Now that I’m finally back on my own two feet, Kwant looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. His voice remains as cynical as ever, but this time, he seems intent on explaining... something. I’m just not exactly sure what.
A stream of grunted, grinding, barely intelligible words form a disjointed series of data, facts, and incidents. Some recent; most centuries old. It’s not a conversation—there’s no room for questions. It’s a lecture, the history of the world condensed into a chaotic five-minute recap.
It’s far too much information to process. Only a few things stick in my mind, probably because I’ve heard them before, either from my neighbor or the vice-principal. Something about an Equilibrium—or Balance Of The World and some prophecy (do people still believe in prophecies?) with enough power to destroy the world.
Only with the utmost difficulty I manage to ignore the growing unrest that itches under my skin.
He explains about The Guild, whose sole purpose is to prevent catastrophes by eliminating that person. The itching is almost unbearable now.
Finally, he pauses—just long enough for me to squeeze in a question.
"But, uh... sir, if there really is someone who can destroy the world, then... uh... ‘neutralizing’ him is maybe a good thing, right?" His gaze finally breaks away from mine, shifting to the tapestry depicting the medieval battlefield.
"Not him, girly—her," he says softly. "I never said it would be a man." Something painfully shifts inside my chest. Unsuccessfully I try to clear a brick from my throat.
“Max. My name is Max,” I mutter reflexively, still trying to avoid the inevitable. But my mind has already reached the undeniable conclusion: it’s me. They all think I’m the one foretold. They believe I will destroy the world and must be stopped.
The realization hits me harder than it should. I could have known—should have known—if only I’d had the courage to read the signs instead of turning away from them. The vice-principal, my neighbor, Scroptz, Williams... I’m blindsided, utterly blindsided—by myself. Sure, I knew some people held absurdly high expectations of me, of my abilities. But until now, I believed they saw me as the solution to a problem, not the problem itself. Not a threat. Not a danger. How could I be? I’m not evil!
“But... but... this is insane!” I mutter. “I can’t do anything. Not really. Ask my father—I’m useless!”
“I did ask your father, Max. "A long time ago.”
My jaw drops. My father? Did he bring this on me? Anger wells up inside me—I shall give him hell when I see him again—but then I realize, with a sinking feeling, that my father is still locked away. Somewhere in a cell, or maybe a cellar, his mind trapped in the shadow world. Wandering aimlessly, a nine-year-old boy... alone because I abandoned him. Again.
Finally—finally—it dawns on me: you don’t have to be evil to upset the balance. Being “good” can be just as dangerous when your power is strong enough. My neighbor just explained that to me. Half an hour ago, I broke through the transparent barrier separating the Shadow World from the real one. Body and all. That should have been impossible. I shattered a law of nature. The Guild has every reason not to take chances with me.
In the meantime, Shadow, Slug, and Gnat have been silently watching us, but now Shadow intervenes with a softly spoken protest. I feel a surge of gratitude.
“I don’t believe Max is a danger to anyone, Mr. Kwant. We’ve known her for half a year, and she has a heart of gold. She wouldn’t hurt a person, let alone destroy a world.”
“Exactly,” Gnat chimes in. “She may be obnoxious, but she doesn’t have the talent. She really sucked when we trained.” Although it’s typical Gnat—insulting and snide—I find his attempt to defend me genuinely heartwarming. Slug looks ready to add his support, but before he can get more than three words out, Kwant cuts him short.
“Nice try, kids, but good luck explaining that to the people outside.” He points toward the door, through which we hear furious fighting, the noise of walls crashing down, and desperate shouts. “They want blood, and if I’m assessing the situation correctly, they’re not losing.”
At that precise moment, a whistle blows, and all the tumult and clamor cuts off abruptly.
“No!” Kwant grunts. “Not The Akela!” Resolutely, he strides to the door and listens. “Only four? Where are the others?”
He turns back to the students. “The four of you stay here. Don’t leave this room under any circumstances. That’s an order.” Gnat hisses in protest, but Kwant ignores him completely. He unlocks the door without any hesitation and steps resolutely into the corridor.
Of course, we edge closer to the door despite his order and with each step, it seems as though we’re walking further into a hellish, real-life Jeroen Bosch painting. And then… I see Gran. What in heaven’s name has happened to her? Her dress is shredded, revealing her pale, blue-marbled legs. Her long gray hair, usually tied back, is in complete disarray, and to make matters worse, her face bears a massive black eye. Yet despite all that, she doesn’t look defeated at all. Her eyes blaze with fury. I always knew that making Gran angry was a terrible idea.
Bleach and Longshot don’t look much better. Only Williams appears unchanged—but then again, he looks ruffled on an ordinary day. All four of them are surrounded by a small army of uniformed men and women. Right behind those the Flintstones move restlessly—blood-stained, battered, and emanating pure hatred and violence.
I don’t linger on them because my attention is caught by a man behind them, overseeing with steel-gray eyes the corridor, a whistle hanging loosely between his teeth. I blush even before I consciously register that he’s completely naked. I try to look away, but I can’t help myself. My cheeks must be bright red by now. Thankfully, there isn’t much light. The lack of clothing does nothing to diminish his air of authority. He’s the leader.
Finally, I manage to tear my eyes away, shifting my gaze back to the first row of soldiers as two of them step aside, making way for Scroptz. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, I might have laughed out loud.
When Kwant sees him, he moves even further into the corridor, completely ignoring the troops, and starts talking to him with so much contempt that it makes only one thing clear. He hates this man. This is personal.
Still something feels off. My eyes scan the corridor once more, searching for the source of my unease. There’s an ominous tension hanging in the air, but what is it? It’s not the army. They’re dangerous of course but well... one-dimensional, easy to assess. This feeling runs deeper, like a slow-acting deathly venom spreading through me. And then it hits me. My eyes shoot back.
It’s Scroptz himself. His lack of response is startling. He barely flinches at Kwant’s insults. For someone who delights in reciting entire World War II speeches just to bask in the sound of his own voice, his restraint is unsettling.
The whistle blows. The army moves in. Williams fades, dissolving into thin air. Shadow and Gnat shoot past me to join the fight. Still, I don’t move. Even as Bleach, Gran, and Gnat are overpowered one by one; even as Shadow is dragged away by a giant wolf with a whistle dangling from its neck; even as Bleach is knocked out by Betty, and Porkchops has grown into such a massive human pancake that he can no longer move his arms or legs—I remain rooted in place.
Only Kwant is still undefeated, standing at the center of his personal Domino D-Day; soldiers collapsing backward as if their bodies have suddenly become too heavy to bear. And yet, still... Scroptz doesn’t react. He’s up to something. The tension building up inside me is hardly bearable. What is he up to?
Then, when he finally moves, it feels almost like a relief. Slowly and deliberately, he raises his hand, and before I can say or do anything, he brings it down, unleashing a knife with devastating speed. An ancient knife, ornately decorated like the desk behind me. I take in every intricate detail, yet I remain frozen, somehow unable to move out of harm’s way. Even when I see Kwant struck by a falling chunk of ceiling, I do nothing. The knife flashes straight toward my chest, but I feel uncharacteristically calm, as though some part of me wants this—wants to die. Strangely, the prospect of dying doesn’t seem so terrible right now. In fact, it’s almost soothing. I’m tired. Tired of my stubbornness, my discontent, my headlong charging forward, and my endless, flaring anger. Tired of all the inevitable regrets that follow. Living this way is so exhausting.
I don’t even know if I believe that I’m the one threatening the world. But what I do know is this: I’ve endangered everyone I care about, especially tonight.
I stare, mesmerized, at the knife. Such a beautiful knife. I’m ready—ready to save the world. Just let it happen already. But... nothing happens. The closer it gets to my chest, the slower the knife moves. I’ve read that under pressure, the human brain works so fast that life-threatening situations seem to unfold in slow motion. But this isn’t that. This isn’t just perception—it’s real. The knife halts just ten centimeters from my sternum, hovering motionless in the air. Only then do I notice that all the noise is gone and everyone—except me and my friends—are standing still like statues.
“Slug,” I mumble. Finally, I turn my head to the side. There he is, slouched against the wall, eyes closed, sweating like a pig. His voice uncharacteristically low.
“Max, maybe step aside now? I can’t hold this much longer.” So this is how he sounds, normally.
“Max… please?”
“Oh, right! Of course.” I rush toward him, grabbing his arm to help him up. His eyes closed, his face pale, his clothes drenched in sweat.
“I don’t know how I’m doing this, Max. Really.” His voice is almost apologetic.
“Doesn’t matter, Robbert, you saved me. That’s the third time. We need to get the hell out of here.”
Miss Bleach, Gran and Gnat scramble up from under the motionless soldiers lying on top of them. Kwant effortlessly pushes away the chunk of the wall that has fallen on top of him, not a wrinkle or crease in his suit. Shadow frees herself from the jaws of the wolf. Porkchops however, although slowly contracting, is still too big to be able to move by himself.
Now it’s clear that I’m not going to die after all, my survival instinct kicks in. “Run! Now!” I shout. “We have to get outside. Slug can’t keep this up much longer.” To my surprise everybody reacts immediately. No discussions, no comments. Not even from Kwant. Right away everyone starts to maneuver through the hordes of soldiers frozen in time, encountering no resistance at all. Here and there, a row of soldiers falls backwards, primarily in the vicinity of Gnat which is absolutely not a coincidence.
Me a leader? It’s the world turned on its head, but I don’t have time to linger on it. Behind me Slug’s eyes turn backwards in their sockets. His knees buckle. He’s about to lose consciousness.
“Hang in there, Robbert. You’re amazing,” I encourage him, but when we leave the troops behind us, he finally sinks to his knees.
“Carry him,” I command, and again I’m obeyed without any comment or resistance. Everybody knows that there’s no time for discussions.
The collapse of Slug can only mean one thing... behind us the soldiers coming back to life. We hear voices, shouts and curses and then… ringing loud and clear above it all, a whistle. The chase has begun.