Conquest

by T. C. Edge

So I become, once more, the Red Warrior, battling now alongside many other gladiators who have taken to the sand. Some, even, are former champions like me, trained to kill in an assortment of ways.

  No, the Imperial Games do not include firearms. No, this sort of sprawling battle isn't the same as fighting in bladed combat upon the sands. But the essence is the same; the instinct to kill. And all of those around me now share that primal, protective urge.

  That brief battle, within the grander scope of the many clashes and contests still raging across the plains, is a brutal, violent, bloody affair. Fighting with a savage intent, the Neoroman warriors, joined by a few Stalkers, City Guards, and Nameless hybrids, lay waste to hundreds of enemy men, using all the skills and attributes at their disposal to create the sort of carnage on which they like to operate.

  Oh, it is deep in their blood, that warrior spirit, written into the very fabric of the city, and people, itself. I know of the Colosseum, the Imperial Games, and how bloody the battles are there. But I've also heard now about the larger conflicts Neorome has engaged in, the battles that have made them the dominant power in that part of the world, overcoming many threats over the years, widening their grip and expanding their lands.

  That military hegemony has been achieved by such brutal tactics as this. They thrive in shock and awe. They relish in brutality and savagery. They fly into battle with wide, manic eyes and bared teeth, bringing an intensity that few other fighters or armies could hope to deal with.

  And I see it now, the fear, the debilitating panic that spreads through the Olympian ranks. Here was me thinking they'd be fearless warriors themselves. That the Neoromans might finally meet their match. But no, these soldiers aren't born for war as my new brethren are. They haven't tasted combat like every one of our soldiers has.

  They are weak. They are afraid.

  And we cut them down like saplings in a field.

  I contribute to the butchery and bloodshed myself, adding to the crimson colour that adorns me. With every slice of my scimitar swords, a new coating of blood splashes across my face. With the skill, the accuracy, the precision that gives me such glee, I slip around the battlefield with my customary agility, falling into a graceful, murderous frenzy.

  My senses work to protect me, every one of them on high alert. My eyes dash and my ears prick, and my nostrils flare as I see, hear, smell everything around me. Though I don't fully engage my unique power of the sight, I still forge a bubble of awareness around me, giving me a preternatural instinct to avoid incoming gunfire, dodge incoming attacks, quickly turn defence into attack when I sniff out an opportunity.

  Before too long, the short battle has been completed, the enemy ranks along that line routed. I see Max roaring to one side, holding up two of the last remaining enemies to his flanks with his telekinetic powers. A primal rage seems to take him, as he flings his arms out, sending the two men flying off to the sides, unable to arrest their momentum as they come crashing down into the earth, their bodies broken by the fall.

  "Neoromans are dying!" he bellows out to the soldiers around him. "Our allies are dying! Fight the enemy off! Kill all you can!"

  He roars again, raising aloft a sword, and begins rushing further towards the enemy encampment in the distance. His men follow, trailing him, ready to lay waste to more Olympians as they spread off across the plains.

  I join, hurrying after them, quickly spotting a smaller group of enemy soldiers to one side. I eagerly engage before anyone else spots them, dashing towards them as they attempt to flee.

  I don't let them.

  Quickly catching up, I fling a small throwing knife into the back of one of their necks, hitting with pinpoint accuracy above the collar of their armour, guided by my superhuman senses, timing, expert marksmanship. He tumbles straight forward, drawing the eyes of his allies. I dart towards them like a hunting cat; my eyes are feline, my body flexible. I bend and move beyond the path of their return fire, moving up close to them, shortening the space to make my own skills more effective.

  Arriving among them, I slide along the dewy grasses, hissing gleefully as I leap from my knees and into the air, drawing out my dual scimitars as I go. The curved swords slash at the necks of the two soldiers either side of me. Great wounds open up, their heads tipping back, fountains of blood raining upon me.

  I joy in the glorious sensation as the warm blood sprays down, launching myself straight for the final soldier as he tries to back away. I can see it in his eyes; the terror at this creature coming towards him. I must look a demon, my face crimson with blood, green eyes manic, radiant red hair lit by the early morning sun. I bare my teeth and hiss again, deepening his fears, putting him off his stride as he lifts his gun to fire at me.

  He draws a spray of bullets across where I stand, but I'm quick enough to know his mind. I can see it before he even acts, the movement of his arms as they draw up the gun, the tightening of his finger upon the trigger. I'm one step ahead, dashing to the side before the bullets hit me, working around him in a flash.

  He turns, trying to catch up with me.

  He won't. I'm too quick.

  I suddenly change my angle, darting in towards him, performing an acrobatic flip as I jump, leap over him, and come down on his other side, dropping into an immediate crouch. He spins around, searching, his gun still rattling, firing wildly as he twists. I see the shock in his face as he finds me there, crouched at his feet, staring up with a hungry glint in my eye.

  And with another leap, I spring from the crouch, bringing my two scimitars with me as I slice at his body and neck, ending him like I did the others. I land softly in the earth, as the soldier teeters and drops to the floor, his hands holding his neck in a futile attempt to stem the flow.

  As he gurgles there, drowning in his own blood, I decide to take pity on him. I am not a savage, after all, however I may look. And whatever I think of the Children of the Prime and their abhorrent beliefs, I am fully aware that regular soldiers are not to blame. No, it is their leaders who design their paths, forge their beliefs, force them into this terrible system.

  It is them whom I hold accountable.

  This man, well, he's just a slave to them, really. And that fear in his eyes, as he clutches at his neck, terrified of his approaching doom, isn't something I take pleasure in. There is no reason for him to suffer.

  I lift my pistol from my flank, and fire a single shot into his head. Ending that suffering. Killing him instantly.

  It is, I know, the right thing to do.

  My eyes scan again, searching across the fields and cracked plains. I can hardly see Maximus now, he and his men quickly rampaging into the distance, seeking out more worthy opponents on which to test themselves.

  I begin moving after them, approaching a series of canyons and chasms cut into the ground. Most of them are fairly shallow. Others are deep enough to cause serious injury should someone fall. I begin working across them, dashing forward with speed, leaping the wide gaps that stretch between several of them. I come to an especially wide one, at least twenty or thirty feet deep, and prepare to make another leap.

  I stop on the edge, something catching my eye.

  I turn my gaze down through the rift below, through the canyon as it opens out into the plains in the distance. A flash of silver meets my eyes, moving with incredible speed. He rushes towards a couple of heavily armoured Brutes, a great sword in his hand, engaging in combat against their huge energy-based guns.

  Ares...

  I feel a swell build in my chest as I watch him attack, and immediately drop down into the canyon, landing lightly on my nimble legs and athletic frame. I leave Max and his men to the massacre further away, and speed in the direction of the head of the Imperial Guard, the greatest Champion of Neorome, the primary protecter of the Emperor and his interests.

  The walls of the canyon loom above me as I go, growing shorter as they begin to open out into the plains. Beyond, in the distance far away, the outer walls of the city shimmer under the gr
owing sunshine, smoke continuing to billow and erupt from the many buildings blazing within.

  I turn my eyes to the dirt at my feet, and notice strange scorch marks written into the rock. They're spaced out evenly, zigzagging slightly to the left and right.

  Footprints, I think, looking a them. There must be a Fire Elemental nearby...

  I reach the end of the canyon in no time at all, breaking through into the open fields. My eyes are greeted by bodies, dotting the grasslands nearby. They tell of a recent battle here, entering into its final stage. A dozen or so warriors remain standing, several of them gigantic Brutes. Two continue to fight with Ares. Another is of impossible proportions, draped in skintight armour, his enormous body rippling with muscle as he fights against several Neoroman soldiers. I don't think, even back in Neorome, I've ever seen a man as large as him...

  A final figure catches my eye, wreathed in a swirling pattern of flickering flames. A Fire Elemental, moving around the battlefield with sharp boosts of speed, his hair golden like the fire itself, his combat robes flowing behind him as he goes. He reaches out with his hands, firing off spouts of molten fire from his palms, his body seeming to shimmer with a protective shield of heat and flame.

  The others that litter the ground seem to be a mixture of Neoroman fighters and enemy warriors, some of the more powerful of their kind drawn here to fight with Ares.

  Foolish, I think, as I begin moving out to join in. Foolish to challenge such a man...

  My thoughts are proven valid as I rush on, and watch as Ares works to cut the two armoured Brutes he faces down to size. I see it only out of the corner of my eyes as I seek a target of my own, knowing he needs no such aid from me. With his unmatchable speed and staggering strength, he cuts through their armour using his mighty sword, severing limbs and heads alike as the two giants lose their guard.

  I see only the fountain of blood issuing from the neck-stump of one of the enemy giants as I turn my attentions on the Fire Elemental, his spouts of flaming lava doing much to disrupt our own men. He spots me coming, as I reach for a throwing knife and fling it right at him, turning his hands in my direction. The fire explodes from his palms, melting the knife as it gets near, pressing on right towards me. I spin away, moving back once again, trying to flank him. His heat is extraordinary; it's so hard to get close. I've had little experience of such rare Elementals before, but know this one must be special.

  I zip off as a Neoroman soldier dashes in to attack him. With two long daggers in and, and his silver armour shimmering beneath the sun, he leaps high into the air, red robes fluttering, and tries to come down on the Fire Elemental from above. The young man doesn't appear to note the advance, yet it hardly seems to matter all the same. The Neoroman drops towards him, ready to send those long daggers right into the top of the Elemental's golden head, thrusting hard as he approaches. Yet all he hits is a wall of impenetrable heat and flame, his attack bouncing off the shield, deflecting the soldier away.

  He lands nearby, and the Elemental turns on him, his eyes glowing with a golden hue, an unearthly rage within them. A tremble begins to work through the air, and with a sudden pulse, a great wave of fire comes spreading from the young man's core. It engulfs the Neoroman immediately, melting his armour, skin, and flesh, welding it all together, spreading out towards others nearby as they speed away from the blaze.

  I'm suitably far back, the pulse of fire fading as it extends further from its source. Yet still, the heat is terrible, burning the air nearby, setting alight all the grass and dry shrubbery littering the prairie floor. Even bodies ignite, those of the dead soldiers around him unable to move or flee, given a premature cremation right there on the plains.

  I look at the young man in wonder, never having experienced such a unique power. It gives me pause, and cause for concern. If they have men like this in their ranks, perhaps they have others of similar, even greater, gifts.

  Yet, as the fire and radiant glow around him fades, I look into his golden eyes and see a weariness setting in. He may be powerful, but as with all such exertions, it takes a great deal out of him. Already, I know, he is weakening. All we have to do is bide our time, and wait for our moment.

  And so, as the battle rages on, and I see that great, gigantic Brute roaring and bearing down on Ares, I step back in and turn my attention on the Fire Elemental once more. He might be able to deflect my attacks right now, but I know for sure I can avoid his.

  And bit by bit, I'll wear him down.

  Soon, he'll be mine.

  31

  Brie

  I stand ahead of an open section in the energy shield, turned off by the two men manning the control station beyond.

  Under my command, they step out of their own camp, moving towards me and my two Stalker chaperones, standing guard either side. I turn to them. "Kill these two," I order, gesturing towards the enemy men.

  The Stalkers don't hesitate or delay. In a single, swift movement, they pull out their pistols and execute the enemy soldiers where they stand, firing single shots into their foreheads.

  As before, it had been simple getting into their heads from outside of the energy shield. Having done it once, I had little trouble doing it again.

  "OK, let's go," I whisper to the Stalkers, leading them through the open section of the shield and into the main enemy encampment.

  We creep, staying low, though I quickly find that such a thing isn't necessary. As I suspected, the entire place is empty, the fighting still bellowing down on the lands beyond the enemy wall. With the map of the camp clear in my head, I rush straight through, heading right for the stockades where they'd kept Rhoth and the Fangs. It must also be where they're keeping my grandfather.

  We round the small structures, slipping as quickly and quietly as we can. Within moments only the prison quarters are coming into view ahead. I stop in the mud, the earth made soggy and soft by all the foot traffic here, my eyes falling to the door of the prison. Unlike before, there appears to be no guard on duty. I close my eyes for just a second and enter the cerebral realm. Only a single brainwave appears from within the prison itself.

  I recognise the brain waves. My grandfather, without a guard on duty to watch over him.

  The two Stalkers begin moving past me, heading right for the door before I give the order.

  I consider calling out indignantly, telling them that they're under my command, and that if anyone's going to be the one to kill Cromwell, it'll be me.

  I don't bother. There's no point.

  Already having figured out what to do, I simply lift my pistol, aim in at their heads as they step ahead of me, and rattle off two rounds. They hit, one after the other, cutting right into the Stalkers' brains, sending them both dropping to the mud just outside the prison, dead.

  I shake my head from the wastefulness of it all. They're valuable soldiers, yes, but if my grandfather is to live, it had to be done.

  I slip my pistol right back to my hip, and immediately rush towards the door of the prison, leaping over the two dead Stalkers as I go. I may be alone here now, but I know I won't be for long. If I'm going to get him out, I need to act fast.

  I slip right inside, entering into the same dank space as before. If anything, it's only grown more unpleasant since I was here several days ago. I blink to engage my Hawk-Vision within the gloom, and my eyes quickly fall upon the old, feeble frame hung up against the wall. I rush towards him, pulling out my pistol once more, firing a single shot at the chains that shackle him.

  He falls weakly into my arms, his body covered in little more than rags, his hair lank and filthy, his frame littered with little cuts and injuries.

  "Grandfather, grandfather," I say. "I'm here to get you out!"

  His eyes rise up to me, his face so creased, so wrinkled, so different to how he once was. There's so much humanity to him now, so much vulnerability. He's just an old man, beaten, stricken, his eyes telling of someone who's given up. But no, not completely. Something changes as he recognises me, as h
e hears my voice and sees my face. Some life returns to him. And despite it all, a weak smile appears on his lips.

  "Brie," he says, his voice cracked, dry. "You...you called me grandfather."

  "I...I guess I did," I say.

  He lets out a slow breath, holding that small smile on his face. "Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you, Brie."

  "It's...OK," I whisper softly. "But we need to go. Can you walk?"

  I pull him up onto his old legs. His body feels more emaciated then ever as I grip at him, holding him tight to steady him. I gradually release the pressure to see if he can hold himself up. He does so, but only just, holding onto me for support.

  "You...should go," he says weakly. "Leave me. I'm...no use to anyone."

  "That's not true, Artemis," I say. "You're a use to me."

  He looks to me again, a shimmer in his eyes. Those eyes that were once so cold and callous, now broken by the trauma of his emotional awakening. By the life of solitary repentance he now leads.

  "I'm not leaving you, OK?" I say. "So don't even try to give me that. I'm getting you back to the city. But we have to go...now!"

  He nods weakly, and mumbles something that sounds like agreement. Honestly, I don't need his consent. This is happening, whether he likes it or not.

  I draw him towards the door, not stopping to check if the coast is clear, my attention and focus taken by the old man in my arms. I creak it open, stepping out into the light. My eyes quickly scan ahead and I see...

  I stop, and stare, looking out at the clear patch outside the prison. A figure stands, glowing orange and yellow, her eyes and hair golden, her armour stained with blood and mud that seems to melt off her from the heat.

  The world comes to a standstill, falling silent, as I gaze at the young Fire-Blood, no older than me.

  "I have no quarrel with you," I find myself saying, thinking it best if I speak first. With my grandfather to my side, I'll have nowhere to go if she decides to attack. And I already know just how difficult her kind are to control.