Until this little beast.
Weapons directed at me are always immediately absorbed. My body doesn’t sustain damage from attacks, except from other immortals, so I’m entirely taken by surprise. Then again, she’s the first of my champions to be upset about their selection. Perhaps all of my champions had the capacity to harm me, and I just never knew.
I think about shaking her off and stomping on her, but then I might have to stop again to try and nurse her back to health. I can’t simply gallop along while she pokes holes in me, and after the first stab, she dislodges the long knife she secreted in her bag and plunges it in my back again.
It’s all very frustrating.
I finally decide to rear back, knock her to the ground, and stomp one hoof right next to her head. Then I scream, my spittle flying all over her shocked face.
Why’s she surprised? She thought I’d tolerate being poked? Really?
“What do you want from me?” I realize as she stands up that she’s crying again. She waves her hands around. “You’re dragging me along with you, and even out here in the desert, we pass people, in houses, doing nothing wrong, and you kill them, for no reason. Why make me go with you on this horrible reign of destruction?”
I shift, so I can yank the stupid thing she stabbed me with out of my back. It’s hard to reach, and I find myself spinning around in a half-circle before I can finally grab the handle. My blood drips onto the sand below us, hissing as it strikes.
“Of course you just pull it out like it’s barely an irritation.” She shakes her head. “But how messed up would I have to be not to even try to stop you anymore?”
“You tried plenty at first, and none of those efforts worked either.” I think about knocking her around a little to try and uncover some sense. “Your attempts are all meaningless. You can’t stop me, but if you work with me, I can increase your power tenfold. Twentyfold, even.” I step closer. “You could share my power instead of battering yourself against it uselessly. Killing’s fun, but convincing and inspiring humans to kill one another is even better.”
Her mouth dangles open.
“You clearly don’t understand why I exist, which is my mistake.” I sigh. “I’ve never picked the wrong person for my human champion before, but?—”
“Is that what I am?” Her shoulders slump. “Why’d you even pick me?”
“You fired on me with that new and improved gun, and then you threw the depleted weapon at me. You were fierce and strong and so very angry.” I smile at the memory. “I thought that if I could redirect that dark, angry energy, you’d help me achieve balance for humanity.”
“You keep talking about balance,” she says. “But I fail to see how killing lots of people balances anything.”
“In your world, without me, while I was sleeping, when do people die?” I resume walking toward the sunset, refusing to let her delay me further. Reno beckons.
“People are born, and barring accidents, illnesses, or injury, they live a long, full life, and then they die when they’re old.”
“How old?” I arch one eyebrow.
“A hundred,” she says. “Sometimes if they eat badly or don’t exercise, younger. Like sixty or seventy.”
I nod slowly. “The world has changed since my last period of wakefulness.” I pause. “And how often do infants die? Babies, I mean.”
“Any deaths for babies are too often,” she says slowly. “But not much.”
“A shame,” I say.
She glares at me.
Interesting. “You didn’t specify which babies. Good or bad, cute or ugly. Rich or poor.” I have to ask. “Do you think that all babies should live?”
“Yes.” She nods. “You must be the actual devil. Who else would think that babies should die?”
“If all babies live, why would people appreciate and love the ones they have?”
She blinks.
I don’t slow down, walking faster, and I notice she’s keeping up. As the sun sets, I will talk to her, and then when she needs rest, I’ll make her ride again. Perhaps I’ll even get through to her in some small measure.
“People appreciate babies because they’re their beloved children.”
“So in your time, everyone loves their offspring?”
