With the second blow Desmond had almost split the mechanical spider in half, but only almost. It was still attached by a few wires and not much else.
It was still a threat.
And even if it wasn't, even if it couldn't do anything in this state, he had to make sure he destroyed it or at least kept it out of the fight for long enough.
That way he wouldn't win the longest amount of time, which was the minimum.
He had to do something else.
With one foot resting on each half of the spider, balancing precariously many feet above the ground, Desmond swung his sword again.
Slashing through the wires, creating a storm of sparks that raised the hair on the back of his neck.
The mechanical spider, finally cut in half, began to fall.
It hadn't killed him. It had cut it in half, but the heart was still more or less intact. Like any living thing, as long as the heart was beating it would go on. It would recover.
But it was something.
The first of two, but something.
Desmond shifted the other foot to the right half as well, as it was the one falling toward the other spider.
Long before the half hit the ground, Desmond used it as a platform to launch himself towards the other spider, sword ahead.
The spider shot a web at him.
It sliced through the air with ease. But in the meantime, he didn't see the second one. By the time he realized, it was too late, it was on him.
Before it hit him, he thought, incredulous and angry at himself, it wasn't even the first time one of those things had fucked him with that trick.
The second net wrapped around his whole body tightly, as if a giant was trying to crush him in its hand, and he was pushed against the castle wall.
He could easily have been thrown into the flames, and killed, at the same time, too fast and too slow.
A terrible fate, whether he could come back from it or not.
But the flames hadn't yet reached that piece of the wall, although it wasn't far off. The building, with each passing second, was becoming more and more of a death trap.
For everyone, but now he was only worried about himself.
Trapped, looking down, as the blue fire advanced. The roar of the flames in his ears.
The hellish cacophony of war, the crystals, the few that would be left by now, lifted by the heat. It was an assault on the senses. All of them, but especially the hearing.
Desmond scrambled inside the web, trying to free himself with all his might, with the strength that desperation inspires.
He kicked as he scrambled, tried to move the sword, even sank his teeth into the web to see if he could bite it off if nothing else.
None of it worked.
But fortunately, before it was too late he realized that he was not exactly against the castle wall. But against a window pane.
He could move an elbow. Not much, but enough. He thought.
Desmond hit the window with his elbow, once. He felt cracks spread across the surface of the glass. It didn't break. Not yet, at least.
Come on!
His death was coming closer with every second. A death that would surely be final, this time.
Blood is only temporary, he thought.
I'm broken, he thought as he nudged the glass again.
So hot. It was as if the flames had already reached him. So much heat, although without pain.
Another hit. Another hit.
Come on, damn it!
Another and another and another, and… It burst, finally exploded into a thousand pieces, the son of a bitch. What joke if after he'd come so far, all he'd survived, what fucked him up in the end was a goddamn window. Now that would have been a joke.
Pretty sick and tasteless.
It would have turned his whole life, his whole struggle into a joke.
Anyway, breaking the window, Desmond fell in, but not alone. The net fell behind him, like something alive trying to catch him again.
He wouldn't let it.
He pulled away in time, crawling on hands and feet. Barely. But it was the result that counted.
He had survived it. He always survived.
And now…
He turned his attention to the people still fighting inside this death trap, which burned like the depths of hell. Specifically to the person he had come here to look for in the first place.
——
Abigail watched Desmond take care of one of the Empire's greatest war machines, the spider that spread terror throughout Albion, in just three strikes.
Like any mother, she wouldn't want her child to risk his life. If it were up to her, she wouldn't put him in any danger, of course.
It was just that circumstances were forcing her.
She couldn't keep him out of… nothing. Neither from the war between Albion and the Azure Empire, nor from the cold war, so to speak, that was taking place to seize her.
And it frustrated her. And it made her feel powerless, feel like she was failing him.
But, at the same time…
She had to admit that it filled her with pride to see him powerful and proud, taking care of his enemies. The terror of the Empire soldiers watching him work, and their silent comments, talking about him as if he wasn't human, as if he couldn't be human, made her smile.
He was strong. He was capable. Strong of heart, too.
Come to think of it, what was so strange about a mother being proud of her son, even if it was for something like this? It was what she was best at. Her job.
And, deep down, he enjoyed it too.
He liked feeling powerful. It wasn't hard to see why. All human beings sought happiness. And the secret of happiness was very simple. Humans tended to complicate the matter, but it wasn't really complicated at all.
Two words. Control and happiness.
Nothing more than that.
Desmond enjoyed unleashing his strength. The strength he had gained to ensure that no one would ever again take away the things he valued.
It was understandable.
In any case, Abigail would lend him a hand.
Desmond had put the machine out of commission, but only for a while. Since he hadn't destroyed the beating heart, that monster would eventually regenerate.
Unless she intervened.
Desmond shot out at the second spider, so he didn't intend to deal with it, deliver the coup de grace, right then and there.
She'd do it for him.
Abigail slipped between enemy lines to get closer to the fallen spider. Walking up to the 'crystal' heart and placing a hand on it. She set in motion the process of destroying it from the inside.
"Where the hell did she come from?"
Another:
"Are you blind? Not in uniform, not one of ours."
And, inevitably, they opened fire on her. Abigail didn't move. She just took the shots all over her body, gritting her teeth, leaning more on the heart of the machine to keep her balance.
She could taste her own blood in her mouth. Her legs were shaking, and she was lucky it wasn't worse.
She was sure… She could feel a bullet in her head.
In her skull, possibly beyond.
But she could still do this, she didn't have to wait for her second chance. Magic was second nature to her. Like breathing. The breath of nature, magic… With that, she was going to unleash a power that had little to do with nature. That had been birthed by man.
The great beast's heart burst, causing a sea of blue fire to pour forth.
Abigail felt the flames on her skin and the excruciating pain, but at least it was brief.
——
Charlotte was still fighting. What's more, even though she didn't have to, she was in the middle of the fight instead of staying behind. That was terrible. One stray bullet would be enough for Abigail and him to lose everything. Of course, he couldn't expect the girl to care about what might happen to them at such a time.
But even putting his selfish interests aside, it was strange. As he had said, it wasn't necessary.
She could have stayed behind, using her affinity liberally.
Instead she was in the middle of the battle, showing an aggressiveness unusual for her. Taking risks without thinking of the consequences, wielding her sword at close quarters, even raging at her enemies.
It was as if she had forgotten about the danger of the spiders as soon as she saw them appear. He would even go so far as to say that she fought like someone who didn't care what the outcome of the fight would be. Live or die.
He wasn't sure.
Desmond couldn't say yes or no. But that was the feeling he was getting, at least. Either way, that was bad. He had to get her out of here. Convince her. And if he couldn't convince her, drag her out. He might skip the first step in fact. He would decide as he approached her.
Desmond ran toward Charlotte, cutting his way through the Imperial soldiers with his sword. Her back was to him. She seemed oblivious to his presence, to the fact that he had forced his way into the palace.
He grabbed her shoulder, catching her by surprise. He only realized the mistake he had made when he saw her sword flying towards her throat.
Of course she would react immediately to something like that and assume he was hostile, striking first and asking questions later, if she did anything at all. She couldn't afford any other kind of reaction in the middle of a war zone. The opposite, hesitating for even a second, or a tenth of a second, could cost her life. Even if it was only a tenth of a second. That was how thin the barrier between life and death was.
Desmond ducked. The sword passed over his head, close, very close, cutting a few strands of hair. But nothing more.
Then he tugged at Charlotte's sleeve, pulling her backward.
She lost her balance and almost fell on top of him. Which saved her from a bullet that would have pierced her throat. It wasn't that they had been aiming at her exactly.
It's just that they were fighting in such a relatively small place, so many people, that it was inevitable that attacks would come in her direction even if the attackers hadn't intended them to.
"Desmond, what do you want?" Charlotte demanded to know.
There was something hard in her eyes.
Something that hadn't been there before. Of course. There was nothing surprising that something had changed inside her, after all that happened.
And all that was left before this terrible day came to an end.
War changed people.
"Get out of here."
"Why?"
"Why?" he repeated in some disbelief. But if it were as clear to her as it was to him, she wouldn't be here in the first place. "This is a flaming death trap. If you die, everything will get worse. Morale will drop."
"Or I will become a martyr who will make them fight harder than ever."
"Later, I mean. After. You also have to think about the future."
"If we don't win today, there is no future."
"Charlotte, don't be…"
He saw a grenade roll down near them. Desmond spun Charlotte around in his arms, switching places. Then he kicked the grenade, sending it far away, toward the stairs. It exploded in midair.
Fortunately none of the Albion soldiers were within range of the blast.
Exploding sooner than expected, it would have sucked to end up getting the blood of his own countrymen on his hands. Next time…
If there was a next time, he would make sure to throw the grenade outside, not towards the enemies.
Just in case. You never knew.
Which way was he going? Ah, yes.
"Don't be stubborn, I beg you. The Empire may decide to cut and run this place into the ground, all for the 'prize' of killing you."
"By killing their own soldiers?"
"They don't have a human heart," Desmond said, though he already knew that wasn't true. "You know that. Besides… If they cared about the survival of these troops, they wouldn't have sent them to fight in a burning building."
Charlotte looked down, still held by him.
"Be reasonable. Please."
For a moment, Desmond allowed himself to hope that he had succeeded in convincing her. But then she tore her hand from his grip and glared at him.
"No."
"Charlotte…"
"No is no. I refuse to fail any more people."
"What are you talking about? You haven't failed anyone."
Charlotte refused to answer. She simply continued to stare at him in silence. Okay. At this point, he'd have to accept that this would get him nowhere….
But it was unlikely he'd get very far even if he tried to force her out of here.
He was stronger than ever thanks to Abigail's blood, he was on the crest of a wave, so he could tear her apart and take her with him.
He was stronger than ever thanks to Abigail's blood, he was on the crest of a wave, so he could smash one of the mechanical spiders in just three hits. And he could handle anyone who got in his way.
Even if Charlotte resisted, he could easily overpower her and carry her over his shoulder.
The problem was, he couldn't keep her there. Not with her affinity.
Try what he might, she would eventually slip away from him. And since she seemed hell-bent on staying in this death trap, which at any moment could collapse even without any help, well….
Desmond shook his head, resigning himself.
"As you wish. At least stay behind me."
Desmond lunged for the stairs, holding the sword in both hands, intending to clear a path.
The sooner he got this over with, the better.
——
When the heart of the mechanical spider exploded, releasing a sea of blue fire, an Imperial soldier died instantly. He was so close to the explosion that he didn't even notice.
One moment he was alive, fighting, and the next he was dead.
Bad luck, simply put.
Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes that was all it took.
One second he saw the tide coming in. He turned, his throat clogged with fear, and broke into a run. Not fast enough. No one could outrun the fire.
And he couldn't.
He had no chance from the start, but, on top of that, he tripped and fell to the ground. Then the flames engulfed him. It was truly like waves on a stormy sea.
The Imperial soldier, screaming from the back of his throat, raised his hands to his face as if he couldn't comprehend and would need to take a closer look.
Watch as the flames consumed him alive.
Screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming. His black shadow swayed within the blue flames. Before he died he transformed into something non"human.
Like a vision of hell, of a damned soul.
A third was lucky, being farther away than the others from the center of the explosion, he was able to get away from the flames in time. He was able to save himself.
Or so he thought.
So he thought for a sweet moment.
But he hadn't been saved, or at least not all of him. His right arm was on fire.
As she screamed and writhed on the ground, two other soldiers surrounded her, proceeding to spray her with a special foam designed to extinguish even blue fire.
With that they were able to save her life, but not her arm.
The woman's arm was almost entirely consumed. It was no more than a stump with a black, broken, splintered bone protruding from it.
She absently thought it resembled that of a chicken. An overcooked one.
The pain clouded her mind. The pain and the weakness. Shortly after that, mercifully, she lost consciousness.
The heart's explosion wreaked great havoc on the Imperial army, and she was one of the luckiest of the lucky ones. That is, among those who had been near the spider at the time of the explosion.
One, for example, they also tried to save with that special foam. But it was too late. Yes, too late.
The fire had already spread throughout his body. He was still recognizable as a human being, but barely. The smell of burning flesh that it gave off was so strong that it made you want to vomit.
And no wonder. The whole body was black, scorched.
Where there was no burnt flesh, there were pieces where you could see the bone underneath.
What had been spared were his eyes, or maybe not even his eyes. He looked around as if he couldn't see. Maybe he wasn't conscious. A small blessing, in that case.
Because he was alive, but it wouldn't last.
Because if he was conscious, then he would be begging for death.
Things like this happened to many of the soldiers.
But the fire wasn't the only thing that was wreaking havoc. The glass shell with which the heart was wrapped had exploded, and glass flew everywhere.
For example, there was a soldier writhing on the ground, his hands around his left eye.
Blood and eye fluids were flowing between his fingers.
Because a crystal had penetrated his eye, tearing it to shreds. He was lucky, all things considered. At least he hadn't lost his life.
Others had, by the same means.
It would have been so easy for him to die, if only the glass had penetrated a little further, reaching his brain. But it didn't even need to be that complicated.
A few of those 'crystals' in the chest was enough to kill.
Or a single crystal in the neck.
Many died one way or the other, agonizingly in any case.
And at the center of all that chaos was, of course, the one who had released the sea of blue fire in the first place. Abigail.
Her skeleton was lying on the ground, on the grass. There wasn't enough skin or flesh left to call it anything else, though it wasn't a completely naked skeleton.
She had been the one to unleash that inferno, so naturally she had taken the brunt of the consequences.
But it was only temporary.
It was all a matter of time for her.
——
Desmond launches himself at the Imperial soldiers. They had no idea who they were dealing with, most of them. Although knowing wouldn't help them either.
In short order he not only stopped the seemingly unstoppable advance of the Imperial forces, but forced them back down the stairs.
Losing ground, bit by bit.
They were between the sword, his sword, and fire. He'd rather take his chances with the fire than with it. And well they did.
"That monster… That's him!"
"We're going to die here."
"No!"
Wow, more soldiers seemed to know who he was than he had expected. Well he supposed it was no wonder the news had spread further, either. After what he had done in the capital, it was inevitable.
They were shooting at him as they kept retreating. Without looking back. Maybe because they were too fucked up to take their eyes off him for even a second.
The shots were doing nothing to him. He was strong again.
Abigail's blood was coursing through his veins, making him even stronger than normal. Desmond preferred not to think about what would happen when his energy ran out, because that moment would come, yes or yes. It was something he was borrowing, nothing more.
But he felt on top of the world and for no particular reason he was convinced that it would at least last him long enough to get it over with.
Then, well, then he could think about it.
They couldn't handle him even if he were alone, but he wasn't. The Albionian soldiers at his back were lending him a hand as best they could. Desmond didn't notice, didn't think anything of it either. But he guessed they had to be contributing something.
Some idiot threw a grenade at him.
Desmond could have thrown it back, but instead he threw it away with a swipe. As he had decided earlier, better not to risk it.
He kept going, down the stairs one step at a time.
Killing several people for each step down. Sowing everything with their blood and guts.
This was a one-sided massacre.
Just as it should be. Oh, how he had hated feeling weak, powerless. Feeling like the child he had been ten years ago.
Even with all his power, he couldn't save everyone. He couldn't redeem himself for letting so many people die while he alone was saved.
But he was strong. Strong enough to protect himself and the people important to him. In the end that was all that mattered. In the end he would emerge triumphant.
And if he fell, if he fell, well.
At least let it be from as high as he could get. He started life drowning under a mountain of rubble. Dark and dirty. With the corpses of family nearby.
I will reach for the skies.
I want wings, he thought for the first time in a long time, almost… ecstatic.
"I don't understand how he can move like that. Is he even human?" It couldn't be the voice of an Empire dog.
At first, it sounded too calm, as if it had nothing to do with him. But mostly because Imperial soldiers couldn't waste a bit of oxygen talking.
He was making sure of that.
In any case.
On this, both his 'friends' and his enemies were always in agreement. He hadn't expected any other action, nor did he give a shit what they thought of him.
But they should be kissing his ass, not whispering that he was a monster behind his back.
If they got out of this today it would be because of him, after all.
At the very least they should be shutting their mouths instead of insulting him behind his back.
"What the hell do I care?" protested another "For all I care he could have come down from the fucking moon!"
Or something like that, yes.
It wasn't bad for a change. And he was right. Which is always appreciated. I mean, a little objectivity.
He'd do their job for them. He'd kill every motherfucker in the palace, before this flaming ruin came down on them, and then….
His mind went completely blank.
Desmond forgot what he was thinking about, and he also didn't care to remember it, whatever it was. Because he saw the cavalry coming. A good thing, even though he didn't need it. Which should be good, but…
Golden masks. Not Albion soldiers, but those bastards.
They came up behind the soldiers, for some reason, and joined the fight. Against the Empire, of course. He knew it. He knew this should be good, but….
He couldn't get it out of his head that among so many golden masks and black cloaks had to be Richard.
The leader of that rat pack, he who had poisoned him. He who had broken him.
He felt his hands clench even tighter around the handle of his sword. He felt his teeth clacking together. Out of pure rage.
Someone grabbed his hand from behind.
He spun around, ready to deal with another enemy. But it was only Charlotte.
"They're with us," the girl told him.
Desmond didn't back down, it didn't help him relax at all. For she had told him nothing new. In this, of course, they were allies. But it didn't change anything.
He wanted to kill him. He wanted to find him and kill him, crack his skull with his bare hands. It's not like they needed them to pull this off.
He imagined feeling Richard's skull explode in his hands. Tongue lolling out, writhing, eyes popping out of their sockets. Bursting.
He saw it as clear as if it were right in front of his eyes. As if he was doing it for real.
Was the power of the blood increasing his aggression?
No. That was him. Him and nothing else.
And it was understandable, but he could put his feelings aside. At least for the moment.
Desmond took a deep breath.
"Yes," he said, finally.
He wouldn't have to wait long anyway.
——
"Oh, there's the bitch."
Many eyes turned to that voice, so casual, as if none of this had anything to do with him. The wounded, the dead, those who wished they were or soon would be.
All the horror of watching his own people die in a way that should have been reserved for the enemies of the Empire.
They had already controlled the fire, done all they could.
The last thing they needed now was another mess, or fighting among themselves right in the middle of enemy territory. Still, many sought the voice with genuine anger in their hearts. Those who weren't were too tired, fed up, or near death to care.
Seeing what they saw, however, the anger faded.
Only fear remained.
No one had ever seen anything like it. They called their enemies monsters, demons. Inhuman beings. Few had doubts or thought otherwise. Neither doubts nor reasons to harbor them. For they only saw the Albionese during war and, in war, they were all demons.
However, they agreed on one thing.
That 'it' was indeed not a human being. It couldn't be.
That was what they all thought.
"You don't know how much I've been looking forward to this moment," the creature declared, looking at the corpse of the witch lying at its feet.
——
Desmond finished the fight. Thanks to Charlotte's help and the golden masks, it was over even faster. There should be no Imperial soldiers left inside the palace.
There was a possibility that there were more than he had seen here.
Stragglers, people who had escaped, or at least tried to.
They were no longer his problem anyway.
And they hadn't taken too many casualties. At least not since he had entered the field. Two or three down. Good. The more they survived this, the better.
They needed every last man, if they were going to turn this thing around.
It was not lost on him that this was only a small battle in the midst of an all-out war raging throughout the capital. But it was still true.
The fire was advancing, consuming everything. It would eventually bring the whole place down on their heads. They had to do something about it while there was still time.
Desmond turned to the golden masks.
"Which one of you is the fucking leader?" He realized he didn't have to shout just to make himself heard for a change. Refreshing.
There was no silence, though, not exactly. The sounds of war were coming to him clearly.
But distant. They seemed more distant to him than they actually were, in fact.
One of the golden masks took a step forward. Presumably, why else, in answer to his question.
"Me," he said. He didn't need to prove it. Desmond recognized the voice instantly. The voice of the bastard who had done all that to him.
That had almost killed him.
"All right. You and your men… can you do anything about the flames? We're completely surrounded. We don't want to get out of here if we can avoid it."
It might seem like a change of plans, but it wasn't. It had been true all along, except for him, who was strong enough, and Charlotte. Of course. Because the girl could get three or four streets away in a few flicks of her wrists.
There was nothing the Empire could do to stop her, if she decided to escape.
"We've been trying." A reason, at least, to explain why they had been left behind. He guessed they'd been fighting some stragglers, too. "We've only managed to slow them down."
"Well, that's something. Keep trying."
"You're not the one who gives me orders."
How dare the son of a bitch? He should thank the gods he hadn't cut him down on sight instead of trying his luck. And Desmond's patience.
"But I do," Charlotte interjected before it could go any further. "You heard him."
Richard thought for a moment, then bowed. He wouldn't dare challenge the princess openly. Not at the moment.
That said, Richard organized his men and they left. Only part of them, of course. Not everyone had the necessary affinities to contribute to such an effort. Something like that was possible.
If anything, it was surprising that so many were leaving. That so many could contribute in some way.
He forgot about such trifles as these, the increasing difficulty in breathing and the approaching flames. For Abigail made her presence known, rounding a corner.
Desmond became excited like the child he was.
"Mom," he said unashamedly, in front of so many people, "I'm glad you're alright."
Just because she couldn't be killed didn't mean she wasn't in danger. But she had managed, as she always did. Always.
Desmond went over to give her a tight hug.
As he wrapped his arms around Abigail, Desmond felt a stabbing pain in his chest. He thought it was one of the wounds that hadn't healed yet. He thought there was nothing to worry about.
"Desmond!" Charlotte shouted.
What was the matter?
He looked down. He saw the blood flowing and Abigail's knife stuck in his chest.
He should have realized from the beginning that there was something different.
Desmond lifted his head to return her gaze.
He didn't find her there.
Those eyes… They weren't her eyes.
And the smile that spread across her face, ruthless and gleeful, wasn't Abigail's either. Definitely.