Amidst the chaotic scene, Damian stepped forward with a solemn expression.
He looked at Valerie Layton's body—her sports car split cleanly in two—and his feelings were complex, almost indescribable.
He'd never liked the teacher. Before the Flight 180 crash, she'd been stubborn, dismissive of anything mystical, and adamant that science could explain everything.
But after the crash, she'd swung to the opposite extreme: not only did she become superstitious, she also blamed Alex Browning—the very student who'd warned her—for the disaster. She'd distanced herself from him, spoken ill of him behind his back, and treated his warning as a curse rather than a lifeline.
Morally, she was despicable.
And yet… none of that amounted to a capital offense. At worst, it was a failing of character—not a crime punishable by death.
Just then, Alex came running from the distance, breathless and frantic.
When he saw the crowd gathered at the school gate, his heart dropped.
An ominous premonition seized him. He shoved through the onlookers, voice hoarse with panic:
"Make way! Please, make way!"
He finally burst into the center—and froze.
The mangled corpse on the ground was undeniably Valerie Layton.
His face drained of color. His eyes burned red. His whole body began to tremble.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! We were so close! So close!!"
He clutched his hair, legs buckling as if his knees might give out entirely.
Suddenly, a firm hand landed on his shoulder.
"Calm down, Alex."
Damian's voice was steady, grounding.
"This isn't your fault."
Alex turned, tears blurring his vision, and choked out:
"I saw it… I should've done something! But— but…"
Damian gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"Now isn't the time for guilt. We need to stay sharp—figure out who Death is coming for next. Only then can we stop more tragedies."
Originally, Damian had planned to follow the movie's sequence, letting events unfold as they had in Final Destination. But seeing how Valerie died—so violently, so differently from the film—he realized: this timeline had already diverged.
It wasn't identical… but it was close enough to be dangerous.
Alex took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself. His gaze swept the scene—then locked onto Carter Horton, still kneeling beside his black convertible, shell-shocked.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to… I really didn't mean to…" Carter muttered, dazed.
He sensed someone watching him. He looked up—and met Alex's pitying stare.
At first, he didn't understand it.
But as Alex quickly looked away, jaw tightening with grim realization, a horrifying thought slithered into Carter's mind.
"No… no way… impossible!"
His voice cracked. His face paled further. He glanced around—and saw everyone subtly stepping back, creating a wide circle around him, as if he were cursed.
That isolation confirmed his worst fear.
Driven by sheer terror, Carter staggered to his feet and lurched toward Damian.
The sudden movement startled the crowd. Peter Parker instinctively moved to block him—but Carter didn't attack. Instead, he dropped to his knees and clamped onto Damian's leg, sobbing:
"Z! Master! Save me! Please—you have to save me! You can, right?!"
Damian recoiled in utter bewilderment.
"Whoa—who are you?! Do we even know each other? Have we ever spoken? Shared breakfast?!"
He glared down, voice sharp:
"And do not wipe your snot on my trousers! I swear, if you do it again, I'll kick your manhood into next Tuesday!"
"But Master!" Carter cried, sniffling into the fabric anyway, "You've always been my idol! My dream is to rule Midtown High like you!"
"You survived the Argo disaster without a scratch—you must know how to cheat Death!"
"I know it! So unless you promise to save my life, I'm not letting go!"
Damian pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I get the logic—but what does that have to do with you using my pants as a tissue?!"
"Let go—now—or I'll make sure you and your girlfriend end up as sisters for life!"
"Being sisters is better than dying!" Carter wailed.
(Inside, Carter reminded himself: Real strong men don't whine 'Coach, I wanna play basketball.' Real strong men cling to their savior's leg and make escape impossible.)
In the distance, police sirens wailed.
Damian sighed, crouched low, and spoke quietly:
"Listen. If you truly want to live… your best bet is to turn yourself in. Stay in jail for now."
Carter blinked up at him, confused. "Prison? Why?"
"Think," Damian said patiently. "Prisons have strict routines, constant surveillance, and zero access to random hazards—no loose wires, no gas leaks, no runaway cars. Even if Death tries, it'll be harder to stage an 'accident' in there."
"It's the safest place I can think of."
Carter's panic slowly gave way to thought. He released Damian's leg, fumbled for his phone, and—after a shaky breath—dialed 911.
"Hello? This is Carter Horton…" His voice trembled, but held resolve. "I want to turn myself in. There was… a fatal accident just now… outside Midtown
High."
As Carter spoke, Damian turned to Alex and murmured:
"Now, we find the other survivors—fast."
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