Sakuramoria

Fortis saw how the ranks of his allies were dwindling – unfortunately, not from the general’s bullets! They were struck down, demoralized by the pathetic words of so-called “friends” – the battle hadn’t even begun, and their own people were already sabotaging it. Now they would doubt, they would think, they would look for excuses for their cowardice; now someone had already kissed the boot – which meant that they would no longer be alone in this servile caste; now even kissing wasn’t necessary – which meant that they could make a deal with their conscience. Selinets himself already felt that with all this talk, these compromises, and all this long-awaited humiliation of the demon, he himself was beginning to lose his zeal. The absurdity of what was happening was still outrageous, but the peak of tension was already behind him, and if he didn’t act now, in a few minutes he could turn into one of these sleepy amoebas, who the more they endure, the more they like it. He would have to act while there was still someone left besides him. Even if he was the only one left. Fortis had already roughly calculated the chances of victory – the general was old and weak, and they existed, but only if Thyme and the others remained inactive, and even then, the old man would kill almost everyone. The young man imagined how a bullet would pierce his head – there would be a neat hole at the entrance, a bloody trail at the exit, and white-pink mush inside the skull. It would be very painful, even if it was only for a short time... And if Duncan didn’t even have time to reload, he would swing his sword, and Fortis would lie on the floor for a few more minutes without an arm or a leg, until all the blood finally flowed out. It was scary, very scary to think about it, which is why he had to act now, while the zeal hadn’t disappeared, and then everything would happen by itself, one way or another. “Pff... Enough.” Fortis headed towards the exit with a wide, slightly swaying gait, his eyes fixed on Duncan. In his mind, images still swirled of exactly how the general would end his life, and how many people would help him in the battle if anything happened, but now the young man didn’t care anymore – now there was nothing he could do. If he starts reloading, I’ll attack. If he runs at me with a sword, I’ll do the same. I could wait for Frag, just in case – maybe he’ll join.