2

Desmond was running with Christina in his arms, who kept gasping and writhing as if she had invisible knives stuck all over her body.

He hated himself.

That was nothing new, but now more than ever. He hadn't taken the warning seriously enough.

That was why he was looking for help, but he had no idea where to go.

He was running blindly, simply hoping to find some hospital or clinic and walk into the first one he saw.

He hadn't taken it seriously, but that creature had been right.

Christina's life, of all people, was in more danger than the others. First she had almost been stabbed. She would have been, except that thing had intervened, they would have realized too late.

Gods, he could imagine her trembling in his arms, like now, but spurting blood from her mouth, but with pale blood-stained cheeks, but....

He took a deep breath.

And then... This. Whatever was happening to her.

He hoped he could get her help in time.

Or that this was the effect of someone's magic that would disappear as soon as he put enough distance between her and the mage who had attacked her.

In any case, it was all about moving forward.

As long as Desmond kept moving forward, there was still hope. But at this rate... He needed to push his body further and further, even at the risk of breaking! He had to give it his all!

For no one else would. No one would help them.

Abigail and Amy were in the same town, but who knew where they were. And he had left behind one "person" whom he could tentatively call an ally. He could count on no one else.

So faster, faster, faster, faster, faster, faster!

Abruptly, Christina began to breathe properly in his arms. And Desmond made the mistake of stopping, just as abruptly. It could have been his imagination, though.

Or a brief glimmer of hope, which would then be cruelly crushed.

But no.

She was breathing well, all of a sudden. But she hadn't started to move any less. Quite the opposite, in fact. As a consequence she slipped out of his arms and fell to the ground, he himself almost dropped flat on his back. But he only sank to one knee on the ground.

"Shit," he mumbled, ashamed that he had dropped her.

Just because he was breathing properly again didn't mean she was okay.

Christina half rose, getting up on all fours. Her back was to him, he didn't see her expression. It caught him completely by surprise that she vomited violently on the grass.

Desmond approached Christina from behind. He put his hands on her shoulders, then pressed himself against her in what could be called a hug. Trying to offer her support and comfort.

He glanced at Christina's face. It wasn't pale, but full of color.

But that didn't mean she looked particularly well.

She was too red, evidencing that she had been on the verge of suffocating. Her eyes, wide as saucers, and the tears gathering in them were more clues that made it clear how close Christina had been to dying.

Close, terribly close. But now she was safe. Desmond rested his head on Christina's back, closed his eyes.

And burst into tears, while she continued to be shaken by retching.

3

The assassin died almost instantly. He would have liked him to suffer, of course, but it was not worth wasting time. And he hadn't wasted it. He hadn't let himself get carried away.

Desmond turned away, opening his hand. The blood from the heart he had just shattered ran down his palm, through his fingers, dripping to the floor as he walked.

Entering the room again, he walked over to the window. He had to get out of here, he knew.

The police would be here any minute. That was what he had thought, at least.

But he discovered that they had already arrived.

They were already down there, on the street.

And it didn't take them long to spot him. Well, it's not like they could mistake him for anyone else. He smiled wryly at his own unfunny joke, then did his best to wipe that smile off his face. It would only make him look more sinister and menacing.

Because of his already monstrous appearance. And by the blood and guts that still stained him.

He had grown accustomed to his regeneration taking care of cleaning up even that filth, interpreting it as damage.

That was going to be one more annoyance to add to the pile.

He opened the window. He placed his hands on the edge, leaned forward slightly.

Say what you have to say. Quickly, without stupid hesitation, without beating around the bush.

"I was trying to save a girl's life. Just killed in..."

Desmond stopped.

He realized that they weren't listening to him. That there was no chance they would ever listen to him in the first place.

The cops had their eyes riveted on him. Eyes clouded with fear.

"What the hell is that thing?"

"He spoke. It just spoke."

"It knows human language, but it doesn't sound like any human. It's a monster."

Desmond grimaced.

He passed through the window, not with his little trick. What he did was hit the glass with his elbow, causing it to explode into a thousand pieces.

Next he slipped through the hole, ignoring the scraping of the broken glass on his sides, his hip, and his legs as he climbed out and then up to the roof. Crawling.

Crawling like some spider, black and giant.

Just like before, when he'd scaled the front of the building.

"Let's go get that thing!"

On the roof, Desmond stood up, still running. When he reached the edge, he jumped.

To another roof, in one leap. He would keep going until they lost sight of him. It shouldn't be hard.

4

At last they arrived at the hotel. The walk had been exceptionally long for him. Christina was weak as he was, so they supported each other to get this far.

Desmond opened the door to his room. Abigail and Amy were still not there. He had mentally warned Abigail. They shouldn't be long.

But for the moment they would be alone.

He closed the door behind them. Then he carried Christina over to her bed, laying her down on it carefully. His legs were shaking so badly that he almost fell to the side of her.

She didn't manage to regain her balance, but she did manage to choose where to fall.

Backwards, towards the other bed, instead of with her.

They stood in silence for a while, breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling instead of at each other.

"Shit," said Desmond, finally.

"Shit." Christina repeated it. What else was there to say?

Their lives were one crazy thing after another. One danger after another, and this wasn't even the greatest danger they'd faced recently. But it had been closer than ever.

They both knew it.

They never wanted anything like this to happen again. But this was the life they had, and there was no way off this wheel. Except by ending the war.

Since the day they'd met, no, since they'd teamed up....

He'd doomed Amy and Christina to a life like this. He could tell himself that they knew what they were getting into, that after all it wasn't so different from the soldier's life they had chosen on their own, for different reasons.

But that would be lying to himself. It was far worse. And it was his fault.

Yes, that was what he had to say, wasn't it?

Desmond lowered his head to look at Christina. His partner was still staring at the ceiling, though.

"I'm sorry," Desmond said. Finally.

"Huh? Why?"

"This is all my fault. It's been my fault all along. If I hadn't involved you in my life and my problems...."

"What's the point of apologizing?" Christina grimaced. "I'm not angry. I accepted it a long time ago. But... precisely because of that. What's done is done. You don't need to beat yourself up about it. You have this bad habit, sometimes it seems like all you know how to do is punish yourself."

Maybe because I didn't know how to fix anything.

Or because it was easier to apologize and punish himself.

"Still, I'm sorry. It was so close...."

Christina lowered her head. Not down to his eye level, holding his gaze. She lowered it to her lap.

"Yeah. No need to remind me... Who could that thing be?"

Desmond thought silently. Nothing changed.

"I have no idea."

"I... I do. Some ideas, I mean."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but... Forget about it. It's silly." Christina shook her head.

Desmond decided to just accept it. She'd almost died twice in less than a minute. It was normal that she wasn't thinking clearly, and there was no need to push her.

"As you wish."

4

Abigail and Amy didn't take long to arrive, after that. But it took them a while before they could have a conversation, since Amy already knew what had happened, what had almost happened, before they arrived.

And she broke down as soon as she walked in the door and saw Christina was well.

Amy hugged her as if she wanted to crush her. You could tell it hurt Christina, but she didn't protest, didn't say anything about it.

She whispered things to Amy to soothe her and hugged her back.

She could understand.

So could he. Seeing her react like that, he remembered his own panic, his own pain. His eyes stung again.

"So that thing was right. About everything," Amy said, when she finally calmed down.

"Well. We've known for a long time that our lives were in danger," Christina said. She might have been lucky, nothing more.

"But you don't think it's a coincidence," Abigail said.

"No. It was... too close. And you don't think so either."

"I believed what he said all along. This just confirms it."

"For what reason?"

"Because no one can lie to me."

"Yeah. Your years and years of experience. Your intuition. But it's not like it's some kind of magic, I mean, it's fallible."

"No."

Christina seemed surprised by that quick and decisive answer.

"Well, I guess there's no point in discussing it. One way or another you were right, after all."

"Can we consider him... our ally?" Amy asked.

"What do you think, Desmond?" Abigail turned to him. "You've been very quiet."

"Maybe. But a can is not enough," he said slowly and after a while. "We have to get the truth out of him, whatever it is. I know Amy's power didn't work in the forest, and it didn't work later, when he came in front of us. But maybe if we weaken his resistance..."

Desmond stopped, shrugged his shoulders.

"We have to at least try."

"It won't be necessary."

Desmond felt a chill.

That voice.

He turned, heart pounding, toward the sound of that voice. In time to see the creature crawl into the room through the window.

Through. It didn't go in through the window, it went through it as if it wasn't in the way.

Entering, he fell to the floor on hands and legs. He stood up in front of everyone's eyes, tense, ready.

5

In the depths there was something that could be mistaken for a long, deep growl, but it wasn't something that could come from any throat. And it wasn't.

It was the sound of something advancing through the cavern, scraping the walls and ceiling, shattering them along the way.

It could have sounded like an avalanche. But instead it sounded like an inhuman, distorted growl.

Out of the darkness of the cavern came something. Which immediately headed for the surface. Even the world had gears. And these were being set in motion, one after another.

6

Desmond looked around. At those gathered there. He had returned to the past and changed the future, saving Christina's life. However, he was still in this ghastly form.

However, another Desmond was taking his place in the world.

That was all he wanted. To regain his place.

He could at least have that... couldn't he? He deserved it. It was the least he deserved, after so much effort and sacrifice. He couldn't accept that he had lost everything.

He had been willing to go to great lengths for Christina's sake, but, if he had, if he had known...

He probably would have done the same thing. But that didn't change that the current state of affairs was eating him up inside. And that he had only one choice, now.

"I didn't want to tell any of this," Desmond said. He was the real one. He would be the only one left. He had to be. "But, at this point, I don't have a choice, I guess."

"What do you mean by that?" His other self questioned him. No, no other self, he didn't have to legitimize him that way.

He was a fucking impostor.

He didn't let the anger show on his face, though.

"I mean I've been keeping a few things from you guys. I want to say that I... I'm..."

Desmond stopped suddenly, licked his lips. A habit he couldn't stop, even though this new body had no lips. Or even a beating heart. They could steal his body, his voice, but his humanity, along with his little habits and everything that made him who he was?

No.

That could not be taken from him.

But was this really worth it, telling them the truth?

No, it wasn't about whether it was worth it or not. He had already said it. That he had no choice. And it was very true, no matter how he thought about it.

"What?" Amy said. Spit it out already.

So much hostility, from all of them. From "himself," even.

He couldn't take it.

Even if he could take it, he didn't want to. Yes. He truly had no choice.

"I am..."