The Centran Legacy

by Vermillion8

FFVIII Sequel! Eighty years ago, the evil Centran Empire was destroyed. But now a survivor has appeared, a superhuman soldier obsessed with someone close to the Seeds. Is he an ally or an enemy? Will the Empire rise again? And who is the Puppet Master?

14. Bloodrage

At last, Chapter 14 is here! (Biggest Chapter yet, by the way.) Before we start, a word on Limit Breaks – for the story I wanted to write, fantasy-type fighting moves just wouldn't work. In this story, Limit Breaks are the result by intense mental focus and years of training to boost speed, power and magic abilities for a short time, similar to the 'spirit yell' in martial arts, but more powerful. Rinoa doesn't have the training for a Limit Break, technically, but she can overdrive her Sorceress powers to produce a similar effect. Since they're a recent development, Marcus doesn't have a Limit Break either, but he does have something else – and if you thought he was dangerous before, you haven't seen anything yet.

As for music to this chapter, I decided to go with what I've decided is Marcus's signature tune; Me Against the World by Simple Plan. The lyrics fit him almost perfectly, especially tearing apart our dreams to make everyone the same – as in Project Ouroborous.

Juniperbreezie – No, Marcus doesn't have any children. If he had, they'd be like him, and any GEC supersoldiers in the world would have been spotted pretty quickly. Emmeline makes a (very) brief appearance in this chapter, though.

"I have no words. My voice is in my sword." – Macbeth, by William Shakespeare.

Chapter 14: BloodRage

The GECs had assembled for the last time, all ready to leave and never come back. The base had been rigged with explosives, to fake an accident that destroyed the base and killed everyone inside. Psion had arranged for all the evidence to blame the base commander, and nobody in the Empire would be smart enough to suspect otherwise.

Many GECs were leaving in groups, thinking it safer to hide from the Empire together. Each group kept where they were going a secret from everyone else. It was safer that way.

Melissa and Ghost were leaving together, likely for somewhere far away. Marcus would head for Centra City, to begin killing the Empire, one Centran at a time. He had the names of Grenn's immediate superiors – a good place to start.

Psion was also leaving alone, but nobody had any idea where he was going, or what he was planning to do. Knowing Psion, nobody ever would.

But Psion was late, which Marcus couldn't understand. Psion was never late, never lost track of time. The idea was absurd. Which meant he must have found something more important. And Marcus could only think of one thing more important than their escape.

Has the Empire discovered us?

Then Psion walked in the room. "If any of you are hoping to live among the slave races, or associate with them in any way, you had best change your plans. The slaves will soon cease to exist in any significant way."

The GECs started shouting questions, and Psion held up a hand for silence. "I found a secure transmission saved within the data archives. The security was at the highest level possible, a type of data encryption only used when the Emperor personally wishes the security to be unbreakable."

"So you couldn't decode it?" Melissa blurted out.

Everything went silent. Psion just looked at her in disbelief, as did all the GECs who knew anything about what Psion was capable of.

"Sorry." Said Melissa.

"The transmission had a higher security level than anything else in the base. The contents had to be important. More important than us. AI, display the Project Ouroborous file to all individuals present."

Hologram displays burst into life all around the hall. Marcus watched the closest.

"Lord Emperor! At long last, we are successful!" The man was spindly, but carried himself with pride. "Your exalted dream of Ouroborous is now reality!" He turned round, looking at something beyond the range of the hologram. "Come here."

A boy shuffled into view, standing beside the scientist. The child looked straight ahead, no interest or expression, just waiting for orders. The boy would have reminded Marcus of himself, except the stare was empty. No mind, no thought, no awareness. Nothing at all.

The boy wasn't a warrior, Marcus knew. The child was useless in battle. So what was Ouroborous? What made it so important? What would the Empire use the boy for?

"As you can see, he is a true slave." The scientist continued. "No more questions, no more doubt, no more objecting to the wishes of his betters. He will always be a slave that truly knows his place – to serve the Empire. The need to obey is the only reason for his existence, as it should be."

"And as a further demonstration…" The scientist picked up a metal key, and threw it into a burning fireplace. "A minute for it to heat up." He waited, then turned to the boy. "Slave, get the key from the fireplace, and bring it to the table. Hold it tight, and walk slowly."

The boy shuffled off, kneeling by the flames and reaching into them. He screamed in pain, and pulled back.

The scientist put a lump of ice on the table, but gave no further orders.

And then the boy reached into the fire again. He screamed in pain for the second time as he grabbed the key, which was beginning to glow red-hot. Obeying his orders, he walked to the table slowly, a faint hiss as his hand tightened around the key. He was whimpering, tears streaming down his face, but he didn't rush. Didn't even try.

Finally, the boy dropped the key down on the table, screaming as he did so. His hand burning, he started to reach for the ice.

"Stop. Don't touch that." The scientist commanded.

And the boy obeyed. Never questioned. Just watched the ice, and cried.

"Perfect obedience." The scientist smiled. "From a perfect slave. No need for conditioning, threats, or torture. Retarded intelligence and negligible willpower, all from genetic manipulation. And all slaves born of him will be the same." His eyes gleamed in delight. "Finally, every slave, everywhere in the world, will finally abandon such outdated concepts as liberty and freedom, forget their selfish desires of independence. They will be yours, body and soul, forever!"

Before Marcus realised his hand was moving, the Blade of the Betrayer was passing through the hologram of the scientist before slicing through the hologram emitter, the table, and deep into the floor.

As the image disappeared in a shower of sparks, everyone close was backing away from him, even more than usual. Other GECs usually wanted as little to do with Marcus as possible. Marcus understood, of course. He wanted the same from them.

Forever… Every slave, every non-Centran, every non-pureblood, would be exactly like that boy. Millions upon millions, with only one purpose for their existence, without life. Without anything but the need to serve. The boy was like him.

No, worse than him, which should have been impossible. To create Marcus, they'd taken life, emotions, feelings and everything else that would have made him human.

But they'd left strength. They'd left purpose. He could fight back. He still had the power to resist.

But the boy hadn't. And from the look on his face, he'd never even know it.

No.

Psion switched off the hologram, leaving the GECs to stare in horror at the projectors.

"This must be stopped." In the silence, everyone heard Marcus speak, and felt the rage that carried it.

"Difficult." Psion was perfectly calm, as always. "Everything has been tested. According to the data, the geneticists responsible for Ouroborous will launch in two months, if not sooner."

"Kill the geneticists." Said Marcus.

"That won't work. Other scientists will be found, more than enough. This project is judged more important than any other. The Emperor will do anything to launch Ouroborous."

"Then kill the Emperor."

Sharp intakes of breath, all across the room. Shock and horror on everyone's face, Melissa most of all.

"Quite a challenge." Psion nodded thoughtfully. "But regrettably, an impossible one. The Imperial Palace in Centra City is surrounded by a ring of steel, and guarded with every security the technology of the Empire can produce. To even stand a chance of getting to the Emperor, we would need an army."

"We are GEC. They are human." Said Marcus. "We have strength they do not."

"And they have numbers we do not." Psion pointed out. "Without an army to match theirs, no military attack would succeed."

"Then we kill from a distance." Midnight spoke up, holding her sniper rifle. "Bioweapons." Midnight was the GEC assassin, as much a killer as Marcus, but using stealth and silence. She could poison you, stab you in the back or strangle you with wire, and supposedly blow the head off an insect from half a mile away.

"Impossible." Said Psion. "We have bioweapons stored here, but they don't infect Centrans. I could genetically adapt them, but we don't have the machinery, or even the time to test a functioning strain. And if we stole the machines, the Empire would know what we were doing. But even if we had functioning bioweapons to infect Centra City, civilians would be infected first. The Imperial palace would be hermetically sealed once the first deaths were reported, so not even a single microbe would get through." Psion shook his head. "To kill from a distance, the Emperor must die first, or have no chance to escape. With our current resources, neither is possible."

"You can outsmart the Empire." Marcus insisted. "You have to find a way."

"I can't find a way that isn't there."

"You must."

"You're not listening." Said Psion. "If I could change reality by wishing, I would simply wish the Emperor dead." He frowned. "But your idea is intriguing, I must admit. We would all be free, with the Empire broken."

Marcus looked at the GECs. All had been free to go for some time, but not one of them had moved towards the exit. "Then we will kill the Emperor."

"First we need a plan." Psion nodded. "All with expertise in any field of knowledge, you will assist me."

Most of the GECs left with Psion, leaving Marcus, Melissa, and a few others.

"So… what do we do?" Melissa asked, looking scared.

"Prepare for war." Marcus left for the training hall.

---

Over the next few days, a measurement of time Marcus was still getting used to, almost everyone worked non-stop. Ideas and schemes to stop Ouroboros were continuously discussed, tested and abandoned.

Marcus did nothing but train, ignoring the planning completely. Until they had something that could work, he didn't care, and had no ideas to offer. He danced with his sword every hour he was awake, pushing himself to move faster, hit harder, and become deadlier than ever before. His time would come, he knew. Once the strategy was decided, he would lead the attack, and then he would kill until the Empire was extinct.

He knew that the Centrans would probably kill him first, but it didn't bother him. He wasn't designed to be afraid, didn't have the capacity to worry. But every time he stopped training, a voice whispered in his mind that he might win, that he could still survive once the Empire was destroyed.

And that did scare him, just a little. Because he was a warrior, and the only purpose to his existence was to destroy his enemy. If he had no enemy, then what was left? What was he?

Marcus didn't have an answer, so he responded in the only way he knew how. Fight harder, push yourself further. Having time to think meant you weren't training hard enough.

A week went by. Psion, Ghost and the other GECs planning strategy were never seen. Melissa wandered the base, scared and depressed, and not knowing what to do about either. Marcus kept training, but even he was becoming desperate. Ouroborous had to be stopped, whatever the cost. But how?

Then Psion called a meeting. Marcus went with no expectations, as a warrior should. To expect something was to rely on it, lowering your guard if it wasn't there. And Marcus never lowered his guard to anything.

"Everything that exists has a weakness, a weapon against which it has no defence." Psion had set up a hologram display of Centra City, with the moon hovering far above. "As hardly any of you know, the moon will reach the lowest point in its orbit in less than two weeks. When this occurs at the same time as a rare fluctuation of the planetary magnetic field, the Lunar Cry will occur. As a result, many of the most bloodthirsty and powerful monsters currently living on the moon will be conveyed to our planet, at one specific location. Which is…" Psion flicked a switch, and a glowing column of mist appeared between the moon and the plains just outside Centra City. "Right on the Emperors doorstep."

"Surely he knows…" Someone said.

"Of course he knows." Psion sighed. "He has known about this for years, and has had plenty of time to stop it from getting close to Centra City. But his weakness is arrogance. He wants all his subjects to see the monsters destroyed, to witness his power. Observe."

Tiny people appeared within the hologram of Centra City, and monsters floated down through the column of mist to gather on the plains. Then the mass of monsters charged, and a glowing shield sprang out of existence around Centra City. Guns and missiles from behind the shield fired, blowing the monsters apart and burning them to ash.

Once all the monsters were dead, the simulation ended. "That is what the Emperor has arranged to happen." Psion reset the hologram to its original state, then six points within the city shone brightly. "Six computer networks, all interconnected, control the shielding and weaponry. If any network is shut down, the other five will activate the defences less than a second later, as well as alert every soldier in the city to the security breach."

"So how do we shut them down?" Marcus asked.

"We don't. We infect them, instead." Psion held up a datacard. "This holds a virus, able to infect every security network, but remain dormant and undetectable until two minutes before the defences come on. Then it activates, taking each network offline simultaneously, leaving the entire city all but defenceless."

The hologram played again, but this time, no shielding appeared, and the weapon batteries were silent. The monsters swarmed into the city, the tiny human figures running and screaming as they were bitten in half and torn to shreds. Blood splattered across the city streets, as a few tried to run, but none escaped. The carnage continued, until finally, all that moved were monsters, feasting on the hologramatic corpses littering the streets.

Most of the GECs were shocked, many were horrified, some were sick. Psion just smiled.

Ellone felt sick. Psion was smiling. It wasn't much of a smile, but… Every man, woman, and child in the city was going to die, and Psion was enjoying this.

If he'd still been alive, Ellone wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near him. As for Marcus… She still wasn't sure how she felt about him. Marcus was going to kill millions of innocents, but he wasn't pretending it was the right thing to do, because it wasn't. He wasn't telling everyone they were doing it for the good of the world, that they were killing for the sake of peace, because they weren't. He just knew it had to be done, to stop Ouroborous.

Marcus had limits, and Ellone wasn't sure Psion had any.

"Any questions?" Psion asked.

"Have you two gone mad?" Melissa shrieked. "Do you know how many innocent men, women and children will die?"

"Approximately thirty five million." Said Psion. "But none of them innocent. Is it not said that every Centran is a soldier of the Empire?"

"But that's not true!"

"War will make it true. Any who survive will be our enemies as long as they live. For us to win, every Centran must die."

"But the children! You're killing defenceless children!"

"Better dead than Ouroborous." Said Marcus. "Better anything, than that."

"But Marcus… Hawk, you can't do this! There has to be another way! I can't let you do this!"

"You're going to kill me?"

"What? No!"

"Then you can't stop me." Marcus scowled. "What they did to me, I will do to them."

"But they didn't kill you, Hawk!" Melissa protested. "You're still alive…"

"YOU CALL THIS LIFE?" Marcus roared, his temper exploding. "This shallow existence of death, and blood, and nothing more? Never anything but a killer, no more purpose than death? I can't feel, I can't sense, I CAN'T LIVE!" He snarled. "So neither will they."

"But all those people…" As Melissa spoke, a part of her seemed to give up. "How many people have to die, Kensai? Just for revenge?" It was the first time she'd ever called him by his last name.

"As many as I can kill. More. Whatever it takes, they'll pay for what they did to me!" Marcus felt something strange rising at the back of his mind, and fought it back down with an iron will. "I'll drown them all in an ocean of blood. No more Empire. No more Brutes. NO MORE OF ME!"

Ellone realised she'd been wrong. In the present, Marcus had accepted his fate and what had been done to him, a resigned air that she'd thought was remarkably mature, considering. But this Marcus was different, hot tempered, furious and acting very much like Seifer. Marcus had good reason for losing his temper, when Seifer usually didn't, but still…

Marcus was out of control, and getting worse. But this was the past, and she couldn't change a thing.

"He has the right, Melissa." Psion cut in. "They took what was most important from him, so now he will take what is most important from them. A fair exchange."

"But you can't." She protested. "It's not human…"

"Neither am I." Marcus said, voice laced with frost. "If you have another way to stop Ouroborous, tell me, and I will listen. If not, I will do what I must."

"You do this, Kensai, then you're a monster."

"Yes." Marcus nodded. "I know. But I will be the last."

---

Marcus started the motorbike, then waited for Ghost to get on his. The two were the best choice for the mission, Marcus as the muscle to counter physical security, and Ghost as the hacker to get past the computer checkpoints and make any last minute changes to the virus program.

"Did you see Melissa?" Ghost asked, his voice deceptively easygoing.

"No. She wasn't there."

"Thought so." Ghost finally got onto the seat. He wasn't a fighter, but Marcus could fight for them both. Ghost could talk to people, make strangers feel calm and relaxed around him, skills Marcus knew he would never have.

Ellone couldn't help but agree with him on that point. Marcus could even give Squall lessons on being antisocial.

"Any plans after this is over?" Ghost asked. "Once we're free of Centra, I mean?"

"No." Marcus didn't care what happened then. Once the Empire was destroyed, nothing about him would matter. A world without an enemy would have no use for him.

"Psion's got plans." Ghost continued. "Ideas about everything. He even thinks he can extend our lives. Double human life expectancy, at the very least."

Marcus flinched, then forced himself to be calm. Ghost didn't seem to notice.

"Soon, he'll come up with a way to make us live forever."

Marcus shuddered, and almost fell off the bike. His thoughts crashed to a halt, blind terror freezing him solid. To exist forever…

No. I will cease to be. My suffering must end.

He remembered his sword, and relaxed slightly. He had used the Blade of the Betrayer to kill, and the curse was on him. He would be betrayed, and he would die. He would not endure this existence forever.

He couldn't.

"Something wrong?" Ghost looked at him curiously.

"I am ready to kill." Said Marcus. "What more is there?"

Ghost accepted this as normal, which it was. "So will you be happy, if this works?"

"I am the Brute, and Brutes cannot be happy. Brutes only have purpose."

"But you're okay with this?"

"No." Marcus answered. "I will never be okay."

"Yeah, I'm starting to feel like that. I know it has to be done, but this is bad. Real bad. Millions of men, women and children… And this is just the start."

"It has to be done." Marcus drove away.

So there will be no more of me.

---

Centra City was easy to enter, their forged ID getting them past every security check with ease. Ghost was posing as a supplier of financial and logistics software and technology, a vital part of the Empire, but so boring and completely unthreatening that nobody would be suspicious. Even if they were questioned, Ghost was an expert in every computer field, enough to convince anyone.

Marcus was a bodyguard, one of the roles the Empire had originally trained him for. He was wearing sunglasses, to avoid attention. Even with the coloured contacts he was wearing, his eyes looked dead.

Ghost's comm sounded, and he answered, speaking for a few seconds before ending the call.

"What is it?" Marcus asked. It had to be important. Psion wouldn't contact them otherwise.

"Typhon isn't here. He's dealing with a monster uprising in the north continent."

Marcus was disappointed. He didn't care if he killed him or not, only that Typhon died. The Empire's greatest warrior would be a problem in the future, but the plan had to continue. The Emperor was their objective, and Typhon would have just been a welcome bonus.

They walked faster to the security node, on the route they'd memorized. Everything was going according to plan, ahead of schedule…

And then a crowd burst out of a church, and everything fell apart.

Ghost was knocked aside, his slender frame carried away by the crowd. Marcus stood in place, his increased muscle and bone density holding him solid as people bounced off him. He looked around, trying to find Ghost, but he couldn't see anything. Ghost didn't have any distinguishing features. That was how he'd been designed.

Marcus moved with the crowd, shoving his way through people whenever he thought he saw something. But Ghost was nowhere to be found. Where was he?

Then he came to the centre of the crowd, and noticed a couple dressed in what were apparently wedding clothes. Melissa had talked about them sometimes, but Marcus had never seen the point of such a pre-mating ritual.

Then he saw the bride's face, her dark hair, her lips curled in a mocking smirk, and he forgot everything else.

It was Emmeline. The woman his creators wanted him to have children with. The bitch he had vowed to kill. The murderess who had killed Celine.

And the only person in the city who could identify him, aborting the mission and making every GEC as good as dead.

Their eyes met, and even through his sunglasses, Marcus thought he could see the flash of recognition in her eyes.

Marcus ducked into a side alley, leaving the crowd behind. He couldn't kill her, too many witnesses. But he couldn't let her talk, because if someone believed her, the GECs were doomed.

But Emmeline didn't know Ghost. Ghost could complete the mission. But Marcus had to find him first.

But when he left the alley, the last of the crowd was disappearing into a mansion at the end of the street, security guards and barrier locking them in. He couldn't get through. He checked the streets, but Ghost was nowhere to be found.

He checked his watch. Time was running out. He had to plant the virus. Ghost would do the same, if he weren't already. Centra City had to be destroyed, whatever the cost.

Marcus ran towards the nearest security node. The security pass Psion had forged got him inside the first few automated checkpoints, but then he encountered the guards.

There were two of them, big, muscular and heavily armed. Marcus slid a stiletto dagger into each palm, turning his hands to keep them hidden.

The guards approached in unison. "You must leave. Nobody is permitted to ent…" Marcus thrust with both daggers simultaneously, sliding between the ribs in exactly the same spot with each target, stabbing deep into the heart. Both men died instantly.

Marcus pulled out the daggers, and kept moving.

Several more corpses later, he was at the computer terminal. He took out a data disk marked with a red label, inserted it, and pressed a key to start loading. Password requests flashed up on the screen, then disappeared as the software broke through them. The virus loaded quickly, then the disk ejected. Marcus grabbed it and dropped it on the floor, emptying a vial of yellow liquid over it. The disk hissed, then began to melt as the acid dissolved it entirely.

He took out another data disk, this one marked blue, and edged it just inside the slot, as if it had just been ejected.

Now even if the Empire discovered the truth, there was no way to analyse the virus. The blue disk held fake data that appeared to be a virus, so even if the Empire found the virus came from this terminal, they'd waste what little time they had chasing a false trail that led nowhere. Psion had planned everything perfectly, as always.

Marcus checked his watch. Eight minutes to spare. Mission accomplished. He rushed out of the building towards the city exit. Ghost would have already left, he was sure. Ghost would have known Marcus would fulfil the mission.

It was dark outside, the approaching Lunar Cry causing an eclipse of the sun. People were watching in awe at the growing luminescence between the moon and the earth, not knowing what was about to happen. Imperial Guards still watched the streets, looking for anyone suspicious.

Then they saw him, and drew their weapons. For an instant, Marcus wondered what had gone wrong, then he remembered he was still wearing sunglasses. When it was as dark as midnight. When everyone wanted to see the Lunar Cry.

Marcus rushed towards the guards coming at him, catching them by surprise as they tried to form a defensive position. He easily knocked them aside with his enhanced strength and speed, tearing off the sunglasses as he jumped over a wall and darted down a side street.

The uproar spread rapidly, guards coming from all directions. "There's terrorists back there!" He yelled at the guards in his way, pointing behind him. "It's a slave uprising! They've got a bomb!" Psion had prepared a plan for every possible situation, and it worked perfectly. Marcus was obviously a pureblood Centran, so the rapidly spreading reports of slave race terrorists made the guards suspicious of everyone but him.

He reached the gates, and used his security pass against a side door. It was too late to escape on foot, as the monsters would overwhelm him. He entered the depot, all the military vehicles parked at the far end.

"That's him!" The door locked behind him, and spotlights flashed on from all directions. Marcus ducked behind a wall, drawing his sword. He'd left the Blade of the Betrayer behind, as it would have drawn too much attention, but any sword was deadly in his hands.

"Why are you hiding, rebel?" The mocking voice called out. "We're not going to kill you. We can't question a corpse!"

Marcus risked looking over the wall. A brigade of guards stood there, all with guns pointing at their hostages, purebloods and halfbloods, men, women and children. All defenceless. All afraid.

"I'll count to ten." The voice continued. "Then I'll kill half of them. You want them to live, drop your weapons and come out. If you want innocents to die, stay right where you are, and wait for us to come after you. Well?"

This was a standard tactic for the Centran military. Rebels were never ruthless enough to sacrifice innocent lives, so they always surrendered. Rebels didn't kill children.

But Marcus had already killed every man, woman and child in Centra City, innocent or otherwise. He noticed a fuel tank near to the guards, then ducked back beside the wall, and took out a grenade.

Ellone had seen the terrified children, the guns pressed against their heads as they cried out in fear. She already knew how many would have died because of Marcus sabotaging the city defences, but to kill terrified children personally… It felt worse. Much worse. Surely he isn't going to…

But he was. Marcus knew any surviving hostages would be torn apart and consumed by the monsters of the Lunar Cry, so his coldly rational mind had already decided that killing them now was a kindness.

"One…" As the voice counted, Marcus armed the grenade. "Two… Three…"

"Ten." He shouted, throwing the grenade at the fuel tanks. The fuel exploded, dying screams of hostages and guards alike mixing as one. Marcus got up and ran through the smoke. The blurred figures he came across hesitated when he became visible, not knowing if he was their enemy, when he had no such weakness, and killed them all as he ran past.

He jumped onto a Caliburn jumpbike, and searched for a key. Not finding one, he ripped off the ignition panel. He'd forgotten which wires he needed to connect for a jumpstart, even if he could see them, so he stuck a dagger into the exposed wiring and jerked it about.

The engine roared to life, and the radio burst out music at full volume. Marcus set off at top speed, heading for the main gate through the rapidly thinning smoke as vehicles started up behind him.

The gates were already closing as he approached. Marcus activated the jump boost, and the bike flew into the air, soaring over the gate and landing outside the city. The voices on the radio were screaming in panic now, as the defences remained silent as the hordes of monsters approached.

He looked back as he drove on. Two of his pursuers soared over the gates on jumpbikes, but one landed badly and skidded out of control before flying off his bike, sealing his fate of being devoured by monsters.

The other was still in pursuit. Marcus saw the monsters surrounding the city, but there was a small gap ahead, wide enough to get through but rapidly closing. The jump boost wouldn't recharge in time, so he accelerated to maximum speed.

Bullets flew past him, and he swerved randomly left and right. The guard had a gun, and Marcus only had a sword. If one bullet hit him or the bike, he was doomed. He had to end this now.

Marcus leaned to one side, looking back at his pursuer as a bullet meant for his head passed through his shoulder. As he passed through the gap on the monster ranks, he raised his sabre, and threw it like a boomerang.

It hit the front wheel of the following bike, flipping it over and throwing the rider off. Marcus sped away, but the guard kept firing at him, determined to bring him down. Then the guard noticed the monsters coming for him.

More gunfire, but none aimed at Marcus. He focused on the road ahead, hearing the gun run empty, then agonised screaming and the tearing of flesh.

He didn't look back. He didn't need to.

Once he was far away from the city, Marcus slowed, listening to the radio.

"The monsters are inside the city. They're killing us all! Our defences have failed! Nowhere is safe! The Emperor is dead! We're doomed!"

Marcus nodded, feeling nothing.

"Whoever did this…" A voice pleaded. "Why? WHY? Why kill so many innocent…" There was the sound of a door crashing open, and the roaring of monsters. "They're here!" The voice shrieked. "Damn you, you evil, despicable demon! DAMN YOU TO HELL!" There was a scream of pain, then the transmission went dead.

I'm already damned. Marcus thought. You made sure of that, so now I return the favour. Is that not fair?

Ellone was shocked, horrified, as any human would be. Marcus wasn't.

He was jealous, knowing that Centrans would die quickly, their suffering would soon be over. His suffering endured, as it always did.

---

He gave his mission report to Psion. Ghost never returned, and Marcus never found out how he died. Melissa blamed him for Ghost's death by screaming abuse at him, and Marcus agreed with every word. After that, she avoided him.

---

"Are you crazy? We can't trust a Centran in charge? He'll side with his own kind! He'll turn on us as soon as…" The voice tailed off as Marcus entered the command tent.

As Psion had said, most of those making up his infantry command were boys, most not out of their middle teens. Those joining the rebels were rash and impetuous, with nothing to lose.

"You do not trust me." Marcus began, and the would-be soldiers started backing away from the one who'd spoken before. He still looked angry, but uncertain as well.

"I do not care." Marcus continued. "Your trust is irrelevant. Your beliefs are irrelevant. Your motives are irrelevant. Your concerns, your ideals, your feelings; all are irrelevant. Killing Centrans is the only thing that matters, the only thing of worth. From tomorrow, every one of you will keep killing Centrans until you are dead, or until the Empire is nothing but dust. Is that understood?"

"Killing Centrans?" The voice came from near the front. "Then why don't we start by killing y…" The unconscious body collapsed to the ground before anyone saw Marcus punch him.

"If you attacked, I would kill you all in minutes. You are not capable of killing me. You are poorly trained, with inferior weaponry. Many of you will die tomorrow. But you will kill Centrans."

"You won't." This was from the boy who'd spoken first. Ellone thought he looked vaguely familiar. "You won't show up tomorrow. You won't turn against your own kind."

"They have never been my kind." Said Marcus, as he left. "They made sure of that."

---

The next day, while they were waiting to ambush a Centran scouting battalion, Marcus studied the history of the rebel who'd accused him of siding with his own kind. The only name he'd given was Nathan, and he was the only survivor of his hometown. A few months ago, a Terminator killsquad had visited, and when they couldn't find whoever it was they were looking for, they'd ordered the townspeople to dig a large hole in the town square.

When the hole was deep enough, they'd killed every man, woman, and child in the town, thrown the bodies into the hole, and left them to rot.

Nathan had crawled past the bodies of his friends and family to get out, and spent several days drifting in and out of a coma. Not surprisingly, he'd butchered the first pureblood Centran he saw, and lived on the run, until now.

If Nathan survived this battle, he had potential. His hatred could be focused, making him a powerful warrior.

Nathan? Ellone remembered a General Nathan, hero of the Centran Wars and one of the founders of the city-state of Esthar. Could it be…

"Wait." Marcus said, calling his troops to a halt. "When they come, we'll attack them here." Psion had identified the gully ahead as the best spot for an ambush. "Unless they know we're waiting from them."

"They don't know about us." Someone said. Marcus hadn't bothered to learn their names. Few would survive long enough for that, anyway. "We're too smart for them."

"They are smarter than us. Psion says…"

"Psion's a Centran!"

"Then so am I."

"And you're holding back." The would-be soldier finished, moving on as some of the troops followed. "So we don't need you. We don't need you at all!" He moved on, some of the troops following him.

Nathan was hanging back, scowling as he looked around. "Too easy…" He muttered. "It's never this easy…"

Marcus agreed. Centrans were never this unawares, never this stupid.

There was a snapping noise, and the soldier walking away tripped, and fell.

Tripwire. "Cover!" Shouted Marcus, and dived. Some others did the same, but many did not as the path ahead exploded in flames. The soldiers who'd gone ahead died instantly, and some of the rest were injured. A rockslide crashed down behind them, cutting off their escape.

And worse was coming, he knew. Once Centrans attacked, they didn't stop until all their enemies were dead.

Bullets flew at them, out of the smoke and fire ahead. A few of his soldiers died, the rest milling about, trapped by fear. Without experience or training, they were helpless against a disciplined enemy.

More rebels were cut down every second. Soon, they wouldn't have enough troops to fight with, and the Centrans would attack head on. The rebels had no support, no direction.

But Marcus didn't need either. He was a weapon, not a soldier. All he needed was a target.

When under attack by a superior force, if you are without any means of defence, you have only one chance of victory. You must attack. "Victory or death!" Marcus roared, drawing the Blade of the Betrayer. "CHARGE!" He ran towards the fire and smoke left by the explosion.

A second later, the rebels charged with him. He'd shocked them out of their paralysis, and they instinctively knew that following him was their only chance of survival.

Marcus ran through the smoke, hearing bullets zip past and bodies fall beside him. Those who fell were left behind. No compassion, no mercy.

He burst out of the smoke, seeing the Centran soldiers up ahead. From their uniforms, they were just basic infantry, nothing special, but there were more than he'd expected. The surviving rebels probably still outnumbered them, but not by much, and maybe not enough. The gunfire now sounded uneven, scattered. The Centrans were surprised.

But not for long. "Close combat positions!" The Centran front ranks formed a defensive wall, melee weapons ready.

"Arrowhead formation!" Marcus barked, the rebels forming into two lines behind him on either side, placing him at the point. An arrowhead formation was powerful but risky, being easily broken and dispersed if the leaders were killed. The Centrans knew this, so they weren't worried.

Then Marcus was almost there, and then the Centrans noticed. Noticed his sword, not the weapon of a rebel slave. Noticed his face, and his eyes. And then they realised they'd made a big mistake.

"That's not a slave! He's a Cen…" The soldier died in a gurgle of blood as Marcus cut him open, crashing into the line and forcing the Centrans back. One raised a sword, but was too slow to stop the GEC cutting off his arm at the elbow.

Marcus ignored him, attacking the soldiers that were still a threat. Nathan was just behind, and stabbed the maimed Centran in the throat. In battle, killing enemies that are easily killed by others is a waste of time. A true warrior always fights the strongest enemies, those nobody else can kill.

The Centrans had better weapons, training and experience, and many rebels died quickly, but Marcus just kept killing, and where he could not kill, he maimed. An endless rush of Centrans crowded round him, trying to bring him down, but he was the GEC of battle, the Emperor's doom, moulded and shaped to be the ultimate weapon of war. And there was nobody and nothing that could stand against him.

While blocking the attack of one Centran, another came from the side. His sword occupied, Marcus sidestepped, grabbing the head of his second attacker and wrenching it round with inhuman strength until it snapped.

Behind him, the rush of the rebel attack had slowed, surrounded by Centrans on all sides. Casualties were heavy, and getting worse.

"Back to back!" Marcus gutted another enemy. "Group together! Let them come to us!" The rebels obeyed, bunching together and facing outwards, leaving no blind side for the Centrans to attack.

Marcus kept apart from them. He had no blind side, he moved too fast. No rebel, no human could keep up with him. He took another sword from a corpse, killing and killing until his blades were drenched in blood.

Three soldiers were coming at him, from three different directions at once. Marcus only had two swords, and couldn't block three attacks.

So he blocked none of them. The two attacking from each side were careless, so he lashed out with his blades, one hacking through a chest, the other stabbing through a heart. The one in front was eager, so Marcus kicked him in the face, stunning him and knocking him back. The soldier recovered quickly, looking at his opponent just as the GEC brought both his swords together at neck height, in a scissors motion.

The headless body slumped to the ground, and everything was silent. Marcus looked around, but the battle was over. The surviving rebels, Nathan among them, were staring at him, like… Like the GECs looked at Psion when he solved something impossible. Like they couldn't believe what they'd seen.

Then, one by one, the rebels dropped to their knees, until everyone was bowing to him.

Marcus was surprised, and didn't know what to do. Fighting and war he understood, conflict he wore like a second skin, but this was new and unknown. He was inhuman, barely tolerated only as long as he was of use. That was his sole function, the only purpose to his existence. This didn't make sense.

You saved their lives. Ellone thought. You saved them all. You're their hero, don't you see? Some of his behaviour was making sense now. You've no idea what it means to be respected, or valued, or cared about. You've never had friends. You've never had people wanting you around, just because you're… you. All you're ever been, is used. That's all you know, isn't it? That's all you've ever known.

"Get up." He told them, but they didn't move. "Get up!" They finally started moving. "Take what weapons you can use from the bodies, leave the rest. Quickly! We have more Centrans to kill!"

And the soldiers, his soldiers, did so. For the first time, Commander Kensai was truly in command.

---

And so the Centran war continued. Both sides driven to annihilate the other, no mercy asked or given. Blood and terror reigned in every corner of the world, and no community, settlement or person was safe.

The Sorceress of that time was unknown, and had made no attempt to join the rebellion. The Empire killed every Sorceress as soon as she was known to them, trusting no power but their own, but the powers always passed to a new host. Many generations of Sorceresses had stayed in hiding all their lives, most eventually being found, with a few presumably dying of old age. The current one evidently did not trust anyone. The rebel leaders called it cowardice, but Psion called it her survival instinct, since the rebels had little trust for power they could not control, and would probably try to burn her at the stake after the war anyway.

And Commander Marcus Kensai was the icon of the rebellion. The ultimate warrior that could never know defeat or rest, the unbeatable killer who wouldn't be stopped until the Empire was ashes. The rebels had many names for him. Empire's Bane. The Dark Knight. Death's Chosen. The Empty One. Some believed he was a fallen angel, or a demon, or the combined spirit of everyone who'd ever been killed by Centra, all their skills, memories and vengeance united into a single physical form.

Marcus didn't care what they called him. He was a killer, so he killed. And as he killed, his fame grew. The rebel leaders still said they were giving the orders, but for every soldier who'd ever fought with him in the front lines, Commander Kensai was the one they'd follow into hell itself. In every battle, his blade was among the first, usually the first, to kill. When rebel forces had to retreat, he was always the last to leave, reducing an 'indestructible' Centran war machine to scrap metal, or killing an 'elite' Terminator squad on the way.

Every rebel he'd fought with had stories of how he'd held his ground against impossible odds, how he'd charged the enemy when victory seemed unthinkable, and how the finest, supposedly unbeatable warriors of the Empire fell before him like wheat to a scythe. When Marcus led the Blades, his elite regiment of swordfighters, into battle, nothing could stop them.

Before this war, the Centrans had never known fear. But Marcus had taught them otherwise. Now, they feared him.

And they were desperate to kill him. Marcus didn't care, but he was considered too valuable to lose, so Psion had given all the Blades jumpsuits identical to Marcus. Every member of the Blades now fought every battle wearing a mask, further damaging Centran morale and spreading confusion. Any imperial attacking a Blade didn't know who their opponent was – a soldier, highly skilled but unlikely to turn the tide of battle, a squad leader, experienced and deadly and a match for any Centran, or Marcus himself, sudden death in the blink of an eye for anyone or anything that got in his way.

"You know what this meeting's about?" Asked Lieutenant Nathan, second in command of the Blades.

"Partly." Marcus knew what he needed to know, and nothing more. It was better that way. "Psion has a way to set in motion the destruction of the Empire."

"How?" Nathan had changed since the first battle, years ago. His need for revenge had become satisfied, at least in part. He was still as determined, but calmer, more focused on wider issues than his own kill count. All changes Marcus approved of. "We win some battles, they win others. It'll be years before either side has a definite advantage. Nobody can be certain we'll win this war, not yet. That's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible for Psion." Said Marcus. "If he says he has a way, there is a way."

The meeting was at a round table, with Psion and Midnight on one end, and the rebel leaders on the other. Marcus didn't know their names, nor did he care. They were an irrelevance, their presence only tolerable for the soldiers they brought to the war.

"The Centran forces have always followed a clear command structure." Psion began. "As long as the one they are meant to obey is in command, they will never doubt themselves, never weaken from their purpose."

"We killed the Emperor." A rebel protested.

"We?" Psion raised an eyebrow. "The GECs killed the Emperor and Centra City, while you scurried away and hid." An uncomfortable silence followed.

"But the Emperor is dead, that is correct." Psion continued. "Along with many leaders of the Empire. But one was not in Centra City when it was destroyed, and he now commands the Centran armies."

"Typhon." Marcus confirmed, now knowing what Psion's plan was.

"Exactly." Psion nodded. "The finest warrior of the Empire. With him in command, they will always believe they will win. With him dead, thoughts of our victory will overwhelm the thoughts of every soldier of the Empire."

"Then kill him." One of the rebels snarled.

"We can't." Midnight's voice was deathly quiet, the few times she actually spoke. "Too well protected. Even I can't get near."

"Then maybe we should get someone better for the job." The rebel sneered.

Midnight grabbed a wooden plate, and threw it high in the air as she drew a handgun. The GEC assassin fired four shots, then caught the plate with her other hand, and lifted it up.

The four holes in the plate were in an exact straight line.

"Doubt me again" Midnight hissed. "And this will be your head."

"Typhon is not a fool. He is an excellent strategist, and is fully aware of his own importance. He will not risk his life needlessly, or lower his defences for any reason, except one. His weakness."

"Which is?"

"Arrogance." Psion smiled. "It's not enough for him to be the best warrior in the Empire. He must be seen to be the best warrior in the world, by everyone. He cannot tolerate a rival, and he is beginning to learn that he has one."

"Me." Said Marcus.

"So Typhon wants to challenge Commander Kensai?" Nathan was interested.

"No." Said Psion. "Not for some time yet. But Typhon knows Kensai is the one to kill, the rebellion's greatest champion. He cannot claim victory, as long as Marcus survives. Typhon will want him dead, no matter the cost. He'll sacrifice many men and war machines, but he will not risk himself, and probably the war, by attacking in person."

"So what do I do?" Marcus didn't see the point.

"Wait." Said Psion. "The longer you survive, the more the whispers will grow. Doubt will erode belief. Wait long enough, and he'll have no choice. Typhon will have to challenge you himself." Psion nodded. "And that's when you kill him."

"I will be ready." Marcus promised.

"And that's the end of the war?" Nathan sounded cynical.

"No." Said Psion. "Just the beginning of the end. But that will do."

---

The Centrans were more desperate to kill him now, Marcus knew. It didn't matter, as he would keep fighting as long as there were Centrans to kill. Either he would die, or he would not. Neither fate concerned him much.

But Melissa getting married did concern him. She still hated him, as she should, and had hardly spoken to him since the destruction of Centra City, but he'd heard from the other GECs that she wanted to get married to a rebel staying at the base. He didn't know how a wedding could be significant, but others thought it was. It was about love, or supposed to be, something else he didn't understand.

There was so much he didn't understand.

He asked GECs and rebels about love, and all but two of the answers made him even more confused. Psion had explained it as a mass delusion that was thought to have deeper meanings, but was simply the drive to produce offspring, creating lust and emotional dependency towards another person. He supposed Melissa might want children.

Midnight had told him love was the intense feeling of joy when the bullet you fired from your Gungnir sniper rifle hit the eyeball of your target dead centre, from over half a mile away. He could identify with this, but he didn't think it applied to Melissa.

But it was the other things he'd heard, what a wedding could lead to, that had led him to the GEC base. He entered a room in the living quarters, and a man jumped in fright. He was spindly, not short, but delicate. Marcus could have snapped his spine in half, even with both hands broken.

"You are Gregor." Said Marcus. "Logistics planner of the rebel army. You intend to marry Melissa."

Gregor flattened against the wall, looking horrified. There was nowhere to run, not that it would have done him any good. Nobody got away from Marcus.

"Answer me." Marcus didn't openly threaten. With his reputation, he didn't need to.

"Yes." Gregor squeaked in a high-pitched voice.

"Is the wedding and marriage her decision? Does she choose it freely, and willingly?"

"Yes! Of course! I'd never force her to…"

"Enough." Marcus cut him off. Gregor seemed genuine, but it could still be a lie. "What was said during the…" He searched for the word. "Proposal?"

"Umm…" Gregor seemed to develop a tiny backbone. "I don't think I should be telling you. I mean, it's pers…" Marcus grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the floor with one hand. "Okay." Gregor squeaked. "It wasn't really a proposal… I mean, I didn't have the nerve to actually ask, but we were talking and we kinda… agreed that it sounded like a good idea."

Ellone couldn't imagine a less romantic proposal, and what Gregor said next was even more pathetic.

"She mentioned you, but... She said there was nothing between you. If that's wrong, then I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you mad…"

"She spoke the truth. There is nothing between us."

"You don't have a history with her?"

"History of what?"

"Err…"Gregor was torn between wanting to know, and not wanting to offend someone who was dangling his body above the floor. "A history of being together."

"All GECs were together. All GECs matured here."

"Yeah, I know, but not together as in grew up together, together as in… relationship? Dating? Wanting kids?"

"My children?" Marcus was disgusted. The taint of his genes, the removal of feeling and emotion for death and suffering, and this worm thought Melissa would want that? "You think she'd be that stupid? That worthless?"

"No." If Gregor shook his head any faster, it might have fallen off. "No. Definitely not. No way."

Marcus let go, and Gregor collapsed. "If it is her wish to marry you, so be it. If it is not her wish, I'll kill you."

"Okay." Gregor whispered as he got up.

"One more thing." Said Marcus. "I have heard that some marriages can lead to violence. That the male hurts the female, because he is worthless and enjoys beating another down to become worthless." Marcus stared into Gregor's eyes. "This will not happen in her marriage."

"Me do that?" Gregor was shocked. "No. Never happen. I'd never… Wouldn't dream…"

Marcus ignored him. "I have also heard that when this happens, the female begs others to forgive the male. That she becomes too dependent on him to object, or escape. This also will not happen."

He drew his sword. "Because I will not listen. Not to her, not to you. It won't matter how either of you begs, or makes excuses, or pleads for one more chance. I won't listen. The first time you hurt her, the first thing I will do is to cut you in half. Slowly." Marcus held the Blade of the Betrayer between Gregor's legs, sharp edge pointing up. "Starting here. Understand?"

Gregor had gone pale, and didn't respond.

"Do you understand?" Marcus repeated.

Gregor fainted, and would have sliced himself open as his body collapsed if Marcus hadn't pulled his sword back just in time.

The GEC sheathed his sword, and walked away. Melissa wanted this, and Gregor was not a threat to her, so his involvement was done. Perhaps love had something to do with it, whatever that was, but he still didn't understand what possible reason Melissa could have for wanting children with this man.

Ellone didn't understand it much either. I've just met my great grandfather. And he's a wimp!

A call came through on his phone, and Marcus answered. "Yes?"

"Typhon has lost his temper." It was Psion. "Let battle commence."

---

Marcus felt the blade cut into him, felt himself stumble backwards in a futile attempt to get away long enough to recover, when he knew neither getting away or recovery was possible.

Typhon's laughter was cutting into him, just like the blade. Mocking him, taunting him that he just wasn't good enough.

He'd thought Typhon would want to feed his arrogance, beat him one on one. Instead, he'd been ambushed by machines and soldiers before he'd even seen where Typhon was. The men with him died quickly, and he had to kill everything Typhon threw at him by himself.

He'd done so, but it had cost him. When he'd got to Typhon, he was injured, tired, and the painkilling effect of his adrenalin rush had already run out.

Marcus attacked low, curving his blade up at the last instant. Typhon blocked it with little difficulty, then brought his own katana down to the left. Marcus took one step back as he parried, but only just. His counter was too slow to be effective, and Typhon attacked again.

Marcus was forced to retreat. He was on the defensive.

He was losing.

It isn't fair he thought, but then forced his mind into focus. There was no fairness in battle, no rules. Only victory, and vanquished. Conqueror, and conquered.

Vae Victus.

A boot in his ribs knocked the wind out of him, and he rolled back, even further away from the cliff edge. He was running out of room to retreat to. Typhon was playing with him, backing him into a corner. Drachen would have called him a fool, being too arrogant to kill his enemy when he had the chance.

But fool or not, Typhon was winning.

"And you were meant to replace me?" Another laugh. "Truly pathetic. The best of the rebels is hardly worthy of my blade."

Marcus attacked. Typhon blocked with little difficulty, then countered, gashing open the GEC's face. Marcus ignored the pain as the irrelevance it was, keeping his guard up.

"You're nothing but a freak." Typhon smirked, and Marcus fought to keep his rage under control. "A failed experiment, a failed warrior. And now, you're failing again. You can't rebel. You can't even fight!"

Marcus lost his temper. Fighting was all he could do, all he was. If he couldn't do that, he was nothing. He charged at Typhon, screaming for blood.

Of course, Typhon was expecting that, and swatted him away like a fly.

Marcus slid across the ground, leaving a bloody trail before getting to his feet. His movements were slower now, his actions less precise. He'd been through too much. Pain he could ignore, exhaustion he could push through, but even a GEC body had limits. And he'd reached them. Maybe even passed them. He couldn't keep fighting much longer, and there was no hope he'd beat Typhon.

A warrior does not need hope. A warrior needs only strength of will. His reflexes took over, moving his sword into a guard position automatically.

"Are you still trying to win?" Typhon mocked. "Why bother? You'll die soon enough. You were dead the moment you challenged me."

"I've always… been dead." Marcus snarled. "I just never… stopped moving."

"Well, I can cure that." Said Typhon. "And then, your puny little rebellion will crumble. The Empire will be reborn. And who better for an Emperor, than me?"

No. He couldn't allow the Empire to rise again. The Centrans would never be this weak again. This was the only chance of freedom for the slaves. The only chance of vengeance for him, for he would never be free. But now, Typhon was taking it all away. Taking everything.

Deep inside him, something was waking up. Something different. Something new.

"And you'll be what you always should have been. Nothing. A worthless mistake, a failed experiment that should have been disposed of a long time ago. Your petty uprising will never stand against the true master race. The Empire will rebuild again, stronger than ever before."

Fight with everything you have. A lesson he thought he'd learned a long time ago, but what if he hadn't? He didn't know what was building inside him, but he knew it was power. Power he'd never known or felt before, power he couldn't control. What was it?

"And I will be Emperor." Typhon laughed. "I suppose I should thank you, really. If not for you, I'd have always been just another Typhon." He smiled. "Perhaps you should join me?"

Marcus spat blood. "Join you?" He attacked, better than before but still not good enough. They exchanged blows a few times, then Typhon got past his guard and slashed his stomach before kicking him in the ribs. Marcus rolled away before collapsing. He got to his knees, but didn't stand up. It wouldn't have made a difference anyway.

"That was a joke." Typhon smirked. "Why aren't you laughing? Did they take that away as well?"

Yes. They'd taken laughter. They'd taken hope, and dreams, and life. They'd taken everything.

He remembered it all. When he was a child, beaten and tortured for the amusement of his creators. Weak. When he was trained, broken and battered to serve the will of his masters. Pathetic. When he rebelled, killing the only people who would ever have accepted him. Failure. When he destroyed Centra City, condemning him forever in the eyes of everyone. Monster.

And once he died, the rebellion would be crushed, and Centra would do it over and over again.

Never.

"The Empire…" Marcus hissed. "Had… no… right…"

"Right?" Said Typhon. "Such a ridiculous concept. When you have power, what else is needed?"

NeverNeverNeverNeverNever…

Centra had taken everything. Life. Hope. Future. Peace. Happiness. They stole, they tortured, they ripped him apart, they laughed…

They DARED…

Fight with everything you have, everything you are. Drachen had taught him this, and Marcus was taking the lesson further than anyone believed possible.

Deep inside his mind, barriers shattered, emotions hidden for over a decade flooding out. Rage combined with anger, and was multiplied by hate, boiling inside him, thirsting for the kill. Any kill.

Everything that exists is a weapon.

The blood.

The rage.

The BLOODRAGE…

"Any last words?" Typhon was about to attack.

Marcus looked up, and screamed. Not in pain, or fear. This was a scream of hate, from someone who'd finally realised life held nothing good, nothing fair or kind to hope for. The scream of someone who'd felt nothing but pain, and now wanted nothing but to pass it on to everyone else.

Ellone had never heard it before, and would have given almost anything to never hear it again.

Marcus felt the darkness at the core of his being blossom into life, and consume him utterly. In an instant, Marcus Kensai ceased to exist.

The thing that replaced him was something else entirely.

It leapt to its feet, causing a rush of intense pain. It savoured the intensity of the feeling, delighted in the agony flooding its body. Knowing there was no greater pleasure than in pain.

"Got your second wind?" Typhon's voice interrupted its reverie. "Good. At least now you'll provide some small amusement."

The Bloodrage couldn't talk, not that it would have anyway. Only humans and those who acted human could speak, and the Bloodrage was neither. It looked at Typhon, one of the living. The living had hurt it, tortured it, imprisoned it. Used it as a slave. The living must pay. All of them. Every one of the living was to blame, so every one of them would die, in blood and pain, agony and suffering.

But only one of them was here. Only one! A million deaths would not be enough to satisfy the Bloodrage!

But for now, one would have to do. It thought of the pain it could inflict, the suffering it would force upon the living.

Then it started to giggle, and couldn't stop.

Typhon couldn't believe it. "You think acting insane will frighten…"

The Bloodrage attacked, and Typhon only just parried a swing that would have taken his head off. The next attack cut into his shoulder, and the third would have cut off his arm if he hadn't stepped back at the last second. For the first time, Typhon was caught by surprise, giving ground to his opponent. The Centran Commander had watched Marcus fighting and killing his men, noting the limits of the GECs speed and strength, how long it took for Marcus to get tired and slow down.

The Bloodrage was laughing its head off, stronger and faster than Marcus had ever been, growing more powerful with every hit received or inflicted. It attacked like a fire threw sparks – rushed, unpredictable, and relentless.

A cut to the legs and Typhon sidestepped, only to barely block a thrust to the heart, Their blades locked, and Typhon twisted his blade to create an opening. The Bloodrage just laughed harder, and headbutted Typhon before he could attack. Typhon fell back, drawing a short sword with his other hand.

Typhon wasn't arrogant any more, wasn't dominant or in control. He just wanted his enemy dead, the first chance he got.

But the Bloodrage wasn't giving him a chance. Typhon was the finest warrior of his generation, unbeaten in combat for the decades since he'd taken his title, with vast experience in killing all manner of man and monster that walked the planet. But the Bloodrage was neither man nor monster. It was a demon, the creation of all of Centra's evil warping and breaking the mind of an innocent child. Typhon had never met an opponent like this, one more corrupted, more evil, and even more driven than himself.

Back and forth they clashed, fighting to decide the fate of the world. Typhon was calling on all his experience and training as the best warrior in the Empire, but it wasn't enough. He'd held back at first, waiting for the Bloodrage to slow down and stop attacking, but he soon realised that wasn't going to happen. The Bloodrage just kept coming, never stopped attacking, never stopped laughing. Thunder in its arms, maniacal and unstoppable.

Both were bleeding heavily now, breathing raggedly, one glaring and determined, the other grinning and insane. Then Typhon scissored his blades to trap his opponents, a simple tactic that any sane soldier would have seen a mile away. He tore the Blade of the Betrayer from the Bloodrage, sending it flying over the edge of the cliff.

Typhon kicked the Bloodrage in the ribs, victory all but assured as his enemy fell back. Typhon raised his sword for the beheading stroke, short sword pointing at the Bloodrage to guard long enough to make the killing blow. He had won.

But as Psion had said, Typhon's fatal flaw was arrogance.

Bloodrage charged at Typhon, ignoring everything but his opponent. The short sword impaled it in the gut, but didn't slow it down.

Typhon's eyes widened in shock, as he finally realised his mistake. There was only one thing his enemy wanted, but it wasn't survival. It just wanted to kill him. Typhon wasn't ready, his sword was too high to strike fast enough. And worst of all, he'd forgotten where he was standing.

Then the Bloodrage crashed into him, and both of them went flying over the cliff edge.

And the Bloodrage howled in triumph, all the way down.

---

The Bloodrage opened its eyes. It was lying on a mound of broken rubble, legs and one arm twisted at impossible angles. It tried to stand, but couldn't. Hissing in fury, it wrenched its legs into position. Pain filled its senses, but it could enjoy that later.

Finally it could stand, if only just. Where was the living? Its vision blurred, and it smacked itself in the face before it saw Typhon lying still. It staggered over, ready to inflict pain and suffering beyond imagination.

But it was too late. Typhon had landed on a rocky spike, which had impaled his chest and gone straight through his heart. A look of horror was frozen on his face as he looked down at what had killed him.

The Bloodrage snarled in impotent rage. It wanted Typhon to suffer more than this, much more. But there was more of the living to torture, to extract vengeance from flesh and agony.

But first, it wanted a trophy.

The Bloodrage searched for its sword, and cut deep into Typhon's neck before lodging into the collarbone. Frustrated, it tore the blade free, and tossed it aside. Then it grabbed the head with both hands, and tore it off Typhon's shoulders, raising its gory prize as it screamed in delight at the sky.

---

He kept crawling, dragging his body along in the dust. He hadn't been able to walk for some time, and this was the best he could do, trailing blood as he dragged the package behind him, wrapped in a uniform.

He finally reached the slope leading to the rebel encampment. He was almost there. He looked down the path, trying to find a way down, struggling to focus past the dull roaring in his ears.

Then he felt himself leaning forward, and everything went black.

When he opened his eyes again, he was even more battered and broken than before, and over a dozen guns and swords were pointing at him.

"It's Kensai." Captain Nathan's voice. "Stand down. And call the medics. Now!"

"What if it's a disguise…"

"You can't disguise blood." Nathan snapped. "It's Kensai. Now holster your gun before you shoot me in the foot, dammit! And call the medics!"

His blood was another thing that would forever mark him as different. Humans bled crimson, but Marcus bled the colour of rust. None of the rebels knew why, and after a few examples of his temper, nobody dared ask.

"Why isn't he fighting Typhon?" Someone was angry. "Why did he run?"

"If Typhon's alive, he'll lead the attack. He'll kill us all! All because of this coward! We should…" The voice tailed off, due to a sword held against the speaker's throat.

"You should keep your head." Captain Nathan held his sword perfectly steady. His men stood behind him, all wearing the same black jumpsuit, all hands on swords. "Or you'll lose it. Understand?"

They backed away. The Blades were the elite of the rebel forces, and loyal only to each other. Even without Marcus, nobody wanted to get in their way.

"Marcus?" Nathan crouched, as field surgeons and nurses crowded round the body of the GEC, bandaging wounds and inserting drips. "Can you hear me? What happened?"

Marcus, barely able to move, pointed towards the package he'd dragged with him.

"We'll have to evacuate. Typhon will be leading an army here!" The soldiers were getting hysterical, as Nathan looked inside the package.

"We're doomed. He'll kill us all! The best warrior on the planet, and he'll be here any second…"

"Without this?" Said Nathan, pulling Typhon's head out of the package.

Then there was nothing. You could have not only heard a pin drop, but heard it falling through the air as well.

"He's dead?" The first voice was always an idiot, apparently.

"Head and body, two separate places, usually has that effect. Yes."

"But how?"

"Doesn't matter." Nathan growled. "Typhon thought he was the best, the greatest warrior, but he was wrong. Now, Typhon's dead, and the greatest warrior in the world fights with us!" The Blades cheered, and soldiers from all over the camp joined them as soon as they saw what remained of Typhon.

"Get the loudspeakers and vid cameras! Start transmitting!" Nathan continued. "Make sure everyone knows! Everyone!" He climbed up onto a platform, holding Typhon's head as he looked out over the rebel encampment.

"The Empire's finest is dead!" He shouted, getting everyone's attention. "Typhon couldn't kill Commander Kensai, and the Empire can't kill us! You're not the master race, Imperials!" He raised the grisly trophy high above his head. "THIS is the proof!"

There was cheering, and Nathan waited for it to die down before continuing. "Now we have the advantage, and we're going to use it! We've fought this war for long enough! Now it's time to start WINNING!"

A deafening roar erupted throughout the camp. The rebels were fired up, ready to do anything. Overthrow the Empire, change the world. They'd do it all.

Marcus just lay there. He'd done enough. And he hadn't done it for them, anyway.

"Marcus?" He could hear Nathan's voice. "You okay?"

Then the darkness took him, and he heard nothing more.

---

Marcus woke up in a medical tent. Rebel camps were always made of temporary structures, that could be moved or destroyed in a hurry when an evacuation was declared. The tent should have been filled with the wounded and dying, but there was nobody else there. They must have all been moved, to make way for him. Marcus sneered.

Idiots.

He got out of bed, and performed a series of assessment exercises. His muscles were damaged, his speed and power reduced to almost human levels. His blood loss had been severe, but his wounds had already closed, his GEC body quickly repairing the flesh. No permanent damage, full recovery expected within a couple of days.

Food and drink had been laid out for him, the finest the rebel army could find. Exotic dishes and sweetmeats from every slave culture on the planet, with bottles of wine and spirits, including some rare vintages looted from the Centrans.

Marcus had never understood why humans were so obsessed with taste. Food was fuel. The synthetic nutrient paste from the GEC base was all he needed. And drink was hydration, so water was always best for that. Fruit juice gave extra nutrition, which made sense, but what was the point of soda? As for alcohol, it made you weak, and every rebel needed strength to fight this war.

But even he had to eat. Marcus chewed at a hard loaf of tasteless army bread that an invalid must have left behind, washed down with a jug of tepid water, as he thought about the Bloodrage.

It wanted to kill everyone. Every human on the planet. It had taken him over, and he'd let it happen.

And he knew he would do so again, if he had to. If he needed the Bloodrage to destroy the Empire, he'd use it again. And again, and again, as many times as it took. However many died in the process.

Yet more proof of the monster he'd become.

He saw his reflection in a mirror, and scowled. He'd heard female rebels describing his looks, naming him attractive, handsome. With low chances of survival from one day to the next, long term relationships were rare among the rebel army, and sex was just another means of physical release and relaxation. Some females even overlooked his being a Centran, and made blatant attempts to mate with him.

He couldn't understand what was wrong with them. Couldn't they see what he was? Didn't they understand what he'd become? Were they so blind, they'd mate with a demon?

The last time he'd been at the GEC base, he'd asked Psion what life meant, what it was. Psion had showed him a rat he'd been experimenting on, and asked if it was alive. It seemed obvious it was, and Marcus had said so.

Psion had raised the temperature, and after a few minutes the rat had shuddered. Then large worms had burst out of every inch of its skin, leaving a bloodied carcass behind.

Psion told him that the rat had been dead as soon as it became infected. He said for most individuals, life was just such an illusion. That most were just gears in the machine, used for a while for a greater purpose they knew nothing of, then wearing out and being replaced.

Marcus identified with the rat. They were both dead already, being consumed from within. He looked at the mirror again. A mask of flesh looked back, a covering wearing thin, but still hiding the decay and corruption inside. For now.

He drew his sword. Suicide would be easy. The work of a moment, to end his pain. He didn't fear death, he welcomed it. He always had.

But if he killed himself, then Centra would have won, and he would have surrendered. If his existence was so unbearable he had to end it, then the final victory belonged to the Empire.

And that he could never accept. Whatever the cost, he would destroy them. He would allow the Empire no victory. He would allow them nothing at all.

He knew revenge wouldn't change what he was. It wouldn't take the pain away, it wouldn't help or ease his suffering. Nothing could. But vengeance was all he had, so it would have to do.

He took off his dog tag. It named him a Brute, but he was worse than that. Much worse. He reached into a pile of weapons (all rebel dwelling had weapons, in case of ambush) and took a curved dagger, then began to etch lines on the back of the tag, slowly trying to carve the words Ego Sum Non Dignus.

I am not worthy.

But the dagger blunted quickly, so he threw it away and used another.

And another, and another.

---

The war continued, but not as before. Imperial forces were beaten to a standstill, then forced into retreat. Rebel forces abandoned stealth tactics, and made direct attacks. Many died, but there were always more, while every Centran dead was irreplaceable. The tide of war turned, the Empire becoming ever more desperate. War machines replaced soldiers of the Centran forces more and more, but Psion always knew their weaknesses, devising the most effective strategies against them each time.

Melissa became pregnant, and gave birth to a baby boy. Marcus stayed away. He knew his limitations. Her son should have inherited the Chronos powers, as GECs had been designed to breed true, but Melissa refused to have her son tested.

The rebels were winning, and the GECs began to think of the future. The end of the war was no longer in doubt. Or so they thought.

Marcus thought little of the future. So long as he could kill the last pureblood Centran, stare into their eyes as they died and explain why their Empire was dust, he didn't care. After that, death couldn't come soon enough for him.

Then one day, all that their futures could have been was shattered in a single blow.

---

"I estimate the number of soldiers to be greater than quarter of a million, probably half, assisted by thousands of war machines, and light to medium artillery." Psion announced in the central hall of the base, emotionless as always. "They have already killed all rebel forces in the area, and will attack us within three to four hours."

"And the remaining allied forces?" Marcus asked.

"Fighting scattered Centran uprisings across the globe. General Nathan is the closest, but he is at least twenty four hours distant." Psion adjusted the hologram displays. "The Empire has had this planned for a very long time. This is their last push, their only hope of victory. Nothing has been left to chance."

"So we fight alone." Marcus drew his sword, running through a practice exercise. "What is the projected outcome?"

"One hundred per cent GEC fatalities." Psion stated. "For all possible scenarios."

Marcus paused, then tilted his head in the Centran equivalent of a shrug. "So be it."

A storm of protests erupted from the other GECs. "If we all die, what's the point of fighting?" Melissa demanded. She'd gotten more forceful recently, ever since her son was born, although both he and her husband were currently with General Nathan's army. "We have to get out of here now!"

"We can't." Said Psion. "They are coming here to make sure that every GEC dies. They will have equipment to detect life signs for miles around, so we can't hide, and genetic samplers to test organic tissues, so we can't fake our corpses by disguising other dead bodies. While one of us lives, they will not stop."

"Can't the AI help us?"

"Core protocol: to kill any Centran pureblood is forbidden under any circumstances." The synthesised voice chimed in. "I cannot disobey. In combat against purebloods, I cannot intervene."

"If we can't run, then we must fight." Said Marcus.

"No." Psion shook his head. "To fight is to die. To run, to hide, to surrender – all end in death. We can only survive, if we wait for them to leave."

"What?" Melissa screeched. "Are you insane? Why would they do that?"

"Because we will no longer be among the living." Psion turned to leave. "All those who want to be slowly tortured to death, stay here. All who wish to live, assemble in the Sorceress vault."

All the GECs followed, even Marcus. He wasn't that interested in survival, but he couldn't kill any more Centrans if he was dead. Psion kept quiet the whole time, refusing to answer any questions.

"The Sorceress Vault." Psion announced when they arrived. "As few of you know and none of you fully understand, the immense magical powers of a Sorceress do not die with her. The gift is passed on to a 'Potential', a girl or woman carrying the genetic pattern to 'host' the Sorceress gift. Centra has always hated every Sorceress, for having power the Empire could not control. As soon as they found the genetic pattern, they purged it from the pureblood race, and would have done the same to the slave races if Ouroborous had not taken a higher priority."

"But to eliminate the Sorceress herself, the Empire needed a new strategy. Killing her would have meant her powers reborn, so they would freeze her in suspended animation instead, along with any surviving potentials they could find. That way, all the sorceress powers would have stayed with her, locked away forever."

"So?" Midnight remarked acidly.

"So we seal ourselves in the cubicles, and activate cryostasis."

"What?" Melissa shouted. "But we won't be able to escape! If we're in stasis, we won't even be alive!"

"So there will be no life signs." Psion pointed out, unruffled as ever. "And the Centrans will be unable to detect us. If we fight or if we hide, they will kill us. But if we disappear, they will leave to fight the rebel armies. Then we reappear, we fight on our terms, and we kill them. Fuse and Spark?"

The twins stepped forward. The brother and sister team were the explosives and sabotage experts of the GECs. "Set all the charges to detonate just before the Centrans arrive." Psion told them. "The explosion must convince them there is nothing to salvage, and it has to look like an accident. Everything depends on this."

Fuse and Spark left. "AI, you will convince the Centran army that every one of us is dead."

"Full authorization required."

"Do it." Marcus didn't hesitate. He trusted Psion implicitly.

Not for the first time, Ellone wondered if he should.

"Everyone else, prepare for cryostasis. We cannot be sure the army will be fooled, so the stasis will last six months."

"Six months!" Melissa screeched. "We can't! What about my son? My husband? I can't just leave them!"

"You will leave them for six months." Psion told her. "Or you will leave them permanently. Make your choice."

Nobody ever won an argument with Psion. Melissa was one of a very few who still tried.

Marcus only had two personal items, his sword and dog tag, and gave them to the AI for storage. He knew Melissa was watching him, but she wasn't watching him like she usually did, like everyone did.

Like they thought he was going to kill them.

"Kensai?" She asked finally. "You're okay with this?"

"Centra could still win the war." Said Marcus. "I can't let that happen. I have to survive."

"Oh." Silence, then "You don't think much of Gregor, do you?"

"I don't think of him at all." Marcus told her the truth. "He was your choice. That was all I needed to know."

Melissa was quiet after that, until she said. "I'm scared."

"The cryostasis? It should work. Psion has never failed before."

"Not about that." Said Melissa. "Well, not just that. I'm scared about everything. Even if the Empire falls, it'll be a whole new world. What if it isn't any better?"

"It could not be worse. Nothing could."

"But we're Centran. We're the enemy, or they could easily think we are. What if the rebel army turns on us? My family won't stand a chance…" She hung her head. "Kens… Marcus, I know how I've treated you, and I know I don't have any right to ask, but…

"You want me to protect them?"

"Yes." Her voice was barely even a whisper.

"Done."

"What?"

"Nobody will hurt you, or any of your family. Not while I breathe. Death will be swift for all who try."

"Really? But…"" Melissa was speechless, her jaw hanging open. Marcus didn't understand why.

But Ellone could. Melissa had expected to beg for his help, to have to apologize over and over again, pleading for him to protect her family. And even then, she probably hadn't expected him to agree. She hadn't thought it would be so easy, that he'd pledge his life without a second thought. Not after how she'd treated him, how she'd hated him.

But Melissa didn't get it. Marcus didn't mind how much she hated him, because he hated himself, more than she ever could. His self-hatred was so intense, so overwhelming, that nothing anyone ever felt for him could hurt more. He didn't blame her. Why would he? The entire world could hate him, and he'd think it was justified.

Melissa just didn't have a clue. All those years, growing up together, and she didn't know him at all. She never had…

"You mean it?"

"I don't lie."

"Yeah, I know, but…" Melissa changed the subject. "Are you happy? This war… It's what you wanted, right?"

"Wants are irrelevant. Happiness is irrelevant. Ouroborous had to be stopped. The Empire has to be destroyed. What the Emperor wanted could not come to pass. That was always my purpose, whatever the cost."

"And once the Empire falls?" Said Melissa. "What will you do then?"

"I don't know." Said Marcus. "It doesn't matter."

Another long period of silence. Ellone could tell that Melissa was working her way up to saying something, but Marcus was oblivious. He just waited.

"Listen, I… I mean, I want to… I have to say…"

She's going to say she's sorry. Ellone suddenly realised. She's going to forgive him for Centra City. For everything.

But Marcus had never mentioned that. He'd said Melissa always hated him. And he wasn't a liar. Which meant…

""Well…" Melissa still wasn't able to say. "About what I always said… I mean, I…"

Tell him! Ellone tried to tell her great-grandmothers mind, trying to make this real, not just a memory. More than ever before, she wanted to change the past. Tell him you forgive him! Tell him you're sorry! Tell him you were wrong! Don't back out. Don't wait for another day! You won't get another chance! Tell him, or he'll still be torturing himself eighty years later! Tell him now! JUST TELL HIM!

"Never mind." Melissa gave up, shaking her head. "I'll tell you after the stasis."

No you won't Ellone thought, as Marcus watched her walk away.

The final preparations made, Marcus stepped inside his cubicle. The door closed automatically, locking itself down as the equipment around him hummed into life. First, the stasis projectors would turn on, and then the cryo cooling would activate a second later, to preserve the stasis field. Marcus didn't worry. Either it would work and preserve him, or fail to work and kill him. Neither was worth his concern.

Marcus had just started to blink, when there was a click, and time stopped dead.

---

Marcus completed the blink as the door hissed open. He leaned forward, falling out with a stagger before crashing to the floor. Thoughts whirled about his head, scattered and unfocused.

"Lie down." A synthesised voice told him, and Marcus obeyed without knowing who it was, or caring. "You should recover shortly, although you are the first ever revival from long term stasis."

His mind blurred, swimming in and out of consciousness. Slowly, he began to think more clearly, and something felt wrong. He was alone, and that was normal for him. But there were still people who should have been here. Melissa. Psion. Midnight. Where were they?

He got up, and looked at the cubicles. None of them had opened, and nobody was moving. And they all had ice inside them. His hadn't.

Marcus started to realise something was wrong. Very, very wrong. He looked at Melissa through her cubicle door. She looked asleep, but a part of him knew she wasn't.

"When will she be revived?" Marcus asked the AI.

"Revival is not possible. She is dead."

His thoughts turned to metal, hard and sharp and tearing through his sanity. "She can't be. Bring her back!" He punched the door. "MAKE HER LIVE!"

"She has been dead for eighty years. Revival is impossible. A power surge distrupted the stasis, leaving only the physical form preserved in cryo. She is dead. Every other GEC is dead. You are the only survivor."

Only survivor… The foundation of his identity crumbled, and his mind cracked open. This couldn't have happened. It couldn't. Death should have come for him, not them. Every one of them had wanted to live, Melissa most of all. Marcus had wanted to die. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"No." He whispered. This was too much. He'd killed countless times, he'd committed genocide without flinching, but he couldn't handle this. So he denied it. He denied everything.

Melissa couldn't be dead, so she wasn't. Since she was alive, this body couldn't be her. So Melissa had to be somewhere else. And that meant he had to find her.

His dog tag had been dispensed by the AI, so he wore it around his neck. He walked to the exit door. He needed to find Melissa. Because…

"She isn't dead." He said.

Silence.

"She isn't dead." He repeated.

"Life signs have ceased." The AI began, but Marcus argued until it gave him his sword and let him out.

---

Marcus didn't know where Melissa was, so he chose a direction at random. When monsters got in his way, he killed them. Whenever he was hungry, he ate whatever was available, raw. He had no time to waste.

The landscape had changed entirely, and was hard to recognise. The idea that so much time had passed was a thought he couldn't process, so he ignored it. He avoided the few settlements he saw for the same reason. Settlements meant people. People would ask questions, and that would force him to think, and he couldn't do that.

When he came to the sea, he stole a boat, loaded it with all the food and water he could easily find, and set off across the ocean. He didn't know or care where he was heading, so he never bothered to navigate.

Alone and abandoned on the ocean, with nothing but a tiny boat and little food or water, would have broken most men. But Marcus was not a man, and he was already broken. The trip gave him time to settle his thoughts, and when he found land some days later, he was less paranoid, though still delusional. He'd realised that to find Melissa, he would need information. He had to ask questions, find answers.

So when he saw the city of Esthar, he headed straight for it. He asked people where Melissa was, when he thought they might know, but nobody did. Some asked him questions, but he never answered. Some tried to rob him, and he never bothered to hide their bodies afterwards.

He was walking down an alleyway when he first felt hope, when he saw the woman three men were holding captive. It was too dark to see her face, but she had the right height, build, and hair colour. It had to be her.

He was dimly aware of somebody threatening him, but that didn't matter. They were threatening her, and if she was Melissa, then he'd kill them all.

Then he saw her face. Not Melissa. Just another of the slave races. Irrelevant. Worthless. He walked on, leaving her to the men's sick mercies. He knew what they were going to do to her, but he didn't care. She wasn't Melissa, so she didn't matter.

Then the men attacked him. He killed the first two automatically, not needing to think. When the third drew his sword, he became irritated.

I don't have time for this. I have to find Melissa. Get out of my way!

One cut, and the man was dead. They were amateurs, barely worthy to hold a weapon. He walked on, noticing the woman shrinking away from him as he went past. He ignored her. She wasn't in his way, so she was nothing.

Then he saw the poster. He saw her. This was proof she was alive, and it told him where she would be tomorrow.

But a voice inside his mind whispered that it wasn't her, telling him that she couldn't have survived, that the woman in the poster looked different, couldn't be that young when so many years had passed. That he was fooling himself.

He ignored it. She had to be alive. That was all that mattered.

But the voice didn't stop, even when he watched her at the speech. Whispering to him about all the little ways she was different from Melissa. How she'd seen him, but didn't seem to recognise him. His sanity was fighting his delusions. Even when the gunfire started, he couldn't choose what was real, couldn't make sense of it.

Then someone shouted Kill his daughter! Kill Ellone Loire! And Marcus realised what it meant. He threw aside the bodies between him and the person he had to protect. Sane or insane, Melissa Trelaine or Ellone Loire, he could not allow her to be hurt. Not while he breathed. Not ever.

Marcus jumped on the platform, the first cut taking the arm and the gun of the man about to shoot her, the second cut taking their head. More attacked him, and he killed them all.

With his modified adrenalin blocking all pain, he only felt a slight pressure against his stomach when they shot him, falling to his knees through the muscle shock without knowing why. Then he panicked, and looked behind him, and saw that she was safe.

Then he saw the bullet hole just next to her head, and realised how close they'd been to killing her. He went berserk, jumping off the platform and into the fray. To him, the Centran War was only weeks ago, and his skills remained unchanged. The bodies piled up around him, and he cut through everyone in his path to the leader, answering the question of why are you doing this with a blade through the ribs.

He saw Melissa/Ellone being led away, and she seemed uncomfortable. Was she being taken hostage?

That wasn't it, Marcus. Ellone gave a mental cringe at the memory. I felt bad at leaving you behind because I didn't know you, even though you helped me.

Then someone confronted him, an unarmed fighter, and he could have been an ally and helping Melissa/Ellone, but he couldn't be sure, and he might be an enemy and he couldn't let her be hurt no matter the cost…

So he attacked, and a sniper almost killed him. He disabled both his opponents and was about to kill the unarmed one when she appeared again, and screamed at him to stop. He tried to understand, but he was so confused and she kept shouting so he must be fighting someone she didn't want hurt so he'd made a big mistake and why didn't she recognise him?

Then he felt himself passing out, and was relieved.

---

He woke up in what looked like a hospital. He could think clearly now, and realised that although Melissa had died, her family must have survived. This woman must have been her descendant. She had guardians, which was good, but he'd already tried to kill two of them, which was bad. She couldn't trust him now, not that she would have anyway.

When he overheard a doctor talking about tests, he knocked him out and escaped. The power of her bloodline was not that dangerous, but his powers had to die with him.

Ellone could remember the rest of his memories, either from being a witness or from the others telling her what happened. Some were harsher than others. Rinoa trying to kill him, but he never hated her, and Quistis and Selphie trying to help and comfort him, but he never trusted them.

Then the memories ended, and she was alone in the darkness. Then the feelings started again but without the visions, years of pain and suffering condensed into seconds. Waves of agony crashed into her, over and over again. The memories shrieked at her in many different voices, and underneath it all was a child screaming in hate, yelling how he rescued them and saved them and helped them when nobody else would so it wasn't fair that THERE WAS NEVER ANYONE THERE FOR HIM and nobody could tell him WHY WHY WHY

Ellone felt her mind under siege. This was what Melissa must have felt when she'd used her power on Marcus, but now the memories were so much stronger, the torture and despair of his existence so much more powerful, that she couldn't get away.

But she held on. She knew Marcus wasn't like this. In only the very short time she'd known him, she'd seen someone else. Someone who didn't want to hate, someone who could see what life was worth. She hadn't seen that in his memories, but it had to be there, because he was that person.

Then she remembered. Marcus told her that her power would unlock other people's memories, but only through their viewpoint. Marcus believed he was a monster, a demon so condemned that redemption was impossible.

But that didn't mean he was. Ellone didn't believe he was. And belief was a source of her power.

This isn't who he is. Ellone forced her thoughts into focus. It's what he thinks he is, nothing more. And I know he's wrong. Show me the rest.

His memories resisted, but Marcus had only been modified physically. Ellone's power worked on the mental plane, and mentally, Marcus was no stronger than anyone else.

Show me!

And then she saw the GEC base, as Marcus approached a little girl who looked like her. And they talked, and Marcus demonstrated his strength by jumping and bouncing off the walls, and kicking through a shelf while doing a handstand with one arm behind his back. And the girl laughed, and prodded his forehead and said you're funny, Hawk.

---

Then Marcus was dressed in his Terminator uniform, sword and gun ready, and a man, a woman, and a little girl huddled in the corner.

"Why are you going to kill us?" The woman begged. "We haven't done anything! Please, why?"

"Don't bother." The man said. "He won't tell us. Their kind never does. They kill us just because they can."

The little girl just wailed.

Marcus thought. The man seemed to have a point. These were not enemies, had no strength or abilities to cause harm to anyone but themselves. The Empire had ordered their deaths, but with no reason. Just like a week ago, with the woman who had been raped, this was death without reason.

So why do it?

"Leave." Marcus finally decided. "Get as far away as you can, and lie to everyone you meet about who you are. And never draw the attention of the Empire, or any pureblood. That way you will live."

He lowered his weapons. He didn't need them anyway, as he was easily able to kill all three with his bare hands. He waited, but none of them moved a muscle.

"Didn't you hear me? Leave!"

"We know it's a trick." The man shook his head. "You'll shoot us all in the back."

"What difference would that make to you?" Marcus demanded. "Being shot from the front is no better, and if this is a trick, you will be just as dead whatever you do. You have nothing to lose."

"He's right." The woman said.

The man finally nodded, and the family got up. The woman told the little girl to go outside and wait. Her parents flinched as she neared the doorway, waiting for a shot.

Marcus kept his hand away from the gun. His other hand was close to his sword, but that was in case another Terminator came checking on him.

The woman went next, casting nervous glances at Marcus, but starting to believe.

The man went last, but he stopped at the doorway. "Why?"

"I have no reason to kill you."

"That's never stopped a Centran before." He said. "Everyone knows that. And you're a Centran."

"Am I?" Said Marcus. He'd never felt like he was a Centran. He'd didn't feel like he was a GEC, either.

"What else could you be?"

"The only one of my kind." He said. "Alone."

He said nothing more, and the family left. Marcus never spoke of this to anyone.

---

Then Marcus was in a tent, running through sword patterns after the first battle of the Centran War, when Nathan came in with some of the other survivors.

"Kensai?" Nathan spoke first. "That's your name, right?"

"Marcus Kensai." He said. "Or Brute, as a codename."

"Right." Nathan looked uncomfortable, as did everyone else. "This morning, I didn't trust you. I hated your guts. I hoped the Centrans would cut you open first, so I could have a good laugh."

"Think what you like." Marcus sheathed his sword. "You fought well, killed many Centrans. That is all I care about."

"That's what I thought." Nathan scowled. "But it's not what I think, not any more. My dad always said even the best of men make mistakes, but only the best of men make up for them afterwards." He shrugged. "A lot of us died out there, but if you hadn't taken charge, we'd all be dead. And if we'd followed your plan from the start, maybe most of us would have lived."

"It was Psion's plan. Not mine."

"Well, if you trust Psion, that's good enough for us to follow. That's what I want to say. I still hate Centrans, but I've got no trouble believing they can be just as sick to their own kind as they are to us, and I know you want revenge as much as any of us. Those stuck up bastards who are supposed to be leading us would have got us all killed, but you saved our lives."

Nathan knelt on one knee, as did all the rebels behind him. "So from now on, we'll follow you." All the rebels saluted with their blades. "If you say a battle can be won, we'll believe it. You lead us into battle, and not one of us will turn aside until it's won. None of us believed that anyone could win this war, but then we saw you fight. If anyone can pick a fight with the Empire and win, it's you. And we'll keep fighting, until the Empire falls, or death."

"Until the Empire falls, or death." The rebels spoke as one.

"Until the Empire falls, or death." Marcus repeated, unsure of what he was feeling.

More memories followed, many brief moments where Marcus had stopped taking the easy way out and found another way, or refused an order, or held back because he knew something was wrong.

That's it. Ellone thought. That's as much of who you are as everything else.

And the memories were not just the product of an insane and tortured mind, but also from the mind of a man who had terrible things done to him. A man who'd turned his back on power and acceptance in the society he was born to, choosing to create a world that would always distrust and hate him, just so nobody else would ever have to be like him.

And such a mind couldn't hold her captive any longer. As the memories ended, she drew away from Marcus, and faded into the light.

Now we've seen his memories, but we still don't know everything about Marcus – including why he's electus, which he doesn't know himself. And why did he feel a connection to the name Kensai? Coincidence, or something more? Tune in for Chapter 15, when Squall becomes suspicious that a GEC could be the Puppet Master (Think about how their skills match up, and you should figure it out – but that doesn't mean he's right), decisions have to be made about Marcus's future, and Ellone will tell Marcus what is His Greatest Sin…