The rapidly expanding wall of fire would soon engulf him.

During the attack on the academy, he had experienced a vision of Abigail being burned alive.

Even that hadn't been able to kill her. But she was special. That had been thanks to the curse of immortality. Desmond carried no such curse. What he had was a great power of regeneration, but it had a limit.

It wasn't hard to imagine that was the limit.

Fire, one of the four great forces of nature.

Move, he told himself.

His legs were frozen - from fear? Hadn't he learned years ago that standing still would do no good? That no one would come to solve his problems?

Desmond broke into a run, circulating magical energy through his legs.

It was close.

But he managed to get inside the room before the flames reached him.

They only passed sideways.

He looked down at his body, worried that his clothes or hair might have caught fire.

It was fine.

For the time being.

Now that he was temporarily safe, he finished reinforcing his entire body.

Out of fear, he had missed the opportunity to do anything other than retreat to his room. And now he was trapped here.

But even if he had reacted the first time, he wasn't sure he would have done anything else.

Whether he could, for example, have run across the corridor.

He feared that the flames would have knocked down his defenses and devoured him without resistance in a matter of seconds. Yes...

Maybe he could have made it.

Maybe Desmond could have. But, had he failed, he would have earned a horrible death.

It hadn't been a decision.

Still, he had been right to retreat to the room....

Had he really?

Even if it had been risky, perhaps it was the only thing that could have saved him. Because now he was trapped in his room.

Because of the fire, he couldn't open the door.

But if he stayed in here, he would eventually die choking from the smoke or burning.

Desmond should...

It was too late to think about what he should or shouldn't have done.

Need to focus on what he could do.

On getting out of this.

Abigail appeared in front of him at that moment, scaring him to death.

Because at first, between the shadows in the room and the fear pounding in his chest, he thought it was an enemy.

That wasn't even a possibility, of course.

They would have set fire to the ship and then abandoned it.

They wouldn't leave anyone behind to make sure he died. Even if it was a good plan, and it wasn't, no one would be safe in following it.

It didn't take her long to realize that something was wrong.

It took her only a glance, in fact.

What's going on here?

"It's a long story. I got a boat... and now it's burning and I'm stuck. Because I was an idiot. A desperate idiot."

In his own defense, it wasn't as if he hadn't come here unaware of the risks.

That Roman might want, nay, need to get back at him because of how he'd humiliated him.

But he had convinced himself that his case was different.

Because he was a mage. Because he couldn't afford to pick a fight with him, and it would be best for Roman to get him out of the way as soon as possible, just as Roman himself had told him after meeting with him in the middle of the night.

The logic was still sound.

In truth, it was strange that it had gone this far.

But still... He had been stupid.

He shouldn't have risked it.

His life wasn't his alone. Abigail's also depended on him.

He had no right to treat his life carelessly, therefore.

"I don't know what to do," Desmond admitted, his voice trembling.

The hallway?

"I can't get out. The fire is blocking the way and soon.... No, it's already here."

Not the fire, the smoke. He noticed it first by the smell, then turned to look at it.

Dense black smoke was crawling under the door as if it were something alive.

"I... The window. If I go out the window, I might be able to swim to the surface and get to shore."

It's possible, but don't do it.

"Why not?"

I think you could recover from drowning. But not while your lungs are full of water. If you fail, someone would have to rescue you, pull you out of the water. And you can't depend on that.

No, of course he couldn't. No one would come for him.

Desmond had left Christina and Amy behind, and Abigail was trapped far away from him.

But...

"But what do I do? What can I do?"

Desmond was putting everything in the hands of a higher power again. But he couldn't think clearly.

He felt the heat of the flames, his throat stung, he was already coughing from time to time from the smoke, despite the physical reinforcement.

He backed away from the door as he waited for the answer.

You can't go down the hall, Abigail said. But you can make your way through the rooms. Tearing down wall after wall.

... She was right.

How had he not thought of that before?

Hurry, Desmond. My boy. You can't die here.

"Yes. I can't."

Desmond drew his sword.

He had laid down with the gun and sword on him, of course.

He had been stupid enough to hold out hope that this would go well, but not stupid enough to let his guard down. At least he could say that much.

He swung the sword with all his might, screaming as if to drown out the roar of the flames.

Six blows.

That was all it took to open a sizable hole in the wall, but it still wasn't big enough for a person to get through. Not even sideways.

Desmond grabbed the hole from both sides and pulled, widening the hole.

He passed through the hole. Abigail simply walked straight through the wall.

He could do this. It could work.

Once he reached the end of the hallway, he'd go up the stairs and then.... Then, he would see. But it could work.

That's all that matters. Don't think about anything else.

The only thing that worried him, the only thing that could spoil everything, was that he might not be fast enough to make it.

Six blows per wall, give or take.

How many walls?

It didn't matter!

Desmond kept working at it.

He smashed the wall and moved on to the next room. He had the feeling that flames were at his heels.

He was afraid. Of course he was afraid.

He had grown accustomed to acting trusting that, even in the worst case scenario, he could come back to life. Even if he had said otherwise. Even if he had tried not to.

But now things had changed. Now death was all around him.

He didn't want to burn to death.

It was too horrible. But the thought of trying his luck out the window, of slowly drowning while his whole body went numb, turned cold as frost, shutting down, then sinking and resting at the bottom of the water until someone pulled him out.

If anyone ever pulled him out. That...

That, too, was too horrible.

For the first time in a long time, what was pushing him forward, what was giving him strength, was fear for himself and not for the people he cared about.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this, I can still do this....

Abigail stepped forward, stepping through the wall like a ghost as he struggled to break through it.

Once you're done with this wall, you have three more left, she informed him.

Three. Good to know.

He nodded his head. Only three, then... he could probably open the door to the fourth room and run out to the stairs.

Probably, in that short distance he wouldn't die.

Probably wasn't enough when it came to his life.

He broke down the third wall, moving into the fourth room.

Soon after, Desmond fell to his knees, coughing loudly, as if he had something stuck in his throat.

Smoke. Most victims in a fire die from smoke inhalation, not from the flames themselves. You don't recover so easily from that.

Abigail was far away from him.

If he were to die from drowning, he probably wouldn't wake up. Not until the flames began to devour him as with everything else.

He felt a chill, even though his whole body was covered in sweat.

An urge to vomit that he could barely contain.

He gulped.

You can do this, Desmond. There's nothing or no one that can stop you.

If only he had the same faith in himself that Abigail put in him.

If only he knew why that faith remained even though he had betrayed her the other night. Though he was to blame for her having been captured in the first place.

But he wasn't going to complain.

Whatever the reason, he was grateful for it from the bottom of his heart.

Not now. But, when he moved on to the next one, he'd take off running for the stairs.

He'd waited too long already.

Prudence was fine. But in a situation like this, there was no good option.

Sometimes, you had to risk everything to have a chance to win it all.

He plucked up his courage and opened the door to the fifth room.

He flew out.

Fire rushed in, filling the space. As a result he was thrown backwards. Desmond fell to the floor. Lying there, he saw the flames looming over him.

He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could and ran for the stairs.

In and through the flames.

Desmond didn't scream. It hurt too much to scream. And his chest. His chest. He couldn't breathe properly because of the smoke.

Soon more than running he was staggering.

About to reach the top of the stairs, he lost strength in his legs.

He fell rolling backwards and ended up sprawled on the stairs.

Shit, his whole body ached.

He had experienced intense and diverse agonies, but none of them compared to the touch of fire.

All animals feared the breath of nature. Humans, mages or not, were no exception.

For very good reasons.

Even... Even...

He was smelling his own burnt flesh. There was no smell more horrible than that in this world.

Abigail stood at the top of the stairs.

As if showing the way forward.

Come on, Desmond. She said it like it was nothing.

There was no fear in her voice, no fear in her expression. Desmond had to meet her expectations.

And his own.

Had he come so far, fought for so long, to die here, like this? No. Of course not.

Desmond's birth had occurred while the city in which he lived was being reduced to rubble and ashes.

He had escaped thanks to a miracle.

But, ten years and a few months later, the same thing again? Would it all end the same way, like closing a twisted circle?

No.

The power entered his body again.

If he died now, why on earth had he continued to live in the first place?

Desmond crawled forward.

At least nobody could say he hadn't tried. Nobody.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he braced both hands on the floor and pushed himself up.

"Come on. You can do it."

Desmond followed Abigail. Rather than running, he was staggering. But at a faster pace than walking. And against all odds he was managing to stay on his feet. That was something.

That was a lot.

It doesn't matter how severe your injuries are, Abigail said. As long as you don't get killed, you'll get through this.

Desmond was aware of that.

And, truth be told, it didn't make things any easier for him. But her voice did.

Hearing her voice brought him...as close to peace of mind as possible, when he was burning alive.

As long as he didn't die, he would recover.

As long as he didn't die, he could keep moving forward and get out of this.

He stumbled.

He lost his balance, had to break his fall with his hands. Only later did he realize that it was not he who had wobbled, but the ship itself.

As if the sea was being stirred up by a storm.

But that wasn't the point.

Desmond raised his head. That simple act doubled the pain he was feeling.

He watched as a crack spread across the ceiling, cracks also spread across the wood of the floor.

Before he knew it, a chunk of the ship came off.

He fell too.

Desmond sank into the sea. That, at least, extinguished the flames that engulfed him and were devouring his clothes and skin.

But the impact against the surface of the water felt like he had been pummeled.

He almost lost consciousness.

No, maybe Desmond had, even if it had only been for a few seconds.

He didn't have time to hold his breath.

Water rushed into his mouth.

He was sinking like a corpse. No, corpses floated, didn't they?

He shook his head.

He had to... He had to...

I haven't come this far to die now!

Just a little more.

A little more effort and he could escape the burning tomb they had built for him.

Then he would rescue Abigail. But first he would tear them apart.

Roman, his men.

All those sons of bitches, for daring to have done this.

Abigail 'swam' towards him.

She was silhouetted against the darkness of the sea. With her ethereal beauty, and a place like this, it made him think of a... a mermaid.

Desmond reached out to her, as if he could touch her, as if she could grab it and pull him in, pull him out.

She wasn't with him physically, but at least she was with him in spirit.

He had gone from extreme heat, which was eating him up inside, to a cold that was numbing him. It was dragging him down. That whispered to him: Wouldn't it be better to give up here and now, wouldn't it be better to end all this suffering?

It was a cold as heavy as a shroud.

He could say which of the things was more terrible.

The water, the cold. By far.

If it numbed his body completely, if it robbed him of any sensation, he would even be grateful for it.

But it wasn't. The water was getting into his wounds and burning.

He felt like he was freezing and, at the same time, like he was burning alive.

His body and mind were a big mess.

To top it off...

If that wasn't enough, the more he swam, the farther away from him the surface seemed. The light.

But it came.

Finally, he broke through the surface of the water.

He stuck his head out and drank greedily of the night air. Gods, he thought. By the gods.

How close he had come.

Desmond glanced around.

The ship, of course, was still burning. Its corpse was being torn to pieces and sinking in the water. And it would remain there as evidence of this crazy night.

The mainland wasn't far away, not that it could be otherwise.

It hadn't been long from the time they'd set sail until they'd set the boat on fire.

About twenty meters, at most.

In his state, that was easier said than done, of course.

He crawled toward the harbor.

When he got close enough...

I'm going to kill you!

He saw that Roman and his men were still in the harbor, just as they had been when he had left, their backs to him.

They had been watching the show.

What they hoped would have been his death.

I will tear you apart. All of you.

I will not leave a single one.

Desmond reached the dock and climbed up as best he could. He had never felt so miserable. Every cell in his body screamed with pain.

"I don't believe it," Roman said. "How can he still be alive? But in any case..." His voice trembled slightly. He coughed as if to conceal it. "He can't have much left.

That was where he was wrong. Again.

Although with effort, Desmond rose to his feet. He raised the sword with both hands.

"I'm going to kill you," Desmond growled from deep in his throat. A throat wounded by fire and water.

His voice didn't sound like his own.

In fact, it didn't even sound like the voice of a human being.

I haven't been human for a long time, he thought.

As he swam, he had seen, forcibly, his horrible appearance. The burns that covered his entire body... to the point where bone glistened in several places, underneath the skin and flesh.

He didn't sound like a human being and he certainly didn't look like a human being now.

More like a walking corpse.

He took a step forward. A shaky step, which almost made him lose his balance.

"I'll kill you! All of you!"

"Boss, this...!"

"He's half dead, you sniveling piece of shit! There's nothing he can do. Even if we leave him alone, he'll eventually, so to speak, fall under his own weight."

Desmond laughed.

Or at least he tried to.

That didn't sound like a laugh, mocking or otherwise. It was like the sound of wind passing through a cave. Something like that.

"You have no idea who you've picked a fight with. Damn animal."

"Hey, hey, hey! They're healing, the burns! "someone shrieked from the crowd.

Desmond didn't wonder why his wounds were healing at such speed, even though Abigail was far away from him.

He didn't give a shit.

No, rather... He didn't even recognize it as something strange.

His mind was elsewhere.

His mind, his body, was consumed by rage and thirst for revenge.

He could think of nothing else.

Not right now.

"What a monster," Roman said. He threw the cigar he was smoking over one shoulder. "All right, this wasn't what I was aiming for, but..."

He pulled a box out of his breast pocket.

He opened the box and placed its contents on the floor.

A small black ball, with gray stripes.

He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew it was no good, so Desmond charged at him, screaming like a wild beast.

He swung the sword with both hands, intending to cleave the son of a bitch in two.

But he wasn't so lucky.

Something threw him back. It threw him to the ground.

Before his eyes, the ball.... uncoiled, for lack of a better word.

Expanding, it took on a humanoid shape.

A black, featureless giant, streaked with gray veins.

A golem.

Roman had taken control of a golem. He was a cautious bastard, no doubt about it. But even that wouldn't stop Desmon from putting an end to him. Even that wouldn't stop him from ripping out his entrails and

HE WOULD FEAST ON HIS ENTRAILS.

Desmond rose again, coming face to face with the newly summoned golem.

"Crush him," Roman said scornfully.

As if he saw it as a job already done.