been pierced by his sword.

Recently, he vaguely noted, as if it had nothing to do with him. Recently because her eyes were wide with surprise and pain still.

He most surprised of all was he, though. Reality? It couldn't be real.

"No. No! What is this? This isn't even..."

Something he had feared, he was going to say, because the gods had given him no reason to. And so he hadn't prepared himself to avoid it, hadn't fought with all his might to make it never come true. Believing that the only life that hung in the balance was Amy's, possibly Christina's too, at most.

And now this. This can't be happening, he thought.

It wasn't a dream. And it wasn't like the vision he'd had upon entering the temple proper, when it collapsed. He wasn't contemplating a different ending, prepared by the petty gods.

This was, without a doubt, the cruel reality created by his own hands.

It did not matter that he had not even been "here" while it was happening, but miles away, contemplating the end of the Empire. He had done this. His own hands, his own weapon.

Damn it!

Charlotte opened her mouth, letting out a trail of blood. Like the hatch of a dam opening, he thought deliriously. It was horrible to see, her face twisted in pain, the amount of blood, the stains on her mouth, on her neck. Horrible.

But as long as she didn't die, she could be saved. As long as she didn't...

Charlotte fell forward. Toward him.

Desmond dropped too, gently, ending up with one knee driven into the ground and Charlotte's limp body on top of him. He could feel her heart beating. She wasn't dead yet. But the beating was faint.

She was going to...

"No. No. Please."

Desmond pulled the sword out of her body. There was blood, more blood, it wouldn't stop. Of course there was. He shouldn't have pulled the sword out. Why had he done that? At least it would slow the bleeding while he got her help, no, that was stupid too, but, how much blood, gods....

He couldn't think straight.

Naturally.

"What is this?"

It had all been too sudden. Of course he couldn't fit it in. Process it.

Charlotte, for some reason, smiled.

As sudden as everything else. So meaningless. That smile couldn't have been about his words, could it? Maybe she was already too out of it to recognize what was going on around her.

As if he didn't have enough, something else started to happen. He had nowhere to look at himself except Charlotte's blood and that was too horrible, but he didn't care, he didn't need to.

He could feel the bones moving under his skin.

What was this, another transformation?

A step further? He had unknowingly pierced Charlotte while his soul was thousands of miles away, witnessed the destruction of the Azure Empire. What would become of him now?

He ached.

He would say the pain was like knives under his skin, tearing him apart inside, but the very real sensation of his bones moving was a thousand times worse than any metaphor he could come up with.

Horrible, unnatural. Impossible to escape.

He fell backwards.

He grunted and writhed, but there was nothing he could do against what was happening to him. His mouth opened in a mute scream, as much as if his jaw had unhinged, and it wouldn't be surprising if it really did.

Since a black smoke shot out of his mouth, then.

It wasn't an illusion from the pain, or from running out of air. Black smoke was coming out of his mouth for real. Like the shadow, that was the first thing he thought of, but he had finished with that enemy a long time ago.

It wasn't impossible that that enemy had been resurrected. That the gods were getting in his way, even now. Black smoke took shape in front of him, a few feet away.

It was a shape he recognized. But not the shape of that shadow.

He had been completely mistaken.

The reality was something he would never have suspected. It was the specter he had become while traveling through time, trying to prevent Christina's death. So that wasn't over.

Suddenly he understood. That thing had done this. It was the real culprit.

"Son of a bitch!"

He thought it was all over when they ended up in the stomach of that strange beast, that sort of guardian of time, who had wanted to correct his actions by killing Christina.

But all this time, had it been there, inside him? Biding its time? And when his soul had become detached from his body, for activating the weapon, he had found it.

"I'm glad I can kill you with my own hands," the specter said, gloating as if it had already succeeded. "If it's the last thing I do, then I will be satisfied!"

Desmond looked around, surveying the situation.

The first thing he saw was Amy, near the entrance. She was tired, scared, a lot of things except hurt. At least that he could see. Good. Good.

Abigail was lying over there. Dead.

Only temporarily, of course. As usual. That must have been the specter's doing, using his body as a puppet. There was no other explanation. His rage grew more if anything, piercing confusion and horror.

Christina didn't look very good, but she was conscious and trying to stand up. She would recover, that was what mattered. And she could still fight.

Besides, he had activated the weapon and it had carried out its bloody work to the end. In short, they had nothing more to do here. The problem lay with that specter, who would stand in their way, whether it was his other self as he claimed to be, as it seemed, or an imitation molded by the gods to complicate his life.

While the princess bled to death before his eyes. She was dying slowly. They had no time to waste.

"I don't give a shit if you're me or a creation of the gods. Get out of my way. I'm going to save her."

Yes. No more, no less.

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The wraith made a move to approach Charlotte. To finish the job and get back at him.

"Enough!"

Desmond took a step forward, intended to launch himself at the enemy and not stop until he was dead, until this time he was truly gone, forever.

But those thoughts flew from his head, just as the sword flew from his hand.

Spinning in the air like a boomerang. The specter, claiming to be him, had summoned it and now it was on its way. Desmond gritted his teeth, reached a hand forward. He could not allow it.

He managed to stop the sword in midair, between them.

That it had come to his call seemed to support what the specter was saying, but in reality it was just one more contradiction, gave him less credence. When he had been that wraith, Desmond had lacked the connection to his sword and Abigail. He had felt utterly alone in the world.

So this willpower competition shouldn't be happening in the first place.

Anyway, he didn't care if the enemy was really his other self or something like that. It had nothing to do with him. The only important thing was that, evidently, the bastard had to die.

"Get out of my way!" Desmond shouted, still struggling. He felt strange because he had never had to do anything like this before. He had more than once compared the sword to an extra limb, said it was as if it was actually part of his body.

So this was like waking up one day and discovering that your right arm wouldn't listen to you.

Charlotte was dying. She couldn't waste her time with these trifling things. He wasn't winning though, no matter how hard he tried the sword stayed in the middle of them, spinning in the air continuously.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abigail moving.

Resurrecting, at last, getting to her feet. When she saw him, her face lit up, confirming her suspicions of what had been going on so far. Though in truth it had already been quite clear.

"My son..."

"Get her out of here. Please don't let her die!"

Abigail didn't hesitate, she didn't feel confused, not even for a moment, even though she had just come back to life. She was used to it.

She lunged for the princess, and something in her eyes told her that Mom hadn't seen her until now. So it had all been very fast. Between Abigail's death and her resurrection. How much had she missed in a moment.

Charlotte groaned from the pain of being moved, of course.

But at the same time, unconsciously, she pressed herself tighter against Abigail. Seeking security.

Abigail headed for the entrance, running.

The specter watched her go out of the corner of his eye, furious, frustrated, but knowing he couldn't take his eye off him because then he'd get the weapon back.

"It's only a matter of time before I find it and finish the job."

"What do you want?"

"My life." Did he believe what he was saying? Assuming, of course, that he was a fake, but it was hard for him to consider otherwise given his intentions. Seeing that he'd almost killed Charlotte. That he'd laid a hand on mom. If he was "a Desmond," then he really must have gone mad. "But if I can't have my life, it's enough for me to take everything you have. Yes, I shouldn't trust the promises of the gods."

The gods?

So they had promised him that he would be Desmond again, if he killed them all or something. Now he understood.

From the entrance, Amy launched a shower of stalactites. They both saw the attack coming. There was no way they were going to miss it, even involved in this duel for the sword, for their lives.

However, his opponent didn't move. He merely raised an arm.

The ice shattered on impact, the shards bouncing off and ending up stuck not only in his arm, but in different parts of his body. Still, it was nothing serious. His body was nothing but shadows, as immaterial as the night.

But what was important was that it was enough to allow him to win.

Even if it was only a few seconds of distraction, a momentary weakness. That was all it took.

The sword finally returned to his hand.

"You are nothing!" Desmond shouted, brandishing the sword with both hands towards the enemy. He had thought that everything would be over when he opened his eyes, that there would be no more obstacles, but he had had to appear, of course. "Less than nothing!"

The specter didn't react as he had expected. Though perhaps he should have, because it was what he would have done in his position.

That is, ripping a particularly large stalactite off his shoulder and using it as a sort of spear or sword, smashing it against his weapon. Of course, that thing didn't withstand a single blow.

But by exploding it managed to knock him back. And give his opponent some time to keep his distance.

"I look like a monster. But we've barely been human from the start. And we're going to end up, one way or another, like animals. That will be the end of us."

"Stop pretending you're like me."

Even if he was a Desmond, he wasn't like him at all. He had lost his mind, or he was being controlled. He would never lay a hand on his mother. He would never try to kill Charlotte and the others.

No matter what he had been in the beginning, he was now nothing more than an animal, in effect.

And he deserved to die like one. Like a rabid fucking animal.

Christina and Amy should leave now. There was no point in them continuing to put themselves in harm's way against this opponent, now that he was here. They could help, of course. But the risks weren't worth it.

Especially so, so close to the end. It was like pushing their luck.

They should know that by now, why weren't they moving? But he already knew the answer, he supposed. Love.

That could kill them.

He could do this alone. Maybe he should do this alone, because it was a fight against himself, regardless of what the truth was about the identity of that specter.

"I know everything. Things you've only told yourself, things…"

"Implanted memories. It doesn't mean anything."

He couldn't produce convincing evidence when the gods were involved, and so anything was possible. But it wouldn't change anything anyway, he wouldn't give a shit.

He was Desmond?

Well, he'd never had much appreciation for his life in the first place.

The specter shook his head. His emotions shouldn't be reflected in the skull that was his face, but still Desmond felt his irritation clearly.

A very expressive skull. Ha.

"I'm sick of hearing the same thing. So I'm going to rip your guts out. And then I'm going out to kill them all. Yeah, I'll start with that bitch. And I'll take my time."

Desmond shook his head.

"You're not getting out of here alive."

"I'm already dead. Didn't I tell you?"

The battle began again.

——

They left the temple at last.

The road had been a long one, especially having to carry Charlotte, who was practically dead weight. Things weren't looking too good for the princess.

But she had promised to help her, to do everything in her power to keep her from dying.

No, Abigail had promised that she wouldn't let her die, no matter what. Her word meant nothing usually, but it did when she addressed her child.

Charlotte nearly collapsed, but Abigail managed to hold her up. Okay, maybe she had waited too long, she had to at least try this, even though she was pretty sure it wouldn't work.

She put a hand on her chest. Right over the wound, which was still bleeding.

Right over wasn't saying much, when the wound was so huge. In any case, she tried the healing spell independent of affinity. As she had expected, it wasn't enough. It didn't close the wound; it didn't heal it.

It stopped the bleeding, but that wasn't going to help much. It would start again soon. As soon as they moved, of course. And they had to, it couldn't be helped.

They kept moving.

"Don't die," Abigail said, starting to speak more to get her to focus on the sound of her voice than anything else, which she hoped would help the child cling to consciousness. "You and I have had our differences, I know. Feeling jealous of Desmond's attention was just an excuse."

She finally admitted it. That there was so much more behind it. So much more.

"What I was truly jealous of... is something you're used to." A truly vulgar answer, especially considering how long she had been in this bloody earth, but it was the truth. She realized that suddenly. "I hated that you were born with everything, or so I thought."

Then he discovered that Charlotte had not been born with the truly important things. That she was empty inside, and she was looking for something to fill herself with.

She was looking for life.

"I especially hated that you tried to sound like the most wretched of them all. Yes, your father was homosexual, yes, your mother married someone she didn't love, not like that. But at least you were loved. At least your mother didn't beat you. At least your father didn't come into your room drunk at night..."

Abigail swallowed, suddenly unable to finish the sentence. She had long since gotten used to being raped. She'd even let it happen more than once, so as not to draw attention to herself by using her powers.

But she supposed some things weren't forgotten. Not really.

No matter how much time would pass. Time heals all wounds? Such empty bullshit like most people's lives.

"What a load of shit if I have to die listening to your rants," Charlotte muttered, not very loudly, but what counted was that she had done it. That she had reacted.

It was progress, even if she was still dying slowly.

"The point is, I don't hate you anymore. You're a good girl, Charlotte. And a better ruler." She wasn't lying to make her feel better. It was what she honestly thought. "The lives of everyone in the kingdom would be poorer in your absence. You have to live."

After all, if things went to shit again, she and Desmond would inevitably be caught in the middle of it. It would be exceptionally easy for that to happen, since the Albionese had run out of enemies other than those within. So she couldn't allow it.

They kept walking in search of help.

——

"Okay, you keep that sword. I've got mine."

What? What the hell was that thing talking about?

He provided the answer right away, raising a hand... and plunging it into his own chest. Deeply. He moved it inside, searching, searching for, searching for what?

He had already said. From within he drew a sword of shadows. A sword made from his own body?

Chilling, one way or another.

One way or another, the battle resumed.

They threw themselves at each other, clashing in the middle of the stone chamber, and exchanged dozens of blows in the first few seconds alone.

All in all, they were evenly matched as expected.

Until they were no longer evenly matched.

It was enough to break his guard just once. With the next attack, Desmond practically split him in two. He was like a living shadow, plus he couldn't believe it had been so easy and fast, so he wasn't going to relax just because he had almost split him in half.

But one look at his face, at the literal light in his eyes, which rippled like the flame of a candle that the wind threatened to blow out, he knew.

He knew he had struck the coup de grace.

He thought his enemy was staring blankly as he agonized, but the truth was that he wasn't even looking at him. His eyes were fixed on Christina.

Those blue flames inside a skull, held by nothing but shadows. A specter, a shadow of yesterday. A shadow of what else did he see in those eyes?

"I gave you all I had. You know it's true."

As he said that, his voice sounded closer to his own than ever before.

Perhaps shocked by that, Christina swallowed hard and took a step back. She looked as if she was going to burst into tears, for a moment. Maybe it was his imagination.

In any case, it was too late.

He had truly delivered the coup de grâce. The specter disappeared from this world, this time for good. And without a trace. Even his wings disappeared and the corruption on his sword, which had been that specter all this time.

At last, they were free.

At last, it was all over.