Chapter 19
It Felt Like a Kiss
XXXXX
"Oh come on, rub some dirt on it, and get up." Servius groaned in pain as he struggled to his feet. It was easier to say what parts of his body didn't ache at this point. Marie F. looked at him, her eyes glazed with irritation. "If you keep charging in with your dick out every time, Walker is going to do a lot worse than lay your ass out. Mix things up a bit, for fuck's sake." Gritting his teeth in both frustration and anger, Servius slowly began to circle Marie F. Sighing, the woman imitated his moves.
They had made camp for the night and Servius, his pride stinging more than he cared to admit, had taken Marie F. up on her training offer. He had quickly come to regret this decision, as Marie F.'s idea of training seemed to be her pummeling him to a pulp and telling him he was doing it all wrong. Perhaps eventually she would tell him what he should be doing outside of vague ideas, but he wasn't holding his breath. She had let him keep his new gladius while she was had the knives she had captured from the Vale student. They were more small swords than knives, but she had them gripped as daggers. Even as she shot them disappointed looks.
"God. These things suck," she said, more to herself than. "No balance. Idiot kid probably put them together himself." Giving one of them a noncommittal swing, she grimaced. "How are you supposed to use these things?" As she gave them another swing, Servius lunged forward, thrusting his sword. Anger pulsed through him. He would show her and Barca both. He wasn't a recruit anymore, he was a full-fledged Legionary. Anything other than facing your opponent head-on was a cowardly tactic used by profligates. He wouldn't lower himself to the level of Marie. F or Barca.
Idly, her eyes rose to meet him. With a short swing, she parried the thrust, forcing his blade down into the dirt. Taking a single step forward, she drove the pommel of the other knife into the side of his temple. Stars burst to life in front of Servius's eyes as he staggered back, his head swimming. Trying desperately to recover, he squinted in an attempt to see Marie F. She was right in front of him, her fist sailing towards his face. It caught him right in the nose, pain blossoming as he was sent flying face-first into the snow ground. As he laid there, robbed of his strength, hatred, and embarrassment both burned in his stomach. How many more humiliations would he have to suffer?
"Ok, better," she said. "You've graduated to waiting until I look away before charging in. Now can you please do something a little goddamn different? This is shit is why the NCR kicked your ass at Hoover Dam twice. Dipshits like you died by the hundreds because they all charged in without thinking. You in a hurry to run off and join them?" Servius seethed as he forced himself back to his feet. She had the nerve to insult those who had been cheated out of their victory by cowardice? To insult the Legion when they were the only reason she still drew breath? The NCR would've hung her for all of her crimes, and the Legion only tolerated her out of necessity. Thoughts flitted through his head. Marie F. on the ground, her face bloodied and bruised, begging for mercy as he raised his sword above his head. In the same position he had imagined Rumford and Barca in many times as he had drifted off to sleep.
As beautiful as these thoughts were, they were brought to an abrupt halt as a booted foot slammed into his face, knocking him back into the snow. "You aren't even listening, are you?" Marie F. said harshly. "You came here to learn, junior. I don't know what you expect me to teach you when you can't even learn lesson one of stop being a fucking moron. This is basic shit. I knew I was going to have to start with baby's first lesson, but apparently, I'm teaching at a school for the mentally challenged on top of that. But that's ok. We're gonna keep going until this gets through your thick, fucking skull."
Something took over Servius. Remnant had been one moment of failure after another for him. He had nearly lost Tullus, been forced to endure Rumford, failed to kill both Rumford and Barca, and now this. It was all too much. Without conscious thought, his free hand closed, gathering up a ball of snow. "Well come on, we're gonna keep going until-" Marie F. began but was interrupted. Hatred more than any decisive plan drove Servius as he threw the now compact snow.
Completely caught off guard, Marie F. barely had time to blink before it found its mark in the dead center of her face. Stumbling back, she instinctively clutched at her eyes, dropping her weapons in the process. Glee shot through Servius. Finally, he had managed to get a solid hit in, and on top of it, he had rendered her vulnerable. Forgetting about his surge, he surged to his feet and threw himself at the woman. Slamming into her shoulder first, he sent both of them toppling into the ground. Servius's body ached from the beatings that Marie F. had given him, his skin burned from the cold and the snow, and now even his shoulder felt a little numb. But Marie F. was now below him, her eyes frantically blinking in a desperate attempt to see. He had the advantage.
The first blow was a right hook that caught her underneath the chin, jamming her jaw shut and forcing out a strangled, muffled cry of pain. That grunt of pain was nothing short of euphoria to Servius. Finally, she had shut up, she was the one feeling pain instead of him. Proligates were worthless in frontal fights, it was why they hid behind their cowardly tactics. Ambushes, explosives, burning villages, slaughtering the priestess of Mars, and sending and maiming children. They all deserved this.
Rage mixed with glee as he rained down blow after blow. A part of him had wanted to do this ever since he had met the woman, and gods above it felt good. All the arrogance, all the boasting, and here she was, at the mercy of a legionary. This was justice.
And then it all came to a crashing halt. There was a flash of silver and his right cheek split open in agonizing pain. Once again, he was on his back, howling in pain as he desperately clutched at his cheek. A wide gash adorned it now, blood gushing out and leaking between his fingers, slopping onto his uniform. Before he could even formulate a response, she was on top of him.
There was a mad glint in her eyes as they leered into his, complimented by a deranged grin. Her knife, not one of the ones she had looted, was against his throat, cutting into it. A small trickle of blood was already dribbling down onto his chest. It stung, but compared to the agony in his cheek, it was nothing.
For a single, horrible second, Servius thought that Marie F. was going to kill him. But when she spoke, her words were packed to bursting with delight. "Well! We're finally getting somewhere!" Pulling her knife away, she gave Servius a pat on the head that he couldn't help but find mocking. "Congratulations junior. You've reached the dizzying heights of 'not dropped as a child.' Mommy would be so proud of you." If the situation had been even slightly different, that comment would've driven him into a bloodthirsty rage where he wouldn't rest until he had inflicted serious harm. But with Marie F. still on top of him, knife in hand, and an unbearable pain still burning on his face, his anger was tempered with legitimate fear for his life.
"Throwing something in your enemy's eyes is a good trick, but it only works once and isn't worth dick if they have their eyes covered. So it's worthless on Atlas soldiers, half of the NCR soldiers, and Walker." Her tone was praising, but the type of praising one saved for a child peeing while standing up for the first time. His face burned with humiliation. "But that wasn't a trick we were here to learn, so get up and let's go again."
Servius stared in disbelief, not sure how to react, unsure if reacting at all was wise. Marie F. could still easily slit his throat and leave him to choke on his blood in the snow. Before he could decide, a hand slid into Marie F.'s bright blonde hair, a fist closing tightly. Her eyes had barely enough time to swivel up before she was pulled back. Ancus spun on the spot, a look of quiet fury on his face, tossing her with a grunt of effort. Hissing in pain, Marie F. stumbled a few feet away and only just barely managing to maintain her balance. As she recovered, she made direct eye contact with Ancus.
She was still smiling, but it was a strained smile, one that betrayed a hastily boiling anger. "Hey. Mind telling me what the fuck you think you're doing? Shouldn't you be busy running off to lick at Caesar's taint?"
"I will not permit you to damage a healthy legionary," Ancus said, his arms folded in front of him. His gaze was firm and disgusted. "Your training has ended for the day. Be careful. Your status as an Amicus is not without limits. Particularly when you have been unable to produce particularly useful results during our time in Remnant. Caesar does not look kindly on failures. Only those who prove themselves worthy of his favor."
Marie F.'s smile was well and truly gone now. It was replaced by a livid glare of pure hatred. "Worthy of his favor? Oh, you stupid little boy. When you were playing dress up and dying by the hundreds at Hoover Dam, I was keeping that dumb fuck Presper from nuking you all back to the stone age a second time! A little thing you benefited from while I was making sure my home didn't become even more of a radioactive hell hole. But now you want to whine like a brat who wants mama's tit at fucking forty?!"
As a response, Ancus took a step forward. "It seems my words are not enough. Discipline is in order." Then, without warning, his arms shot forward wrapping around her waist, pinning her arms to the side, and pulling her in close. Hissing in unrestrained fury, Marie F. thrashed and twisted in his grip, spewing inhuman noises that were barely recognizable as words.
As Servius looked on, something about the situation felt odd. Regardless of how strong Ancus was, Marie F.'s movements produced no effect at all, not even tiny winces or corrections from him adjusting himself to keep his grip. Indeed, he seemed as immobile as a statue, much to Marie F.'s ire. "The fuck is this!?" she spat.
"Discipline," Ancus remarked simply. And then he began to squeeze. At once, Marie F.'s noises of rage were replaced by howls of pain as Ancus's thick, muscular arms tightened around her. Grunting and shifting his back, he hoisted her a few inches off of the snowy ground as his bear hug continued to tighten. Marie F.'s flails doubled in intensity, but they were no longer fueled by outrage. They were now driven by desperation. Her hands wildly spasmed, frantically reaching and grasping with their inch of reach, trying to find a route to salvation that was nowhere to be found.
Out of options, her mouth opened wide, and her head dove down towards her grappler's neck, her teeth bared. Servius opened his mouth to scream out a warning, but Ancus didn't need it. Jutting his head upward, the top of his skull collided with the base of her chin, smacking her mouth shut and forcing out another muffled cry of agony.
"FINE, I GET IT! I FUCKING GET IT ALL RIGHT!?" she screamed as a cracking noise began to echo. His lips curling in revolution, Ancus relented, throwing her back. Somehow, she managed to land on her feet, her freed hands clutching at her ribcage, glaring at him. "Fuck you," she said. You wanna baby the little bitch? Fine. Don't come crying to me when Walker slits his throat open." Straightening herself out, letting out tiny grunts of pain, she turned and walked away.
Servius stared at her as she left. The oversized knives laid where they had fallen. "A true warrior never neglects their weapons!" he said, not sure what point he was trying to make, only that he had to make her failings known.
"The garbage? Fuck em!" she called back, not looking at him. "You can have them if you want!" Her flippant dismissal of her weapons cut the hamstrings of his anger. Baffled, Servius looked at them in confusion before standing up. No, he did not want them. He had dishonored himself enough by using an accursed energy weapon, and he had only suffered that on Caesar's direct orders. His new sword, Legion steel and fire-forged by hand, was far preferable to those ugly, green swords. But even then, she had chosen the weapons when she had taken them. Even if she didn't want to use them, they were evidence of how she had triumphed over her enemies. Why just leave them.
Sighing, Ancus turned to face him. Reaching down, he grabbed Servius under the armpits and pulled him to his feet. "Why are you training with her?" he asked, his voice tired as he dusted the snow off of Servius's arms. "You know two Hoover Dam veterans and you pick her?"
Heat flooded into Servius's face and he instantly felt defensive. "She fought Barca," he said, wanting his voice to sound firmer and more confident than it was. "She knows things a legionary can never teach me."
"But is it worth it?" Ancus asked, tracing his finger over the gash in Servius's cheek. He flinched at the small but still sharp pain. "You know what kind of woman she is Servius. She's just as likely to bite your nose off as she is to teach you something. Did you see how she tried to bite my throat out?" He shook his head. "She's an animal wearing human skin. A simple, savage thing that will kill you the moment that you stop entertaining her. And what have you learned from her, other than how to be beaten like a dog?" Gently, he wiped the blood from Servius's cheek.
Servius wanted to retort, but no defense came to mind. Ancus softly clenched his shoulder, his grip understanding. "Let's go find Tullus and bandage that wound."
Servius grimaced. "Tullus will be furious," he said. Gods, he did not want to make Tullus upset right now. Not when they had so much they needed to be dealing with.
"As he has every right to be, perhaps he can slap some sense into you," Ancus said. "Now come along." Half-baked protests formed in Servius's mind, but Ancus had already begun to walk off, gesturing for Servius to follow. Feeling irritated and embarrassed, Servius followed. Eventually, they came across a fire at the edge of their camp where Tullus was sitting at a fire, Ilia by his side.
Tullus was pointing his blade arm at a small pile of kindling underneath a pot of boiling water, a jet of flame spraying from it and fueling the burning bundle of sticks. He stopped just long enough to take the pot off and carefully pour out the scalding liquid into four cups before looking up and at Servius. At once, he was on his feet, striding towards him as anger spread across his face. "This is Marie F.'s handiwork, isn't it?" he said. It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. Already, his good hand had darted down forwards his side, seizing a bag of healing powder. "If that woman wasn't under Caesar's protection I would've left her body to be eaten by wolves long ago. But it's ok, I can take care of this."
"Tull, it's a scratch," Servius said, his stomach clenching in embarrassment. He was a warrior of the Legion, a full legionary now, not just a recruit anymore. The wound where he had been slashed across the cheek barely hurt anymore. And he hated Marie F. just as much as the rest of them, he wasn't going to pretend otherwise, but he was more than capable of handling her. It took more than that to break one of Caesar's men. And what kind of a warrior would he be if he couldn't handle a tiny scratch? "I'll be fine in the morning. I just need to rub some water on it and-"
"Serv," Tullus said. There wasn't any anger or frustration in his voice, only a hint of exasperation. And something more, something Servius was all too familiar with. "I have seen mighty warriors that put you, I, and even Ancus all to shame. At their height, I saw them wrestle bulls and win, forcing them to the ground with their bare hands. I trained alongside them at the Red Okie Centuria. Do you know what claimed their lives at Hoover Dam? It wasn't blades or bullets, or even explosives. It was disease. On the long march back home, dozens of our warriors fell when minor wounds became infected. Slow, painful deaths, every last one of them. There is no honor in facing such a fate, just like there is no shame in avoiding it. So please. Sit." It wasn't an order. It was a request. Slowly, Servius sat down.
Tullus couldn't move as fast as he could when he had both hands, and it showed. The process of applying the stinging healing powder and bandaging it was an arduous one. He had to alternate between adjusting Servius's head and rubbing the powder with the same hand. But that was nothing compared to the bandages, during which Tullus was reduced to awkwardly tightening the knots with his teeth. Every step broke Servius's heart; his eyes glancing at the blade Tullus had instead of a hand. He would never be the same after what the Grimm, what Barca, had done. Even with his warrior's spirit shining through and pushing forward, Tullus was a broken man now. It made Servius want to weep, but he held the urge back. Tullus was staying strong. So would he. For him.
Finally, the bandage went taught. Sighting in relief, Servius leaned back. A tiny smile playing on Tullus's face, he handed Servius his cup of tea, before gingerly doing the same for Ilia and Ancus. As he gently sipped his tea, and by the gods, Tullus knew how to make the best tea, Servius idly glanced at Ilia.
He wasn't sure how to describe Illia. Friend was a strong word to use, but at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to say she wasn't his friend. It almost felt like they were in some sort of odd, in-between state. It was getting to the point where she was becoming an almost welcome part of his life, but she wasn't yet an irreplaceable part of it the way Ancus was, and certainly not the way Tullus was. It was confusing. But he was glad she was here right now.
The relationship between them was a quasi-friendship of sorts at this point, she had spent more time with the three of them than other members of the White Fang. Then again, when their leader was more fond of being an entitled, biovating child than backing up his actions, he couldn't blame her. It wasn't that different to how he preferred dealing with her than he did Rumford. Where their relationship would go from here, though, he wasn't sure. A passerby or two from the Legion had idly suggested that she was interested in Servius. The only thing that earned from him was a roll of the eyes.
He had a feeling that Ilia wasn't interested in men. It was hard to put into words, but there were subtle hints here and there. Seeing as how he wasn't interested in women, it made things between them much more simple than they could've otherwise been. He wasn't like Tullus, who appreciated both. His stomach curled as a horrible thought occurred to him. He and Tullus would both be expected to give the Legion sons at some point, a prospect that made him feel deeply uncomfortable. Tullus would be fine, he might even find the experience pleasant. But would he even be able to perform? What if his inability outed the two of them? Despite his recent promotion and the gifts he and Tullus had been given in the form of Aura, men were forbidden from laying with other men. They would be put to death, skilled warriors or not.
"Tull?" he found himself saying before he could stop it. "Have you ever considered what kind of woman you'd like when this is all over?" He had to be careful about this. A Centurion was right in front of him. He looked at Tullus, trying to plead for consolement without making things obvious.
Tullus looked back at him. A soft, sad smile of understanding parted his lips. "Here and there. My mind has been on other things though," he said. For a legionary, Tullus had a soft face that was on full display due to his brown hair barely reaching his forehead. Servius loved that face. It was the face of someone who understood, who cared, but could harden it when needed. "The key is to find quiet ones, the ones who can keep your secrets."
Servius nodded, understanding the hidden meaning. Maybe he could convince the slave he'd be forced to take as a wife to lie, to say that he had tried to father children but that she was infertile. Except that ran the risk of the Legion disposing of her as useless, or taking her for public use if she couldn't father children. His stomach turned sour at the thought, he thought he was going to be sick.
"I understand your discomfort, Servius." Servius jumped. It had been Ancus who had spoken. For a moment, fear tore through him and he thought that everything might come crashing down around him. But his voice was not that of an angry superior, but of a rather tired old man. Ancus stared unblinkingly into the fire as the other three watched them. "I've seen you, Servius," he said. "The way you hesitate. The way that you recoil. The barbarism of the Legion disgusts you, doesn't it?"
The centurion continued. "You can't fight it Servius. The Legion is bigger than you, bigger than you can comprehend. It's a giant that strides among the tribes and city-states, crushing them underfoot without mercy. Even if it were to die, its corpse would smother all those it corrals beneath it. Oppose it and you will be swallowed whole, ripped to shreds by it. You can't fight the cruelty, you can't escape it. Endure it, lest it becomes even worse."
Tullus blinked, looking at the centurion in disbelief. "Ancus. You need to be careful," he said in a low hiss. "Centurion or not, the Legate could have you crucified for talking like that. And that'd be a mercy compared to what Vulpes or the rest of the Frumentarii would do." His eyes darted back to the rest of the camp. "We don't know if he has a legionary as his eyes and ears with us. What's wrong with you? How can you live to be forty in Caesar's service and be so careless?"
Servius felt as if his world had been turned upside down. A legionary, even a veteran one such as Tullus, would be flogged for speaking to a Centurion in such a way. But that was barely noticeable compared to what Ancus had just said, a proclamation that was precariously close to treason.
Ancus was unmoved by Tullus's warnings. "You and Servius are both too young to remember a time before the Legion. I am not. I was twenty when my tribe met the Legion. Eighty-six of us went out to fight them. We laughed on the way, boasted. Just last year we had decisively beaten a band of nomads who had attacked us, we were confident the same would happen here. I had killed the nomad chieftain with an ax and wore his helmet of bone to intimidate the Legion, a stupid grin on my face. Thirty of us fell within ten minutes. They surrounded us. Within fifteen minutes, we had surrendered. The Centurion leading the attack led us back to the Legion camp in chains and collars, our petty trophies from minor wars taken."
Ancus's arms tightened. "Those of us who were still alive were brought before Caesar. He told us that we were the 41st tribe to fall before his might and that we all had a choice. Kneel before him and serve as his warriors, or he would sack our homes and kill whoever he didn't sell into slavery. I was...young. And so stupid. I tried to lung at him, to snap his neck with my bare hands. I didn't even get close before I was pinned by his guard. They almost executed me, something I was ready for. But Caesar ordered them to stop."
A deep, shuddering breath passed through Ancus's lips. "He said that I was not to be a hero, that the tribe must learn to bend or all would suffer. And he ordered ten of my fellow warriors be put to death in my place. One was beheaded on the spot. Another was crucified and died after an hour of suffering. The third was fed alive to dogs." Ancus's body tensed as his eyes narrowed, looking at the fire without seeing. "The fourth was tied between two bulls and...every single death was more cruel and sadistic than the last. And twenty-four hours later, when it was all done, Caesar took my bindings off and asked me if another ten had to die. I did what I should've done the previous day and bowed before him. Within an hour, I led him back to the front gate of our village, and we became a part of the Legion."
"The Legion is cruel, Servius. Cruel and powerful in equal might. The only way to protect yourself and the ones that you love is as a loyal servant to it, the cruelty falls onto others then. Anything else and you simply join them in suffering. It's horrific Servius. But it's the only option we-"
"Ancus," Tullus said softly. "Be. Quiet." Slowly, Ancus turned to look at Tullus. "If your faith in the Legion is faltering in old age, if you're feeling sentimental towards your old Profligate ways, fine. We all reach our breaking point sooner or later. But do not drag Servius down with you during this mid-life crisis of yours. His life as a legionary is just beginning and I can already see the bottomless wells of potential within him. Do not squander everything he can be with these treasonous talks."
"Tullus, I-" Ancus began, but Tullus interrupted him.
"And you, of all people, should know what Servius has been through," he said, venom in his voice now. "I was too young to serve back then and that pains me every day. Too young to stop the savagery of the profligates that ruined Servius's life. The Legate did the Legion and the world a favor by crushing them, slaughtering them, and ensuring they would never be able to practice their savage ways again. You were there, you fought alongside the Legate in putting those savages down. And now you want to talk of the cruelty of the Legion? To look back fondly times where you sat in a mud hut doing nothing instead of serving Caesar in order to bring order to a world of barbarism and madness. I thought senility didn't start until you were sixty. You disgrace."
The scorn in Tullus's last sentence was so overwhelming that Servius nearly flinched from it. Tullus wanted it to hurt, wanted Ancus to either recoil in shame or roar in fury. Ancus, however, did neither. His gaze was pitiful, looking at Tullus with sympathy. No more words came from him, however. "What happened back then?" Servius had almost forgotten about Ilia in the argument. Understandably, she was looking very confused, looking back and forth between the three legionaries.
"Tell her Ancus," Tullus said angrily. "Tell her what happened when Servius was a child. Tell her what real cruelty looks like. Tell her-"
"Tull," Servius said, finding his voice. "You're speaking to a centurion." He meant for the words to be strong and demanding, but to his embarrassment, they sounded more like a plea.
The anger vanished from Tullus's face, surprise taking its place. Half-formed words escaped his lips, whether they were justifications or excuses Servius couldn't tell, before he turned his attention back to Ancus. "I apologize for my rudeness, it is not for my place to question a centurion's wisdom," he said, the tone of his words making the sincerity of this claim dubious.
An uneasy feeling took over Servius, this rift was alien to him. It violated the fundamental rules of the Legion: obey your superior and do not speak ill of Caesar. The former had been beaten into Servius, at times literally, during his legionary training, while the latter had been unthinkable. Tullus was still stewing in his anger, even as he attempted to hide it, while Ancus looked morosely at the fire. He had to get away from this, even if only for a minute. Mumbling an excuse about relieving himself, he got up and walked back into the woods. As he went, a look of uncertain regret shot across Tullus's face. Servius gave him a weak smile in return. They would work this out, they always did. But he had to be alone right now. Tullus had doubtless not meant to do so, but Servius could feel bad memories licking at the corner of his mind.
He walked for a time, not paying attention to where he was going, simply crunching through the snow. Cold biting into him, part of him wanted to head back to the warmth of the fire already, but that could wait. Eventually, he found a tree thicker than he was, a rarity out here with mainly thin and spindly trees, and he pressed his back against it and slid down into a sitting position, bent his knees, and pressed his head into them. He just had to be alone for a little bit and then he'd be ok. Just a little bit. Just a little bit.
"Servius?" His head jolted up. Ilia had followed him, her brownish skin taking on a slight tinge of yellow. She looked concerned. "Are you ok?"
"I...don't know," Servius answered honestly. Part of him felt touched that Ilia had gone after him, but at the same time, he wasn't sure how to react. Of everyone back at their camp, Ilia knew the least about what he had been through, though not through any fault of her own.
Hesitantly, she sat down across from him, crossing her legs. "If you want to talk about it, I know what it's like to suffer at the hands of the cruel." She hesitated for a second. Servius could see an awkward uncertainty on her face, the same one he felt in his gut. "Humans hurt me, took people I cared about from me. And they just...laughed about it." The yellow was gone from her skin now, replaced with a bright crimson. "People I thought were friends heard that Faunus had died, and they just laughed. Stupid, selfish, people. What was your word for them? Profligates?" Servius nodded. "It's a good word. I wish I knew it when I was younger."
Ilia was being forward with him, but she was also being vague. He could tell that she was holding the finer details back, and really, he couldn't blame her. They didn't know each other that well, not yet. Still, she had given him something. He should do the same.
"Savages, where I come from, are brutal, merciless. The Legion was at war with a tribe to the east when I was a child, and we were winning. Not without cost, but we were pushing them back. We even killed their war chieftain." He had been excited about that because the feast had meant he would get to eat twice as much as usual, as well as enjoy freshly roasted Brahmin steaks that had normally been reserved for legionaries. He hadn't understood.
"They couldn't beat us, and they knew it. It's why their next war chieftain was a coward. She didn't attack our outposts or bases, no. She attacked our villages. Under her leadership, the savages burnt homes and whatever food they couldn't steal, salted the fields, and savaged the women and children of the Legion." Servius could feel his blood boil as the memories came back. The thick smog as the fields burned, the screams of terror as those without arms tried futilely to escape the roaring barbarians, the panic as he tried to find his mother.
"They killed them?" Ilia asked, horrified.
"No. Death wasn't cruel enough for them. They corralled everyone who wasn't a fighter and maimed whoever could walk. Then they drove the wounded deeper into Legion territory, trying to choke us to death without fighting us." His calf had been split wide open, it had hurt too badly to walk. Blood has seeped into the dark red of his mother's robes of Mars, frantically carrying her son forward even as her left arm dangled uselessly at her side. The gash in her bicep had long turned green, an abhorrent smell assaulting his nose. "Far too many died from infections, starvation, and disease because of them. But then Caesar set Lanius on them."
Ilia flinched as she heard the name. Lanius had that effect on people. "He crushed them, pushed them all the way back to their stronghold." Servius's jaws clenched. "They were more than happy to put our homes to the sword, but when they faced the same peril, they took the coward's way out. They detonated explosives inside their compound, picking mass suicide over facing those they had wronged." Anger had consumed him when he had first heard the news, anger that had never truly left him. All the pain they had inflicted and they had escaped the Legion's retribution.
His old nightmare flashed before him again. The multi-armed monster, axes cutting down legionaries as if it was swatting flies, pinning him to the ground. But they were all dead now, the Legion had prevailed in the end. Still seething, he looked back at Ilia. "The ones that laughed, what happened to them."
For a moment, Ilia didn't say anything. Then, a tiny grin of satisfaction flitted into her face. "I broke their teeth," she said, the spark of pride unmistakable.
"Good," Servius said. "We'll do that and more to them all." Ilia gave a firm nod, looking more confident. It was easier this way, to take his mind off of Ancus's warnings and Tullus's disrespect. The profligates were still out there, the ones who had hurt Ilia and himself. Barca had taken Tullus's arm, an injustice he would pay back a hundred times over, Rumford's insolence and treachery were long overdue for reprisal, and those who had oppressed their new allies. They would all fall to the blades of both the Legion and White Fang.
XXXXX
James woke to the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting. Blinking in confusion, his back stiff from his questionable decision to sleep with his back against the bed frame, he stood up. Winter was in the bathroom of their shared cell, on her knees, her head perched directly over the bowl. Her face was slightly puffy and she looked miserable, sparing James a glance before she convulsed and snapped back to the toilet, retching again.
Confusion fluttered through James until he remembered the aftermath of the fight with Cinder. Winter had been given a dose of Radaway. Shit. Between Cinder and the Scattered, the side effects of Radaway had completely flown his mind. "Sorry," he said softly, approaching her "I should've warned you." In response, James was treated to another volley of gagging noises from Winter and the contents of her stomach hitting the water. "If it means anything, this is the worst of it. And, you may not believe me right now, but the symptoms you would've gotten without treatment would've been worse."
"Cancer you said?" she rasped out, her breath shallow. "I don't understand. I was in the blast zone for a second. A literal second. How did I end up like this?" Slowly, she moved to stand up, pushing herself off the basin. James offered a hand. She took it, shooting him a grateful look.
"Gamma radiation works fast," he said, pulling her to her feet. She wobbled for a moment but managed to regain her balance quickly. "It's penetrative too. You need inches of lead to stop it completely. Alpha and Beta radiation are easier to stop, but Gamma is the real killer that you see in nuclear reactors and warheads. And cancer is just one of the things that can happen. It destroys your immune system, makes you more prone to seizures, breaks down your bone marrow, and this is assuming it doesn't just kill you." He decided to stop there. No point in telling her that if she had gotten a more extreme dose without treatment, she could've died of dehydration brought on by Gastrointestinal death while her body shriveled up until she was skin and bone.
"I see," Winter said. Bending down, she turned on the bathroom sink and quickly splashed some water onto her face. There was a noticeable bit of bile around her lips that she hastily washed off. Gingerly, not bothering to dry her face, she made her way back to her bed, looking as if it was taking her more effort than she would like to admit. James kept close behind, just in case she needed someone to grab her as she fell. The high-heeled boots she was wearing looked as if they should've been giving her trouble, but James was about ready to give up recommending that people wear more sensible footwear on Remnant. They still beat out the conquerors who mixed football gear into their armor.
Eventually, Winter reached her bed and sat down with a noise of relief. "So, that explosion you produced was a nuclear one?"
"A scaled-down one," James said, sitting down on his bed, directly across from her. "Full-sized ones are city destroyers, and whatever they don't destroy, they coat in radiation." A small part of his mind told him that he was edging around very dangerous territory. If he wasn't careful, he could give himself another episode. But Winter deserved to know the exact details of what would've destroyed her body if they hadn't nipped it in the bud. Swallowing, he continued. "When we get out of here, you might want to make it clear to Ironwood that his people should give that area a wide berth."
Winter nodded. "Understood. How many days until the radiation dissipates?"
That was a good question. James wished he had a good answer. "Couldn't tell you. Some of the smallest grade nukes only trigger Gieger counters for a few minutes. Oh, Geiger counters detect radiation, my Pip-Boy has one built-in. But the big ones still radiate areas centuries after they've gone off. Same principle as nuclear waste, I've seen barrels from Pre-War that still aren't safe to get near. My Gieger counter was going haywire back there, and considering how quickly you got sick, it's probably a decently strong concentration. I'd give it a few years at a minimum."
Winter blinked, her eyes widening in shock. "Centuries?" she said, dumbfounded.
"Centuries," James said morosely. At that moment, something occurred to him. Before now, nuclear weapons had only existed to Winter in the form of his words and whatever her imagination conjured up. But now she had survived a brush with nuclear fallout. She had gotten off with a light dose, thank Christ in heaven, but it still had given her a fresh perspective. "There's still areas out there without clean water or arable land. The Mojave area got lucky, a lot of the missiles heading towards it got shot down, and it was a low-priority target to begin with. Even then, Hoover Dam is a priority asset for any power that wants to rule the area, both for the power and the clean water."
"I...see," Winter said, looking down with wide eyes. It was so much harder to ignore a horrible reality once you had seen it for yourself, even if it was only a taste. Her hands clasped tightly as she stared at them without seeing. "I need time to think about this. This is a good deal you're telling me." James nodded. That was fair. If he pushed too hard she would push back, it was human nature. It would be for the best if she realized nothing good came from nuclear weapons on her own terms. "We're lucky that you weren't poisoned, though I'm not surprised you weren't. Semblances tend to not harm their user. It's why Cinder was able to wield fire without burning herself. Though you're only immune to the effects you directly create. Please remember that."
Ah. That explained how he had been at the center of a miniature nuclear explosion and had gotten away without a scratch. Well. Without a scratch from the explosion. "This means I need to be careful now, though," he said, holding up his wrist and looking at his Pip-Boy. A horrible thought crept its way to the front of his mind. "There's a one in five chance whenever I use my Semblance, I'll turn the room I'm in into a crater. Even if friendlies don't get caught in the blast, I could give them radiation poisoning a lot more severe than what you got. I might even end up turning someone into a Feral Ghoul by mistake. Just like Anna, but with barely more mental capacity than an animal."
As the realization began to hit him, a horrific dread began to work its way through his body, spreading like poison. Oh, God. He was dangerous. His body was a potential nuclear hazard every time he pushed the Wild Wasteland button. Using it out in the middle of nowhere when the only person within range was Cinder was one thing, but that wouldn't always be the case. What if he had accidentally nuked Pyrrha during their training exercise? What if he had turned the hospital back in Vale into a crater? How could he ever try and access one of his other powers when that risk was dangling over his head?
He looked down on the Pip-Boy in horror. It could be someone on Team RWBY next time, or Winter herself. Or, God forbid, it could go off in the middle of a city. "I can't use it again," he said, not sure if he was talking to Winter or thinking out loud. "If I can't control when it comes out, it'd be too reckless." Well, there he was. One of the few tools he had to give him an edge against the monsters of Remnant, gone. His already limited arsenal should he be stuck in a fight against Adam or Cinder again was somehow even more threadbare. Useless. He was useless.
He wasn't aware that Winter had gotten up until he heard the groaning of bedsprings. By the time he looked up, she was right in front of him, her expression unreadable. "Can you please stand up?" she said. Her voice almost sounded like the cool, neutral tone that she had used when they had first met. Except something wasn't quite right about it. Confused, James did as he was asked. "I should've done this last night," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't." And then she did something that caught James utterly off guard.
She hugged him.
James took a moment to recover from the shock of it. As he did, something else became clear. Winter didn't seem to know what she was doing. The positions of her arms were awkward, she seemed hesitant as to how tightly she should hold him, and out of the corner of his eye he could've sworn she shot him an uncertain look. It didn't matter. Despite everything, there was a sincerity and an earnestness to it. As well as the comfort that only came from the warmth and presence of another person.
Silently, a warm feeling sparking inside him, he returned the hug, wrapping his arms around her the way he would anyone. Firmly grasping her shoulders, he held her firmly but gently. Winter fidgeted in surprise but relaxed after a moment. She eased into it, her grip on him becoming more natural and comfortable. "Thanks," James said.
"Aura, and by extension Semblances, are an extension of the soul, of who you are. You are many things. You are not a person who leaves the possibility of devastation to simple chance. Your Semblance can be controlled. You just haven't discovered how yet. We will figure out how." She broke away from him with that. The way she spoke about the matter as if it was a truism, left James blinked in surprise.
"What makes you so sure?' James asked, in a way that made him regret it the second he opened his mouth. He sounded like a petulant child. Winter wasn't questioning his knowledge on something he had expertise on, why wasn't he showing her the same courtesy? However, instead of objecting, Winter gave a self-confident smile. Pressing her hands together, she closed her eyes. The Glyphs that she and Weiss were capable of making formed around them, collapsing and spinning like tops. After a few seconds, a tiny bird Grimm appeared in the palm of her hands, snow white and shimmering with a pale glow. Flapping its wings, it flew out of her hands and did a few laps around both of their heads before disappearing. James had seen Winter do this before, but only out of the corner of his eyes while they were on opposite ends of a battlefield. Up close it was oddly beautiful to see the normally demonic and skeletal beasts of Grimm in this light.
"I can summon echoes of creatures that I've fought," she said, more than a little proudly. "It took me a long time to master properly. My sister has the same Semblance as me, and she can't do it yet either. And she's one of the hardest workers I know." Pride flickered across her face. "She'll master it. She just needs time and someone to push her to her full potential. And just like her, you can master your Semblance with the exact same things."
James found himself giving Winter a small grin before he could stop himself. The dread that had come close to consuming him before was starting to slip away. "Let me guess. You're going to be the one pushing me?
"Oh, you're going to be getting the Atlesian drill sergeant treatment," Winter said. "If I deem it necessary, that is. You're at the age where ideally you'd be able to drive yourself forward, but it never hurts to have someone prodding you in the back." Winter opened her mouth to continue, only to gag ever so slightly. Staggering back, even as James instinctively reached a handout, she slid onto her bed as she caught her breath, inhaling slowly. "I think today isn't a good point to start though," she said.
"I'm not at my best either, so fair," James said, doing the same with his bed. An awkward silence followed that. It was only natural, their conversation had ended with an abrupt anti-climax and now they were left with nothing to fill the silence. At least, that's how James felt. While he mentally fished for a conversation, he couldn't help but notice that Winter looked as if she had something on her mind.
"I don't want to push you, but there's one more thing I want to ask," Winter said. Her voice was lowered, James could tell the subject wasn't going to be a pleasant one. "You did something very odd when Cinder was attacking us. You snapped at...nothing." She trailed off for a moment. For the first time since James had met her, Winter looked uncomfortable and hesitant. "If it's not too private, could you please tell me what happened?"
Ah. Of course. James slowly closed his eyes as the question sunk into him. He had heard House back then and the stress of everything that caused him to lose control. Winter's reaction had been noticeable, even back then. And she hadn't forgotten. The urge to deny it, or at the very least ask Winter to please not ask overtook him. That would probably be all he needed, she seemed to feel she was delving deep into his personal business this time, and she was. This matter had long been a complicated issue for him.
But, forcing himself to breathe, he weighed everything. He had already told Winter about The Divide and the Marked Men. He had trusted Winter with A Light in Shining Darkness after she was concerned he might kill himself, concerns he had admitted were not completely baseless. And, now that he was sitting and meditating on it, what was the last secret after all of that? It was a deeply personal issue, but so was everything else he had trusted with her.
He let out a breath. Winter had saved his life and still cared about him even after he had gone off the reservation to massacre the Hunters. He could trust her with the truth.
"Arcade had a term for it. Schizoaffective Disorder. Depressive Type." Winter adopted a neutral expression, a nearly perfect one at that. Only her eyes gave her away, being a little too wide to be someone who was calm and emotionless. "I've been hearing voices since I was twenty. It's...it's a lot. It was worse back then, I had no idea what the hell was happening. And it didn't stop at hearing them, at times I thought someone was right behind me. I could feel their breath on the back of my neck. I didn't know how to deal with it. My early twenties are a blur. I did a lot of things I shouldn't have to get away from it." There were so few things he remembered from those years. He wasn't even sure he wanted to remember. At his worst, he wouldn't have looked out of place in a Freeside drug den. "I'm, well, I don't want to say ok, but I'm better now. I can handle the voices most of the time. I just need a drink every once in a while to handle it all." That was really all it was, everyone had drinks here and there to deal with their crap. He wasn't Qrow.
"Please don't tell anyone," he said. A bit of pleading made its way into the request, he couldn't help it. This was a demon he had been struggling with for over half his life. He knew how people started acting when you admitted you heard voices.
"That is personal information on a medical condition, of course I won't," Winter said, her voice sounding as if the idea was reprehensible. "I'll need to tell General Ironwood if you plan to continue working in the field with us, but no one else. The last thing we need is Qrow mocking you over this." So, her thoughts had gone to the same place as his. She paused, looking him over. Slowly, a vague feeling of melancholy seeped into her expression. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? I wouldn't have thought less of you."
"It's, well, hard to admit that you hear voices in your head," James said sourly. "Lots of people think that means you're one bad day away from turning into a serial killer. If not, they act like you've got the intelligence of a three-year-old. It's just a lot of crap I'm so sick of dealing with that I tend to keep things close to the chest." He had gotten enough judgemental glances and fearful looks in his younger days, no need to go back to that. "I'm not saying you would've, I'm just saying it's made me, well, want to keep it to myself."
Winter nodded. "Do you take any medications that we should be aware of? I'm certain we could get Atlas to cover your prescription until you can get back home."
"Uh. No." James said. He had felt uncomfortable with this conversation before, but the look of surprise and concern Winter was giving him now pushed it to a whole new level. "Winter, even two-hundred years after the war, Earth is a mess. We only got printing presses up and running a couple of decades ago. What little medicine production we have is to keep people from dying from the shit that kills on a daily basis. No one bothered hoarding Aripiprazole after the war, and no one is bothering to make it now." Winter now looked nothing short of horrified. A feeling was slowly slithering into him that he had made things worse.
"James?" Winter said. "Would you like for me to arrange some appointments after this? When we get out of here? I think proper medication would help in ways you can only imagine." There was a pregnant pause. Almost at once, the urge to reject the notion seized James, to an illogical degree. The voices were never fun, but he had handled it for thirty years now. He had never sunken to the depths he had when this had all started. Jumping to conclusions, his instincts screamed that Winter was talking down to him. Grinding this maelstrom of borderline panic to a halt, he forced himself to take a step back.
The conflict must've shown on his face because Winter continued. "I can't promise that this will magically make everything better. I understand that you have a lifetime of challenges ahead of you. All I'm saying is that the burden doesn't have to be as heavy as it is now. You're not alone James. You've never been." There was something in the way she said that a degree of gentleness he had never heard from Winter before, that broke through the impulse-based fog of feelings surrounded him. With that light shining through, his natural response of resistance felt like the wounded pride of a stubborn old man. Well, it had hardly been the first time such a thing had happened to him.
He let out a breath he had been holding for far longer than he had meant to. "I'll try. That's all I can promise Winter, I'll try."
Winter straightened up, looking as if she had just dropped ten pounds worth of stress. "Of course. Thank you." With that, she let the subject drop. For her blunt and to-the-point nature, it seemed Winter knew when to let a point lie. James appreciated it. The conversation had left a bit of nervous energy in his gut. Maybe medicine would be able to help, but who knew if side effects would end up making everything a living hell. What if he had to go back to Earth and ended up going through withdrawal? Slowly, he forced himself to breathe. These were the sorts of things you talked about with a doctor Mercifully, he was able to bring himself back down to a state resembling normal before too long.
The silence that followed between them wasn't exactly awkward, but it did betray that neither of them knew how to follow up on that. Winter's gaze wandered around the room, taking in the rather bare furnishings of the metal room. "Our captors have not left us with much. And I don't think I could manage to exercise or sleep right now."
"What do you normally do for downtime?" James asked. When in doubt he could always offer to play a game of cards, but it was best to see what she liked first.
"I have a couple of hobbies: reading, exercising, sparring, and grand strategy games." Winter's tone had comfortably settled back into its crisp, neutral disposition. "There is one physical game occasionally playback at base regarding two mechanized armies fighting each other, it relies heavily on positioning, tactics, and a bit of luck. You might enjoy it, but sadly I doubt our captors would lend us a thousand Lien in models, maps, and rulebooks."
Privately wondering who the hell spent that much money on entertainment, James pondered Winter's list. He didn't want to stereotype, but if Winter hadn't mentioned the games, she would've ticked all the boxes of a stereotypical bore. Not that he wanted to insult Winter, but she did, on occasion, give off the impression she wouldn't be a whole lot of fun to hang out with. In a lot of ways, she felt like all business, all the time. But his petty, judgmental thoughts could stay to himself right now. Still, unless they wanted to be bored out of their minds, he needed more. "Anything else?"
Winter gave an idle shrug. "Nothing that I've done recently. When I was younger I danced and played the piano, and there was some joy to that. But I ended up dropping them when I was a teenager. They reeked of my father wanting a perfect little princess." Her eyes narrowed. "Everything I enjoyed, even a little, he either denied or tainted."
James was quiet for a moment. An idea had popped up into his head. It was risky, but it might just work. "It doesn't need to be that way." God, he hoped this worked.
"What do you mean by that?" Winter asked, looking at him with an analytical eye. The feelings of pure dread he had felt earlier were now replaced with simple anxiety, James fished around in his rucksack until he found his holotapes. Rifling through them, he picked out the one he had been looking for. Popping open his Pip-Boy, he slid it in and pressed play. A soft, gentle melody began to play, a guitar accompanied by soothing humming until the lyrics started.
"Till then."
It was a good song, nice and relaxing, what they needed right now. And hopefully, it would let him keep his nerve long enough to go through with this idea, even as it felt dumber by the moment. Pushing himself to his feet, he offered his hand to Winter. "Would you like to dance?"
Of all the things that had broken Winter's careful, neutral temperament, he hadn't expected this to be one of them. She stared at his hand in disbelief before looking up. "I haven't done it in ten years," she said abruptly. It wasn't a no, that was something.
"I don't think I ever did it, not well at least," James said. Maybe when he had been a teenager, but aside from that, he had nothing. "We're not putting on a performance, it's just to unwind. And only if you want to." Winter looked back down in her hands. Then, hesitantly, she took it. The blue fabric of her gloves intertwined with the brown leather of James's as she stood up. As they closed the distance, James realized that, like Pyrrha, Winter was an inch or so taller than him, though her high heels complicated things. Then, haltingly, awkwardly, they began to dance.
A minute passed before it occurred to James just how bad the two of them were at this. They were haphazardly swaying back and forth in a way that betrayed a lack of direction. He could've sworn he had once heard something about "leading" in dancing. But he had no idea what it was supposed to be or how to do it. Winter was just as lost as he was, her eyes constantly darting down to her heels in a way that confused James. Or at least it did until a sharp pain drove into his foot. Winter winced in embarrassment. "Sorry." Fighting back a hiss of pain, he forced a smile onto his face. He did the same thing the next two times she accidentally stepped on his feet.
Part of him wanted to throw in the towel after a few minutes of that. They hadn't done anything more complex than the swaying and it didn't seem that would change. But something happened. As they swayed, they found a rhythm. Their feed slid back and forth in unison, Winter's heels no longer coming down on James's boots. A soft smile of comfort slid across Winter's face as her gaze left her feet. James struggled to remember the last time he had seen Winter smile. She looked so much more at peace, so much happier, than she normally did.
To an outside eye, they doubtless looked like clueless amateurs. But James found himself struggling to care. A gentle warmth was spreading through his body as he let his worries slip away. At that moment, Caesar, Marie F. Adam, Cinder, and all the rest weren't his concern.
He was with a friend.
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Author's Note: God. Four months? My update times just get worse and worse. If I'm being honest with you guys, my mental health has been a bit of a concern lately, and I'm worried that I'm pulling myself in too many directions with this and other projects I've got going on in my personal life. I wish I could promise you that I'd start writing faster, but I can't. I can only promise that I'll do the best I can. I also apologize if you were hoping for some action this chapter, but I had character development I wanted to get out of the way. I promise the next update after this will bring us back to the nighttime raid.
I have to admit, criticisms of Marie F. gave me pause to think, with concerns that she would be just a one-note psychopath. I wanted to avoid that (the one-note part, not the psychopath part, I'm not sure you can have an evil karma Fallout protagonist that isn't a little psychopathic) and I'm trying to use her relationship with Servius to do that. She does care for the guy in her own, fucked up kind of way, even though there's no other word to describe how she treats him other than abusive. I also realized that characters like this are at their most annoying when they never face consequences or suffer inconveniences and they strut around like they own the place, so I decided it was time for an Ancus bear hug.
On that note, of the Four Kings I feel like I had gotten all of them fleshed out, even Rumford to a degree, except for Ancus. I felt like he was falling into the category of character of being a vague authority figure that doesn't do much. So when writing this chapter, I forced myself to sit down and ask who I wanted Ancus to be. And god damn did I love the answer I got. There's this running theory of how many legionaries are fervent true believers and how many scream that they love big brother because they're terrified of the thought police. I decided to explore that. That way each of the Four Kings have a way of looking at the Legion that's unique to them.
Also, this is the chapter where I realized exactly how much shit I've piled onto James in terms of his mental issues. PTSD, alcoholism, suicidal tendencies, and now this. I've been planning on revealing that he's had Schizoaffective Disorder for a long time, I just haven't had a good place for him to bring it up until now. James is my first serious foray into writing a character with a serious mental illness that isn't PTSD or depression. If you asked me which of these ideas came first, I wouldn't be able to tell you because I don't remember. In the planning process for James, some of which happened while I was writing (I didn't have every beat of his story planned out when chapter one was put up) a lot of different pieces shuffled around until they all clicked together.
I did a lot of research, directly and indirectly, into James's issues. The vast majority of those who attempt suicide have case of substance abuse. Those who have Schizoaffective Disorder also have a tendency to develop alcholism and are at an increased risk of suicide. The point I'm trying to get at is I'm not throwing a bunch of stuff at James in a naked attempt to make him more arbitrarily tragic, I don't believe that a character is better just because they have more things to be sad about. I developed a very specific vision for James, hell this entire story is an incredibly specific and niche vision, and I wanted to do my best to make it as well realized and fleshed out as possible.
I'm not arrogant enough to claim I'm going to be writing an outstanding depiction of mental illness, I'm only promising that I'm going to be doing my very best and that I'll be as respectful and well informed on the subject as I possibly can. I hope that it's to your liking, but if you see areas where I can improve, please let me know right away.
P.S. No I'm not going to make it so that he got this from when he was shot in the head. I'm no Shakespeare but I'm not a hack either. Besides, in men, Schizoaffective Disorder develops at an earlier age.
I would like to thank my legacy Patrons, SuperFeatherYoshi, xXNanamiXx, RaptorusMaximus, Davis Swinney, Mackenzie Buckle, Ryan Van Schaack, ChaosSpartan575, and LordofNaught for their amazing support.