Jacob was a war hero.
In many ways, he was the kind of man Desmond aspired to be. Except, of course, how he had ended up. He didn't want to be a respected headmaster.
He didn't want to take things easy. He just wanted to be a soldier.
"A lot of people are... different," the headmaster began. "There's no better example here than me. On my best days, I can stagger around with my cane, despite the pain. On my worst days, I can't even go to the bathroom without help."
Desmond felt uncomfortable.
Too frank. More than he would have been, in any case. Being a war hero, he had nothing to prove. But if it were him, Desmond wouldn't want people to know that sort of thing.
There was a difference between imagining something was true and knowing it. A very big difference.
"Nor many of the things you take for granted," he continued. "I'm about as good a killer as I used to be, though."
Desmond put a hand to his head, massaging his temples. His blood was burning. His body was restless, begging him to take action.
However, not only would he have to wait a little longer to test himself, he would have to put up with the man's speech, which would bring him nothing. No wonder he had a headache.
It was easy to say that he should take things patiently, but he had been waiting for this for ten years. Ten fucking years!
He'd like to know if there was anyone more patient than him here.
Jacob chose that moment to pause and stand up, leaning on his cane. Although his powerful voice, full of vitality, could deceive, the man didn't look very steady. Quite the contrary.
He gave the impression that he could fall to his knees at any moment.
Or forward. Above the crowd of applicants.
Desmond had said the headmaster was missing a piece of his leg, and while that wasn't false, it wasn't entirely true either. The ghostly outline of it was still visible, faint and blue.
It was a wound that not even magic could heal. If it were a physical wound, he wouldn't be in a wheelchair.
That's why physical disabilities were so rare in Albion. In fact, Jacob was the only permanently disabled person he had ever seen in his life, despite having gone through a war zone as a child.
"But you... You are all the same. Mere shadows cast by your family, by your homeland. You are not so different from newborn children."
It amazed him that he was willing to provoke even the rich and spoiled children whose parents had no doubt filled the coffers of his academy.
That would have bruised many egos. But not his.
Desmond knew he wasn't far from the truth.
"But this will be the beginning... if you can pass the test. Answer this question: why am I here? Don't underestimate it, don't take it as the ravings of a crazy old man. That is everything. On this path you will have to make countless sacrifices. Starting with the body and mind, the continuous wear and tear, but that's the easiest thing. What changes everything is sacrificing others."
I know, he thought.
I was born in a pit of corpses. Metaphorically speaking, of course. The Empire's soldiers had collected bodies, throwing them into a pit of corpses and then burning them. Dead and alive alike.
But he hadn't been there. That woman to whom he owed everything had pulled him out of that hell before they could have done the same to him.
Which didn't mean he had survived, of course.
He was... Yes. Sort of like a child using the name Desmond Orosco for lack of a better one.
"Babies who advance only for inherited reasons and ideals can't endure the life of a soldier, the road to hell."
True enough. Though he didn't see him having any qualms about letting them try, crash and burn.
"You may manage to set foot in my academy without changing, but you won't get very far. If you haven't found an answer at the moment of truth, you'll be lost. And then you will remember me."
In the end the speech was interesting. Too bad it was wasted on him, since he did have an answer, unlike most.
Desmond leaned forward, bowing, with one hand on his heart and one on his lower back. He smiled.
He could feel the movement of the lips, naturally. A smile like that of a wild animal.
He gave his answer. The truth.
"I have come to change everything," he murmured, but with more confidence than any scream could contain.
——
Towards the end of the speech, he had felt full of euphoria, almost as if this had really begun. He had felt connected with each and every one of the candidates, as if their hearts were beating as one.
With that old man with the empty eyes and body marked by death. At the same time, he reaffirmed his individuality by saying that there was no one like him.
No matter how much they had lost and no matter how they had lived their lives since then, there was no one like him.
He would shed a sea of blood.
He would be the one to change everything.
Yes, it had been a moment of connection with the world. Reminding him that he was not alone, though he walked alone and would die alone.
It had been wonderful. But, like all things, good and bad, it came to an end.
The speech ended. The curtains came down, covering the stage, and there was only the silence in which the audience was engulfed, all without exception, punctuated by the sound of the wheels of Jacob's chair scraping the floor as he passed.
And it wasn't replaced by anything worthwhile. Just more waiting.
"You have an hour to find that answer and to prepare as much as you can. You may go."
That was what he had said to end his well-rehearsed speech, breaking the magic of the moment and bringing him back to reality as if he had crashed to the ground.
Desmond didn't need time to prepare.
Whatever he could practice or prepare in an hour would do him no good anyway.
He supposed it was an opportunity to familiarize himself with the place that was to be his home for four years.
Patience was a tool like any other. As important, in its own way, as the sword he carried on his back or the pistol at his waist.
He wasn't built that way. But he could learn. He could change.
He saw Amy sitting on a bench, sword resting in her lap, eyes closed.
Meditating, perhaps?
Most of the candidates were nervous. This wasn't just the most important day of his life. But he found the idea that Amy would be nervous enough to start meditating strange.
She was ready and would pass the test. He was convinced of that.
Desmond couldn't say why exactly, but it was enough to look at her to see that she was different from the others. That she was here for herself, not for her parents or idealistic dreams.
He didn't care about things like whether she had talent with magic.
The same thing that would get him far would carry Amy to victory. He was sure of it.
They would both pass the test and....
And what? And then what?
He had no reason to scorn her as he had done on the train. But he didn't have a reason to search for her either, so he walked right past her.
"Desmond?" Of course she had finally opened her eyes and spotted him.
He'd been standing there like an idiot for too long.
Desmond was sorely tempted. He didn't look back once, but he also wished from the bottom of his heart that she hadn't noticed and would believe he simply hadn't seen her. Nor heard.
Desmond clicked his tongue.
He had no particular destination. All he had to do, for the moment, was wait.
His feet led him to the Winter Tower. The change in temperature was extremely drastic, making his teeth grind for a moment. It wasn't like the inside of a refrigerator. But it was just that the day had been good, quite warm, and the contrast had made the cold hit him with more strength than it actually had.
As with the Spring Tower, the Winter Tower was surrounded by a steady rain of something that fit the design theme: in this case, snowflakes.
Not very imaginative, that.
The way the tower was covered in ice, not just that it was, the stalactites that had formed, the gaps between the ice, the falling drops of water, however, were better details. Better achieved, better thought out.
It was like a beautiful ice sculpture. Framed by the sunlight falling behind it, it seemed semi transparent.
The elongated shadow on the ground looked like an extension of the tower.
The deepest shadow and the brightest light existed at the same time here, in harmony.
This vision allowed him to relax. A sliver, not entirely. But when was the last time he had fully relaxed? He couldn't remember.
He found another refuge from his own thoughts, fortunately. More problems. Though not necessarily anything to do with him.
"Please. "There was no desperation in the girl's voice, because for that she had to believe first that whatever it was could stop. There was only a kind of dark resignation.
"We're still having fun. Don't be a buzzkill.
Desmond clenched his fists.
His mind was perhaps jumping around too much, projecting images he dared not even mention. But just on the off chance that it was true he couldn't just walk past it, just like that.
Killjoy, he'd said. This was a fucking party for him.
As easy as flipping a switch, Desmond went into combat mode.
His mind went blank. His breathing became very light and controlled, as little as possible. Conversely, his heart began to beat several times faster than normal, preparing for the exertion of the battle to come. His emotions always exploded when he fought, but now he was trembling with more than anger.
Desmond began to follow the voices.
They couldn't be far behind. And when he got there, he knew he would decide what to do at first glance. For better or for worse. Right then and there.
It didn't take him long to find them.
It wasn't just one boy, but five in all. And they had one girl cornered, the one he had heard defeated and half crying. Unable to defend herself.
At least the thing had only gotten this far. Although her clothes were wrinkled and dirty here and there, she was still wearing them.
She had been left like that running in circles, after a book they were keeping out of her reach. Lifting it over her head or tossing it to one of their buddies, who caught it in midair. Taunting and laughing at her at all times.
Like fucking kids, when they were supposed to have come here to be soldiers.
Those smiles could hide more than the simple cruelty of children.
"You don't understand how important that is." Maybe he'd been wrong about her. Maybe she still had hope.
Oh, they were doing this because they understood perfectly well.
They hadn't laid a hand on her yet, but that could change fast if they used the book as blackmail. He didn't need a good look at it to know what it was about.
It wasn't just any book, but a catalyst for her magic, so there was nothing strange about her being so scared.
If the book was damaged or she lost it, it could easily take months or years to recover just a portion of it.
A tiny portion.
Impossible to recall years of accumulated history, footnotes, changes and revisions. Impossible to recover even ten percent of it.
Desmond took a deep breath.
If he gutted them, it would all be over before it began. It didn't have to be what he was thinking. But he didn't want to think, not really, and he could barely see what was in front of him.
Trembling. Trembling, and not just with rage.
"Do you want it? Then beg. Get on your knees and beg."
The girl gasped.
He had heard a dark resignation in her voice, but it seemed that even after everything she hadn't believed they would go that far. No, surely she just hadn't wanted to think about it. Because she believed she was cornered, that there was nothing she could do. So it was better not to even notice.
Desmond felt like throwing up.
But worst of all was the sense of distance that came over him when his gaze crossed the girl's. What was that poem like? No man was an island. Ha.
But yes, it was a mere crossing, the girl looked away in a hurry.
She didn't call out to him. She said nothing at all.
Maybe she had seen him before. Seen nothing, which was exactly what he had done, so now she believed he wouldn't help her even if she asked him to. It could also be that if it was the first time and she had given up on him so quickly.
Desmond wasn't sure which it was. Nor what it could mean.
It didn't matter.
The time had come.
Desmond moved into action, drawing his sword. He was among them before they knew it. He thrust the sword into the ground, between the legs of the one who was holding the book right now.
The aforementioned froze. Holding his breath too, as if he was going to get anything out of it, other than breathing worse when he was done and had to release it.
He was scared shitless.
Mind you, he didn't know that the blade of his sword had been this close to slicing him open from groin to chin. As he'd said, his hands were shaking.
"Drop the book and get out of my sight. Go away, all of you.
Desmond was being kind enough to give them a warning. They had better listen to the voice of reason or this could end very badly. With screaming and broken bones, at the very least.
He'd rather they didn't waste his time fighting before the test.
Second best would be for them to go from here to the infirmary with broken bones. Instead of straight to the morgue.
But a lot of it depended on those idiots.
"Or else?" That boastful response came from another of the five. Not from the guy he had trapped, whose balls hung over his sword, but not too high. Certainly not.
"You don't have the balls," Desmond replied, and he raised his sword a little higher, squeezing with the hilt what was needed for emphasis. "Don't pretend you're a real man now. You should take the chance to get the hell out while you still can."
"There are five of us and only one of you," replied a third, smiling, crossing his arms. His body longed to teach them more than just a good lesson, and he was going to have to fight, it was clear. They were hearing his words, but listening to them? That was another story. "It's pretty clear who has the upper hand. What's your problem, anyway? We were just trying to have a little fun."
"Have fun, huh? Let's see if you think it's so much fun now."
Earlier I had squeezed his balls a little bit, literally. Now I crushed them with a loud smack. That was all it took for him to keel over.
He dropped the book, too, near where he was holding it.
Before he had squeezed his balls a little. Now he crushed them with a hard blow. That was all it took for him to collapse.
The little shit dropped the book too, near where he was writhing in pain after screeching like a little girl and falling over.
Desmond didn't see who, he didn't have time. But he was attacked with magic. A blast of ice, shot straight from the outstretched palms in his direction.
He dodged it by simply moving to the side. Before he finished the movement, the gun was in his hand. Before they could petrify in fear, the gun uttered the only word it knew.
Which remained floating in the air, just like the smell of gunpowder. Mixed with the thick, metallic smell of blood.
Because he had hit one of them in the shoulder.
Dangerously close to the neck, or so he wanted them to believe. The truth was that he had pulled the trigger with confidence because he was a good shot. Judging by the pallor on their faces, by the whimpers of the guy he'd hit, though they didn't rival how the guy he'd hit in the nuts whimpered, he'd succeeded.
Desmond needed to continue his mission. And nothing had happened. Yet.
"A... gun? A gun?"
Even the girl looked a little scared now. Like he was going to put the barrel to her forehead and pull the trigger. It should be obvious that he'd only gotten into something that had nothing to do with him to help her.
It shouldn't bother him, but it did.
She had no reason to be afraid of him. Quite the contrary. This is what you wanted, right? So smile.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" It wasn't the girl who told him that. Another one of those five people he wouldn't mind shooting in the shoulder, the arms and, for that matter... Everything. Anything that wasn't lethal.
"You are. I warned you... and you didn't listen. I'm ready for us all to pay the consequences. So get out, quickly. Get out!"
The sword hadn't been enough. Perhaps because it was the common man's weapon. However, the gun, the enemy's weapon, quickly paid off.
In a nutshell. They obeyed the voice of reason.
He felt a great satisfaction, even though they were all equally guilty, to see that the guy he had shot had to help himself. None of the other four looked back for even a second as he ran, not hesitating to leave him at the mercy of the "lunatic". Despite what might happen.
As he passed close by, staggering forward more than running, Desmond saw that he had tears in his eyes. From the pain, no doubt. But not only that.
They did these things because they could.
Because nothing made them feel better than knowing they could shatter another person's life on a pure whim.
I told you. It's not so much fun when you're the victim. Fucking bastards.
At least he wouldn't have to worry about them anymore, even if he hadn't killed them. He was sure of that. Those five were... rejects. Weak in mind and spirit. If those castoffs were capable of passing the initiation test, then it wasn't even worth belonging to this place.
They were hopeless.
They were left alone. The girl looked at him hesitantly, for whatever reason. Desmond picked up the book from the floor, brushed as much dust off it as he could with one hand.
Only when she took it from his hands, pressing it to her chest with the first smile she had ever seen on her face, did he realize that she'd been this close to running for the book.
Now he understood.
She had been wondering if she hadn't gotten rid of those who tormented her, but had merely exchanged them for a worse one. A madman with a gun.
She'd come close, yes. But in the end she hadn't, which was what counted.
Just as she hadn't really done anything against those five. Granted, the loss of the book had prevented her from using magic, but there were plenty of other ways to defend herself.
She was shorter than he was. But only slightly, and he was almost six feet tall. Brown hair that reached her neck, beautiful, but perhaps too long for a soldier. And... For a moment his breath was completely taken away.
For a moment he thought she had eyes as red as a blood moon.
Like those of his savior.
But no. Though it wasn't a color you saw every day either. It was a light violet. So far he'd been a little, well. Out of his mind. Too much to notice how beautiful she was. But especially those eyes, those eyes were the most beautiful he had ever seen in his life.
Impossible to forget, like those of.....
No. His savior's were the most beautiful.
"Thank you," the girl said. She wasn't even looking at him, so she didn't sound too sincere, but she delivered .
Now she couldn't even look at him.
Desmond took a deep breath.
Between that and sitting on the floor nearby with his back against the wall, it could have given him time to think it over. But he didn't.
"Why didn't you do anything?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"To defend yourself," Desmond clarified, slightly irritated because it should be obvious by now. "I know they outnumbered you and took your book, but you could have still fought back. Biting, kicking. Anything. Or running away. If that's the only thing you can do, or if it's the most pragmatic way to do it, that's fighting too. Nothing to be ashamed of."
"They could have trashed the book."
"I know how important a book of spells is, "although, because of his lack of talent, they were something far beyond his reach, "but no more than your life. Or your..."
Her what?
Her what?
"There were five of them and... and I... No. You're right. I should have done more. Tried, at least. But, when they were all over me, surrounding me... My heart... I thought my heart had stopped and I couldn't think straight. I felt like a child again."
"You're a soldier."
"No. Not yet." She laughed half"heartedly. "You heard the director."
"Then become one starting from here. We can go after them. I'll have your back while you teach them a personal lesson."
"While I get revenge?"
Desmond shrugged.
"Call it whatever you want."
She said it like it was a bad thing.
"I don't want to get in trouble with the staff."
Desmond grinned from ear to ear. At least she hadn't said it would be wrong, that she was above it or other such nonsense. She had potential.
"In more," she added.
"They'll keep their mouths shut. Because it suits them."
"That's worse. Better to do nothing to keep it that way, then. But I appreciate the sentiment. You're not mad at me, you're mad for me. "She added, before he could open his mouth: "Oh, well. More one than the other, and that's good enough for me. Thanks for that part. But I won't do that. If I must have my revenge... let it be in the test, in a fair fight, but not before."
"As fair as a five-on–one can be."
"Depending on the rules and the objectives of the test... Maybe, maybe not. Your name?"
"Desmond."
She nodded.
"Christina. Thank you. Thank you very much. You're a dick who doesn't mince his words, but I don't dislike honest people."
Thanks for that part, he thought.
"It's what anyone would have done.
With a sad smile, she told him:
"Three people passed by before you came."
He had no words to respond to that.
"Goodbye, Desmond. If we meet on the battlefield... and if the rules allow it, I'll lend you a hand when you need it. I promise."
"You don't have to feel compelled."
"Maybe not. But I do. I, uh... I pay my debts."
Desmond responded to that by nodding his head, slipping the gun back into its holster.
——
They gathered them all together near the academy forest, when the hour was over.
He felt uneasy in the middle of a crowd. As if at any moment someone might stick a knife in his back.
From his position, he couldn't see Amy or Christina.
They were lost in the crowd, as he was to them.
The director hadn't shown himself this time. In his place, to explain the rules, how the future of everyone here would be decided, was the person he had taken as a simple guide at the beginning. But no. She was one of the academy's teachers, taking care of that role personally. Both roles, actually.
The rules were not very complex. In fact, they were simple and straightforward, just the way he liked it.
"This forest is full of traps. Some magical. Some physical. You have to go through it and get to the other side, if you can. Three strikes and you're out. This limit will be represented by a spell that will be applied to you right now. There are other details…, but, one way or another, you'll discover them in the forest as you go along. I would wish you luck. But, if you need it, you have already lost. Come, one by one, according to your assigned number."
Shit. This would again take a long time. And all for something that could have been done to them in that hour of preparation, spent on nothing of value.
Desmond saw what it was all about before his turn came.
Everyone saw them, it was impossible not to. Three green discs, intangible, floating above every one of them, following them as if dragged by invisible chains.
After each hit, one disc would turn red. Or disappear, he supposed.
How did it distinguish between hits from one of the traps and impacts against the ground, or against a tree, a rock, some other harmless element of the environment? Did the spell do that in the first place? He had a feeling he should know the answer. And it bothered him.
He would have to try to evade any kind of hit, just in case.
Maybe he should be more concerned about those other details the teacher had talked about.
"You're all ready," Isabella said.
It was convenient to remember her name, since she would be one of the people who would be teaching him throughout these four years. Failure is not an option, he reminded himself.
I will trample whoever it takes for that purpose.
Finding Amy in the crowd, he looked at her with determination in his eyes.
Even you.
The teacher stepped out of the way, leaving the way free.
"It's time!" she announced.
The race had begun.
——
He soon stopped worrying about what counted as a serious enough hit to lose one of his chances.
For they had been told that the forest would be full of traps, but it wasn't until he entered it that he understood the true weight of those words. The entire forest was a death trap. That was no exaggeration.
In the span of two minutes, five of the challengers lost. They served as a sacrifice and example to all the others.
Running through the forest, through the trees, was not safe. But flying wasn't a good option either.
One of the five sacrifices had tried, desperate for being on his last chance, and had failed miserably. Within two minutes, more than twice as many had fallen. What a massacre.
He reminded himself that this wasn't really a race. The point was not to come in first or among the first. Although he had no doubt that how things would be decided if too many made it to the other side of the forest, by who had been faster and which had been slower.
But, from the look of things, he didn't think it would be necessary.
Those who made it to the end would win.
So he didn't have to be faster than anyone else, just smarter. No matter what it took.
He could only afford two mistakes. Or perhaps better said, he could still afford two mistakes. They hadn't touched him. He had been lucky.
The physical traps were well hidden, but they could be seen.
The magical traps were another story. They left signs, albeit more subtle ones. He thought he had safely identified one such trap, but he had seen many more in action. And who knew how many more were waiting for them, deep in the forest.
This was the easy part, he supposed. It would only get harder the further they went.
Weights dropping from the highest branches to crush them, knives with ropes appearing out of nowhere, blindingly fast, coming out of holes in the ground and trees. Cords placed at neck height, if they were flying, even.
For someone flying too fast, one of those wires could leave them dangerously close to losing their neck.
Or they could lose it altogether.
It was rarer than one might think, considering this forest was full of lethal traps, but there were deaths every year. The power of magic allowed them to risk more, it was the only reason a test like this was practical, but only up to a point. Everything in this world had a limit, even what something that didn't seem to belong in this world was capable of.
Everyone who had come here was aware of the risk, of course.
Aware that they could be next. Just another number in a series of statistics.
That added to the pressure that their future would change on this day. Irrevocably.
That they could lose everything they had worked for over the years. That many had to lose every year, because they couldn't take everyone.
All things considered, frankly, he was surprised no one had backed down before it was too late.
How was he surviving in this hellhole that didn't allow humans in?
His specialty, so to speak, was physical reinforcement magic. As he had told Amy, he had no talent, so it wasn't a perfect job, though it was the only thing he could consider his specialty.
Too many times he had broken bones, bent muscles, taking himself close to the breaking point of his body.
By pure accident.
It was playing with fire, he knew. Better mages than him considered physical reinforcement as he used it too risky, and for very good reasons. But it was his only tool, his only weapon against the world.
Even if he died a few seconds later, he couldn't let go of the only thing he had found.
To feel weak again, helpless.
Like a child.
He wasn't going as fast as he was able, but paying careful attention to his surroundings as he moved forward. Still, he was running into traps he hadn't seen coming. It was practically unavoidable. Despite his lack of talent, he had an advantage over everyone else.
He could see perfectly well even in the dark of a moonless night, with some preparation time, which he had had more than enough of, so it applied here.
He could react and move faster than anyone else here. He trusted that.
So it was easier for him to correct his mistakes than it was for everyone else. The test was different every year, so that no one knew the details in advance, and this year of all years was a suitable test for him. As if it was fate, or something.
Desmond smiled, swallowing the urge to burst out laughing.
He couldn't assume he had this in the bag, but he was enjoying the reacquaintance with his confidence. Why had he been so hesitant? He had literally lived for this. So… No, but nothing.
If he couldn't pass the test, there was no one in the forest who deserved to pass it.
He had worked harder than anyone else, and it was time to prove it!
A metal block full of spikes was spinning, now coming for him.
The situation, from one moment to the next, had changed completely.
He couldn't turn away in time. He knew this with the same certainty he had had a moment ago about his victory. But that didn't mean he couldn't escape. Even if the method was despicable….
All was fair in love and war.
He grabbed the challenger closest to him by the ankle, a girl who controlled fire, and threw her against the metal block. Against the spikes.
She curled into a ball, turning herself, in midair, into a fireball.
With which she almost completely melted the metal, passing through it, through the widening hole, and was lucky enough to make it to the other side safely, not going too fast or too slow, ending up injured as a result.
Crushed, punctured. Chopped up.
He had put her at risk unnecessarily, from a certain point of view, because he would have only lost one of the green circles.
He consoled himself by telling himself that the girl had made it through without a scratch, after all.
That she had adapted quickly enough, or that she had been expecting it, as they all should have, himself included. Using a partner as a human shield was the first dirty tactic anyone would have thought of.
It was to be expected. It was to be expected. That he had done it without a second thought was normal, too.
Or so he told himself.
But, to be honest, the real reason, or not the real reason, but the one that mattered most, was that he didn't want to lose a single one of the circles if he could.
To impress the faculty.
To impress himself.
Desmond was confident in his victory, so winning wasn't enough for him. Besides, it wouldn't hurt as a backup, in case he needed to take a hit at a worse time, later on, though he didn't think he would be put in such a situation.
Anyway, it didn't hurt to be cautious.
He could worry about what kind of person that way of thinking made him when this was over. And apologize to the girl, if she made it. Otherwise, he'd better not, she'd take it the wrong way.
Or, one way or the other, would it be going too…?
A burst of pain cut clean through his thoughts, leaving him with his mind blank, reeling, trying to regain his balance.
In more ways than one. He had lost air control. He had been crossing over tree branches, jumping from one to another, occasionally using them as a foothold to turn and jump, not running along the ground, so his fall was long and hard, against the trunk of a tree.
Desmond found himself on the ground, straining for breath, before he realized he was.
His vision was flickering like a light bulb about to blow. Still, it didn't escape his notice that one of the green circles representing his chances had turned red, then disappeared. Both things at once, not just one.
What had happened to him?
He groaned, instinctively bringing his hand to the source of the pain, covering it.
Immediately his hand was filled with blood, thick and red, running through his fingers. His nostrils filled with the smell, and he couldn't tell which was worse.
He glanced around, checking what he already knew.
He had been shot in the arm.
He, the only one with a gun among all the candidates that he'd ever seen, had been shot. How ironic. Fighting through the pain, he crawled behind a tree. He didn't know where the bullet had come from. The gunshot and its aftermath had left him too confused to discern it.
However, he couldn't just sit idly by, waiting for 'death'.
This was better than nothing.
He couldn't see the person who had shot him. If it wasn't another automatic trap, which he had inadvertently triggered, and not a person who he could stop. It would be convenient in a sense.
If it was a trap, it wouldn't be as easy to stop as a person, but maybe he wouldn't have to worry that it would go off again. Maybe he was already safe.
Maybe that he'd had time to crawl here, time to think, was proof enough that he was, for whatever reason. Desmond took a deep breath. His heart was pounding a mile a minute.He had built a shield of confidence, but it had shattered into a thousand pieces all too easily.
Leaving only fear in its place.
It had been so easy. Now, he was one step closer to failure. To his death.
How could he not be afraid?
He continued to see nothing.
Until he saw someone fall to the ground, as he had, and could see where the bullet had come from.
The flash of a sniper rifle, in the undergrowth.
Far away, but not too far not to catch him and end the threat he posed. Taking a single step further with a sniper out there was too risky.
Desmond struggled to his feet.
Physical reinforcement also applied to his sense of smell. That's what allowed him to tell without a shadow of a doubt that the smell of blood wafting in the air wasn't just coming from his own.
And then he saw it, really saw it.
Blood, lots of blood, a big puddle. Bits of bone… and gray matter scattered on the floor.
The bullet had gone through that poor bastard's head, killing him instantly.
Desmond put a hand to his head, squeezing hard, as the candidates went past. Without looking back. Well, even if they had, Desmond wouldn't have noticed. He only had eyes for the corpse laying in front of him.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing, he realized.
Even though he knew this could happen. That it would happen, even if it was out of his sight.
But he didn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it.
This again. That's why his head hurt as if it would suddenly split in two. Because once again he had had to watch someone die without being able to do anything. Because now, being more prepared than ever in his life, he had also turned out to be powerless.
Despite the fact that a moment ago he had thrown that girl into a trap that could have killed her, in the worst-case scenario, he now felt shattered.
Hypocritical as that made him, he could barely breathe, and that had nothing to do with the pain.
Nor with the bullet buried in him. That seemed to burn like the flames of the hell he had come out of ten years ago.
A bullet impacted close to him.
If it hadn't been for him turning away at the last moment, dragged by his instinct, it would have gone right through him.
It had been no accident.
Neither this, nor the boy's death.
Whoever was out there, firing from afar, was aiming to kill.