Desmond walked again among the corpses. In the pools of blood.

Like a bird feeding on carrion, he went around replacing his weapons, his ammunition. So little time had passed between the attack on the academy and this disaster that it felt as if he hadn't taken a step forward since.

Almost as if he had seen that student die, the one whose death had made him realize that the shooting wasn't part of the test, mere seconds ago.

In any case, he was surrounded by death.

Wherever he went, no matter how many years passed by, that didn't change.

But at least this smell was the smell of the blood of his enemies, not the smell of broken and lost things he could never get back. It was a good thing.

Besides, he wasn't fighting for himself, but for her. Knowing that made him smile nonstop.

Desmond looked out a cracked window.

With so much blood on him, he couldn't see his face clearly, appreciate the details. Appreciate whatever he was looking for. Or it could be that all he was looking for was what he had seen at first glance: that he didn't look the same.

But his feelings were telling him otherwise. Maybe it was just in his head, but he felt more like himself than ever.

He felt... more powerful than ever.

He felt like he could do anything.

He had been waiting for her to show up again. Not for guidance, although that wouldn't hurt, but for the mere fact that he wanted to see her.

However, he was walking alone.

He supposed she didn't feel the need to show up. That she believed she had already told him enough, which was true. Besides, now that he thought about it, she had told him they didn't have too much time, had she? Maybe she just couldn't get in touch with him right now, for whatever reason.

He had no idea how she had appeared in front of his eyes twice, and only in front of his eyes, so he would accept any explanation, not that he needed one.

As he had said, that he alone had been able to see her had made him feel blessed.

No, he had indeed been blessed.

The strength that now surged from within him was one of those blessings.

"You don't have to die here!" he shouted for anyone who might be listening. For the survivors of the massacre he had perpetrated in this room as well, and for those who might be waiting for him beyond. "I just want that whore's head on a stake! The woman who brought me here! Hand her over and I will leave!"

His offer received no response. At least not immediately. Maybe because they couldn't believe he was telling the truth and in that case they were absolutely right. He was lying through his teeth.

Even after he had finished with the traitor, he had no intention of leaving a single head attached. He couldn't afford mercy. He had to get to the bottom of this and root out the threat to his savior. He didn't know what they wanted from her, why they had started this, though he had ideas.

But he would finish it.

Most likely not today, not for lack of desire but because this facility was certainly not the only one filled with people who wanted to go after his savior. After them, now. But he would finish it. No matter what it would cost.

"I swear," he said to himself, wiping the blood from his face with one hand, not looking away from his reflection in the window.

He tried to open a door. It moved, but not quite. It was blocked from the other side by something. Desmond pressed himself against the door.

He took a deep breath.

He pulled back and charged at the door. The force of the impact caused the door to open a little wider, whatever was blocking it at the same time sliding across the floor noisily. However, it couldn't be said that it had opened. That wasn't enough.

Another knock.

That made the door open, at last. Not all the way, but just enough.

Surely the piece of furniture with which the door had been blocked was now squeezed between the door and the wall and, as a consequence, the door literally couldn't be opened any further.

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In any case, he wasn't about to waste any time, so he slipped through the gap in the door.

Bullets flew inches from his forehead, from his neck.

Had he not dodged at the last moment, throwing himself to the ground, one of the bullets would have hit him in the head and possibly that would have been it.

Unless his uncertain ability, on which he couldn't depend, rescued him again from the clutches of death, of course.

There were three armed men in front of him.

He blew off the head of the one badly hidden behind cover on the left.

He blew his brains out, his blood and his gun, which slipped from his hands. The power of the shotgun left no trace of that head.

He couldn't waste time aiming properly, being in the open, but that was the least of his problems. His real problem was that he had decided to change his weapon for a shotgun. It was a double-barreled shotgun, which meant that he could not fire a single shot.

It was a double barrel, that is, it couldn't fire a third time. Not without reloading.

In other words, his enemy would be faster. And that would decide the battle, and the war, for him.

Luckily, he found a quick and easy solution.

He shot the one in the middle low, at waist level. Not at the center of his body, but at the grenade hanging from his belt.

The explosion of the grenade killed its holder instantly, before he even realized it, and also his buddy. But ah, that one did notice. That one died slowly, shrieking, and legless.

Desmond felt a chill. For some reason, he felt a chill.

It's not like he'd done anything out of the ordinary. Something new and intense, something that could provoke a reaction like that.

Desmond reloaded the shotgun, stood up.

-Come on, you bastards! -He shouted, hoarse and wild, from the back of his throat. I may never get out of here. You may kill me in the end. But most of you won't see the end. If you don't come to your senses....

Another door he couldn't pass through so easily. This one was closed, not locked from behind, well, maybe it was locked from behind too.

Desmond fired twice, breaking the lock, while reloading he kicked the door open.

He saw no one in front of the door.

If there was, they were hiding, waiting for the right moment to attack him by surprise. Or they were civilians trembling with fear, waiting for him to find them, or to spare their lives.

He had seen more of what others would have called civilians in this facility that seemed to have no good.

Scientists, researchers.

And he had killed them like everyone else, because, like everyone else, they were nothing but enemies. His pulse hadn't trembled when he did it. Why should it have? Despite the pleading and crying, if they had had a chance to kill him, they would have taken it without a second thought.

Or the chance to cut him open like a pig and investigate his insides. See how he worked, what made him special.

He was sure that was what it was all about. Partly.

-Give her to me or I'll kill you all! All of you, without exception! And I'll make you suffer! She has to die! The person who brought me here! The mage! Come on, we're nothing but demons according to you, aren't we? So what difference does it make if you betray that inhuman bitch? Would you suffer for her? Fraternizing with the enemy? Don't make me laugh.

He found a woman in a white robe hiding behind some boxes, shaking from head to toe, hugging herself.

She was quite young. About his age.

So what, he asked himself.

There was no answer, which was enough.

"Where is she?"

"I... I don't know, please."

"Tell me where he is!"

The expression of absolute terror on the girl's face changed completely, from one moment to the next.

"Behind you," she replied, and Desmond turned around.

There was nothing and no one.

His first thought was that he couldn't believe he had fallen for the oldest trick in the universe. But there was no fear lurking in that thought. After all, the person behind him was a simple scientist. She didn't know how to fight, she wasn't even armed.

Today alone, he had killed dozens of properly prepared and equipped soldiers.

So what did he have to fear?

As it turned out, a lot.

He felt pain in his back. Letting out a choked gasp, Desmond fell to his knees.

What had happened?

He had a knife stuck in his back. Deeply.

He grabbed the pommel of the weapon and, gritting his teeth, yanked it out. He stared at the blood sliding down the blade and dripping to the floor, unable to believe what he was seeing.

In the reflection of the blade, he saw the young and seemingly helpless scientist get to her feet.

Her face was melting, revealing the face of a woman he had never seen before in his life underneath.

With the knife bathed in her blood, Desmond rose to his feet and faced the enemy. Another mage, clearly. That wasn't something technology could replicate. At least that he knew of. No, but, even if technology could do something like that, it wouldn't have that realism, her face coming off....

Not just her face, the whole body.

In a matter of seconds, the woman in front of him was completely different. Height, shape. The color of her eyes, her hair, her face. Everything.

She had shed her skin, so to speak, and just like snakes the shed skin had been left behind.

In pieces scattered on the ground, stuck to her clothes, to her own skin, though the woman behaved as if nothing was happening, staring at him.

It was terrifying to think that an enemy could hide among them, with another person's face and body, unbeknownst to anyone. Waiting.

"Who are you?" Desmond asked.

And this was the answer:

"Oh, you know who I am." She grinned with bits of dead skin stuck to her twisted face.

That was a face that was completely devoid of humanity.

It was like looking in a mirror.

Desmond felt a chill again, and this time he really knew why.