Desmond looked around, without moving from his spot, in search of his next prey.

The prey had nowhere to go, after all.

This was tantamount to locking a wolf in a room full of sheep. Yet someone, whoever it was, had had no qualms about doing so.

As expected of such animals.

The lives of their own citizens were of no concern to them.

So why should he or anyone else care about them?

Desmond made a decision.

He went after the one person who didn't shy away from his gaze. Not for lack of fear, but quite the opposite.

The woman in question was frozen.

Desmond approached her.

Sword in hand, still dripping blood and other fluids from that woman's skull.

He stood behind her.

He grabbed her hair, pulled her hair back. He brushed her neck with the edge of the sword.

"Please," she begged for her life. In the deadly silence that had fallen as soon as they saw they were locked in, with nowhere to escape, the woman's whisper sounded as loud as a gunshot. "Please don't. I... I have children. Please."

"Close your eyes," Desmond said.

Not out of any misplaced sense of pity or sympathy.

Simply because he wanted her to know that the end had come.

That she wouldn't deceive him like a fool.

The receptionist had been killed in one blow. But it had been a quick, painless death. She had felt nothing.

As if it could really be her.

"No matter how many people you kill, they won't hand me over," she told him.

She was right, of course.

Desmond was well aware that under no circumstances would this be that easy. That wasn't what this was about in the first place.

But he couldn't answer her directly.

Not even acknowledge her presence with a glance.

Desmond nodded his head, moving in the opposite direction of where she was standing, hoping she would get the message.

Even that, perhaps, had been too risky.

If they realized that not only could he see through Abigail's eyes (and, presumably, the other way around), but that Abigail could project herself in this way, then they would kill her.

Death was not a problem for her, anymore.

What he meant was that they would kill her... and they would keep killing her.

Over and over and over again.

So that she couldn't help him.

Maybe they would anyway, though for a different reason.

They might not, they might be too busy for that.

So better not to give them any excuses.

He chose his next victim.

He had killed two 'women', so it was only fair to balance the carnage, no, the scales. Well, it was the same thing.

He felt like he was... high.

Tense, but at the same time, in a sense, relaxed.

Too excited.

He stroked a random man's face with the tip of his sword. Leaving a wriggling, red line.

The man burst into tears, shaking from head to toe.

"Will you also tell me you have a family?" He asked. "So you deserve to live longer than the others?"

"No. I am alone in this world, but...."

"But?" he repeated in the form of a question, mockingly.

The man, sorry, 'man', closed his eyes. And shouted with all his might, as if in an attempt to cling to life.

"I want to live!"

There was silence.

It wasn't a long silence, but it sure seemed long to the man. An eternity.

Now Desmond would give him a real eternity.

Desmond swung his sword and...

Desmond cut him in half. He hadn't meant to do that, just kill him. But it had gotten out of hand, and... well, what did it matter? What mattered was the result, not the intention.

And this result was fine with him. It changed nothing.

The shouting resumed.

Non"stop. More and more strident. Unbearable.

Why didn't they stop screaming? What good did they think it would do?

Stop it at once.

Stop-

Desmond staggered forward, losing his balance. He hadn't stumbled over his own feet or just staggered for the sake of it.

Pain. Pain like that of a red"hot iron being pressed against his shoulder.

Gritting his teeth, Desmond turned around.

The doors of an elevator were open. Soldiers of the Empire, armored and armed to the teeth, were there.

One of those had shot him. One of those had been lucky enough to accept him.

"At last, the welcoming committee.

Wasting oxygen was one of the worst mistakes you could make in a fight, if not the worst.

But he couldn't help saying that, anyway.

It slipped out.

By the time he realized it, it was too late.

He lunged for the nearest person. He grabbed them, putting them in front of him, to use as a human shield.

He didn't glance at the person.

He didn't bother to recognize if it was male or female, young or old.

He simply made use of what was at hand.

And after the act, well... He wasn't allowed to clear his doubts. Because the soldiers, as expected, mercilessly tore that person apart with a volley of bullets.

After that, not even his mother would recognize them.

It didn't even look like a human being. Well, they had never been one in the first place. Of course. Of course. They were nothing more than a demon. But now they were in an even worse state. Seeing that creature lying on the ground, mangled, bullet holes everywhere....

The first thing Desmond thought of was a costume.

The costume of some play, discarded on the floor. He couldn't say why he made that association precisely. But he did.

Desmond shook his head.

He concentrated. Enemies emerged from the elevator, scattered around the room. The first thing he noticed about them was that the armor they wore was their usual armor.

Not the new model.

That strange armor that burned blood red, with which only eight soldiers had almost managed to turn the situation around.

That strange armor that burned blood red, with which only eight soldiers had almost managed to turn the situation around.

To finish him and his... his team.

It gave such a huge advantage that, if they could resort to that, they would have.

He didn't know where the catch was, but he didn't care.

It was a slight advantage.

He could use any advantage he could get. He needed any advantage he could get. Maybe it wasn't a real advantage and the actual cavalry would arrive soon after, wrapped in those special armors, designed to kill mages. He had no way of knowing and he didn't care either. He had to take it all step by step. Otherwise, if he tried to look at the big picture, he wouldn't have been able to take any steps from the beginning, and as for now he would be paralyzed by indecision. Step by step.

He lunged for the enemies.

——

A series of screens had been spread out in front of her. The images displayed on them came from cameras placed throughout the facility, of course.

It was a portable system, so the boss could have looked at them anywhere.

She didn't need to do it where Abigail could see everything, too.

She didn't need to, but she wanted to.

One of the cameras showed the lobby. It showed her child struggling to get to her. Smashing everything and everyone who got in his way.

Victoria wanted her to see what was going to happen.

Believing that would be, sooner or later, that Desmond would fall defeated.

How wrong she was.

Even though she had explained it to her, it still hadn't sunk into her head.

"There's that boy. Your key to freedom," Victoria said. She looked at her out of the corner of her eye, "You're afraid. Don't deny it."

Again insisting on that.

The days she had spent trapped, almost half a month now, had been terribly boring because of it.

It was the same thing over and over again.

She insisted on it desperately because she believed, no, she had to believe that there was some way to control it.

That this could go well for her.

It was not like that.

"I don't feel the slightest hint of fear."

Desmond moved like a panther. Graceful, lethal. But much faster than any animal could be.

He was very strong. And he was getting stronger all the time.

So why should she be afraid for him?

There was nothing to be afraid of.

Abigail projected again. She could help Desmond, if only in a limited way.

She had to waste some time with this woman, to appear normal.

So she wouldn't be suspicious. Nothing more.

——

"You have to come down." Abigail told him.

Desmond glanced at the elevator. He ran toward it immediately after, chased by the gunfire.

Many of them hit. But doing nothing.

He was still practically at one hundred percent, and had slaughtered many of the soldiers who had come for him.

The hall was wide, but not wide enough for them to run or hide from him.

His hatred, his rage...

Those weren't his priorities and he had to keep that in mind. Desmond was in the capital of the Empire. No matter how many soldiers he killed, more would come out to meet him. So there was no good reason to delay. He would go straight to where he had to go. Do what he had to do.

I won't let anyone stop me.

Desmond stepped into the elevator.

The soldiers, seeing what he intended, tried to stop him in a more direct way.

Someone threw a grenade.

Desmond simply kicked it hard.

The grenade went flying towards the roof, and exploded in time to blow the skylight into a thousand pieces.

Creating a deadly shower of glass.

Desmond hit the button for a lower floor. It was enough with any of them, he could hit the right one when the doors closed, when he had gotten rid, for the moment, of those sons of bitches.

One of the aforementioned got in his way.

Just as they were about to close, one of the soldiers stepped in the way. His arm was caught by the doors.

But, even with that, he was still able to keep the door from closing all the way... and he had pulled the rifle through the gap in the door.

Enduring the pain, he held down the trigger to empty as much of the magazine as possible before the inevitable happened.

In other words, Desmond cutting off his arm. And that he did.

One blow was enough.

The scream... it didn't cause any special feeling in him. He was used to it.

At a certain point, all screams seemed pretty much the same, really. Regardless of how he screamed it wasn't going to freeze his blood.

The soldier staggered back, shrieking.

The doors slammed shut.

About a quarter of the soldier's arm fell into the elevator.

Along with the rifle, of course.

Both soaked in blood.

Desmond looked at the rifle and the severed arm at its side for a long moment. The soldier had surely seen it coming that he would lose the arm, and also that his attack wouldn't even do much to him at best, but he had still sacrificed an arm for the sake of hurting him. It was a determination he supposed he could respect.

He heard bullets hitting the elevator doors, causing dents. Too late, even if they had damaged him enough for the bullets to take effect, fuck, it would have been too late even if they had managed to riddle him with bullets. In that case, the doors would have closed in their faces anyway, giving him time to recover, even if the firing squad had killed him.

The elevator began its descent into the bowels of this hell.

Soon after, however, it stopped abruptly and the lights went out.

infernal entrance hall: FIN