Praegressus

The woman, the soldier, the murderer, the mercenary, and the hero. The story of Savyna, and the journey of a warrior.

They come to my house today, wearing bright red uniforms and glossy golden boots.

This isn't a new sight to me; I see these high-ranking officers a lot at the Academy. They're always talking with great, big words, looking important with their medals and their tassels. My mom tells me that if I want to be an officer someday and lead my own platoon, I'll have to learn to speak like that and walk like that. She tells me that I'll have to learn to like that bright, bright red and those gaudy metal boots.

But I don't get it. I'm a good fighter—a very good fighter, better than anyone else in my year, even better than Azdar, the teacher's pet. And if I'm a good fighter, then I can serve the Emperor better than those guys with their tacky colors and stupid awards, right?

My mom calls me over. "These officers tell me that you're accelerating through your coursework impressively. Is this true?" Her face doesn't show it (it never does), but she's proud.

I nod, staring intently at the men.

One of them says, "We think, if she continues to excel in her studies, that she'll become part of the elite forces when she graduates."

My mom beams at me.

I'm quiet. I don't like talking to superior officers.

"Would you like that?" the other asks. His mustache intimidates me.

I nod.

"Of course, she won't be eligible to graduate until she's at least thirteen, so she still has five years until she's officially qualified." They stare at me hard for awhile, and I don't like it. I don't like them. Then they turn away and start talking to my mom, using words like "logistics" and "brilliant," and I have nothing else to say, so I just walk back into my room.

I don't need to understand the words they're using to know they expect me to be great, and I will be. I'll be the best soldier in the entire military.

I love the Empire.

Azdar sits up from the mat, spitting blood from the corner of his mouth onto the floor.

"Damn, Savyna! What the hell was that for?"

I step back and straighten my (red, red) uniform. "You're pathetic, Azdar. What, can't take a little hit?" I taunt.

His face contorts in rage. "What the fuck did you say to me?"

I shrug, smirking.

Azdar growls low in his throat, and catches me by surprise by tackling me around the knees. A low blow, and he knows it. But so was my backhand to his face.

I relish this, this grappling with him.

It's always been like this with us. He hates me—he's jealous that I'm better, embarrassed because I'm a girl and I'm smaller and weaker. But I'm smarter and faster, and I know how to make each hit count.

To be honest, I hate him a little, too. He's got friends; he knows how to inspire people to help him. I might be the best fighter the Academy has seen in years, but for some reason, people don't like me. And I don't really know how to fix that. Should I even want to?

So we fight each other. Because I'm proving that I don't need friends to be strong.

I elbow him in the solar plexus and he gasps, hesitating just long enough for me to scramble out from under him. I jab him in the ribs and then roll onto his back, grabbing his arm and hyper-extending the elbow with my forearm. Azdar hisses in pain.

I push the arm bar a little farther and he grunts, tapping the mat quickly.

I smirk, and shove his head down to the floor as I rise off his back.

He turns over, glaring at me in utter contempt. "I hate you," he hisses.

I just smirk and walk away.

He hates me because I'm graduating next week, the youngest soldier in 57 years.

Emperor Geldoblame himself has seen me fight, a surprise appearance at one of the tournaments the Academy periodically sponsors. He offered me a place on his personal guard squad.

By this time next week, I'll be where I belong: fighting to protect the most important man in the world.

What does anyone's hate mean to me?

It's been two years since I graduated from the Academy, since I started working for the Emperor. Well, almost two years—I'll be fourteen this Saturday.

I love my job. I love that I'm directly responsible for protecting the most influential man of any continent, that I'm contributing so much more than the average soldier, much less citizen.

But, as I quickly came to realize, my youth has yet again proven to be a stymie.

I thought the people on the personal guard would be different, but they're almost exactly the same. They act callous toward me, ignoring me when I talk and laughing at me when my back is turned. But I can see it in their eyes—they fear me.

So I'm okay with the laughing. They mock me because they're terrified. Exactly like the Academy.

In some ways, it thrills me. It's petty, really. My youth is what scares them the most.

Today, though, I'm not guarding the emperor, because it's my day off. I decided to go to Ahza—I've never been there before. Now that I'm a soldier, I can go wherever I want within the country.

The impression I get when I arrive is that Ahza is a cheerful place. A little grungy, but the people look happy as they bustle around, doing their duties. I scan the buildings. The tall spires enterprise toward the sky—there's something vaguely foreboding about the spindly structures, but I shake it off. Soldiers are never afraid. That's been drilled into my head since I was a kid. Never afraid.

I turn away from them and look instead toward the vending stalls lining the other side of the dusty road. The little trinkets they sell look amusing, and on a soldiers pay, I would be able to afford mostly anything I want.

I'm about the buy a gold bracelet when something out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. I pick it up.

It's a glove, shaped into the form of a fist, metal plated from the fingers to the knuckles and tipped with metal talons. I turn it in my hands curiously. Not too heavy.

"Excuse me," I motion to the stall keeper. "Can you tell me what this is called?"

She turns around, shock clear on her face. She peruses my red uniform, and walks towards me wearily. "Those are called brass knuckles," she says. "They used to be a popular weapon for the imperial soldiers, but since guns have gotten more advanced, they've been put out of commission."

I nod, returning my gaze the gloves. Something about them seems so…

I slip my hand into one. It's perfect.

"How much?" I ask.

"3000."

Cheap for a good weapon, very cheap. I may not be an expert in this type of armament, but even I can tell that this isn't amateur work. I pull the appropriate amount of money out of the pack on my hip and trade it with her.

Despite her clear misgivings about my age (always, always, always), all shopkeepers know to keep their mouths shut when money is on the table. She smiles gleefully, her two front teeth missing, and I walk absentmindedly away from her, fingering the metal knuckles.

A rare sensation of elation begins to build within my abdomen. All my life, my greatest flaw had been the fact I was physically weaker than the other men in my squads, weaker than my male classmates at the Academy, weaker than Azdar. And while I could train away any weaknesses in my stance, my technique, my mind, I could never train away the inherent weakness in my body.

But now, with these new weapons… It wouldn't matter how strong my arms were.

I'll always have the advantage.

For over four years, I have worked tirelessly for the emperor, and in that time, I've learned much.

There aren't many females in the military, and there are virtually none that are considered regular soldiers. In fact, the only other female I knew of was a woman named Ayme, famous for her insanity and her body among the men. In some ways, it gives me an advantage.

Men, I have learned, are susceptible to females in a way that isn't present in women for men. By the time I was fifteen, I noticed them leering on me as I walked around in the constricting uniform of my station. Back then, I was confused, not knowing the implications, the advantage that my gender afforded me…

Now, I'm seventeen, and I've been promoted to a high rank, one that offers me the luxury of wearing whatever I want. I know exactly what my curves contribute to my ability to succeed, and I use it. My form, like my fists, like my mind, is a weapon.

I almost want to laugh. How could I ever have thought my body was a weakness? But I don't laugh. I never do.

One of the great advantages that come with rank are the choices available to you. Like how Giacomo, Ayme, and Folon have chosen to stand apart from the Elite Forces in style, methods, and missions, so now can I. I choose my new uniform in the capital at the seedy shop in the center of town, where the shopkeeper looks at my breasts and hips appreciatively. I afford him no glance, he matters so little in the grand scheme of things.

It's black, because I could never stomach red. Short. Tight. Exactly what I need to work to my maximum advantage. I slip into it behind a curtain, pulling it over my chest with some effort, and think, This is perfect.

I step out from behind the curtain. The shopkeeper immediately stops and drops the books he was holding onto his foot.

Perfect.

"Hey," I call to him, "got any shoes to go with this outfit?"

His mustache quivers slightly, "Just a moment." His voice cracks, I frown. Useless. And for some reason, he makes me feel… I look down at my outfit and brush my hand over my stomach.

… dirty…

Ignore it. Control it. I take a deep breath in, and as I exhale, I let the soldier inside of me expel all doubt. It's unfitting for a soldier to be anything less than perfectly in control of any situation.

In a few moments, he's back out, carrying the most complex, acid green shoes I have ever seen. I touch them, weighing the pros and cons. On one hand, these shoes might make movement more difficult, and one of the biggest assets to my fighting style is my speed. I would be useless slowed down.

But I'm also confident that I would overcome the encumbering style of the boots, and the heels themselves would offer an additional weapon that has a potential to become very useful to me.

"I'll take them," I direct to the shopkeeper.

He hastens over to me. "Excellent."

I enter the chamber, looking upon the face of my emperor. I am humbled. I fall to one knee in front of his throne, showing him the proper respect, and keep my mouth closed. It is his will I enforce, it is only right that he will speak first.

"Savyna."

I bow further. "You have summoned me, Your Majesty?"

"Yes," he rumbles. "You have done especially well lately, my child. The efficiency and cunning you displayed when putting down that uprising in the east was most impressive."

I nod, taking his compliment with unseen pride.

He stands, grunting slightly with the effort it takes for him to remove himself from his throne. "It has come to my attention that the skills you possess are above the station you are assigned to. In the case that you also believe you can serve the empire more effectively than now, I have an offer to make you."

I can't help but look up sharply. His eyes are glinting beneath his vivid make-up. I don't know what to say, so I sit there silently in shock. A station more important than the direct protection of my emperor…?

"I have noticed that our military is not lacking in strength, however, it is lacking in speed. This is a critical problem that needs to be rectified. I have taken the liberty to form a group that will act as a first battalion for any dispute, internal or external, comprised of the finest soldiers Alfard's military has to offer. This group, dubbed the Mad Wolf Unit, will also act as black ops, and every mission received will be received directly from my mouth. I have chosen the leader of the Mad Wolf Unit… to be you, Savyna."

I mercilessly tamp down on a strangled gasp trying to escape me, but my eyes are focused on nothing except my emperor. This… this is beyond anything I had ever expected for myself. Eighteen, and leading my own squadron? Could there be a higher honor?

On my kness, I crawl to his feet and bow my body to the floor. "Thank you, Your Glory. There are… no words," I whisper, my voice cracking slightly, "to express my gratitude. I accept your offer."

Emperor Geldoblame chuckles lowly. "Excellent. I expect great things from your squad, Savyna. Exemplary things."

I struggle to contain my exuberance, trying to regain the professional calm that most suits a soldier. I'm not entirely successful. "Yes, sir. I will work to make you, and the Empire, proud."

He nods. "I will contact you in three days about the details of your new position. Until then, you are officially on leave."

I bow again and leave the room.

Three days later, I learn exactly what irony means. I am standing alone in a briefing room inside of the Imperial fortress, waiting for my Emperor; the door slides open.

Emperor Geldoblame fills the door with his colorful skirts. "Savyna."

I nod, bow. "Yes, your Highness."

"I am pleased to see that you are here. I have chosen your second in command; he will hear of your assignment with you."

I straighten myself and look at my Emperor. My gaze slides past him and I that there is a man shadowed in the doorway, I can't see his face yet—until he steps fully into the room.

"Azdar?" I rasp. I am totally unprepared for this. A familiar combination of loathing and jealousy coils in my gut, and I forcefully tamp it down before it can show on my face. Control. Control. Do not disgrace the Emperor with weakness.

Azdar's face would almost be impassive, if not for the slight widening of his eyes and loosening of his jaw. Clearly, he didn't expect to see me, either. "Savyna," he intones, and there's something there—a residual bitterness, maybe even hatred.

I should look away—I should. I can't. This is a tangible piece of my past—even in six years, I have never been able to forget Azdar. He is the only person in the entire world who ever made me feel inferior in any way. I will always hate the part of me who longed as a child to be, for one split second, exactly like him.

I bet he's exactly the same—still pretty-boy perfect, a good fighter but not a great one, still charismatic to a fault. I… I still have never made a single friend.

I shove that feeling as far down as I can, because I don't need that. That feeling has no place in the military. I live for the Empire… having friends is superfluous. I learned that so long ago.

Emperor Geldoblame clears his throat.

I jerk, and look sharply back to him.

He smiles broadly, revealing his abnormally sharp teeth. "Shall we get back to business?"

I glance at Azdar, who is still staring at me with an increasingly dark look on his face.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Control.

I gasp as Azdar's knee drives harshly into my back. He holds me there, pushing me into the training mat, trying to force me into submitting. I grit my teeth as the pressure increases painfully.

With tremendous effort, I pull my knee up and quickly slam my elbow into the mat hard, using the momentum to toss him off my body. He grunts in surprise as I use this same momentum to flip onto my side, driving my heel into his abdomen.

"Fuck!" he wheezes.

He grabs for my ankle and I jump up quickly, out of grappling range. I breathe heavily as he tries to recover from the blow.

His grimace slowly disappears and then he suddenly grins up at me before flipping onto his feet as well. "What, Savyna—is that all you've got? I would have expected you to improve in the years we haven't seen each other," he taunts.

I flick my hair behind me.

"Arrogant, as always. But remember that there's a reason I was chosen to lead the Mad Wolf Squad." I pull the magnus for my Tekken out of my hip pouch. "All out?"

Azdar activates the magnus for his scythe and it appears before him in a dazzling display of light. "Yeah."

We only pause for a second before we are both in motion. I run straight at him, immediately trying to rush him into a sloppy move. He blocks with the staff of his scythe and pushes forward, disrupting my center of gravity and forcing me to stumble awkwardly backwards. I fall back into stance quickly but he's a good fighter—he's used that time to swarm into my space and lands a powerful kick into my ribs.

MotherFUCKER. I press my hand to the throbbing injury, scowling.

And now I'm pissed off. People rarely land hits on me.

He laughs outright, but I ignore it and feign a punch to his sternum. He blocks and I drive my spiked Tekken into his shoulder guard, puncturing it slightly. He jerks to the side and I attempt to drive my stiletto into his shin, but I only land a slight graze. He raises the scythe and uses the blunt edge to jab me hard in the stomach, but I force the scythe out of the way by smacking the blunt edge with the palm of my hand; at the same time, I raise my other hand and smack him harshly in the face.

He bites out a curse and raises his knee to get me in the ribs. I'm already tender there because of his kick, so I twist around—dangerous, if he's fast enough, I'm totally vulnerable with my back turned—and drive my fist into his knee. The spikes on my Tekken rip into his skin and I'm gratified to see blood when I wrench my hand away.

I smirk broadly at him. But instead of getting to gloat, he surprises me by rushing me and shoving his shoulder into my stomach. I gasp as we fall to the floor, but I struggle hard—in this position, women almost always get pinned with no way to escape because of our slighter mass.

But he manages to pin me to the ground by using his hands as manacles on my wrists and his shins over my thighs to keep me locked in place. I know that I'm in a bad place and so does he. "Hah! Savyna, the way you're fighting, you'd think you were still twelve years old. How'd a woman like you get to lead in a man's occupation?"

And it's the Academy all over again. How is nothing ever enough? My age, my abilities, my gender… Is it because of these things? Is because of these things that this man will never be able to take me seriously?

…No. He WILL respect me.

He gets distracted by his gloating and I wrench my arm free of his hand. I punch him hard in the jaw, hissing, "Shut the fuck up." I shove him back with a swift knee to the gut and jump up, facing him, furious. "I'm better than anyone in this goddamn military! Don't you dare think that you're more worthy than me for this!" I plant my feet and raise my hands, and without conscious decision I begin to build power. "BURNING ARROW!" The explosive force of my magic rushes right at him and I immediately see that he won't be able to avoid this. Malicious glee rises up inside of me—because I have never been able to control this aspect of myself, the aspect that wants to prove I am better than this man…

But the arrows hit him straight in the chest, and he crumples lifelessly to the ground. The glee dissipates immediately and a sickening horror begins to dawn on me as I realize… this is the only time I have unnecessarily taken a human life. And it is Azdar's.

What have I done?

"Oh fuck!" I breathe, running towards his prone form. "Fuck! Please! Please don't be…"

He coughs wetly and his hand twitches.

"Thank God," I whisper. My hands are shaking, my voice is thin. "Thank God." I sink to my knees beside him and will my magical arrows to dissipate with the last of my strength.

"Augh," he hisses, face pale, "Damn, Savyna. Get the fuck away from me." He looks at me with such an expression of pure hatred that I recoil slightly, but I know he doesn't have the strength to physically push me away because of the blood loss.

And I… I suddenly can't summon up the will to loathe him. I have injured him like this, attacked him seriously in what was supposed to be a practice spar. I have taken advantage of the situation as his commanding officer because he had hurt my pride, and if my aim had been any more accurate, he would be dead right now. He has every right to hate me, and the only right I have is to feel guilt. This is my fault. This is my responsibility.

"No, let me help, then you can beat the shit out of me later." I pull out a bottle of High Potion out of my hip pouch and spread some on his chest with trembling fingers. I sit back and sigh tremulously, and take a moment to collect my wits. "I'm… so sorry about this. I let my temper get the best of me…" I trail off.

Azdar is silent. He doesn't accept my apology, but the hatred in his eyes has dissipated somewhat into confusion. I don't blame him. I must seem psychotic to him, blasting him with a Finishing Move one minute and then playing nurse with him the next… I am seriously fucked up.

I lean forward again and work for a while in silence, taking out a roll of bandages and continuing to rub High Potion into his wounds. "I…" my voice cracks, and I falter. But I have to say this, so I start again, "I don't want… to hate you anymore. But I've never been good at controlling myself around you."

He's quiet for some time. "Why?" he eventually asks, hesitant and distrusting.

And God, I've never been very good at this shit. Admitting things. Emotional talks. They tell you at the Academy to keep your thoughts in your mind and not your mouth, because a soldier isn't a person while in uniform. If I was a normal kid at the Academy, I may have been able to drop that lesson outside of school, but I couldn't separate the soldier and the person inside of me. And I know why. It's because I was the only girl, I was the youngest student, and because, in Alfard's military, a female could be either two things—the best, or nothing. And, in a way, Azdar became the one that I could unleash all my anger at—my hatred at the unfairness, my rage that I would always be an anomaly… Azdar was the most normal a person could be, and I hated that, no matter what I could do, there was one thing even I would never be able to achieve.

But even I know that this grudge—I can't hold it forever. He's my partner now, and I owe it to him to be candid. "I can't explain it, exactly. I've always considered you my biggest rival. You've… always had something naturally that I've never been able to achieve my whole life… and I've always hated you for it. You could do it with no effort at all, but I've never, in all of my life, been able to get it…"

He snorted. "You? You can't get something? The woman who as a child beat her commanding officer 20 years her senior into submission and as an adult has never failed a mission? … I don't believe you. Don't lie to make amends."

I shake my head, unable to meet his eyes. "That's not what I'm talking about. Fighting, hurting… that's easy. Mindless. Animals can do it. But the stuff that makes us human… knowing how to make friends…" I glance at him, but his eyes are too intense and I can't hold his gaze. "I've never been able to get that."

The silence between us is heavy. And—fuck—I don't know what to say now. I've never let anyone hold this position over me; right now, he has all the cards.

Why is he just staring? "Say something, damn it," I hiss.

And, finally, he smirks. "That's more like the Savyna I know." He lays a hand on his chest and struggles to sit up, groaning slightly. I immediately start forward to protest, but he cuts me off with a scoff. "Please. This is just a flesh wound." I sit back, frowning.

"I won't lie, Savyna," he says, "I've hated you for as long as I can remember. You've always been the perfect soldier; top fighter, natural commander, relentless, prodigal, all that shit. When I was a kid, I wanted that so badly that I would fight you constantly to try and win, just once." He frowns. "When I saw you again a few days ago… it was like all that came back to me. I still hate that you beat me every time, and I still hate you." Sighing, he continues, "But you're right. We work together now for the sake of the Emperor. This isn't about me anymore." He lifts up his hand to me, "Though we'll probably never be friends, let's at least be able to trust one another. Truce?"

I reach forward and grab his hand.

"Truce."

Part 1/?. I have most of this written. It should be around 30000 words, so the chapters will get longer. Review, please! :)