Charlotte went inside what was left of the ship. It wasn't much. What hadn't already collapsed was threatening to do so. Just being inside was dangerous. At any moment, the roof could come crashing down on her. And she wouldn't be fast enough to dodge it, even with the application of her affinity, of portals. All too easily she could imagine herself being crushed.
But she wasn't going to back down.
Even if that there were survivors was only a faint hope.
She could hardly believe she was in this situation. She had, of course, heard the ship shake. And the general confusion and panic. But she had never imagined it would be this bad. Try as she might, she still couldn't remember how she'd ended up here. What the hell had happened, exactly.
Where were Desmond and the others, could they have abandoned her? She didn't like to think about that, it made her feel like her stomach was full of lead, but the only alternative she liked even less.
She saw nothing but corpses everywhere.
Blood coloring the ceiling, the floor, the beams and bars. Entrails hanging like macabre decorations. The inside of the ship was a living hell. Charlotte covered her mouth with one hand, pinched her nose with two fingers.
To tell the truth, she didn't like the smell of the sea.
Much less the smell of alcohol, which accompanied and permeated most sailors. Before, she might have put it down to remnants of prejudice born of her absolute privilege. But now she could say that all the sailors she had met reeked of alcohol.
It was a bad smell, it turned her stomach and made her nervous.
But any smell was better than the mixture of odors that were assaulting all her senses now. The smell of death, in a nutshell. Blood, piss, rot, and.... so many horrible things. She didn't know how she was able to keep what she had for breakfast where it belonged.
At last she found a body that wasn't lying limp, but writhing as he groaned. Someone who was still alive.
For the moment.
It was up to her to keep it that way. Since she had half of the body buried under the rubble.
"Hold on. I'll get you out of here."
She had no idea who he was, or what his name was. It would be someone she'd only met today anyway, so it would be difficult, especially with the blood and dirt caked on his face.
But, for some reason, she desperately wished she at least knew his name. At least that much.
Charlotte crouched down beside the man, slid her hands under the rubble. The rubble had crushed his legs. He wasn't going to get out of here on his own two feet. But he would live, and anything that didn't kill him could be fixed.
He would live. She'd make sure of it. She'd save him.
She began to pull. With all her might, arching her back. But the debris barely moved. That man was looking right through her. She didn't think he was conscious enough to register her presence, even if his eyes were open.
She gritted her teeth.
She threw her head back, pulled harder. Little by little... She could do it. She was small, not very strong, but she could do it. Once he didn't have all that on him, he could crawl on his own, maybe. Or she would carry him, but first of all, lift this thing up, up, up.
She was doing it, she was really doing it!
Charlotte spoke too soon. They slipped out of her hands and ended up landing on the survivor's legs again. The sound of the impact didn't help with her nausea at all.
Or her guilt, for that matter.
To be honest, the guilt was consuming her.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she said as the man whimpered. As if begging for forgiveness for all those who had fallen today.
——
The serpent was dead, all obstacles were out of his way. At last he could access the temple and the weapon it held, the weapon with which he would put an end to his war.
Peace was at his fingertips.
No, what he actually held in his hands was a sword. That wasn't a tool of peace. And you've seen it, he told himself. Drop it. The hand with which he held it trembled for a moment.
He dropped the sword on the steps. It clinked as it fell.
"What's wrong?" Amy asked.
"Nothing. Just... Nothing."
"Are you going to leave it?"
"Yes."
It was very strange, like his behavior in the last few weeks, but no one demanded an explanation.
Better. He didn't want to talk about it.
He couldn't, it was overwhelming.
After abandoning the sword, he felt weaker, of course. But not as much as he had hoped.
He kept himself on his feet. With a little help from the wall, supporting himself with one hand, but he did it.
The silence grew heavier and heavier as they walked deeper into that darkness.
——
She'd apologized for trying and failing, causing him only more pain in the process. But she really should have apologized for trying in the first place.
There was no need to use her hands, to exert force.
Charlotte had lost the sword at some point in the midst of the disaster, but she'd never needed it to employ her magic.
It was easy and quick. Two fluid movements, and it was over.
Would the man make it out of this one? Would he live or die? She was no healer, she had no way of knowing. But at least she had taken the first step.
"I'm going to get you out of here." How many times had she said that in the last few seconds?
The man was looking at her, now. Awake. Alert, or alert enough. Good sign.
Without trying to hide, the lie about their affinity had long since stopped being meaningful, she pulled him out of the ruins of the ship the same way she'd dealt with the debris. Quick and easy.
"Okay. It's a start, Charlotte. You... You can. You can..." Talking to herself might be the first sign of madness, but she needed it, and there was no one else to talk to.
She ran a hand over her sweaty forehead.
She had only just begun.
She hoped so, at least, she hoped he wasn't the only survivor.
——
Soon, of course, they got far enough away from the entrance that the light filtering in from outside didn't reach them at all.
Abigail and he could see in the dark with no trouble.
Christina, for her part, wouldn't be too impaired since shadows were her element. Only somewhat.
Amy had been left in the dark completely.
Abigail flicked on a light, a small flame in her palm as she had done other times.
"I almost can't believe we're this close to ending it all," Christina said. The feeling was mutual.
"Even if that weapon works as Desmond says, it won't put an immediate end to the war. There are troops to spare on this side of the world, not just in the Empire."
Right.
But it was an end, anyway. For them, that was what mattered. They wouldn't need to risk themselves to clean up the... leftovers of the Empire.
"I know, but... It would be checkmate," Christina said. "And they wouldn't need us. We'll be able to rest. We've had moments of peace, but I still get the feeling that we haven't stopped all this time. That's why I can't believe it."
"I think we can all agree on that," Amy said.
Desmond nodded in agreement.
He had a feeling Christina had done the same, though he didn't turn his head to check.
In short, the end was coming, one way or another. And considering that their lives were so dangerous, and the sight he had seen, considering the... the game they were in....
Maybe this would be his last chance to say the things he had held back until now.
He didn't want to live with that regret.
He licked his lips.
"Amy... You're beautiful."
"What?" Amy jumped, like when he'd dropped the sword. And she was flushed from ear to ear. A bit of an overreaction, but Desmond could understand that she had misinterpreted him.
Mostly the fault was hers alone, though, for not letting him finish speaking before she started jumping up and down.
He knew how to continue. But, as always, choosing the right words was difficult. Translating what was in his head into words was sometimes quite impossible. There was a world of distance between heart and language.
"I understand how you feel."
Boy yes, he didn't like what he saw when he looked in the mirror, he never would. But he had realized that he wasn't ugly, just average. The important thing, however, was what Amy believed; she needed it much more than he did.
"But... just because you're not going to be on the cover of a magazine doesn't mean you're ugly. It's just that that man... made you believe otherwise. Amy..."
"Why are you talking like this all of a sudden?" To his surprise, Amy wasn't angry. Rather, she seemed worried.
"In case this is my last chance to do it." He had to be honest. She deserved that. "Amy, Christina and I need you to stop looking at yourself through his eyes. To really bury him, and look at yourself through your mother's eyes. To her you were the most beautiful girl in the world, I'm sure."
Amy couldn't hold his gaze for long. She pulled away, her lips trembling. She pressed them tightly together. It wasn't a pleasant conversation, but it was... necessary. He hoped it would do some good, if not right now, then in the future. He really hoped so.
Nothing would make him happier than to see her accept herself and someday marry some woman who deserved her love, who would accept her and love her as she was and make her happy.
But that wasn't the only thing he had to say, while he still had the chance.
"Christina..."
"Now I wonder what you have in store for me."
He was also sure what he wanted to say to his other dear friend.
The right words, in this case, weren't difficult. Just unpleasant. To him, that is. To Christina, he suspected she would be relieved to hear it.
"You're afraid of losing yourself. When that time comes, I promise I'll kill you. All you have to do is ask me."
Then she wouldn't have to die alone and desperate, in the dark. Like her mentor. She wouldn't have to find her own way out. He wouldn't put her through that. If it had to happen anyway, they might as well share the pain. He would accompany her to the end.
That was what it meant to be a friend.
"Desmond!" Amy protested, of course. It was a bit outrageous. Christina, however, had a very different reaction.
The reaction he had expected from the beginning.
"What if I'm not conscious enough to ask you for anything?"
"If things get that bad, then I won't need to ask you to know it's necessary."
He knew she was telling the truth, so Christina smiled sweetly. As if they now shared a kind of beautiful promise and not one of death.
Their relationship had been strange and twisted from the beginning. How else could the ending be?
"Thank you."
Amy said nothing. She couldn't, in the face of that. Who could have?
Silence descended on them again.
Desmond had no plans to break it off, not this time. Abigail remained, but he had nothing in particular to tell his mother. Nothing he hadn't already confessed to her. And even if he still held something in his chest, they would always be together, one way or another, after all.
So he didn't feel as if this could be his last chance at anything, not with her.
At last they reached the bottom of the stairs. He had the feeling he had been walking for hours down them, though, of course, that was extremely ridiculous.
Another stone door. Which, like the previous one, rolled open when he touched it. It was possible that it opened when anyone touched it, but he doubted it. Otherwise this place wouldn't have remained undiscovered for so long.
Otherwise the war would have ended long ago.
Besides, this had been built for him. It was as if the floor and walls were talking to him. Telling him that they had been waiting for him. He felt a shiver, contemplating the weight of centuries and the countless sacrifices and events that had existed for the sole reason of bringing him to this place.
He would give meaning to it all. With his own hands.
Shedding his own blood for the last time.
When they passed to the other side, a dizziness came over him. He didn't know what was happening to him, but before he knew it, his head hit the ground.
He passed out, surrounded by the shadows of his worried family, fading into darkness as his consciousness dimmed.
——
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a completely different place.
If only that were the only difference. He had changed too. It was hard to put it into words, but there was something inside him. Christina and Amy were still by his side, as expected. What wasn't to be expected was that they didn't seem concerned about him. And Abigail was nowhere to be found.
He felt his posture shifting. His body had just moved without his consent.
What is this, am I dreaming?
Maybe he was dreaming, because the surroundings were the stone room of his vision, weren't they? Or it was a place close enough, at any rate. An approximation. The brain could be deceitful and take liberties, when it came to....
This is not a dream. This is real. This is real.
"What did you say?" Once again, movement that didn't follow his will. On top of that, words he hadn't thought of.
"We can't let you do that," Christina said.
"You've got to be kidding. After so much effort and sacrifice, now that we're so, so close to the finish line.... You want us to stop?"
Desmond tried to stop, or at least say something different. But again even his own actions were beyond his control. His words, his intentions.
"Desmond, please," Christina pleaded, holding her arms out to him. Desmond couldn't understand what was going on, why they were arguing in the first place. There was something he was missing, that he had skipped. There had to be a gap in his memories. What had happened? "This isn't... This isn't right."
If she said it with that look on her face, he was inclined to believe her, whatever it was, and stop it, but what was it? What was it, for fuck's sake?
"Well? It's not that kind of question. It's the only option we've been left with." Wait. "Kill or be killed. The war won't end until one side is wiped out."
Wait, Christina couldn't be talking about using the weapon. Why would she oppose that?
"It's a... It's a cycle, which repeats itself as long as there are people left to carry it out. That's why you have to pull the weeds out by the roots. And salt the earth. Leave nothing."
He hadn't spoken those words willingly, but there was nothing in them that he didn't agree with. The same went for Christina and Amy. It wasn't as if they had come that far deceived, he had told them, and even if he hadn't at the time, what reason could they have had to oppose the end of the war? By whatever method it was, as long as it didn't involve sacrificing one of them.
Was that what it was all about?
No, then he wouldn't do it. Because his life wasn't his, not quite. He would offer it to Abigail to release her from her suffering that had dragged on for two thousand years. If the price was his life, then he would never pay it.
What was going on?
What was going on?
"There are people on the other side who are better off dead. But they're not all like that. There are children, innocent ones. They have a right to live. That's what we learned on the other side of the world, living their lives. This... The very idea is an atrocity."
He couldn't believe Amy was talking like that. That the two of them were so vehemently opposed. But more importantly, what was it about living on the other side of the world? A prolonged infiltration that had led them to sympathize with the enemy, seeing them as equals?
But none of that had happened.
Desmond was very confused, but he was sure that nothing of the sort had happened. This couldn't be true, but at the same time it couldn't be a mere dream. What was this? What was all of this?
"I will wallow in the misery of having committed such an "atrocity" when I have no better things to worry about. It's all or nothing, and there's no other way.
He couldn't believe that had come out of his mouth. Even if they had started saying such stupid things, he would have at least tried to convince them before coming to blows.
And there was no way he would talk as if he was going to fight them seriously. To hurt them. He wasn't capable of hurting them on purpose.
No! Not this again!
And where was Abigail, by the way? Where the hell had she gone, while all this was spiraling out of his control?
"As you wish," Amy said, taking a few steps back, adopting a fighting stance. He couldn't believe it, like everything else, he couldn't believe it, but she drew her sword. She faced him seriously.
What did he do? Smile as if he was very tired.
Desmond couldn't look at his own face, he had nowhere to do so, but he could feel his lips stretching into a parody of a smile. Sad and bitter and empty. Like him.
"I'm immortal. You think you can stop me?"
Immortal.
But that meant... No, no, no, no, no. Impossible. No.
Amy raised the sword.
Christina gathered a few shadows in the room behind them, like hands reaching for any living thing, stretching from the depths of hell to the surface.
The battle seemed, was, inevitable.
So was the conclusion. It had been inevitable even before he revealed that he was immortal. And he should... he should have seen it coming.
And he had, once.
He'd seen it all end before. With a corpse... against a pillar... and a neck torn from side to side. And the blood. The blood.
——
Desmond woke up...
He woke up, finally, returned to the real world sweaty, panting, heart pounding. But the important thing was that he was back and that his surroundings were very different from the hell he had left behind.
He was lying on the floor. And the three of them were around him, all three of them, not a single one was missing. They were preoccupied, as they should be, and they weren't in the stone chamber.
There was nothing out of place, in other words.
Nothing.
"What is it? What did you see?" Mom had noticed, how could she not?
Desmond sat up, not without a little help, Amy's hand gently placed on his back. It had all happened so fast. Anyone would say, therefore, that he wouldn't have an answer to that question. That he would explain it all to her and ask her to give it to him.
That's what he thought he would do. But suddenly he understood. The loose pieces fit together as if they had always been there.
"I think I know." Wasn't he confident enough to say so? Yes, deep down he believed his answer one hundred percent, even if it sounded like a crazy thing to say. Another one to add to the list, that is. "Endings... The gods wanted this to end in blood. Friends divided, killing each other after so long. A cruel irony. But things started to go off the rails at some point."
And now it was quite impossible for everything to end as they had arranged in their sick little game. Or it should be impossible, but they had tried to force things, anyway.
Christina's death, her murder. The return to the past, and the corruption there that had tainted his sword, his very soul even.
All... it had all been for that.
But they failed.
"I didn't see a vision of the future, but of what might have been. Of what they wanted. Yes. I... We..."
Desmond leapt to his feet and shouted into the darkness, defiant.
"We're not pieces in your fucking game!"
Abigail and the others looked at him as if fearing he would drop dead, simply for daring to stand up to the gods like that. Practically spitting in their faces.
But... Nothing happened. Nothing at all. He should have seen that coming, too. As he did during 'that', Desmond smiled, but this time eagerly.
"Of course you wouldn't kill me. You still need me, huh?" There was a long pause. No one filled the silence. Maybe they weren't just worried about his life, but his mental health. But he was right. The pieces fit together perfectly. "Let's move on."
It didn't take them long to reach the stone chamber. The first step inside was made with fear, as if everything was going to fall apart just by being there. But nothing happened.
They reached the wall where the weapon was. The weapon to which he had to offer his blood. Just a little blood. He had bled more than enough, hundreds of times the amount of blood that was in his body. That was the thing about leading a life as full of danger as his. And being special.
That he had so much endurance, that his regeneration made him practically immortal, only meant and had meant that he would suffer more.
But it would all end here. Now.
"With this."
Desmond bit his hand. He didn't need a sword to draw blood.
He removed his teeth and moved his hand forward. Beginning to spill his blood on the wall, feeding the weapon.
His blood began to flow down the grooves in the stone. It made him think of a miniature dam, of water pressure, for some reason. But soon he stopped distracting himself with useless thoughts.
After not so long, everything was just like in the vision. What had caused them to embark on this journey. His soul, his spirit, however it was, detached itself from his body and ascended.
Through the ceiling, over the treetops.
Up into the heavens.
He didn't have a sense of his own body, but he could see himself, only transparent. Like a ghost. He clenched his fists, turning them over.
It's starting, that was all he could think about now.
It's starting.
With great speed, his spirit traveled to the Empire. He recognized it instantly, its cities were too different. The width of the streets, the vehicles, the buildings that brushed the sky from the sheer size of them. They were very different, yes. In everything. That's why this ending had been inevitable from the beginning. And he had no real choice. Especially now that they were losing.
It was this or death.
That thought reminded him of what he had said in the vision of a different "ending," and he grimaced.
He had realized something else of equal importance.
It was an Imperial city, of course.
But not just any city. This was the capital, Kronos, which he had stormed only a few months ago. Making it tremble. Filling the ground with cracks, and dragging those buildings that aimed for the heavens back to the ground where they had been built.
Then, of course, they had been hit back. That was how the eternal war worked.
Now, he would strike back at them once more.
A blow from which they would never be able to recover. This was the end.
——
Desmond began to shake back and forth, as if he were dizzy. Abigail's first thought, naturally, was that this was ridiculous. He hadn't lost that much blood by offering it to the weapon.
But then she thought maybe it had been enough, considering he was poisoned.
A moment later, her mind went blank.
For she saw him fall backwards, eyes closed. Fainting. Her body did manage to react, catching him before his head hit the ground.
Would he be all right?
Abigail didn't know, but at least he was alive. She could feel his heart beating, and besides, his being dead didn't mean anything. He was the only person similar to her that she had encountered in two thousand years, thanks to the power he had received with the contract. That was one of the reasons that had finally convinced her that Desmond was the one she had been waiting for, the one who would put an end to everything.
But, although she could feel his heartbeat perfectly, Abigail felt the need to check his pulse with her own hands.
Only then did she feel...
Somewhat calmer. Not completely.
She wouldn't be completely calm until he opened his eyes again, and smiled at her, telling her that it was all over. That now they could just be together and be happy.
"Is he alive?" Christina asked. Her voice trembled.
Abigail licked her lips.
"Yes."
"What if something's gone wrong?"
"It's too late to change anything."
The harsh reality, as much as she hated to admit it.
——
At last the disaster began.
The end, not of all things, but of the world he had known. Before his eyes, the earth opened up like the mouth of hell, spitting flames everywhere.
Of course, panic spread quickly.
They ran for their lives. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Nothing could protect them, neither their strange vehicles nor their huge buildings, which they stacked higher and higher as if to defy the gods. To trespass on their land and desecrate it, as they did with every new invention.
Desmond no longer believed that the domain of the gods was sacred, or that they deserved any respect.
But no matter, it didn't change the facts.
The simple fact... They had brought this on themselves. After two thousand years of war, it would all come to an end this way by their own decisions.
What was it like? Like this:
The ground kept opening up like a great wound, spitting out the flames of hell. But the disaster didn't stop there. As he had seen, nature itself rose up against the Imperials.
First the ground, then the skies.
Strong winds began to blow. Winds capable not only of ripping trees from the ground, but entire buildings. Of course, people caught in those winds were blown away like leaves.
Earth, fire, wind. The next element was water.
There was no sea nearby, if anything some rivers, but it didn't seem to matter. The water came from somewhere, or was spontaneously generated, just as with the snake. Forming tsunamis that swept everything in their path. The collapsed buildings were dragged in the opposite direction to the wind, the vehicles that had been blown away were knocked down by the water.
Water. The origin of life, perhaps the most powerful force of all.
It had taken too long, but nature was putting an end to what it had created.
No, there was nothing natural about this.
From the heavens, Desmond watched as five million citizens fell to nature's wrath and all that was left of Kronos were the mountains surrounding it, like a valley of death, spitting smoke, amidst a haze of ash and dust that surrounded the city. No living thing would pass through it.
"I chose this. I..."
To tell the truth, he felt nothing.
Maybe he should, even though these were his enemies, even though this was the right thing to do, his only true choice. But he felt nothing.
As he stared at the destruction with a blank mind, the image of that mother loomed in his mind for the first time in a long time. Half dead, her skull caved in, he had watched as she clung desperately to her baby, believing she could still save it.
A baby without a face. Whose face had been crushed by the debris.
Only then did he feel like vomiting. This limitless disaster was too much to comprehend, just like the destruction he had unleashed on the capital back then.
But that woman, that poor baby? That had been so close.
Real. Personal.
It was impossible to look away from something like that.
——
Desmond finally moved in her arms.
She felt it immediately. He was waking up. Did that mean it was all over? That the Empire was nothing but ashes and the war, which she had seen being born, had come to an end?
"Son, are you...?"
Desmond stood, ignoring her, saying nothing. But seeing the way he moved was answer enough. No, he wasn't well, and no wonder. He had spilled his blood, activated a weapon that could destroy the world. Surely that had left him weak. There was also the snake venom coursing through his system, of course. She couldn't forget about that. Abigail rose to help her boy to his feet.
Her hands didn't reach him.
That was because Christina said something so strange that Abigail instinctively stopped halfway, before even registering the meaning of her words.
"Get away, that's not Desmond."
"What are you saying?"
"You heard me!"
Desmond summoned the sword back to his hand, then.
Why? Something was wrong.
Desmond, it was Desmond, wasn't it, turned to them. Danger didn't burn in his eyes.
Nothing burned there. His gaze was empty as a doll.
The situation had gotten out of hand once again. Abigail swallowed hard. But she didn't feel fear, what she felt was rage, fueled by her frustration.
"Who are you?" Christina asked, then opened her eyes wide, almost as if she had already received an answer. Even though Desmond hadn't opened his mouth. Her ability at work, again. She didn't like what that suggested. She didn't like any of it. "Wait... Are you the Desmond who traveled back in time to save me or the one who didn't have to go through that?"
Now she was really... unsettled. Could that be true? Until not too long ago, Abigail would have said that time travel was impossible in the first place. Something for tales and legends.
"I don't know." So it was true, after all? One or the other. She knew it already, that it must be true, after all, Christina could feel it. She just didn't want to accept it. "But this is my body. This is my life... "He gritted his teeth, "and I'm going to get it all back!"
Desmond lunged forward, sword in hand and roaring with his mouth wide open, baring all his teeth. He was ready to fight. It was one disaster after another. Always.
Abigail was so tired she didn't want to think, but that didn't stop her from reacting as was appropriate. Shooting a stream of water at him from both hands.
The water hit him hard, throwing him backwards and against the wall.
He heard Desmond gasp after the impact. Abigail grimaced as if she had been the one to take the hit. The boy resisted, grunting, squirming, but he couldn't separate his back from the wall due to the immense pressure of the water.
He stopped suddenly, pinning his eyes on her.
It wasn't Desmond, it just looked like him. But she felt that look as if he'd plunged a knife into her heart, and she even apologized internally for attacking him. She didn't know what to think. Her head was a mess.
"And to think that you, of all people, would get in my way. You're supposed to help me!"
Oh god. She had likened his stare to a knife, but now she really felt the bite of steel. Abigail couldn't stand that look for another second, let alone his words. What was she doing?
What should she be doing?
Whoever he was, even if it wasn't her Desmond, it was utterly impossible to avoid being affected by him.
Abigail made the water disappear, giving him the opportunity to return to the charge, to hurt them.
But that Desmond, or whoever he was, didn't take it.
He stayed right there. Looking back at her.
"You don't know... what I've had to go through. Being locked inside my body, waiting for an opportunity." She'd rather he'd take his rage out on her again. Hearing him so broken, seeing him like this, it was a thousand times worse. "Having to believe I'd get one, because otherwise I'd go crazy. I just want my life back."
If he was a Desmond, a Desmond.... Abigail had a responsibility to help him, right? But there was a problem, a fact that cut through the fog that shrouded her mind and the guilt just as thick.
"And for that, what? Did you intend to hurt them? Kill them?"
If it was him, he would never do that. Never. Yeah... There was no problem, no conflict. The thing in front of her was an enemy and nothing more.
Right
"Yes! Yes!" The enemy admitted it bluntly, roaring as he aggressively moved forward. Christina and Amy, at her sides, prepared for the fight once again, but that one only took a few steps forward. He didn't attack. At least not yet. "I love them, but there's nothing worse than that. Nothing."
If what he said was true...
No, maybe there was nothing worse.
"The gods made the terms very clear. If that is the price I must pay in order to get what is mine and start over, then I will regret it for the rest of my miserable life. But I will do it. Mom, get out of my way. Better yet, help me."
If it was true, then there was no good decision.
"That's not Desmond," said Christina. "He would never do anything like that. You know that, don't you?"
Christina wasn't the only one who had noticed her doubts. When it came to Desmond, she was an open book. And she was facing someone claiming to be Desmond. So, that thing turned on her, fast. And very effectively.
"You're not going to help me. What a mother you are. But of course, from the beginning you've only wanted me for your own self-interest." He couldn't have chosen more painful words.
In the beginning Abigail had been like that. She had been selfish, thinking only of herself, though even then she had tried to keep him away from her. In time, moreover, she had come to love him sincerely. To wish the best for him.
He was like her son. The son she'd never had.
And she was his mother. She really felt like his mother, not just a role she was playing to make him happy.
"Shut up," she said without much strength.
It's not Desmond, she told herself. It's not him. No way.
"You're trying to drown the guilt of using me as a sacrifice with affection." Using him? She wished it didn't have to be that way, but if he didn't do it, no one would. All she wanted was peace. Was that so selfish? "But you don't feel love, you can only imitate it."
If she was able to look at him while he was saying those things to her, it was because she was petrified with horror. It wasn't Desmond, it wasn't Desmond, but it didn't matter, she would hear those words in her head, like a maddening echo, until the day she finally left this world.
"Or are you going to tell me some sob story about how I'm the son you never had?" As if he read her mind. Shit, she couldn't take this. "The motherhood opportunity that curse took away from you? Come on. You're dead inside. You know I'm right."
He wasn't!
He wasn't! He didn't know anything about her, let alone Desmond. Her child would never say such things. So it was easy to make a decision, the one she should have made all along.
Abigail attacked him again. The jet of water threw him aside, through a pillar, breaking it. The thing that had gotten into Desmond rolled through the dust and debris, ending up on its knees.
Coughing from the force of the impact.
The thing lifted its head.
That mysterious flesh spread across the blade of her son's sword, beating like the heart of a wild animal on the hunt. That was...
Like the specter of time.
"Okay," declared the impostor. "We'll do it your way."
Then he went after them with all his might.
——
Kronos had been shattered before their eyes.
But the cataclysm wouldn't end there, of course. Losing the capital, along with the citizens and forces gathered there, was a great blow no doubt.
But it couldn't end the war.
Nothing would end until one side was wiped off the map. That was what he had always believed.
The disaster and he was swept away to another city. Near or far? He had no way of knowing. He had made the trip in a second, but his soul could have traveled thousands of miles in that instant.
He had to witness the same thing.
A disaster on a scale that made it all impersonal, unreal, especially from such a great distance. It was as if it had nothing to do with him. As if it wasn't even happening. He felt nothing, naturally, because it was like watching anthills being crushed by a boot.
He realized that, in any case, it didn't matter what he felt about it. Even if he wanted to stop this, to look for another way, and he didn't want to.....
"What I've set in motion can no longer be stopped."
If only he knew what else he had set in motion.