"If you're lucky, you won't go mad."
Blackbriar stood over Damian's prone form, his imposing presence suffocating Damian, as though the First Seat's very will was a tangible force.
"Perhaps you'll even find a home for the Deep in your heart. But I wouldn't count on any of the Angels taking pity upon you, you wretched little boy."
The self-proclaimed King of the Deep flicked his sword, and it transformed back into a cane once more. He turned and directed his words to a far-off corner of the plaza, where a man stood, watching events unfold.
"Are you satisfied, King of Flames? I have done as you requested. The boy cannot Unchain the Angel anymore. Now I demand my compensation."
What?
Pain. Pain. Painpainpainpain.
Damian blinked through the stream of tears spilling from his eyes, and saw his future self step into the dim light.
No—
The older Damian shoved an envelope of documents into Blackbriar's outstretched hand.
"Here. Blueprints for an enhanced Gateway, based on your daughter's innovations fifteen years from now. Triple the range, with half the number of Apostles."
Blueprints? The future? What the hell…? I was—no—I was betrayed—?!
A fat raindrop fell from the clouds and smacked onto the cobblestones. It was joined by another, each a solitary drip from the heavens striking Damian's cheek and rolling onto the ground.
"A pleasure doing business with you," Blackbriar drawled, tucking the documents beneath his arm.
Damian twisted to look at his future self, a single word slipping past his tortured throat.
"Why?"
Had this all been a grand setup from the beginning? Blackbriar and his future self working together? But why? For what purpose?
Whywhywhywhywhywhy—
"I'm sorry, kid, I really am."
The other Damian squatted down, raindrops pelting the both of them with increased fervor. The older man sighed, his expression downcast. When he spoke again, it was with a dejected, distanced tone—as though he were merely repeating facts he'd rather not remember.
"Some years from now, you will unleash a great catastrophe upon this world. You will be responsible for breaking the chains of the Angel of the Flame."
Something prickled at the back of Damian's mind—hazy, half-remembered dreams of blazing Angels and fire sweeping the horizon.
But those were just dreams… Right?
"In releasing the Angel, you will doom this world to a future of fire and carnage. You will lose everyone you have ever loved, everyone you ever hoped to protect. They will be snatched away from you, and you will never be able to bring them back."
No… That's impossible. I would never—
On the ground, Damian grunted. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of what his older self was telling him.
"I—I don't understand. Why…?"
The other Damian gave a small, sad smile.
"Why did we do it? We thought we'd save more lives than we'd lose. We just—we just wanted to save the ones we love. That's all we've ever done."
Damian wanted to deny it—he wanted to reject these words. He wanted to shout and scream, to refuse that he'd ever cause pain and destruction—
—But is he wrong?
The other Damian continued his tale, heedless of his younger self's inner turmoil.
"As for why I came back? I wanted to undo what I'd done. But time doesn't work like that, though. What's done, is done. There's no salvation for you or me. So, I thought to myself, If I can just save one more life, then that'll be enough. If I can save one timeline's worth of people, then it'll all be over, and I can be at peace."
The falling rain quickened, coming down harder on their backs.
Morgan Blackbriar had retreated, standing on the office's steps, next to his bodyguards and the unconscious Tia.
Only the two Damians were left exposed, their conversation lost to the falling rain.
"Why… not… tell me this? Why… do… this?"
The other Damian gave a low, hollow laugh.
"And you would trust a man who claims he's from the future? You'd trust a man who says not to do something, simply 'because'? If we really are the same, you know the answer to that question."
Damian clenched his jaw tight.
Of course I know. I would do whatever it took to save my friends and loved ones. I would always make the decision I thought was right—and the consequences be damned.
The rain was pouring down now, soaking them both to the bone, and the other Damian had to raise his voice just for his words to be heard.
"This was all I could do. You might hate me, but in time, you'll realize I've done you a great service. I've saved you, Damian. I've saved you."
Saved? Saved me? How fucking dare you.
The pain the pain the painpainpainpain—
No. He could use the pain. Pain was useful. Pain was a reminder he was alive. The empty sensation in his chest where the Flame had once been—he could fill that hole in, and stand upon it. He would not allow his life, his fate, his own future to be dictated by the whims of some trespasser in his time.
"You've only saved yourself."
Damian used one arm to push himself into a sitting position. His hair was plastered to his face, his clothes drenched. The winter's rain had soaked him through to the bone, and without the inherent warmth of the Angel's Flame, he was chilled to the core.
None of that matters. Push it down. Use the pain use the pain usethepain—
"You're selfish and a fucking coward!" Damian snarled, hurling his words against his future self. The older man's eyes widened, and he rocked back on his heels, his mouth open in surprise.
"You're a fucking fool, too. So what? Something went wrong in your time and you decided to turn tail and run? Some king you are!!"
The other Damian's eyes darkened, and the amber flecks in his eyes blazed dangerously.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about, child. You weren't there! We lost everyone! What else was I supposed to do?!"
"And THIS was your answer?! You couldn't live with your failure so you denied the truth? You rejected your reality instead of living with the consequences?! What kind of leader does that?"
"Don't talk like you know me, I did everything I could—"
"Then you were a fucking failure!!"
Wind ripped at Damian's clothes and sent the rain lashing into his eyes. He slammed a clenched fist on the ground, splitting his knuckles. Blood trickled into the pooling water, running into the cracks between the cobblestones.
He leaned forward until his nose was inches from his other self. He lowered his voice to a deadly hiss, like venom slipping past his lips.
"Have you forgotten? The one and only thing you and I wanted? All we ever wanted was to save the ones we loved."
The other Damian reeled back at the intensity in his younger self's words. The elder narrowed his eyes, icy water dripping from his brows. When he spoke, his voice was cracked and filled with disbelief.
"You think you'd do better than me? You should be grateful. I've saved your life. Saved the lives of countless people in this world! That's something neither of us could ever do, no matter how many times we tried!"
"That's something you could never do, perhaps. We might share the same face, but we aren't the same person. Don't speak to me like my future has been decided."
Slowly, steadily, pushing away the burning pain in his heart, Damian stood, until he towered over the interloper from the future.
"You are no King of Sidralis, and you are unfit to bear my name," Damian thundered, all his hatred and anger and frustration filling his voice. He cast his judgment down upon his future self, like the Angel Themselves rendering judgment upon a sinner.
"I don't care what mistakes you made, or what future you claim I'll face. I will meet my fate head-on, with courage and conviction. You're no king. You're just a broken man. I will never become you."
Damian turned away.
There was nothing left to say to that imitation; that pretender who wore Damian's skin. If the future was supposed to turn him into a man like that, then he'd do whatever it took to change his fate.
The other Damian sat in the rain, silent, unmoving.
"Are we done with the local theatre? Careful there, boy, next time I stab your heart, it'll be blood, not embers that comes pouring out."
Morgan Blackbriar jeered as Damian approached him.
Damian stopped a few feet from Blackbriar and the guards. The rain still hammered down on him, but he barely felt the icy chill anymore. It was not rage that returned to his heart, but instead, a burning conviction that strengthened his voice and dispelled the tremors from his limbs.
"Give Tia back. She was only bait to lure me to you, wasn't she?"
Blackbriar inclined his head, his white-and-black eyes twitching erratically.
"Well, I suppose that's one way of looking at it. She's just a little brat to me, and besides, I have what I came for."
He gestured to the documents tucked under his arm. Something about inventions from the future? Damian didn't give a damn. He could figure all that out later, once he was far away from here.
But he wasn't leaving without Tia.
I'm not leaving anyone behind ever again.
"Give her to me," Damian repeated, more firmly. If it came to a fight, he had nothing—Blackbriar knew that, too.
The self-proclaimed King of the Deep stood wrapped in a cloak of darkness, tendrils of inky blackness swirling around his feet.
"And what do you plan to do afterward, if I may be so bold as to enquire?"
Damian glared at the man.
"I'm going to find whoever murdered my father, kill them, and take back my crown."
"Hah! Don't make laugh, boy! You're Flameless now. How do you plan on being coronated? Will your precious Holy Order even follow a Flameless King like you?"
"A king is more than just his strength with an Angel. When I take my place on the throne, I'll come for your so-called 'kingship' as well."
Blackbriar's lips split wide and he let out a mad cackle.
"You know, little princeling, I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun. Go, take this little daughter of mine, I don't care what becomes of her."
He gestured with his chin, and the bodyguards shoved Tia's lifeless body forwards. Damian caught her and staggered back. He cradled her head against his shoulder, and was relieved to feel her breath hot against his cheek.
Blackbriar slammed his cane against the top step.
"Listen well, Damian Roswald," he crowed. "When next we meet, you and I will battle to the death. I suggest you prepare yourself for your inevitable defeat."
And with that ominous proclamation, Blackbriar swept back inside, followed by his bodyguards. The doors to his offices slammed shut, and the wide beam of light was extinguished, plunging the plaza back into watery darkness. The Deep's presence retreated from the square, allowing the gas-lit lamps to sputter back to life, spreading a pale light across the rain-slicked cobblestones.
Damian turned, still clutching Tia tightly to his chest, and saw that his future self had disappeared into the night.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, Tia…"
If the girl heard his soft murmur, she didn't respond. There was still so much he didn't know—about her relation to her father, and about the documents that Blackbriar had received. But all of that could wait—everything could wait.
What mattered most, at that moment, was getting his allies—his friends—back.
Damian took a hesitant step forward, and then wondered if he was seeing things.
A bright light shone from Hunter's Lane, throwing back the shadows and steaming the rain as it fell from the clouds above. He blinked, using his spare hand to push wet hair from his eyes, and realized that he was—thankfully—not hallucinating.
Into the alley came several unexpected faces.
"Damian?! Damian!"
The Captain of the Flameguard sprinted across the cobblestones, her metal armor clanging loudly.
"Thank the Angel you're safe!"
Lynn quickly assessed him for any obvious wounds. She saw Tia slumped in his arms and her lips formed a thin line.
"Is she…?"
"She's alive, but unconscious."
"Good. Hey! Over here, a little help!"
The group that had been with Lynn hurried over, and two Priests took Tia from Damian, carrying her body gently between them. A tall man with an ugly face and an even uglier personality glared down at Damian, his expression twisted in disgust.
"Well don't you look like a wet little rat," remarked Nicholas Lombrass. A shield of the Angel hovered above his head, turning the incoming rain to steam—the very height of foolish, outlandish abuse of the Angel's power.
Damian swallowed past a thick lump in his throat. An uneasy sensation that was all-too-familiar crept into his gut.
"Don't look so upset, little prince," the Marquis said, smiling wide. "The Duchy of Lombrass has generously decided to offer you shelter and protection. Congratulations. You're being saved."