Episode 27: Don’t Fight Me, Ignite Me, Part 1

1

Until now, the Tower had been their greatest challenge, their likely collective tomb. But now Yonah (and she believed Victoria must feel the same) saw it more as a mere backdrop.

This was only because Caim, or whatever was left of him, was advancing ahead, effortlessly destroying everything in his path. The monsters that weren't dead hid from him, and the few that confronted the two did so weakly, as if it were better to be killed by them than to end up in Caim's tentacles.

In other words, the little resistance they encountered felt symbolic. Yonah could defeat them without even focusing on the fight. Her mind and soul were elsewhere.

Often, she didn't even have to fight, as Victoria would cast a spell and that would be the end of it. With so much time between fights, she generally had plenty of time to prepare a devastating spell.

So, it was like a backdrop.

A mere formality they had to pass through on their way to Caim.

This place had never meant much to them in the first place.

They had only agreed to seek out the Tower once it became clear that there was no way to make him abandon his suicidal idea

(I just wanted him to be happy)

, and yet deep down in their hearts, they had hoped he would change his mind after all, halfway through. That he would come to his senses, realize that regardless of what was in the Tower, nothing would change for them.

It wouldn't make his life on the outside any easier and wouldn't stop people from believing hundreds of years of propaganda.

But Caim was human, no matter how much people spat at him and cursed him as a demon, and it was human nature to believe in easy solutions, shortcuts, even for problems that had been there long before you were born.

And now not only had things not improved, but they had hit rock bottom... or so she hoped, being optimistic.

Realistically, well, things could always get worse.

Was it impossible to fix?

Maybe not, but although Yonah tried not to think about it, she couldn't come up with what they could do when they finally reached Caim. Because, well, what the hell were they going to try? Knock sense into him? If only it were that easy.

If only he would come to his senses on his own and there wouldn't have to be a life-or-death fight.

Sure.

And then pigs would fly, and all the countries would send a rescue team for them because they had realized they were wrong about the race they unfairly called children of the devil.

Yonah had one thing clear.

That wasn't Caim.

Caim would never have looked at her that way. He would never have abandoned them to their fate in the place he had dragged them to in the first place. As long as there was a part of him left, as long as he hadn't disappeared, there was hope.

They just had to fight to find it.

That's why they had come to this Tower in the first place. Maybe the situation hadn't changed that much.

Yonah glanced back briefly. It was a mere formality, just checking what she already knew. She was already tired, so naturally, Victoria was twice as tired; that was the main weakness of all magicians, endurance.

Willpower sounded cool, but the limits of your body were there for a reason. They couldn't be overcome just like that, and they wouldn't gain anything by pushing those limits in a situation like this.

Proper rest was essential for success.

But they knew that in their heads; their hearts were another story. Victoria said nothing, and Yonah, despite usually being very sensible, couldn't force herself to suggest they take a damn break.

They hadn't rested at all, and yet Caim was far ahead for obvious reasons.

So, anyway, if they stopped now, they could only rest physically. Their minds wouldn't stop spinning, always in the worst possible directions.

At least stumbling through the dark corridors of the Tower gave them something to do. Something to focus on besides the noose they felt tightening around their necks, lifting their feet off the ground, dragging them into a hell ready to receive them with open arms.

2

Their passage through the third floor was just as devastating as it had been so far. The Tower's creatures had learned to fear him. Some still came across their path, those who were too brave, wanted to commit suicide, or believed they had no escape, so better to die standing than on their knees.

Which, of course, was utter stupidity.

One way or another, you were dead, and everything ended. Well, if even other human beings couldn't understand that, then it was completely beyond the reach of the limited intellect, more like the primitive instinct, of those animals.

But the stroll in the park ended when a guy dressed like an idiot stood in their way, moving as if he were dancing to music that only played in his head.

And you only knew he was a guy and not a thing because he was covered in steel from head to toe, a material no monster could be made of. A strangely futuristic armor that might have seemed more impressive if it didn't look like someone had simply poured several buckets of paint over it and called it done.

Besides, it didn't seem practical. For starters, the blue circle glowing on the helmet was the only place that could be a "hole" for the eyes. And it had to be, right? It was like a big blue eye. Not that there couldn't be beings that relied on other senses, but she thought her judgment was correct.

In any case, this was the next boss.

There was no doubt about it.

There was also no doubt that as foolish as he looked, he was on a completely different level from all the other bosses she had fought so far.

It was the natural progression, but she didn't just mean that. He was the first boss she had encountered since she shattered the ghost of that elf and the woman who could manipulate destiny. The difference between them, she felt it in her bones, was a huge chasm.

It was a much bigger leap than she had expected, but it wouldn't change anything.

The cold and hunger hadn't left him. They were impulses that couldn't be sated, only temporarily quieted. So this enemy would be perfect for him. Surely devouring him would be more beneficial than hundreds of the cockroaches he had crushed to get here.

He licked his lips.

He couldn't wait.

"Well, well, you look awful," said the idiot in colorful armor. "For a moment I thought you were one of us. If you keep going like this, you soon will be, I suppose."

And he laughed.

Caim should have been intrigued by such a clear clue about the inner workings of the Tower, one of the many answers he so desperately sought. But in his current state, he only found it irritating that this thing had to speak and decided to silence its voice forever, quickly.

"You don't want to talk, huh?" He drew a sword that seemed to be made of the same steel or unknown alloy as his armor. Fortunately, not painted with all sorts of colors and completely ruined, it had been spared. Its blade was thin, looked like a katana. "Well, I do. I don't get many opportunities and less with..." A wild smile, as if savoring what he was about to spit out. Caim had guessed it right away. "Beings of my kind."

Caim jumped, propelled by exactly two tentacles. The shockwave from his takeoff, so to speak, caused the floor to explode and collapse behind him. His landing was just as powerful. There was only one small problem, let's say.

That the little bastard escaped.

In fact, he cut off a tentacle.

Of course, he had plenty, and soon a few spares would grow, but still, it was irritating and somewhat painful. He caught him in the air with other tentacles and even swung him, in a split second improvising to basically get a free extension of his tentacle.

Did it work?

Well, no, the bastard just cut it again, it was in half a dozen pieces, and Caim had to give up on it.

He was a slippery bastard. As long as you were strong enough to at least hurt your opponent, and this thing was, better to be fast than strong.

Even if your opponent was much stronger than you, it wouldn't do any good if he couldn't catch you, after all. And even if you couldn't destroy the enemy with a few blows, in the end, the speed that gave you the advantage would allow you to land enough hits. A death by a thousand cuts, so to speak.

He supposed that was precisely the concept of this boss.

The obstacles not only got harder but had to be different. That's how the Tower was designed. That was what he was beginning to think between killings, let's say it wasn't an idea he had invested much time in.

"That's why you shouldn't be in such a hurry," the bastard continued mocking, as if all this were a game, just a game to kill his boredom... And it was. He had nothing at stake in this fight. Even if he died, he would just come back. Unless he found a way to erase him from this world. If one of his predecessors had done it, then he should be able to. He was stronger. He was better. He was more everything. "You're always going to go at my pace, anyway."

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"No one can control me."

He responded... laughing again. He had only heard that laugh twice in his life, but he would pay to never hear it again. He would pay him with a mad blow after another.

"You say it very convincingly, but you might even be right. After all, you include yourself, don't you?"

More laughter.

Even as he threw himself at him, trying to catch him.

"Didn't you enter this shithole with two companions? Where are they now, huh?"

He shouldn't have known that, but what was more important was that he was right. Why had he left them behind? He didn’t understand.

Maybe he didn’t have to understand it.

He was hungry and cold, and he didn’t want to endure either a second longer. And the fastest way—no, the only way—was to catch that slippery bastard and give him a good lesson.

So, he would do it, damn it.

He’d teach him what’s what.

He was fast. But how was it possible for him to be so fast? Despite all the tentacles originating from his body, how was it possible for him to dodge dozens and dozens of tentacles attacking him from all directions without any trouble?

Sooner or later, just like the elven specter, he had to make a mistake. And then Caim would defeat him with a single blow. He wouldn’t give him the chance to recover and retaliate.

He had to make a mistake.

It was impossible for any living being to hold out forever. But he wasn’t doing that. And he was losing more and more tentacles. He dodged and attacked simultaneously, so he wasn’t losing any time, damn it.

It should be annoying because he believed he had become... Not just powerful. Unstoppable, uncontrollable. And even though he had the necessary power to shred him with a finger, he couldn’t catch him.

But it was only frustrating because of the hunger and the cold.

Those were the only things he could think about, and thinking was saying a lot.

They were just needs.

He was like an animal.

He knew it, and he didn’t give a damn. Soon he would feel good and have no reason to worry in the first place.

Why were they so important... Yonah and Victoria?

Yes, why were those two important in the first place?

3

—I’m sorry —Caim said between coughs. He couldn’t speak well due to the lack of oxygen, but he had to say it. It was the least he could do for her. He owed her, even though it meant nothing, even though he couldn’t undo the chaotic outcome.

That he still couldn’t believe, despite seeing it with his own eyes.

Victoria had said many things, and Caim had acted as if he believed her, but she wasn’t the first to talk big in private and then back down when push came to shove, because what they liked about supporting an outcast was feeling saintly, not the problems and headaches that came with putting their supposed principles into practice.

But Victoria had not only stood firm, she had killed her own father to save him from being executed at the stake. Her friend Yonah had also risked her neck, cutting the ropes and dragging him to a safe place.

Despite everything, a part of him was convinced it must be a hallucination due to lack of oxygen, a dream or a vision of what he would have liked to happen after death (a little piece of heaven, if a wretch like him deserved to enter there).

But it was real.

That’s why he couldn’t say thank you. He had to apologize, even though it meant nothing, right now the only thing he could offer in return was that apology.

Although obviously, he didn’t actually feel sorry. He was just grateful that bastard was dead.

Lying there on the ground, in a pool of his own blood, with burning white eyes fixed on the church ceiling. The hole in his chest was big enough that, if it weren’t for all the blood, you could see more of the inside of a human body than anyone wanted to see.

He was too surprised to truly feel it. For the moment.

"I’m sorry," he repeated, swallowing. It was the only thing he could do, how pathetic. "Your father, I..."

Another thing that meant nothing to him. Mother, father. What was that? He had been alone from the beginning.

"He wasn’t my father," Victoria responded amid the shocked silence that seemed to have put the church on pause. "Not anymore, and maybe he never was the person I thought he was."

It was easy to say, but the deep pain in her eyes told a different story. Not that her eyes or expression were, well, very expressive, quite the opposite. And that’s why it was much more shocking. In a situation like this, her face shouldn’t be so empty. As if nothing had happened here. Caim understood those looks well. He had hurt her so much that now she was hiding inside herself.

The stasis broke as suddenly as the priest had been killed. The church filled with screams. Fortunately, the entire town had gathered to see Caim burn because otherwise, there would have been no way the rest wouldn’t have found out, and right now, the cavalry would be charging in.

Fortunately?

Now all their problems were here. Some were paralyzed. Some were hiding, others fleeing.

And a few dared.

"How could you? To your own father!"

"The ancestors, as always, were right. The horns are the mark of the beast. A warning of evil. Which we failed to heed. He hasn’t been here long and already corrupted the pastor’s daughter. I hope our immortal souls have a better chance."

"Stop rambling, you bastard."

"What did you say?"

"Well..."

"Don’t disrespect me, you sack of fleas."

"What you hear, you idiot, what you hear. Talking about immortal souls, what nonsense. Let's grab anything sharp or heavy and beat them to death. Then you can argue until you lose your voice about philosophical topics."

"Philosophical."

"Yes, that’s what I said."

They argued about killing three young people, two of whom had always been members of the community, as if it were nothing. Something as casual as gutting a pig or breaking a chicken’s neck, maybe not the most pleasant thing in the world but nothing to worry about, especially if you got the task over with as quickly as possible.

There was no seriousness or respect for human life. It made sense they had gathered to celebrate his death; they weren’t even of the same species, but Victoria and Yonah? What had they done to deserve that?

Was it enough to have helped him? Was it really so easy to stop seeing them as human beings, without even the horns? Then he had never had a chance.

Well, he had always known he had a head full of birds, of unrealizable utopias. But...

Caim swallowed.

This was different, somehow. Maybe he had started fantasizing too much. Maybe he had come to believe this could last and had forgotten the days when, for example, his neck hurt like it did now but not from the smoke, from the noose they put around his neck, tied to a horse.

That and many other things he shouldn’t have forgotten.

"No need for so much nonsense then. No picks or sticks, I can beat them to a pulp myself."

"That's right!"

"Don’t give them time, not another second, or we’ll end up like the pastor’s daughter."

Victoria, Caim thought. Her name is Victoria, you bastard. As if it were the most important thing in the current situation. But it was natural for it to bother him. They were only pretending to care. He realized this was just an extension of his execution, a mere public spectacle.

"He may be demonic, but he’s more like a pup. And, no matter how corrupted they are, they’re just two women. We can handle them, no need to be afraid!"

Maybe they could, even if only because of their numerical advantage.

But the alternative, that Victoria and Yonah were forced to kill not only the reverend but also the parishioners to make their way out of this infernal place, didn’t give him the cold satisfaction that perhaps it should.

The idea broke his heart. Because now he was grounded, in a reality where not one but two people had done something for him without expecting anything in return.

He had to respond to their kindness. He had to...

Several men approached the altar with their fists raised.

Others had ignored the braggarts and were already returning with farming tools. Shovels, rakes, the odd sickle.

It wasn’t exactly the most intimidating mob he’d ever seen. But if he didn’t do something, it would end in a bloody tragedy. They would likely get out alive, but Victoria and Yonah would leave with a stain on their souls, a poor way to repay them for the sacrifice they had made.

So Caim knew what to do.

All he had to do to solve this was give them what they wanted.

He put a hand in front of Yonah, and she got the message and obeyed, at least for the moment. He didn’t respond to the questioning look he caught from the corner of his eye. He took a few steps forward, putting them behind him.

Positioning himself right in front of the increasingly large mob.

But not more courageous thanks to their numerical advantage, no sir. Seeing him advance, they immediately stopped.

Caim felt like swallowing and, well, he did. These people were blinded by fear, but if he kept doing things like this, sooner or later even these fools would realize that after all, he was just a pup indeed.

Caim started to laugh.

"So much nonsense. You should have raised this fuss when I was tied up and defenseless. But now what do you think you can do? Do you think I’m a little pup? That you can beat me among all of you? You should already know that appearances can be deceiving, damn it."

He roared like a wild beast, taking another step, no, more like a leap forward. And the tide of people recoiled. A bit more insecure, more frightened, a bit more under his control.

"Caim..."

He ignored Victoria's voice, which sounded pleading. All he could do was hope she understood, she believed in him enough to come this far, so she should grant him the benefit of the doubt.

"Yes, I am a child of the devil. I am a monster. So you'd better get the hell out of here. You've had your chance, if I catch you, I will eat you and spit out your damn bones. And then I'll come back to burn down this church with your priest inside, he deserves nothing but to burn in the damn flames of hell."

He was going too far, with her daughter still there, the wound still fresh. But, in his defense, it wasn’t something he had intended. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to say it. It just came out that way. He had started speaking faster and faster and, without more, it had slipped out. Now he was practically spitting out every word, his eyes widened with insane rage, and if there was anything fake in that horrible spectacle, it wasn’t a significant part.

He was angry, of course.

He had the right to be.

With the bastard priest and his whole damn congregation, he would send them to a slaughterhouse. Yes, like lambs to the slaughter, and now he had the chance to...

"I may deserve to suffer and die, but if there is a God in heaven, one day you will get what you deserve, oh yes. It may not be by my hands, but sooner or later you will get it. If there is a God. If he is not as cruel and capricious as you are."

He had the chance to... His hand slid towards the hilt of the sword.

To screw up, make a complete mess. If he turned what should be an attempt at intimidation into a cruel reality, he would just be proving they were right. Justifying anything they had done to him and might do to him in the future, these and other humans.

Because maybe the other poor bastards marked with horns like devils hadn't done anything to deserve it, but he would have blood on his hands. Unnecessarily. It wasn’t something he could justify in retrospect. He was facing a handful of peasants, not knights armed to the teeth.

No, that was true, but he was focusing on things the wrong way.

The essential thing was not proving these bastards right, but proving Victoria and Yonah wrong.

Betraying their trust, spitting on their sacrifice. And all for what? Revenge wouldn’t even give him momentary pleasure. He knew himself well enough to know he wouldn’t enjoy it, although maybe he should. Even if they deserved it: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

He dropped his hand before it reached the hilt.

They didn’t need to know. However brief the moment of weakness, they didn’t need to know how close he had been to losing control.

He had always wanted a chance to have a family, a life. He wasn’t going to waste it.

"So don’t tempt me. Get out of my way before I decide to take justice into my own hands."

Caim advanced, and the Red Sea parted in two before him.

At that moment, he felt exactly like they talked about him. A demon wreaking havoc on earth without anyone offering resistance, without anyone being able to.

Rows of seats, frightened looks, trembling humans. He followed the red carpet to the entrance door. No one had realized, no one could have realized, as chaos hadn’t yet erupted.

But he was also trembling.

Not at the prospect of being torn apart by the angry mob, of course.

What he feared most was...

He turned around.

He was used to looking over his shoulder, but to see if there was still someone chasing him.

His look was a silent question. No, a plea.

That they hadn’t realized. That they were still willing to give him a chance.

The rest, well, the rest was history.

Don’t Fight Me, Ignite Me, Part 1: FIN