They were going to finish this. I struggled to rise, but my body wouldn't obey. I could feel the darkness closing in, the edges of my vision going black.
Just as one of them raised his hand, a sphere of wind forming in his palm, a figure seemed to blur.
A leg, I noticed, caught on blistering crimson flames clubbed down with a speed that was almost impossible to follow. And the following moment, the man's body was cleaved into half, each side burning. The long coat started to melt instantaneously, sticking to his skin and making the man cry so loud that it might've reverberated throughout Bergen.
They paused, turning towards the newcomer.
I blinked, trying to clear my vision. A figure stood at the mouth of the alley, silhouetted against the dim light. It was a short man with cropped black hair and almond shaped black eyes.
Jack, I noticed. Arthur's Taekwondo's instructor.
"Are you okay, young--" Before he could talk, blades of wind, balls of water and shards of ice arched upwards and then fell down on him like a fish net.
All of the spells collided and a mushroom of smoke raised upwards.
For a while they totally disregarded me and kept their eyes on the impact point where the spells had collided.
Jack's hair fluttered for a single, fleeting moment as he stepped forward, and I saw a flash of metal. The object suddenly got caught on flames and flashed, and then one of the mages cried out, clutching his arm as blood spurted from the deep gash.
I took the opportunity to push myself up, using the wall for support. My vision was still blurry, but I could make out their battle, his weapon weaving a deadly pattern through the air.
Even his arms and legs were on fire now, as the smouldering flames burned the air, vapourised the water and melted the ice.
As they were fighting, I saw the one that I had tackled into a house of people and kicked in the ribs, slowly sneaking in on Jack.
He took out the gun from his back and aimed it at Jack who was engaged in a close quarters spellcasting fight.
He can't protect himself from his blind spot.
In the chaos, I staggered forward, desperation gnawing at me.
I didn't know him too well. But I couldn't let someone like him die. Someone who was risking his life for me.
The pistol glinted under the bent streetlight as he aimed at Jack.
My heart pounded in my chest, time seeming to slow down. There was no room for hesitation. With a burst of arcanum and adrenaline, I lunged forward like a missile, tackling him to the wall, once again.
We rolled and hit the pavement hard, the impact jolting my bones, but I didn't let go.
He started to club the gun's metal surface on my back. Each strike felt like it was cracking my bones. A thin layer of Arcanum covered me as I managed to wrest the gun away from his grasp, tossing it aside.
My hands flailed wildly to the side as my fingers touched something long and hard. I grabbed it – a metal bar from the rubble we were wrestling on.
Before he could react, I positioned myself behind him and then pressed the bar against his neck, using all my strength to pin him down. My own back pressed hard against the back of the wall that had spiky metal jutting out of it.
His eyes bulged with panic, and his hands clawed at the bar, struggling for breath.
Jack was holding well against the last 2. One of them had a hacked-off arm and the other's face was half burnt while Jack himself had little to no injury.
I was pinning the assassin down when suddenly a cold splash of water hit me.
A summoned water bubble encased my head like a deep-sea diving helmet.
I gasped for air, but only water filled my lungs. The sensation of drowning was immediate and terrifying. Very terrifying. My vision blurred for…hundredth time today, as I fought against the urge to breathe.
My hands tightened around the bar, my mind getting torn by a whirlwind of conflict.
I didn't want to kill this man.
I had tortured countless spies before, yes, as part of the "mighty" Olvasens because that was all I was capable of.
Capable of breaking prisoners.
But I had never taken a life. The thought of crossing that line, of becoming a killer, made my stomach churn.
But the water, the suffocating, drowning water, thinned the array of choices I could make.
My grip tightened further, my muscles screaming in protest.
I let out a gurgling roar as more water rushed through like water infiltrating a broken hull and the mage's struggles weakened, his hastened breaths turning into desperate gasps. I pulled harder, every fibre of my being fighting against the rising panic in my chest.
Then, with a rather muted and less dramatic snap, his neck gave way and my body jerked backwards, the spiky metal stabbing through my coat, shirt and skin alike, followed by the warm sensation of blood flowing out.
The water bubble vanished instantly, leaving me gasping for air and my lungs burning.
I let go of him and his limp body subtly leaned to the side as the metal bar slipped away from my hands.
As the survival instincts washed away and rationality returned, I felt the weight of what I had just done.
And boy did the realisation of it struck me like Sekiro Deathblow.
An intangible river of blood started to run between my fingers.
I had always known where my line was drawn. Torture, they said…as I was told, was an art.
An art I mastered to please her…to see that glint of approval in my mother's eyes, to feel like I belonged in her world.
But now, existing in this current moment…reality, I can't help but wonder if I've been fooling myself all along.
I killed to save Jack. But that justification just feels hollow. The dying gasps of that assassin were fresh in my mind, blurring the line I swore I'd never cross. Torture was my compromise, my twisted way of fitting in, of proving my worth.
But this was the ironclad truth now, despite how painful it was.
I had become what I despised the most…feared the most.
A murderer.
I was…no, I am a hypocrite. Always have been.
What kind of person finds solace in causing suffering? And now, what kind of person finds justification in killing, even for a "noble" cause?
I've seen the faces of people I have tortured, the fear and agony I've inflicted, and told myself it was for a greater good, for recognition, for love.
But love shouldn't demand such cruelty, should it?
I understood it when I found Lila. The love of my life.
I had double vowed for her…for our future's sake, to never cross this line. Even it meant disregarding mom's approval.
And now that my hands are irrevocably tainted, I can't ignore this growing doubt.
Is it really enough to stop short of killing?
Does that make me any better than those who do? Or have I merely found a different kind of darkness to lose myself in?
The reflection staring back at me was not the hero I wanted to be since I was a little child, not the person Lila would truly be proud of.
My mother might wave this off as "It was just one life." but it is very different for me.
After all this, can I even find a way back to the light, or have I drifted too far into the shadows to ever return.
But I can't even let this drag me down as well. I had to live with it. Not forgive myself, but live with it. For Lila's sake, for our future, I have to try.
I don't need forgiveness. Just a continued reminder of what I have done.
That would do it.
Those words and Jack's desperate calls were the last thing I heard as darkness claimed me, and I fell into the realm of unconsciousness, guilt and deep regret being the sole company that subconsciously accompanied me.