Childhood should be the happiest time in a person's life; at least, that is what they say.
Patoshe and her two brothers were abandoned by their parents due to debts and addictions, but they pressed on. She had to mature ahead of her time to care for them. Although she stole to feed them and often went without eating so they could have more, they were happy.
They ended up in an orphanage where, fortunately, both the caregivers and the other children were kind. Even so, Patoshe remained the pillar and the authority for her brothers.
One day, while they were playing, a strange figure exited the building while conversing with the nuns. Little Patoshe, distracted, bumped into him.
—Patoshe! How many times have I told you not to run? You could cause an accident —the nun rebuked her, before addressing the visitor—. Forgive them, Duke; the children aren't usually this restless.
Patoshe looked up. It was an enigmatic figure, wrapped in a voluminous crimson cloak that concealed his entire body. Standing out against the velvet was a white mask with a fixed smile, a red heart on the forehead, and matching circular cheeks.
The man knelt down and extended his hand to help her up.
—Would you mind if I joined you? —he asked.
—Sure! —Patoshe responded with a smile.
After playing for a while, another nun came back out to call for their attention.
—Come on, children! Stop wasting the Duke's time.
—Do not worry, it is no trouble at all —he responded—. Besides, I have found what I came looking for.
The Duke turned toward Patoshe. He observed her for an instant and, with a slow movement, took her by the hand.
—Where are we going? —Patoshe asked.
—To a better place —he responded—. Do you have siblings?
—Yes.
—Go get them, then.
The tide struck the coasts of the central island of Mirathun with fury. From the castle, the roar of the water crashing against the rocks was constant at that time of year.
Patoshe observed the landscape. After years of grueling training, she felt that her emotions had evaporated. She was convinced that, to settle her debt with the Duke, she had to transform into a weapon, and that required suppressing any trace of humanity. She only allowed herself to be herself when she was alone with her brothers or in front of her savior.
She felt a hand stroking her head. Turning, she found the Duke.
—I am glad you have grown strong, but you should not have nullified your emotions to achieve it. I like you better when you let people see who you are —he told her softly.
—That isn't true... I owe you everything —she responded, pressing her hands against her chest.
—You owe me nothing, neither you nor your brothers —he declared—. You have immense potential; do not waste it believing you have a debt to me.
Blood ran down Patoshe's forehead, blurring the vision in one of her eyes.
«Why did I remember that just now?» she thought, shaking her head. «I am not going to die. Not here. I have to keep my word to the Duke.»
Zein was in front of her, clutching his arm. With a sudden movement, he tore a piece of his own clothing and made a tourniquet, attempting to slow the advance of the poison. He reinforced it with magic, sealing the area, even if it meant leaving his arm completely useless for the rest of the combat.
«Even though we are equally wounded, I have the advantage,» Patoshe thought, without taking her eyes off Zein. «Whether I win or lose, the poison will finish the job. My objective is fulfilled.»
Zein gripped his sword with the only useful hand he had left, while Patoshe held her last two knives.
—Damn you! —the cry of the triplet wounded in the foot tore through the silence—. You killed my brothers and almost finished off Zein! This ends here and now!
Zein and Patoshe's eyes widened at the sight of what the man was holding: a tube of condensed radiation. He gripped it with suicidal strength. If that container broke, the explosion would incinerate everything in its path, releasing lethal levels of energy.
—Wait! Don't do it! One of your brothers is still aliv...! —Zein shouted, lunging toward him.
It was useless. The triplet shattered the glass, triggering a detonation that hurled Zein and Patoshe against the walls. In the place where the man had stood, only a black, smoking mark remained.
The basement began to saturate with invisible radiation. Dazed, both tried to sit up amidst spasms and dry coughing.
«Dammit, I have to use my last reserve of magic to protect myself from the radiation,» Patoshe thought, feeling her strength drain away.
«No more magic for fighting. This is hand-to-hand,» Zein declared in his mind.
Zein's sword had gone flying into the darkness, but one of Patoshe's knives gleamed on the floor, right between the two of them. They stared at each other for a second before desperately lunging for the weapon.
Patoshe reached the knife first, but Zein threw himself onto her, struggling to wrestle it away. The momentum dragged them to the base of the stairs.
She managed to position herself over him, sinking the weight of her body to drive the metal into his chest. Zein resisted with gritted teeth, feeling the sweat and blood of both mixing and sliding down their arms. In a burst of desperation, Zein landed a blunt blow to her stomach; Patoshe curled up, stunned, and he took the opportunity to deliver a kick that sent her against the wooden steps.
The knife clattered on the floor. Patoshe tried to reach it, but Zein was faster. He pounced on her, pinning her against the first step.
He gripped the handle with both hands, driving all his weight toward the girl's neck. Patoshe struggled, striking him, trying to push away the blade that descended millimeter by millimeter. Groaning in pain, exhaling hot and metallic breath, they stared intensely into each other's eyes. There was no technique or strategy; only two wounded animals guided by the most primal survival instinct.
Every blow she landed seemed to give Zein more determination. In one last spasm of defense from Patoshe, the knife finally found its way.
The steel pierced the girl's throat. Zein felt the resistance of the flesh give way and the heat of the blood erupting over his fingers. Patoshe's body shivered violently beneath his. Her eyes, once empty, now reflected an unbearable pain as her hands desperately sought the wound.
Zein backed away, leaving the knife embedded. He crawled a couple of meters and remained sitting, collapsed from exhaustion.
He looked at his hands. They were covered in a thick layer of blood and fluids. They trembled so much that the brushing of his fingers produced a dull sound. An icy cold began to run down his spine. He had just killed someone. It wasn't a monster, it wasn't a shadow; it was a girl who, deep down, clung to life as much as he did.
Patoshe brought her hands to her neck, trying to articulate a word, but she only emitted wet noises. With one last spark of strength, she stretched out her arm and gripped Zein's shirt with supernatural power. Her body, tense from agony, yanked him toward her, forcing him to look closely at the end he himself had caused.
She looked at him. That coldness that once seemed like an abyss was now an uncontrollable tremor. Zein watched as the blood vessels in her eyes burst in the sclera of her eyes, tinting them an agonizing red. She clutched her neck with her other hand, but the blood was winning the battle, flowing in a cascade down the wooden steps.
Zein, terrified, tried to look away, but Patoshe yanked him toward her with desperate force.
Her lips moved, trying to shape one last word that the steel had stolen from her. Zein looked directly into her eyes; that void had been flooded with tears running down her cheeks, mixing with the filth of the floor.
Suddenly, she let him go.
Patoshe's hand fell limp. Zein searched for her gaze, but there was no longer any reaction in those pupils. The girl's breathing became a forced rattle, an irregular pattern that disturbed the silence of the basement, growing weaker, more distant.
«Forgive me, Duke... for not living up to it. Forgive me, little brothers... I won't be able to play with you again.»
Then, the air stopped.
Zein crawled away from the corpse, unable to take his eyes off the figure lying at the base of the stairs. The silence that followed was heavier than the radiation explosion. When he finally managed to look down, he found his hands.
They were soaked in a thick mixture of blood, sweat, and dirt. They were the hands of a murderer.
His vision began to ripple. The edges of the room vanished into shadows and his thoughts dissolved into a white hum. The cold of the poison and the weight of death won the game, and Zein collapsed onto the floor, sinking into unconsciousness beside the body of the girl he had just destroyed.