Desmond was crawling (yes, just crawling, he couldn't call what he was doing walking) toward the exit. Towards the lobby, which was where Amy and Christina should have been headed after the debris fell on him.
After he'd managed to save them. Albeit barely.
At the cost of nothing, really.
He was screwed, but he'd been screwed before the attack started. One step at a time. No matter what the true scale of the situation was, they could do this together.
One step at a time. Yes.
There were people fleeing all around them. Panicked, trying to evacuate before it was too late. No one lent him a hand or even noticed him.
This didn't surprise Desmond. If anything, he was surprised that he didn't see any of them try to take the express route out of the palace, namely jumping out the window. Even though the palace was huge. Nine stories, no more, no less.
Huge by the standards of this kingdom, at least.
And enough to fear for your life if you thought of taking the leap.
Anyway, he didn't see any desperate idiots jumping out the window. But as he walked down a corridor, through the rubble, the windows to his right exploded in unison.
That was because the Imperials were here.
They had come in with cables stuck somewhere in the wall above, swinging against and through the windows. And as soon as they landed, the first thing they noticed was him, despite his deteriorated condition. Despite the fact that he was almost unrecognizable. Even he was aware of that. He had never liked looking in the mirror, but now he didn't care. He didn't even have the feeling that he was seeing his own reflection. He didn't even...
"It's that demon!"
"He's weak, we can take him."
Right.
They had recognized him instantly.
But he knew what he was. What he was to them, at least.
He was barely on his feet, but he had been reborn with a sword in his hand. Literally. At least he could swing the sword a few times.
Three broken windows, three imperial soldiers.
He could take them. He should be able to.
And above all else. Perhaps it was foolishness, but what drove him forward was his desire to show them that no, they couldn't take him.
Desmond pounced on the first of them before he could pull the trigger, fast, very fast, and for a fleeting instant he felt like more than a shadow of his former self. He felt as if he had returned.
Then the blade of his sword connected on the flesh of his enemy and was stuck in the middle.
For he hadn't had enough strength to pierce him, to give the necessary momentum to the blow. And now the soldier was looking at him very closely, with pupils so shrunken that they had almost disappeared and blood pouring from his mouth.
He proved to be as mad as he was.
The Imperial soldier grabbed the blade of his sword with one hand, squeezing it unceremoniously, not caring that it slashed his palm. For he was as good as dead anyway.
Now he could only, shall we say, spit in his face before he died. One last act of defiance.
The soldier held the sword not to try to take it away from him (although perhaps, given the circumstances, he might even have been able to do so), but to keep him where he was. And to be able to fill him with lead with the other hand in his last moments.
No one could say that he didn't try, that he didn't give it his all. But he failed.
He only managed to unload two shots.
Only two shots into his torso before Desmond picked him up, still impaled on his sword like a piece of meat (that's what he was, that's all) and threw him back the way he had come.
Was he on the fifth floor - the sixth?
In any case, he was in for quite a fall. Unless someone rescued him at the last moment, there was no way he wasn't going to break his neck.
Which meant...
One down, two to go.
"Bastard."
Bastard? Bastard for what, defending himself?
Ah, but they were sure to argue about who had started it. He didn't give a shit who had come before, the chicken or the egg. He didn't give a shit who was justified or not.
He didn't care if the world burned as long as he was warming himself with his loved ones by the fire.
(And it would burn. It would burn).
Desmond moved on to the next one, but this time it wasn't so easy. He had to block the bullets with his sword. As far as possible. That is, more than one bullet hit him. He only felt the last one go through him, but it didn't matter, damn it. He hadn't even started. Physical reinforcement should still be an impenetrable defense.
When he reached him, he made the soldier stop.
Taking his left leg.
And something else, yes. He snatched the rifle from his hands as he writhed on the ground, as easily as taking a toy from a child.
A toy. What a fucking toy.
The enemy's weapon. Desmond had lost the gun he didn't even remember when, or how, but he had the opportunity to use the enemy's weapon one more time. Shooting back at the third and last one. The imperial soldier was the first to fall, against the wall, sliding down.
He was dead before he hit the ground, he knew it.
That's why there was confusion when he felt a stab of pain in one leg, as if he had come back from the dead to take revenge.
It was just the guy he hadn't killed yet, though. Of course.
He'd stuck a knife in his leg. This shouldn't have happened either. Not so soon, but this was his new normal.
What was he going to do about it.
Desmond snatched the knife from him and threw it away, wherever it was, it didn't matter.
He'd already cut off one of her legs. He could just leave him lying there, suffering. He was destined to bleed to death. There was nothing anyone could do for him. However, it wasn't enough. He had stabbed him. Desmond couldn't be satisfied with that alone.
So he gave free rein to his violent impulses, as usual.
Desmond struck the armor's helmet with the sword repeatedly, as if what he held in his hands was a mace, until the sounds of pain ceased, until only a bloody mess remained in the crushed remains of the helmet, along with the fading red light. The armor's systems had outlasted his life. If not by much.
Desmond took a deep breath.
Folded in on himself, hands on his knees. Okay, he'd done it. Kill three Imperials, woohoo. He couldn't even feel triumphant. It had been too difficult, compared to the scale of the task.
Not so long ago, by the gods, he'd had in his hands the power to shake the capital of those monsters.
To knock their skyscrapers to the ground.
And now he wasn't at his apex, he wasn't even at what he considered normal. He was a parody of himself. Breathing so raggedly after fighting three enemies. Three!
He needed power.
He needed...
Reunite with his friends. They were stronger together, it had always been that way. A strange destiny bound them together. He didn't care if it was the designs of the gods or something more natural, something that emanated from the soul, the fact was that he needed them. All of them. His friends and mom.
Then...
Everything would work out, step by step. They could deal with whatever the world threw at them.
Desmond continued forward.
Staggering, as at the beginning, but now with his sword acting as a cane.
——
While Desmond and the others went down (although, of course, she was unaware of that), Charlotte took the opposite path. Up, to the roof, to the very top.
In the blink of an eye the palace had turned from quite possibly the safest place in the capital to quite the opposite.
Charlotte had a plan. Maybe not a good one, but the best one she had.
The one she intended to turn things around with, again. If she could call anywhere home in this earth, it would be the palace. And she was the queen. Together, they formed the heart of the kingdom.
Charlotte would protect this place with her own hands.
And her loved ones, who she hoped would remain there once they got the message, or realized what was happening, what she was doing. The immortal witch should be perfectly capable of dealing with the blue fire cannon. There was no need for Desmond to risk it, especially in his condition.
Charlotte reached the rooftop, positioning herself at the top.
"Come on. Come on!"
Another shot. One of many. Looking down, she could see nothing but the holes in the palace, here and there. And the blue flames that spread unceasingly. Of course.
But it wasn't so damaged that she had to give up.
To say that the best they could do was to leave the building. It wasn't too late.
At least here she was now, ready to catch it.
And that's what she did.
Slicing a portal near the shot and cutting the exit portal as far away as she could, high in the air. Her objective was very simple. From this distance, she couldn't stop them from firing, she couldn't even see where they had the damn cannon positioned. Nor could she stop the shots from exploding.
She was powerful, but she had clear limits. Wish Abigail had been here in her place.
But Albion's subjects only had her, and this was her burden. She could do it. The shots would go off, all right, but high up in the air. Where they couldn't hurt anyone.
She saw the first of the shots do just that.
The first of many.
She had proven she could do it, at least once. Now she would be put to the real test. How long would she hold out here standing here as the last line of defense?
She didn't have to hold on forever. Just until Abigail destroyed the blue fire cannon.
In other words, it was as much up to her as it was up to the other woman. She didn't like to leave anything in anyone's hands. But she couldn't help it, she had no choice but to admit her helplessness and do the best she could.
——
Abigail had approached crouched down in the underbrush, she wanted to get a look at it to think about how to proceed. Just because she could dive in without fear of death didn't mean she had to.
Besides, she might have lost her fear of death, but now she was afraid of the consequences that might befall Desmond. A much more paralyzing fear.
That's why she had to do this right, and fast.
The sooner it was over, the better. In fact, as far as she was concerned, she had already wasted too much time. Who knew how she was doing. She was almost afraid to contact him. Of course, she could still feel him thanks to their connection.
She knew his heart was still beating, even if it wasn't too steady.
But it could stop at any moment and he was so far away. There was nothing she could do even if she realized she was in danger, even if she took off running right then and there.
She bit her lower lip hard. Very hard.
If she'd bitten her tongue, she could have ripped it out from the sheer rage that was sweeping over her in the face of her helplessness. But that was why she was here. Because this was what was best for him, for her, and for everyone.
Destroy this thing. Abigail watched carefully as they reloaded the thing.
But where to start?
——
Charlotte had proved to herself that she could do it, but managing to repeat it was another story. The second she deflected it high in the same way, two quick portals, one in the path of the projectile, one in the skies.
Even exploding in the air and far away, the shot would do some damage. But she wasn't concentrating on protecting the city, otherwise she would go crazy.
All she could do was protect her palace.
The third shot was not for her, but for a random place. Charlotte swallowed her breath, fearful, despite what she had just said, that it might be the beginning of a full-scale bombardment of the city.
That she would have gotten what she wanted, protecting the palace, but the rest of the capital would pay the price.
Pay dearly.
She knew it was inevitable, that sooner or later it would start, or maybe it already had. It was impossible to know how long it had taken to get up here and keep track of the gunfire.
Still, she couldn't help but feel somehow guilty, if that was the case.
It wasn't. But maybe that was why the fourth shot caught her off guard.
Charlotte was fast. But not fast enough. Although she formed both entry and exit portals, the projectile exploded before it passed through the first of the portals. A large portion of the blue fire made the trip, which saved her from a gruesome death, but it didn't mean she came out of it unscathed by a long shot. The shockwave knocked her off her spot, sending her rolling across the roof to certain death, unable to breathe.
She managed to save herself by grabbing onto the spike protruding from the top of the roof, where previously, it was said, there had been a flag.
So she was saved. Albeit barely. With one hand, she pulled herself upward, with the spike as her only point of support. It was what she should have grabbed onto even before she fell.
In the end. She could learn. This hadn't been her last mistake, so she could learn.
The reloading time was long enough not to overwhelm her, but not so long as to give her time to really rest, to, shall we say, let her guard down to some extent. The fifth shot... The fifth since she had come this far, at least, would be just around the corner.
And it would find her ready.
——
Desmond had not encountered any problems along the way. Well, he had encountered people begging for help, to which he had to turn a deaf ear.
(as he had then, as he had at the beginning)
but nothing and no one who went directly for him, at least.
That had to be because the threats were gathered here. In the lobby, blocking the exit. Amy was fighting. He didn't have time to ask her where Christina was, he simply had to help her, even if he couldn't even stand without the help of the sword.
He wasn't going to sit around and wait for them to do everything for him, while his loved ones risked their lives, or freedom, which was practically the same thing.
There still had to be something he could do. Otherwise, why on earth had he survived so far?
Desmond stepped onto the first rung, beginning his descent. But the second one no longer. No longer because he fell and went rolling down the stairs, in full view of everyone. Even in the midst of that chaos it was impossible to miss him. If the circumstances were different it would have been the most embarrassing moment of his life. Right now the panic he felt was of a different nature.
"Desmond! I can take care of..."
She was alone. She had been fighting alone all her life, just like the four of them. But she didn't have to be. They didn't seem to understand, any of them. They really didn't have to be. They were stronger together.
We've always been stronger together. And...
They opened fire.
Bullets rained down on him from every direction. If he was at one hundred percent, or even fifty percent... But he made a move to raise his sword to block the shots and found that he wasn't even capable of that. Maybe something had happened in the fall, but he wasn't even capable of raising the sword to block bullets coming in one direction, much less wielding it repeatedly.
He was going to be mowed down. He thought he saw death approaching.
But then—
Desmond's own shadow rose up to protect him. An impenetrable shield covering practically everything in every direction.
He looked around, between the gaps in the shadow.
Looking for a single thing. Suddenly he didn't care about anything else. Not the pain, not the weakness. He felt whole again. Though it was only for a fleeting instant.
The anticipation was a bigger rush than the reward.
Because he saw her, but he saw her... Broken. That was the first word that came to his mind, as unpleasant as it was, as much as it made bile rise in his throat. Broken.
Christina had saved his life, intervening. The book in one hand and concentration on her face. But in her eyes there was nothing.
Nothing except a mute despair or rather resignation, as if she were under a death sentence. As if she could hardly understand why she had done that when things were about to come to an end. When she would soon be gone forever as if blown by the wind to the corners of the world, leaving no trace, no dust behind her. Only dreams.
Only dreams and memories.
But that was only for the moment, he told himself. That pain. That agony was fleeting. Because together they could do anything, even get through this.
Christina lowered the shield and Desmond joined the battle with renewed strength. Christina had stopped when the Imperials had, of course, taking advantage of the fact that they had to reload, but only half had to. They had been well prepared.
Still, as he'd said, renewed strength.
Besides, he didn't have to get close to kill. Just as he had said, he hadn't run into trouble along the way. He still had the rifle.
Desmond opened fire on several enemies, wounding and knocking them down.
Some were dead instantly, others would bleed to death if they didn't get medical attention in time. He kept his finger on the trigger until the bullets stopped coming out. Empty.
He had already used it as much as possible. He had no ammunition with which to reload the rifle. So he simply discarded it, when it hit the ground, it was still smoking.
Desmond looked for cover, but there was nothing that could hide him from all the soldiers in the room. Wherever he went, he would always be exposed to a few. And everything was an effort. He felt...well, he felt like he had a splinter stuck in his lung. He was trying to breathe properly but was physically incapable.
Not far away, two Imperial soldiers were lifted up.
By their own shadows. Lifted only to return them by throwing them against the ground with great force, and their torsos bursting like piñatas, scattering the contents everywhere.
People were screaming, running. It was chaos. The chaos of any battlefield.
But he noticed, distantly, that it had been a while since the building had shaken. Had Abigail destroyed the weapon by now, after all? But if that was the case, why hadn't she contacted him?
And beyond that carnage, Amy was practically flying through the air, spinning herself and her sword at the same time, and when she touched the ground, she would take off again soon after. She couldn't afford to be still. She was the eye of her own storm, an ice storm.
It consumed his attention to such an extent that he almost overlooked the Imperial who literally came flying toward him. He had been paying attention to Amy the whole time, but didn't realize that she accidentally propelled that guy in his direction with a column of ice she had created, expanding it violently.
Not until it was too late, he'd say.
But it wasn't.
He reacted in time to rip it in half, in mid-air. His two halves flew off in different directions from the force of the blow. Desmond himself almost fell, because of what that had cost him, and because he went forwards with the sword.
Forward and down. But almost. Just almost.
Teamwork. Maybe they hadn't even needed all those years they were supposed to have spent at the academy.
Okay, okay.
It had been accidental. But, surprisingly, looking back, this was the first time they'd fought together since they'd met at the train station. There was his rescue, it was the closest thing, they had all fought together, but he had been indisposed for obvious reasons.
Anyway, they had to work on it.
Christina saved him for the second time in about the same amount of minutes. Though this time in a rather less elaborate manner. No shadow shield, no protective bubble.
She simply pushed him away with shadowy hands.
It had saved him from taking a bullet to the head, but perhaps the real miracle was that he had managed to keep his balance, even after that.
Okay, they were the ones who were working, mostly.
Desmond was giving it everything he had and more. But simply wishing he wasn't a hindrance didn't mean he wasn't one. No, it wasn't enough to just want it, it needed something more.
Something more.
What? The chains of fate that bound him?
He was supposed to put an end to this world, but right now he couldn't even take care of the guards that were blocking the exit of the palace in the heart of his kingdom. It was like a bad joke.
The fight went on for a while longer in which he couldn't say anything better than that he hadn't ended up dead and on the ground in the process. Oh, and, of course, at least he helped kill a few.
But inevitably things that required a delicate balance would break down.
And this time it was this way: the bullets hit him, ripping off two fingers and half of a third. So he simply couldn't anymore. The sword slipped through what was left of his hand, falling to the ground, right over the pool of blood that had quickly formed.
It was a small price to pay, when he could easily have paid for his stupidity with his life.
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Besides...
He already had him.
Desmond let out a scream from the back of his throat. A scream that, to be honest, was more filled with pain than anger or the spirit to rebel against the fate that wanted to drag him into the bottomless depths. And with no way back.
Then he pounced on the imperial who had shot him.
Desmond caught him, grabbing him by the lower legs so that he could lift him more easily, and all this without stopping to run. Throwing him backwards.
Throwing him onto one of the many spikes of ice Amy had reshaped the lobby with. Between the ice, which rose up to the windows even, twisted and full of spikes, the holes in the walls and the floor strewn with debris, it really didn't look like the same place it had a few minutes ago.
Just a few minutes, that was all he could think of as he watched the soldier in agony pinned to the ice. Scrambling uselessly. Just a few minutes, damn it.
He had the feeling that an eternity had passed since they had heard, felt, the first shot. Time had slowed to such a crawl, as if seconds were actually hours. Desmond took a deep breath.
He could barely hold his breath before he exhaled. And when he did, he expelled more than just air.
Not blood, although he was bleeding profusely.
Something more... fundamental.
Yes, that was the word. Something that sustained him and helped him keep going. Looking around, the fight was coming to an end, with Amy and Christina fighting together. Maybe he could just...
Close his eyes. If only for a moment.
Rest.
He lost consciousness even before his head hit the ground.
——
Abigail began to approach the long-distance blue cannon, that enormous weapon, which required only two soldiers to load it.
She advanced through the brush, crouched low and silent. When she could do nothing else, when there was simply too much distance to cross on foot without being seen, with the number of soldiers around watching, what Abigail did was to throw the knife.
And then teleport herself to the knife.
She could fight, she could win. But if she was able to avoid it then there was no need to risk it. Her only goal was to get rid of the cannon, and her method of sneaking up on it was working.
Her plan would work too. It was too simple to fail.
It could hardly be called a plan, in fact. She was only going to take advantage of its one, but enormous, weakness.
"It's the witch!"
And now they had detected her.
Abigail clicked her tongue. It was a pity she hadn't been able to end this without any trouble, but in the end it didn't matter. Surely she had gotten close enough to the weapon by now that they couldn't get in her way.
As all the guards around her turned toward her and opened fire, Abigail broke into a run toward the cannon.
She took a leap. She covered ten meters in an instant.
They could change the direction of their rifles in a heartbeat, but not the cannon. They couldn't move it to use it against her, it would be impractical. Which raised the question of how they had managed to transport this thing all the way up into the mountains. And without anyone noticing.
Anyway.
It didn't matter because it would disappear right now.
A burst of fire. The fire shot out of Abigail's palm in spurts. It went through the entire length of the cannon and set off an explosion. Sure enough. The fire had detonated the shell that had been loaded inside.
Abigail had waited for it to charge before she acted, and everything had gone just as she had hoped. Except for one thing. She had underestimated the power of the explosive, though deep down that was a good thing. At least in the long term.
In the short term the shockwave sent her flying through the air, spinning around.
Before she lost consciousness or life (which was of little difference to her), she saw the spark ignite, saw the beginning of what would be a great forest fire.
——
What a mess. What a bloody mess.
That was the only thing that went through Amy's head as she contemplated this scene. And who could blame her? In less than an hour, no, less than half an hour, even, everything had been turned upside down.
Without warning. Without anyone expecting it.
Which was actually a common occurrence since she'd met Desmond and Christina.
For once, though, it wasn't either of them's fault. This would have happened one way or another. Which was no consolation, at all, of course.
This place was full of people who feared for their lives.
Innocent... and powerless people.
Their fate was in the hands of other people. And not in the soldiers who were trying to reassure them, to make them not do something crazy.
Their fate, as well as hers and her friends', was in the hands of that little girl.
Princess Charlotte.
She alone separated them from life and death.
A difference as thin as a razor's edge.
And needless to say, frustrating. Amy had come so far. She had thrown off the shackles of her past, and the shadow of that man. She had grown bigger, stronger.
She didn't appreciate, therefore, being forced to leave her fate in someone else's hands again. She wanted to fight. She wanted to make a difference.
But that was impossible.
She knew it, everyone knew it, but she wasn't the only one who felt that way. As expected. She could hear the whispers. The moans.
"Am I supposed to just stand here waiting? My daughter... My daughter is out there."
"I don't want to die in a place like this."
"There's got to be something we can do."
Voices. Voices, voices coming in waves, mingling. She could pick up a few things in the tide. But most of it was just noise. Like the buzzing of a wasp's nest, indistinct, promising danger, sooner or later.
For the moment they were relatively calm. But desperation and fear could convince them to do something stupid.
Like getting out of here. The only safe place in the whole capital, with Charlotte and her portals protecting it.
A cannon that could shoot blue fire at long range.
That was what they were up against. A terrifying new weapon.
Of course, that was just the beginning. They wouldn't have come with just that cannon, but with a large invasion force to take the capital. To deal the greatest blow to Albion since the assassinations of Jordan and Celeste, the former monarchs.
If things went wrong... No, it was enough for Charlotte to make a small mistake with the portals.
Then the girl would die in the same way as her parents.
Only it would be quicker. If she was lucky.
And...
Amy shook her head.
Three healers were treating Desmond, who had lost consciousness at some point. They had laid him down on a table. From a distance, Amy watched as the metal rod was extracted from his body.
She didn't think it would take three healing wizards to take care of Desmond's wounds. But perhaps they were grateful to have something to do other than think about the sword hanging over everyone's heads, here and now.
On what could well be the impending doom of them all.
She saw it from afar because Amy was closer to Christina, who... wasn't handling things well, either. She was sitting on the floor, curled up in a ball with her back against a dark corner.
Clutching the book tighter than ever against her chest.
This situation... Too many voices and extraneous feelings. Everything too intense, even with the book, perhaps.
Or maybe it was just that since that night something had given way and her resistance wasn't as strong as before.
Maybe now it was like a house in ruins being shaken by hurricane winds. Just waiting for the moment of total collapse. Only Christina wouldn't collapse, at worst.
What Christina was worried about, what instilled so much fear in her soul, was not destruction.
But a rebuilding with new foundations.
She believed she could understand that better than Desmond, at least, having nearly lost herself. But even if she did understand, what could she do?
Maybe it was enough to remind her that she was in her corner.
Although maybe she wouldn't see another tomorrow.
She felt as if she was lost because of everything that had happened in such a short time. And because the future looked short and bleak. But she had to focus, to be there for the people she cared about.
She approached Christina, there in the corner.
Amy knelt down in front of her and put a hand on her shoulder. Christina didn't react, she continued to stare at the floor. It didn't matter. She had expected it.
She hadn't reacted to her touch, but she was aware of her presence. And she'd hear her.
Of that she could be sure.
Whether it would do any good, not so much. But it was worth a try.
"It's going to be all right. Focus on the sound of my voice. On my... thoughts. You don't have to think about anything else. Are you listening to me, Christina? We'll get out of here, and someday... We'll be happy." It had taken her so long to start, but once she did, the words flowed like a clean stream. As if they had been there from the beginning, waiting for the moment. "Someday we'll be able to stop fighting."
Though words failed her, Christina could sense all those things she couldn't put into words. It was some support. But, arrogant as it sounded, she believed she knew Christina well enough that she didn't need that trap.
"Amy..." Christina began in a low, almost inaudible voice. But she cut herself off. Or maybe she hadn't started at all. Maybe she'd just called her name for the sake of it.
"Yes?" Even if she was right, she nudged her to continue.
She was surprised when the girl did.
"That day has come. It's over."
Did Christina see no way out of this? Did she see no future for them? Amy couldn't say she didn't understand why she felt that way. However, those fatalistic words were unbecoming of her. But of course, her state of mind was anything but normal. That was the problem. The reason she was trying to wake her up.
"It's not such a hopeless situation."
"Isn't it?"
Amy had imagined she'd answer that way, but mockingly, with acid sarcasm. It actually sounded almost like a sincere question. As if she was wordlessly begging her to convince her against all odds.
Amy swallowed.
"And even if it is... Even if the worst happens... We can always escape. That's also a way to fight."
Some would call it cowardice. She would say that's nonsense.
That, in a way, in a situation like that it might be easier to accept 'your fate' before fighting with everything you had, even if it was running away.
Because giving up was easy. Giving up only took a moment, and then all was darkness and silence.
But to fight? If you chose to fight, you could be doing it for the rest of your life.
"I understand that, but..."
Christina shook her head.
"So many voices, screaming as one." There were enough audible screams already, for lack of a better word, but she supposed she was referring to the screaming in the minds of all the refugees here. "Asking for the same thing. Salvation."
"You want us to fight? To save them? "She didn't sound very sure because Christina hadn't been very clear.
That could mean anything.
But something had to be said for the conversation to continue, as Christina had fallen silent immediately afterward and didn't look like she was going to continue if she didn't give her reason to do so. Lost in thought.
"No. I may be a bad person, but I have never felt responsible for that mass of strangers called 'the innocents'. I have no interest in fighting and dying for my country. I never have, to tell you the truth. All I wanted was to find myself."
You are not a bad person, Amy thought. No one can blame you or demand anything from you. You've sacrificed more than enough.
But, for some reason, she wasn't able to say it.
For some reason, when she tried she choked on her own words and felt an intense urge to cry.
"Let's get out of here. As soon as Desmond recovers... Is that okay with you?" Perhaps she had seen something in her face, or her reaction.
Something that had led her to misinterpret.
"You guys are the most important thing to me. I literally have nothing else."
"It's true," Christina said, slowly and after a while.
"Are you better from...? You know what."
She didn't say it directly, not because she was worried about being overheard; that was a factor, but not a major one. Rather because she didn't know how exactly to say it. She'd gone blank.
"Not at all. But I will survive."
Christina got up slowly, so slowly that Amy thought about offering her a hand to help her. In the end she didn't have to, though.
Christina took a deep breath as if to steel herself.
Though she didn't let go of the book in the end, she got moving, circling the debris. Circling around the crushed corpses and scattered body parts.
Amy tried not to look. She'd seen scenes like this before, too many times.
But that didn't make it easy. Just a little easier to bear.
To live with it, without it tearing her apart. Or coming back to her at night in the form of dark nightmares.
She couldn't help but stare, at last. Her eyes were drawn to the misery through which they walked. Desmond was in bad shape, and Christina was facing something so terrible there were no words for it, something only she and other users of shadow magic, scarce as they were, could understand.
But ultimately it could have been worse. And she wasn't talking about the dead.
At least they knew exactly how their loved ones were doing, they didn't have to live with that anguish, because they were all right here.
Abigail counted, too. But hey.
There wasn't much point in worrying about that woman. She would find a way to get back to them... Well, to Desmond, sooner or later. It was all just a matter of time, for her. Even what others wrote off as impossible.
They stood near the bed, that is, the table where they were healing Desmond.
He looked... as good as he could look, all things considered. Pale, bloodstained, breathing heavily and still unconscious. It didn't exactly paint an optimistic picture.
But she was aware that it could easily have been much worse.
It could have been too late for them to save him, and then... well, surely... he would have died. For real this time. For good. Hard to believe it, but at this point... it was a fact that his regeneration wasn't working.
That the poison of those sons of bitches... had affected him deeply.
If regeneration wasn't working, then how was reviving not going to be out of his reach?
Amy was trying to be optimistic, but as much as possible. She wasn't optimistic or foolish enough to believe anything so convenient. She had to face reality, as bitter as it was.
Besides, he only looked relatively well on the outside. But what really mattered was on the inside, and that was not something she could say for sure.
"How is he? "Amy asked.
One of the healers turned to her. It was a woman. It crossed her mind, absently, that she was a very attractive woman. She was probably closer to forty than thirty. Still, it had to be recognized.
"She'll live. But..."
"We can't waste time while you measure your words," Christina said. In keeping with her words, she didn't hold her tongue; she couldn't blame her. "Whatever it is, spill it."
"That's not what I intended. This boy... There are traces of poison in his body. A poison unknown to us. He's not in mortal danger... Oh, gods, what did I just say," He laughs bitterly, with a touch of hysteria. "He's not going to bleed to death, but I was worried about that."
"The poison..."
His body still contained traces of the poison, even though he had been treated the other night. That's why he was like that. Now they knew the problem. Unfortunately, they apparently had no idea what they could do, or even where to start. A dead end.
Incidentally, it was crazy that by the other night he was referring to the night before.
How had all this happened in such a short time? She was still surprised.
"Do you know what this is about?" a healer asked, but not the same one. Only the third one was a man.
"That's right," Christina admitted openly, "You can't do anything about it, so whatever. But... thank you for saving him."
"I hope it means something," said the one man, with a remarkable lack of tact. "If things don't change, we're all going to die here."
"Keep your voice down. Asshole," one of his female coworkers reprimanded him.
"Yes, ma'am. "Not coworker. Boss, apparently. "It's just that..."
"I understand you. But control yourself."
She didn't excuse him, but it was almost impossible to control oneself in such a situation... It wasn't hard to see why... It wasn't hard to understand that, if you saw no way to escape, well, why hold back? Why keep anything to yourself?
One had the right to be honest in spite of everything, even if it was in one's last moments.
Or rather the last moments forced people to be sincere. There, on the edge between life and death, one could find one's true self.
It had nothing to do with the current situation, but her thoughts passed to Abigail; she wondered what that said about her, that she couldn't die. And what it said about Desmond, that he had long ago stopped fearing death, recklessly throwing himself into one desperate situation after another.
Though it looked like that was going to change today.
Since now neither of them could hide from the truth.
——
Charlotte was still on the roof, willing to do anything to defend her people. Although that had turned out to be a lot less than she thought. She had been unable to do anything but watch for some time.
Watching as the explosions devastated the capital, as the blue fire spread, roaring like a living beast.
Seeing how helpless she really was, and how big the role was for her, despite her many years of preparation.
Charlotte couldn't wait for this to finally be over. But every second was an eternity.
And she was beginning to suspect that if this ended soon, it wouldn't be in her favor. Charlotte shuddered.
She didn't want to die. She didn't want to die, of course, but what really scared her was dying a failure. Not in the eyes of her father and mother.
But in the eyes of the people who had counted on her.
Real people, living people.
People she could really fail. Her parents were dead and would never come back. She couldn't make them proud of her and she couldn't let them down either. That was the harsh reality.
She was shattering the mission that had kept her going, moving forward, all these years.
But she couldn't say she was wrong. She couldn't fool herself to such an extent.
Not in this situation.
An explosion.
Charlotte startled and leaned a hand on the tower just in case, but she didn't need it to keep her balance. It hadn't been a nearby explosion. It hadn't been a projectile that she had missed, through an oversight, a potentially lethal oversight.
The explosion had happened far away. Up in the mountains. An explosion of blue fire.
She watched as the blue fire spread, forming a forest fire in the mountains, which would continue to advance. In all directions.
Also directly towards the capital.
Another threat on their hands. Though it was the least of what they had to worry about at the moment.
"That doesn't look good. I imagine that woman has destroyed the weapon, but it's too soon to cheer. This is just the beginning."
Yes. Even if Charlotte was right, they weren't going to retreat just because they lost that new weapon, whatever it was.
They were in the heart of enemy territory.
They had come to rip the heart of the kingdom from its breast with their own hands, with surely an invading force great in every possible way. They would stop at nothing.
Until I am dead and the capital broken.
She could tell they were becoming desperate, as the war progressed. Taking its natural course.
She could say that, but she was no fool, and she had no interest in fooling anyone either. The Empire had the upper hand. They had done so before the war started again, but it had become all too evident in the last few months that they had been able to win.
The Empire had the upper hand. They had done so before the war started up again, but it had become all too apparent in the last few months.
That was why she'd gone to such lengths to recruit Desmond in the first place.
And now it seemed that Desmond, their greatest weapon, had been broken. Not by the enemy. By her own subjects.
By the organization her own parents had formed, of all people. So... What? If she died here, they would be to blame. Indirectly. But they would be.
Charlotte gritted his teeth.
How... fucked up everything was. How really fucked up.
She couldn't see what the army was doing or not, hiding in the mountain like that damn weapon. Not from this distance. She didn't have an eagle's eyesight.
But she did see, how could she miss it, what they sent as an advance guard while they were probably coming down from the mountains.
How could she miss it, indeed.
Not one but two spider war machines. Those creatures with unprecedented destructive power, whose signature attack had become characteristic for the Empire itself. In fact, that was what had given them their name in the first place.
The blue fire.
He imagined the blue fire advancing. Consuming his skin and flesh slowly.
We can still do this, she told herself, though she couldn't see how. We still can.
"This... This isn't surprising, really," Charlotte said to herself. Maybe one of those things would be enough for them to take a city, but if they wanted to attack the capital, they needed at least two.
It wasn't surprising. But that didn't take away from how terrifying it was.
Charlotte couldn't go after them, leaving the palace behind. That would only be a way to get her killed faster. And they weren't close enough for her to use her affinity.
Not yet.
But that wasn't what kept her standing there still as a statue, in the same position as before.
The truth was more raw and harsh: she didn't know what to do. Her mind was blank, fear was taking over everything she had. That's why she didn't take action, give orders to the soldiers below or anything like that.
Not because she was waiting for the right moment. But simply because she was scared.
That, ironically, was also what broke the paralysis.
The spiders getting close enough to the palace to be a threat to her, telling her she had to act or she would die.
Charlotte thought only of herself, when push came to shove. Not the people she had been so worried about failing not so long ago.
Like everyone else, in the end.
Before either could spit blue fire on the palace, dooming them all to die in a sea of flames, Charlotte went on the attack.
Her portals carried away one of the spider's legs, cutting cleanly. And so suddenly that its absence destabilized her.
She crashed to the ground, creating a small earthquake, displacing dirt and dust.
The wind blew her hair back.
But that didn't do any good.
Charlotte didn't have time to make a second attack. The machine, from the ground, shot a web of spider webs at her. Charlotte cut the first one to pieces. But the second caught her completely by surprise.
The web wrapped around her so tightly that she wouldn't even be able to move her arms to cut through the portals, and hit her with enough force to rip her feet off the ground.
Before she knew it, she was falling through the hole in the ceiling.
She screamed all the way down.
——
"Fire! There's a fire!"
Amy didn't notice until that scream alerted her. She had been deep in thought, too worried about Desmond's condition, who still wouldn't wake up.
About how they could make sure they protected him while they fled from there, because even if he did wake up, he couldn't contribute much. Not in the state he was in. About those tremors...
And the explosions, of course.
Every time an explosion rang out, Amy would startle, shaking from head to toe. They had Charlotte protecting them, but that didn't mean they were perfectly safe.
That didn't mean the girl couldn't make a mistake or run out of magical energy, leaving them all exposed.
In that case it would be a question of which could last longer: the princess or the Empire's new weapon. If things came down to that, they didn't have the upper hand, that's for sure. So this was, at best, a breather. A temporary respite.
Maybe this was the sign that it was over.
Through the large windows, three on each side of the room, great walls of blue fire could be seen rising even higher. Consuming the grass in the garden, any trace of vegetation. Of fuel.
Not that it needed much fuel, though.
Blue fire was special because of how easily and quickly it spread, and how difficult it was to control. That was why it was so terrifying.
While it was true that being outside would be much worse, they were no longer safe here.
The crowd, recognizing this fact, went wild. They wanted to get out of here, even if it was through the front door. Right into the lion's den. And they were willing to fight the soldiers, even, to achieve it.
At the moment they were managing to hold them off. But it was only a matter of time before they were overcome.
"Stay calm. Please..." Words were not going to do anything.
But of course, what would? And how did she expect the soldier to know how to react, even if there was a magical reply? He would never have imagined he would be in a situation like this, surely.
Of course, they were at war, but the idea of the Empire daring to launch a full scale assault on the capital was still something distant to most people.
Something they knew was a possibility, sure, but something they didn't really believe in.
She couldn't blame them, blame any of them.
Because even Amy had felt safe here, when she should have known better. There was no safe place for them. Not while those sons of bitches were still alive, right?
"We're going to die here!"
"We'll keep you safe! Whatever it takes!" The voice of a different soldier, his voice almost drowned out by the shouts of the crowd, sounding so small, so young. Probably because he was.
Momentarily she felt sorry for him, pity as if she were looking at a child caught in a situation a child should never be in.
Though he was most certainly older than she was, however young he might be.
There was no magic solution. Words weren't enough, and even violence wouldn't get them far. It would only encourage them, make them angrier.
Nothing and no one could control this. They would not listen even if Charlotte showed up to lead them, surely.
It was hopeless.
Part of the crowd, though crazed with fear, approached this a little more intelligently. They split up and went in the opposite direction of the entrance.
Looking for another way out.
Any exit.
They were going to do the same, but the difference was that they could defend themselves. Civilians like them, who couldn't even use magic or whatever affinities they were in, by doing that they were just running to their deaths.
Amy wasn't a heartless person. Of course, it hurt her to see people suffer and die around her.
But, as she had said, there was nothing and no one who could control this. Not anymore.
And, well...
She threw her head back in time to see Christina wrap Desmond in shadows, lifting him up as before. Perhaps not the most delicate method of transport. But certainly the safest for the boy.
I have my priorities, Amy thought. I can't care about that many lives.
If she tried to save everyone, she'd come out of this, if she did, empty handed.
"Above?" Amy asked.
"Yes," she answered him.
They ran upstairs. Normally they would have fought for the whole world, fighting to put an end to this madness. But now they only wanted to run.
Them first, above all else.
It had to be this way...
In the midst of that chaos, Desmond opened his eyes. His pulse was racing, in a good way. At last some good news. Not that it changed the bleak outlook in the least,
In typical Desmond fashion, he wasted no time.
"What's going on?" he asked with wide eyes.
"Are you all right?" Dodging his question, demanding that he answer another. But she just needed to know. The healers' words hadn't been enough for her; she wanted to hear it from his mouth.
"What's going on?" he repeated, again, as if he hadn't heard her. Maybe it was true. There was something wild in his eyes.
"Things have gotten even worse. We're on the run now," Christina said.
The boy looked at her.
"And Abigail?"
Of course. The strange thing was that it had taken him so long to mention her. Knowing him, he wouldn't have been surprised if that woman's name had been the first thing out of his mouth, even at a time like this.
"She's going to manage... We have to trust that she will, at least."
Desmond closed his eyes in response, resigned.
They reached the third floor without any problems, but there their progress was interrupted in the following way: the Empire soldiers burst into the building, jumping through the windows, rolling down amidst the rain of glass.
The first thing they did was run to hide behind a nearby table. But too late.
The soldiers had already spotted them. They wouldn't be able to avoid this.
——
Desmond's heart pounded hard against his chest. The invading force had come this far. Surely by now Abigail had finished with the weapon. In fact, that would be precisely why they were resorting to this.
Otherwise anyone would be content to attack safely, from a great distance, until they broke the enemy.
His situation had improved, but marginally.
It didn't mean he had stopped being useless, a liability to the people most important to him.
It didn't mean he could fight and do anything to change this.
He could feel it; he was in the same condition as before, more or less. It wasn't as if he had regenerated on his own. He had received medical attention, obviously.
That wasn't enough. Desmond's heart was pounding harder and harder, as if pushing him forward. He wanted... No, he needed to fight. He wouldn't forgive himself if he did nothing.
More importantly, his uselessness could drag his precious friends to their deaths.
For they were as little capable of abandoning him to his fate as he would be, if their roles were reversed.
He heard the footsteps of soldiers approaching.
Bullets passed close to them, to the side, over their heads. Desmond grimaced.
I... I wish...
Listen to me, gods. You have shown me a vision, have you not? The end of the Empire. An end to this war that seems to go on forever. If I am the one who is destined to do that, a sea of blood, then I cannot fall here.
Please.
I beg you, bless me once more. Show me what I have to do to be strong again.
Strong enough to protect them.
Strong enough... to take control of his own destiny?
It had been a shot in the dark, a desperate gamble. Desmond didn't really think it would pay off. But it did.
He saw... exactly what he had asked for.
He was confident that this was so.
Desmond realized that he was free of the blanket of shadows Christina had covered him with, to move him and to protect him. And he also realized that the girl looked confused.
She hadn't done that. She hadn't.
Desmond gripped a piece of broken glass tightly. He could use his sword, he supposed, but he had seen glass nearby and stained with blood. So he felt the urge to grab it. Just to make sure.
"Desmond!" Christina shouted.
Amy tried to catch him, but he slipped through her fingers.
Desmond jumped over the table, landed and ran straight for the Imperial soldiers, crouched like a gazelle, the broken glass gleaming in his hand.
He threw the first soldier he caught to the ground, ramming with all the force he could muster. He fell to the ground with him on top.
Desmond put a hand on his chest, pushing him down.
The enemy was about to fire. He didn't give him time.
For Desmond plunged the glass into his neck. Watching him drown in his own blood, Desmond lowered his head to the neck wound. And began to suck the thickly flowing blood.
He heard gasps.
From the enemy soldiers? From Christina and Amy even, behind him?
He ignored it and thought nothing of it, just as he gave it no thought when the soldiers pointed their guns at him, opening fire.
The only thing he paid attention to was the sensation of the enemy's blood running down his throat.
Rich, thick and warm. As if it was burning. But not in a bad way. No, no, no, no, no.
His Adam's apple went up and down again and again as Desmond swallowed greedily, as if he intended to drink every last drop of blood in his body.