That was what he was thinking, at least. But, though it was evidence, he needed more than words on paper and vague talk in the middle of the night.

Luckily, he knew where to get it.

He couldn't waste any time. Not a second.

Desmond ran for where those soldiers had gone, hoping he wasn't already too late. That they hadn't gotten away from him. He told himself it couldn't be that way.

That they would have stopped for the night by now, so as long as he wasn't dumb enough to lose track of them, he would find them.

And he could check... He could check to see if...

He swallowed.

He didn't even need to follow the trail. The sound of voices led him to his target.

A wagon parked on the side of the road, among the trees. Surrounded by soldiers sleeping on the ground. From the back of that wagon....

Desmond gasped.

It was all he could take. He had seen Christina come out. Alive, perfectly well.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he said, speaking softly to himself. He reached out a hand toward her unconsciously, as if trying to touch her. He wanted to touch her. To be sure she wouldn't disappear. "So beautiful... I never realized how beautiful you are."

He didn't mean it that way, of course. It's just that she shone. Her eyes, her face and even something that went beyond that.

Her soul.

It was about that, like in the depths of that cavern. She'd make sure she never ended up in that cold, dark place. Oh, what a tragedy it would be for her light to be locked in a place like that.

He knew it all too well. Down to the bone.

Someone came out behind her.

Seeing himself from outside was almost as strange as seeing a person he had assumed to be dead. Who had been dead, in fact.

So this is how they felt, he thought.

Now he understood better.

Christina turned to look at him.... No, look at that other Desmond.

"What's the matter, can't sleep?"

"I see you can't either," she replied, simply.

Very like her to talk that way instead of admitting it.

Oh, yes, he remembered this.

It seemed like a long, long time ago, but he still remembered it. A shudder shook him again.

Even though it was right under his nose, he could hardly believe this was happening.

He still hadn't even processed the implications.

Desmond was clear on a few things, though. For starters, although his heart burned with the desire to get out of here and hug Christina and never let go, he couldn't do it.

Not with this body.

And even if he had the same body he always had, letting his other self see him would surely not be a good idea. Both of them existing at the same time was a big enough 'contradiction' as it was, but better not to risk it unnecessarily.

Besides.

The important thing here and now was not to satisfy his transient desires.

Desmond turned around, stepped back very carefully, trying not to make any noise. At a relatively safe distance, he got to his feet and broke into a run. The sooner he got away from there, the better.

This...

This was simply unbelievable.

He tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground head first, shaking. He put a hand to his mouth, covering it. He didn't know if he was going to scream or laugh.

The whole thing was terrifying. And wonderful.

"I have a second chance. Thank you." He raised his head to the heavens, to the moon watching him. "Thank you, gods."

Of course it was terrifying.

A new frontier, something unexplored by anyone. Something they had only allowed themselves to dream of in stories.

He was playing a deadly game whose rules he didn't know.

But he didn't care.

He didn't care what would happen at the end of it, whether he could return or would disappear, his other self continuing in his place.

Nor did he care about the possible consequences of fighting against time.

As long as, of course, he could save her.

He had been given a second chance and he wasn't going to waste it.

***

It was unbelievable, but he couldn't deny it. And he didn't want to either.

How many times, in a few hours, had he told himself he wished he could go back? To do things differently. Get to warn Christina or take the stab aimed at her with his own body. Anything, as long as Christina was safe in the end.

This was further back than he had dreamed.

But he was back.

He'd surpassed the great force of time, which was like an ocean in the storm. A force that bound even Abigail, who was above all things.

His situation was even more complicated than it appeared at first glance.

If he was right, it hadn't been the first time he'd been back. If he had not become a thing like the one that attacked his wagon, but was that thing.

Then he himself had been the cause of the first incident.

Why did or would he kill the bodyguards? I mean, he had proof that one of them was a traitor. But what about the others? Even mad with grief, he wouldn't kill innocents, just because.

Especially now that he had a clear objective, a path to follow. But that wasn't the most worrying thing, far from it.

If it had been him, transformed (and that would explain a lot of things, like the fact that the creature had spared Christina and Amy's lives for no apparent reason), it meant that another him had gone through the same thing.

Christina's death, the separation with Amy. Being guided through the cavern by the ghost of his lost friend. That black pool, turning him into something inhuman.

And also the return back.

However, Christina had died anyway, even if it had been in a different way.

He hadn't been able to stop her from being killed.

So...

Was what he had on his hands a second chance? A terrible punishment? Was he doomed to see her die again?

He had to believe it was a second chance, or else he would have lost before he started.

The next day, Desmond followed the wagon at what he hoped was a safe distance. Christina could spot people, as long as they were in shadows, at a good distance, regardless of obstacles.

So being in the woods, covered by the shadows of branches, leaves and tree trunks, was dangerous.

But, on the other hand, the most dangerous thing still would be to get out of the forest.

To be exposed in broad daylight.

Prematurely, at least. Desmond still didn't have things figured out. He needed time to get his thoughts in order, only then would he act.

If he was spotted, he expected to be mistaken for just another animal in the forest.

Particularly large, but an animal nonetheless. How much time was left before the wagon, along with its occupants, would arrive near the first village where they had stopped, he could not say.

Where they had been forced to stop, after the whole escort had been slaughtered without mercy, in a matter of seconds.

Nothing and nobody forced him to repeat the steps of his other self. But he took it as a limit. He told himself that it should be said by then. One way or another.

There was no need to attack the wagon train, like his predecessor.

Killing the traitor should be enough. However, his other self had made the decision to kill them all. He must have had some reason. Of course.

But, one way or another, he could use weapons for that.

Try as he might, his sword wouldn't come when he called for it. And he knew all along it wouldn't. Because his bond with Abigail was broken.

Or rather. In the hands of the other Desmond.

Surrounded by Abigail, Amy and Christina. Happy, with the only problem being the state of his body, but even that paled in comparison to his current horrible state, albeit in a different sense.

While he was forced to wander the roads alone.

To scurry through the shadows like a rat.

Envy. He gritted his teeth. Of course he was envious of him. The same envy that ghosts have for the living.

When night fell and the wagon stopped again, Desmond allowed himself to take a slight detour.

There was a house nearby. A farmer must live there. He broke into the shed and there, sure enough, he found it. He pulled it out of a wall. A sickle.

Was this the one his other self had wielded as a weapon?

Something told him it was. That it was exactly the same.

"Everything is repeating itself... unconsciously. I see."

Without intending to, he had followed in the same footsteps as his other self. There was nothing wrong with that, though. As long as he could change the end result.

Still, Desmond couldn't help but shudder, feeling the hand of fate at work behind it all.

***

He had been wondering why his other self would kill all the bodyguards. Doubt had planted the seeds of a genuine fear, which had threatened to consume him.

The fear that the physical transformation was only the beginning.

And then, he would gradually lose his humanity inside as well. Until there was not even a spark left.

That he would have killed them reduced to an animal, in other words.

Without reason. Animals didn't need a reason.

But his doubts were quickly cleared up, the next night, in fact. He heard the guards talking from where he was hiding.

Also about the people they had to escort, as on the first night, when by coincidence he had met them.

But in a completely different way.

A way that cleared all his doubts.

"That girl... The one who's always with that little book, so quiet. I'd fuck her," said one of the Albion soldiers, suddenly.

There was silence, as if his companions couldn't believe what they had heard. The normal response. Natural.

But it wasn't about that at all.

"Yes. She's very hot," said another.

"The other girl is fuckable too. With her face covered."

The soldiers laughed like hyenas. Desmond clenched his fists. Not only were they talking about his friends like that, in such an objectifying way, but they had made fun of Amy's looks.

He didn't like her face, huh?

But he didn't dislike it enough to not want to 'fuck' her, anyway.

Despicable. Just despicable.

That was what he thought. Then he hadn't imagined how quickly it was going to get worse, and how. Oh, and how. Now he was angry and felt like throwing up. Soon he felt like killing.

"It wouldn't be hard," interjected another. How capable do you think you are of seducing a woman?, he thought. You overestimate your worth. And underestimate theirs at the same time.

Wouldn't be hard?

Ha, they'd never let them get anywhere.

"Huh?" The one who had started this unpleasant conversation made that sound, opening his mouth like a complete idiot, a fish out of water.

"Fuck them," the wretch continued. "Think about it, what's to stop us from holding them and just doing it? They're a bunch of children, we can handle them."

"Besides, we've got the perfect hostage," suggested another.

"That fucking invalid."

"Yeah, right."

"The princess would cut our heads off if we did that."

"Maybe, maybe."

Maybe?

No, actually the guy was right to doubt it, though for the wrong reason. The princess wouldn't cut off their heads. Because if they tried that, they wouldn't make it out alive.

So Charlotte wouldn't have a chance to do anything to them.

"You're talking about raping those kids. You're a bunch of degenerates, but not even the good kind of degenerates. Why would I settle for some little girls when I could take that woman? Abigail."

Desmond's breath caught.

"Yeah, yeah. God, she's hot."

"I've never seen such a beautiful woman."

"Not you or anyone else. She loves that kid so much, she's so protective. I'm sure she wouldn't mind taking our cocks to save his life."

Take? She's not yours to take. She's a person.

As he listened to them talk, Desmond had been clenching his fists tighter and tighter. They were currently shaking violently, from all the force contained in them.

He couldn't believe that men like these had been sent as their escort.

He couldn't believe that they had spent several nights sleeping near those sons of bitches, trusting that they would warn them if anything happened. That they would protect them. Ah, what a joke.

All he wanted to do was come out of hiding and kill every last one of them. Slowly.

Maybe they were just words, an empty fantasy, maybe they would never dare to try it for real, being aware of the consequences.

But no matter, no matter, they had given up their right to live by just talking about it.

After all this, the traitor seemed the most human of them. He had said nothing against what his companions were talking about. But he had remained silent, on the sidelines.

But he would die too, of course.

They would all die. Only not tonight.

He would do this, at least, like 'the last time'.

***

Desmond had gone to sleep too, more to make the time pass faster than anything else.

The nights were endless. Despairing, maddening.

During the day at least he had a goal to focus his mind on, forgetting everything else. During the night he could do nothing but wait, tormented by his own thoughts.

Especially tonight, after hearing what he had heard.

Still he managed to fall asleep.

It turned out to be a mistake. Because when he woke up he found himself in a completely different place. A wide hallway that reminded him of Charlotte's palace.

Am I dreaming, he thought vaguely.

"What's happening now?"

He shook his head, getting to his feet and started walking, wanting to get to the bottom of this.

What he got was the edge of an abyss into which he almost fell.

One more step or stumble and he would have. There was no bottom to be seen, despite the unnatural bluish light that was everywhere in this huge room. Desmond couldn't tell, but somehow he was sure that if he threw something into that darkness, it wouldn't touch the bottom.

A drawbridge crossed the abyss.

"It doesn't look very stable. But I have no choice."

He put one foot on the first rung and the whole damn bridge shook so badly that for a moment he thought he would fall into the abyss. But no. It was just... quite unstable.

Desmond clicked his tongue.

He stepped carefully across the drawbridge, hands on the rope on either side of the bridge, though he wasn't sure if taking his time would be for the better or worse.

Desmond licked his lips, nervous, only he had no lips to lick. Not anymore. The only thing he touched was bone.

He could imagine himself hurtling into the void along with the bridge.

Precipitating toward a fall that would never end, always into darkness.

Halfway down, a cluster of voices came to him, male and female, speaking as one. It was incomprehensible madness, but somehow he could almost, almost understand what those voices were telling him.

"sárta revlov ed opmeit a sátse núA .atleuv al etaD."

The sound of that legion of voices was too loud. Desmond put a hand to his head, which was ready to explode. He winced.

"Gods, is that you? If you want something from me, speak up! I can't stand it... this shit! You're going to drive me crazy!"

Desmond shouted those things into the void and it swallowed his words without giving anything in return. Just the same thing, over and over again, the same thing.

He didn't know what he was hearing, but he understood it well enough to recognize that it was repeating itself. Like hoping that if it repeated it enough times, eventually he would understand.

They weren't going to shut up.

Desmond continued on his way, only this time one hand was on his head. In other words, he was leaning on the bridge with one hand. He knew how dangerous that was, but gods, his head...! He couldn't stand it.

Finally he stepped onto solid ground again. A small rectangle suspended in the middle of that blue"tinged nothingness.

In front of his eyes, on a pedestal, there was a sword. That sword.

The one the creature had carried.

The one he had to carry?

"revlov, revlov, revlov, revloV. Sarta revlov ed opmeit a satse nua."

Desmond still didn't understand, of course. He had no idea if the Voice was encouraging him to do so or if it was a warning.

He grabbed the sword, pulling it from its pedestal in a strangely reverential manner.

Then he awoke with a start.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

With the sword in his hand, vividly red, wet and throbbing. All the pieces were in place. And soon the time would come. He could feel it in his bones.

***

The next morning, a few hours after dawn, after the wagon set out, he killed the entire escort.

He didn't feel guilty, he didn't hesitate. But he didn't enjoy it either.

He simply saw it as doing what he had to do. Taking out the garbage.

And from there things proceeded predictably. Just as he had seen not so long ago in the past, only from a different perspective.

He was on the run, with Christina and Amy hot on his heels, in other words.

It shouldn't be so hard to lose sight of them, to disappear. That was his initial intention, in fact. But in the end he stopped and turned around to face his friends.

For he had reflected. The future was darker and more uncertain than ever.

He couldn't be sure he could get out of this one. Even if he managed to save Christina, he might lose himself. It was quite possible that he might never be able to enjoy their company again, one way or another.

This was a tense situation. Well, for them, that is.

They thought they were chasing an enemy. Someone who could take their lives if they let their guard down for a second. But he knew the truth.

And he knew how to fool himself.

He could treat this as a training fight of sorts. It was the only way to connect with them in this way, under these circumstances. Empty as it would be, it might well be his last chance.

You had to know how to make the most of what you had.

This would be their last dance as a team. As a family.

Christina smiled. For a moment, his heart skipped a beat, he allowed himself to think that she had recognized him, somehow. And that this was going to go in a very different direction.

But even if she had recognized him, she wouldn't be happy about it, but confused.

Besides, it wasn't happiness that was in that smile. Savagery and anticipation. Anticipation of crushing him like an insect.

"But at least I'll drag you to hell with me."

That would have been an acceptable ending as well.

However, having come this far, he wasn't going to settle for dying together. It was a fate just as cruel, only in a more bitterly poetic way.

They had to live.

Shadows came to life, set themselves in motion.

So did he.

Let's dance, he thought, full of wild happiness.

Yes, why not? This could be the last chance, even if he succeeded. Even if he saved Christina, changing fate. It wasn't the way he wanted to say goodbye.

Of course it wasn't.

If it were up to him, none of this would have happened in the first place.

But he had to make do with what he had. If this was the only way he could spend time with them, then he would. It was selfish, no doubt.

They must have been afraid, believing they were fighting for their lives.

But he believed that at this point, he could afford to be selfish, at least once. He had lived his whole life thinking first of anyone but himself.

So, in the end... couldn't he afford this selfishness?

Amy waved the sword, shooting four huge stalactites at him, traveling at breakneck speed. But he was faster. He dodged almost all of them.

The fourth and last one, he struck with his sword. Exploding it into a thousand pieces.

It felt good for a change. His blood was singing. Maybe that's why he let his guard down at the worst possible moment.

And he was caught.

A fist of shadows ripped through the rain of broken ice, striking him in the solar plexus. The force of the impact knocked his feet off the ground. Desmond went flying.

He fell to the ground and kept rolling, dragged by the momentum.

But he managed to recover quickly, getting to his feet and driving the sword into the ground to slow himself down. Still he stopped only when the sole of one foot collided with the trunk of a tree behind him.

Good hit, he thought, smiling to himself. And good strategy.

Yes, he'd been hit good " why shouldn't he be happy about that?

It was a good hit, but he got to his feet with no trouble. He didn't feel pain, exactly. It was more like... a distant echo of pain. He wasn't human anymore. Neither were his senses, and even his perception of pain had become strange.

In the fullness of his strength, he had fought and come a long way by biting his tongue and enduring pain. But this would not be something he had to endure.

It felt rather strange, uncomfortable.

Something else to worry about, except that this wouldn't even make it onto a list of his hundred most immediate problems.

It was actually kind of a blessing. So he could last longer at this moment.

"You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, huh?" Christina said mockingly.

Ah, if only she knew. He knew them better than anyone. Less than he'd like due to his own inadequacy, but better than anyone, he was willing to bet.

Branches rustled above him.

Shadows of trees and branches rippled everywhere. It was as if he were standing above a sea of shadows.

Shadows controlled by Christina, which she had breathed life into.

But they didn't just look like shadows. It also looked as if she had breathed life into the forest itself. He could almost, almost feel the breath of the forest.

He shivered.

He could think of this as some sort of training fight, but they were not.

What they intended was to take his life.

So it was natural for him to feel a chill. This was the first time Christina's immense power, like an unfathomable black sea, was not on his side, and he couldn't afford to die here.

For Christina's own sake.

He sensed danger, and set off. Too late. A cluster of shadows fell over him, crushing. Creating a kind of artificial prison. Though of course, her intention had been to crush him like an insect, not to imprison him. He had to stop reminding himself of the seriousness of this situation from the point of view of his teammates. That way it wouldn't work what he wanted, what he wanted to feel.

"You got it?

"I don't think it's going to be that easy."

I don't think so. She wasn't sure?

That had to mean that she couldn't feel him under that mass of darkness or somewhere else. That he was the only thing in this world Christina couldn't sense, as long as they were within the range of her power.

It was further proof, if he needed any, of the depth of her transformation.

Even Abigail, who had surpassed humanity, could be detected by Christina.

If his signature wasn't picked up...then he had to be something else.

'Something' adjacent.

Well, I already knew I’m not human, Desmond thought.

It was time to get out of here. Maybe he wasn't as strong as he was before, even now, but still this 'prison' couldn't keep him locked up forever.

Screaming unconsciously from the effort, Desmond popped the prison.

"Tenacious bastard," Christina mumbled.

Yes. If she could describe him in one word, he was tenacious. He didn't think it was mere vanity to say that others in his place would have given up long before they got this far.

It felt good to fight with them, to train with them, as they had done so many times at the academy, where they had had no problems. Well, not beyond the typical worries of a student at a soldier school.

Big things, scary things.

But normal.

Desmond looked back on those times with great nostalgia, still.

Desmond viewed those times with great nostalgia, all the more so because he knew they would never return. That they had come too far for their lives to ever be that simple again.

At least until the war was over. His visions spoke of the end that had seemed like a dream for thousands of years, but.... But...

He shook his head. There was no time to dwell on that.

This wasn't all he wanted, but there was nothing he could do to make things better. To remove the tension, the melancholy. The loneliness... Mostly loneliness.

He imagined he was feeling how the last human being on the face of the earth would feel.

He was the only living being of his species, so he was getting close enough.

"What is he doing?" Amy asked.

"Maybe he's scared now. Watching us, waiting to see what we do. To judge us better."

Although they spoke in whispers and were a good distance away from him, it wasn't hard for them to hear them. Of course. And Christina's reasoning was correct.

If he were an enemy, that would be precisely what he would be taking advantage of this lull in the battle for. Instead he had been lost in thought, almost forgetting the situation he was in, what he was supposed to be doing.

He laughed at himself, internally.

"Well, let's give him what he wants. Someone has to put an end to this."

It would be him.

He would put an end to this whole mess, before it even started. He would erase it from the timeline and destiny, no matter who or what crossed his path.

The gods had allowed this. They wanted him here.

So they were on his side. He could feel secure in that fact. They were the same bastards who had allowed Christina to die in front of his eyes in the first place....

But he would save such grudges for later.

Christina lunged forward, breaking the stalemate they had been mired in for the last minute.

Shadows from all directions, in all sorts of shapes, to make it as difficult to dodge the attacks as possible. Desmond concentrated on just that.

Dodging.

He didn't hit back.

Not that he had much room to attack in the first place, either. Even if he was fighting in earnest, he'd be in a bind right now.

He barely had time to breathe between attacks, let alone launch his own attacks.

He was simply putting everything he had into escaping.

But Christina wouldn't tire because she wasn't using her body, but an extension of it. The attacks didn't stop. And no matter how much he held on, sooner or later she would catch him.

It was only a matter of time, if he just kept running, doing nothing to stop her. He didn't want to hurt her, but it wouldn't be that hard to stop this without hurting her.

He could start by simply swinging the sword.

Savagely, all around him, holding it with both hands. This wouldn't fix anything. But at least slow the flow of attacks a little.

Giving him time, as he slowly approached Christina.

A sea of black.

Yes. Fighting her attacks was like trying to repel the crushing force of the tide. And that amazing girl had been killed in front of his eyes. Not by a great army or a skilled mage, but by a thug like any other. By a knife in the back.

Desmond clicked his tongue.

No! She wasn't dead. She was here, right in front of his eyes. Where he could reach her. Where he could touch her.

Not in the cold, lonely realm of the dead.

Now his link to Abigail was severed for good, so he could die. And Christina would have no trouble killing him.

He vividly imagined her catching him, grabbing his arms, legs and even his head with shadows and then pulling it all tight.

Tearing him apart like a child tears apart a toy she'd grown bored of. Just like that. Just like that.

Amy lunged at him, stepping on him completely by surprise. He thought she'd keep her distance, since she could. That she'd be cautious, as usual. He supposed she couldn't keep her cool seeing her family in danger.

She attacked him. Not with ice, but with the sword directly.

Despite the surprise, Desmond managed to evade the attack.

No. That was just what he had thought.

He hadn't realized it until now, but.... Amy's attack had cut a good chunk out of his left arm. Desmond followed it with his eyes as it flew through the air.

It didn't spread blood of any kind. Neither red, black or white, like his actual body.

The stump of the arm didn't shed blood either.

As if he didn't have a drop of blood on this unnatural body. Which didn't mean he was fine. Desmond grimaced.

Okay he hadn't bled, but he'd lost most of an arm anyway.

In his selfishness, he had allowed this to go too far.

He should be able to stop Christina's would-be killer even if he was missing both arms entirely, of course. But it would be better if he ended things here and now.

The sooner the better. For everyone.

He needn't have worried so much. The severed arm grew back soon after, faster even than his normal, previous regeneration.

He opened and closed his hand, flexing his new arm.

Some things had changed. Others not so much. So he could regenerate, huh? Good to know. He was in no hurry to find out the limits, though.

What he was in a hurry for was to get this over with.

At this rate, the situation would get out of hand and someone would get hurt. What had he been thinking? This fake, fleeting happiness wasn't worth it.

He finally reached Christina, pushing back the black tide.

He elbowed her in the chest, causing her to double over, falling to her knees, hands on her chest. She was breathing heavily and looked like she might finish falling without his help.

She had great destructive power, but her endurance wasn't up to par.

If she were, she would be virtually indestructible. As close as a human being could come, anyway.

The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. Either of them, but especially Christina. Not when it was still fresh in his memory having held her as the life drained out of her, the light and the heat, as the blood flowed.

Not when he remembered perfectly, as if he were living it right now, her glassy eyes. Her pallor. The blood in her mouth, on her lips.

And the moment when the light in her eyes... had gone out forever.

But... he had no choice.

He was to blame, he alone was to blame that he had ended up in this situation. But, after that, there was no other way out.

He couldn't beat her or run away by being overly gentle with her.

Could the situation get out of hand? How ridiculous, he had never been in control. He had lost control ever since he decided to do such a thing. Such stupidity.

Running away. He should cut the bullshit and run away. Amy threw herself on top of him again, her face carved in fury.

Desmond reacted instinctively, grabbing her by one shoulder, turning her around and flinging her toward what less than a second ago had been behind him.

He used too much force in the process, much to his misfortune.

And Amy's. She hit a tree trunk with enough force to knock her unconscious. He saw her bleeding from the head, even, dammit!

But she wasn't dead. His heart had stopped from shock, but she wasn't dead.

He could see it clearly. He could see that she was breathing.

He apologized mentally. An apology no one heard and it didn't fix anything, apologies never did. But he felt the need to apologize anyway.

Another form of selfishness? Self satisfaction, regardless of whether it did any good?

He couldn't deny that.

Christina tried to get up. To stop her, Desmond stomped on her chest. This was the last thing he would have wanted to do, dammit.

Her gasp of pain stabbed into his soul.

But it was the only way he could stop her. He needed to slow her and her senses, if only for a few seconds.

And then escape. To fight against fate?

Was he really capable, someone like him?

And even if he could, what if he failed? It wasn't hard to imagine that hypothetical case. He had lived it, after all.

Desmond would be devoured by guilt, by self"loathing. Having learned about the legend of that mountain and his connection to Theo, he would travel there.

Only to fall into that black substance.

To be transformed and sent back in time, somehow. Everything would repeat itself all over again.

He could imagine that loop repeating, stretching into eternity with terrifying ease. Though in theory it should be as easy as killing the thug before he could stab Christina, or even get close to the girl.

He wasn't just fighting the thug, he was fighting against time, against fate, after all.

Did he really think it would be that easy?

Did he really think it was possible, anyway? But if he let things take their course, 'Desmond' would be trapped in a loop of misery for eternity. The same mistakes, the same tragedy.

But there was a way to stop that from happening.

To do that...

He could kill Christina, right here, right now. Then Desmond and company would never get to that town, they wouldn't know about the mountain, and they wouldn't follow in her footsteps. By cutting her life, he could cut that 'chain' in half, too.

And, even if Christina couldn't live, at least her spirit would rest in peace instead of being trapped in that place for all eternity. Just like thousands of other damned souls.

Desmond shook his head.

Something was wrong, he was losing his mind. How could he have thought of committing such an atrocity?

It didn't matter if things really did end up like this. In a loop of misery.

He would repeat the same thing as many times as it took, even if it drove him insane and robbed him of his humanity, just to save Christina.

He wouldn't give up. He couldn't give up.

Nor take the easy way out.

It didn't matter so little if he couldn't continue to do it himself, but the other him who would now be in Abigail's arms, worried about his friends.

Nor what would happen to him after he failed, if he failed.

As long as his will, as long as they would reach the outcome desired by 'Desmond', it would all be worth it in the end.

He was tenacious. He wasn't going to let her go, whatever it took.

Even if this was his only chance, at least he could leave behind a message. To make sure the other Desmond learned from his mistakes.

Or maybe he wouldn't even need that, maybe his memories would pass to the other Desmond, and they would be one.

There were definitely a lot of unknowns.

But anything was better than he had been thinking, how could he have thought of that?

He raised the sword, but not to put Christina out of her misery. He directed the sword against his own body. It plunged into his chest, and came out the other side.

A clean stab.

And not in the safest place. Of course.

However, he didn't bleed this time either. And he didn't even feel pain, just that strange echo of pain, which was more like an annoying tingling.

In other words, nothing happened to him. It wasn't a good way to punish himself for... for this whole mess.

He ripped the sword from his torso. Then he turned and ran away.

Christina was defeated, struggling for breath behind him, wondering why her life had been spared.

Amy lay unconscious against a tree, bleeding from the head.

He couldn't help but remember what Christina had told them, as he waited for Amy to wake up, after coming out of the woods, from this fight, so many days ago.

It had all fit. It had all been the same.

Without knowing it, without intending to, he had done nothing but repeat the same steps. Everything had happened the same way.

Happened the way it was supposed to happen?

***

Had, had.

He couldn't hate that word and its implications more.

His hometown had to be destroyed? His mother, father and sister had to die under the rubble, buried in darkness until the very end, crushed, suffocated, if they hadn't died in the collapse right away?

Did so many people have to die and suffer that day?

Did he have to be saved? Because he had more value than other people, somehow?

More value than other children like him?

The answer to all those questions was no. Same here. Christina hadn't had to die. Her life had been taken by a cruel man who had been lucky.

That was all. But he wouldn't get lucky again.

He would change things.

But how to change things, when his other self had failed? He thought about that as the days passed, following the group. His team.

He came to the conclusion that he needed to do something radical, making everything change. For better or for worse.

Distancing himself from the path of that other self, the one that had failed.

That is, revealing himself to Abigail and the others. Cooperating, laying all the cards on the table.

Well, not all. Just almost.

Some details, of course, he would have to skip. That much was clear to him. Still, there was a chance they recognized him by the voice.

No matter how distorted it might be, it was still recognizable. At least to him.

But, even if they thought they heard a resemblance, they would say it was nothing. And he should do it anyway. He had a powerful feeling that if he kept crawling around in the shadows, trying to do it all alone, things would end up the same.

What was needed was a radical move that would divert him from the path of this tragedy.

He could think of nothing else.

But talking to them and cooperating didn't mean he had to share everything. They didn't need to carry the weight of the future he had left behind.

Let Christina know she'd been killed.

Let Amy know what she'd said to him, how she'd treated him, after that. It had been her right, of course. She hadn't been wrong.

But he knew she would feel guilty, all the same.

Especially since she didn't remember experiencing Christina's loss. Too many things couldn't be understood, not really, until you were in the middle of them.

With Christina safe and sound, it was easy to say, "you're forgiven." Or "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have treated you that way."

And it's easy to feel guilty.

Desmond also didn't want Abigail to know how close she had come to losing him forever. But he could warn them of the danger they were in, and be there to help, without having to tell them he was from the future and all that.

It was better he didn't tell the truth, and it was unnecessary too.

It took him too long to make up his mind, days after the attack on the wagon, but he made up his mind. That was the way out of this wheel.

He had been following them closely from the beginning (and how strange it is to talk about himself that way), so when he finally made up his mind, he had no choice but to get out.

Good thing he had made up his mind before the group reached the next town.

Otherwise he would have had to wait until night fell and they retreated to some hotel, so he could catch them alone.

"That thing again!" Abigail shouted, tense. She held the reins of the wagon. She stopped the horses abruptly, knowing they wouldn't outrun him.

But he wasn't here to fight. Not this time.

His hands were bare. He had left his weapons behind, in the forest. And now he dropped to his knees, hands behind his head.

Abigail jumped down to the ground, Christina and Amy also jumped out of the wagon. She saw the fear on their faces. It hurt, but it was his fault and no one else's.

"Please," he said, "I'm not here to fight."

Now he was grateful for the strange echo, even though it still made him want to vomit. Because that echo would make it harder for them to recognize his voice.

There was no warmth in their looks, in their expressions.

They were all looking at him like he was a stranger. Only not even that.

There was hatred, fear and anger there.

Obvious, but crushing nonetheless, to be looked at that way by the people most important to him. It should be a comfort that they did so because they didn't recognize him.

Amy had looked at him in a similar way, after they lost Christina.

But very aware of who he was.

And what he no longer was to her.

"I just want to talk," he continued.

They showed no reaction, but neither did they pounce on him, which was something. Could this work?

Even if it didn't, he still had time and a lot of cards to play.

This was just the beginning. He had to keep that in mind, though not expect to fail either. That way he could self sabotage.

He was going to take a deep breath, but realized they might see it as a sign of aggression. That is, that he was preparing to attack. So he didn't.

"What do you want, you monster? Speak, but speak fast.

Those words, out of Abigail's mouth, of all possible people...It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

"I killed the escort because there was a traitor among them, reporting your location to the enemy." This was when it all began, really. And he had gone with the truth up front.

Whether they believed him was another matter.

It was his responsibility to achieve that, but he had only complicated things by killing the escort and the fight in the forest. He could have done this from the beginning.

But it wasn't that it hadn't occurred to him. It's that he hadn't wanted to think about it.

Because, plain and simple, he didn't want to be seen this way. He felt ashamed that he had been reduced to this thing. More than hiding the future from them, what he had wanted from the beginning was for them not to see him this way, knowing it was him.

He had been afraid of that. And among so many things, he wouldn't have been thinking clearly.

Otherwise, things would have flowed well. He would have approached the caravan carrying the traitor's letter as proof. Everything would have been resolved cleanly, and he could have positioned himself as a tentative ally effortlessly, despite his monstrous, inhuman appearance.

Now, however...

Now it was too late. It was uphill for him.

"You killed everyone... because of a traitor, huh?"

Desmond flinched.

His own voice. But it wasn't coming out of his mouth. Intellectually, he knew his other self was inside the new caravan and could make an appearance at any moment.

Still, that it jumped out of the caravan and spoke to him took him by surprise.

As if nothing crazier could happen.

And wasn't that so? The other Desmond lurched forward, leaning on a single crutch. He was facing his own self. Christina and Amy turned their heads to look at him, but said nothing.

"And the others, why? Just in case? For fun?"

"Desmond!" Abigail shouted, sharply. "Get back inside. Don't go near this thing."

His other self returned her gaze. And backed away. For a change, he listened to her. Just when he didn't need to. It almost seemed like a joke.

The other Desmond backed up to the edge of the back of the wagon train.

Still within range, if he wanted to hurt him.

But farther away.

"I... "Desmond said, hesitantly. The real Desmond? He supposed they were both real enough. "I killed them because... Well, because..."

If he spoke this hesitantly, in a way that didn't fit his monstrous appearance at all, maybe they'd end up connecting the dots. Recognizing him.

He had to keep his composure.

Had to, had to.

So many things he had to do.

"Spit it out," Abigail said, very sternly. No time to waste with this freak, that is, himself.

He didn't blame her.

He was surprised she hadn't attacked him yet, in fact. Maybe she wanted to see what this was about, first. Why would he go this far, if it was a trap.

Maybe.

"I heard them talking about raping the three of you. And using that kid," ja "as a hostage. They called him a fucking invalid."

Abigail grimaced. Sure she hadn't regretted the deaths of the bodyguards, but now she'd be grateful they'd died.

That was something, he supposed. But it wasn't going to change anything.

Besides, surely she only half believed that.

"Maybe it was just empty talk. Maybe they would never have tried. But I couldn't control myself. I didn't want to."

"Why do you care?" Of all the people who could have asked him that question, it had to be Christina.

He looked at her and found he couldn't take his eyes off her. As if he was hypnotized.

He opened his mouth.

"For... Nothing special. To anyone sane it would seem monstrous. A special crime. I wasn't always the monster you see here. I was born human."

Big risk he'd just taken. Would it be worth it?

"I don't want to know how you ended up like this," Abigail said. "Assuming you're telling the truth. But I think you're lying or still hiding something, at least."

"What?"

"You couldn't have come here just for this. That's what I mean."

Ah. Right.

Here we go, he thought.

"Christina's life is in danger," Desmond declared.

Christina's expression didn't change one bit. As for how she felt inside, only she knew.

Amy was startled, but that didn't mean she believed him.

It was simply a natural reaction for her, who was such a caring person. Maybe people became good at giving out what they had lacked.

Perhaps in the hope that they would return the favor.

"All their lives are in danger," Abigail replied, simply. And she was not wrong.

How to explain this, without the truth?

He had an idea.

His eyes fixed on his other self.

"Desmond! You know, don't you, those visions, Amy and Christina in a sea of blood!"

His other self looked at him wide eyed, unable to say anything. Opening and closing his mouth slightly.

He felt a knife at his neck. Abigail's knife.

"Stop it. You think I'm just going to sit here, watching you manipulate him? I've already let you talk too much."

Desmond swallowed. The situation had gotten out of hand.

But was there still time to fix it?