"I judge thee guilty of crimes against humankind."
Decanus Justus, Avenger of Leopardon, soared through the air towards the Gold-Rank Manticore.
"Beg your god for mercy, for I shall grant you none."
The purest white glow he'd ever seen... even more concentrated than Zehr's ⌈Legionbreaker⌋, sheathed both his blade arm and the sword itself.
That was what it was supposed to feel like... the feeling of raw power, condensed into lethal killing intent. It was filled with pain... it was filled with hatred. It was his will to avenge... and it was his desperate prayer to protect those who remained. All this, and was kissed by a mana that wasn't his own... a foreign divinity that he felt intimately...
How could he explain it?
Ah... He knew.
"I am the will of the Eternal Flame," Justus declared.
From his sword, a beam of golden light shot up towards the sky, parting the dull grey clouds. His blade... literally pierced through the heavens. And his blade... would send the monster to the Seven Hells in pieces.
"Receive thy ⌈Final Judgment.⌋"
He reared his sword over his left shoulder, then sliced through the Manticore's neck with the golden beam of light. The crescent of golden mana went on, scarring the rocky cliffside in front of him with a laceration five men wide and one man deep.
The Manticore halted its screaming, its head completely severed from his body.
Justus crashed into the dirt, tumbling and smashing into the brush.
His mana depleted, his body hungered for more-- he curled up, his muscles spasming in pain. His body craved more mana... but though it once ran like water, his mana circulation had become as labored as thick mud. Pain and exhaustion threatened to halt his consciousness.
pαпdα Йᴏνê|,сòМ With a trembling hand, he lifted his sword up. He did it. They did it.
...The silvery glow on his blade had begun to fade... the blade cracking, bits of it turning to mana-dust and dissipating.
"No..." Justus pleaded, "Stay with me... Don't go... Rena..."
But the blade didn't listen. It shattered, not like exploding steel, but like thin, broken crystal. All that remained were wisps of mana that gently kissed his cheeks-- and those left him too, taken by the winds.
Justus placed his hands onto his face and he cried himself to unconsciousness.
...
"Fortuna, see to the survivors," Optio Sixtus grimaced. He slung his shield onto his back, rubbing his aching arm. He expected to feel pain from some of the bones being fractured, but it seemed the Flame favored him at least that much.
The Rhodoks had lost several Bronze and Iron-Rank shield-bearers. And the archers... he would consider it lucky had they two or three left.
"And see to the corpses," He added.
"You mean the bodies," Fortuna glared.
Sixtus grit his teeth in annoyance, "Yes, yes. The bodies."
Cyrac stepped between them, "Now is not the time for bickering, Optio, Lady Fortuna..."
The old Centurion took off his helmet and placed it against his chest, "Fortuna, please... Every moment counts."
The Gold-Rank Healer's angry gaze softened, "Yes, Centurion. I'm sorry, Optio."
Sixtus suffered one of the Centurion's glares. It was a tacit sign that meant he was supposed to be polite, regardless of what was logically correct, "You are right, Fortuna. I apologize."
"You there, give me your hatchet."
Sixtus heard a dissident, yet familiar voice from behind him. He turned to see a young man wearing the modified Decanus helm. The visor covered the upper part of his face, keeping his eyes hidden. Duplicarius Zehr snatched a utility hatchet from a Munifex's hands.
"And you, Decanus." Zehr pointed at another, "I saved you from being bitten in half."
"You did, Duplicarius. And for that, I am eternally--"
Zehr cut him off and pointed at one of the corpses, "That is Munifex Rena. Allow no one near her or I will tear you in half, myself. I will be gathering wood for her pyre."
Sixtus approached warily, "Duplicarius, what is the meaning of this?"
The shorter Duplicarius looked him up and down, "Optio, with respect, I will prepare Munifex Rena's funeral rites, myself."
"That won't be necessary, Duplicarius. We will be preparing a mass--"
"Optio Sixtus," Zehr lifted his visor, revealing sharp, golden eyes. "I shall do this on my own, with no additional trouble to the Rhodoks. The only exception is a single Decanus guarding the body. Afterward, I will subject myself to any punishment, as you see fit."
The way Zehr spoke in absolutes was a bit forceful, but his words were concise and still showed deference to his rank as Optio. Sixtus decided to take no offense.
Centurion Cyrac approached from the side, "As far as punishment goes, you and Decanus Justus will be joining the forward team, Zehr."
The Duplicarius flipped his visor back down, "I hear and obey. Excuse me, gentlemen."
Without suffering small talk, Zehr immediately turned on his heel to walk away.
Still, Sixtus was disappointed. People were a resource... they were numbers. He knew their names, knew their strengths and weaknesses but did not mourn their loss. He had originally thought Zehr was much like him, a kindred spirit, also jaded by the horrors of war.
But Zehr mourned. It was a sorry weakness-- and a human one.
"Hold, Duplicarius," Sixtus called out. "Who was... Munifex Rena to you?"
The Duplicarius stopped, half turning back to project his voice, "She was my lover."
...
Tycondrius went about chopping wood with great efficiency. With no one around to observe him, he cleaved the wood from dead trees using his Iron-Rank physique. In an uncomfortable coincidence, the one who had taught him best how to chop wood was Sol Invictus' deceased scout, a young human boy named Kimura Tamaki. And using those skills, he was planning on sending off a different scout.
When Tycon had transmigrated, he had no recollection of friends, family, or loved ones. He had to re-establish those connections, as essentially a new, different person. But one of the things he did know... in disturbing detail, was how to build a damned good funeral pyre.
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