TWO — BREAK
Break first, fix later— that was his way, had always been his way. He didn't know how to be any other way.
He used to break for fun, on a lark. How many could he break in a night? His record was ten, and he was a legend in the slums. Sometimes he'd spot an easy one, arms outstretched, leaning on one leg. Perfect. They must make these for me. He'd recruit some urchins to provide a distraction (they were usually more than willing to help the slum's legendary Pious, destroyer of the wealthy) and then hack at the statue (usually some frog-faced senator) until it collapsed into a pile of rubble and dust.
He was never caught, but the city guards all knew it was him. It almost prevented him from rising to centurion, but his valor on the battlefield was unquestionable. He could still remember smirking at them, thinking, I've got the best of you. You'll never catch me, and you'll never stop me.
So when he broke that statue, it meant nothing to him. He'd broken a thousand before, he'd break a thousand more. Doesn't matter, stone is just the brittle flesh of crooked-nosed senators and their warty wives.
Except that this time, this statue, the flesh was his own.
Author's Note:
Poor Pious. He had a funny name, so the slum children must have tormented him mercilessly. Why do I bother to research these little fics? I don't know. Second prompt out of fifty, list made for me by TheMagicPocketTurtle. Go read her fifty-theme list.