Drowning beneath the ice - 13.7

The golem rushed to carry out his master's orders. That huge mass of darkness rushed toward him.

Desmond was not going to sit around waiting.

He ran to meet his enemy, clutching the sword. It was as heavy as it had never been. It was heavy like the rest of his body.

It was no wonder.

He had severe burns all over his body. They were healing, but that was a process.

He had almost died burning alive.

He had almost drowned, sinking to the bottom of the sea.

And all in a matter of minutes.

Yet he was still standing.

They couldn't break his fighting spirit. He didn't know how, but he would get out of this.

He would cut down every enemy that got in his way.

Even if they were people from Albion.

He didn't care. He had stopped really caring a long time ago.

But now, he cared even less.

Roman, the golem master, and the men behind him were nothing more than obstacles that wanted to stop him from getting to Abigail.

As far as he was concerned, they were nothing more than that.

So why would his pulse tremble?

Even before Laura, before the traitor, before he faced that shadow, going through something like this would have made him discard any doubts or inhibitions as the hindrance they were.

He would kill. Kill, kill, kill and die, and no one could do anything about it!

Abigail said no one could stop him. He knew at that moment she was right, in his innermost self, he knew it.

For no reason.

Desmond didn't need a reason. The eagle didn't know how to fly, but still reigned over the skies. The same was true for him.

He shouldn't be able to move, but he was moving.

Because of the immense pain he was enduring, his body shouldn't be able to carry out his commands well.

Still...

A moment before colliding with the golem, Desmond dropped to the ground and slid across it with his sword in front of him.

His sword slashed the golem's left leg, causing it to go down.

At the same time the punch thrown by the creature passed over him, close, dangerously close, but only that, it did nothing to him.

The sound of the golem hitting the ground was like a small earthquake.

Desmond recovered quickly, getting to his feet with great smoothness.

He delivered a spinning blow, putting the strength of his entire body behind him.

His sword took the golem's right arm.

The arm fell. There was another small earthquake.

Yes, he said to himself, as if he had already won. As if the battle was already decided.

The crowd watching seemed to think the same, if that was the case.

They were clearly surprised, frightened.

They didn't know what to do.

If Desmond had been convinced of his victory, the next instant proved him dead wrong.

A lot could change in just an instant.

So much.

Everything.

With its remaining arm, the golem elbowed him in the center of his chest.

Thanks to the creature's sheer size and the force of the blow, the impact tore Desmond's feet off the ground and sent him flying across the night sky.

His flight was halted as he crashed into the wall of a warehouse.

The impact was as if knives had been plunged into all his wounds, all his burns, then dragged inside.

It redoubled his agony. Desmond fell to the ground again, how long he was.

He lay there like a bag of garbage.

Shit, he thought.

And aside from the pain of the old wounds, the golem's blow had surely broken a rib or two. At least it had hurt him.

Desmond's chest screamed as if it were on fire.

That the golem had grazed him with its elbow had been enough to do this to him. He wasn't at his best, that was for sure... but he hadn't imagined he'd come down for a little thing like that.

Desmond gritted his teeth hard.

He felt like a cracked pane of glass. Or... or something like that.

He had to move.

Desmond didn't have time to just lie here, feeling sorry for himself. If he didn't hurry, he'd be crushed before he could get to his feet.

Desmond braced his hands on the ground. He pushed himself up.

Or at least he tried to.

It didn't last long, unfortunately. His shaky legs couldn't support his own weight.

Shit, shit.

The golem had lost a leg and an arm, and would currently be in the process of regenerating. So he didn't have to worry about that thing for the time being.

But he didn't have all the time in the world, anyway.

He was sure that at most it would take a minute to regenerate his leg.

It was technically possible that it would take longer if the golem was the type that couldn't prioritize one part of its body, and the arm regenerated first.

But he couldn't count on having such luck.

In any case...

The golem wasn't the only enemy he had to worry about. Roman and his men were nearby.

Any one of them could get close.

Take advantage of his moment of weakness to....

"Someone finish him off," Roman ordered.

Desmond tried again. Slowly. Very carefully.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"What did you say?" Roman asked, his voice a warning.

Desmond was getting up. Whether it would work was another matter.

That is, whether it would last. Unlike last time.

But it didn't work.

"Not me, not anyone, is going to go near that monster! Not even if you paid us extra!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!"

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

Roman clicked his tongue. But he didn't keep insisting, didn't say anything else. In the end he looked away.

He wasn't willing to go near 'that monster' either, from the looks of it.

Ha.

People had a funny way of looking at things.

Desmond stuck the sword into the ground, leaning on it, using it as a sort of cane. One had to make the most of whatever was at hand.

Life is a war, he thought. Was he a monster? If they saw him as a monster, then what exactly were they? People who preyed on the misery of others? Who trampled on others for their own gain, when they could have chosen an honest life?

They were not homeless, destitute children without a home, without a family, who had no other choice. They had chosen this path. Even if they felt, deep in their hearts, that they had had no choice? There was only one truth, and that was that their choices had led them down this path. They were the real monsters.

Desmond finally managed to get to his feet. He confirmed with his own eyes that he had been unlucky. As expected.

The golem's leg was regenerating first. It would charge at him as soon as its leg regenerated, and regain its right arm soon after. Sure enough.

There was a fence between him and the golem. That was neither a good thing nor a bad thing. It was definitely not a defense. The golem would destroy it without stopping for an instant or being slowed for even a second. Desmond looked over at Roman. He looked at the crowd of supposedly ruthless criminals behind and around him.

They shrank back as if they feared even his gaze.

Desmond spat the gathered blood in his mouth to the side.

He laughed.

It was neither the time nor the place, but he still spent precious seconds on something so pointless. And, not content with that, he wasted oxygen by directing a few words at them.

"Pathetic. If you were going to run away like scared rats, why go so far in the first place? If you don't have the determination... no, the balls, you could have just let me be on my way."

He took a deep breath. He had to.

Not enough air was getting into his lungs, so even speaking normally was an effort. Not to mention laughing.

That, too, had cost him a lot. More than he had expected.

"But it's too late for regrets now."

He closed his eyes.

Desmond opened them slowly. Had something changed inside him? And was it reflected in his eyes?

Desmond couldn't be sure. But...

The moment had come.

"You're already dead," Desmond declared, looking away from the pathetic group and towards the real and only obstacle, which was finishing regenerating.

A few more seconds was all it took.

Within a few seconds, it was complete again.

It rose up in front of his eyes. The thing broke into a run, still obeying the last command it had received. Because he hadn't even come close to carrying it out yet.

Desmond grinned wildly.

His smile didn't falter, not even when he watched as the golem passed through the fence, shattering it to pieces with a single touch.

In the distance, in the dark waters of the sea, the ship was still burning. Slowly consuming and sinking.

That wouldn't be his fate.

He would burn brightly, but his flames would devour only his enemies. Not himself.

Desmond was on his feet. But the sword hung from his hands as if he was barely able to hold it. And so it was. But he gave his all to lift it.

The golem was already on top of him.

Desmond raised his sword, putting it between him and the creature's fists in time. Albeit barely.

He planted his feet on the ground and pushed with all his might.

The blow dragged him back a few feet, but he managed to stay on his feet.

Progress.

Without lowering the fist he held against the blade of his sword, the golem attacked him with his free fist.

Desmond's first instinct was to drop to the ground.

To roll to dodge it, between its legs probably. But he wasn't sure if he would be able to get up.

Not in time, at least. So in the end what he did was simply step aside.

Creaking.

The golem's punch filled the impact zone with cracks.

Desmond licked his lips, removing the blood.

"You're a very big critter," he gasped. "But that doesn't mean you can't fall."

Even if they cut off its arms and legs, in a short time it would regenerate again.

It would be ready to get up and start fighting.

It was an enemy similar to him. Something that wouldn't leave the battle until he killed it. No matter how bad they were, its wounds wouldn't last and it would keep fighting.

But that didn't mean there was no use in wounding it.

If Desmond cut off its arms and legs, he would immobilize it long enough to deliver the coup de grâce.

As for how to do that, there were two methods.

But he had already missed the opportunity to follow the easier way.

Another blow.

Desmond braced himself. He didn't have time to dodge the blow, so he raised his sword to block it.

Once again he succeeded.

He staggered backwards, having lost his balance, and thought he would end up on the ground. Fortunately he didn't.

How many more of those blows could he endure before he fell?

Before falling and not being able to get up again?

The easiest way...

That was to kill the golem master before he could summon it and give it a command.

However, Desmond hadn't made it in time.

For a second, no, less than a second, the golem's summoning had managed to push him back.

If Roman had been a second slower or he a second faster, the thug would be dead. He would have put an end to most of his problems in one fell swoop.

But now it was too late.

Even if he ran at Roman and separated his head from his shoulders, the golem would still be active, trying to carry out that last command.

So Desmond had only one real choice, really.

To go in with everything he had to finish the golem off on his own. With his own hands.

... Desmond would only have one chance.

If he failed, he very much doubted he would have the strength to try again.

Desmond would be crushed, torn apart.

Only one chance.

Well, he was constantly gambling ... but he had just realized that he had no right to gamble with his life as if it had no importance.

It wasn't important on its own.

But Abigail's fate depended on him, on his life. So it was forcibly valuable.

This fight...

They should hear the fight. Come to see what was going on, stop it.

But no one was coming. No lights were coming on or voices were being heard. It was impossible that this had been overlooked.

Desmond took several steps back, not taking his eyes off the golem.

It didn't make sense.

Whichever way he looked at it, it didn't make sense. Yes...

The ship.

Even if they hadn't heard the fight, someone should have seen the burning ship. The whole mess. The authorities should have been here by now.

But they weren't.

Desmond looked back over his shoulder.

The city was asleep.

It was as if they were the only people in the entire city.

He felt a shiver. He couldn't suppress it.

What's going on here, he thought.

Roman was kind enough to provide the answer.

"Are you expecting help? Well, it won't come. I told you, I protect this city! This city is mine! So, if I don't want it, no one will come to help you. No one will lift a finger. They will only watch you die from the darkness of their homes. You are alone here," Roman said.

And you're scared, anyway, Desmondthought. But now he really couldn't afford to waste oxygen.

So he kept quiet.

Here I come, you son of a bitch.

Desmond lunged, screaming, toward the golem. He dodged its attacks, sliding around them deftly.

He incapacitated the golem by cutting it all off. Both arms and both legs.

He climbed onto the enemy's chest, holding the sword still in both hands.

He raised it above his head.

This was the only thing Desmond could do, as killing the master was not an option. Golems weren't living beings. But they had one thing in common with living beings.

They all had a source of power. A beating heart.

If he ripped it out, if he crushed it between his hands, it would be all over.

He brought the sword down, brandishing it.

The sword stopped a few millimeters from the golem's chest. Not of his own volition.

The sword had been stopped.

The golem's body had opened up, forming tentacles that wrapped around the sword to stop it.

"What is this?"

Apparently, he had underestimated this thing.

He didn't need to rip the sword out. Desmond dropped his hands, pulled them away and then called the sword back. That caused it to get rid of the tentacles.

He, however, wasn't so lucky.

The tentacles coiled around him. And they squeezed him against the body of that massive thing.

He felt several ribs break.

But worst of all, he was suffocating, how long could he hold on like this?

With every second that passed, the tentacles squeezed tighter and tighter, determined not to let their prey escape.

Damn it, am I going to die like this?