Instead, he dodged Second Wind’s sword as best as he could, launching energy blast after energy blast and hoping for a lucky shot. The blood loss was beginning to affect him, and his injuries slowed his movements.
They rose into the air, falling into a pattern of circling around each other, occasionally charging together for quick exchanges of furious attacks. Even though their abilities were different, they fought on the same rhythm, drawing from the same instincts, waiting for each other to make the mistake that would determine the fight.
Malcolm was the one who made it. He attempted a super strength enhanced kick, keeping his eyes on Second Wind’s tentacle arms and waiting until they were relaxed. He landed the kick, but forgot about the range of Second Wind’s sword, and didn’t react in time to trigger his invulnerability.
The sword went through his stomach, slightly off center. It was the type of injury that stopped time, stretching his pain and despair out into an eternity of torment. Second Wind’s eyes flashed with triumph, and then, curiously, a deep sadness.
Malcolm gasped for air, reaching one hand down to where the energy sword had entered his torso, and one hand back to where it had exited. He felt like an insect, speared through by a needle onto a card bound for a collection. He felt pain, so much pain. It hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced.
“I’m sorry,” said Second Wind. “It shouldn’t have come to this.”
Second Wind pulled the sword loose. Malcolm fell from the sky the instant he did, as though the energy sword had been the only thing holding him aloft. He had just enough sense of mind to cushion his own fall, though he knew it made no difference. The blood loss would kill him in minutes, and he couldn’t summon the concentration to use Savior’s invulnerability power.
He landed on the grass a few feet away from the magma pool. It had sunken down a dozen feet through the dirt, like a sinkhole with a volcanic surprise at the bottom. Malcolm groaned. The pain was too much. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to die. He just wanted it to be over.
“I’ll make it quick,” said Second Wind. “I’m sorry that you had to suffer through this.”
Malcolm forced his neck to lift his head up. His vision was spinning, and his eyes wouldn’t focus properly.
“You…” he managed to say. “Why…?”
It wasn’t a question that applied solely to that moment. There was so much about all that Second Wind had done that didn’t make sense to him. How had his copy gone from sharing his memories and experience, from being a champion, to being an agent of murder and destruction?
And then why had he come back from that to build the peaceful little town he seemed so proud of? It scared Malcolm to consider the possibility that Second Wind, like so many demons and sprytes before him, had just lost control. Made mistakes that had wiped cities off the map, along with millions of innocent people.
Maybe I’m supposed to die here, rather than live on as a demon. Maybe I would have lost control, just like he did.
“Goodbye,” said Second Wind. “You are right, you know. In what you’re thinking. I lost sight of myself, and caused so much more harm than good.”
Malcolm wondered for a moment if Second Wind had pulled himself back from the brink. Could he close his eyes, and die a peaceful death, hoping that his copy would find the light and bring peace to the world?
Second Wind’s eyes met his, and it seemed as though he was considering the same possibility. The energy sword in his hand, hovering inches from Malcolm’s neck, was answer enough. He would always harbor that strange, inexplicable evil inside of him.
Malcolm stared into Second Wind’s eyes and suddenly remembered the last of Savior’s powers. The one he’d very nearly forgotten about. With all the strength he had left in his dying body, he focused on triggering Savior’s offensive illusion ability.
He’d only seen Savior use it once before, but that single demonstration had been enough. The ability pulled forth a person’s worst fears and made them into reality, trapping them in a waking nightmare for a short amount of time.
Malcolm gritted his teeth. It was hard to keep focus on what he was supposed to be doing. The pain was overwhelming. The only leeway he was given came from Second Wind’s hesitation in killing him, those precious seconds of eye contact they held.
And then, he did it. The illusions triggered. Second Wind’s pupils dilated, and his face suddenly shook with horror. The energy sword disappeared from his hand, and he fell back into a sitting position.
“You!” he cried. “No! What did you just do!”
Second Wind stood up and spun around in a circle. Malcolm clutched at his stomach, trying to focus on Savior’s invulnerability to buy himself a few more minutes of life. Second Wind was looking around frantically, seeing and experiencing whatever it was he feared most.
“It’s me!” cried Second Wind. “It’s Malcolm! Why… It shouldn’t matter! Tapestry! Rose!”
Second Wind let out a body shaking sob. Malcolm didn’t want to guess at what he was seeing.
“Kill him…” Second Wind’s voice came out in a sob. “Not me. I’m just as much him as he is…”
Malcolm wondered what would have happened if he’d let Tapestry and Rose stay for his confrontation with Second Wind instead of sending them off. Would he be on the ground, bleeding to death, if he’d managed to set his own fears aside and accept their help?
So be it. If I had to sacrifice my life to keep them safe, it was the right choice to make.
“Please…” muttered Second Wind. “I didn’t mean to. Don’t look at me like that…”
Malcolm stumbled to a crouch, knowing that the illusion would eventually start to fade. He had to let go of his bleeding stomach to make a grab at Second Wind. Even distracted, his copy was still stronger than he was in his injured state.
Second Wind snarled and got a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, reacting on instinct in lieu of accurate visual information. Malcolm felt something leave him in a sudden rush. For a moment, he thought that it was the rest of his blood, splashing out of him. Then, he realized that he couldn’t feel any of his powers anymore.
It almost made him laugh. They would do nothing for him in death, and had only served to make his path complicated in life. It was fitting that the last few moments of his existence would be as a regular human. Ordinary and simple.
Malcolm twisted, keeping hold of Second Wind, and used the last of his energy to tip his copy into the sinkhole. Second Wind tumbled, and shockingly, didn’t react in time. He reached a hand back toward Malcolm, though it was clear from the desperate hope in his eyes that he saw something or someone else, an image created by the illusion.
“Help me!” cried Second Wind. He landed on his back in the magma, and flames instantly burst into life across his body. “Help… me…!”
His hand stayed raised in the air. For a couple of seconds, Malcolm watched as his regenerative ability desperately tried to keep his body intact. Then, he vanished into pool of molten rock and metal, a small explosive burp of moisture escaping in his wake.
This is only fair. He was my mistake. Maybe I was supposed to die, to take responsibility.
Malcolm collapsed onto the grass, making as much of an attempt as he could to hold his wounds. His body still hurt, but he felt good. He’d done it, even if it had taken all that he had to give.
For the first time in a long time, he felt like a hero. Malcolm smiled, tasting blood in his mouth. He was proud of himself.
EPILOGUE