It wasn't her.

Desmond knew it deep in his heart, that it wasn't her, no way, no way, it couldn't be. Not only because of her smile. Not just because of those empty eyes, that felt nothing when they looked at him.

But because under no circumstances would she do this to him.

It had been impossible for it to be her from the beginning.

Still, that his mind knew it didn't make it any easier for his heart to be on his knees in front of her (because he had fallen) as she looked down on him with that cruel smile.

It felt like the world was coming crashing down. Right on top of him. He felt, for a brief moment....

That it would be better to be dead than like this.

"What are you doing?" Charlotte's voice trembled.

She would know, too. She would have known, except that it had all happened so fast. But she was confused and in shock. So instead of rushing out of there, she simply stared.

As if she expected it to be a trick of the light.

As if things would make sense again if she simply waited for an answer.

It wasn't just them here, of course.

The others were paralyzed for a very different reason. Fear.

The thing pretending to be Abigail broke the paralysis they were all engulfed in by launching a blast of fire. Not at him, to end what it had started, but at the princess. At the queen. The queen.

Naturally.

As much as it could do magic, it was one of them. Like the fake teacher they had unmasked and killed.

She was here to claim Charlotte's life, but he wouldn't allow it.

Desmond jumped up quickly.

Covering her with his arms, but he didn't stop, he wasn't content to merely cover her.

He jumped over the railing.

Avoiding the flames, by the skin of his teeth. Perhaps his clothes were burned a little, but the flames were extinguished before his feet touched the ground. His landing wasn't perfect, he would have sprained an ankle if he wasn't so sturdy, but he landed and they were fine.

So far so good.

"What's going on?" Charlotte asked, in his arms. He could feel her heart beating a mile a minute. He could feel how thin and small she was, really.

She shouldn't...

She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be anywhere near a place like this.

Why did the same tragedies keep repeating themselves?

Until the climax? Until the grand finale the gods had in store?

"I don't know. I don't know if it's possessing Abigail, somehow, or if it's just a thing that looks like her. In both cases it's bad, but....

If it was the former, then it wasn't just bad. They would be lost. There was no one who could stand up to her.

Not even him, at the height of his power, when he didn't have to rely on anyone's blood to get in shape and get going.

That went without saying. They were both painfully aware of that truth.

Beyond that, if it really was Abigail, even if she wasn't in control of her actions, then he couldn't hurt her. He couldn't fight with all his might.

And he had to assume that.

Because fighting assuming otherwise was dangerous.

Now that he... could kill her.

Now that the curse of immortality could transfer.

Desmond didn't want to say it, but this might be the end was what was going through his head. If you go into a life and death fight with that attitude, it's like you've lost yourself before you've even started. But he couldn't help himself. Nor the fear of using the way he had, very simple, to check if this thing was Abigail or not. Because it would confirm it.

No.

Desmond didn't even need that to check. Charlotte's soldiers and the golden masks had gone on the attack in the meantime, trying to stop the thing's advance.

It had used fire to try to assassinate the queen.

Now it was employing ice.

Not only could he see it flying around that thing like a storm of death, but he noticed that the ice was climbing up the walls, slowly covering the windows. If it weren't for the adrenaline and an edge"of"death rush of nervous energy, he'd be starting to feel the cold by now.

Fire and ice.

It was clear, he didn't need to see any more.

That thing hadn't impersonated Abigail, it had possessed her. Somehow it had not only possessed her, but was using her affinity as if it were its own. All the power of nature, of the elements, was concentrated in that monster. Abigail had always been the strongest ally.

Now she was an insurmountable obstacle.

——

Charlotte and Amy re-entered the war-torn capital of Albion. Bent, but not broken. Not yet.

They weren't here to save the city, though, just their friend.

That was true, but the two things went hand in hand more or less. It wasn't long before they ran into the first group of Albionese and Imperials fighting.

It was almost immediate, in fact.

And since they needed all the help they could get, they looked at each other and nodded, silently deciding to intervene. Instead of continuing directly toward the palace.

They circled around to approach the Imperial soldiers from behind.

They still hadn't noticed their presence.

It was only a matter of time, of course. But even if they could only launch a surprise attack, that in itself gave them a considerable advantage. Maybe they could put an end to the fight before it really started.

And prevent more of those Albion soldiers from falling.

They completed the roundup.

Charlotte was the first to act. She used several people's own shadows.

She breathed life into them, and then she used them as shackles, binding them around the legs of those soldiers. Shackles with chains. Very long chains, definitely.

She pulled on them, throwing the soldiers off balance, causing them to end up on the ground.

They were confused. Hadn't expected something like this.

They didn't even know what was happening to them. By the time they realized it, it would be too late. No, in fact it was already too late.

Charlotte threw them far, far back. Too far and too high.

There was no way they would survive the fall. They would end up exploding on impact with the ground like ripe melons. Charlotte grimaced at the thought of that image.

They were her enemies, after all, and her pulse wasn't shaking when it came to killing them. She wasn't shaken.

But that didn't stop the image from being unpleasant, anyway. If it were up to her, none of the four would ever fight again in their lives. But that wasn't up to her. It was up to the world.

And the world was against her, it couldn't be more obvious.

The Imperial soldiers turned. Even in surprise, the soldiers stopped fighting.

"Concentrate your fire on that creature!" shouted an Imperial soldier, recognizing who was the biggest threat nearby.

The leader, or maybe he wasn't.

He hadn't given any special orders, just what anyone would do if they wanted to survive. In any case, they had no chance to follow that order. To focus fire on her, not shoot.

Because they did shoot, but at Amy, who lunged forward.

Amy was sliding on the ice under her feet that she was creating. Meanwhile, she attacked the enemies from afar with "knives" and "spears" of ice.

A rain that didn't stop. A rain of death.

She was displaying great dexterity, coordination and balance. This trick she had even used in the attack on the academy, as Amy had told her during one of many training sessions. But since then she had improved tremendously.

There was no point of comparison. She hadn't seen it in action back then.

But Christina felt she had the right to say it anyway. And that she was right. There was simply no point of comparison.

Of the three...of the four, counting Abigail, Amy might be the weakest. With the most normal affinity. But that didn't mean that her great talent and skill was to be disparaged. She was very dangerous, like all of them.

Despite her young age, she had been forged in the fires of battle.

Like all of them.

Amy had nothing to envy them, in that respect.

Christina didn't join her. She stayed where she was. There was no need to approach the Imperial soldiers, being able to attack from afar. Unless she wanted to make their job easier.

Despite her enormous power, she wasn't like Desmond. Or like Abigail. A single bullet could finish her off.

She had returned to the capital, even though she was painfully aware of that, because there were things more important to her than her own life. Of course there were. Much more important things.

She had been ready to throw her life away not so long ago, after all.

The Albionese soldiers, emboldened by the sudden, completely unexpected help, came charging back with more force. To end this.

The battle came to a swift end. And, just as she had intended, without a single more Albion soldier falling. The street was strewn with corpses of Imperials.

But Christina wasn't satisfied in the least.

She was painfully aware that this had been but a small, very small battle in the midst of the war that was raging throughout the capital. That threatened to engulf it. So she couldn't feel satisfied.

Frankly, she wasn't even sure she had done much here.

Too late to regret it, of course, but she wondered what this would be worth. If it wouldn't have been better... Had she used to doubt herself so much before? She wasn't certain. Maybe Desmond, who always thought too much, had influenced her.

Or maybe it was simply that only idiots wouldn't hesitate in a situation like this.

In any case, she didn't feel right about this. She had a vague feeling of nausea. Christina hoped she wouldn't throw up.

"Thanks for the help." An Albionese soldier thanked her.

Did she deserve his gratitude?

Christina nodded, not responding because she didn't know what to say. Keeping quiet was easier. The option of least resistance. It usually was.

She had always been very quiet, but that had changed in recent months. Like so many other things.

She turned away.

Amy didn't think the same as her.

"You're welcome," she replied matter-of-factly.

It seemed strange to Christina to say such a normal phrase in such a situation, almost comical, but hey, at least Amy had said something. She turned around too and followed her.

They continued on.

Their destination was the palace. But along the way they stopped to help other soldiers and finish other battles. Little, but they stopped. She hoped those efforts would make a difference.

For good. That it could have been more than a waste of time at a time when everything counted.

Almost there, she thought.

Christina swallowed hard. They didn't know what they were getting into.

When they finally got underway, they saw the palace engulfed in blue flames from a distance. However, that had changed. She wasn't sure if for the better.

She knew this must be the palace, she knew the way, but....

It had changed completely.

It wasn't engulfed in flames anymore, but the opposite. Ice. A palace of ice, collapsed, covered with spikes. What had happened there? Who could do that?

She didn't think those in the Empire had that kind of technology.

But then again, she didn't know of any mages who could do such a thing either, and no, why would anyone do that in the first place? Christina shook her head.

Enough overthinking.

In the interest of at least making her thoughts productive, she turned her attention to the mechanical spider. For there was only one left standing. The skeleton of the other was scorched and still giving off some black smoke. It would not rise again.

Desmond and Abigail, she figured, had taken care of that one.

I'll finish the job for you.

They stopped relatively close to the palace, Christina putting a hand on Amy's shoulder, causing her to stop as well.

"Give me time," Christina said, trusting her to do so. Because she really did. But she had no choice but to trust anyway.

Her affinity was darkness and, as such, she wasn't in the

Her affinity was darkness and, as such, she was not at the height of her powers in broad daylight. But even the sun couldn't extinguish the darkness.

There was a shadow for everything. That mechanical spider cast an especially large shadow.

That was what she would use.

The mechanical spider could bring entire cities to their knees. Today she would break it with her bare hands, single-handedly.

She breathed life into the spider's shadow. Each leg was enveloped by the shadow they themselves cast. That war machine was within her reach, so it didn't matter the distance.

Not that they were very far away either, though. So not only did they quickly realize what was happening.

They spotted her.

The Empire soldiers, screaming like wild animals, opened fire on her.

Amy erected a wall of ice in front of Christina and her, protecting them. But it was close. A few seconds later, just a few seconds, and they would have been torn apart by the hail of bullets.

That alone protected them from the forces of the palace and only, moreover, from those in front of them.

That is, nothing prevented them from circling around and catching them from behind.

Amy could cover them both with a wall of ice, but if she did that, it would block her view, making her job difficult. Normally it wouldn't matter at all, but she was talking about such a huge thing, after all.

Christina didn't know if she could pull it off if she didn't see the spider's shadow with her own eyes.

Anyway.

As soon as the soldiers turned around to attack them from behind, Amy would have to raise the barrier on that side as well. Yes or yes.

She would have no choice, so...

Christina had to make do either way. With whatever time her soulmate could give her.

The rain of bullets hit the ice relentlessly, the cracks were spreading. A heavy load. Amy was repairing the wall, but sooner or later it would burst.

It was a matter of time, everything.

Amy could buy her time, but not too much.

If only it was enough.

Christina, grunting with effort, lifted the second mechanical spider a few feet above the ground. The best display of power she had ever made. At least from a purely physical standpoint.

She had achieved that, but from there to finishing off that abomination was still a long way off.

Bent by the effort and the weight it put on her body, Christina fell to the ground, dropping to one knee.

"Are you all right?"

Christina opened her mouth to try to reassure her, but what came from her lips weren't words but a choked moan. And blood. A lot of blood.

She couldn't fail now.

Christina shook her head, gathering her strength. And she charged again. She threw both hands forward, putting all her soul into the effort.

She lifted the spider a little higher and then slammed it to the ground.

It ended up being used as a kind of hammer to smash the "ants" that were around, everywhere. The soldiers of the Empire.

But that wasn't Christina's intention.

A nice side benefit, but not her main goal. What she was after, of course, was to tear it apart. Make sure it can't get back up.

One, two blows.

The ice barrier finally could no longer withstand the hail of bullets. It burst, leaving them exposed. Chunks of ice hit Amy. She lost her balance, staggered, but managed to stay on her feet.

She did her best to fill the gaps in the barrier. At least it hadn't been a total collapse.

Still they had come too close to dying.

It was always like that. They would never be quite at peace. Even if they hadn't gotten mixed up with Desmond and Abigail, unknowingly condemning themselves to being potential hostages to use against the boy, which meant they couldn't leave this life even if they wanted to....

Good

Well, that was the point.

She wouldn't speak for Amy, but she couldn't go back to a normal life. Christina couldn't live in fear that the Empire would attack at any moment and shatter her normalcy.

Dangerous as it was, this was her path.

A third strike.

With each blow Christina struck, the creature's heart was cracking. But it wouldn't burst. And she didn't know how much longer she could keep it up. She feared it would get away from her.

The damn creature was churning so hard... It was also spitting fire, making guttural sounds as if it were a living thing and not a mere machine. It made her hair stand on end.

To say the least.

Yes, this had to stop.

Christina threw the spider... not on the floor, but directly against the palace. On top of a bed of the spikes the palace was covered in, along with the ice.

The ice spear penetrated deep, piercing the heart of the beast, with the help of the momentum.

It roared louder, kept churning, spitting fire furiously.

But not only through the mouth'.

Also through the hole in the heart, directly onto the palace grounds. And the Imperial army.

——

The shadow said it would take its time, but at the end of the day it was just an animal. Hunger got the better of it. It didn't linger too long enjoying his pain.

Within seconds it struck him in the chest with an ice hammer.

Desmond screamed again, writhing miserably. He spat blood to the side of him, turning around to make sure he wouldn't end up drowning in it.

Drowning was a great danger, indeed. And not just with water.

He had to avoid it at all costs.

I'm not going to drown in my own blood, he told himself. There was no way he was going to fall down. He was determined. To go on.

Even though he hardly understood how he had ended up in this miserable state.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The shadow raised the ice hammer again.

Desmond imagined very vividly it smashing him with that thing. He raised his arms, even the broken arm, to protect his head. That, at least, had to keep it from hitting him.

And it didn't hit him. But not just in the head, anywhere.

There was a great roar. The whole palace shook, as if it had had enough and was going to collapse. It only lasted a few seconds, really. But it was long enough to distract his enemy.

Desmond took a deep breath. Steeling himself, arming himself with all the strength that remained within him.

He rose to his feet, screaming from the back of his throat.

As the enemy turned around, he rammed him against the railing of the stairs leading down. Against the railing... and through a stalactite, which went clean through.

From one side to the other.

The shadow's eyes widened like saucers. It saw blood gushing out of its mouth.

It was the shadow, not Abigail.

He knew it. Of course he knew it. But... it was still her face. And to see her like that, writhing in pain, that face he loved so much, to see her beautiful red eyes clouded over....

How could it not affect him?

How could it not make his heart tremble? And his determination too?

"I..." Desmond opened his mouth to... something. Apologize?

Yes. He would have to apologize. When Abigail regained control, but not now. Now...

The shadow grabbed the stalactite that pierced it, while the blood continued to spill out of its mouth. He broke it in half.

Of course, to use it as a weapon.

It thrust the broken piece toward his head. Desmond saw it coming from far away and raised an arm, blocking the blow with ease.

But he didn't block the knee, knocking the air from his lungs. Nor the kick that followed.

Desmond went down rolling, backwards, from the force of the impact of that kick. It had only been a distraction. The damn stalactite. He had fallen for it.

But he wouldn't have if his opponent had another face.

It was only because he was face to face with Abigail that he had been distracted. Otherwise, even in his current state, he would have been able to dodge all the blows and hit back.

Yes, he knew! So what, what did moaning about it change?

The shadow put its hands on the railing and pushed, pulling the other half of the stalactite out of the hole the stalactite itself had formed in its body.

Causing, of course, more tearing, more blood and other fluids spilling onto the floor.

The monster acted as if it didn't notice, though.

He knew, at least, that it wasn't so. That the shadow did feel pain, not just the person it was possessing. That wasn't going to help him. But it was good to know. And to keep it in mind.

His foe approached him unhurriedly again. A wild animal toying with its prey, or thinking that's what it was doing. In reality he was just giving time.

Not to him. To Abigail.

Desmondwas counting on her, at the end of the day that was all he could do, really.

Counting on her to be able to break the shadow's control as he himself had done that night, before it was too late.

The shadow carried the piece of the stalactite in one hand. With that it had no problem either. Its coldness didn't bother it, after all.

"You're not able to fight with everything you've got since I'm in this body. But it's not just that, is it? I don't understand why. But you're weak."

He wasn't going to admit it, but unfortunately it was right.

The power he had received from Abigail's blood was running out. It was outlasting that of that Imperial soldier's blood, naturally because Abigail was much more powerful.

But there was a limit to everything. Abigail's blood wasn't going to fuel him for days. Not even hours, perhaps.

He couldn't remember how much time had passed since then.

A lot had happened, but in a short time. Maybe not even a full hour had passed since then. Since he drank her blood and they headed back to the capital with determination, to stop this massacre.

And that wasn't the only problem. That his fuel was running low.

With that gush of water it had almost succeeded in drowning him. But not only that, he was willing to gamble. The force of the water would have affected the delicate balance of the physical reinforcement, causing bones to break.

Only he hadn't realized it at the time, because of the adrenaline.

From having the breath of death behind his neck.

All in all, Desmond was screwed. He didn't know if it would be enough even if he fought seriously. No, whether he fought seriously didn't matter since the shadow now possessed Abigail.

Even if he killed Abigail, the shadow wouldn't be forced to find another body. Because the "new" one would simply come back to life.

Bottom line.

... He was screwed in every possible way.

"That will make this... a little less satisfying," finished that inhuman creature, with a gleeful smile.

He plunged the broken stalactite, which was more like a stake, into his chest.

No.

There was no pain. He didn't feel his skin and flesh being torn.

The attack missed its target.

The stalactite had disappeared between its hands before it reached the target. The shadow was equally or even more confused by this than he was.

"Huh?"

The answer made itself known immediately. Rather, it came running toward them. Charlotte and the others had come out of the protective circle. Thinking he couldn't handle this alone.

And they weren't wrong, but they had no business intervening.

This was Abigail and him against the shadow.

No one else was needed. Their presence would only complicate things. Especially Charlotte's. That thing wouldn't hesitate to kill the princess.

On the contrary, it would want to take her away easily, to get back to the main course as quickly as possible.

Charlotte should know that.

Ah, why was she stupid enough to put herself in its grasp despite that, once more?

The girl had saved his life. The disappearing stalactite thing she'd had to do with her portals, even though he hadn't seen any portals.

That was great, but she could have continued to help from afar, damn it.

She'd have to know that was for the best, too.

Desmond, helpless, watched as his reinforcements rushed into the attack. That is, toward certain death.

"No... Idiots!" He coughed several times, hard, spit out some more blood. His whole body ached. And his whole body shook.

Shit.

The shadow frowned. It didn't even turn toward them. What it did was reach out a hand, launching a blast that swept several of the charging soldiers and sent them flying over the railing and down the stairs. Desmond watched them fall.

They would probably survive the fall. But surviving wasn't the same as being okay.

Or that they would get help in time.

Desmond thought there was at least one good thing about that: that those who had been lucky enough to escape would at least listen to him, but he couldn't be so lucky. Even after that demonstration of power, there was only a brief moment of doubt.

And then they went back to the charge. Desmond would say it was a brave thing to do.

Worthy of admiration.

But courage was worthless if you ended up dead. And they could die for their homeland, if they thought it important enough, but it wasn't just them.

Charlotte was still in the middle of this madness.

The shadow could snap her neck like a dry twig, inexorably twisting, just like that, the future of all his loved ones.

The shadow raised a stone wall right in front of her.

With one hand.

With the other, in an instant it formed... a kind of water whip. That shot out. It took several soldiers with it, crashing into a wall.

The important thing is that Charlotte was among them.

"Charlotte!" he shouted her name without realizing it.

Desmond gritted his teeth.

Close. Too close.

If it hadn't been for the other bodies cushioning the impact, the creature might well have snapped her neck right there. With no one who could save her life nearby, it would be practically the same as instant death.

Desmond had been hesitating all this time. Because he didn't want to hurt his mother.

He didn't care that the damage would regenerate and that there wasn't much of a risk of killing her, at least not permanently. Still it was too much for him. Until now.

Now that Charlotte had gotten herself into this, he had no choice but to give it his all and more.

He couldn't let his weakness ruin things for Abigail. They needed that little girl alive.

He had to think about the future, not just this moment. So he would fight.

"I'm doing this for you," Desmond said.

Abigail would understand. It was true, though he couldn't say it was any comfort to him anyway.

Desmond got up...well, as best he could. He could barely hold his own weight, let alone the sword. But he couldn't just stand around waiting for the regeneration to finish.

If it would do that.

So he went on the attack. He launched an attack, which was immediately deflected by another jet of water that the shadow had thrown without even looking at him.

The jet of water almost knocked the sword out of his hands.

What it did manage to do was slam him against the wall. Desmond grunted and coughed. It felt like a giant was sitting on his chest, crushing him, not letting him breathe properly even for a second.

The enemy focused his attention back on the approaching soldiers.

As follows.

The stone wall exploded. Its debris flew against the group, knocking many down and burying them underneath. It was like a hail of bullets. Huge bullets. Except for the fact that many would get up even after being hit.

Still, it was frightening how easily it was handling so many people. Among the best Albion had to offer, on top of that. At least in theory.

He had thought he was aware of how powerful Abigail was. But this had made him open his eyes.

Her power was like an unfathomable sea. He hadn't seen more than a rivulet until now.

The shadow made a three hundred and sixty degree turn on its heels, forming underfoot a column of water that lifted it almost even through the hole in the roof.

They launched several attacks at it even up there, but that thing simply moved the column, dodging.

They couldn't even hit it and it was an enemy they literally couldn't kill. If this kept up, the soldiers' morale would fall through the floor. Although that wasn't likely to decide the outcome of this battle.

They already had literally everything else stacked against them.

What had moved them to try to help him was pure and simple desperation.

He felt something around his ankle. Desmond moved his head down so fast that his neck cracked.

A tentacle of water. It had caught him and...

Shit!

It tossed him like a damn toy to the side. In the same direction as those soldiers swept by the blizzard. And he would end up with the same fate.

The same fate.

He'd almost forgotten... Desmond held back a scream, watching the ground get closer and closer every second. Along with the spikes he was covered in.

When he'd said those soldiers would probably survive the fall he hadn't taken that into account.

Holy fuck.

Desmond put his sword in front of him and his arms crossed just in front of his head, as if that would do anything. But he had no way to move. Not when he was already in the air.

All he could hope for was to not die from it and regenerate relatively quickly.

Now that he thought about it, the regeneration had to be draining the power of the blood faster than normal. So would he have enough?

He didn't have to find out.

The second possibility happened, something he hadn't counted on. Someone helped him. What's more, Charlotte saved him again. Desmond didn't fall on the spikes, impaled, but against and through a portal.

He ended up back at the top of the stairs, rolling on the floor. At this rate I'm going to throw up, he thought.

He recovered relatively easily. That is, Desmond got to his feet before he finished the movement, taking advantage of the momentum of the spin.

Why was he talking about it like it was a great victory?

This had only just begun, really. But I'm going to finish it.

Desmond bit his tongue hard, until he drew blood. It was as if causing pain to himself would help him concentrate. Ignoring the rest of the pain that was spreading throughout his body.

He would endure it, anyway.

He would endure it and move forward. He took the first step. Then the second.

Getting started is always the hardest thing to do, he thought.

One step after another. If he looked at it that way, the effort didn't seem so great. It would seem like something anyone could do.

Something made everything shake again, as if the palace was going to collapse on top of their heads. The tremors almost caused him to lose his balance and end up falling head first to the ground, but he managed to steady himself, much to his surprise. What the hell was going on outside, anyway? No. Desmond shook his head vigorously.

It didn't matter. It couldn't matter to him.

Not until they were done with things here.

He continued to slowly advance towards his enemy.

Meanwhile, the creature was tearing apart the Albion Soldiers and golden masks alike with... Well, with everything.

Fire, earth, water, wind. Electricity, even.

Every tool in its arsenal. Less because it needed to go that far and more for, it seemed, pure pleasure, unleashing the limitless power it had acquired.

It wasn't its power, not really, but it doubted that vile, creeping creature would see the difference. Its affinity, the reflection of its being, was based on taking everything from other people.

You couldn't get any lower than that.

What it used least was the knife in its left hand, which it had most certainly snatched from one of the golden masks. Few came that close to it after all. That is, alive.

Charlotte...

Charlotte was fine, for the moment. Fortunately.

She was keeping out of the way, which surprised him at first, but it didn't take him long to realize that she wasn't doing that willingly.

The poor girl was some distance from the shadow, far away but not too far away, not as far away as he would like, with her back against a wall.

Her knees had given out on her at some point, so now she was on the floor. Trembling.

It was one of the few times where she looked as young as she actually was. Or more. It broke his heart to see her like that. But at least now she was holding her own where she should be.....

Yeah, but he wished she didn't have to see this. None of this. That she didn't have to carry...

He took a bad step, almost fell again.

His head spun, his vision blurring. He shook his head. Focus! He shook it again.

"You're like insects to me. Insects throwing themselves against the glass, too stupid to know what's going to happen. Oh, this feels great!"

Yes, he didn't need to swear. It was clear that power had gone to his head. Power that wasn't even his.

Desmond finally got close enough for the shadow to become aware of his presence. It had truly taken forever.

"Come and get me if you can!"

The shadow squirted another stream of water at him in response, hoping, no doubt, to take care of him as easily as it had so far. The power really must have gone to his head.

Arrogance could take anyone down, and today it would take down that abomination.

There was one difference from the other times.

This time, Desmond was ready. But not just that one. On the way here he had been gathering strength.

Which he used as soon as he saw the slightest hint of movement, lunging forward like a panther and dodging the water. It wasn't normal water, so he heard it turn around, like a living creature, to chase him.

But that didn't matter.

He was already too close to the enemy for it to matter.

Howling, Desmond charged.

But the shadow had moved even before he did, brandishing the knife toward his neck.

One move. Just one move.

But it would be quicker, the knife would sink into his neck.

Okay, I'll accept that, Desmond thought, baring his teeth wildly. He wouldn't change the trajectory of his attack, he wouldn't stop to defend himself either.

He was determined to attack even if the price was his neck.

And so...

So it should have been, but it went as follows: Desmond plunged the sword into Abigail's chest, from one side to the other. While the knife that the shadow had wielded had stopped a few millimeters from his neck. Now the tip of that knife trembled.

There was no luck or pure coincidence, and certainly no last second change of heart either.

No.

Abigail's resilience had paid off. She had helped him just when he needed her most.

As always.

She had only been able to make that creature stop, not regain control of her body. But it had been enough. That small resistance, that brief instant.

Like an exhalation between life and death.

This was not over, of course. The shadow had the option of staying inside the body she had possessed, and there was really no reason for it to leave Abigail's.

There were no bonds that she couldn't free herself from. That included the bonds of death.

But at least it was a step forward. Time to rest, recover and prepare. And he'd seen a little progress. Abigail had managed to resist.

Sooner rather than later, she'd break the control. He had been sure from the beginning, but now he was even more sure.

Still...

It seemed so little to him, for such a terrible price.

Desmond laid Abigail's body carefully, reverentially, on the floor. As she died. The sword had pierced her clean through. Shredded her heart.

As she choked on her own blood and coughed up blood, Desmond thought he saw the real Abigail in those eyes. He thought he saw gratitude.

Was that only what he wanted to see? What suited him?

Regardless, the shadow chose to escape. Darkness came out of the dying Abigail's mouth. And out of her ears, even out of her eyes. Desmond turned away quickly, thinking naturally that he would be the next target. If it had dared to leave the body of the most powerful person in this place, it would go after the second most powerful.

That's what he thought. What he thought was natural. But he was wrong.

Black smoke actually surrounded him, on its way to a different target.

A golden mask. He tried to escape, but it was futile and there was no way to stop the process. Not that they knew of.

From the screams he made as the thing went down his throat, he recognized the son of a bitch in question, despite the mask in the way. Richard. As he'd said, he'd recognize that voice anywhere.

The shadow turned the head of his new body. To glare at him.

"I'm tired of playing with you," the thing said.

What followed after the end of the game was, naturally....

Desmond broke into a run before the shadow could get moving.

But it was too far away. He wouldn't make it in time. And the soldiers seemed to be too much in shock to process what was happening and act properly. At least in time to do any good.

The shadow was after Charlotte, of course.

Fun's over, time for business. In theory. Only that was part of the fun, too.

He wouldn't kill Charlotte because it was a good strategic move, stir up the monarch, bring down morale, make it easier to take the capital and all that.

He would kill her simply for the pleasure of seeing him suffer.

This was purely personal, whatever the creature said.

The girl stood up and prepared to defend herself.

Late. I'm not going to make it in time, whatever I do, I'm not going to make it in time, it's not like I can teleport.

Richard had stayed behind, making sure to stay close to Charlotte. Because she was...

He should have figured this would happen, that was the thing.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

"He's going to kill her!" Desmond shouted in desperation, as if someone would react, as if someone could do what he couldn't.

Someone could, at last.

Richard's knife fell.

On his own body. He stabbed himself after regaining control, or at least enough to do that. In a lethal way.

To make sure he couldn't hurt the girl.

The shadow escaped from him as well.

Desmond became even more tense if possible, and he didn't stop running, but rather the opposite, he increased the pace.

Because this wasn't over at all.

Because the creature didn't need to possess anyone to kill Charlotte, he could possess the princess directly and make her 'commit suicide'. It would be as easy as making her jump down from one of the staircase railings.

The black smoke didn't try to possess the princess, however.

Nor did it come for him.

Instead, it flew to one of the windows and smashed through it, causing it to explode into a thousand pieces. The creature left behind it a shower of glass and dozens of corpses strewn across the frozen ruins of the palace.

While they had done it no harm. If that was even possible.

Desmond watched as Richard slumped over the ruins, a red flower blooming beneath him.

——

Desmond looked around.

What a mess that creature had left behind her. The palace was in ruins, falling apart, it looked like it could collapse at any moment, though of course the shadow wasn't to blame for that.

But it hadn't exactly done anything to help, it had filled what it could see of the palace with ice. And spikes.

It was like a completely different place than before.

Everywhere, ice or not, there was blood. Blood and corpses. It was a miracle they had come out of this one relatively unscathed. Most of the soldiers had died against the shadow, but if he had been serious instead of just testing his new powers, they all would have died.

And Charlotte would have died had it not been for Richard's willpower, which had stabbed himself.

Charlotte would have died and with her... not his hopes for a better future. But that would definitely have been much harder without her.

They hadn't even won. The black smoke had escaped through a window, to fight another time.

But Desmond saw it as a victory anyway. And he was relieved.

Though that didn't last him long, truth be told. Focusing his attention back on Abigail, he realized that the woman had breathed her last breath, so to speak, while he wasn't looking.

He felt a pang of sorrow in his heart at that. It wasn't goodbye, but still... He should have been watching.

He wiped the blood from her lips with his fingertips.

A wonderful woman like her didn't deserve to suffer like that. To die over and over again. What she deserved was to be happy. And if she couldn't have that, at least peace. She understood why Abigail sought death, even if he didn't like it.

It was still warm.

Of course, it hadn't been that long.

She was still warm, but... For some reason, he began to worry that this was the end. That is, that she was really dead. Every second that passed increased his concern. His heart was beating slower and slower, as if it might just as well stop. Slower and more painfully.

He wanted to tell himself that this made no sense, that it was the foolishness of a child who, as usual, worried too much and kept thinking about the wrong things.

But he couldn't tell himself that because she... she had already told him long ago.

That he had reached the state necessary to free her from her curse. That if she hadn't asked him immediately it was because she wanted to make it up to him first, to make him happy, to live one more life, one last life, with him.

But now...

He had done it. He had plunged his sword into that woman's chest. For her own sake. But he had plunged the sword into her chest, piercing the heart and... What if that was all it took?

What if she was dead, really dead?

Desmond licked his lips, because they were so dry. As was his whole mouth. And his throat. Like a desert.

"It couldn't be. It can't be. It just can't be," he whispered to himself, barely audible, over and over.

——

Richard, possessed by that strange black smoke, had come to kill her with a knife. And no one would have been able to stop him in time. No one except him.

That's what he had done.

And he could have stabbed himself in the leg or something, but instead he had not hesitated to inflict a mortal wound on himself, as soon as he regained control.

After that, black smoke escaped from him.

And now Richard was lying on a bed of rubble. A red carpet was being rolled out from under his body. Slowly, slowly. But surely. Charlotte watched the advancing blood as if mesmerized.

Maybe she was.

Maybe she was.

Richard raised a trembling hand. At first, she thought he was lifting it toward her, or trying to at least. But he actually directed it toward his own face. To get the golden mask off his face.

Next, he dropped it to his side. The whole thing fell onto the rubble and ended up on the ground. Tinkling.

Charlotte grimaced. Why did that clinking sound... sound as loud as gunshots?

Charlotte knelt beside the man as he lay dying. Because that was the truth. He wasn't quite dead. It wasn't such a serious wound, that is, for a mage. He could be saved.

If there was someone to save him. But there was no mage healer around.

He was dead already.

And he should have known that even before he stabbed himself. But he had done it anyway... So now what, was she supposed to thank him?

Richard looked at her with misty eyes. And he gave her a smile that was very discordant with the situation. A warm... smile.

"In a just world..." he began. Charlotte wasn't about to tell him not to talk, to conserve his strength, nothing like that. No such nonsense. "You would have been our daughter."

Oh.

It couldn't have been more obvious who he meant by that plural.

How could he dare say that to her face? How could he have so little shame?

Thank him?

What Charlotte did was to put her hands around his neck and clench, not only her hands but also her teeth, showing them all like a wild animal. She was beside herself with rage.

——

Desmond was aware that something was going on.

It's not like he was completely out of it, sounds and images were coming to him. But he wasn't really getting it, and he didn't really care. He was focused on the only thing that really mattered.

Abigail.

Abigail.

Abigail, Abigail, Abigail, Abigail, Abigail.

She had to be okay. Fuck, she couldn't be dead. It couldn't have ended this way. He knew it would have to end someday, he had resigned himself to it, he really had, he had finally accepted it, that one way or another it would end.

But not like this. Not like this. It couldn't be like that.

Without realizing that it was the end. Without even being able to say goodbye. That would be too much.

Too much"

Abigail's eyes shot open, and she practically jumped, breathing again.

Desmond sighed shakily in relief. He had opened his mouth to say something, but that was all that came out in the end.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain control of himself.

"I thought... I thought... I thought... That you would be... That you were dead... really... I thought...

Regain control? Couldn't. He was shaking from head to toe. But it was his heart that was really trembling.

The heart of a child. He had always been a child, nothing but a child.

"Oh, my sweet boy," Abigail said, drawing him into her arms. Warm. Her embrace was so warm. "Listen. If "it" didn't require mutual consent, I'd be dead long ago. You don't have to worry about that."

Desmond, in Abigail's arms like a child, could do nothing but nod in response.

She would be long dead... and they would never have met. In fact, he would be dead. She had given him everything. Everything.

It wasn't selfish to want to give her something before she left this world, was it?

——

The golden masks stepped forward, ready to defend their leader. However the soldiers, her soldiers, stood in their way. And they stopped, staring at each other. The tension was palpable.

But it hadn't erupted. Yet.

They think they're some kind of heroes, so they don't want to stain their hands with the blood of the people they are supposed to be trying to protect.

People like them, who were simply defending the kingdom.

Charlotte didn't turn her head to look for a moment. She knew that because it wasn't hard to imagine what was going on based on the sounds that reached her ears and had stopped shortly after.

In any case, she didn't care.

She was only vaguely aware of what was going on 'outside'. In the outside world.

All her attention was focused on Richard.

Not even on the hands around his neck, squeezing. Only on Richard. On his gasps of pain. On his eyes wide as saucers. On his pupils that were twisting madly, as if looking for a way out.

When there was no way out.

He was to blame, for putting himself in her grasp after what he had done to her and her kingdom.

And to her family...

How could she let all that go?

He should have known that the next time she saw him, she would kill him. Thank him? She had nothing to thank him for. Defending his queen should be the natural thing to do. But he had worked against her, undermining her efforts.

So many people had died because of him!

People whose faces Charlotte would see even on her deathbed, right up to the last moment! People she had failed!

"And all because of you!" Charlotte shrieked, unconsciously squeezing harder. "For what you did. For your supposed greater good. You don't care, you're not going to carry it. But I do... Every face, every death! I remember them. I remember them. I can almost feel them on my shoulders. And I could have saved them! It wasn't enough for you to mess with my family. If you hadn't existed, my parents would have been happy together. We would have been a real family. You miserable son of a bitch. Die! Die! Die! Die! I curse you. I hope there is a life after this one, and that you end up in the worst hell. Die!"

Charlotte gave vent to all her rage and regret, completely beside herself. She didn't care what came out of her mouth.

Nor who was listening, and what might happen next as a consequence.

What people would say. What they would think.

She didn't give a shit.

As she had said, for her at this moment there was only Richard, who was slowly dying in her hands. She had the power. She was the queen.

She had the power, not him.

She unleashed everything that had been locked away in her heart for too long, speaking without even knowing what she was saying, sometimes.

And she cursed him.

She cursed him to death.