<20 minutes of clone lifetime remaining

"Come on, talk to me, Henry. Something's clearly bothering you right now."

"I'm fine. Really. Just give me a bit to rest up, and I-"

"No, you're not fine. You've been absolutely dead quiet ever since that… whatever that was. Quit acting like I don't know how you get when you're upset, already. Please. Just…"

Layla let out a worried sigh as the surviving defenders licked their wounds in the aftermath of the assault. Circled around a loose pile of burning furniture scraps lit by a spare Fire Domain crystal, Henry, Layla, and a few of the more shell-shocked fighters numbly munched on the former Knights' field rations or dressed cloth bandages on accumulated wounds. A few, like Henry, seemed outwardly healthy in the physical sense, but could only bring themselves to stare into the flames.

"Tell me what's wrong," she finished. "Let me help you out."

Henry blinked slowly, hesitantly peeling his gaze away from the flames to look into her eyes. Piercing blue irises stared back at him, in as clear a look of worry as he'd ever seen her have.

Shamefully, he couldn't bring himself to look at her for more than a few seconds.

If I tell her… she'd probably only worry even more.

"…I…I don't think I want to talk about it." He broke his gaze away from her, staring back down into the flames.

In that moment, he felt like he could sit there until the end of time and just… watch the flames dance. Sit himself down, wait for whatever was happening to him to pass so that his body and soul could finally reconnect properly. Slowly knit himself back together in this out of the way corner where he was probably safe, and others would be safe from him.

He was still getting flashbacks, every so often. The images were as vivid as ever, despite feeling like they'd happened a lifetime ago. The fact that, back then, he'd not even had his clone magic to pull from only furthered the disconnect.

The visions had lessened a bit now that he wasn't exerting himself as much, but-

< -|- -|- >

-when the bells had struck for a second time, they'd all expected a need to be hiding from a sudden dramatic surge of new werewolves. The first day after, things had been rather straightforward in their heads. Heavy fog rolled in, nobody in their group had started howling and bulking up, so by the end of the day everyone assumed they were in the clear.

Then the second day came, and the fog levels had only dropped marginally. It was still bloody impossible to see anything out the windows.

They hadn't considered that to be the worst thing in the world, though. Sure, with the supplies being exposed on the roof as they were, nobody wanted to risk getting jumped fumbling around in the mist, but between the seven of them they had just enough stashed away to last a full week, provided they rationed adequately. It even gave Henry time to recover a bit from the injuries he'd accrued during the skirmish with the so-called Gentleman's Club.

Then the third day came, and the fog levels had only dropped marginally. It was still bloody impossible to see anything out the windows.

That was about when the unease began to set in for them.

< -|- -|- >

-a firm set of hands on Henry's shoulder's snapped him back to reality. He tensed in surprise, bewildered at the sudden return. Looking up from where he'd expected to still see the flames dancing, he instead found Layla kneeling down in front of him, face to face and with a serious expression of concern.

For a moment, she said nothing. Just… looked him straight in the eyes. When he tried to shy away again, her hand came up and held his chin in place. Preventing him from withdrawing deeper into himself. Letting the moment hang in the air, speaking not through words, but raw, unfiltered emotion delivered purely through expression.

"It's okay," she finally spoke, barely louder than a whisper. "Whatever's wrong, I'll be even more worried if you don't say anything about it."

She continued to hold his gaze for a good while. Letting go of his chin once it became apparent that he wasn't going to look away, now, he could see tears begin to well up in her eyes, just at the corners. Her hand slid back down to his shoulders, curling in around his back and pulling him close. Slowly. Gently. Leaning in and letting out her own cry for help she'd been holding in, in the hopes that it would pull him away from the edge.

"Please."

Henry hadn't been expecting the sudden outpouring of emotion. Surely he didn't deserve this, right? Being an aimless drifter who'd been the one to leave her first?

"I don't… want to lose you, too," she choked out. "Now that you're back-"

But, at the same time… it was not unwelcome.

Only a few words seemed appropriate in that moment.

"I know," he murmured softly. "I know. Me, too."

Nothing else needed to be said. He simply hugged her back, as she likewise did for him. He wasn't sure who was comforting who, at this point, but… in the end, what did it matter? They were both hurting, deep down. All any of them could do was help each other pick up the pieces.

"Okay…", he responded at last, taking a deep breath as a hint of the tension laced into his voice faded away. "Okay."

They stood up from the fire pit, and headed off in search of somewhere private to discuss.

< -|- -|- >

Not many places on the floor had much privacy, truth be told. Either they were too open on account of being actual cages, or too crowded already. But, with a bit of searching, they were finally able to find a secluded corner away from prying eyes enough that Henry was willing to get his worries off his chest. It was cramped, it was claustrophobic, it was enclosed… but for some reason, the escapees wanted nothing to do with it.

Probably why the old bodies of the Landed Knights were dumped here, to be perfectly frank.

Henry carefully stepped over an outstretched arm lolling out of the corpse pile. He took a deep breath in to steady himself, only to immediately regret it as the stench of death filled his nostrils.

Grimacing slightly, he turned back around and finally began to tell all.

"So… there's something I probably didn't mention to you about those side effects."

"The crystal switch? Your copy mentioned some more long term issues, but not much past that."

"Yeah… well, that's the kicker, isn't it. Every time I've done it successfully, there a bit afterwards where I…"

He had to pause to steady himself, propping his weight up on one arm as he leaned against the wall. "…where I relive the moments leading up to when my soul got separated from my old body," he grunted.

Layla hissed in understanding. "Oh, God…" was all she could manage to say in response, at first. "I'd had the feeling that you weren't explaining everything involved in that before. And yet, despite knowing you were being skittish, I never would have imagined…"

she trailed off, letting out a bone-deep sigh. "It does make a bit more sense, now, but… why are you telling me this now?"

"Because," he replied, "Every time before this, I've had time to just sit down and ride it out. This time, that wasn't really an option, and, well…"

Henry paused, letting out a low, frustrated groan as he recalled the charnel house he'd inadvertently become the epicenter of at the floor's gates.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"...That…", he waved ambivalently in the general direction of the gatehouse, "Happened. Whatever the hell that even was. I haven't seen one-sided carnage that bad since the Kennel Massacre."

The feeling of ice building up in his veins crept to the forefront as new details of the killing spree cropped up in his mind one by one. Each one more damning than the last. Painting a clear picture that removed any hope of denying the truth.

"Except… this time… this time I was the one doing the killing…"

He shivered, memories he'd thought long buried squirming at the edges of his mind. Burrowing in to his every thought.

"I'm okay with dying, at this point," Henry rambled. "Monsters, I have no issues with putting six feet under. On the off chances where someone's wanted to kill me first and it's either me or them, making the decision is easy. But that… what I just did was a whole new level of… fucked up."

Bile threatened to surge up from below, but he choked it down. "And the worst part? I don't even know how much magic was really involved in… in making me capable of that sort of slaughter. Like, if anything… it felt like I touched on something I was supposed to be able to do, if I'd not ended up a lost soul. Like... like that was just the intended end result of my time here, in a way. That so, so much more was possible, if I just applied myself."

His head was starting to spin. He needed to sit down. Sliding down the wall with his back flat against it, he practically collapsed, laughing weakly as he did.

"Can you believe it? If I just stopped caring, apparently I'd make a fine serial killer."

He gave out just a bit more pained laughter, quickly petering out into a hopeless sigh as he clutched his head in his hands.

"I'm not cut out for this," he murmured dejectedly. "Really, I'm not. And if there ever was a day where I was… well, I'm not quite sure what would happen. But it wouldn't be good, and I don't want to be that version of me, either. I'd rather die, and not come back."

There was a migraine on the cusp of blossoming between his eyes. Pinching his brow between his fingers, he grimaced again as he desperately tried to push away the sights of so many bodies at his feet. Of pint after pint of their fresh blood soaking his hands and face.

He needed to forget. This wasn't who he wanted to be. Couldn't live with himself if it was.

"There, I've gone and said it." Henry snapped testily, lashing out at the one person who wanted to help him.

"Are you happy with the answer? That I'm past crazy and moving steadily toward insane in this… this shithole of a city?"

"N-no, that not what I-"

"Too bad! 'Cause that's the cold, hard truth! It's godawful, just like everything else here! This… this!"

The rational side of him tried to pull back, to scream at him that he was making a terrible decision. The other part didn't care all that much. It needed an escape.

He stood up with renewed vigor, kicking the corpse pile impotently as he steadied himself. All he got for his troubles was a wet squelch and a fresh stain on his shoe.

"I'm tired of just surviving! I'm sick of these stupid games I need to play just to get by! Having to beg, borrow, cheat, steal and lie just for the chance at seeing another day! Oh, wait, that's right! WE DON'T EVEN HAVE DAYS ANYMORE!!"

His anger started reaching a boiling point, causing Layla to take a hesitant step back. In his rage, he noticed a metal frame backpack propped up against the far wall, similar in design to the one she'd left in the car after their recent joyride.

Looked flimsy enough. Roaring in frustration, he yanked on the top corner of it with both hands, toppling it to the floor with a resounding clatter, contents spilling every which way.

"EVERYTHING OUT THERE WANTS TO KILL US! AND AT THIS RATE, I'LL BE ONE OF THEM!!"

"Henry… calm down, please-"

"WHY CAN'T I BRING MYSELF TO MAKE IT STOP ALREADY?!?!"

Hunched over, he found himself gasping for breath, hands on his knees.

God… I'm an absolute mess…

He started crying. Flat out broke down, right there in front of her. Salty tears streaked down his face in thin rivers, and he fell to the floor once more, curling up his knees as close to his chest as he could. For a while, that's all that happened there.

"I'm failing everyone… these deaths today are happening because I can't beat The Mad Prince…"

He curled up even tighter. For some stupid reason, he thought putting all that out into the open might have made him feel a slight bit better about his own shortcomings, but… it did nothing to solve the actual problem. Only acted as a painful reminder.

The words he heard next surprised him greatly.

"First time?", Layla asked understandingly, sitting down beside him.

He blinked in surprise, eyes puffy and red from his prior outburst.

"W-What?"

"Believe it or not, you're not the only Devil who's been asking themselves that exact same question. You weren't around for it, but… I started a similar blowout, a few months back. With Cavendish."

Henry looked up at her with an ever so slight quizzical look on his face as he wiped his nose clean. Didn't quite know what to say, so he just let her speak.

"Ever since then, we've had the same argument, oh… every few weeks or so? It always ends the same way. We both agree that the situation is basically Hell on earth, he puts his foot down and argues that he's the only one who seems interested in fixing things around here, yadda yadda… Then he reminds me that unless I've got a better idea, I should just stick to keeping his scavs alive and playing the hero for the people who need it."

Layla picked up a loose piece of rubble and tossed it idly across the room as she talked. For a brief moment, under the dim light inside that room, Henry saw all pretenses of the Shroudwalker persona melt away completely, leaving just the two kids from Greenwich.

"…Did you ever… suggest anything after that?", Henry asked.

She shook her head. "Never. Because, as much as I hate to admit it… He's right about one thing, at least. It's up to us to make things work, now. And so far, he's got the best concept of how to keep things running in here. He knows it, and won't hesitate to rub it in people's faces if it serves him, but…"

She sighed. "Well, you know the rest of that story, at any rate."

"Mm," he agreed nonverbally.

There was another brief moment of silence before Henry asked another burning question of his.

"So… what kept you going, despite it all, then?"

Shrugging, she tilted her neck to face him eye to eye. "Nothing profound, honestly. Cavendish always had something work-related to put in front of me, so I'd just… knuckle down and take care of it, I guess. By the time it was done and things were a little bit better for other people, I felt a little better myself."

"And then…", she continued, "I'd get over it. No fanfare, just… after a time, it didn't feel so important. Well, until the next time it happened, at least."

Henry nodded.

"Put it aside until the job gets done, huh… Guess that means finishing the fight with Guillaume, for us."

"I suppose so," she agreed.

Henry glanced down at his wristwatch to see how much time was left on the remains of the final clone's lifetime. The face of it was a bloodstained mess, requiring him to lick his thumb and wipe off the red-brown crust that had caked on. It took a bit of careful scraping, but with some effort he got it to a point where he could just make out the minute hand.

Just about 15 minutes left. And he had no idea where the French grease stain had scurried off to.

"Well… shit. Here's hoping Evelyn had better luck finding him than us, then," he moped. "At this rate, we don't stand a chance of digging him out in such a short time."

Layla peered over to check the time as well. Sure enough, she saw the exact same result he did, and drew a similar conclusion.

"Yeah…" she muttered wistfully.

Henry sighed in defeat, gesturing to a radio that had fallen to the ground in front of the backpack. "Mind if I check for some tunes?"

Should I apologize? Could I have even done more to prevent this from happening?

He had no idea. And the thought bummed him out just thinking about it, so… time for a distraction.

There were a lot of extra bits and bobs on the Knight radio, certainly, but the core of the machine was always the same no matter what got added on. The parts he recognized were the ones he was looking for, anyways. As he fiddled with the dials, Layla gave a neutral shrug, dusting herself off to stand up but letting him take care of whatever he needed to to freshen up his state of mind.

"Don't need my permission for it," she replied, stretching as she got up from the floor. "I'm going to go check up on the others. Make sure they're all okay before we use what time we have left, at least."

"Mm. Good thinking."

Idly, Henry flicked through channels one by one, greeted by the all-too-familiar static of dead frequencies as he thumbed over to Gentleman Pirate Radio.

Instead of music, however, both of them were shocked to hear a distress signal, of all things, resonate through the damaged speakers.

"-is Mr. Dufresne speaking," said none other than the man himself as the crackle-hiss of static faded away. "To all surviving members of the Gentleman's Club, I am afraid this will be our last stand. Any sergeants still within the main building, prepare defenses and recall any surviving troops at your disposal to the radio station. Take whatever you can carry up from the lower floors. The Harpy of Woolwich is inbound and dangerous, repeat, dangerous. Avoid at all costs. May God be with us all."

The message began repeating, but Henry and Layla were momentarily stunned.

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