Chapter 31:

Oderint dum metuant

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Servius was exhausted. He could feel the cold biting into him, the start of blisters on his toes, aches from sleep deprivation clawing at the back of his mind, and a taste of bile blossoming in his throat. But he forced his back up straight as he stood at attention, Ancus and Tullus on either side of him, Ilia not far behind them. Marie F. had none of the discipline they did and had idly propped herself up against a tree, still wearing her new armor.

After hours of moving through the tundra under the cover of night, barely avoiding large Grimm packs and being forced to kill a few stragglers, they had met up with the main camp. Caesar himself had been there to greet them.

His eyes, stony and firm, were watching as Lanius assembled the portal they had recovered in front of him. As the last part was slid into place, forming the spindly, silver archway, it began to hum softly. Stepping forward, Caesar pressed a few buttons on the controls. A shimmering silver disk, a distant landscape visible on the other side, appeared.

With a small smile, he pressed another button, turning it off.

"Amid a cavalcade of failure, you bring me victory, Lanius," he said. "With this, our mission can continue. And the four of you?" Servius had to force himself not to flinch as Caesar's attention turned onto him. "You have done well by the Legion. Because of your efforts and sacrifice, our enemies will know their folly. Their self-indulgent, decrepit ways. When this is over, you'd need merely name your reward. If it is within my power, it is yours."

Pride shone inside Servius. To be addressed directly by Caesar with praise on his lips, to deliver a critical victory to the Legion, a moment every legionary dreamed of. Yet, the light inside him was dim and flickering, tainted by the complications. It waned as he looked across the camp. It was a mere fraction of the size as when they had left; their numbers measured in the dozens when they had once been in the hundreds. The few who passed by were dour-faced with lead eyes. Something horrible had happened. Caesar had not been speaking idly when claiming he had been surrounded by failure.

"Now the time for us to claim what is ours, to usher the Legion forward," Caesar said. "Rest well. For the greatest of trials have yet to come. Barca still stands against us, as does the craven, lethargic, sprawl of Atlas. But when their shining city of indulgence comes crashing down to earth, when Laputa falls, they will learn just how pitiful and weak they are."

Reaching into a nearby crate, he pulled out a series of blue sheets. "We have so many wonderful plans ahead of us. And in Atlas, we will find the key to them all. These plans from Earth's old world will give us powers beyond your wildest dreams." At that moment, that single moment, a look of pure delight crossed Caesar's face. Servius could not claim to have seen Caesar many times, but of those few, he had usually been stony-faced or burning with fury. He had never seen the leader of the Legion genuinely happy.

With that, Caesar made to turn, a clear indicator that he was done. And yet, he hadn't even taken a full step before his way was blocked. Adam stood in his way, face twisted in anger. Caesar's lip curled in disgust, an expression Servius was much more familiar with. "What?" he asked briskly.

At once, the entire tone of the camp changed. Before, the dwellers that had moved to and fro had been drained, dejected. Now, all eyes were on the leaders that were now mere inches from each other. Despite everything, Servius found his hand instinctively gripping his revolver, half drawing it. All over, he could see hands shifting to weapons, eyes darting to see if anyone else was about to strike first.

"This is it?" Adam said. "Everything we've sacrificed, the blood we shed, and the opportunities we've squandered, was it all for this thing?" Spittle was spraying from his lips, splattering across Caesar's face. Eyes fluttering involuntarily as they blinked out the moisture, Caesar's face stretched with barely contained disdain.

"Adam. Satiating your ego was Vulpes's duty. Vulpes isn't here, thanks to you. So kindly shut the fuck up and stop wasting my time. You have already pushed my tolerance to its limit. After all, we were attacked after using one of the safe houses that you claimed were secure. And since none of my men were told where it was until we got there, I'm wondering how exactly Atlas found us here."

"Are you implying this is my fault!?" Adam's hand was on his sword hilt now. Instinct took over as Servius fully drew the revolver Tullus had given him, cocking it and taking aim at Adam. Caesar had a plan. Caesar always had a plan, he needed to. If he didn't then everyone who had died would've done so for no reason. The plan needed to be carried out.

It was almost easier this way. He barely remembered the fatigue and doubt that had blanketed him mere minutes ago. Adam had always been a child, throwing tantrums instead of leading. He had failed Caesar, failed his people. Anger pulsed through him, replacing lethargy with purpose. Yes. This was better.

"Oh put that toy away," Caesar said. "I don't imply, Adam. You said the safehouse's location was secure. It quite evidently wasn't. I am reduced to the dregs of my army because of your ineptitude, your inability to act as anything more than a hindrance. Everything I've been working towards came within a hair's breadth of being ruined, only saved by Lanius's fine work. As it stands, you've provided one operative," he pointed at Ilia, who recoiled as if she had been struck, "that has contributed to my greater works. So. I will not repeat myself. Shut the fuck up and stop wasting my time. My patience has been pushed to the very brink of its limits. Can you do that? Or are you the animal humans think you are?"

Servius could feel something shatter in the air itself. How he knew he couldn't say, but a point of no return had been crossed. It could only end in bloodshed now.

Sure enough, Adam's sword erupted from its sheath. There was an almost longing grip on the hilt as if he had been waiting for an excuse. Impulse taking over, Servius's finger jammed down and the barrel of his revolver cracked. Whether it hit or not, he never knew.

Lanius was behind Adam, sword in hand, swinging down. Adam spun, redirecting the blow meant for Caesar, thunder tearing through the clearing as they clashed. Within seconds, they became a blur of red and gray.

And chaos reigned supreme in the camp. Shouts choked the air, flashes of muzzles popped to life, and sparks flew as blade met blade. In mere seconds, a full battle was raging between the Legion and White Fang. A score of skirmishes surrounded Servius: a legionary crumpling with an ax in his head, a Faunus with bear ears futilely dove for cover as bullets riddled her, and an explosion tore through it all as a grenade went wild. At the edge of it, he saw one Faunus try to make a run for it, only to be pounced on by Marie F., who cackled as she carved into him with her knifes.

Adrenaline pounding through him, Servius found himself pulling a trigger on a revolver that merely clicked dejectedly, even as he trained it on Adam. He had already fired six shots? There was no memory of it in his mind, lost to the ferocity of the battle, but it was of no matter. Sliding the chamber open, he frantically thumbed for fresh rounds as spent shells sprinkled onto the ground.

Hands trembling ever so slightly, he managed to get two in before a figure was upon him. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, bat wings flapping at his back as he bore down on Servius. Despite the chaos of the sudden brawl, a confident smirk adorned his face as his arm stretched for Servius's throat. His eyes sparkled with delight, even as death surrounded him.

Snapping the only partially loaded revolver shut, he fired off both shots. They were rushed, he didn't take time to aim, but it didn't matter. The bat man was so close that Servius could see his face twist from the effort of keeping his Aura up as it was assaulted. In that half a second, he stumbled. That blink in time was exactly what Servius needed; it was just enough breathing room to drop his revolver and draw his sword and shield.

His foe crashed into him just as he braced his shield. The man, who was a half foot taller than him, snarled as he grasped around the shield, trying to get a firm grip. "Don't make this hurt more than it has to, boy." Arrogance radiated off of every word, the burning hatred in Servius swelling. Of course, someone like this would follow Adam, a man so foolhardy he believed he could attack the Legion and live. Ilia was the outlier, the only one in this pack worth anything. All the others were profligates to the core, beyond saving.

The man began to dart from side to side, trying to find an opening in Servius's guard. His wings beat hard as he did, moving him faster than a man his size had a right to. Time and time again, he shifted and struck, only to have his hand crash against a reinforced riot shield. Gritting his teeth, Servius would slash out with his sword each time, only for the coward to flap away, out of reach, then repeat his assault.

This loop repeated itself, far more than Servius was happy with, before the Faunus darted forward one more time, hitting Servius so hard he was almost knocked off his feet. Sensing weakness, the profligate made to lunge forward. He didn't get far.

A blast of compressed air, visible even in the low light, bore into his side, ripping a howl out of him. Even spared the main brunt of the assault, Servius felt himself seized by a cruel, biting force. It was cold, a cold that stabbed like knives, drove to the core of a man and left him trembling like a newborn babe. Aura, for all its fantastical properties, was reduced to just keeping him upright.

Then he saw a blade glowing bright orange with its own heat. Tullus was behind the Faunus, face twisted in anger as he thrust forward with his blade-arm. Twisting, trying to recover, the Faunus spread his wings. He was going to try to run. No. No more dancing around like a coward.

Gripping his shield with both hands, he threw himself forward like a ram. In his haste to escape Tullus, the Faunus had pivoted, showing his back to Servius. The shield found purchase in the small of the man's back, bringing him to a sudden halt, as Tullus lunged. Howling in pain from the collision, the Faunus's eyes went wide in panic as he realized what had happened. Servius wasn't stopping, he was still pressing on, forcing the off-balance Faunus towards Tullus. Too late to correct his error, and with no escape available, he threw a blow at Tullus.

What he was trying to do, Servius had no idea. All he knew was that the Faunus's hand was intercepted by Tullus's flaming blade. There was a sound like breaking glass intermixed with wet wearing. The scent of burning meat filled Servius's nostrils. A scream of horror followed as the Faunus tried to recoil, the attempt blocked as Servius continued to push, clutching his hand. The one now a blackened mess, deprived of all fingers except the thumb.

Tullus was not satisfied, however. Not bothering to wind up his blade-arm again, his still intact hand, coated with clear ice crystals, shot out. Too distraught and wounded to react, the Faunus did nothing as Tullus seized him by the throat. And then he squeezed.

The man began to scream. It wasn't like before, the screams of a man taking a painful but survivable injury. With a feeling of sudden clarity that cut through the anger clouding his mind, Servius realized he was listening to the shrieks of a man dying in agony.

His skin turned raw red, starting from where Tullus was gripping and spiderwebbing outward before it began to turn pale white. Then black. Any part of the body that turned black seized up, as if made of stone and equally lifeless. The man thrashed, trying to escape, but his struggles became weaker and weaker by the second, as did his screams. Then it was all over. His entire face had been twisted into a motionless, lifeless, husk of ebony. In disgust, Tullus let go. The Faunus fell to the ground stiffly, all fluidity of the human body gone. His face eternally twisted to preserve his final moments.

The moment the body hit the ground, Servius was on him. His good hand hastily patted him down, going over every vital area. "He didn't get you, did he?" he whispered. Servius shook his head. A grin split Tullus's face. "Of course he didn't. He was stupid enough to pick a fight with you, wasn't he? The only reason you didn't gut him was he was a coward who refused to face you head-on. This is your kill just as much as mine."

Exhilaration shot through Servius. He loved it when Tullus looked at him like that, with pride and affection. There was a light behind his eyes, one of pure delight. And in that one moment, everything made sense.

It didn't last.

A horrific crash of metal on metal brought them both of them back to the fight. Lanius and Adam were still locked in combat, swords reduced to flashes Servius could barely make out. Sheathing his sword, he dove for his revolver, emptying the barrel and beginning to load.

The duel was too fast for him to say for certain what was happening, to tell the difference between a hit and a parry. As he jammed the second round in, Adam took a step back, sheathing his curved blade. What happened next made Servius feel as if he had experienced a stroke.

Red flashed everywhere. One second it was the bitter black of night, the next it was all wrong. Adam seemed to glow, radiating a strange otherworldly power. And his sword erupted forth, driving forward, driving down. Driving right into Lanius's chest. With a tinkle like breaking glass and a dying sputter of gray, the crimson sword tore through, piercing Lanius up to the hilt, erupting out of his back.

This was wrong. It couldn't be happening. Lanius was the unshakable bulwark of the Legion, not even Barca could defeat him. Hands shaking at the injustice of it all, he thumbed the fifth round in.

Adam sneered with delight and made to draw his blade. A thick, ironclad hand closed around his wrist. His hand, and the blade, came to a cracking halt. The triumph on Adam's face vanished. He pulled but did not move an inch. Panic blossomed on his face, and he looked up.

Lanius, despite the blood that was trickling down his front and back, was still standing tall, an indomitable wall of muscle and will. Glaring down at Adam with contempt, as if he was an irritating insect, he struck. Adam barely had time to blink before his head jerked back, jaw jamming shut and rattling his teeth, his body shuddering, and his mask shattered. As it crumbled to the ground, Servius saw his face for the first time. Young, unmarked, except for a deep, dark brand that adorn his face, clipping a dead eye. A child playing at warrior, and one outmatched. He tried to speak, only for a second blow to silence him, his face twisting in pain as Lanius towered over him.

Excitement pumped through Servius's heart. Each punch echoed like a gunshot, its reverberations the gasps of pain that escaped the boy's lips before another blow hit him. Futile struggles didn't break the death grip on him, and they grew weaker by the second. Before long, a tingling crack sounded, and the next blow drew blood.

Adam's legs gave out, and only then did Lanius let go. The boy collapsed to the ground, and the Legate was upon him, now with both hands free, as he rained down upon his helpless victim.

The battle had come to a full stop by this point. The surviving White Fang looked on in horror as their leader was brutalized. Among the Legion, however, a chant went up. A lone warrior shouted it, but before long, others picked it up.

"Vae Victis! Vae Victis! Vae Victis!"

Servius tried to join in. He tried to say the words. But they wouldn't come. Adam's face was a mess of red and purple, bruises and gashes, all growing as Lanius continued his assault. The blows were becoming wetter, and cracks were now making their way to his ears. Adam was a child that deserved death. But…but surely he had proven himself a threat with the wound he had inflicted, hadn't he? Wasn't it unwise to prolong his demise?

Slowly, uncertainly, he loaded his final round. Closing the chamber, hesitantly raised his revolver. Adam's sword was still in arm's reach. The Legate was already wounded. Maybe. Surely.

And then it all stopped.

"Lanius. I need him alive." It was automatic. One second, the Legate had been seconds away from caving Adam's skull in. The next, he halted. Standing up, a sword still lodged in his gut, he grabbed Adam by the scruff of his coat. Caesar was in front of them both, brow furrowed and eyes full of venom.

"You. You stupid fucking little boy," he swore. "All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and do as you were told. Great things could've been yours, but no. Like the Neanderthal you are, you had to beat your chest to make yourself feel important, upend order to make everyone pay attention to you. I've had it, I've fucking had it with you. The only reason I stopped Lanius from giving you a death you've earned a thousand times over is because of a manpower shortage you created. But you learn your place now, your place as anti-thesis."

Adam's face, despite everything, was twisted in hatred. His body was limp, his breathing was sharp and shallow, but even through the mess his face had been reduced to, Servius could see burning hatred. His one good eye narrowed in disgust as he glared at Caesar. Memories filled Servius's mind, of what Ancus had told him of Caesar's wrath. Was Adam ignorant of what happened when the leader of the Legion was angered? Did he just not care? It didn't make any sense, a sane man would be on his hands and knees, begging for mercy.

A single, guttural noise escaped Adam's mouth. "What?"

Caesar made a noise of disgust. "It's simple, Adam. Thesis and antithesis. I'm the thesis, proper structure, self-sacrifice, and planning for the future. You are the antithesis. A stupid little boy with no impulse control acting out not out of a sense of injustice, but because you feel emasculated and are attempting to establish authority in a juvenile way. Because you think with your dick. What you are experiencing right now is synthesis, where thesis and antithesis collide, with both forever changed. The Legion is changed in that it now has a golden opportunity to climb to heights once never thought possible. The White Fang is changed in that I drag you, kicking and screaming, to be something less than an utter fucking embarrassment."

"You," Adam began, only for Lanius to bring his face smashing down into a nearby rock. Servius felt bile building in his stomach as wet crunches echoed across the field. Adam made a strangled noise as he was brought back up, a fresh gash on his forehead.

"I've tolerated so much of your short-sighted idiocy, and I'm starting to feel my patience was wasted. So I will be blunt. If you jeopardize my goals one more fucking time, I will have you stripped, mutilated, and nailed to a cross. And if you think I'm bluffing, boy, consider what I will allow my men to do with that little whore you pine for. And you will observe. Should you look away, you will learn to do so without sight. Do you understand?"

Adam didn't respond, continuing to glare. Three more times, Lanius brought his face smashing down onto the rock. Badly suppressed cries of pain slipped through his lips as blood stained the snow around him. "Do you understand?" Slowly, as if each movement was causing him great pain, Adam nodded. The hatred never left his eye for a moment.

"Let's make certain, shall we?" Caesar said, rising to his feet. "Lanius? Decimation." He idly glanced about. "The girl that was with you is exempt."

Servius felt like he had been jolted with a cattle prod. He had forgotten about Ilia. Now that the chaos has subsided, he saw that she had not moved from where she had stood when the fight had started. Her eyes were wide with shock, her sword untouched at her side. There was a small pinprick of gratefulness that she had not taken up arms against them, once again proving her reliability. But it felt hollow. She was shaking in terror as she watched what was unfolding in front of them.

He needed to say something, anything, to her. But what? That he would plead for mercy on her behalf? Caesar didn't accept such things, and it could end with him flogged, or even crucified, for defying Caesar. That Adam deserved it? No, Ilia wasn't the type to think like that, her hatred was reserved for others. Then what? What was he supposed to do!?

In desperation, he looked to Ancus. The strong, bearded man wasn't far. A dead Faunus was at his feet, chest caved in. She had a gun in hand, one aimed in his direction. Ancus met his eye with a grim, exhausted look. There was no help to be found here. So his eyes fell on Tullus.

Tullus was already next to him, hand on his shoulder. "Serv, it's ok," he said, his voice soft and gentle. "You did amazing out there. I know it's hard, but something like this was always going to happen. Adam was only ever kept in line by Vulpes, he was never going to grow beyond his selfishness." Servius could hear Lanius giving orders to the surviving White Fang. Two of them were told to move to the center of the clearing. He heard Lanius give the order.

"White Fang. These two have been chosen. Kill them."

Tullus ignored what was happening. "I'm so proud of you, you know that?" He gave a warm, soft smile. "Every single day we've been out there, you've been committed. You've stumbled, and every single time you get back up." Leaning in, Tullus gently kissed him on the forehead. "You'll have veteran status before the year is out, and you'll have earned it." Servius heard a voice cry out in protest. There was a heavy swing and a wet crunch. The voice fell silent. Lanius gave the order again.

"Kill them. Or your own lives are forfeit." One of the chosen had broken down into wet, terrified sobs.

"Serv? You ok?" Footsteps began to thunder. Concern was on Tullus's face. He cared, he always cared. Part of Servius wanted to ignore it, to just pretend it was just him and Tullus. But he couldn't. He turned his full attention to the decimation.

The White Fang were upon the two who had been chosen. One was on the ground, futilely shielding himself with his hands as half a dozen blades tore at his body. The other had tried to run but had barely moved before she was surrounded, a knife catching her in the stomach.

Some of the blows were hesitant, aimed at the edges of limbs. It was done by those who were unwilling to kill their comrades, unaware they were only making it more painful. Others had gone mad with fear, frantically driving knives into the same spot over and over again. All around, it was a messy, uncoordinated affair. The deaths were not quick. A full minute ticked by before the screams of the victims finally stopped. Another minute passed before the blows stopped falling. Panting, the White Fang looked down on the mutilated bodies. Their expressions were hollow.

"I believe a point has been made," Caesar said. "Raise a weapon against me again and I will be less merciful. Lanius? Keep the boy's sword. He can have it back when I decide he needs it." Lanius unbuckled Adam's sheath from his side before standing up. With a grunt, he tore the sword still lodged in his chest out, sliding it into its sheath. In the process, he let go of Adam.

The leader of the White Fang staggered to his feet, legs trembling, but his eye still biting at Caesar. But Caesar had lost interest. He had made his point, and like an idly discarded piece of garbage, Adam didn't warrant so much as a backward glance as he walked away. Lanius was the only one who was still watching him.

From the edge of the clearing, Marie F. approached him. Her face was hidden under her stolen power armor, but Servius knew she was smiling. Passing him, she gave him a mocking clap on the shoulder that made him wince in pain. "Time to grow the fuck up junior," she said, passing by.

"You did amazing, Serv," Tullus said. A horrible, wrenching feeling tore at his guts. He bolted forward, breaking out of Tullus's grasp, and reaching the tree line just in time. Falling to his knees, his mouth opened involuntarily. He had not eaten for most of the day, so there wasn't much in his stomach, but what little there was came up. Thin, yellowish bile was swallowed up by the thick snow as he wretched, his body heaving as it tried to expel more. Only a dribble of sick escaped him after the first wave.

"Serv!" Servius could barely hear as he took in deep breaths. He could feel Tullus kneeling beside him and hugging him tight. He could see Ilia sinking back against a tree, looking at him with vague sympathy but saying nothing. And Ancus was standing at the tree line, keeping an eye on the rest of the camp but glancing at them occasionally. His face was stony, but with shades of worry. All the while, Servius tried to pull himself together.

Caesar had a plan. He…he needed to.

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Author's Note: …Next chapter will have a lighter tone, I promise. This was very much a needed bitter pill for certain characters to come to an unpleasant realization about what kind of crowd they're running with. It's also a culmination of Vulpes not being around to soothe Adam's ego and Caesar not having enough patience to pick up the slack. And thank you very much for your patience. I swear I keep trying to keep my writing output up, but the last thing I want to do is force myself to write and put out something inferior.

Before anyone says anything, Caesar wasn't referencing Castle in the Sky when he called Atlas Laputa. He was referencing Gulliver's Travels, which also had a floating city called Laputa.

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.