Everything was so dark.

For some reason, despite the physical reinforcement magic in his eyes, everything seemed so dark that he didn't know where he was going.

Incidentally, he had the feeling he didn't know where he had started walking in the first place.

But that's another story. Desmond bumped into trees several times on his way, almost losing his balance. The path was dirt — wet dirt. Apparently it had rained recently, unbeknownst to him, most likely while he had been sleeping, exhausted from the events of the other night.

Anyway,

Regardless of when it had happened, it didn't make things any easier for him in his state.

Confused. Unstable. The road itself was also an obstacle, making him slip.

What was wrong with him? He was behaving as if he was mortally wounded. Or like he was sick. Almost the same thing, really. How long could he keep moving like that?

A voice was coming to him from a distant world. But he couldn't understand the words. He couldn't understand why that voice was so insistent, and it wouldn't leave him. Desmond put a hand to his forehead. It was burning. He had developed a fever. Oh. But that didn't really explain what the hell was wrong with him.

He hadn't been holding on long, after all. Or had he spent a long time wandering in the dark, all alone, stumbling around, from nowhere to nowhere? Had he spent a long time like that? He didn't know. In the end, his legs failed him. He fell to the ground. Desmond rolled over, looking up at the sky. The night had not gone away. It seemed endless. Truly endless.

He trembled. As it had since...

He had left that hellish place.

Like since...

Memories began to spin through his head. They still did, of course. As vividly as if he was going through it all over again.

As vividly as if those horrible moments, stretching into eternity, were still happening.

And everything else had been one long, strange dream.

To escape reality.

To vomit. He was going to throw up.

Desmond stood up just enough to vomit off to the side. So as not to vomit on top of himself. He shuddered even more intensely. Squirming like a filthy worm. Suddenly it started to rain. Things can always get worse, he thought. Ah, but how tired he was. Of everything. Of nothing.

He squinted, as the rain poured down on him.

It ran through his hair.

It rested on his eyelids.

How tired he was. Of everything. Of nothing.

"Desmond, Desmond, please answer me!" Abigail.

The otherworldly voice finally became clear to him. She had been calling him all this time, and he hadn't answered? Unthinkable. But, apparently, it was.

Desmond swallowed hard.

"I'm fine," he said at last. His voice didn't sound like his own. It sounded...

His own? When have you ever had anything of your own, a voice inside him whispered.

He felt like...

A house of cards. Falling down. Slowly but inexorably.

Down, down, down, down, down, down...

If only he could...

(bring it all down with him)

"What's wrong with you?"

There was fear in her voice. Doubt, for the first time. How long? How much 'eternity' had she had to endure before experiencing such a human emotion as that?

Who knows.

He definitely had no idea. It's not like anything would be fixed if he knew, so it was all the same.

Desmond crawled across the floor. Backwards. Putting his sword... back against a tree trunk.

Even the sound of the rain bothered him, hurt his ears.

"You should know that by now." Was there something like an accusation in his voice? Maybe so, but he couldn't force himself to care. He hung his head, though.

As if he was ashamed to look Abigail in the eye, now.

"I..." Abigail couldn't finish the sentence, whatever she was going to say, she couldn't finish.

"I think I've said enough before."

The taste of vomit in his mouth remained. It was extremely repulsive. If he let his guard down, he would end up vomiting again.... That was what he would say, but he had nothing to vomit anymore no matter how much he felt like it.

All the food in his stomach had ended up fertilizing the soil and grass on the road.

Haha. He laughed half-heartedly, to himself. Like a complete idiot.

You've never been anything else, he thought. And more so every day. You seem to be getting worse every day.

He'd said enough earlier that anyone could understand. But not enough, too much. He had said too much. Now Desmond couldn't take back those words, but...

But at least he could behave in a more appropriate manner.

However, he was talking to his mom in such a harsh way. As if he was angry at her and not at himself.

For talking too much.

Because no one should know. Because he didn't want her to know that he was....

That he was impure. Desmond never would have wanted her to know that.

No one, but especially not her.

But now...

There was no turning back.

There was no turning back, no possibility of repair. There never was. What was lost never came back. What was rebuilt was never the same.

Rebuilding? What a ridiculous word.

Nothing could be rebuilt.

Once broken, it was only a matter of time before it fell apart again.

Has the time come?

Has the time finally come?

...

No, I can still... I still have to go on. And the first step should be to apologize. He gathered his strength, raising his head to look at her.

But she didn't give him time.

"I'm sorry. "Abigail apologized first.

"No, I'm sorry. "Despite the cold, his cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. You don't deserve to be treated that way. You've always been...

"No, not always. "Abigail knelt down in front of him. "Forgive me, please. For not being there. For not..."

She swallowed. That face. That agitation. All those feelings, for him, just for him..... If he'd ever had any doubts about whether he'd made the right decision that night after all, seeing her like that stripped away any trace.

Because there could be no other person for him. There was no person who loved him as much in this world. So, the right thing to do was to respond to those feelings. He had not been wrong. As lost as he felt...as miserable.... This was the right path, there was no doubt about it.

"It doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore. The past is just ruins and you pulled me out of those ruins a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore. It has no power over me. No power at all."

Trying to convince himself, as usual. And, as usual, it wasn't working.

Abigail wrapped her arms around him. The tender, warm embrace of a mother. But he didn't feel her warmth. He only felt the cold of the rain, which kept falling.

... Of course.

Abigail was still far, far away.

He was still alone.

I don’t want to be alone. That was all he wanted, but the simplest things could be so complicated.

——

After an eternity, he broke the embrace. Or had it been Abigail who broke away first? Suddenly he wasn't sure.

He hadn't been paying attention.

For the duration of the embrace, he had been immersed in nothingness.

He had truly thought of absolutely nothing, for the first time since.... Well, for as long as he could remember. At the very least.

He hadn't felt warmth, it was true. It hadn't worked to make him feel better.

But at least he'd eventually stopped feeling the cold, too.

And everything else, too.

'Cold' comfort, at best. But it was something.

The magic eventually broke. The embrace broke. Desmond stood up and continued walking, cutting through the shadows of the night like a sword.

He had a long way to go.

Miles to walk, literally. His goal was Kronos, the capital of the Empire, whose expanse covered the other half of the world.

That was literally true, but the other half, the Empire's half, was bigger.

Not by much, but bigger. To top it all off.

He'd wasted enough time getting here in the first place.

As tired as before, as emotional, but determined, Desmond continued.

——

"Desmond, please get some rest. Eat and drink."

Desmond ignored the words of the person he should always, without exception, listen to.

He carried on.

He was doing this for her, and not for his own selfishness.

It didn't feel wrong to ignore her when it meant ignoring his own needs. If she were saying it for herself, then he wouldn't hesitate to comply with whatever it was, of course.

But she was saying it for him. Because she was worried about him.

That was nice, but unnecessary.

It wasn't him who was in danger.

It wasn't him who was at the mercy of the enemy, locked up miles away.

So it made no sense for her to worry about him, for him himself to worry. The only thing that made sense was... to keep moving forward.

One foot in front of the other.

Always moving forward.

"Even a body like yours can't hold on forever."

That's true.

Everything has a limit. He was no exception.

But he hadn't reached that limit yet. Proof of that was that he was still able to move.

So long as he could move, he had no reason to stop.

"Desmond. You need energy if you want to rescue me."

The boy stopped in his tracks.

"Take a break to get that energy back. Please."

Abigail was right.

At first, he had thought she was doing it for him...and she was, but she was also doing it for herself. For both of them.

He couldn't ignore her body's needs.

Rest. Food. Water.

He was thinking of undertaking a suicide mission.

He couldn't undertake a suicide mission with a body on the verge of collapse, exhausted in every way, and expect to win.

So he had to eat, drink, and rest properly.

Desmond moved to the side of the road.

He had already crossed three cities, at least, without stopping.

He opened his backpack and set out to eat. He had given Emerald a good portion of his food.

But not all of it. He still had enough to...

Estimating, he wasn't good at it.

Still, for a week, it should be fine. Rationing. After that… Well, after that he'd probably have more immediate concerns. And lethal ones. Desmond ate a little and drank until the water bottle was empty, because that's what he really needed. And because he didn't need to ration water.

He could get it from any river or tap. So it didn't matter.

Besides, that soggy feeling sucked. As long as he had been focused on crawling forward, he hadn't even noticed. But as soon as he stopped, the sensation came down on him like the blow of a hammer.

When it was over, he stood up at once.

"You haven't had much rest yet," Abigail insisted. "Give yourself a few more minutes. Take a deep breath."

Desmond hesitated, but in the end obeyed the command, sitting back down.

Yes.

Desmond figured that he'd meant to fulfill the letter of the order, but not the spirit of it. He hadn't rested. Not really.

And he would not rest until Abigail was safe.

Something they were both well aware of.

However, at least he could give himself this. A few minutes. It wasn't too much to ask. But no more and no less than that.

Soon he would be on the move again.

——

A little over a week later, the food ran out just as he had predicted. He had given Emerald too much. Even though some days he had only eaten once or twice, he had run out that fast. Still, he had no regrets about what he had done. It was hard to regret it when he remembered the look of happiness on that little girl's face. And the possibilities he had opened up for her future, with the money.

Her adoration had felt all too uncomfortably familiar. But he had done a good thing. Of that, at least, he had no doubt. He had made it as far as Kronos, where Abigail was being held. She was still being held, she hadn't been moved, there seemed to be no plans for that.

Which was logical. Kronos was the heart of the Empire. Surely they had nowhere better facility in which to research her immortality. Greatest and brightest minds, and all that crap.

Desmond hadn't asked her for details on that, and Abigail hadn't shared them. She didn't need to. Today, he would put an end to her torture. No one would ever be allowed to lay hands on her again as long as he lived. And he would live forever. In time, he would finally fulfill his part of the contract. He would release her from her suffering as she wished.

Even if he couldn't really understand her… Even if he wished to be with her forever… Desmond would do what he had to do. Was he trying to convince himself? No. It was his sincere resolve. In the past, it may have been nothing more than a lie, but now he was convinced of what he had to do.

Desmond sat on the ground.

On top of the hill, he surveyed the city stretching out before his eyes. The road still lay ahead of him. He had reached the right city, but that didn't mean he didn't still have a long way to go. He took a deep breath, narrowed his eyes. But all in good time, of course. All in good time.

"Please, Abigail, could you... try to put me in touch with them?"

It hadn't been necessary to specify, really. He could only be referring to them. Abigail nodded. Not long after, a 'mirage' of Amy appeared before her eyes.

"Desmond. You look better than last time. I'm happy. It's good to see you, no matter how."

Desmond ran a hand over his mouth, to hide a gesture that denoted his nervousness. Licking his lips.

"I..."

He was going to say goodbye.

Despite the conversation he'd had not long ago.

Despite the fact that he had convinced himself that this didn't have to be goodbye.

Desmond was going to say goodbye, but when push came to shove, he found he wasn't capable.

And it sure was for the best.

"The moment of truth has arrived."

"Yes?"

"I'm about to take the plunge, so..."

"Good luck, Desmond. No... none of that. Survive. I will never forgive you if you die."

Desmond smiled.

"I'll survive."

That much he thought he could promise. Regardless of how things turned out. It wasn't necessarily a good thing, though.

——

"Should you really let us know? You have an unshakable confidence, it seems. But you're only putting him at a disadvantage this way. You might get him killed... or worse. You've never thought of that?"

"No. And I'll tell you why, it's very simple. I was already convinced of his victory before. But now..."

"Now?"

Abigail grinned wildly, facing her captor. She was standing in front of her. Very close. Even though she knew that if she touched her, even once, she could set her on fire. She was brave, that much at least she had to admit.

But that wasn't going to do her any good.

None of them.

They would all die the same way.

"Now he's getting stronger with every passing second."

That night, in the harbor....

Even his clothes had recovered from the burns, the cuts. The dirt. As it happened to her. But at first, when he unlocked his power, it hadn't been like that. At first, he needed to die to start regenerating. But he already regenerated while he was alive... and faster and faster. Soon it would be quite literal what she had said at that time, over and over again.

That no one could stop him. Because he was a true force of nature.

So she didn't just feel like smiling... fuck, she felt like dancing. The moment of truth had arrived. Desmond had no idea how true that was.

——

Abigail was leading him to her location. Towards the prison where she was being held.

Desmond entered through the front door.

It was a public building, after all. His gun was hidden. The sword was far away... for the moment, somewhere he had already forgotten, miles away.

He approached the receptionist.

The animal behind the desk raised its head, looking at him with a smile that didn't reach its eyes.

Ah, if only it knew that was the last thing it would ever do.

"What can I do for you?"

Desmond remained silent, staring at it. Until the receptionist became nervous.

"Sir?"

"Die for me," he said, loud and clear.

The receptionist laughed softly, at first, as if he'd told a bad joke. And then her face contorted in horror....

As she watched the sword manifest itself in Desmond's hand.

He didn't give her time to scream.

Desmond swung the sword, splitting that animal's head like a melon.

His pulse didn't tremble.

He didn't hesitate even for a moment. Of course he didn't.

They were not human beings.

So there was no reason to hesitate. No, he was the kind of monster who didn't hesitate even with humans, so this was extremely easy. Just as it should be.

That night, in that hell of depravity....

It had been an aberration.

A momentary hallucination. Simply being in that place had poked at one of his most painful memories.

So he had imagined that humanity, that the feelings that were tearing him apart inside....

That he could see those feelings deep in the hearts of those women, too.

That they were human.

But, as he had said, it was a passing thing. His heart had not been corrupted. Under no circumstances would he end up like Laura. Or like that shadow.

He was Desmond Orosco.

He was a soldier. Not of the kingdom of Albion, but of Abigail.

And he would kill them all.

They would all die screaming for the crime of having laid a hand on her.

I swear it.

They were already starting to scream. Running like lambs, without direction.

Some, straight for the exits.

But they couldn't get out. They ran into a metal wall that came down, cutting them off.

Someone had closed the main door.

Surely also any exit.

All over the building, both doors and windows.

They couldn't afford to let him escape. They needed him to manipulate Abigail. To get her to cooperate. That's why they would do anything to capture him here and now.

That was fine.

Desmond had no intention of running away in the first place.

The beginning of calamity: END