He had done it.

He had done it. He could hardly believe it, but he had done it! Sticking a knife in her heart.

Now he was running, losing himself in the crowd.

He was aware that he might attract attention this way, but he was too scared to act calmly, now that he had done that.

He knew that if that monster saw him, he could squash him like a bug.

So he had to get out of here as soon as possible.

Yes. He hadn't succeeded yet. It wouldn't be his victory until he escaped from here alive, until he could disappear. And then collect his bounty.

The assassin smiled.

A wide-open smile, gritting his teeth.

The smile of an animal.

Many had tried and fallen. But he had succeeded. And not in a straight fight, but with cunning. That was the best thing. He had waited for the moment to strike.

And when it came, he had seized it.

It didn't look like much, but if it were that simple, that girl would have been dead a long time ago.

The assassin wondered if he could go any further. If he could kill even that boy. Getting rid of all of them seemed like too much, but one more shouldn't be that big of a deal, right?

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

He had gotten to his position in life, from nothing to something, by his cunning. He wouldn't ruin it now by getting greedy.

What was done was done. And now he would back out.

He was running a lot, but it was only natural after a girl had been stabbed in broad daylight, wasn't it? And with those animalistic screams that could be heard behind him, that gave him goosebumps.

No one was going to notice him too much just because he was running like hell in the opposite direction.

It was what anyone would do, to think they would notice him was pure paranoia.

He ducked into an alley, thinking he'd gone far enough, even though he could still hear those screams. The boy's screams.

Immediately, he turned around to check that no one was following him. He rested a hand on the alley wall as if he would need it to keep himself upright.

No one.

There was no one. Not the boy, not other people.

Way clear.

Of course.

Frankly, he'd been worrying too much. That kid wasn't going after him from the start. He'd just stabbed his friend in the heart.

He'd be too busy with her to chase after him.

The screams were more than enough evidence. Those screams like he was losing his mind, such suffering almost made him feel bad for him.

Almost.

He hadn't come this far allowing his compassionate heart to limit him.

No one had ever cared about him, after all.

Why should he waste his time worrying about others?

In life, only oneself mattered.

He turned around and bumped into something. It didn't make sense. There was no wall. Sure, and it didn't have to be a wall. He had collided with a person.

His heart leapt up into his throat, thinking that somehow it had caught up with him after all.

But it wasn't that boy. That Desmond.

When he raised his head, he discovered that it wasn't even a human being.

He saw cold, blue eyes that burned like ice.

They burned with hatred.

That was the last thing he saw before he was torn apart by that inhuman creature, as his own screams rose into the air, joining the boy's agony. Losing themselves in it.

***

Desmond fell to his knees. His legs simply could no longer support his own weight.

But it wasn't because of his weakness, his pathetic state, for once.

If only it was.

Christina fell with him because she could do nothing else. She was simply washed away, like wood down a river. Inert. He could feel it.

He could feel her body on top of his, how limp she was.

Stiff. Hanging.

Not cold. Not yet. Quite the opposite. Her body was so hot it burned, and she was heavy. Desmond had the feeling he was drowning and Christina's body was pulling him down into the dark depths.

He could feel it. As life, her blood escaped from her body.

He put a trembling hand on her back. When he withdrew it, he saw that his hand was covered in fresh blood. Of course. Of course, how could it not be?

Sure and deep, a knife had been plunged through her back. All the way to the heart.

He could feel everything about her, even her heartbeat, still. But ah, it was so weak, so weak that it could shut down at any moment.

He couldn't believe this was happening.

Least of all like this. So suddenly.

Maybe part of him had accepted what Christina had told him in the bar some time ago. That leading this life, they would all die prematurely. But not so soon, he thought. And not like this.

He was supposed to... He was supposed to be the last to go.

As he told himself that this must be a bad dream, he inadvertently began to scream.

He didn't scream for help.

It was what he should have done, but he didn't do it. Because he simply could not articulate a word. It was too much for him.

He was giving vent to his agony in a wordless scream, and it sounded like he was being killed. But no one had hurt him. He wasn't dying.

The one who was dying was...was....

He couldn't complete the sentence, not even in his mind. As if a defense mechanism had automatically kicked in, knowing he couldn't take it if he did.

Desmond screamed until he was voiceless, until he felt his throat raw, so sore he wouldn't be surprised to spit blood.

An eternity. It seemed to him that it had been a long time, but surely it hadn't been that long.

He could still... feel her heart beating against his chest, after all.

Whether it was a little or a lot, in all that time not a single person had approached them. They hadn't said anything to him, hadn't offered help. Nor were they going to. They preferred to stay out of it, as if it wasn't their problem.

But at the same time they were not walking away. They were standing like statues.

As if waiting for him to leave.

And he would. He would leave soon. He would do what he should have done from the beginning, immediately. This was horrible to the point where his sanity was in jeopardy.

But it was still fixable. Because she was alive and...

Desmond stood, lifting Christina into his arms as gently as he could. He had already wasted too much time. He couldn't waste another second.

Not if he wanted to live.

Not her. Him.

If he failed here, then, with his own sword.... He saw, instead, a fragment of a memory. No, an old thought.

His swaying body, hanging from a branch. A shadow.

Something that had lived as a shadow and died as a shadow.

I have to be more than a shadow.

The only proof of Christina's life was not only the faint beating of her heart, which he could have mistaken for Abigail's heartbeat, still heard inside his own chest.

There was also the look on the girl's face.

Glassy, it had to be admitted. But the important thing was that she hadn't yet faded. There was still a chance.

"I'll get you help. Just hold on. Hold on," Desmond pleaded with her, wondering whether or not those words could still reach her ears.

The pressure on the dying girl didn't change at all, one way or the other. The blood was still falling mercilessly. Drop by drop, it was as if measuring Christina's remaining time.

Desmond gritted his teeth.

A doctor.

He needed a doctor.

They were in a city, there should be at least one doctor competent enough to save her from even a stab wound to the heart.

The problem was whether he could get her that help in time.

It all depended on him. He had to stay focused. Christina's life was literally in his hands. He couldn't let her down. Or had he already?

It wasn't that he was... writing her off, or anything like that.

It's just that he couldn't help but think that if, say, Abigail had gone with her instead of him, Abigail would have realized it in time and prevented them from being in this situation in the first place.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

But it was too late for regrets and, as always, it was useless to dream of what might have been.

Life was full of such wishes of what could have been.

He used the reinforcement magic for the first time in a month and a half, already, making it run through his entire body. He didn't care about the possible consequences of turning this frail, sickly body into a bomb that could explode with one good punch.

He just needed to be stronger, faster, even if it was just a little bit more.

Desmond took off running as fast as he could, leaving the crutch behind. Over a pool of blood that glistened ominously in the sunlight.

***

He hadn't taken note of the location of the hospitals or anything like that.

He hadn't expected something like this to happen, after all.

Desmond should have... Of course, it was too late to think that. It wasn't worth shit.

But at least he had found something.

It was a private clinic, not a hospital. It didn't matter. Anything would do. At this point, he would even agree to give his life in exchange for saving her.

He burst into the clinic with force. It wasn't the time for that, but he inwardly regretted that, in other times, putting all his strength behind the blow, he would have easily kicked the door down.

And now the door didn't even hit the wall hard.

There was nothing. Empty.

No, almost no one. There was an employee behind the counter, waiting, who was alarmed as soon as they entered. By his sudden entrance. By the pale girl in his arms. And by all the blood, of course.

"A healer," Desmond asked.

His legs were shaking, even with the physical reinforcement magic, he'd barely been able to stand the run here.

Besides, his voice could be a little hard to understand over the pain. And the tears barely suppressed, not because of some foolishness that had troubled him in the past, but to keep his field of vision clear.

It could be.

Well, the employee certainly reacted as if he hadn't understood anything. The guy simply gave him a look more vacant than Christina's, who was... going away.

What the fuck was wrong with that son of a bitch?

He was acting like it was the first time he'd ever seen a person hurt and bleeding like that. This was a clinic, wasn't it? Didn't he understand the importance?

Didn't he understand that they couldn't waste a second?

That, in fact, he might have wasted too much time already just getting here? No. No. He couldn't allow himself to think that.

"Come on, damn it! Who's running this fucking clinic!"

"He's outside right now," the coward stammered.

His soul fell at his feet.

After he thought he'd finally made it, that he'd crossed the finish line and now they'd both be safe, he could rest and Christina could get the help she needed....

After that, this.

It seemed like a sick joke. Like his life in general.

But he couldn't waste time feeling sorry for himself. If he had time for that, better to spend it thinking.

On what? Quite simply.

What to do.

What the hell to do.

He had only two options, at least that he could see, but it was neither simple nor clear. The options were as follows: wait here, trusting everything would work out. And 'everything' was nothing less than Christina's life.

Or he could give in to his concern and run away, look for another clinic or hospital. It might take him a while to find it, but when he got there she'd be taken care of.

It couldn't be that everyone was out, after all.

He wasn't going to have the same thing happen twice.

He'd simply walked into the first place he'd found. It's not like there weren't better options, necessarily. In fact, he had no idea what options he had. As he had said before, he hadn't looked into this sort of thing.

He hadn't even dared to imagine that an emergency like this would arise.

Let alone that Christina would be the victim.

With her magic, with... With everything, in his eyes she seemed as invincible as Abigail. And she had only taken a knife in the back.

He had been aware of that from the beginning, that she could have high destructive power, but that instead her resistance was that of a normal person. Not much greater than that of an ordinary citizen.

He had been aware, but over time he had forgotten it.

Maybe...

Maybe it was best to run away after all. He'd wasted enough time already. But he wasn't sure he could take it.

That he'd be able to make it to the next establishment, even if it wasn't too far from him.

Not to mention Christina herself.

He didn't want to think about it... But she was running out of time.

"Are they nearby?" Desmond asked. He had to ask, at least, before making a decision. Yes. He had forgotten. First things first.

"Yes. I-in the town hall," stammered that coward who shouldn't be here, in a place of pain and death.

First he said yes, and then he said at the town hall.

As if he deliberately wanted to crush his hopes.

The two things weren't mutually compatible. City hall was on the other side of town, practically. It wasn't a very big city, but in a situation like this, where every second was essential...! How could he say the owner was close!

You son of a bitch!

You brainless bastard!

Desmond took a deep breath. They didn't have time for this. She didn't have time for...

Christina coughed weakly, expelling more blood on top of him. He felt it, too hot, trickling down his chest.

Though Christina was barely conscious, surely she was struggling to live. Clinging to life with all her might. He felt the need to do the same.

Give it all. But he could do nothing for her. Nothing except this.

The employee came out from behind the desk, stopped in front of a door and opened it with trembling hands.

"Come in. I'll go... I'll make sure... That he comes back."

Desmond looked back at him. He nodded slowly.

Yes, this was probably best for both of them. Waiting here. 'Probably' wasn't good enough when there was a life at stake.

But he was sure that Christina.... That she would die before he could find another place.

He'd been unlucky to begin with, but hey. There was still hope.

"Thank you," Desmond said, though he hadn't done anything to thank him for. An empty courtesy.

He entered the room and laid Christina gently on the bed in the middle. Not lying down, of course. She couldn't lie down with a knife stuck in her back, a knife he was unwilling to remove. Because it would only hasten

(the inevitable)

what was happening.

So he had to lay her on her side.

Additionally, that position would keep her from choking on her own blood. Reason enough, even without the knife in the way.

"Hold on. Please hold on," Desmond said, as if he were talking to himself.

It would make no difference, really.

His words couldn't instill any confidence in anyone. They were devoid of power, as was his body, which was shaking like a leaf despite the magical energy that still coursed through him, strengthening him.

Though there was little use in reinforcing a thing being swept away by a flood.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't handle this pressure. He was a child at heart, he had always thought, and now it showed. All he wished was that someone would show up to tell him what to do.

To take the responsibility off his shoulders, and....

Desmond? What's wrong?

Abigail's voice, inside his skull. Real, not a hallucination from the stress of the moment.

Right.

Sure, her. He could always depend on her.

He would always be her son.

"Mom! You have to come over here. I don't know what to do," Desmond said, raising his voice a little too much, even though Christina was right there. He didn't want her to realize how bad it really was.

Maybe she was so messed up that she couldn't realize that in the first place. Or hear his words.

He'd rather not think about that, though.

What's going on?

Of course she'd ask that question, but....

"I don't have time to... She doesn't have time..." He trembled. He was trembling. He couldn't stop, there was no control.

Okay. Okay. I'll go as fast as I can.

"Hurry up," Desmond begged desperately.

He closed his eyes.

The tears pooling on his eyelids finally spilled over, running down his cheeks. They touched his lips.

Bitter. They were bitter.

***

"Something happened," Abigail said suddenly, walking beside her.

Amy looked around. But she saw nothing except the people around them and the woman's darkened expression.

"How? You talked to Desmond." She quickly came to the only possible conclusion.

"Yes. I don't know what happened, but... I've never heard him sound so scared."

Not so long ago, those words would have caused the world to come crashing down on her. Because Desmond was so strong, after all.

Unstoppable, and he wasn't afraid of anything.

But that was now a thing of the past.

He was weak now, so he could be this scared of something he would have easily handled in the past. Surely it wasn't that big a deal.

Her thoughts raced down those lanes. And they came to a violent halt.

Realizing that even if the boy wasn't capable, he wasn't alone. Christina was accompanying him. So...

Amy's heart leapt up her throat. She gulped.

"Where are they?"

If Christina wasn't able to handle it, then.... What did that mean? Her mind refused to reach for the answer. It was actively refusing, not that she wasn't capable.

It was easy to imagine it, after all.

It was terribly easy to imagine the worst.

"You follow me," Abigail replied. Right, she could sense her protégé, wherever he was. They would find them and fix whatever it was.

Because the worst... it couldn't have happened.

Not this soon.

***

He heard the door open after what, of course, seemed like far too long. The passage of time was unbearable when he could do nothing but hold Christina's hand and squeeze it, a futile gesture of support, as the life left her body.

Desmond turned away, excited, a half smile on his face.

And stupidly he was disappointed when he saw that not Abigail and Amy had arrived, but the doctor.

What was he thinking?

It would comfort him to have them here, by his side. To be able to get through this together. It would, of course.

But the important thing was for the healing mage to finally arrive, so that he could save Christina's life, which was hanging by a thread. It wasn't an exaggeration at all.

Desmond swore he could hear the thread breaking.

The first thing he saw was them, Christina. Desmond had left the door open, which was right in front of the front door. Seeing Christina, the healer looked disturbed, as did his assistant, who only had to attend to the customers behind the counter.

He supposed that, looking at it that way, his reaction was reasonable.

But the healer's not so much.

What kind of establishment was this? Had he really had such bad luck that the first clinic he saw turned out to be the worst in the whole city?

No, no, no.

There was no rushing in. There was no need to go out of his way to dash his hopes.

Perhaps the healer was reacting this way not because such a serious case had never passed through his clinic, but because, plain and simple, Christina was a child. After all, she was a child, and anyone with a heart would be affected by seeing someone so young in that situation.

Yes. Yes, that made sense.

That he could accept.

It didn't mean he was making that face because he couldn't save her.

The healer entered the room, closing the door behind him. He looked like he was going to get to work instead of asking useless questions. In fact, he barely looked at him.

Good.

Perfect, in fact.

"It's amazing that she's still alive..."

Yes. You had to admit it. His notion of time had gone to shit since this started, but wasn't she lasting long for someone who'd been stabbed in the heart?

The healer wanted to know too, no, he needed to know.

For that he put a hand on her shoulder. To examine her. He didn't need to know how exactly his healing affinity worked, it was fine to assume the purpose of that gesture, here and now.

"Slowed her heartbeat, and the bleeding, pressing her own heart with.... something dark."

Shadows?

How...? Certainly the sunlight didn't reach all the way into her body, but....

And what was more important, how had it occurred to her to do such a thing? How had she been able to, physically and mentally?

"Unbelievable. Such willpower...

Yes. He had taken the words right out of Desmond's mouth. He knew Christina was an amazing girl in many ways, but this was beyond that.

Tears escaped the healer's eyes.

Suddenly Desmond's pent-up anger, still boiling inside him, disappeared. Feeling a moment of genuine connection with a complete stranger.

A moment, it only lasted a moment. But it was enough.

It wasn't a good thing, though. Rage helped. Rage was easier than facing what was in front of him. A dying Christina, his uncertain future.

Which was connected to everyone else's.

He remembered the corpses of Amy, Christina and Abigail, floating in the sea of blood in his vision. He couldn't help but wonder if that calamity had begun, after all.

He couldn't help but think about what order the corpses had risen from the depths, and things like that. Things that were better not to think about. Whether they had merit or not.

The healer took a deep breath, cracked his knuckles.

"Here we go," he said.

And he set to work.

Everything would be all right. It had to be alright. He had arrived on time, and Christina's willpower would be rewarded with a miracle.

***

Abigail finally slowed down. That must mean they had arrived. And she had done so in front of, of all things possible, a clinic.

Hard not to think the worst, considering that. Amy swallowed hard. Trying not to jump to conclusions, she and Abigail entered the clinic.

And her efforts to maintain her composure were almost instantly demolished.

"What happened? How is...?"

The very instant she saw Desmond's face. It didn't tell her the whole story, but it was enough. His pain, the tears running down his cheeks.

Abigail had never heard him sound so scared. She'd probably never seen him so broken, either.

Amy hadn't, that's for sure.

She...

It couldn't be. Could it?

But it could be. Deep down, she knew it. As much as Amy's heart tried to deny it to protect itself. It was something that had been doomed to failure from the beginning.

No one could run away from the harsh reality. Sooner or later it will catch up with you. Desmond ducked his head in front of her. For the first time she registered that she wasn't using a crutch, not anymore. Although he didn't look very stable on his feet.

He looked as if the wind could blow him around like a leaf. That insubstantial, almost.

"Desmond," Abigail said. Her voice sounded like an apology. An apology? Why, what for?

"Desmond, what's going on? "recovering her voice, Amy asked.

Desmond ducked his head. Couldn't take it another second, huh? The tears wouldn't stop falling.

But the worst were his eyes, which his bangs didn't hide. Her eyes. Amy could feel her sanity dying looking into those eyes.

"Christina... She... "

She thought: What is he going to say?

She thought: You know.

"No." Which one was that answer for?

"She has..."

"No!" Amy cried out, but her refusal lacked any power or conviction. Or any conviction. How could she trust that everything would be all right after this?

"Died."

She processed it instantly. Because, deep down, she'd known it since she'd set foot in the clinic. No, maybe even before she saw Desmond's face. Maybe even before.

The boy's voice was barely audible, but Amy heard it anyway.

It might lack power, but it didn't matter. The meaning had enough power to make the world come crashing down on her.

And it did.

The anguished cries of a young girl rose into the evening air. The boy's did not, for he had already screamed himself hoarse. But, as if to replace him, other screams were heard.

In the distance.

In the woods.

The screams of a figure writhing on the ground as if in agony. A human shadow, but not black from head to toe. Instead there was white everywhere.

A white that was not like bone, and not like chalk either.

Ashes.

The white of ashes covered that spectral body, which writhed as it released its pain like a spear aimed at the heart of the heavens.

It looked as if that thing was dying, it looked as if it was losing its sanity, if something inhuman could be considered sane.

It looked... as if it was wailing.