Sinnerman

Mortuus pumped his legs harder and faster than he ever had before in his life. The Legion standard had been ripped from his back, his hat had been carried away by the wind. He couldn't tell if the blood he felt on his forehead was his or one of his victim's. He couldn't tell if any of the blood he was soaked in was his. He didn't care.

He didn't know if anyone had followed him through. The second defense had not fallen as quickly as the first, but Mortuus had been on the heels of the retreating defenders all the way to the third. He had ceased to feel, he had ceased to think. The chainsaw was not the most efficient weapon he'd ever used, but it set a standard for the battle that made the Hecate-worshipping defenders intimidated. Mortuus had almost been shot several times in the process of grinding through enemy sternums, but whenever he felt a gun barrel point his way he would simply look at the gunman and roar. Covered in ruby viscera and with eyes full of pure fury, Mortuus' roar couldn't even be heard over his chainsaw but it didn't matter, they all flinched away. He cut a straight path through the third defense and pushed through. He thought Legionaries had followed him, but none broke ranks. They were down to only a little more than thirty men. Mortuus ran alone.

He now understood the threat the Daughters of Hecate posed. In fighting them he realized that they were not just individual women preaching to tribes, they were a full-fledged military force. Their tactics were too good, their soldiers too disciplined, and their weapons were in too good of shape to not be considered a threat, and yet the Legion had absolutely no knowledge of them. Somewhere around the second defense the Dead Soul had realized that this wasn't just the wild paranoia of an unhinged centurion, that the outcome of this battle would likely determine the fate of the Legion and the entire southwest wasteland. So he fought, he fought like he had never fought before. He stopped thinking and feeling, because he knew if he let himself think or feel he would feel that this was a battle neither he nor the Legion was going to win. He ran, and when he heard a rifle's retort he only ran faster.

"Shit!" Bella's shot went way wild, well off its mark. She was jittery. She knew who this man was. She knew of the Dead Soul.

"He's too far away. Let him get closer to us," Julia chided dully. She had withdrawn behind Bella as soon as she scoped the Legionary who had broken through the third checkpoint. She recognized him immediately, his black leather and his dark, empty eyes. She recognized her only brother. She withdrew calmly and precisely, left her gun to rest on the rocks and sat back. She pulled out a syringe full of med-x.

"The Dead Soul!" Bella took another shot that had no chance of hitting him, "Fuck!"

"Relax, you aren't compensating for the wind enough," Julia placidly corrected Bella's sniping. She sat cross-legged and took deep, measured breaths as she pulled her arm out of her sleeve. She pulled the cap off the med-x with her teeth.

"He's massive! He's like a human deathclaw!" Bella fired another shot, "Fuck!"

"He's not going to make it to Ouroboros," Julia didn't even look up as she spoke, focused intently on inserting the needle into her vein. She injected the med-x in one steady, even dosage.

"He could still reach us! I don't want that happening!" Bella had completely lost her cool. The calmer Julia was, the more nervous it made her. She had never seen Julia act so blasé in a combat situation, even when it was low-risk. The Julia Bella knew took all combat threats seriously and handled them professionally and with appropriate force. She would never sit away from her rifle and disconnect when there was a clear and present threat. Hell, Julia always relished the opportunity to kill. If this had been one of their missions when Julia was captain, they would've engaged in a contest to see who could kill their target the fastest.

Yet here was Julia abdicating and leaving the target entirely to Bella, so she could shoot up no less. That scared Bella more than the Dead Soul, fabled warrior of the Legion. It wasn't that he was seven feet tall, that he was splattered with the blood of her allies, that he was moving faster than she could believe, that somehow even with the wind she could hear the revving of his chainsaw, it was that for the first time ever Julia Aram was hesitant to kill someone. She didn't know what that said about Mortuus Anima, but she knew it was enough to get scared. She fired another desperate shot.

"Deep breaths, Bella," Julia said in her unnerving monotone. She sounded distant, disaffected. She finished the shot, put the cap back on the empty syringe, and put it back in her coat, all very methodically and cool. She put her arm back in her sleeve and sat for a moment, meditating, letting the med-x flow through her.

"Will you fucking help me!" Bella yelled at her, exasperated. She was almost in tears at Julia's impassivity, unable to understand what was happening as Mortuus drew closer. She didn't know it, but the battle was over. There was only one Legionary left alive and he was running at them with superhuman speed, carrying a chainsaw.

Julia looked at her with empty, glassy eyes. Bella was shaken to the core by Julia's dead stare. She would never forget that look as long as she lived.

Julia sat up and reclaimed her gun. She peered down the scope, relocating her brother. She looked away from the scope, away from her target, and looked again into Bella's terrified eyes. She stared coldly at Bella and fired. Her rifle made a sharp crack that the wind carried away. She stood up, and slung The Lady over her shoulder. She did not look away from Bella.

"See? It wasn't so hard," she said without emotion. She turned around and gently ambled down the promontory.

In the middle of the sun-scorched plain, among the dead grass and skeletal shrubbery was Mortuus Anima. The Dead Soul's headless body was splayed wide open on the hard dry earth, the concussive blast of the .50 caliber bullet which burst his skull like a ripe mutfruit having knocked his corpse a full three feet backwards.