An empire founded by war has to maintain itself by war.
Charles de Montensquieu

-1- The Burial of the Dead-1-

The sandstorm burned out slow and shuddering, like a phosphors flare going cold on the road side. The severity of the wind is the first to abate, easing the sting of the sand as it no longer hurtled forward, but fell instead in waves to the ground.

The Ace had long ago given himself to the storm, just lay where he had fallen and let the abrasive winds scour and heave and cover, until the grains of sand lay thick and heavy over his skin, and the fierce wind rolled over the sand on his back without scouring the flesh below. Let the sand lay heavy and erase him from all memory, from all existence.

The Ace would not have moved from his sandy prison were it not for a foot catching his shoulder and sending a body sprawling down upon him. He surged up, sand flying, hands curved like daggers, ready to tear, to shred, to put an end to-

Twobit.

The Lancers's wheezing breath rolled into the Ace's ears, his body a map of road rash, sand abrasion, and fresh burns.

Their eyes met, and the War Boy sunk against Ace's chest, shuddering and whining. Seeming unfathomably small for a body Ace knew to be large.

"Boss drove us into the Storm." Twobit wheezed, lungs straining to push forth words. "She took us into the storm, like she didn't care, like she didn't…"

"Furiosa betrayed us." Ace responded raising a hand weakly to push his shattered goggles from his eyes.

"Car just swept up. Like a, like a scrap of plastic. Storm pulled us up and then," One of Twobit's hands flared open, "There was so much fire."

"How much of it got you?"

"I-I don't know."

"Alright. Okay." Ace pressed his fingers against the other man's side, nudging him off and to sit in the sand beside him.

Ace used his elbows to push himself up, pain flaring in his side, as sand clogged scabs burst and wept red down his stomach into his belt. The skin on the left side of his body was a mangled mess of deep cuts from where he hit the spikes of the War Rig's tanker while he fell.

He pressed his hand to the middle of the mess and moaned, red and black flaring in his eyeballs as his body tilted forward towards his toes.

"We need to get back to the Citadel." Twobit muttered, pushing himself slowly to his feet, right arm clenched against his torso, he offered his left to the Ace and pulled him upright.

They fell against each other, bolstering unsteady legs, and blood loss falters, and slowly made the trek to the large rocks looming. Droplets of blood marked the length of their path.

It was a long walk, from the Buzzard filled Wastes to the gulch of the Citadel. The Rock form rose high and towering like the cities of old, and from his place on the ground looking up, Ace was reminded of the long climb he made for Joe to conquer the Great Rock all those years ago.

He and Twobit passed through the outlying Wretched camps, stumbling over rock, and limb, and refuse. Most of the Wretched maintained their space, but few, the most bitter, hissed and spat as they passed. Fingers curling with the desire to maim, but hands stilled by the knowledge of the Citadel Snipers high above.

They staggered to a halt at the edge of the lift, eyes raised beseechingly at the Overseer and Wheel Rats high above.

Twobit raised his burnt hand, fingers shaky as they grasped for the sun that crested the Citadels crown.

The lift fell and the two War Boys were raised high.

The Flesh Shop is near empty, cleared of all but the sickest of War Boys, who laid still and quiet on the stone ledges, awaiting their time for the Organic's Pitying Knife.

Ace and Twobit were beset upon by Mechanic's pups when they cleared the doorway, pushed and prodded and stripped of their boots and belts as they are shuffled to an empty ledge.

"Is it true?" One Pup asks as he places The Ace's boots on the ledge beside him, "That Imperator Furiosa traitored the Immortan?"

"I heard she took his most loved thing!" Another contributes loudly.

A sick War Boy opened his eyes at the commotion and pushed himself to his feet. Well, foot, he hobbled forward on a pegleg made of a heavy ladle and collider. "What's this then?"

He leaned over the pups, skeletally thin and pale even without concealing dust, and his eyes brushed over the two of them sharply. "Imperator's Crew." He spoke to himself, hand tugging at his ear.

"You and You." He jabbed a finger at a pair of Pups. "Clean 'em up. I can't do nothing' with them plastered in their own red."

It was then Ace realized, the War Boy wasn't rusting out, but a member of the Organic's Loblolly boys. Too damaged for War or the Green Thumbs, but still kicking enough to be of use.

"Might want to prep a Blood Bag while you're at it." Ace said.

"Only the best for our Ace." The Boy responded, smile sardonic. "O-pos for you innit? And your boy?"

The Loblolly brushed his thumb under Twobit's right collar bone, where each boy had their blood type cut into their skin by the Organic. "AB-neg, you lucky shit."

Twobit didn't bother with a response; just let his voice rumble in his chest.

The War Boy drifted off and the pups returned toting buckets of water and stained cloths. They dipped and wiped and smeared, until paint and blood and grease, ran in tear tracks down Ace's skin, mingling and softening the blood crusted band of his trouser.

A pack of Loblollys rounded the corner, a pair of Blood bags stumbling in chains between them. They stopped before Ace's ledge, and hooks fell from the ceiling. The Blood Bags were attached and hoisted up, too broken for protest, too worn to care.

A line of low octane fuel was tethered to Twobit's arm, the needle an angry form under this skin. Ace was next, a sharp pinch, a burst of red, and body fuel flowed his way, working around his body to be pushed back out the crosshatch of lacerations at his side.

One of the Organic's mates had started on the Lancer, pressed fingers to his skin, and moved him this way and that under Ace's watchful eye. "Skin abrasions and light burns. Bruising, maybe internal bleeds, have to see. Petrol Jelly and wrap tight. Bruising'll-"

"Y'know what Furiosa took?" It was the peg legged Boy, he loomed over Ace and pressed his pale fingers against burns, and cuts, and bruised flesh.

Ace grimaced after a particularly deep prod into a wound. "Saw a Wife before Furiosa knocked me."

"Hm." The Loblolly's attention moved to the mess of his side. "Just one or all of them?"

"Don't know- Slag it!" Ace roared, jerking away from questing hands.

The War Boy flashed tooth, corners of his mouth rucking up. "Felt organs on that one, gonna have ta stich you up or your ins will be your outs. Kinda surprised they aren't already."

"It's the Ace, what do you expect." Twobit's loblolly said, "Even his guts know Valhalla won't take him."

Twobit rolled his eyes and said. "Course not. Ace is Immorta like Joe; Valhalla knows what it can't take."

Probing fingers backed off and were replaced by a needles point. "Yeah well, I ain't callin' him Immortan Ace."

Unlike He Who Came First, this fic will be posted in shorter chapters, on what I hope to be a relatively regular schedule.