After placing the key in the lock, his spirit or something had moved far away. In someone else's body. Was that what had happened? Was he really looking through someone else's eyes?

This had to be a dream.

And it certainly gave that feeling. A blink of an eye. The world was engulfed by darkness, and when he opened his eyes again, his surroundings had completely changed again.

He was now surrounded by dozens and dozens of people. It was still night.

Still? Had time passed?

What is this? It had to be a dream.

Jonathan looked around, they looked like soldiers. Yes, they did. In uniform. He could see well enough even in this darkness to recognize that the people around him were wearing a soldier's uniform, and so was he.

Looked? No, his head was moving, but it wasn't him moving it. A dream, after all? Had he fallen unconscious in the temple and was now having a strange dream?

No.

Somehow he didn't believe it.

Who are you? What is this? Who are you?

A horse.

A person on horseback stepped in front of all of them. The leader?

What's going on, damn it, this can't be really happening.

"Boys," the man on the horse said, "Before the sun rises, most of you will be dead. But each and every one of you will be proud men of the Empire. If you don't retreat. If you only go forward, with your heads held high. Give your all to slaughter our enemies!"

The honor and glory...

To kill and die for people who didn't give a shit about you. That's great.

Unfortunately, he had no choice in the matter. He had been dragged into the middle of all this, and now he was in the body of someone who did believe in this nonsense.

But he couldn't blame him. Jonathan didn't know who he was, but he was clearly nothing more than a child. One of many who would not live to see the sun rise. Just like that asshole had said.

What about me? What will happen to me?

This can't really be happening.

The war came upon them suddenly. In the blink of an eye, as before, Jonathan found himself running, machete in hand, to engage the enemy.

There were no tactics, no use of magic even.

Just two groups of soldiers running to meet in the middle of the field. All young, desperate. And screaming.

He was screaming too. As if to make himself heard in the middle of this madness.

As if to try to say: I was in this world. I mattered.

Only everyone around him was screaming the same way. And when they met, all hell broke loose, from the first second blood was flying everywhere and the screams of courage were transformed into something inhuman by the pain, even the starlight seemed to tremble before the waves of rage, pain and fear.

And Jonathan was simply lost in the midst of that madness. A spectator, but seeing it all as if through his own eyes.

Everything.

Like the boy he was sliding under a horse, sword in hand. While a few meters to the side someone's head was crushed by the horse. A friend, an enemy? It was hard to tell and it didn't matter anyway. Maybe they had been an army before the clash, but now they were just individuals looking to survive.

His hand

It's not my hand it's not mine

Jonathan moved upward, slashing the horse's belly, slicing it wide open. The enemy soldier, surprised, flew forward. And maybe he cracked his head, maybe he got back up and maybe he didn't, he didn't have time to look, before he turned around there was already another problem to deal with.

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They were on top of him, they threw him to the ground.

The blade of the sword projected a strange glow in the moonlight. Trembling, approaching his neck.

My name is Jonathan! And I haven't lived through any of this.

I am myself. MYSELF MYSELF MYSELF MYSELF

Teeth clenched. It was a bad position, and besides the enemy was twice the size of the boy, but he gave it his all to push him back, to get him off his back, if only for a few seconds, if only he could swing his sword at least once he could kill him, he could get out of this.

He didn't kill him but someone came from behind and cut his neck. The head flew off along with a good stream of blood that got in his hair and eyes, even in his mouth, he had to spit as if he was going to choke on some blood, and the thing is that he didn't see the head roll because of the blood that covered his already fucked up eyesight on a night like this but at least he had saved himself and he could do it, he knew he could, he could get out of this if he at least had a moment to stop and

Breathe.

He stood up.

It was complete chaos, everyone crowded together, all wild and desperate, they could kill him simply by accident by receiving an attack that had been thrown at someone else.

He had to learn to swim in this chaos or he would drown.

I AM NOT there

this isn't happening to me damn it it's not happening to me.

The boy... yes, the boy, not him, still had a gun in his hand, bathed in blood and horse guts but intact for the moment. He could still fight. He had to fight.

He had to attack anyone, even if he might now feel that he didn't even distinguish between friend and foe. If he stood still, if he looked back, he would be lost.

So he kept fighting.

He kept bathing his hands in the blood of other humans and animals, well, they were all nothing but animals after all. He had believed

he he not me

that it would be different. Killing a human being for the first time. Even after all his training, he had dreaded the day when that moment would come. He hadn't been sure he could handle it. To look someone in the eye, seeing their life slipping away, and know that he had done it.

But he didn't have time to look or feel bad. Of course.

But he had a feeling that nothing would change, even after the battle was over. He grabbed the lance of a knight on horseback, managed to wrench it out of his hands, though only after sticking a knife in his side, and then left the lance in his neck.

That nothing would change at all. Because the problem wasn't in his circumstances but within him.

The problem or that he had simply realized it, perhaps.

In the blink of an eye.

He was on the porch of some little wooden house, next to a fellow warrior. It was still dark. How long had it been?

I have to get out of here.

I have to get out of here or I may never be able to.

"Now I get it," the boy he was stuck in said.

Not looking at his mate.

Staring at the sea, very fixedly, at the blackness that outlined the horizon.

"What are you talking about?

"I'm not a great man. I'm not well-educated. But now I understand. When I killed a man for the first time, I thought it would tear me apart. I thought I would cry or feel guilt. None of that came."

"Where are you going with this? I was relaxing, but now you're going on about philosophy or something."

"Listen to me for a minute. Please."

"Okay. You know you can always count on me."

A sigh.

It was so strange. Sighing, feeling your chest move, the air being exhaled, only it wasn't your chest or the air you were breathing. It was worse than being a ghost, he realized.

I am nowhere.

In the "real world," wherever my body is, am I even breathing? Maybe it's too late for me. Maybe I'll always be stuck here.

"And I finally realized... that I'm not the one who was wrong. It's this world. Human life has no value. Like a coin, it passes from hand to hand and is forgotten when it stops shining. That's all there is to it. That's all a human life is worth. Let me repeat that again, definitely, human life is as cheap as a coin."

Jonathan thought: no shit.

Jonathan thought: you should have realized that a long time ago, genius. But of course. Not all people learned that, as he did, as soon as they were old enough to become self-aware. Because he'd been born into filth, he'd had to fight for everything. So he knew it. From the beginning he knew it.

"You and I... we are coins. And so is everyone in our squad. Every last one of us."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I'm not going to wait to be spent. That's all. There's got to be something better. Something more."

Something more. Something beyond...

That's not me. My name is Jonathan. Jonathan, that's what my name is.

The years went by

in the blink of an eye.

(I don't want to die)

(how long have I been here)

Finally, he found himself on a ship approaching that island, the real beginning of this whole disaster. Yes. Because this wasn't a memory of his own journey, but that of the Count.

He understood nothing of what was happening, but all this time he had been looking through the eyes of Count Dracula, the man who had taken everything from him.

The shock was almost enough to snap him out of whatever it was he was experiencing.

Jonathan had no idea what was happening, how or why. But of that he was very sure. It felt like he was being ripped in half. Pulling his very soul in every direction and consequently tearing him to pieces. It was an agony beyond the flesh.

But it was only an almost. The spectacle continued.

"This could be what I've been looking for all along," the Count said. Said that fucking bastard. The mere thought of looking through his eyes made him sick. "A community of the people, for the people, by the people. Something more. Something more than that rat race."

I know how this is going to end, he thought.

It can't end any other way.

But he wasn't interested in the unfolding events. If the call of the bell had been for him to come here and see this, he didn't understand it either. The past wasn't going to tell him anything.

He already knew how to kill the Count. He could kill him as he had killed the dozens and dozens of people who had fallen at his hands.

They were both immortal, but not in each other's hands. It would be enough to stab him properly.

The Count was smiling as if he were a whole person. As if he had hope for the future. Jonathan couldn't see it, but he felt it and it was enough. He had changed his mind.

He couldn't wait to see it all burn.