Desmond leapt from the top of a tree to ambush a group of soldiers passing below.
Feeling fast, powerful and agile as a panther.
They didn't see him coming. He had hit himself with his sword enough times to get rid of the circles the first chance he got, which were the only thing that could have given him away.
The branch he jumped from creaked, but hey, it was a forest. A peaceful place... that should be peaceful, but where silence was never truly silence.
It pierced the throat of the most lagging soldier. But even then they didn't notice, the man died instantly, unable to scream, or even gasp in pain, his head flew off, rolled, lost in the bushes.
And Desmond continued, stepping in the blood of the enemy he had just killed. Blood splattered on his boots, on his calves.
He didn't notice the difference. His socks were soaked in blood, sticking to his skin. That sickening sensation would normally have made his hair stand on end, but he had no time to waste on such unnecessary feelings, and he felt like a stranger in his own body anyway.
No, that was not the best way to put it.
He was in control, and his body moved in familiar ways. He had been training for this for most of his life - in what other situation could he feel closer to himself?
But it wasn't quite right, either. He felt... He felt...
Like he wasn't in his body at all. Like he was watching from above, or like he was dreaming all this. An acute premonition, a dream of preparation.
They became aware of his presence when he killed the second soldier, cutting him in half.
Of course. He hadn't expected to be able to kill the whole group unnoticed. The dead man's companion saw him out of the corner of his eye, his gasp of surprise was not what drew the attention of the others, but the sound of the armour in which the soldier was covered shattering as his sword passed. And the soft body beneath it too, of course.
The dance of death began again.
There were more than a dozen soldiers in front of him. This fact didn't worry him. Otherwise he would have passed them by, he had had plenty of time to do so.
Better that there were so many, even. They would fall more easily into the clutches of fear, chaos and confusion, watching their comrades die in front of their eyes brutally. Watching the situation slip through their fingers even though they were supposed to have the absolute advantage.
It was a logical, practical tactic. But also, he had to admit, something he would like to see.
Something he had already enjoyed watching.
This would be neither the last nor the first group he would kill in this way.
Would he die if it went on like this? Well, if they are capable of killing me, so be it. But...
I don't think so.
He could still consider himself human, but he was closer to a monster than anyone else. At least as far as physical capabilities were concerned. The strength of the true monsters of this world, after all, was based on the spiritual, and he couldn't reach them.
Still, he could be considered a monster.
He swung his sword again and again, concentrating the full force of his body into each strike. Holding nothing back. As if this was the last battle of his life.
His eyes could catch the movement of the bullets cutting through the air. And his sword, wielded with inhuman power, reached the speed needed to cut many of them in mid-air. He dodged the others, or met them with his steel body.
Some penetrated his skin, but they hit nothing vital. Just because they penetrated his skin didn't mean they would follow the natural path of a bullet.
Piercing him through and through, from side to side, inflicting a mortal wound, forcing him to fall to his knees, to crawl.
The bullets penetrated the skin, but stopped. The pain of that was the equivalent of one of his own punches, more or less.
In other words, he could still kill without a problem.
He was far from invincible.
He was walking the fine line between life and death all the time. But-
"He's a monster! "
-it didn't seem that way, so the soldiers died cursing him as a monster. The soldiers succumbed to the oldest and most important natural instinct, the one that had allowed mankind to progress. In other words, they quickly fell prey to fear.
Just as he had wished.
But this alone was not enough. They had to understand that, despite the fear on their faces and the words they used to curse him, they were the real monsters. Slaves of the worst Empire in the history of humanity.
No, no, no.
If they were slaves, mere tools of a greater power, then I could respect them minimally for having no choice in the matter.
But they were not. They had come here, ready to kill them all, believing that this was the right thing to do.
When this was over, and if it went their way, they wouldn't go back with their heads down, lost in thoughts thick with guilt, regret. No, fuck no, they would celebrate.
So they were nothing but monsters who deserved to die. He was doing the right thing.
By opening a hole in a soldier's body, big enough to push his gun through, to shoot through, using him as a human shield, he was simply returning the pain and fear of their countless victims.
But they will die without understanding, he thought. They will see us as monsters to the end, without changing their minds, without doubting their purpose.
It was true. Very true.
The thought didn't make him feel sorry for them. It merely fed his erupting anger.
He would say he had lost control if he thought he ever had it. He had simply released the animal he had kept caged all these years, until the time was right. And he wasn't sure he could put it back in its cage.
To be honest, he didn't really care either. This could be his swan song.
He didn't have a death wish.
But, strangely, he didn't dislike the idea. It had a certain romanticism to it, like a circle closing. Yes. Desmond grinned from ear to ear.
Although he ended up full of bullet holes and bleeding all over, the soldiers paid for the progress they had made with their lives. In less than a minute, because real fights were short and violent, they were all dead.
Except for one.
Who took aim at him and pulled the trigger, and that's how he discovered he had run out of bullets. He tried to reload with trembling hands. Keeping an eye on him.
Desmond put his sword and pistol away.
He advanced towards the soldier as if in no hurry. He tried to insert a new magazine, but it slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground.
Before he could try again, with another magazine or by lunging for the fallen one, Desmond pounced on him. This life he would snuff out personally, up close, with his bare hands. He moved his hands towards his neck.
However, they didn't reach their destination.
The soldier put his rifle aside and drew a knife, as a last resort. It didn't matter. Maybe what shone in those eyes was hope, but he knew he didn't really have any hope. And his enemy should know it too.
He had seen him tear his comrades to shreds with his sword, after all. And he had seen him take the impact of dozens of bullets with his body.
He should know, therefore, that he possessed superhuman strength and that he was no match for him. When he wanted to, he could simply tear off his fingers or rip off his wrist.
But-
It was the soldier who had the last laugh.
Desmond's bruised body suddenly failed him and he fell, driving one knee into the ground. He hadn't lost his grip on the knife, but he was at a disadvantage now.
If he were in good condition, it would be easy to kill him. He would kill him like all the others.
However, it seemed that the continuous battles had taken a greater toll on him than he had anticipated. One soldier was no match for so many. So this, his defeat, was the natural conclusion despite his powers.
Yet this was supposed to be his swan song. Not some miserable, ridiculous death that could have befallen any of the soldiers he had cut down or shot, fighting his way through.
Was it really going to be like that?
Being overwhelmed by an ordinary soldier who would plunge the knife into his forehead, or his heart?
Not long ago - seconds, literally - he would have said that such a thing was not worth worrying about. That, even if he lost this little contest of strength, the knife would have no more luck in actually hurting him than bullets.
However, a few seconds ago he would also not have imagined that his body would fail him in this way, so soon.
He imagined very vividly the knife piercing one of his eyes and sliding into his brain, killing him.
He imagined the brief pain... and the darkness that would be the only thing he would have for eternity.
So much so that it came to life in front of his eyes.
It was the darkness of death, but it began as a shadow. That of the soldier who was fighting with him for his life.
And that shadow snapped his neck, ending the fight.
The bastard who didn't even know he was going to die fell on top of him. He shook it off, genuinely disgusted by such a small thing, even though he reeked of blood because he was bathed in it from head to toe.
Desmond stood up, looked around.
He was not worried. Such a thing, evidently, could only be done by a mage. And someone from Albion would never stoop to working for the Empire.
He found...
At first, he didn't recognize the person standing there. Because he couldn't look at himself in the mirror, but the person must have looked at least as horrible as he did, with the stains of blood and other even more unpleasant bodily fluids, like stomach acid.
It was natural. She looked as 'monstrous' as he did, even though she was looking, no doubt, at the shy girl he had saved from some bullies who were wasting their time instead of preparing for the test.
Yes, Christina. Part of him couldn't believe it no matter how much he turned the image around in his eyes.
But it was the undeniable reality in front of his eyes. It couldn't be helped.
It couldn't be helped, but...
"Christina?" he said quietly.
She crouched down beside one of the corpses and snatched the rifle from him. He thought his voice had been so low that she hadn't heard him, but she answered him after that.
"Desmond... You look awful. As if you could fall at any moment. "
A very straightforward girl.
That didn't sound like the kind of person who would be intimidated by a bunch of two-bit thugs, either.
Well, he didn't really know her. He shouldn't be so surprised because a few minutes hadn't turned out to be a good representation of her personality.
"I don't think I'm that bad as to give up. But I'm not well either. You, though..." He lost his balance. He regained it quickly, planting his feet firmly on the ground, but for a moment he worried that Christina had been right about him. "Looks like they haven't touched you. And no wonder. I never imagined that one of the people capable of using shadow magic would be a girl my age. "
Christina twirled the rifle in her hands, as if searching for something. He guessed she wasn't familiar with firearms. That, at least, was not surprising.
"Because I'm your age or because I'm a girl? "
Desmond frowned.
"I know I haven't made the best impression on you. I'm sorry I behaved like an idiot, believe it or not. But I don't think I've given you any reason to think I'm that kind of person. "
Christina just shrugged her shoulders. She didn't even glance at him.
"That's fine." That's when she looked at him. Her gaze didn't betray her inner thoughts. "And what exactly can you do? To have ended up like this..."
He decided not to give her a scathing reply, because he deserved to be treated this way. She could be grateful for his concern, as she had said. But that didn't mean she had to like the way he'd approached things, or treat him kindly.
"Physical reinforcement. "
"That's it? "
"That's what I said. "
"But... how...? How did you get here...? "
He enjoyed her reaction. Because, instead of mocking him for being an inferior being, she seemed to be impressed.
He continually told himself that others should be, for his effort and dedication despite the lack of talent he had no problem admitting, but it was a little hard to really believe it when he only faced mockery when someone discovered the truth.
Christina approached him.
Without the slightest bit of embarrassment or hesitation, she moved so close to him that their faces were almost touching, she could feel her warm breath on his skin. He stopped holding the book with both hands, that hand, suddenly free, was placed on his chest as if searching for something.
That a girl was groping him for the first time in his life was less embarrassing that it could have been.
They were both smeared with blood, so he couldn't notice the feel of her presumably soft, warm hand very well. Besides, it wasn't the right time to stick his head in the clouds.
Christina removed her hand and stepped back.
"I see," she said coldly. "Such a quantity of blood disguises it, but.... You must be crazy to take physical reinforcement to this level. Or a prodigy among prodigies. "
"Many times, I've ended up on the verge of death because of this useless talent. Pushing it too far, testing my limits. "
Christina nodded.
"Though I wouldn't say it's useless by any stretch of the imagination. You're riddled with bullets and yet you're still standing. What's more, you could stick a finger in and pull them all out just like that, the ones that didn't fall out on their own, that is, because they've only penetrated the skin. They didn't go through you. Every corpse in this forest would have liked to have an affinity like yours. Either that or to have been far away from here today."
This girl doesn't mince words, huh? Quite a change.
Yes. Before she hadn't been able to look at him, she'd found it hard to speak. Now she seemed like a completely different person. He had said he shouldn't be surprised that a person he didn't really know wasn't the way they seemed to be. But still...
This was strange. He couldn't help but think so.
Affinity, she had said. She thought that physical reinforcement taken to extraordinary levels was his affinity. He decided to keep his mouth shut, for it would do him no good to clear up the misunderstanding. On the contrary.
"You seem like a completely different person," he decided to be frank, though it wasn't always the best strategy, no matter how much people talked about sincerity. "I can't understand how you let yourself be walked over by guys like that, when you have that kind of power. When you're one of the... How many? Seven, eight people who can use that magic? And the only one so young. "
"They caught me by surprise and took my spellbook," she replied. But she looked away as she did so. "Without it, I'm just a girl without the slightest trace of muscle in her entire body. I mean, I'm helpless. "
Desmond shook his head.
"Don't talk nonsense, please. I'm not just talking about the power of shadow magic, or your skill with it. I'm also talking about your mental strength."
Christina grimaced, which she hid quickly, deftly.
Yes, there was something else here, no doubt. Something more. Not just his imagination.
"We've already wasted too much time talking in a war zone. I'll tell you about it when this is over. Assuming we get out of this alive. "
"We can talk while we walk. Normally that would be a problem, but you and I aren't exactly normal. Something tells me you don't have the slightest interest in doing this quietly, cautiously and sensibly."
"What about you? You could have been there by now if you'd wanted to. "
"This is not a competition, Christina. I've already admitted that I'm not a normal person. You're right. I have no interest in running for cover. All I want to do is kill as many of these sons of bitches as I can. "
He took a step forward.
Literally and metaphorically.
"I'm normal," she protested. It sounded like even she didn't believe it.
"I know you're like me. Just people... " Disturbed, he was going to say. Even he knew that wasn't a good idea, though. "Just people like me would be so calm, bathed in blood and gore. You don't have to hide it. It's only natural. It's only natural for someone who's hurting to want to spread their pain. "
"Enough. All right, come with me. "
They continued on their way through the forest, passing among the corpses or over them. Their boots sloshed in the pools of blood. She wore black, shiny shoes and black socks.
They had been before and now, turning red like most of her.
And, when the blood dried, they would go back to black.
"You're right," she began without him having to press her further, to his surprise, even though she had agreed to accompany him. If I'd been serious, I'd probably have been able to retrieve the book and tear them apart.
"But? "
Because there had to be a but.
Maybe he should have let her continue talking at her own pace, without pressuring her. It was too late for that, of course. Well, he did pause for a long moment before he spoke, but that didn't count. Maybe she wouldn't have stopped if he'd kept his mouth shut in the first place.
"But what would that have accomplished? "
"Well, for one thing, they would have stopped bothering you. "
Christina shook her head in frustration. Brushing a few drops of blood from her short brown hair.
"You don't understand. "
"No, of course I don't understand. You were running around in circles, crying, begging. With that kind of power? If I had it, I wouldn't kneel before anyone. "
He had a gift for making a bad first impression... and making it even worse the second time around.
With Amy things had gone more or less well, but only because she had wanted them to. With this girl it looked like things wouldn't be so easy. Especially if he continued along the same line like an idiot.
Still, he couldn't shut up. Because that was what he believed from the bottom of his heart.
"I kneel to no one! No one! "
"It didn't mean it like that," he mumbled back, cowed by the intensity of her gaze, the power hidden in her words.
To which the shadows in the forest seemed to react, moving as if they were alive.
It was not so easy to tell himself he was imagining things, the product of mental stress, standing next to such a person as this. For, while it seemed crazy that she would attack him for something like this, it was within the realm of possibility, no matter how improbable.
"I can't reconcile the person I saw then with the person standing in front of me now. Not even with your explanation. "
"I implicitly promised you an explanation. But not that I would keep talking until you finally understood me. So you'll have to settle for that. "
"All right.
"And you? Have you ever knelt before anyone? "
"Yes. Several times. There was a time when I was weak, so I had to do anything to survive. I consoled myself by saying that being willing to humble yourself is also a kind of strength. And maybe it is. But it's both. I don't want to kneel before anyone or feel humiliated. I would kill to have the power you possess. "
"You're not the only one," she murmured softly.
Desmond decided to leave her alone about that. She had said it so softly that she might not have thought he would hear her, and he had only done so because of his heightened senses.
Silence fell between them long before they encountered the next battle.
They were warned of the battle by the sounds of gunfire.
Christina crept forward, on her knees, her spellbook closed and pressed to her chest. Desmond followed her lead. If she wanted to start this, then so be it. She wasn't as durable as he was, after all, it was understandable that she would want to be more cautious.
Because she literally could not be as reckless as he was. Not without throwing herself into certain death.
Besides, even he, with all the advantages he had, had ambushed the soldiers instead of attacking head-on more than once.
Four soldiers, one student.
Only one left. However, there were plenty of corpses lying around. Although the student was managing to defend himself, he would soon join the rest of his classmates in death. Even if he hadn't seen them until today, even if he hadn't even spoken to them....
This would be his eternal resting place, and that of the other boys and girls.
The spell turned the corpse of one of the fallen applicants into a puppet, for there was no Azure corpse nearby.
He understood the logic, but still felt deeply uncomfortable at the terrible spectacle, like a dead man rising from the grave.
With a false life and the bloodlust of its master.
Christina made him run towards those soldiers. The corpse moved just like a real puppet. That is, in an unnatural, erratic way. It was now nothing more than a "thing" pulled by strings, after all.
The soldiers noticed, of course. The living corpse couldn't have crept up on them, even if that had been its mistress's intention.
"Is he alive?"
"Impossible! The bullet hit him in the heart."
They opened fire.
They filled with lead, with bullet holes, a body in which there was no longer a soul. The corpse didn't stop running. It had no functions necessary for a human being, after all. Like the ability to feel pain.
And, apparently, the spell was not so inconvenient as to connect the body to the caster, transmitting to the caster the pain it would have felt had it been alive.
The boy, instead of thanking his lucky stars and running out of there as any reasonable person would have done, especially when his rescuer was an undead, wasted the moment by attacking.
He created a whirlwind underneath one of the four remaining soldiers, lifting him into the air.
Desmond stood up, ready to intervene. He ought to be quick enough to get there before something irreversible happened.
However, he wasn't.
He was halfway there when it happened.
The boy smashed the soldier with the whirlwind, tightening it, turning it into something akin to a rock drill.
He was subsequently shot in the head, which exploded as did the entire body of the enemy he had just killed.
The reanimated corpse of the student finally arrived with the soldiers, and there was a third explosion that took them all out.
By which he didn't mean it killed them immediately, however.
Because it was an explosion of darkness that went through their mouths, through their nostrils, even though their eyes. And that's how they died. Drowned in darkness, quite literally. A clean death, yes, but at the same time slow, painful and horrible.
Was this part of shadow magic? Well, evidently, since Christina had just used it in front of his eyes.
But this use made the discipline broader and more esoteric than one would think from the name alone. Really. The darkness of that explosion, where had it come from? It had clearly not been a shadow.
Anyway. The point was that she had given him a perfect demonstration of her power.
He wasn't going to complain because she had turned out to be even more powerful than he had thought.
If there was anything to complain about, it was that, powerful as they were, they hadn't even been able to save the aspirant who had still been alive when they had arrived, fighting desperately, even though all his other companions had fallen around him.
He hadn't given up out of desperation. He had fought on, but he hadn't been rewarded for his efforts.
Desmond approached the corpse, looked at it closely.
He didn't like that kind of ending.
He didn't like that, once again, the world had shown him that he couldn't change anything. He put a hand to his head, squeezed hard, shaking from the force he was exerting.
He had to stay calm. He had to stay focused.
If he lost control of the energy that was churning inside him, the thing that made him strong, the thing that had allowed him to come this far, it would destroy him.
So calm down. Fuck.
What's done is done, after all. As much as I regret it... I can't raise the dead or change the past.
Christina stood next to him.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked impassively.
His first thought was not to say anything, because what was that going to solve, but he changed his mind without being sure why. Maybe because he needed to say it, even if it wasn't the right time.
"I could have saved him if I'd intervened instead of standing here and watching you do it. "
"Maybe," she said, nodding, matter-of-factly. "Or maybe you'd just gotten him killed earlier."
Her words were harsh, but accurate.
"Maybe." And that was that. There was nothing more to say, as far as he was concerned.
■
Without encountering another obstacle along the way, they arrived near the academy. He would have taken a detour to continue the slaughter... and look for other survivors, of course, that too. That too. But he saw something that caught his attention.
Soldiers of the Azure Empire trying to reach the academy.
What was stopping them, even though there wasn't a single person on the way? Those from The Four Seasons had littered the road, not just the forest, with deadly traps. But these were only magical, as far as I could see.
It was not difficult to construct the magical traps so that they would only activate against the Empire's soldiers. They were, after all, a nation that had been abandoned by the gods, that had lost their blessings, but had survived, had continued to grow, building tools to replicate what they could.
What set them apart, the fruit of all the wars between them, was the key by which they could ensure that the traps would only be triggered by the passage of magic-less bastards.
All the people of Albion, without exception, possessed the gift of magic, even if they had not trained it and couldn't cast the slightest spell. So there was no risk that, for example, the janitor would suffer the same fate as the soldiers he was watching die in front of his eyes through carelessness.
That wouldn't last forever, of course.
It was only a matter of time before the traps ran out, that even before some would reach the gates of the academy, besieging it.
The number of soldiers was greater than expected.
Dozens and dozens. Countless.
How had they managed to mobilize so many soldiers, so much equipment, without them realizing it?
How had they managed to start today's tragedy with a surprise attack?
It doesn't make sense.
There's no way we could be so clumsy, so careless, as to allow this to happen... And yet...
"You're not thinking of doing something crazy, are you?"
Desmond shook his head at Christina's question, who had crouched down beside him.
"Even I'm not that crazy."
"Well, let's get on with it. We don't make a bad team."
"But what are you saying? We literally haven't fought together once."
"But I've seen the results of your work. Very good work. That's good enough for me. Anyway, this can work, is what I mean. So come on."
She grabbed his arm and pulled him along.
Strangely insistent, she didn't need to do such a thing. But then again, she was a strange girl. He'd lose if he spent all his time wondering why she did what she did.
Yes, he was going to go without complaint. He hadn't any reason to protest because it was the same thing he was doing. Being strangely insistent.
But then...
Then it appeared.
Spreading out from the ground, what he had at first mistaken for a vehicle, until it reached its true height. A giant that could tear the forest apart, killing all the people still inside, just by taking a walk.
A giant that was almost as tall as the towers of the academy. And in the shape of a spider.
The signature weapon of the Azure Empire.
Its trump card.
The same monster that had torn his hometown apart, that had shattered his past, everything that had once been dear to him. Leaving nothing. Nothing.
He gritted his teeth. They chattered, but the tremors didn't spread throughout his body.
He was about to explode.
Crash and burn until he was completely consumed. That 'nothing' that was all that was left, even.
And it exploded.
He went into a spasmodic shudder, his legs failing him, falling to his knees. The only thing that kept him from falling head first on the floor was that he was clutching Christina's arm. That was all.
He had trained so hard, shed so much blood... to end up in the same place he had ten years ago.
Like ten years ago, he was nothing more than a scared little boy.
Defenseless.
Mom. Mom, please, he thought incoherently. But he wasn't thinking of the woman whose face and voice he had already forgotten, but of the woman who saved him that day. Praying that she would appear and save him, just as she had then.
He felt like throwing up. His stomach was turning.
Christina looked at him wordlessly, her expression grim.
There was nothing and no one who could save him now. He couldn't depend on his savior.
Except himself.
That's right.
He had to take control of his destiny into his own hands.
With that purpose in mind, he ran towards the assembled soldiers. Towards the mechanical spider that advanced slowly but inexorably, despite the traps in its path, that slowed it down, that pushed it backwards, that left sooty marches on its metal skin.
He ran towards his own death, a certain death.
But before he breathed his last breath, he would kill as many motherfuckers as he could.
He would strike down the spider, and burn the Empire with the blue flames of his evil heart.
It would be an end without reward, but the circle would be closed. That would have to be enough.
Christina didn't abandon him, but she didn't help him either.
She stood in his way, running after him, grabbing him from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"What are you doing?"
"That's my line!"
He struggled with all his might, but it was no use. Not just because he was on the verge of exhaustion, which he was, but because he was competing with the combined strength of Christina and her shadow. A fight he couldn't win.
And, as he expected, he lost it.
She propelled them up into the air. With the shadows, of course. As if they were a springboard.
There was the sound of exploding glass.
The soldiers had been aware of his presence, of course, he had been this close to setting foot in the trap zone. And he saw the bullets pass dangerously close as they flew through the air.
They rolled across the floor between the broken glass until they came to a stop, she ended up on top of him, straddling him. Red-faced, with a fresh cut on her cheek and the spellbook clutched in a trembling fist.
She looked into his eyes.
Her light violet eyes were enchanting. Almost hypnotic. Not the first time he noticed them, but this time the feeling was more intense.
They were finally inside the academy, but the battle wasn't over.
And, judging by her expression, the first battle to be fought would be against this girl who had saved him from committing suicide.