"Again."

"But I've done it thrice already."

"And you'll do it a fourth time, and a fifth time and as many times as necessary. Now quit complaining and obey."

Eldon frowned but stopped himself from speaking another word. He knew better than to arouse Don Osgood's rage, especially at that time of day.

The sun faded on the horizon and the cold breeze hit him like a train, but the old man couldn't care less. Indeed, the Don hid under a heavy layer of bear skin that kept him sufficiently warm to resist the chill for another hour or so. Tim and Eldon, however, had next to no cover, wearing only sweat-stained cotton shirts and leather pants. Frigid bones and algid skin made him slower, stiffer, less responsive, less effective. 

Eldon let out a tired sigh and complied with the Don's orders. He rehashed the movements as best as he could despite the numbing sensation that took over his limbs. Before he finished, he knew he made a mistake and didn't even wait for the Don to ask. 

The sooner I do this, the sooner we can go, he muttered to himself, hammering thoughts banging on his head. He repeated the combo, properly, putting great care in every movement, treating each punch like the flowy section of an intricate dance. Satisfied, he turned to the Don, smiling victoriously.

"Again."

The Don barely moved his lips, but Eldon heard him loud and clear. Words would fall halfway between the old man and himself, so he merely sighed and obeyed. With every new Again, Eldon's blood became hotter, boiling, liquid irony inside a frozen body. Soon, the heat within melted the icy surface and his grip on composure loosened. He repeated the moves, two, three more times, but there was no pleasing the Don.

"Again."

"Enough!" Eldon screamed, unable to keep going. He turned to face the old man. "You could at least tell me what I'm doing wrong! But you can't because there's nothing wrong! You just enjoy punishing me and I don't even know why! I do nothing but obey you! That's all Timmy and I do! And all you do is yell and nag and treat us like idiots. But you're the idiot! You're a cruel and bitter old man who wants us to be just as cruel and bitter."

Eldon's words pierced the space between them, like daggers aimed at the old man. Regret came instantly them but there was no way to recover the damage. Why bother trying? The only thing that could worsen the situation was trying to make it better.

The Don said nothing. His expression didn't change and he showed no visible reaction. Tim's face, on the other hand, turned white. Shock overcame frost and his jaw dropped to the floor. He crossed his arms, then immediately uncrossed them. His widened eyes went from Eldon to the Don and back, uncertainty their new companion. 

None of them ever dared to go against the Don but there was a silent agreement between them that, should it ever happen, It'd be Tim who finally spoke the words. But he hadn't, Eldon had. Obedient, know-it-all Eldon, who had no idea what to do next. He stayed still, a shivering statue made out of fear and ice. He knew he fucked up, he knew there'd be consequences and he'd most likely be expelled from the lessons.

"I... I didn't mean that..." he began, but the Don cut him off.

"Yes, you did. Own it."

Eldon's eyes met the Don's and for a few seconds, anger made a triumphant return. "Yes. I did."

"Good," the Don said. "Then let's see if your bite is as tough as your bark."

With a swift movement, the Don removed his cloak, revealing a full armour hiding underneath. A flail with two small but spiky steel heads menacingly hung from his belt and when the Don reached for it, Eldon couldn't help but take a few steps back.

"What are you doing?" Tim's shaky voice asked but the man ignored him.

The Don stepped forward and Eldon kept walking back until he hit the wall at the other end of the garden. With nowhere to run, Eldon helplessly saw as the man slowly approached. Tim followed closely behind, arms raised and prepared to jump in at any moment. With only a couple steps between them, the Don finally stopped, raised his arm, flail in hand, and spoke in a low yet powerful voice.

"Again."

The spiky heads crashed against Eldon's shoulder. He felt no pain, only blood travelling down through his arm and into his hand. Before he could react, the heads met his leg and this time, a thousand needles defiled his skin. Breathing became a chore. Legs trembled but adrenaline and sheer will prevented them from giving up.

"Stop! STOP!"

Through the confusion and sounds of metal crashing against flesh, Eldon heard Tim's screams. His friend ran towards them, tears lingering in the air behind him. The old man, however, was quicker and with a swift punch, sent Tim flying through the garden and into the bushes planted on the left.

He roared, hatred dripping from his mouth. Tim's bloodied face brought out the basic instinct in him, blinding him with rage. He kicked the Don in the temple, but the man recovered almost immediately. He swung the flail again. Eldon knew he would.

The boy blocked or deviated a downpour of attacks. Unlike the Don, however, he sported no armour. With each new lick of the spiky metal against his skin, a brand new cut opened. It wasn't long before his shirt went from white to crimson. Eldon kept going, though, ignoring the screams of his aching body, the tears from burning his eyes, the pounds from his battered heart.

Eldon's back met the wall. The flail reached him and he failed to stop it, yet the spikes didn't meet his skin. Instead, the chain wrapped around his neck, once, twice before finally squeezing tight. The metal head pressed against his neck, gracing his chin with a dozen pointy claws. 

He couldn't breathe. Air abandoned his body, blood rushed to his face. Balance got lost. Heart slowed its gallop. Life prepared to escape. The chain now squeezed harder and the spikes scratched his skin. His eyes lost focus, nothing but dancing shadows around him. Red became his world, then dark, then white. Then, a monolith. Standing before him, imposing, absolute. The master of his fate, holding his life with a rusty and cold metal chain.

The Don stood right in front of him, inexpressive as ever. No sign of rage or fatigue in his wrinkled face. No remorse or concern, not even the willingness to end it all. Don Osgood didn't pull the chain to break Eldon's neck or pushed the spikes to cut his throat. Instead, the man remained immobile, a block of flesh and steel, supreme and monocratic.  

Tim now stood behind the Don, his face covered in blood, horrified at the scene. Eldon's eyes found his and they pleaded, they begged for the answer to an unspoken question. Tim had nothing.

Don Osgood's eyes, dim and quiet, screamed at once and Eldon understood the game had come to an end. The man spoke.

"When you spit in the face of Death, make sure you can outrun her."

The Don released the chain and precious air entered Eldon's body. His eyes found Tim's again and a faint smile graced his bruised face. Then everything faded to black.

********

Eldon came out of the water.

He didn't know how long he stayed underneath but the candle beside him burned still.

They arrived at the Marquise's house in the morning, after travelling in the small escape pod all through the night. The pod was slower than the blimp, so they took twice as long to reach Ravenport. When they finally did, Eldon wasted not a single minute and ran to the nearest tub, desperate to get rid of the blue ooze. He washed his face three times and rubbed his skin so hard, his cheeks were red and burning by the time he finished. When he left the washing room, the Marquise told him Tim already rested in his room, so he did the same.

Eldon slept all afternoon. He was too tired to do anything else. Tim woke him when the night already reigned, telling him Master Nilla arrived at last and that he should prepare to meet her. Complying, Eldon drew himself a bath but dozed off and dreamt of something he thought long forgotten.

At least he thought it was a dream. A very vivid one.

His hands graced to his neck. Cold steel lingered on his skin and he wondered how the ghost of a sensation could linger through the gears. For a moment, he actually felt present in that garden, fighting, or rather losing against Don Osgood.

A shiver travelled down his back as his mind tried to make sense of the weird memories. Why did they feel so real? Why now, after all those gears? Don Osgood always spoke in riddles and he used to tell Eldon that his mind was powerful. Only now did he realize the words might hold a deeper meaning.

Why didn't he ask something when the old man still lived? And why didn't the Don simply tell the truth? He smiled at that notion, realizing the Don probably thought he'd have an entire life with Eldon and Tim, just like Master Nilla had with the Marquise.

A familiar voice took him out of his thoughts, and the door opened to reveal a very recovered Tim. Wearing a brand new suit, courtesy of the Marquise no doubt, Tim stared at him, eyebrows raised and hands inside his pockets.

"You're not ready," he scolded, using his most serious tone.

"I'm sorry, I... I dozed off, I think."

"Well, you better hurry. If you thought the Marquise was demanding, wait until you meet Master Nilla."

"Timmy,  I want to tell you something."

Tim's smile disappeared. He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Suddenly, Eldon became aware of his nakedness and quickly rearranged his bubbles to hide his vulnerability. He wasn't entirely successful and Tim drew a mischievous grin.

"What's wrong? Still tired from the battle?" Tim asked, focusing his eyes on Eldon's face.

"Not at all. As a matter of fact, I hardly feel anything anymore."

"Same here. Guess the fireflies weren't as strong as we thought."

Eldon examined Tim's face but found no sign of the battle's heavy cuts and bruises. His own bruises healed with the many hours of sleep, and now his skin showed no evidence of violence.

"What's the matter?" Tim inquired, his eyebrows desperate to meet. "Is everything okay? You look troubled."

"I just had a dream," Eldon replied, doubting if dream was the appropriate word to use.

A sombre shadow eclipsed Tim's face. "About the bird?"

"About Don Osgood. The time I talked back to him, remember?"

"When he almost killed you? How could I forget? I've never been so afraid in my life. I thought he was seriously going to off you, right then and there." Tim's smile fused fondness with anguish and the ghost of cold steel once again made Eldon shudder. "What about it? Are you reminiscing about our fun times with the Don?"

"Not quite. This dream was different from others, different from the one about the bird. It wasn't a memory either, it was... more. Like I was actually there, in the garden, fighting for my life."

"Well Emmu, you always had a gifted mind. You're the cleverest person I know. Maybe your memory is that good, but there's nothing wrong with that, on the contrary. Mine's shit, I can't even remember what I ate yesterday."

"Meat pie and potatoes."

"See? Cleverest man in the world."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"I don't even know what you're saying." Tim got up and walked to the other side of the room, leaning against the door and crossing his arms, impatience rearing its ugly head. "What are you saying?"

"I... I don't even know." Eldon let out a defeated sigh as he submerged into the water, leaving only his face untouched. "I'm sorry. I think I'm officially crossing the line into madness territory."

"Maybe this is a message from God," Tim mocked and Eldon splashed him with water. "What? Maybe it is."

"And which god would that be? The one we pray to here in Makina, the one that is worshipped over in Grenage? Or perhaps the many, many, many Gods that Gunners worshipped? It doesn't really matter, I suppose. They're all the same. Just a different name for the same inconvenient truth."

"You should try to embrace religion during these perilous times, Emmu."

"Religion is an old man's game. But perhaps you're right and this is God's way of saying my time is near."

"Well, If God is claiming you, so be it." Tim put his hands together and raised his eyes to the heavens, doing a silly little prayer.

"God's too much of a busy cunt to come claim me, or anyone else for that matter. He'll most likely send an emissary to do it. Should I pray for him to hurry?"

"But what would I do without you? Go back to my cart-making factory and bury my head under the mountains of scrap metal? No, no. I'd much rather have you alive, beside me."

"Then you better pray that no God comes to claim me, cunt or otherwise."

"And you better hurry. No God will save you from the Marquise's anger."

Tim threw the towel at him and opened the door. He turned before leaving, a softness tenderizing his strong factions.

"Emmu?"

"Yes, Timmy?"

"Have you learned how to outrun death?"

Eldon smirked. "I've learned not to spit in her face."