The cawing from a murder of crows signaled her arrival into the city, as they circled her like pets to their master.
The frilly and risque dress she wore, while unfitting for a woman, it was very mobile. But the dress was tattered and faded, her footwear abused.
It didn't help that it was stained with dried blood.
She took a whiff of the air, moaning the sweet air of death. She smiled gleefully at the crucifixion of several men, a lot of them legionnaires, all long dead.
She looked at a sign in the middle, written hastily.
"NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO ENTER."
She walked past it, using her halberd as a mere cane than the usual weapon.
As she reached the city gates, it was immediately opened to her.
Several men were on the other side, their puny swords sheathed.
While the girl's body may deceive her age, her reputation does not, as her mere presence overwhelms even the mightiest of kings.
As such, the girl who was half the size of the city's guard, treated her as if she was twice.
"Your Holiness. Italica is grateful for your grace. Shall we inform the Countesses?"
She raised her eyebrow, before speaking.
"No, I'm here to repair my garments. I shall meet the Countesses later."
"Yes, your Holiness."
All of the men scattered, retreating to their former positions.
Rory couldn't help but giggle, as within the air of reverence and respect, was fear.
As she entered Italica, she was intoxicated by it, as it was as potent as the dust littered all over.
The city had riches and liberal ideas that eclipsed Sardea itself, but today, that reputation was absent, instead, carrying an air of devastation and salvation, as she eyed the people whose eyes greyed and void of life as their bodies withered away, like the fields outside. Yet they all kneeled before her.
To the people who were unfazed by her appearance, they asked her questions. She couldn't answer. She felt the confusion and chaos looming over this realm like a drizzle before the storm. But like the rainbow at the end, the Gods will sort everything in their tapestry, and that's what she told, and they took it as it was a morsel of bread.
As she walked down the cobbled road, she began to feel the familiar fall into her thoughts, as she couldn't help but feel a bit of worry from the words the gods were talking about in their meeting.
She stopped as she saw the store sign for the clothes repair, which was at the end of the marketplace. She opened the door.
A young man with a desirable build was in front of her, in a sea of faces, this one was a splash to her face.
He sputtered and blushed, before bowing down to her.
"Your Holiness!"
Suddenly, a much older man with some of those features of the younger man appeared from one of the racks of clothing, stirred awake. He looked at her with shock, before forcing a wide smile.
"Gaius!"
The older man widened his smile, lines on his face eroded the handsome features that she once yearned before.
"Your Holiness! The Gods have surely graced us with your presence! Especially with such low customers."
"Am I the first one?"
"Yeah. People more interested in the holes in their stomachs than their tunics."
She smirked, before approaching him. He was a tad smaller, blonde hair now faded with time. Such a waste. Gaius peered into her clothes, his once youthful eyes dimming as the torches inside.
"Ah. I see. I have the supplies for the followers of Emory. Shall I fit you?"
Rory shook her head and produced a tattered sheet of paper.
"I've done this before."
"Splendid! Shall I bill this to the Church?"
Rory nodded.
"I shall start right away. Cassius, get me these supplies."
The younger man nodded, causing Rory to lick his lips. Gaius cocked his head. But Cassius left the storefront into the back.
"He's grown quite a bit."
The man showed his crow's feet and began to laugh.
"Yes, yes he does. He takes after his mother sometimes."
"Your Holi-"
"Rory. You and I know each other too well at this point. Well, a bit more~"
The man chuckled.
"Apologies, Rory, but my body is a bit less active than it usually is."
Rory sighed.
"Just a couple of decades ago, I saw you impale that large orge with nothing but your short sword."
"I couldn't see much when you set the village on fire, so I just ran straight ahead."
"I don't understand why you left the Army. You could've made a Centurion, even without my recommendation."
Gallius shook his head, before looking straight at the apostle.
"Olivia died, and he was only left in my life. I had to take care of him."
Rory smiled sweetly, before looking around at the shop and the exquisite dresses that could rival a court of a principality.
"So you became a tailor?"
"You know me. I'm talented with my hands."
Rory chuckled, remembering some delightful memories. She stopped, before turning around.
"Gallius, what are those papers posted on the walls?"
"Ah. The two Countesses. They're trying to legitimize their claim to the throne. The Count died during those dreaded attacks." The man sighed "I guess it'd be best to close up shop."
"I see. Thank you, Gallius."
She turned around, but she felt his once tender grip, now bony and cold. She turned around, catching that serious gaze that she fell for long ago.
"There were no human farms in that village there, weren't there?"
Rory cocked her head, before looking at him with her timeless, longing gaze.
"Gallius. It would be best not to question the will of the Gods."
Gallius frowned, before smiling.
"You're welcome, your Holiness. This dress will be finished within the week."
The tailor bowed as Rory exited the store.
It was dawn, or so Pina thought. The warm kiss of a rising sun was dulled to a peck of a dying grey sky that became lighter each step she took.
She tracked down the cracks on these ancient walls, skillfully hiding from the ire of the weary eyes of the remaining Pretorian Guards as she treated on the ashen grass, eyes sticking to her like the dirt and grime caked from sleepless nights, envious of her clean appearance.
She could feel the older man's breath behind him, each pant drawn out as he grabbed every fibre of being from carrying a heavier load.
"Your Highness, I don't think…"
Pina pressed her finger on her lips as she turned to her mentor.
"Hush, Grey."
Pina laid eyes on one of the guardsmen on the service gate, a lone legionnaire, who, even in the low light and far distance, one could see how time had worn out the man as he stared straight at them with reluctance..
The man approached them, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
As he closed the distance, Pina could see the exhaustion wrinkled in every detail of his face, staring at them with eyes conflicted.
He gave Pina a cursory genuflect, before turning to Grey with a maddened glare.
"This better be worth it, Grey."
Pina's mentor nodded solemnly, a hint of regret in a stonewall conviction.
"Thank you."
"You better pay me double." he noted, quietly opening the door.
With that, Grey and Pina exited into the palace wall, and into the dead silence of the dawn.
Pina could feel the fear draining her as it swallowed her whole, as she trugged against the rubble streets, a dead branch of a burnt tree, it's vibrant ambience of the lives of people extinguished, leaving no trace of any clue that this was the largest city in Falmart.
In the cold dew dusk, she could feel sweat clinging on her armor, her eyes darting across the road as she could just reach out another person's gaze in the corner of her eye, hiding deep into the numoerius concrete buildings that surrounded her, that spoke only silence.
It was then the ummistakable rot hiden under the dead silence, revealing the true devastation, as she saw the masses of dead bodies piled on large rot.
Grey snapped her awake.
"Pina, we're here."
She laid her eyes on a scene from Hardy's realm, as the sunken eyes of the damned greeted her with their haunted gaze, as the living trudged on like the dead.
She laid her eyes on a woman in white robes, deflied by the crimson red of blood. She stared at Pina with eyes sucked out of life, as her headscaf, the sacred band of purity was defiled in a hail of confusion.
"Your Majesty."
She genuflected, visibly aching from such a simple movement.
Pina wanted her to stop, but traditions had engraved themselves into them. The Empire was at Emroy's grasp, and such wasted effort better put into helping the dying made Pina disgusted inside.
She then caught the impatience slithering through the cracks of her disheveled skin.
"Oh, here's food and medical supplies." She informed them, handing over the various potions and packages that Pina gleefully liberated from the elite confines. She could see the worker's eyes lit up, like an ember in a dying glame.
"Your majesty, I am grateful. But you should return to the palace. It isn't safe here."
Pina looked around, feeling the unruly stench of the dead around her.
"Shouldn't you remove the bodies? they might spread a miasma thoughout all the ones still alive."
The stench was unbearable. Pina could see in the maiden's eyes the helplessness that was piling up as fast as the corpses, unable to stem the death casted on them. that it was a daunting issue that needed to be addressed.
"We don't have enough undertakers and carts to transport the dead. We ourselves have to transport the dead to the pile."
Pina's mind raced, trying to find a solution to help her subject.
"Then you should shower! You need to understand how important your role is!"
The Nun then averted her eyes. Before bowing to her in a cursory position.
Pina's mind was shocked with the realisation of what she'd done, but before the world left her mouth, it was silenced by the galloping horses that thundered down the roads.
Her eyes widened as she saw the rumbling banners of the pretoria guard.
"Molt demands your presence."
Pina tried to force resistance through her mouth, but the sharp glint of their swords reminded her of the cold steel gaze of her father.
By the time she came back, she caught the writhing form of the old guard, crucified on a cross, crying out in pain from the bleeding wounds on his arms.
She turned her eyes away, only to see Grey shook his head in defeat.
With each heavy step they took against the harsh concrete, Pina walked ubowed, even as pressure forced a downtrodden emotion to sink her down.
It was then she caught her father approaching her.
Time stopped as she felt the piercing gaze, the burning rage behind them caused her to avert her gaze. She curtsied, and forced herself to kneel in front of her father.
"Pina. Do you truly wish to save the Empire?"
Pina stared at her father, eyes burning.
"Yes, Father."
A pause, as he scanned her eyes with such a complex mess of emotions that Pina could see a hint of sadness, but was swallowed up by a growing conviction.
"Then prepare your Order. Italica is under revolt."
Pina nodded, controlling the explosion of fear, surprise, and happiness with the intensity of a wild dog, as she stood up and left with an equally surprised Grey in tow.
She turned to her cadre of friends, as all seven of them greeted her, a shock of age through her as she caught the small gaps between them, like a gaping whole in a set of teeth.
A series of names rung through her mind. Names that disappeared long ago, the threads unraveled to weave political marriages or discarded, and she fould tell her teammates did as well.
But if they weren't there physically, at least they were there in their hearts.
Her lips lifted to a radiant smile that shone as bright as the sun, as she addressed her troops.
"Hamilton. Grey. Prepare our provisions. Enough medical supplies and 3 day food for 20 of us."
"Panache. Bozes. Get the knights who are best at close fights."
All of them smiled as they felt the radiant warmth of their leader coming back to them, and began to work.
Isaac watched as his team and the other Force Recon Members marched into the glowing red maw of the bright STT dropship.
As the formation in front of him dissapated in the red, He fistbumped Torres as the two officers jumped into the ramp dead last, catching the glare of the loadmaster behind his tinned visor as he reluctantly granted them entry, closing the maw behind them.
He plumped into seat reserved for him, securing himself and his M-66C with a retention lock. He then brushed the carved engraving against his gloves.
As the general chatter slowly lowered as he felt his body being dragged by the ship dropping into space.
Isaac was a podhead, and an officer to boot, giving him just enough system permission to tap into the feed, siowing an angry world.
He saw Jupiter's neverending storm from the network science shows, and how it would spew out hatred, and it was just like that as he stared into the eye of a wrathful storm.
He heard a theory that Jupiter's storm was caused by a ancient alien weapon crashing into it, but that wasn't true. But the one below sure was angry at them trespassing into it.
He glanced over to Carlos, whose hulking frame sat beside him, who was talking to his team about something. It was difficult to make out behind sealed power armor, but Isaac could see it was mere banter.
He then looked over to glaring fellow prisoners of the cargo hold, in their seamless, alien combat armor. In the low red light, Isaac can make out the Japanese flag staring back at him.
While friendly, the Japanese troops mainly stayed away from the Americans, and the mandatory quarantine didn't help with such. Isaac could see how starkly different the two camos were. As the North Americans wore camo suitable for barely terraformed worlds, Japan had more greener colors for conventional Terran operations, making them feel like interlopers.
With a quick flip to his armpad, he hailed his First Sargeant, who turned his comns.
"Yeah?"
"We are way out of our league."
A quick pause, before a simple grunt.
"I know. That worries me."
Urban Combat was non existent, and even with training, Isaac could see the steep learning curve that towered above him.
"I signed up to kill Lankies, not this."
Carlos snorted.
"You and I both know that the higher ups don't give a shit about that."
"I know. Doesn't make it feel good as well."
It was then, Isaac caught the slumped form of Iris, before she tried to rub her temples even with armor on.
"Is Iris asleep?"
Carlos shook his head.
"She's been acting weird. Ever since news of a city revolt broke to us, she's been real quiet."
Isaac paused, trying to grasp straws. Lowliest PRCs in New York…
"...Keep an eye on her, Carlos."
"Already done so."