Centurion Rasa stood straight and tall before his Praetor, bowing his head lowly and reporting, “We can’t confirm anything, but Claudius doesn’t lie. His divination is too strong. The appearance of Thanaris the Bloodmoon is true, anyway. As such…”

A woman, her frame hidden by a glaring radiance from her eyes, continued the man’s assessment, stating her own, “We need to recruit those three. I know the boy. He felt indebted and couldn’t see the light. Do some digging, Rasa. I want the Hydro. Oh, and monitor the Anomaly. He’s… special.”

The Centurion bobbed his head before exiting the room in a hurry to follow orders. On his way out, however, he received one last report.

“Prepare yourself, Rasa. A storm is coming. It is not so easy to rise from a Praetor’s chair. As my second, things will fall to you, should my gambit fail.”

Once outside the office with the heavy door shut behind him, the middle-aged Harenlar’s flesh rippled with a power that struggled to be contained. Rasa remained motionless for a single moment before he wiped at his eyes with all four hands.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

* A conversation between adopted son and mother.

“Where the fuck did he go!?” Claudius shouted into the echoing hallway of the Heron’s Wing, pissed beyond measure. En route to Infier’s Edge, a hot spot of warfare on the outskirts of the galaxy, beyond even the ‘boonies’ that Claudius was previously.

The Judge gripped the communicator in his hands with sweat, informed moments prior about the aim of his next destination. While the higher-ups saw he failed his first mission, they were impressed with his combat strength, and they wanted him to do more. Even his Praetor agreed.

Excellent. They called what I did... excellent... fucking... ahh! Where is he?

“Eight!” Claudius howled into the ship again, with heads peeking from their rooms with confusion or annoyance. While stomping through the ship, Claudius skipped past all the occupied rooms and discovered an open door towards the tail, where the ship’s minor bar was.

As he walked through, his eyes caught sight of the putrid figure he had to work with. Because...

While choking out his hatred, Claudius spoke to the young man as Eight poured himself a tall glass of alcohol, “You have been... ordered to join me as my Jury. She found you to be... irreplaceable.” The Judge wasn’t sure what brand of drink the Cryo was delighting in, as he had never partaken in alcohol before, but it enraged him further.

His failure and the fact that so many died under his watch embarrassed him. It was more than just the mission. He harbored anguish every time he thought of the dead in the city. From the little girl who pleaded for help through her window to the father who hid in his cellar, the slamming of the doors was audible to Claudius even now.

Despite all that, Eight was enjoying a glass of amber fluid. The young man nodded as if he was expecting the decision to be made after he introduced himself to Claudius’ commanding Praetor.

Again, it only made the storm bolder as the Cryo dropped a thin sheet of ice into his drink and swirled it.

“Hmm? Nothing to say? You’ll just drink? All those dead? They’re... Heron... Less losses than expected! That’s bullshit. Say something, bastard! Ah... you make me want to just shoot you,” Claudius slammed his Executioner atop the counter, the sound of steel and granite colliding piercing enough that Eight winced.

In response to the fervor, Eight glanced over at Claudius, sighing softly, “We both know you wouldn’t win that fight. But that’s good. You Judges are entitled to many privileges being the specialized agents you are. We want them happy with us. And think about it. Just losing a single Centurion and a planet while retaining a high-potential Judge over the appearance of a Vector-5? A Caesar? That’s a steal.”

Claudius fell silent, his eyes gliding to the pistol in his hands, the fabricated thing meant to function under Domains. Yet, it would only work against low-level Domains. Claudius didn’t want to admit it, but Eight was likely right in this situation.

He was merely unfortunate to run into such a monster. A shiver ran through the Judge’s body as he recalled the gaze of the Caesar.

“How did Dante speak to it? I could barely not piss myself,” Claudius said aloud as he shook his head, peering at his unwanted companion. If only Eight hadn’t snuck into the room while he spoke to Praetor Sun, Claudius might have avoided such torment.

While Praetor Sun’s influence was tremendous within the highest echelons of the galaxy, her eyes did not possess the same tragedy that the Caesar’s did. It contained the blood and anguish of millions of lives.

Sun, however, was a bright woman, cheerful despite her seriousness. She had even been the one to teach Claudius the method of Chanting. Such a technique was vigorously sought after, and a vast portion of Claudius’ strength was owed to her. And to his grandfather for bestowing it to her.

However, that didn’t mean they spoke much. She was a Praetor, after all, busy beyond compare. The comparison between Sun and the Caesar, however, left her lacking.

Eight had his own thoughts to add after he topped off his amber, “Drugs. Copious drugs. That and an already egregious will. Something tells me we’ll see some more of him. Dante Penance isn’t a man to die so soon. He’ll weasel his way out.”

Claudius lifted an eyebrow at the young man’s certainty found in his voice. He couldn’t understand why Eight was so sure, “Why do you say that? He’s doomed to die on that planet.”

With his head waving back and forth, Eight stood up from the bar and sauntered away, “Because he reminds me of me. Power isn’t everything. With enough cleverness, some luck, and the right skill set, you can become too valuable to kill for anyone.” The briefcase he always carried followed him as his fingers wrapped around its handle a moment before leaving the room.

Eight left Claudius’ mind to brew on those words for several minutes. It opened a new avenue for him, a sparkling river of opportunity because he understood the wisdom in that phrase.

Power isn’t everything. Huh. That’s... a first. All the teachers and seniors would argue otherwise, but... maybe the little shit is right. Praetor Sun saw something in Eight, something that let her disregard his suspicious nature to allow the Anomaly to join me. As for the human... without him, that fight against Astraeus ends in the bank.

The man’s hand inched toward the still-open bottle left by Eight. At first, his mind did so in an effort to close it, but as his fingers enclosed around the glass, he hesitated.

A second passed wherein the chill frost from the refrigerated beverage sank into his flesh, reminding Claudius of Astraeus’ Frigo. Beyond that moment, Claudius went to pour himself a sip, but the instant his muscles moved for that purpose, the entire starship jerked.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The Tianshe managed to steady the liquid and set it down. Then, huffing, he walked away from the counter, clenching his fist and speaking to the worlds between, “Tertia Manus.” A tendril of water extended from behind Claudius and closed the bottle before returning it to the fridge.

The fake hand succeeded in a clumsy manner, but it saved the man precious time as he rushed toward the Skull of the starship. His feet beat against the steel floors, and in a scant few clicks of his watch, Claudius stood in the Skull alongside the rest of the ship’s crew.

Five in total lined up in a circle, with Rosa Heartwelt in the center, piloting the starship bequeathed to her with Centurion Heron’s passing. Claudius’ eyes stretched out across those that remained. Three of Horace’s crew stayed on Brimmer, taking a vacation before returning home after what had happened.

The Judge couldn’t blame them. Horace handpicked them, but they weren’t Judges themselves. It was one thing to hunt down Dirge, but being a government-sanctioned executioner was a different matter. Claudius didn’t have the weight or individuality to go as he pleased and take the missions that suited him.

The two that remained, however, gained Claudius’ respect.

It was expected that the first two remained, Rosa and Eight, who were near Claudius’ level themselves. As for the next two, the man ran through them in his head with haste before taking stock of the situation.

Yue Yamare is a Harenlar who specializes in firearms. Four arms sure make that easy. She seems competent and level-headed. As for Talander Sereous... That’s too many blades. I hope he knows how to use them. At least they aren’t as oppressive as Eight.

The Irgen stood with crossed arms, his scaled tail waving behind him. Something told Claudius that the limb could wield one of the countless knives or swords lathered across Talander’s body.

Still, he had daydreamed enough for today. It was time to focus.

“What’s the situation, Rosa?” Claudius stepped up and squinted toward the systems to see the crisis.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t skilled with this ship’s intricacies, and he had to rely on Rosa as she answered, “We have been cruising in space, waiting for our shields to regenerate for another dive, but it seems the sensors picked up some Lightsea signatures nearby. A Vector-3.”

Heads turned to Claudius as everyone in the room waited for his choice. Despite the ship belonging to Rosa, the Judge was the decision-maker.

Eight, however, spoke aloud before Claudius, as he didn’t care for such frivolities, “It’d slow us down. Infier’s Edge is a fine place to grow stronger if you don’t die. The Juncture has survived for decades, though, so it’s not going anywhere. Still... with the sudden appearance of Caesars away from the major battlegrounds, I say we leave this be.”

The Judge’s eyes glared at Eight as the man, mere minutes after taking up his position, turned down the chance to save some lives. However, he was not alone in such emotions; Talander and Yue also fumed at such words. After exhaling from his nose with annoyance, Claudius answered, “Where are the signatures? Can someone else handle it? If so, we’ll move along. Otherwise... we’re not leaving anyone to die.”

Nods of agreement followed the tight circle, with both Yue and Talander approving their new leader. Rosa bit her lip, as she wasn’t so sure Claudius would like her response, “Well, from what I see, there are bounty hunters moving toward the position. No registered Vectored or sanctioned parties. It is on a residential planet.”

Much to Eight’s chagrin, Claudius made the final decision shortly, “That settles it. We’re going.”

The announcement was followed by the youngest member plopping onto a chair and pulling a bottle of wine out of nowhere. Claudius’ glare grew to a boiling point.

Yep. I am going to kill this kid the second he is an adult.

*******************

Limbs flailed in a panic as a voice sealed the fate of a monster, “Aqua Calefacta.” Water surged forward, nearly at the point of boiling, and split the skull of the Anarchy the group had come to exterminate. Claudius’ Chanting was not unnoticed as Rosa sarcastically slow-clapped.

“Wow! Taught by a Praetor, huh? Wish I had such a luxury. Instead, I was declined, and now—” Rosa reset her chainsaw by ripping her arm backward, the improbable weapon fitting her. “I am stuck working on the fodder. Say, bounty hunter twelve. Do you have any warrants?”

Claudius alone could have made quick work of the whole hallway of subdued greedy bounty hunters who went too far above their weight classes. The Anarchy swiftly dissipated while Yue reloaded her four submachine guns and Talander sheathed his swords. The two helped the Judge slay the monster.

While the three took out the primary threat with no damage to the hotel they found themselves in, Rosa dealt with the others, “Wait! Wait! Wait! Don’t kill me! I—”

“Murder. Arson. Rape. The last one. He’s actually clean. Let him go,” Claudius declared as he cut off the bleeding man, pleading for his life while glancing at his communicator. The facial recognition in the device made it easy to do his job.

Judge. Jury. And executioner. That was the job of a Judge.

Rosa did as asked, and the rev of the chainsaw punctuated the air with the uncorking of another bottle, “Eight. By the deeps... what are you doing? Are you trying to get wasted?”

Once he saw the young man leaning against a wall covered in bullet holes, doing nothing at all during the fight, Claudius finally lost his patience.

Eight, however, shrugged while frost wafted from his newest spirit, “You didn’t need me. And I’m bored. Might as well practice my Tide.”

Claudius gaped at Eight in awe. The Cryo was exercising his Tide by creating tiny icicles in his drink. His blatant lie bulged the blood vessels in the Judge’s forehead.

“Fine. Fine. Fine. But if and when we do need you...” Claudius stepped close to Eight while his words trailed behind him.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it. I didn’t aspire to be here anyway,” the Tianshe strode away after hearing the reply, rolling his eyes, unable to deal with Eight any longer. The Cryo acted like a loose cannon, but he had some ulterior motive. Otherwise, Eight would have long abandoned Claudius.

As the Judge walked away from the scene, a thought came to his mind.

He’s hiding something. Eight had mechanical parts in him, but what does that mean? He’s been acting weird. I guess he’s always weird. Hmm... I’ll have to get him to say something. Later, though. I need to inform the owner of the hotel that it is safe now. Somehow, this Anarchy flew from outer space and landed nearby.

It wasn’t uncommon for Dirge to be hurtled across space by a more powerful one to spread their reign, but it was suspicious with the current ongoings in this portion of the Wings. Such a thing likely meant a more significant invasion was soon to begin. No one had launched an attack on this region for a long time.

Claudius couldn’t even recall when that time was exactly, so he knew he had to get a move on. He needed to be stronger. The higher-ups were already aware of everything he knew. The Judge refused weakness.

He needed to be more.

As such, he worked through the case on auto-pilot, speaking to the hotel owner and the local authorities before returning to his ship. This case is what he had been expecting when he was a child. As an adult, he wasn’t so naïve, but still, he had never imagined what was waiting for him.

“Rosa, take us to Infier’s Edge. We need to get stronger. Fast. Things are about to heat up soon around here.” Claudius placed a hand on the seated woman’s shoulder with determination bound within. “And I don’t think it’ll stop with these Caesar’s appearances. I think they’ll make some bold moves. Bold enough to shake the Wings.”

As Claudius did so, he leveraged the Lightsea, the innate part of his mind, body, and soul. His Stigmata. Telemetry.

Visions raced past his mind as he searched for something. The Judge’s Stigmata was a rare brand of Seer, able to peer into the past of both the living and the non-living.

Often, he had used it for investigations and tests, granting him information that he should otherwise not possess. But it could be used for greater purposes.

Claudius hadn’t met Rosa in a long time. He wanted to see if she learned anything worth his notice. Flashes of memories flew by his eyes as he honed in on a specific sensation. It was of Rosa using her own Stigmata, Thistlecure, the curious thing allowing her to close her wounds with self-growing thorns.

Limited in size and strength, the thorns could do little else. But while he watched the thorns at work, he noticed her reading a parchment titled ‘Moonsculpted Flesh’.

Interest bloomed as Claudius realized it was a technique meant to enhance the body, though it could only be cultivated under the light of a full moon. It must have cost a fortune, perhaps even a gift from Horace. With his Stigmata’s blessing, Claudius memorized the script for the method, and then the Judge pulled back his Stigmata to hear Rosa’s acknowledgment.

“Aye, aye. On our way,” Rosa’s slim smile held itself on her cheeks, and Claudius felt just guilty enough about his theft to abscond himself from the Skull and into his room. He didn’t want to have to look at her for the time being.

Telemetry didn’t let him copy techniques or anything fancy like that, but it did afford information. And this information...

Moonsculpted Flesh. Three stages. The first stage allows the user the strength to lift a car, the second, a skyscraper, and the third, an asteroid. How... presumptuous. Nevertheless, it’s better than the standard body enhancement given to Judges. This one is premium.

Claudius read through the technique in his head while moving the Lightsea to match its motions. The Tide in his body weaved inside him, not consolidating into liquid form as the method didn’t ask for such a thing.

The man wasn’t going to cultivate the technique this time; he only wanted to validate it. Claudius’ heart beat faster as his excitement grew for the future. This thing was real. He could feel how the waves affected his flesh and knew that under the right circumstances, it would do wonders.

The only unfortunate thing was that such methods ate into one’s time. As a Tide-Seer designation, Claudius was best suited for focusing on his Tide, not his body. Rarely, very rarely, did one split their attention between such things with equal focus.

It often had detrimental effects, too, and instead of strengthening the self, it slowed their growth and stunted them like excessive poundage.

As Claudius read the intro into Moonsculpted Flesh aloud, he acknowledged that he would assuredly never surpass the first stage, “Under a moon’s caress, your flesh is forged anew. First, the earth yields to your might. Second, the towers of man bow in your grasp. Finally, with lunar strength, you command the heavens themselves. The light of moons, like that of stars, bestows life and strength. The Lightsea is not the only giver of blessings, nor the inheritor of waters.”

Yet just before the words that would likely be traded away in the future swept away Claudius, a blinking light came from his communicator and awakened his focus. The light was a vicious yellow, meaning only one thing. Praetor Sun.

He reached for the device and picked it up, reading the message sent to him.

“You are currently on the outskirts of the Wings, Claudius. An opportunity is arising soon. A… treasure hunt, of sorts. I know no better Judge than you for such a task, since Seers are not allowed on missions with a chance of death. Your visions will be paramount to success.

You have two months. More information will come, but ensure you are present on Gladius C before November 11th.

I know you will not fail me. Do this, and I will personally grant you Prime Citizenship, the kind they took from you before you were born. It will cost me many favors, but you are worth it.

With sunshine,

Elize Sunwin.”

Claudius’ hands shook as he received a mission from his Praetor. Typically, she only oversaw the process, confirming appointments and missions. They never sent someone on a ‘treasure hunt’ as far as Claudius knew.

Fear surged up within him, but he clenched his fists in response. The reward, no matter the risk, was too vital. He would return his family to their grand height. No… he’d do one better. He’d give them a new name.

A new start. That is what Claudius would do.

For his grandfather.