Already Set In Motion Pt. II

As Montano and Aleron were brought back to camp, the two were thrown into a hastily built cell divided down the middle by a set of bars and constructed flimsily to temporarily contain recent captures. The cell could be broken out of by a strong man with enough effort, an act that was deterred by a guard out front, a tribal auxiliary in that particular case. The divided cage was in sight of the command tent, but nothing happened when Gula and Dalton entered it. Nothing happened after the two exited either, but after they did, The Interfector and Centurion Galio emerged moments later. Galio didn't do anything other than round up a few passing legionaries and bark some indistinct order. The Interfector on the other hand, stood outside his tent, caught eyes with Montano, shifted to the unconscious Aleron, made his frustrated face completely emotionless, and proceeded to walk out of sight with an entourage of auxiliaries. Montano collapsed into a corner of his tiny cell, looked at Aleron past the divider, and closed his eyes to the ongoing sound of battle.

4 Days Later

The battle was over only another hour or two after the incident with the Legion on top. The counterattack was defeated by the veteran wave and minor staff force. As the combined group of veterans regrouped, it wasn't long before the stormed straight into the mass around the weakening Legion center. With all Ajoans focused on the bulk of primes and recruits, the veterans slaughtered everyone where they stood till the Ajoans where too covered in their friends' blood to hold a weapon. The Ajoans who were previously overwhelming the center began fleeing in every direction once it was clear they were losing, only to be picked off or detained by the spread lines of auxiliary Legion gunners. Once the center was free, and the veterans regrouped, the formations were ordered as more scouts and gunners dispersed to continue their Ajoan roundup. Atop the corpses, Theracos took tally of his remaining prime and recruit combined wave.

Between the 300+ auxiliaries, recruit, prime, and veteran legionaries who fought in that center, only 122 were still standing, but around them were nearly 7-800 Ajoans lying either dead, or too wounded to fight anymore. As the company of legionaries and slaves watching the camp moved up, they began bringing back the injured while Legion runners moved up to pass word to the Interfector. The messages and reports came to the Killer, but it was unnecessary since he stood on the cliff watching the whole thing. Small bush fires still poured their smoke into the sky while the formation of his remaining soldiers shuffled to and fro, stepping over the dead. Beneath the smoke and beyond the corpse covered sands, was the Ajoan's village with hundreds of civilians crowding the outer edge of town, trying to make out who had won beyond the haze. The Interfector knew he won, but the devastation of his forces was almost enough to be a defeat. With the display before him, he remembered something he read about in the Legion's Flagstaff Library during his leadership training. The name "King Pyrrhus of Epirus" came to his mind and he now knew what it meant to win a battle at the expense of a campaign. Still, The Murderer's response to the messenger was to march on.

Over the next hour, the remainder of the Killer's forces marched through the smoke and into the Ajoans' village before they could start running. There, the process began. The Legion rounded up everyone, sick, elderly, women, children, boys, men, and anyone who wasn't killed on the field. Hours passed as the process of assimilation went on. Well into the night, the Legion raided the Ajoans homes for food, supplies, weapons, hiding persons, and anything that could be used before the homes and structures were set ablaze. The remainder of the forces and commanders back at camp shifted to directly organize the procedure in the conquered village. Pens were made as slaves moved the dead of the field back for looting. Tribals from the pens were brought out in groups to be assessed by the centurions or veteran officers for health and use to the Legion. Most of the sick and elderly were killed by primes before getting tossed into mass graves nearby. Supplies were tallied, women were put in chains, girls were marked with red Xs on their tunics and segregated from their families while the same happened to the boys. The sick were disposed of and those left were locked into their place, waiting to be judged whether or not they'd have a place in their new post-Ajoan world. The fires of the region grew brighter as the sky got darker, and the only ones back at camp were Aleron, Montano, and the auxiliary guard.

When morning came, the assimilation was still going strong, but the fires were dying, and there was still so much work to do. The Murderer really felt angered by the losses he took, and seeing how many troops he had compared to the amount of Ajoans he captured, he knew this situation was not the greatest. Still, he consolidated every soldier and slave in the village, and sent a veteran explorer out back to Flagstaff with news to Caesar, as well as a request.

The Interfector ordered the dismantling of the Legion camp on the 2nd day, and so the remainder of his cohort section, and nearly a thousand new slaves, rebuilt their camp atop the ruins of the Ajoan home. Aleron and Montano were allowed to walk to the new camp at escort, where they were then ordered back into their cells with nothing to look at but each other and the process they were so familiar with but forced to sit out on. There, the two sat, while the assimilation was carried out and the Interfector's remaining force began the transition to a simple wait for further orders. A wait that could take many days, if not a week or two.

There were too many captured Ajoans and too few legionaries to begin a flowing assimilation, something that was a mix between escorting captures to distant Legion camps while readying to march, during normal circumstances. Instead, the days slowly drifted on while the Interfector's troops could do nothing but stand watch over the mass of conquered Ajoans. By the forth day, things had slowed down enough to where The Murderer could remember the situation regarding two of the lowly officers under his leadership, and how he had to deal with it eventually. As the assimilation went on, the Interfector had passed the cell of Montano and Aleron many times. Always going out of his way to ignore it, and seeing the whole matter like two kids in time out for not getting along, the 4th day was when it was finally time to deal with it.

The morning of the forth day, Montano was sitting in his cell with Clara on the other side of the bars, occasionally handing bits of fruit to him. All the while, he was doing what he'd done since getting back in his cell, shifting his focus between Aleron who'd been conscious since the day after the fight, and the slave pens. Montano and Aleron both felt beyond humiliated by the fact their cells were far smaller than the slave pens made of barbed wire holding hundreds. Montano watched while a few legionaries tossed handfuls of food into the pens for the slaves like they were feeding chickens. Montano felt superior to the slaves only by the fact that he had a personal servant feeding him.

It should be quickly mentioned again that Clara was not a Legion slave. However, after the first duel between Aleron and Montano, she was escorted to the 6ths camp for interrogation. From there, she merely stuck around, and saw to the man wherever he went since the fight. It wasn't normal under any circumstance for citizens of recently conquered Legion towns to stick around Legion camps, but the woman named "Clara" whose residence she offered Decanus Montano back in Gold Canyon, was a unique person. Nobody knows what she saw in Montano, or what their relationship was exactly, but she offered herself into Legion servitude as a personal attendant to the man. Though she was the young officer's personal servant, even on the march, the emergency situation after the fall of the Ajoans meant she wasn't spared from having to do her part in the recovery, healing, and construction work of the unit's average slaves. Still, she took her occasional free moment, seeing to her confined Montano while glaring at Aleron.

When Clara ran out of snacks to feed her man, the two sat there for several minutes in silence. Although, it wasn't more than a few moments later that the 6ths Grama stormed over and began shouting at Clara to go do her checkups at the wounded tent. The young woman shrank into herself as she stood while the old Grama began fidgeting with the lock on Aleron's side of the cell.

As Clara began walking off, Montano lazily said in feigned protest, "You can't order my sla- servant what to do, Grama…"

Clara began to turn around with a smile at the prospect of more time next to her man, but Grama replied, "She ain't yours no more Montano. While you're in that cage, she's mine."

Montano grinned as Grama turned the lock on Aleron's cage, "Slaves can't own property, Grama."

"Yeah I can. I take great care of my slaves. Just cuz I'm Legion property don't mean I ain't still a witch queen. I used to have a hun.." said Grama before noticing Clara had actually turned around and stopped.

Montano couldn't see, but he knew the face Clara made when Grama shouted at the woman to do those checkups. A smile crept across Montano's face when he heard the young woman who idolized him get routed by the elderly slave healer. Grama knelt down as Aleron straightened himself up for the checkup and Montano couldn't see much other than the healer prodding what looked like Aleron's eye. Montano paid no mind and instead just watched the slaves in the nearby pens while Aleron's checkup continued.

Aleron had his cheek cracked and opened while his eyes were beaten to near blindness. Since their fight, and after waking, Aleron was only barely able to see, and not because of optic nerve damage. The bruising had made his eyelids swell to obstruct his vision and the savage beating had cracked his jaw, broken teeth, and tattered his lips. Though the swelling and damage had recovered much by the forth morning. Although there was no denying that the man still looked as though he'd been recently killed. Grama had finished her duty, only shaming Aleron a little in the process. As she stood up, she began shuffling out of his cell and locked the door behind her. Both men watched her leave without a word and began taking in the same view of those slaves in the pens with legionaries all pacing about to their assigned tasks.

Another two lifeless hours passed, Clara visited Montano when she could, but the two hadn't moved but an inch. When the sun was high above, the heat created a haze that could be seen only yards away wherever there was sand. The two had seen a number of Ajoans or new slaves succumb to the heat over recent days since the battle and even during those passing hours that 4th day, as evidenced by the occasional crew of legionaries that went in only to come out with a body. Montano and Aleron both remained somewhat thankful for the hard wood covering over their cell, but the other part of them felt they didn't deserve the minor convenience.

Another slow hour passed when the Interfector finally arrived outside their cell, something they'd forgotten to think about given the neglect they'd experienced since entering confinement. Both men watched the commander approach and tagging along was Centurion Theracos and Decanus Gula. Before stepping to the cage, the Interfector stopped, turned around, and began quietly talking to the 6ths leaders behind him. Montano and Aleron were ready for their fate, and ready to learn it from the leader of this finished Ajoan campaign. They could imagine the Killer was asking them for suggestions on how to kill or torture them. It was then that the two thought back to when they were strangely spared from the whipping post. After that, they'd been marching for days, leading in 3 other battles, burning two other villages, and finding themselves in another conflict with the other, all events seemed only a dream after days in a cell marking their failure.

Montano and Aleron still didn't know what to make of their mercy from the whipping post and sitting in those cages during the fall of the Ajoans last settlement gave them plenty of time to think about that again. They remembered Centurion Arman ordering their crucifixion after their part in the battle, but no word ever came of that, even by the 4th day. Of course, punishment was at the Centurion's suggestion, but Arman wasn't theirs, Theracos was. Neither man had seen or gotten to speak to Theracos, since he only passed them a few times in recent days, only to ignore their existence for focus on assimilation matters. Neither man had an idea what to expect from a man whose jurisdiction over the dualists' feud was apparently taken over by The Interfector since the whipping post.

When their quiet talk was over, the Interfector turned back around and stepped closer to the cage while Gula and Theracos remained where they were. The Interfector stopped only a foot from the cage and knelt down between them. The sun glimmered off his polished black helmet and soot marked that lifted visor with the lone pullet hole. Upon taking his knee, the man took off his tall and heavy helmet, better showing his dirt, sweat, and battle marked face that winced at the sunlight. The man shifted his eyes between the two and studied the men in their shaded combined cell. Neither man said a word, even after the commander wiped the sweat from his brow and said, "Whoo, sure is hot out here, wouldn't you say?" to nobody in particular.

Montano and Aleron stayed silent, looking at the man who resumed shifting eyes between the two with an emotionless face. After a moment, the Killer's eyes land on Montano's just before asking, "Wanna explain your side?" to Montano.

Montano remained silent again, since questions from superiors were almost always rhetorical, despite the nature of The Interfector whom all Legion officers had come to understand as something unique. Same question was asked to Aleron, who at least had a more physical reason not to speak, having a cracked jaw and missing a few teeth.

The Murderer stayed quiet a moment, and nobody had said anything. Seemingly knowing the minds of Aleron and Montano, he said, "I'll tell you what I know, and correct me if I'm wrong…"

The two looked at him while he resumed, "… Veteran Decanus Aleron and Veteran Decanus Montano of 6th Century, under Centurion Theracos, took a mercy of mine and threw it in the trash. I gave them the opportunity to escape lashing by an agreement to end whatever feud there may have been, and then they repay me by fighting each other again in the middle of a battle we were on the verge of losing…"

He paused and none of them moved. Seeing the two as expected, unmoving and quiet, he continued with another question, "Do you two know how many soldiers I lost in this battle?"

Silence

"Do you know why we haven't already started marching to bolster the front's cohort in the southeast?"

Neither man said a word, and the Interfector was more than ready to finish answering his own questions.

"We took far too many losses to even manage the amount of captives we obtained. Now, Theracos tells me you, Aleron, are just about the most loyal, dependable, competent, tactically minded, and capable warrior under his command…" His eyes shifted to Montano, "I am also told you, Montano, are the most savage, vicious, and terrifying commander of any group of Veterans out there..."

Shifting between the two again, he concluded, "I wonder if the outcome of this battle might have turned out even a little bit more in Caesar's favor if two of the 6ths most dependable commanders weren't too busy fighting each other and sitting in these little cages?"

What was sounding like a paternal lecture to anyone else turned deadly serious when the Killer's face twisted to ugly rage. Locking eyes with both men, seemingly at the same time, the commander asked yet another question, "Do either of you worthless sacks of dog shit know what happens to Me if I fail?"

Even though the decibel of his voice never went into a shout, his face became contorted into that of a demon as the answer poured from his mouth dripping with blood, "I get killed. That's what happens to me… I don't care if Aleron struck you, Montano on accident, on purpose, or if your assault was justified or not. All I know is that two very capable men could have been busy killing Ajoans if they weren't too busy killing each other. It seems as though you two forgot that you're no longer people. You two are tools to serve Caesar, same as us all, but as good as you tools are, it seems as though you may need to be replaced…"

He paused for a long time after that, waiting for a possible reaction that never came. Aleron and Montano were completely resigned to their fate, and still silently wondering what that was. Finally, the Interfector stated, "I don't have the luxury of killing you two off, I need every capable man…"

He saw the two men's eyes widen. The Killer saw that and chuckled as it seemed to be what was expected. He gestured his head towards Theracos and Gula behind him without breaking sight of the dualists as he said in a sort of whisper, "Know what Theracos and Gula said to me?.."

Knowing they wouldn't say anything, he answered himself with the words of their commanders, "'If they were primes or recruits, we'd put them on a pole'…"

Pausing expectingly, the Killer said in a secretive sort of way, "I'll be honest with you two, I'm pretty new to this. I'm sure you two heard stories of me, but in the end, all that matters is where I am now. I could've been where you two are or killed for what I'd done to Caesar… But he sees potential where many don't, and I see some of that too… I simply don't know how to deal with soldiers who stand out from the Legion ranks. Look around, all those faces are covered, they're all the same in the heat of battle, but I find it strange how the only men to stand out do so in a way that opposes Caesar…"

He paused for another long time before saying, in a matter-of-fact way, "I don't intend to show either of you mercy in any way other than what I'm told is overdue …"

Standing up, he whistles, and four legionaries storm past Gula and Theracos and begin unlocking the cells as The Killer continues, "I won't make the mistake of mercy again…"

There was no protest on Aleron or Montano's part as they were pulled out of their cell, and bound in chains while The Murderer finished, "Take them to the posts, all eyes will see this, and you'll learn what my mercy means, even if I have to beat it into you."

Sunset

It was just past 2 pm when the two were hauled out of their cells and tied to a set of thick posts that marked the only thing standing of what used to be an adobe structure for the Ajoan's spiritual celebrations. Atop the ruins and ash of what remained, and sitting in the center of the three largest pens of Ajoan captives, the men sat in shackles for two more hours as the sun beat overhead and the Legion officers rounded up any soldier not on essential tasks to form up around the posts. The tiny formation of 50 or so legionaries wasn't a grand audience for the punishment, but all eyes from the pens were on them, even those of the few dozen legionaries on the perimeters who could see the spectacle over the masses of tribals all looking the same direction. Once all was in place, the two men saw the shadows of their floggers cover them in that familiar shade.

The shadows of the punishers grew bigger as they stepped up to the men and soon felt the backs of their crimson tunics rip open. Neither man was eager or ready for the lashing this time, but neither was protesting in any form either. As their backs began taking in the heat of the setting sun, the floggers stepped away again, and both men turned their heads against the wooden posts to face the other. When the two locked eyes once more, they noticed the Interfector standing between them again in front. The world silent, The Interfector towered above the kneeling men, and caught eyes with both men again before saying in his characteristic emotionless way, "Montano and Aleron, both nearly killed in two different fights that shouldn't've even happened. Wouldn't you say it's about even now?"

Silence yet again. There was nothing to say to another question that was only rhetorical in the minds of both men.

Looking to Aleron, the previous victor recently shown defeat, The Interfector asked Aleron a question directed at both, but mostly to the newly bested, "What will you do if I let you go?"

The situation was even, Aleron had beaten Montano in Gold Canyon only to be defeated savagely in the two men's most recent encounter. An eye for an eye was the game, and even at this point, The Murderer of Phoenix was ready to spare both men from the harm they deserved if they can acknowledge that their conflict could be called "even" in largely objective eyes. Still, the question wasn't one that Aleron could answer as the pain in his eyes, mouth, and head flared up again.

Aleron looked up to the Interfector and made out as much of the man as he could from his swollen purple eyes. He said in dehydrated resolution to the fact his feelings were something to be destroyed rather than entertained;

"If you unbind me, I will kill him."

Aleron briefly saw the look on The Interfector's face sink in a bizarre way. The Murderer of Phoenix was not shocked by the man's insistence on personal pain, but more on the words said. It was as if the words had brought back some kind of image in the commander's mind, but that expression meant nothing in regard to what was to come. Aleron's eyes landed back on Montano, whose face hadn't changed from that glare he'd worn since hugging the post.

As both men's worlds were consumed by the other, the final words of The Murderer came, "I understand completely. We'll see if we can't beat that defiance back out of you… Begin"

The first lash came down on Aleron and Montano at the same time. Feeling the flesh on their backs split at the first blow, the two watched each other in silence. Neither man flinched or shouted at the first crack, or the second, or the third, or the 25th. 30 lashes in and both men's vision began to blur. Their backs were a mess of thick red lines that tore away muscle, broke the fat, and splattered blood into the sands around them. 31, 32, 38, 42, the men could no longer hold their heads up. On the 44th lash, Aleron and Montano could take it no longer and broke their gaze at the same time. The two collapsed into the posts, and the pain continued despite the numbing sensation that came at the expense of nerves being carried away in the bloody mist. 56, 57, 58, neither could feel anything anymore, not their hatred for the other, not humiliation, not even the heat of that setting sun, the dryness of their throats, or the pain of the whip, yet both laid there fallen against their posts and nearly dead when the final 60th crack arrived. Floating in and out of consciousness, the men's minds, rage, and feelings were erased, taken with them in each drop of blood to dot the sands. They weren't even able to think of the encroaching final action that symbolized how a seed of disobedience would never grow again.

The mutilated men were only held to the posts by the rope that anchored them when the shadows of the floggers reached into sacks at their feet, scooped up two handfuls of salt powder, and stepped closer. With the men forgetting what mercy meant, neither could say anything, protest, or even register what was happening as the floggers slammed their handfuls of salt against the open backs of Montano and Aleron.

As the salt landed on the deepest wounds, it worked its way into every crevice and onto every nerve ending exposed to the world, reawakening both men who let out a horrific scream at the terrible burning. The scream wasn't like anything the watching legionaries, or even the Ajoans in the pens had ever heard. As the salt did more and more of its torturous work on the destroyed men, their scream in shock transitioned seamlessly into a loud cackling laugh still characterized by the agony being endured. They wanted this, they wanted every ounce of the horrible pain they felt, but still, pain is pain, and the men collapsed unconscious.

With both men unconscious and completely broken, their screaming laugh echoed into the wastes long after, and every remaining legionary under the 6th, 5th, and 9th knew the names of the punished, but more importantly, why they were laughing. Pain was something to be laughed at in the face of personal honor, but only if it can be reshaped by beating into glory to Caesar.

This was a message neither Montano or Aleron knew they were sending to anyone, but one that became evident in the minutes, hours, days, months and even years after their punishment. Though their animosity for the other was beaten out of them at those whipping posts, the salt couldn't neutralize what had been growing deeper and deeper roots since that first fight in Gold Canyon. The spirit of personal combat and spilling of blood in the name of glory was realigned by the punishment of Montano and Aleron.

The blood and pain renewed the men, and the crack of each blow revitalized their dedication to servitude. In the end, what happened in punishment wasn't enough to eliminate the spirit of what started months earlier, but the lashing marked the start of their impact on the world around them and began their transition to legends across the Legion. Aleron and Montano's fate was set in stone at that point, and what would manifest from their feud was already set in motion.

A/N: Thanks for the Salt idea XCom ;)