"It has an emergency battery," said one of the teachers, behind him, "for cases like this. But it will only power it for a few more minutes. Now, let's run away. "
An emergency battery.
That was the rational explanation, but Desmond knew the truth. This was a reproduction of that day ten years ago. It couldn't be the same machine as then, he'd seen it smashed before his eyes, but it was the same.
It had come for him. To settle the score.
It would 'refuse' to fall until it killed him because it had come here for that sole purpose.
And I...
There was a gap in his memories. Looking back, he couldn't remember how things had ended up like this, it was all so blurry. This was reality and he... He...
He put a hand on his chest, just above his heart, feeling his heartbeat.
"You heard him. We have to go. You've already won. Do you understand, Desmond? You don't have to keep fighting."
Something was missing.
He was breathing properly and his heart was beating at a surprisingly relaxed pace, but something was missing.
It wasn't the black wings that had allowed him to fight the monster and bring it to the ground. It wasn't that he hadn't killed it yet.
It was something else. Something more fundamental.
Something... Something he had sought, had wanted, all his life?
Not exactly, but it was close enough.
The beginning of his second life.
A wave of images hit his brain. Of memories, only they weren't his memories. And he broke away from Christina, clenching his fists, facing the spider that was writhing, that was coming back to life.
To take everything from him. To take away the only thing that mattered to him, deep in his heart.
He came out of himself and saw something that seemed more real than his own life.
A woman in tattered clothes. Two men were holding her and dragging her towards a wooden platform where the bonfire was set up.
Desmond could only see her from behind, as if he were just one of the spectators who had come to witness this horrible spectacle. But it was her, no doubt. Her. And they were going to burn her at the stake.
Alive. To burn her alive.
The spider tried to stab him with one of its legs, again. Desmond caught it, stopping the attack with the sharp end inches from his face, almost without noticing.
His movements were robotic, as if programmed.
Most of his being was reliving a past that was not his own.
Her hands and feet were tied to the post, underneath which were sticks of wood that would burn easily and quickly.
There was no doubt now. That face was the same face he had seen ten years ago. Exactly the same.
The crowd, who had turned into animals that bore only a superficial resemblance to human beings, murmured excitedly. They were screaming for blood. They couldn't wait for the performance to begin.
He didn't hear their words, as if his head was under water, but he did get a clear impression of what they were saying.
She was going to be executed.
And why? He had no answer to that question, but he could answer the question of who was responsible. It had to be the people of the Empire. They, who called them demons and cursed them, were the real demons.
They wanted to exterminate them. So her only crime was to exist.
For those monsters who didn't know the blessing of the gods, who could only be jealous, extinguishing the light that overshadowed them was the right way to go.
Believing themselves to be the heroes of this story, they would burn his savior alive for the crime of existing.
They would try.
She had saved him that day. She couldn't die in a place like that. She wasn't watching something that was happening right now, but something that had already happened. Right?
His body filled with strength.
He planted his feet on the ground and pulled at the leg, snapping it, bending it upwards. Desmond screamed, because in the process he was doing the same to his bruised body, and used the broken leg as a spear to pierce the spider's head.
From one end to the other. Sparks flew, it smelled like something was burning. For a moment he seriously wondered if this huge thing was going to explode.
He decided he didn't care.
What mattered was...
They set the wood alight. As the flames spread, rose, she didn't make the slightest sound. She did not plead for her life; she did not curse her executioners or the disgusting scum who had come to witness this as if it were a bit of harmless entertainment.
Her eyes didn't fill with tears, either. Not even that. Which backed the idea that she would get out of this.
That this he was seeing was the past.
Her lack of fear. But, at the same time, she was doing nothing to save herself. She simply did nothing at all. As the flames came closer and closer. As the smoke began to cover her like a blanket.
Desmond had heard that it was not uncommon for people to die choking to death in the smoke, before the flames reached them.
But they had prepared for that not to happen.
The pile of wood was not so small as to grant her a humane death.
The flames licked at her legs. She gritted her teeth, but made no sound.
She kept her composure for a long time, longer than anyone would expect, but in the end she succumbed. Being burned alive was one of the worst ways to die. Even if he hadn't thought about it before, he would have realized it when he heard her scream.
It was a horrifying scream. It sent a shiver through his entire body.
And, unbeknownst to him, back in the real world, he burst into tears like a baby, which is to say, inconsolably.
But what really made his blood run cold in his veins was the crowd's reaction.
Their cheers, more intense than the flames.
Their bloodlust, thicker than the smell of burning that wafted through the air.
And their eyes. Their eyes said more than their horrible words and their wicked glee.
They weren't really human. A human being couldn't do such a thing.
Therefore...
"Give her back!"
He pushed even harder, but this time to the side, opening it a deep wound with its own weapon. The creature refused to die, even at this point, it was devilishly persistent. Not only was it trying to break free of his grip, but it was also trying to reach him with the rest of its legs.
They came close, but never quite got there, just clawing at the air in front of his face.
They were the ones who should be burning in flames, not her.
Their lives deserved the same disrespect they showed for their fellow huma beings.
"Give her back!"
Now, Desmond shoved the broken leg to the other side, splitting the machine in half.
It didn't die.
It slashed him with one of its paws, from chest to shoulder; if it had penetrated the skin, he would have been left without an arm. Instead, the leg simply traced a line of blood. He felt no pain. Not even a little.
He realized that this was because the arm was broken. He had broken it himself in the process of giving himself and using the inhuman strength that had allowed him not only to stop the leg with his hands, but to use it as if it were a spear.
He hadn't realized it until now. He had been too far gone to realize it.
In any case, the strange thing was that he hadn't broken more things.
Human beings weren't made like ants, who could lift twenty times their weight, was normal. No matter how much water you poured into a glass, the excess would spill out, there were limits. That was fine.
And if you tried to put not water, but an object that was too big, the glass would explode. Plain and simple.
It would split into a thousand pieces that no one could put back together.
Three legs came for him, each going in a different direction. The spider didn't have access to all of its legs, as some were crushed beneath its ruined body, and its programming must be collapsing with the rest of itself, but it was still a threat.
Desmond took a step forward. He lost his balance without knowing how.
Still, he threw himself to the side, rolled on the ground, in another direction and managed to dodge the three legs that left only marks on the ground. Before they got up, turned around and came back for him.
Desmond got up too.
As quickly as he could, he climbed on top of what was left of the spider and worked on further reducing that mountain of junk with his fists. This was an enemy that didn't bleed. Even if it did bleed, the only thing he could smell at the moment was the overpowering smell of burning flesh.
The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his heart, each one like a hammer blow.
And the scream of his savior, engulfed in flames, for whom there was no salvation.
The explosive force of Desmond's rage was released with each scream, each blow. He was tearing his body apart inside and out. One of his wrists was broken, and yet he was still striking with it, at this rate he was going to tear it off.
What was really important was the damage inside, but he didn't care about that either.
"Give her back!"
Desmond realized that the spider had stopped moving, that the battery had died, or that he had finally damaged it enough to render it incapable of functioning, emergency battery or not.
How long had he been pounding on the motionless remains of his enemy, lost in his rage, seeing nothing but red?
He was shaking from head to toe.
His chest was rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. Even in his state, the taste of blood filling his mouth was unmistakable. He had screamed until his throat was raw, until he was bleeding.
And he couldn't take it anymore.
On top of the smoking wreckage of the war machine, he turned his head like a living doll.
Christina looked back at him.
His heart skipped a beat.
And then another.
And another. Another.
Desmond fell forward, his vision fading before he hit the ground.