Chapter 87
Bane of the Praetorians
With their victory at Yaulney Canyon, the Galbadians wasted no time in striking at Esthar's main column, buying a vital reprieve for the Saronans. This turned Sorceress Ultimecia's cats eyes northward. Resupply and redeployment were prompt for New Sarona, their own main column now commanded by a certain Gordon Spears – one of the three officers spared by Raine during Dollet's liberation – who had put his disgrace as a former collaborator to one side and had a shot at redemption now. The Forest fighters, despite their fewer numbers, launched a new offensive from the west. Although their impact would be limited, Cassandra Elderwood would do what she could.
Knowing the audacious General Wedge led a clear and present danger to her forces, and reluctant to expend anymore of Eden's power, Ultimecia dispatched seven of her Praetorian Guard at the helm of the IVth Legion, which was moving from East Academy to meet Wedge's vanguard. Now that she had a Knight, she had little use for the Twelve – if they could still even be called that. Though they were back at nine now, Kain having been replaced by his younger brother. Reinhardt was still at Jericho, while Mitsuhide would remain with the Empress and her Knight to await the Children of Fate. Ultimecia left no ambiguity as to her exact location; Eden now hovered over the outskirts of East Academy, above a prehistoric stone circle.
In seeking out a particular lioness, the Praetorians were unaware of the reaper that stalked them. Seizing upon the chaos of three great armies repositioning on the plains, Damian Reno soared above the fighting, searching for those in the ruby armour moving with abnormal speed. The very sight of Diablos seemed to instil a primordial fear inside many a conscript, causing them to flee. Ultimately, chasing down was not his style, nor was taking a safe seat for that matter. He opted to land, recalling Diablos and stalking the reddening ground, soon lost to all reason as he began hewing through the cut-out, shining-armoured imperials. 'For Winhill!' he would bellow intermittently, to which many southern Galbadians would return, realising who he was.
You had better not disappoint me, young Wraith, Diablos had warned him, and he did not plan to.
This was his mission. This was to be his defining moment in the Third Sorceress War. This is what he would be remembered for, when the historians spoke of him in military history and the masses sung his requiem. Damian had trained all his life for a moment like this, where he would be a difference maker in a great battle. He would be the Bane of the Praetorians. Although he may have walked the Jade Passage with the Children of Fate, such an outlandish tale would be consigned to legend, while the deeds he was about to perform would be irrefutable.
It was not long before he sighted his first ruby in the field, identifying Gabranth by his horned helm. The Judge, they called him. Damian was not sure why, unless he functioned as judge, jury, and executioner to those who displeased Ultimecia. Gabranth had his back to him, dual-wielding ornate swords and moving between doomed Rangers that could not hope to match his augmented speed as he cut them down by the dozen. His hastening augment would have a time limit, but it was one that Ultimecia had become very adept at giving, and it was said to last for hours upon end. Long enough to annihilate Wedge's van, with seven Praetorians leading the IVth.
It was past time the Judge answered to the Wraith, not least for his contribution to Edea Kramer's death. The shaft of the Mastema grew within Damian's hand until it had transfigured into a scythe, then Damian cut Gabranth nigh on in half. After he fell, Damian grinned diabolically and brought the blade down on his head, splitting that horned helm. As he withdrew the dark blade, would-be dead Rangers gave him a salute. He looked at Gabranth's body only long enough to remember the Judge's more venerable brother had died on this same stretch of plain, then scanned the bloodshed for the next name on his list.
This was to be Cullyn, the lofty Trabian northman, cut from the same cloth as Rhodry. He too had been at Edea's orphanage that night. Admirably, the renowned auburn-haired swordsman was not abusing his power, giving each green-armoured Ranger a fighting chance of besting him. Yet they were still falling by large numbers by Cullyn's greatsword. Damian would have cut through him as indifferently as he had Gabranth, though Cullyn sighted him when he run out of challengers.
'Cullyn! How about a real contest!' Damian goaded.
The Praetorian turned, flicking his auburn hair out of his eyes. The sight of Damian's red eyes and shining tribal markings gave the northman visible pause.
'Diablos!' he realised.
Damian guffawed. 'You guessed it!'
Mastema stayed as a scythe. Not that it would matter. Cullyn was a man of honour, and Damian was not; it was that simple. While Diablos was mostly spent after Yaulney, he had enough power remaining to do this once, and only once. Damian's free palm opened, and the edge of a black circle appeared around Cullyn's feet, extending a yard in front. The lofty Praetorian cried out as he was pulled down along with his greatsword, the multiplication of gravity keeping his hands and knees stuck within that black disc. Damian calmly strode up to his grounded form, meeting Cullyn's eyes as the northman looked up at him pleadingly. As soon as he was within striking range, Damian parted Cullyn's handsome head from his shoulders, and the black disc vanished.
There was a flash of white light to his side. Damian spun with a swing of the Mastema and diverted the holy light. Word must be travelling fast. A young, blond-haired Praetorian had located him. Damian did not recognise the young man as he charged, assuming he had replaced Kain or one of the ones killed in Galbadia.
'I'll put an end to you, demon!' the Praetorian vowed as he swung bravely. Damian met the blow as he sidestepped, and the unknown Praetorian sailed by him, quickly pivoting to meet Damian's counter before backing up a pace.
'Holy magic, eh?' Damian sneered. 'Unfortunately, this isn't the day light prevails over darkness. Not for you, anyway!'
'We'll see about that!' the Praetorian said, before a hearty thrust.
Damian calmly backed up as he diverted more swings, Mastema transfiguring into an axe once more. He did not believe he would need magic for this one. When the Praetorian relented, Damian raised the shaft of the Mastema to rest against his shoulder, summoning Diablos to hover behind him.
'I didn't catch your name,' Damian mentioned.
'Cecil!' the Praetorian replied.
Damian chuckled again. 'Cecil?' he pronounced highly, mocking the Esthari accent. 'Did your mom have a sneezing fit when she named you?'
'I am named for the First Paladin!' he said defensively, which only made Damian laugh even louder.
'Look behind you!' he said.
Cecil did not fall for what he assumed was a ruse. He tensed, telegraphing what would have been a forehand stroke, but a sharp roar from Diablos halted him. With realisation, the young Praetorian spun to face the GF, and Damian plunged Mastema's axehead deep into his armoured back.
As the Praetorian hit the dirt lifelessly, Damian sighted Ialantha about fifty yards to the west, weaving in and out Galbadians and leaving them dead or crippled in her wake, her baroque stave a blur. She had a GF, rather than a buff, but the absence of a telling aura was enough to highlight her prowess. Though based on what Commander Leonhart had said, Damian believed this was less about chivalry and more a showing of scorn towards her opponents.
Damian was not one of Cid's SeeDs; he had been a junior classman when their founder had met his end. Though his father once said Cid had encouraged free thinking in some circumstances, and this caused him to look for a loophole in his orders. He presently could not see any other of the Praetorians, and Ialantha needed to be stopped. Raine, Liu and Zhang were nowhere to be seen, nor were the Dragoons. Ialantha had killed a hundred Rangers already and was carving a path to Wedge himself.
Do not disappoint me, young Wraith! Diablos repeated.
Before he could challenge the Golden Raptor, he was acquired by the one called the Onyx Scorpion. It was Lani, the Zebalgan. Even with the many keloid scars, Damian found the tribeswoman attractive, and forgot all about Ialantha. Lani was tall, swarthy, and toned; not overly muscular. Her ruby armour was sparse, accentuating her figure with her long legs and washboard abdomen uncovered. She wore a tiara rather than a helm.
'You are Diablos' vessel, little man?' Lani scoffed, in her heavy Kakashbaldi accent. 'I am not impressed! Zebalgans embrace pain and suffering; we are naturally suited to be one with the Dark Messenger! You are not worthy, dwarf!'
Damian chortled loudly again. Did she mean to offend him by calling him a dwarf? The dwarves had been a proud species, those few who survived the fall of the Floating Continent finding a home within the mountains of the western continent. The last of them had little recourse but to interbreed with humans, as had the elves in the Grandidi and the gigases in other regions. As it happened, it had been Hyne's contempt for His earlier creations which saved them, what with the high fertility of humans. Part of the reason the Reno clan favoured the axe was as homage to the dwarves, and the belief that their blood still coursed through their veins. Damian was honoured to be among their descendants.
He cocked his head. 'Your tribal chief is dead, Scorpion! When this war is over, I'm gonna make it my personal mission to hunt down every last member of your clan! Your children will forever live in fear of the Wraith of Winhill!' His eyes turned redder, and he grinned satanically. 'Their little skulls will be offered as trophies to the Dark Messenger!'
Lani blinked slowly. Like her fallen leader, she too had tattooed eyelids.
'I'll drink blood from your little skull, Wraith of Winhill!' She uttered the moniker with disdain. 'On the remembrance day of King Zebalga, I'll cast your flayed cock and tiny balls into fire!'
For emphasis, she thrust her poison-coated bardiche below the belt. Damian twisted so his forearm knocked it asunder, then tried to get within it. He allowed Lani to have the offense, admittedly aroused by her grunting and the rippling of her sinewy limbs as she cut and thrust. Damian seized advantage when Lani bought a feint, tightly uncoiling within her bardiche and burying the Mastema in her toned abdomen. The air escaped her as she dropped her weapon, but she defiantly remained on her feet. He held the Mastema in place with one hand and reached for a handcannon, staying her wrist as she went for her flaying knife and placing the barrel inside her agape mouth.
'Sweet dreams,' he said as he pulled the trigger, and the back of the tribeswoman's head exploded outward.
Ialantha was now standing to his side, staring at him with her gilded stave planted on the ground. Damian swivelled to face her, holstering his smoking handcannon. Apparently, she had been content to watch Lani die.
'You will not deal with me so easily, Damian of the Reno clan,' she said.
