Many soldiers had emerged from the trees, from the darkness of the night.
Too many, in all likelihood.
But, despite that fact, he didn't concentrate on the coming fight or what they could do. What consumed his thoughts, rather than things with real importance, matters of life and death....
Were those uniforms.
Yes, just that.
They were nothing like the standard uniforms of the empire's soldiers. Those suits of armor were like nothing he had ever seen before.
Except for the symbol engraved on the left shoulder of the armor.
That was the only thing that identified them as soldiers of the Empire. Beyond the fact that his own kingdom wouldn't do this, of course.
But...
But it was just that, the colors, the design.
Superficial things.
That armor design was distinct and absurdly elaborate, perhaps, but it wasn't something worth spending energy thinking about.
Desmond shook his head.
Perhaps the loss of blood and how the fight had ravaged his body on the outside and inside had... worn him down more than he had thought.
The shadow turned to black smoke again and disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Into the trees back on the hill.
Abigail stood beside him, seeing the same thing he did.
"Was it an accurate hit?" she asked.
It took Desmond several seconds to compose himself, to realize what she meant, although she could only have meant one thing.
"Yes. I could feel its heart pounding, even. Or so it seemed to me."
Because... if he had indeed pierced its heart and yet it hadn't died... then....
Then you could say it was something like him.
They wouldn't have to worry about that thing tonight. Maybe not for the rest of their lives...whether they were long or short.
But, still, the thought made him uneasy. An enemy that could survive even a direct stab to the heart.
"So... I don't understand. My knife can cut through any kind of magic. In my long life, it has never once failed me. Not once."
She didn't sound frustrated or surprised at all.
It was just a statement of fact.
"It didn't kill the enemy, but you can't say it failed. He ran away instead of staying and fighting. That must mean he is badly wounded."
"Or that he knows this fight is already over."
Desmond didn't have the capacity to object.
After all, that dark thought was also going around in his own head.
It was only natural.
During the battle at The Four Seasons, there were more than a hundred people on his side at the beginning. Students and teachers, the people in the infirmary.
Of those hundred people, not even twenty made it to the end of that day alive.
The vast majority were either buried under the rubble of the old main building or scattered in the forest, unable to reach the main building, like a grim warning.
Those in the forest had been sent to their families. Given a dignified burial... and too soon.
Almost all of those who had died in the main building, however....
There had been nothing to return to their families. They had ended up unrecognizable. In pieces.
Corpses mingling with other mangled corpses until no one knew who was who or how many people had died there that day.
And that same fate could befall them now.
There were more than a hundred people, this time. He didn't know how many, exactly, he couldn't remember, but more.
But their situation was far worse than what they had faced at The Four Seasons.
For starters, the teachers, the most experienced or skilled fighters, were somewhere far away and the shadow had said they probably wouldn't be back in time. Desmond believed it.
For one thing, not a few of them had already died.
Some of them by his own hand, though it had been the shadow who had been in charge at the time.
Speaking of him, he was a mess.
Desmond couldn't contribute much in this battle. The same was true of Christina and Amy, both were better off than him, but not by much, they were all on their last legs, the best, the strongest.
Abigail was the strongest of them all.
No doubt about it.
She was immortal and regenerated much faster than he did. However, there was a limit to everything.
She could not make them win this fight.
They could not count on her alone.
The other students... they might be more or less good, but they were already prey to fear. He couldn't blame them for that after having faced that abomination. But it was still true. That wasn't good at all.
If they had suffered so much to make a single enemy flee... even though that abomination was far from a normal enemy....
Could they really do this?
That thought must have been floating in the hearts of all.
And... And...
Too many factors. All of them, or so it seemed to him, against him.
But I refuse to die here. I absolutely fucking refuse.
The enemies were on the move, snapping him out of his thoughts.
They didn't run toward the building, armed to the teeth.
He had no idea what her name was. But he was pretty sure, not quite sure, but pretty sure, that it was someone he had seen around campus more than once.
She had never particularly caught his eye, as did no one who wasn't on his team or one of the teachers....
However, seeing her now, it came to his mind that she was a familiar face as if he saw her every day. As if he had been noticing her for a while for some reason.
Desmond supposed... everyone looked for a sense of security, of familiarity, in the worst of times.
But that was a poor substitute.
He shifted his gaze to Christina and Amy, who were off to the side, together, leaning on each other for support.
Now that was familiar. Now that was reassuring.
I won't let anything happen to you. I promise we'll make it through tonight. I swear.
One more promise.
He took his promises very seriously. He would keep it, like the one he had made to himself after waking up after the attack that destroyed his city, under a sky choked with smoke, with the only company of the sword Abigail had left him as a parting gift.
Like the promise he had made to that abomination and would be sure to keep.
He made few promises, but he always kept them. Always, without exception.
He would not let tonight be the exception.
"Okay. How long does it last? What are the limits or requirements of your magic? Tell me any details, don't skip anything."
Abigail was taking charge, leading them to victory.
Desmond stood tall.
It would be a source of pride to fight at her side, under her command. He was a soldier after all. But not of Albion, but of her.
By and for her.
If Abigail was doing this, then... there had to be some hope of getting out of this, right?
"Nothing... special. It should hold... a lot of cannon fire... as long as I'm alive to... to reapply the protection when it wears off."
The girl was very nervous. She couldn't complete a sentence without faltering.
But then again, who could blame her?
Until tonight, she had led a more or less normal life. Preparing to be a soldier, but still fundamentally normal. Tonight had changed everything, though.
Her life had been in danger countless times... and would be in danger countless more times before dawn came.
That was another matter, by the way.
This was quite possibly the first day of her life when she had to wonder if she could make it to the next day.
That was an incredibly heavy burden when you were facing it for the first time.
"Okay, you'll stay here. Over there." With one finger, Abigail pointed to a spot in the crowd. "Yes, you guys. I need a group to close the doors and windows."
However, they didn't react.
Nervous, they didn't protest, they didn't yell or scream or demand explanations or say that all was lost, nothing like that. But they didn't move from their seats either.
"Our only chance to survive this is to dig in and defend the fort. Let's go, let's go, let's go!"
At last they were on the move.
Running, out of the kitchen, to do what Abigail had told them to do.
"More. At least twenty people." And more were on the move, obeying. Good.
There was silence, but it was broken after a few moments by a voice also hesitant and trembling.
But it did not belong to the girl of a moment ago, but to a boy in the crowd.
"And what do we do now? How are we going to...?"
But the boy could not finish the sentence.
There were explosions, one after another. The first volley of cannon fire had been fired. Desmond turned to the glass, to see if it had really been able to withstand so much damage, when it had yielded to the blows of the shadow being transformed into smoke.
The glass doors were all illuminated in red.
In such a way that it would be easy to mistake, if one did not know what was going on, that the glass was stained with a large amount of blood.
Very soon, surely, that was what was really going to happen.
Very soon, the windows... the kitchen and the whole building, would be splattered with blood.
The gunshots and the tremors provoked when they hit the floor or the glass had shaken him.
Causing Desmond to lose his balance, to almost fall.
But he regained it. Mental balance, well, that.... That was more complicated.
"Fuck!" The boy, who had not been able to finish his question, shouted when everything stopped and his voice could be heard.
Well, rather when he regained the voice that fear had taken away.
How noisy.
Not only could a cannon shot tear a man apart just by grazing him, but the sound was so loud. Desmond's ears were ringing, now.
"We're going to fight, of course, we have no choice," Abigail continued as if nothing had happened. "As for the how... Is there anyone who can make things explode? And by that I mean making things explode on contact, by whatever method, not creating independent explosions."
He liked to see how focused she was. How strong.
Abigail had lived for a long time. Two thousand years, and she would have seen so many things... lived through so many desperate situations like this... that she would have gotten used to it.
It was a sad thought, in a way. Perhaps human beings are not meant to live such long lives, he thought for a few brief moments.
"I can." Another girl stepped forward.
This one was not from the Four Seasons, neither first nor second year, he was pretty sure.
She had red hair and, in person, he could count the redheads he'd seen on the fingers of one hand. He would have noticed her.
"In what way?" Abigail asked.
"By touch. But whatever I touch takes about fifteen seconds to explode and I can't control it. Neither by lengthening it nor shortening it. Does that work for you?"
A very serious, calm, professional girl, despite the situation. Straight to the point.
"It's perfect. Besides, you're our only choice." Abigail looked at him out of the corner of her eye, for some reason, with a peculiar expression on her face. "Desmond. I see you're looking at your teammates. Go with them."
She had caught him.
Yes, from time to time he would glance at them without saying anything. Just as if to check that they were okay.
Abigail had told him to go and he wanted to do it, but...
"We don't have time."
The second volley of cannon fire came at that moment.
The same thing happened as before, only he wasn't able to regain his balance in time.
Abigail had to catch him on his way to the ground.
"Be careful."
Desmond broke away.
"It's true, we don't have much time. But we do have some. You want to do it. So go with them."
He felt guilty.
That was the reason, not the time they had, not wanting to make the most of it. He felt guilty for the people he had killed, even though he hadn't been the one in control, and also for what they had both suffered fighting him and trying to free him.
Christina especially. In her effort to save him, she had spewed blood from her mouth.
How could he not feel guilty?
But he couldn't run away from it forever. Sooner or later, he had to face his fear.
And the sooner the better.
Because it was possible, even if he didn't want to think about it, that they wouldn't have another chance to talk.
"All right... I won't be long."
He approached them.
The moment of truth had arrived.
"I'm sorry." The first thing that came from his lips was an apology. Come to think of it, he had to apologize a lot. He would like to be a different kind of person.
A better one.
But this was all he had and he had to make the best of it.
"What are you saying?" Christina asked.
She put a hand in front of her mouth, it looked like she had covered it, but no, just almost.
Her beautiful violet eyes were glazed over.
In the state she was in, he was afraid she might pass out at any moment. Amy was helping her, letting her lean on her.
Still it seemed that Christina was making a considerable effort to stand.
"It wasn't your fault, none of it. "Amy understood what she meant the first time, though. "But of course. I'm telling you something you already know."
"Ah, is that what this is about? "Christina shook her head. She grimaced then, and put a hand to her head, her hair ending up splattered with the blood that stained her palm. "You always insist on punishing yourself. On blaming yourself for everything. But you're not to blame for anything. This time there's no way to interpret it, really, as if it were your fault."
Christina coughed several times, loudly.
Desmond grimaced as if he felt the pain that would have filled the girl's chest.
How could he not feel guilty?
Seeing them the way he was seeing them? And hearing those kinds of things? The strain, the pain. How beat up they were.
How the hell could he not feel guilty?
"But..."
Christina held up a finger.
"Don't say anything. I know what you're going to say anyway. Anyway, nothing happened to us."
Desmond pursed his lips.
"I saw you. You spurted blood from your mouth, struggling for my sake."
Christina blinked as if surprised.
"Yes, but... Are you going to tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing in my place? The first thing you did for Amy, without even really knowing her, was to take a bullet for her. Before you even knew... you know what I mean."
That was true.
However, he hadn't done it with the idea.
He hadn't thought he was sacrificing himself. He had intended to get her out of the way and then get out of the way himself.
He simply hadn't been too quick.
The third volley of cannon fire punctuated the silence that had fallen between the three of them.
"Look," Christina continued, seeing him open his mouth to say something, "If you feel the need to punish yourself... you should look in the crowd, not at us."
"Christina," said Amy slowly, as if in warning.
"The people whose friends you were forced to kill..."
"Christina, I'm serious. Please."
Christina sighed.
"Calm down. I'm not mad at him..."
"It would be understandable if you were...."
"I told you I'm not. I'm not. I'm going places with this, okay? Give me the benefit of the doubt."
Amy nodded her head.
"But I recommend you don't even try to apologize to them. They don't want to hear it. And the last thing we need right now is for you to stir up so many people's feelings in a situation like this."
Yes.
He' d killed three people. More than enough.
Too many, actually.
How many acquaintances would those three people have? How many acquaintances would be wishing now that he had died instead of them?
And...
"More than a dozen people. I'd be surprised if there was anyone unaffected."
Desmond froze.
Christina looked at him.
"You weren't conscious?"
"Not the whole time," Desmond said slowly. He didn't want to believe what he'd heard, but it was obviously true. "I thought I was, but... I only remember killing three people. Three people in one fell swoop. And I think... I think I hurt another one. Right now I don't know..."
Desmond was shaking suddenly.
Not just his voice, but his body as well. Desmond fell silent.
He turned and looked around.
It was true, how had he not noticed until now? There were more bodies than he had thought. And more blood.
Desmond swallowed.
"As I was saying... I'm so sorry, Desmond. But apologizing won't make you feel any better. Nor will it help anyone. You'll just have to learn to live with it eventually."
"As with everything."
"Yes, as with everything. Such is our life."
Desmond nodded to himself.
It hurt.
It hurt, and so did his whole body. Because of what that thing had done to him... but the volleys weren't helping, certainly not.
There had already been five. If he hadn't counted wrong.
He'd almost gotten used to it, but only partially. His head... he had the feeling that his head was going to explode.
No, that it was going to split in two.
Like an egg cracking open.
The mental image that accompanied that thought was most unpleasant.
"I'm sorry," Amy said, "Don't take it the wrong way, it's just the way it is."
"Christina is harsh. But she's right. Thank you...thank you for wanting to make me feel better."
Amy shrugged her shoulders.
She had tears in her eyes.
"That's what friends are for, right?"
"Yes," Desmond replied in a sort of reverie-like tone. He shook his head.
They set off, the three of them. Toward Abigail, toward the group.
"We are quite possibly the strongest group of our generation," said Amy. "Yet somehow we always manage to end up like this."
To his own surprise, Desmond had the energy to respond to that with a laugh.
"Yes. We should change something in the way things work. But I wouldn't even know where to start," he added with a crooked smile.
"You're done," Abigail said as she saw them arrive.
Then she nodded her head and waved a hand.
In other words, go ahead.
He thought about asking where exactly they were going, what the plan was, but was content to find out what he needed to know when she saw fit.
Or with figuring it out on the fly, depending.
He was surprised to see them go down.
Not into the basement, not into the flames.
Before long, he found himself back in front of the armory door.
He didn't wonder how she knew it was there, they would have told her while he wasn't listening. He wondered what they were doing here, exactly, because if they had told her, they would also have told her that it was em...
Empty, he was going to say.
But Abigail grabbed the handles and opened the door, which they had not properly left closed the last time they had passed this way, revealing that he had been dead wrong.
The armory was almost full.
Desmond would bet that there was everything there that was supposed to have been there on their first visit.
-How is that possible? -someone asked.
That abomination had made the weapons disappear. So...
-You had already encountered that thing? -That shadow? -Desmond asked.
Abigail looked over her shoulder at him.
-No. I just assumed right. You have to hide things where you'd least expect to find them. What better place than where those things disappeared from?
Putting it that way, it even sounded logical.
But...
But what exactly had happened here? Last time they had found the armory empty. And now... why was it like this?
He couldn't see the logic or the consistency of it.
-He just made them invisible," Christina said, coughing loudly once more, she put her hand to her lips. If only we had tried... touching.
Abigail rummaged through the armory and it didn't take long to find something, while the students retrieved their weapons or other items of use to them and their personal magic in battle.
That something was a bow.
She tried it, aiming at nothing in particular, stretching the string.
There was also a... Right now, the proper word didn't come to mind.
That thing that the arrows were kept in.
"Uh, that's my weapon," one boy protested timidly.
"You can do without it." It wasn't a question.
Chased by cannon fire, thunderous explosions and intense shaking, they reached the roof.
But only a small group went up. Desmond and his team, Abigail, of course, and the explosions girl, whose name was Amara. He had found out on the way up.
And he had been reminded of something else.
The fire.
The fire that the shadow had started in the basement was still burning wild and free, spreading with the help of the fuel it was consuming.
If they didn't control it, sooner or later it would have to leave the building, which would be a death sentence. They only had a chance by holding the fort, as Abigail had put it.
At best, the fight could drag on until dawn... even when reinforcements came, that could happen anyway.
So they had to keep the fire under control.
At this point in the battle, having a few people collecting water in buckets and pouring it on the flames, over and over again, wouldn't be much of a sacrifice.
They could afford it for the time being. In fact, when they didn't....
They would have bigger problems on their hands than the fire.
Abigail handed him the bow and that thing whose name still escaped him, to put on his back. Where the arrows were.
Okay, so that was the plan. Or at least the first step.
He'd never used a bow before, but it shouldn't be that hard. Just as his skill with reinforcement magic had helped him learn to shoot firearms by leaps and bounds, that and experience would help him shoot arrows well.
Especially since he didn't have to be very accurate.
As long as the arrows landed in the general area, all well and good, the target he was aiming at would be caught in the blast radius and would be destroyed.
Abigail looked at him, knew she didn't have to explain anything, and nodded.
Desmond got down on his knees, pulled out an arrow.
But he didn't ready it immediately. First, he extended it to Amara so that she could touch it and work her magic.
Amara was lying on the ground, as was everyone else. Abigail, who had nothing to fear, included.
Lying on the roof, the guns couldn't reach them.
It would still be possible with the cannons, of course. They would have to aim very well, but it was possible.
That's why their first target was the cannons and the gunboats, by extension.
"Remember, an arrow doesn't fly in a straight line. It falls and you have to compensate for that, keep that in mind, before you make the shot," Abigail told him.
Desmond was tense.
He wasn't in his best condition, but he still thought he was capable of hitting the shot. At least to place the arrow close enough so that it could be called a hit.
However, kneeling on the ground as he was now, it was possible for the soldiers to get close and hit him with firearms.
Besides, he didn't have all the time in the world to prepare.
On the contrary.
Although he wasn't one hundred percent sure, he had to release the fucking arrow right now or it would blow up in his face.
So he did.
The "explosive-loaded" arrow flew through the night air.
It couldn't be said to have hit, it went far from where he had aimed, too far. But as he had thought and hoped, the detonation made up for it.
The cannon, smoking, rolled down the hill.
Round and round, it came to a halt when it crashed into a rock. On top of that, the explosion blew four soldiers into the air, screaming.
That had been a free shot, so to speak, since they hadn't noticed him.
But that would not last.
In a few seconds, at most, they would find him on the rooftop on one knee. With a little luck and if he was quick enough, he might be able to fire a second shot without anyone knowing he was there.
Maybe.
But not one more.
They would find him and try to stop him with all their might, and maybe they would succeed. Maybe they would kill him. This time for real, with no turning back.
He was not clear about the limits of his regeneration, but he was clear that, as Abigail had told him, it was not true immortality.
It could not be.
They would shoot at him, getting closer to have a better chance of hitting him, they would aim their cannons at him instead of at the building.
And of course they would spread out, so that he couldn't kill too many people with a single explosive arrow, and he had a limited number of arrows.
As with the battle in general, many factors, all against him.
Desmond drew an arrow, Amara quickly tapped it, starting the countdown.
Desmond took a deep breath, readied the arrow.
He took aim and fired.
This shot was a resounding miss. It killed a few soldiers, or at least left them dying, but his goal here, aside from drawing fire and buying time, was to take out the cannons.
He had sent the arrow so far that the explosion hadn't even grazed one of the cannons.
Fuck, he thought.
Based on the distance between each cannon and the radius of the explosions he had observed, with one good shot he could take out two cannons at once, along with the people manning them.
However, he hadn't been able to take out even one this time.
Maybe... maybe it would be easier for him to hit if he stopped using his physical reinforcement magic.
Of maintaining that delicate balance that couldn't be that delicate, if he was able to do so even in this state.
But then he would fall apart.
He could feel it.
The only reason he was still standing was physical reinforcement.
If he left it, he would fall without the enemy having to do anything to him.
Not to mention, even if he managed to stay on his feet, his aim would go to shit.
Even in the best case scenario, he wouldn't get anything good out of it.
The third arrow.
He held it out to the side for Amara to touch, to ready it. He had to get this right.
"There, on the roof!"
Desmond bit his lower lip.
Desmond couldn't fail because everyone was counting on him. He had to at least take care of the cannons with the twenty arrows on his back.
No, not twenty.
Now there were seventeen.
Immediately, the soldiers put a lot of distance between them, so that he could not take out several of them with a single arrow.
However, the cannons had no such freedom of movement.
It was hard to move them, it required several people dragging, they couldn't escape their arrows no matter how hard they tried to drag the cannon fast.
And they were not willing to lose the cannons.
The advantage they represented.
So they had to risk their lives by continuing as they were.
Everyone depended on him, he repeated to himself.
Christina was right, of course. No matter how much he cried, no matter how much he begged for forgiveness....
He couldn't feel any better for the people the shadow had killed by controlling his body. Nor, of course, could he make up for those losses.
The value of a human life was incalculable. It couldn't be compensated.
But, at least...
Desmond could do this. Had to do this. Protect them. To expect everyone to survive the night was unrealistic, no, an impossible dream... but at least as many as he could. He wasn't asking for much.
All he wanted was that. And he would get it.
Before he could fire the third arrow, a bullet penetrated his right shoulder. Half luck, half skill, but one of the soldiers had managed to hit.
Desmond gritted his teeth.
Through the pain, he was this close to dropping the bow along with the sword.
He couldn't waste time.
Desmond had, how many seconds did he have?
He fired again.
Desmond had intended to take care of two cannons at once, but it wasn't possible.
He was only able to take care of one.
But at least he had taken out one. Sixteen arrows.
He had more than enough arrows to take out the remaining nine cannons, even at the same rate.
But he couldn't afford to miss too much, mind you.
The fourth arrow.
Desmond pulled it out.
Damn, his right shoulder was hurting.
There was nothing strange about that, it had hurt even before that lucky son of a bitch shot him in it. But now it hurt even more.
Was it the shoulder of the arm he had broken to escape from the shadow or not?
He didn't remember it anymore.
Desmond didn't hear it, but someone must have given the order to move the cannons.
Not to try to run away from the exploding arrows, but so that he couldn't kill two birds with one stone even if he was lucky enough to place the shot well.
It would have been more luck than skill, yes. Unfortunately.
If this was just a matter of skill, they would have left this in the hands of the girl to whom this bow belonged, who wouldn't have missed once, it was her personal weapon for a reason.
But Abigail had made him do this because the archer would be a vulnerable target.
That girl would have died soon, or she would have been damaged enough that she couldn't continue shooting.
But he could take superhuman damage.
He could die and come back and keep fighting.
Desmond was the only one who could do this, even if his archery skills left something to be desired.
A tremendous explosion. A tremor.
Desmond looked back, saw the cannonball streaking through the skies, eventually falling behind the building.
The shot had been a little too high.
Just a little too high.
If it had been set any lower, the cannonball would have hit the building.
It could have blown them up, killed them.
It might even have caused the roof to collapse with the weight and force of the impact.
It had been close.
Fucking close.
Everyone on the roof had a role.
Abigail was here to observe how the situation progressed and she couldn't die so she didn't give a damn about taking the risk.
She had already explained her own role, Amara's too.
Those of his team were on the roof, despite the danger, precisely because of that.
The cannonballs.
With his magic, he could destroy or at least deflect them. Keep himself safe.
However, Christina hadn't been able to react in time, only luck had saved them from being run over.
Desmond wanted to take a look at his partner, his friend.
But he couldn't.
He fired quickly, not intending to hit anything, just to get rid of the explosive charge before it blew up in his face, there was already too much time watching the cannonball fall after all.
And then he turned around.
What did he expect to see? Christina was no better or worse.
Just like before she'd come up here, she was barely hanging on. Desmond bit his lip. He knew his magic was the best suited for this task, but could she do it?
Could Amy, who wasn't much better off than she was?
Could the one make up for the other's mistakes and make this go well?
Wait, what was he thinking?
They were a team. In other words, he also had a responsibility to make up for his teammates' mistakes. They were stronger together.
If he did his job fast enough, well enough, then the two of them wouldn't be forced to save their skins so many times from cannonballs.
Best case scenario, they wouldn't get that close again with one shot and Desmond would destroy all the cannons.
Best case scenario.
The fifth, the sixth, the seventh.
Desmond destroyed one of the cannons with each arrow. He also took the lives of some soldiers as collateral damage.
They fired the cannons several times, but the cannonballs missed the roof.
They hit the front of the building, shattering the glass, wrecking the interior, or if some shots came close to the roof they were still far from harming them.
Things were going well. But they quickly went awry.
Something appeared.
Taking large steps, accompanied by metallic screeching sounds that chilled the blood in his veins.
The spider he thought before seeing it.
They had brought one, after all.
But of course it wasn't. Had one of those spiders been available, they would have deployed it immediately, they wouldn't have waited for things to get to this point.
But it was a war machine.
Something that, like the armor, he hadn't seen until now.
A bipedal machine.
Through the glass, he could see a single person behind the controls of the machine.
He had a pair of black tubes sticking out of his back, straight, pointed above his head.
Cannons?
He didn't have time to examine the newcomer closely.
The machine lunged forward. Straight toward the building.
It wasn't blinding speed. But, for a machine that big, it was moving pretty fast.
Desmond wasted four arrows, firing as fast as he could, to try to destroy it.
It was useless.
He didn't have the skill necessary to hit a target that was moving so much, so fast, even if it was at the same time a big target.
And nerves didn't help.
It was almost already in the building, no, it was already and it jumped, a big jump that....
Damn it.
The bipedal machine landed on the roof. Fuck, how could such a thing jump so high? It landed in such a way that Desmond was under the shadow of that war machine.
Between its front legs.
But not for long.
Because the weight of that machine, tall as three people on top of each other, proved to be too much.
The roof came down. And they with it.