A/N: this chapter is a bit early on schedule, but it was either earlier than usual or later - I'm going to be away from home the whole weekend without Internet, so I figured out it would be best posting before leaving.

Another thing: there's quite a lot of violence and blood in this chapter and, well, death. Not a surprise since Alba's intentions were pretty clear in the previous chapter, but I guess it bears pointing that out.

Had he even bothered to focus on Queen Luzula's expression, Quercus might have been mildly amused by the almost giddy grin on her face as she examined the documents he had brought her, clearly seeing High General Vulneraria's downfall in them. But he didn't take notice of her expression as he didn't take notice of anything else: he just stood there, his eyes locked dead ahead of him, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of the death he would soon give Vulneraria.

"We're going to need someone trustworthy to translate these without breathing a word to anyone outside us," Queen Luzula was saying, looking down at a letter written in Borginian. "I'm rather sure General Durandii knows the right people for this. Once we know precisely what all of these say, I'll reveal their content and have the High General arrested – until then, he must have no idea what we know and are planning. He might just avoid the trap if he knew it's there," she smiled, but her smile faded once she took a look at Quercus' expression. "Is something the matter, General Alba?

Quercus recoiled, inwardly cursing himself for letting anything show – whatever had it been that he had let show. "Your Highness?" he asked, trying to sound genuinely confused.

She tilted her head on one side. "You look like your mind is elsewhere, General. To be honest, I expected your reaction to be… quite different."

Thankful that she hadn't detected anything more than that, Quercus forced himself to smile. "Permission to speak freely, Your Highness?" he asked, more to take time than to really ask for a permission he already had.

She chuckled briefly. "Like you didn't know that's something you have granted all the time. Now tell me, what is it?"

"I was simply wondering what my role will be from this moment on," he lied. "Perhaps foolishly, until this afternoon I was under the impression I was the only one in the High Command to have your complete trust. You'll excuse me for being… unsettled now that I've been proven wrong."

There were a few moment of silence, then she let out a brief, low laugh. "One could say sound jealous, General Alba."

Was he? He had been, perhaps. But it didn't matter now. Nothing but his next and final meeting with Vulneraria mattered anymore. But for that to happen he couldn't allow himself to let the queen suspect he was on to anything, or that he knew more than he was letting by. She would certainly oppose to his desire to kill the High General with his own hands, and that would be… regrettable.

Because he wasn't going to let anybody stand in his way.

"Do I have any reason to be, Your Highness?" he finally asked.

She shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice, and then fell quiet, clearly waiting for him to ask.

And ask he did, because it was what she expected him to do and he had to appear normal. "Is he your lover, Your Highness?"

The smirk that had been curling Queen Luzula's lips immediately turned into a heartfelt laugh. "Durandii, my lover? For heaven's sake, no." Another laugh. "He's old enough to be my grandfather or almost. He had a deep-rooted friendship with my mother, and his loyalty to me is above doubt. But that's all that there is to it."

He nodded. "I see," he said, managing to make himself turn his thoughts away from revenge long enough to smile weakly. "I feel rather foolish for asking now. Perhaps I shouldn't have."

Queen Luzula smirked and took a step forward until she was right in front of him, and reached up to cup his chin, running her thumb over his lips. "It was a foolish question, yes. But I'd lie if I said I'm not flattered to know you worried over it," she added somewhat smugly before her hand went to graze at the medals on his chest. "You have no reason to worry about your position, either. Once the High General is out of the way, there will be no reason to keep up our little act. Things will be back the way they were before."

Still needing a terrible effort to keep himself focused on the conversation at hand – a knife, he was thinking, he would use a knife because a gunshot would make a far to quick death for scum like Vulnearia, scum so low that didn't deserve the death fit for a soldier – Quercus nodded. "I take it you're not worried over the fact someone may find the timing suspicious," he said quietly. "Someone is bound to wonder how come I stopped being out of favor right after the High General's crimes are revealed."

"Oh, they certainly will, and unless they're complete idiots they will guess what the answer is," she said, dismissively waving her hand . "But they're hardly a threat. Vulneraria is the head. Cut that off, and all limbs become useless and start rotting away."

Quercus smiled, but it wasn't directed at her words as much as the thoughts of rendering Vulneraria's own limbs useless and unmovable before dealing the killing blow. "That is quite a morbid way to put it, Your Highness."

"Morbid, perhaps, but fitting." She smiled, then, "Once Vulneraria is dealt with, I'll offer you the position of High General. You will refuse. I'm certain you can come up with an excellent excuse for that."

He nodded. "I think I can, yes. I suppose there is a reason for this little act, too."

The queen nodded. "Yes. The other generals, those close to Vulneraria, will certainly be wary of you. I doubt they would be able to get much done without Vulneraria's guidance, but if they were to try it will help having someone else as the High General – someone they believe they can easily play for fool, someone they do not imagine may be keeping an eye on them."

"Like General Durandii," Quercus said quietly.

"Precisely. By offering that position to you first, I will make it look like Durandii was nothing but a backup of some sorts. They will think that when I couldn't give the position to my most trusted military advisor, I decided to give it to some fool I can easily manipulate. If they'll want to try anything, their first move will be trying to manipulate him themselves. That's something they wouldn't even attempt with you."

"So Durandii will keep being the spy he has always been for you, from the highest position in the High Command. I see."

"Precisely," she reached up to run a hand through his hair. "I hope it won't hurt you having to hold back your ambition for a bit longer. Rest assured, that position will be yours; General Durandii already told me he's planning on retiring in a few years in any case, as soon as he feels his role has been fulfilled. And that day, when I'll ask you to become the High General of Cohdopia, you will accept," she added, her hand moving from his hair to his cheek. "Won't you?"

Quercus looked down at her, and smiled. He wasn't smiling at her words, but at the irony – she was offering him the power he had always wanted to achieve, and he felt nothing about it. No triumph, no pride, nothing – as he felt nothing at the thought that in mere days he could be standing in front of the fire squad for the murder of High General Vulneraria.

But it did not matter. As long as he had his revenge, as son as that worm lay dead and broken and bloodied at his feet, it did not matter. His hand reached up to cover hers and his smile widened, but it did not reach his eyes. "Anything for you, Your Highness," he said, and all he could think for a moment was that Laureola would have been her same age had she had a chance to live.

Had anybody been there to witness the feral smile on Quercus' lips as he watched his prey step past his hiding place in the dark hallway, they would have probably thought they were gazing upon death. That was something that would have not displeased him; after all, when Vulneraria would look at him for the last time before the killing blow came, that was exactly what he wanted him to see – not a being of flesh and blood, but something else entirely. When he would look upon him in his final moments, he wanted him to see death.

The faint clicking sound of a key turning in a lock was his cue to leave his hiding place. Silently, Quercus walked up the door of Vulneraria's study, right behind the man as he opened the door and reached to turn on the light before stepping in. It would be easy killing him now, breaking his neck with one twist and leaving without a trace. But it would be far too quick, far too merciful, and Anthyllis Vulneraria deserved no mercy – nor Quercus had any left.

Vulneraria let out a surprised gasp when Quercus pushed him, hard, causing him to tumble inside this study. Quercus quickly took the key from the lock, stepped inside and then locked the door.

"General Alba?" Vulneraria was asking incredulously, fumbling to get back on his feet. "How did you get in? What are you doing here? What's the meaning of-"

"Silence," Quercus ordered, so sharply that the old man immediately trailed off. "You will not speak unless I give you the director order to. And of course, you will not scream," he added. With a clack, he turned they key into a knife and held it up, smiling coldly when he saw Vulneraria's eyes widening. "Or else this ingenious key of yours just might cause an accident in here before anyone makes it in," he added. It was late night, the house staff had left and he highly doubted that the guards outside would hear his screams so easily, but he'd rather not take unnecessary risks until his work there was done.

Vulneraria gaped at him for a few more moments, then he clenched his jaw. "I see," he seethed. "I should have known that you were a snake set upon me. How did you know of the key? How did you-"

"I. Said. Silence!" Quercus growled, causing the older man to shut his mouth once more and take a step back. "I'll do the speaking today, High General," he spat out his grade as though it were rotten meat. "You shall keep your mouth shut and listen. Sit," he added, gesturing to the chair in front of Vulneraria's desk.

Vulneraria glared death at him, but did as Quercus had said. "How much do you know?" he finally hissed.

Quercus gave him an empty smile. "Quite a lot of things. I must say that the content of your safe was quite… enlightening," he leant against the wall, idly playing with the knife as he kept speaking. "I took the liberty of going through some of your documents, and took a few souvenirs with me. I know of your traffics with Borginia, Zheng Fa, Reijam and possibly with other countries I have yet to find out about. Needless to say, should anything happen to me tonight those documents would wind up in the hands of someone who'd be far too happy to use them to accuse you of treason and have you sent in front of a firing squad," he said. Let him believe no one else knew of them, he told himself, let him believe he had a way out so that he would keep quiet and listen until the moment he'd realize he was not to leave that room alive.

And as expected, Vulneraria fell for it. "If you want to be included in the business, simply asking would have been enough," he said, and attempted a sly smile. "I could use a man like you, after all. I believe we can arrange an agreement."

Quercus smiled back, and something about that smile had to disturb the other man, for his expression immediately changed, and he looked every bit as anxious as he had to feel.

Good.

"Perhaps we'll discuss it later," Quercus said lightly, dismissingly waving his hand, the one with the knife. "Right now, I'd like to share something with you. I suppose you could say I have a story to tell."

"A… story?"

"Yes. About a town that is no more, a man who never was and a young woman who never came to be," he said, and stared straight in Vulneraria'a eyes. "Tell me, High General – have you ever lost someone close to you? Someone you could do nothing to save, someone who did not deserve to go? Someone you wish with all your soul you could have again, to the point you wish it had been you to be taken?"

Vuleraria said nothing: he only stared, clearly wondering where that was going.

"You're expected to answer to my questions, High General," Quercus said sharply, and the old man recoiled.

"I…" a pause, a deep breath, then, "my wife. She passed away several years-"

"My condolences," Quercus cut him off dryly, not meaning it at all. "So at least you do know what it feels like. But I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? I was supposed to tell you a story after all, not to ask questions. A story that starts out almost twenty-four years ago, in a small town near the northern border. Dianthus," he said the name slowly, his eyes fixed on Vulneraria's face to search for a change in his confused expression, anything that indicated that he at least recognized the name of the town whose destruction he had ordered, but he saw none. It didn't surprise him too much; what did the name of a small town unimportant enough to be wiped out of existence matter to someone like him?

"It was no important place; it was little more than a village, and it relied mostly on commerce. Most people in Cohdopia didn't even know it existed. But some others – not many, but a few – called it home."

Another silence, longer than the previous one. Quercus had to fight back a lump in his throat before speaking again, his voice even and emotionless. "Among those who called it home," he finally went on. "There was a family with three children – two daughters, and one son. Both parents' families had been made of merchants for generations, but they were not too obsessed with traditions. So, when their son asked to be sent to the capital to study law, his parents let him; they were strong believers in self-determination. That was one useful lesson to learn from them," Quercus added thoughtfully, pausing for a few moments before going on.

"So the son left. He went to the capital, and began studying law. He was quite good at it, too." He smiled briefly. "But at some point he had to come back, you see. There was a promise he had to fulfill. But he never got a chance to, because by the time he made it back home he found nothing but ruins, fire and death. His family was gone; his parents, his older sister, and the youngest one – only seven years old. Sometimes I wonder what woman she would have grown into had she lived, High General. I wonder what kind of man I would have turned out to be had things gone differently. Had that war never been started, had I never lost my family and interrupted my studies to join the army with the foolish idea of getting revenge."

There was yet another long silence. Quercus kept quiet, eyes fixed on Vulneraria, waiting for him to speak first. His grip on the knife tightened. "I am… truly sorry for what happened to you. To your family," the old man finally spoke slowly. "But I still fail to see-" he trailed off with a gasp when Quercus snarled and took a sudden step forward, the knife gleaming gold in his hand.

"The attack that destroyed that town and the people who lived in it," Quercus spat, his whole body shaking with suppressed fury, "is what you refer to as Operation Casus Belli. You see now, don't you?" he growled, and gave a horrible smile as he saw the High General growing pale. "I see you do. I have to congratulate you: it was quite the plan, and the whole country fell for it – hook, line and sinker. But no lie can hold forever, can it? And of all people who could stumble into the truth, it had to be me. Isn't it ironic?" he gave a barking laugh at the old man's horrified expression, at the way his eyes kept uselessly darting to the locked door. "And now, High General Vulneraria," Quercus added, his voice a low growl, "I do believe this is the right moment for you to beg for mercy I do not have."

Vulneraria stared back at him with wide eyes, his skin ashen, and for a moment he truly looked like he would start to uselessly beg… but then the corners of his mouth curled upwards, and his frame began to shudder even so slightly, and it took Quercus a few moments to realize he was laughing.

Laughing.

He was laughing.

Something snapped in Quercus' mind, and he lunged for him, for his throat. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and forced him to stand, holding the knife only a scant inch from his throat. "What is it you find so funny?" he snarled. "Do tell me, High General. Humor me. Perhaps I'll make your end less painful if I find you amusing enough."

Vulneraria's laughter subsided. "Oh, it's nothing. I was simply thinking… well, I am quite disappointed in you, General Alba. I would have expected at least some gratitude from you."

For a moment Quercus could only stare at him, his mind unable to comprehend what he had just heard. "Gratitude," he found himself repeating, as though it were a foreign word whose meaning eluded him.

"Yes, gratitude," Vulneraria said calmly. Their gazes met and locked. "Do tell me, General Alba, where would you be now hadn't your family died? Hadn't you joined the army because you had nothing left but revenge? Do you think you'd be half as powerful as you are now? No. And do tell me one thing: if you had a chance to have your old life back now, this very instant, if only you gave up on all you achieved after losing them – would you take it?"

Quercus opened his mouth to say that yes, of course he would, but he found himself unable to speak for a few moments. He thought back of all the work, all the sacrifices, all the years it had taken him to make it that far, of the reason that kept him from ever giving up – the determination to never again be expendable, never again be worthless like… like…

Like his family had been.

"See?" Vulneraria spoke again, something akin to triumph showing on his face as he realized what Quercus' stunned silence meant. "You wouldn't – this is the kind of man you are. What you claim destroyed your life actually gave you a chance you wouldn't have had otherwise. You owe me everything you have. I didn't take anything from you – I gave you everything. And now…" he paused, and Quercus noticed just one second too late that his right hand had reached to grab something behind his back. "Now I'll be taking it all back!"

He moved quickly, far more than Quercus had believed him to be able to; before he could even begin to react Vulneraria's right arm moved into an arc and something hard – the small statue that had been on the desk, an iron miniature of the Primidux Statue – was slammed against the unprotected side of Quercus' head. For a brief moment he could feel everything with the sharpest clarity – his skin breaking, the thud of something hitting the bone, the blood running down his head – and then everything was blurry, just so damn blurry, and at first he did not realize that the dull thud that reached his ears was that of his body falling on the floor. His consciousness was slipping away, just slipping away, no matter how much he wanted to cling to it. He had failed, he had failed, and… and…

… And then a sound reached his ears, a laugh, Vulneraria's laugh, and something emerged once more from his clouded mind like a monster emerging from a dark cave screaming for blood – fury. He refused, refused to go down without a fight, refused to meet his family again without having taken revenge , before making sure that the man responsible of their deaths had paid – and some things can only be paid for in blood.

Then get up, and fight.

Quercus' eyes snapped open and he rolled aside just an instant before a blade – that of Vulneraria's ceremonial sword – hit the floor where his head had been. The High General let out a growl of anger and tried to raise the blade again, but he wasn't quick enough, he couldn't be quick enough, not with such a heavy and long sword to handle, and by the time he raised it again Quercus was back on his feet already.

Half-blinded by blood and sheer fury, Quercus knew one thing and one thing alone – that he had to be the first one to strike, or it would be the end of him. So he swung his arm, the golden knife-key cutting through the hair and then through flesh. There was a gurgling sound, that of someone chocking in their own blood, then the clang of a sword falling on the floor, and the thump of a body falling moments afterwards.

The momentum of the attack caused Quercus to tumble against the wall, and for a few moments he leant against it, eyes shut, drawing in deep breaths. Then, when he felt like he could stand without feeling excessively dizzy because of the blood loss, he pushed himself off the wall and staggered to the centre of the room, where High General Vulneraria had fallen after managing to take only a few steps towards the still locked door.

He lay on his back, throat slit and blood soaking the front of this uniform, but he was still alive, still breathed. His eyes, wide with confusion and dawning horror, opened to meet Quercus' gaze as he stood over him. Quercus could feel the blood running down his head, plastering his hair, but it didn't stop him from smiling down at his opponent in triumph – he was badly wounded and unable to scream, but still alive, and that was just perfect: he wanted to stare at him in the eyes once more before letting him die. Eventually.

"I suppose you were right, High General. I should be grateful," Quercus sneered as he knelt next to his still form and used the knife to cut the front of Vulneraria's uniform, exposing his heaving chest. "So it's only appropriate I kneel and leave a tangible proof of my gratitude, wouldn't you say?"

Vulneraria tried to speak, and to his credit he did manage to let out a raspy whisper. "N-no more," he rasped. "P-please… m-mer…"

"Mercy?" Quercus gave a hoarse chuckle. "I know no such thing. As you said, you created me. Enjoy the result of your kindness, High General."

The blade of the knife buried itself into the High General's chest, but not to end him: Quercus had no intention to finish him quite so quickly. "You killed people who were far better than you could ever be," Quercus heard himself growling, "but your worst mistake was leaving someone worse than yourself alive."

The old man let out another hoarse cry, but he had no strength to move and he could only shudder when Quercus dragged the knife down and down in a long vertical line, down to his stomach, deaf to his weak cries and to the blood that was now soaking the carpet they were both onto.

And it still wasn't quite enough.

As Quercus sank the knife in the General's stomach to cut through the flesh once more – another line, perpendicular to the previous one so that it would form a L because it was fitting, yes, it was really fitting, because all of it was for his family and most of all for Laurie – Vulneraria was no longer shuddering nor trying to scream, and by the time the knife was pulled out of his stomach his chest had stilled. It was over.

With blood dripping from his wound to the floor to mix with his victim's, it took Quercus a few moments to realize that blood wasn't the only thing that was dripping from his face, not the only thing that clouded his vision. He let the knife fall on the floor next to him and stared down, through the veil of blood and tears, at the bleeding mess that was High General Vulneraria. He was supposed to be finally satisfied, wasn't he?

And yet he was hurting, in more ways than one, hurting in ways he had forgotten he could hurt anymore; it felt as though the knife was being plunged in his chest now, and twisted.

"Laurie," he found himself muttering, his voice shaking. "Laurie, Laurie, Laurie…" his voice broke and his shoulders shook. He hadn't managed to cry back then, not while holding the remains of his sister nor while burying her and the rest of his family – but he cried now that his hands were finally stained with the blood of the man who had shed theirs, with raw sobs that tore the breath from his lungs until he could no longer stay upright, until the blood loss took its toll and made him crumble on the floor next to his victim.

He couldn't tell how much time he spent like that, unable to get up and with his mind drifting in and out of consciousness: it could be minutes, it could be hours. It didn't matter, nothing mattered because it was over, because he couldn't get up. Perhaps the blood loss would kill him, or perhaps the concussion would – he would pass out and never wake up. Or maybe he would live through it and would be tried for the murder of the High General, and sentenced to death. Either way, it was over. It truly was.

No, it isn't. It doesn't have to be. Get up.

The voice that suddenly rang loud and clear in Quercus' mind caused him to stiffen and try opening his eyes – something he couldn't manage to do. He let his head fall back on the floor, desperately trying to remember where he had heard it before, because he had heard it before – the voice of a young woman, clear and sharp as a razor. The queen? No, it couldn't be. But then who…?

You haven't made it this far to bleed out to death like this bastard. Grow a backbone and get up. You know what you have to do next. You have a plan – go through with it.

And Quercus finally recognized it, he knew whose voice he was hearing, or imagining to hear, because now he was certainly hallucinating: his older sister was long since dead. "Eclipta," he called out weakly, though knowing perfectly that it was useless, that she couldn't be there – he was alone with Vulneraria's corpse.

Good to know you still remember my name. Now get up.

"I can't," he rasped, eyes still shut, not even thinking how pathetic that was – a dying man hallucinating and talking to himself. "Too much… lost too much blood. I can't get up. I can't."

You can. Get up.

And that wasn't his sister, it didn't sound like his sister; it was the voice of a man, low and calm and spoken slow; a voice he hadn't heard in such a long, long time.

"Father…"

Quercus, get up.

A dry sob left him. "No. No, I can't. It's over. I did it, I had revenge, I killed him. I'm done. Let it end."

His request was met with silence and for a moment he thought the hallucination was gone, but then it reached him, the scent he dreamed of so often in the first years of his life as a soldier, the scent that had kept him coming back to Issoria for all those years: that of soap and clean sheets and freshly baked bread.

Home.

"Mother?" he whispered, and her voice did come from the depths of his mind next, low and soft and firm.

They are right. You cannot let yourself go just yet.

He blindly tried to reach out, driven by instinct rather than by rational thought, but his hand met nothing. "I miss you," he choked out.

It's far too soon for you. Be strong, and rise again.

"Please…!"

But then she was gone, they were all gone – they hadn't even been there in the first place – and the scent of home was replaced with the poignant smell of blood. It was that smell to finally drag him back to full consciousness and, while still dizzy, Quercus managed to get up at the first attempt. He pushed the memory of the hallucination back in the depths of his mind – he couldn't allow himself to relapse into such a pathetic display of self-pity, he simply couldn't – and reached up to carefully touch his head. The blood that coated the left side of his face had mostly dried up and the wound was no longer bleeding, and his mind was a little clearer – enough to know what he had to do now. He had planned for it, after all.

Quercus drew in a deep breath before he picked up something from the ground and then stood again, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes tightly shut, until his head stopped spinning. Only then he opened his eyes to look down at the bloodied knife, and he took a long, hard look at it before wiping the blood off the blade and switching the knife back into a key. How ironic that Vulneraria's little trick would turn out to be so convenient for him: no one would think that key may be the murder weapon.

He smiled faintly before wiping stepping past the desk, past Vulneraria's corpse and reaching, with some effort, the door. He pushed the key in the lock and unlocked it, then he stepped into the hallway and approached a certain small table beneath which he had hidden something… valuable. Something High General Vulneraria had traded for years at the cost of many, many lives – Babahlese Whitcrystal oil. Very rare, very valuable… and very much flammable.

Quercus turned to head back into the study, but he suddenly felt dizzy and he had to lean on the wall once more. "Damn it," he growled under his breath, and this time he didn't allow himself more than a few seconds before dragging himself back into the study: he couldn't allow himself to give up now, to pass out too soon.

Once inside, he opened the bottle and poured its content on Vulneraria's body, on the carpet he lay into, on the floor, and onto the blasted statue that had almost cracked his skull open. Once the bottle was empty Quercus threw it aside, took a few steps back, leant once more against the wall – everything was getting dizzy again, everything, and he wasn't going to be able to stay conscious for much longer – and reached into one of the pockets of his cloak for the box of matches he had brought with him.

His hands shook, but he still managed to light up a match. He stared at the flame for a few moments, thinking back of the fire that seemed to have swallowed his whole town after the bombing, and he sneered at Vuleraria's corpse one last time before throwing the lit up match on the puddle of oil on the floor.

The oil immediately caught fire along with everything it touched and flared a bright green against his eyes, and Quercus' head spun, reminding him that he couldn't stay there to enjoy the view, that there was still something else he had to do before he allowed himself some rest – create himself an alibi. His original plan was escaping through the window right after setting the study on fire to destroy any evidence of his presence, but that was no longer an option with his wound, and he was going to have to go for a back-up plan: pretending that the High General's murderer had stunned him with a blow, and then had managed to get away before Quercus – having regained consciousness as the murderer left – could manage to go after him. Wounded and weakened, General Alba had only managed to chase him to the hallways and shoot once before collapsing. How unfortunate that the one shot he could fire had missed.

Granted, it wasn't much of a back-up plan, but his strength was quickly waning and he had no other options left. Besides, was there truly a point to it? The queen would certainly know it had been him, and there was no telling what her reaction would be; would she furious enough at being lied to to want to make him pay, or would she still cover up for him?

But that didn't matter now; he had to try, if anything, and then he would find out. Quercus turned away from the fire blazing inside the room and staggered until almost the beginning of the hallway, then he pulled out his pistol – he had had it all the time but had promised himself he wouldn't use it unless forced, because a shot was bound to draw someone's attention and he couldn't allow that to happen until everything was settled, not until now – and, with a terrible effort, managed to focus enough to lift it and shoot through the window at the end of the hallway.

Weakened as he was, the kickback was enough to throw him backwards, and he heavily fell on the ground. That was it, he thought confusedly – he had no strength left. Quercus let go of the gun, closed his eyes and let his head drop on the floor, the roaring of the flames growing distant as his mind sank into nothingness.