Volume 5, Chapter 13 – A Wingbeat from the Destroyer
I felt a heavy, oily smell mixed with salt and metal. Everything was spinning before my eyes, and my vision couldn't focus. My body slowly swayed side to side, and the air was hot, drying out my mouth.
After some time, my vision began to pick out fragments of the picture: a table, riveted metal walls, a massive metal door, and a small porthole through which endless blue was visible.
(Metal, water, rocking...)
"I'm on a ship," — I realized with horror.
My head still hadn't recovered, but adrenaline forced me to look for a way out without thinking about why I'd ended up here. The door wouldn't budge — footsteps could be heard in the corridor, moving in different directions past the cabin.
"Let me out!" — I pounded desperately on the door. The blows echoed off the steel walls, hammering my head.
I tried to flip the table, but it was welded to the floor solidly. All escape attempts only exhausted me — and the calm sea outside the window reminded me that even if I got out of the cabin, I couldn't get off the ship.
Collapsing onto the little sofa, I covered my face with my hands, trying to remember how I got here — but terrible moments broke through into my memory. She fell from my hands again and again, landing on the sand. That moment spun in my head without stopping.
—
I lay under the symphony of waves, seagulls, engines, and footsteps, thinking about all those killed because of me, trying to find the right answer even now. (Aviana...)
I sighed at the ceiling.
Now the armored vehicle appeared before my eyes — and Aviana's lifeless body. (Did I kill her?)
(But why then is there no regret for those I personally killed, with my own hands?)
I looked at my hands — no blood, no weight on them. Just ordinary hands.
(Elara... Did I kill her? I didn't tell her about the Yellow's pistol... All of this drains me, and my whole new life has turned into a series of suffering and guilt — that I'm weak and can't protect myself. But why did I decide that?)
I propped myself up on my elbows and glanced at the porthole — water.
(Maybe I should try not to take responsibility for others... It's as if I'm the one killing them. In my past life, I didn't consider myself the one who had to protect everyone — and everyone outlived me...)
(Why did I decide to do what I'm not made for? Fight, kill. Maybe I should be who I am? Seraphim — an ordinary person. But I don't want to be an ordinary person anymore. I want to be... Someone. Someone with purpose — and not a shield that drags everyone to the bottom.)
(I was reborn — and I was given a second chance, a third, a fourth. God will just give up on it one day. The fact that He helped me all those times is already an achievement... I can live independently — I did live. What happened to me? How did I turn onto the "Defender" path — and why?)
(I should take only my own life into my hands — otherwise I won't be able to live, and I'll kill others. Like it already happened...)
Memories of the deaths of those I tried to protect but couldn't flooded over me.
The door slowly creaked. My thoughts evaporated — I jumped up sharply, aiming my gaze at the widening opening.
"Tuki-tuki!" — a contented Arleigh entered with a folder of documents.
"Arleigh... COUGH-COUGH! absolutely" — I collapsed in fright, seeing a ghost from the past.
Arleigh calmly walked to the table, carefully placing the folder of documents. Her gaze noticed my paleness — and that I'd called her name.
"Ahem-ahem," — she pointedly coughed, covering her mouth with her little fist. "— Seraphim. Correct?" — she adjusted her glasses and sat down on the chair, looming over me. "— You're quite perceptive, and, as I've noticed..." — Arleigh looked away to the porthole. "— Informed. Good, our communication will be easier!" — she jumped up energetically, putting a smile on display — but instantly returned to calm.
I looked at her in horror, realizing she didn't know me at all. I'd simply been swapped out like a variable — and now their commander was some Lady. (It's for the best, of course. But my heart still pricks... But I need to live for myself, not for someone else. I need to pull myself together!)
Inhale-exhale.
Arleigh watched me busily, crossing her legs and spinning on the chair as if she had a needle in one spot — while her red curls attacked her without stopping, and her entire cold image shattered against the hair struggle.
"Arleigh," — I began calmly, holding back a trembling voice.
"Exactly," — she squeezed the hair on her neck. "— What else do you know about me... And... Us?"
I smiled for a second and dumped everything I knew about them on her. Without stopping, I told all the secrets, the number of officers, their equipment, problems, and advantages. She sat without paying attention to the hair surrounding her — her lower jaw dropped to the table. Arleigh absorbed all the information like a sponge, with such shock as if she were a secret agent who'd been exposed.
The moment I finished pacing from wall to wall and took a final tired breath, I looked at Arleigh, who was frozen, processing the information.
"Am I free?" — I said, feeling dryness in my mouth.
(Of course — over an hour of monologue, and no water.)
"Arleigh?" — I walked closer to her.
No reaction.
"You killed me!" — she shouted, suddenly grabbing my arm.
Her face changed — now it was a bloodied Elara, whose facial skin was slowly dripping down to her feet.
"KILLED! KILLED! KILLED!"
"No..." — I whispered quietly, trying to break free of her grip.
"MURDERER! MURDERER!"
Her voice thundered in my ears like a distorted record, squeezing all thoughts out of my head, leaving me frozen.
"Murderer! Ow! Murderer! Owww!!!"
I was struck hard across the face — and Elara vanished, leaving in her place an indignant Arleigh with hands on her hips.
"Decided to grope me!"
A wave of displeasure ran across her face, raising her brows and lowering them back.
I stood across from her, rubbing the spot where I'd been hit and examining the cabin with blurred vision.
"It's not my fault," — I justified myself, mentally saying it to Elara.
(It's not my fault! The fault wasn't mine in her death... It's a tournament. I killed a dozen people myself — and they also have their own lives, the same problems as me. But now they don't. And in this death, my fault isn't there. I changed this world — but beyond that, people decide for themselves how to deal with it. I am not guil-ty.)
"In what — groping me?" — she pointed at her arm, where I supposedly touched her.
"Doesn't matter..." — I returned from my thoughts and looked away to the porthole, where the sea was.
Arleigh sighed, nimbly tying her hair into one huge, curly bun that looked like a ball woven from snakes. She walked back to the table, throwing her legs up on it, pulling out a folder with empty sheets.
"So..." — extracting a pen with a click from its cap, which stayed in her mouth. "— Seraphim, let's go over it again... More precisely... Where the hell do you know this from?" — she snapped, nearly falling off the chair.
"I'm fr—"
"Yes, yes, yes. Seraphim! I don't believe that you're the Commander," — she made a maximally skeptical face.
"Hello! You yourself don't follow logic," — I exhaled nervously. "— You're essentially a function, endowed with My desires."
Arleigh displeasedly spat the cap to the side, which slowly bounced off the floor, lodging in a corner.
"Genius? That's sarcasm. I'm endowed with the desires of Our! Commander — and you're a no-name."
"If I'm a no-name, where do I know all this from?" — I struck the table with aggression. "— Four Arleigh Burke Flight III, with two helicopters! Ship summoning anywhere! I KNOW EVERYTHING! BECAUSE YOU WERE CREATED BY ME!"
I collapsed to the floor, trying to catch my breath. My heart pounded from anxiety, and communicating with Arleigh only stressed me out and didn't make things better. (They already have a new commander — what do they need from me?)
"I don't care about your belief," — Arleigh disowned my words. "— Understand this," — she slowly walked around the table, crouching across from me. "— If you talk too much... Especially where it's not welcome and with whom it shouldn't be discussed... I'll—... Ah. Ah. Ah."
"ACHOO!!" — Arleigh sneezed sweetly, releasing an aerosol in my direction.
And along with the saliva falling on my face, a thought hit my head:
(I died and live by old principles — but I can live as whoever I want. Strong and independent.)
"Bless you," — I answered, getting to my feet, leaving her sitting puzzled on her knees.
"I'm leaving. Goodbye," — I said in parting, looking at her to remember her face — and carry it through my whole life in this world, where I decide for myself what to do.
I pulled the handle of the steel door.
"Stop! I didn't let you go," — Arleigh objected — and crew-functions appeared on both sides of the corridor.
"I let myself go," — I answered coldly over my shoulder.
(Because most likely this world was created by God exclusively for me. He wouldn't resurrect me several times for nothing — He doesn't do that with others. And the indulgences — why, all because this whole world was created for me, and I should use it.)
(Maybe... I'll find the one person — the only one — whom I'll want to protect. And I'll fulfill my role as a "shield.")
"Sorry. But no," — Arleigh snorted displeased.
On both sides of the corridor, crew-functions froze — faceless soldiers with terrifying black voids instead of faces, forever bound to the ship for its maintenance. Obeying a silent command, they synchronously pulled back their bolts.
[From Arleigh's perspective]
I stood behind him, feeling anxiety rising deep in my soul. This guy scared me. Not because he knew absolutely everything about the "Democracy of Silence" — but because he knew me. My heart started beating at a furious rate from the mere thought of capturing or killing him. I physically didn't want to do it.
Thankfully, CUB thought the same.
[CUB]: Let him go. We don't need a conflict with this type of Winged.
CUB had already managed to classify him and Cherubima as "Winged" due to their ability to summon wings.
[CUB]: We'll observe and try to build an alliance.
—
[From Seraphim's perspective]
"Fine. Bye," — Arleigh said quietly behind my back — and the whole crew calmly dispersed to their duties.
I glanced at Arleigh and, without slipping into reflection, headed for the exit to the deck. On the deck, I was met by the same faceless soldiers working: maintaining the functionality of the guns, cleaning the metal deck, checking the sides, replacing plates.
I looked around and made a jump, releasing two wings from my shoulder blades that with a hard flap scattered wind across the deck — and a moment later I jumped from the bulwark and flew over the blue into the distance.