Caesar had to admit, he was curious.
From the moment his guests had left him last night, he wondered what they would do. He was certain he had given plenty of hints as to his strengths, weaknesses, and an inkling of his plans. Granted, there was only so much he could give away and only so much of an opening he could present before everything had the opposite effect. Without a doubt, his opposition were discussing whether it was all a trap or not if they were anywhere close to competent.
And it was Boudica, Spartacus, and Tamamo-no-Mae. Just with those three, competency was guaranteed. And then there was that Master, Ritsuka, and her demi-Servant. They were inexperienced to be sure, but they were attentive, wary, and took the initiative where they could. Good traits to have. Frankly, he would’ve been happy to mold them and help shape their talents. Those two would’ve been excellent subjects in the Roman empire and would’ve gone far.
As it stood, however, he had to content himself with seeing how his enemies planned his downfall. After all this time staving off political machinations, foreign invasions, and finally succumbing to a betrayal from those he called his friends, to actually look forward to how he would be bested was actually refreshing and dare he even say, exciting. Tamamo-no-Mae had spread her charms all over the place, which under normal circumstances he’d consider an egregious breach of hospitality. But then, circumstances were hardly normal.
For now, he sat on his makeshift throne, sipping on a cup of wine. The officers had seen to it that they brought barrels of the finest wine to try and curry favor with him. Frankly, he didn’t think much of it – he was used to gulping watered down drinks when he was out on the field. And as much as he appreciated the decadence of a good liquor, there was something simply delightful about the rationed drinks, sharing them with competent officers and soldiers.
A soldier marched up, catching his attention. Its eyeless face met his gaze as it kneeled, presenting a small scroll. Upon taking it, it stood, saluted, and left without a sound. Caesar watched with consternation as it marched off. Those things were an utter mockery of the empire he ruled and tended during his life, and of his conquests as he added to the glory of the empire. They did their jobs, but that was it. They would never match the lives and dreams of actual Roman legionnaires.
He unfolded the scroll and read. It was a short report – the enemy camp was mobilizing. So far, there was no clear method of assault, but his own men were organizing defenses regardless. A frontal charge would be suicide, and everyone knew it. Perhaps it was worth something seeing with his own eyes. He got up and began walking out of the room. Again, he was curious as to what he would find.
He only got halfway through the audience chamber before everything turned to fire and light.
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“Soldiers, forward!”
With Boudica’s order, the soldier roared as they marched forward in tortoise formation – rectangular groups with shields in front and above to protect the soldiers from arrows. The URE soldiers had rallied themselves as best they could and were firing down, their arrows bouncing off the sturdy shields. While the rain of arrows was still fierce, it was obvious that it would’ve been far worse. Thus, they marched onward.
Boudica meanwhile was at the forefront, easily keeping pace with the soldiers. If an arrow got close, her shortsword lashed out and swatted it aside, or she raised her shield and easily deflected it. As she stood as a rallying beacon, the soldiers pushed onward, undaunted. Despite the explosions and their crumbling fortifications, as well as the advancing enemy, the URE soldiers kept firing, eventually a few finding their mark.
A distance away from all the action stood Ritsu and Mash, well away from even stray arrows and keeping an eye on everything that was happening. The Master blinked each time at the brightness of the large orbs of ice or fire as they soared above her and collided with the fortress, courtesy of Tamamo. She wore her armor once more, though it so far hadn’t proved necessary. “Huh,” Ritsu mused. “I wonder if real life sieges were usually this chaotic.”
“Um, probably not quite, senpai,” Mash replied, a bit stupefied. She had her shield out, ready for any aggressors and while she was still on guard, she couldn’t help but be stupefied at the situation. While it wasn’t quite as chaotic as the battle in the pass, it was still a rather fantastic sight. The fortress was rapidly crumbling away under the sheer number of curses Tamamo was flinging, not helped by many of the structures weakened due to the earlier explosions.
Ritsu hummed, then reached out to Tamamo. “Hey Caster, I think we can cool it with the artillery,” she noted. “Pretty sure the Romans aren’t gonna be happy with just a huge heap of rubble – just a small to medium sized one.”
“Even for you, Master, that joke was in slightly poor taste,” Tamamo groused. However, the orbs stopped and a moment later, the fox miko was beside Ritsu once more, her arms crossed as she witnessed the battle. “You seem rather blasé about this,” the Caster commented, frowning over at Ritsu as Mash blinked in surprise and turned to her senpai as well.
“Do I?” Ritsu asked, without taking her eyes off the siege. “My mind’s trying to process a thousand things right now, so I guess I don’t have a lot of time or energy to really panic or go crazy over stuff here. For now, it looks like we’re doing pretty fine though I still wonder about Caesar-“
Suddenly, a movement caught the redhead’s eye. Turning, she brought her binoculars up to her eyes and scanned the horizon – and saw telltale signs of the purple URE banners in the distance. “And there’s incoming reinforcements,” she grumbled. “Lovely.” Lowering the binoculars, she turned to Mash who still had a surprised expression. “Mash, can you catch up with Boudica and let her know URE reinforcements are coming in? Both her and you are probably gonna need to head them off.”
The shielder blinked in surprise at the sudden orders but then nodded. “Y-yes, senpai!” she cried before darting off to find the Rider.
Ritsu turned over to Tamamo. “Caster, can you slow them down until Boudica and Mash arrive?” she asked. “Keep collateral damage to a minimum if you can.”
Tamamo narrowed her eyes at Ritsu, trying to read her, before sighing. “You are a very confusing Master, Ritsuka Fujimaru,” she grumbled as her tail swished in annoyance. She turned around and vanished in a shower of golden light, leaving the redhead standing there alone.
Once she was gone, Ritsu could only gulp as she continued to suppress her terror. So much was relying on this harebrained scheme of hers, and frankly she could still see dozens of ways it could go wrong. She could only hope that everything in the end would be enough.
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Boudica oversaw the soldiers as they approached the walls. The walls had crumbled, giving the Roman forces an opening to invade – a godsend as they had run out of resources to create even simple ladders, let alone more complicated siege machinery. And even then, with how rampant paranoia had been, everyone would’ve accused everyone of being saboteurs. It was something neither her nor Spartacus wished to experience.
There was a shout from the backline, drawing the Rider’s attention – and left her blinking in surprise as Mash quickly dashed up. She had her enormous shield up above her head, the arrows easily clattering off the metal without leaving so much as a scratch. “Senpai spotted reinforcements coming from the west flank,” she quickly reported. “She wants us to go and intercept them.” Her words were low enough that only Boudica could hear them. Last thing they all needed was more panic, after all.
The Iceni queen narrowed her eyes. Just as things were starting to go their way, another wrench was thrown into the works. Well, it was something that could be dealt with. She whirled around to find one of her officers nearby. “Centurion Maxiumus!” she barked. “You’re in charge here! Push forward and secure Gaul!”
Maximus blinked in surprise before nodding. “Yes, ma’am!” he acknowledged. “What of you?”
“I’m going to secure our flank,” she replied. “If you see Caesar, do NOT engage! Leave him to Spartacus!” With that, she turned back to Mash. “Let’s go.”
Mash nodded. With that, the two Servants dashed away from the front lines as the centurion started roaring orders to advance. Moving around the fortress, they deflected and evaded what few arrows came their way as they made their way to the western side. As the walls gave way, they were greeted with the sight of fire tornados and localized gusts that battered the URE reinforcements. The forces numbered about seven hundred total – not huge but more than enough to rout the Roman army easily should they reach their destination.
As they approached, Tamamo glanced over from the small hill she stood on nearby. “Fortuitous timing,” she greeted. “Our Master has ordered me to slow them down and while I’m doing my utmost, they are proving tenacious – as puppets too often are.” Indeed, the URE soldiers didn’t seem to care about the various supernatural phenomena in their way and kept marching regardless. They weren’t moving to pincer the Roman forces, surprisingly, which was sign enough they had no officers among them to redirect their movements.
Taking a moment to consider the situation, the Rider nodded. “Then I’ll head them off,” she replied. “Just use your spells as you see fit, Caster. Mash, with me!” With the shielder following her, she focused on her prana. “I will protect everyone,” she intoned. A burst of flames erupted from beneath her feet as horse-drawn wooden vehicle appeared, to Mash’s surprise. It took a moment and a look from Boudica for her to hop on as well.
“Chariot of Boudica!” Rider cried.
Thundering forward, the chariot moved to intercept between the fortress and the oncoming reinforcements. Although her Noble Phantasm was meant for protection and would be the best use for it, there were plenty of other uses for the chariot. In this case, the ‘protection’ created a barrier that the URE reinforcements could not easily breach and needed to maneuver around. A fact that was made more complicated by a resurgence of flames and winds, courtesy of Tamamo, hemming them all in and incinerating them.
Circling around, the chariot reached the rear of the contingent. “All yours, Mash!” Boudica yelled.
Mash blinked, then nodded. Jumping off the chariot, she hefted her shield. “Mash Kyrielight, engaging!” she roared as she charged into the fray. The soldiers turned around and tried to cut her down, only for her great shield to deflect their blades like they were made of tinfoil as she smashed past their armor and shields. The soldiers unflinchingly tried to surround her and limit her space, but a swing of her shield ensured the spacing she needed.
Tamamo, meanwhile, watched everything that was going on. With Boudica shepherding the URE soldiers together and Mash slamming them in the rear, it was child’s play for her curses to inflict heavy damage with her barely even trying. What was the modern phrase for this situation? ‘Like shooting fish in a barrel.’ However, even she was not blind to her surroundings – the Roman soldiers were fighting by themselves, and most importantly, Ritsu was left alone.
“Mash has engaged the enemy in the rear,” the miko reported via mental contact. “Boudica is keeping them contained as I’m dealing with them. We should be done here momentarily.”
“Great to hear,” Ritsu replied. Her tone was oddly calm and contained. It was certainly different from the more experienced energy that Ren Amamiya gave off. She hadn’t witnessed Morgana’s command as he often deferred to Ren, but she had a feeling he would’ve been different as well. Was it because Ritsuka wasn’t as experienced? It was hard to say. But she wasn’t flying off the handle, which was perhaps as good as they could expect.
“Any sign of Caesar?” Tamamo asked, glancing over at the fortress. Aside from the soldiers on both sides fighting with one another, she could see no sign of the emperor.
“Nope, not a one,” the Master said. A tone of worry trepidation crept into her voice. “I haven’t seen – or heard- of any sign of Spartacus either. As a fighter, I don’t think we need to worry about him too much, but against someone like Caesar who’s a master of words…”
“You think he might be swayed?” Tamamo finished for her grimly.
There was a moment’s pause. “Finish up and reconvene with Spartacus as soon as you can,” Ritsu stated. Tamamo nodded and cast more curses. They couldn’t leave this to chance – not now. If Spartacus did end up turning against them thanks to Caesar, they were as good as doomed.
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Caesar brushed off the dust off his waistcoat and jacket with a huff. The audience hall was in complete ruin thanks to the explosions. They weren’t quite as violent as he expected – most of the explosions had been focused more on the outer fortifications than the keep itself – but it was still troubling, nevertheless. For once, he was thankful for his Saber classification; the magic resistance warded off the worst of the damage.
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He continued brushing off the dust off. It wasn’t enough to keep him completely unscathed, however. A small annoyance but an annoyance, regardless.
The emperor glanced back at the throne itself. It had toppled over in the mess, covered in dust and rubble. With a sigh, he walked over and stood it upright, brushing it off as well before stepping back, staring at it. The throne was a simple matter – semi-cushioned seat, angular, carved of a dark wood and polished to an immaculate degree, now marred by the destruction around it.
It was no seat of Rome. It was supposedly a seat of power, yet he never felt as powerless as he did in this campaign. Forced to fight against his beloved empire for some wretch who knew absolutely nothing of humanity’s glories. Sitting here in Gaul, whose tribes were tenuous allies to Rome at best and always leaped at an opportunity to oppose the empire at worst.
His hands tightened into fists. This was all supremely frustrating. All he could do was try to give a smooth path for his opposition and try to make sure they win. Yet everything screamed at him to at least seize the chance for victory. It would be child’s play – all he needed to do was speak, and he could turn this entire battle around. And yet that wasn’t what he wanted in the slightest. In the end, what did he want?
His thoughts were interrupted when something dropped from above, destroying the throne he had been staring at. Slowly, he looked up to see what had interrupted his ruminations: A grey-skinned giant of a man with a haunting grin and bloodshot eyes staring down at him. He was covered in dust as well as the transparent liquid the facsimile soldiers invariably shed. “I have found you, oppressor,” he rasped, his face barely two feet away from his.
Caesar blinked, then smiled. “Ah, welcome, Spartacus,” he greeted warmly. The rebel gladiator was known to him – after all, they shared the same era together. He never fought against the gladiator himself, but there was no way he hadn’t heard of the rebel. He gently brushed the rubble of the throne off his coat, seemingly unconcerned with the Berserker in front of him. “You’ll have to forgive if I couldn’t give you a warmer greeting,” he added. “With how circumstances have been, I’ve been forced to act as a very poor host.”
Spartacus’s gaze intensified. “I do not have words to bandy with an oppressor,” he growled. “Your presence and your command have oppressed our allies for long enough, and you shall be removed! I will defeat any and all oppressors, including you!”
The emperor raised an eyebrow. “Come now, isn’t that a bit of a stretch?” he asked. He spread his hands wide in indication. “Where do you see me oppressing anybody? Rather, by attacking, you are the ones oppressing me. I’ve done nothing of the sort – I merely wish to stay in this fortress, then set out as necessary. No, I wish to eliminate oppression myself. After all, there are many Romans who chafe under the rule of emperor Nero. I wish to bring them greater prosperity. Even slaves shall be Romans and enjoy newfound freedom?”
He raised a hand to the gladiator. “Will you not join me, oh mighty Spartacus?” he asked with a smile. “In my fight against oppression in turn?”
There was nothing but silence for a moment. Spartacus shifted – then Caesar found himself barely blocking an inhumanly strong blow from the Berserker’s sword with his own golden blade. The sheer force of it flung him into the air and sent him sliding against the ground, braking only by stabbing the tiles beneath him.
The emperor could only look up at Spartacus in utter surprise as the grey-skinned man grinned once more. “You speak much,” he said. “However, I am deaf to the words of oppressors. Come! I will make sure to silence you once and for all! Never again will I allow you to oppress anything in the end!”
Caesar could only blink, then he began chuckling, then full-on laughing. Of course! How could he be so mistaken? A Berserker was a madman! His speech undoubtedly wouldn’t work on him! Oh, it would’ve been far too simple a matter if his words could sway his loyalty! But now he no longer had to worry. Now this was truly what he wanted! “Very well!” he cried jovially. “Then we are past any recourse save of arms! I, Gaius Julius Caesar, shall be your opponent! Show me your wrath, Spartacus!”
Their blades clashed, and the resulting shockwave ruptured the air.
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An explosion echoed from within the castle, drawing the Servants’ attention. They still had a good number of soldiers to go through. While they still weren’t focusing on the Servants and were trying to get to the castle, their sheer robotic persistence continued to push against Boudica’s protection. Thanks to Mash’s efforts and Tamamo’s curses, they were rapidly thinning out, but nowhere close to enough. Several hundred still remained.
Mash gritted her teeth as she swung her shield, flinging soldiers away from her and gaining some space. “I’m moving to reinforce Spartacus!” she called out in voice and mind to communicate to both the Servants and Ritsu her intentions. With that, she prepared to withdraw.
“Denied, Mash.”
The unexpected answer caused the shielder to jerk in surprise, her momentum almost causing her to stumble. She barely managed to parry a soldier that charged at her, kicking him away. “S-senpai?!” she stammered as she readied herself for the oncoming soldiers.
Ritsu watched the explosions from within the fortress through her binoculars. “Spartacus most likely is engaging Caesar,” she explained. “If I know anything about his legend and strength, he’ll be more than enough to beat someone like Caesar by himself. Our priority right now is making sure the Roman forces are stable enough to capture the fortress – or what remains of it anyway, with how they’re going.” The sounds of further explosions echoing through the air reinforced her last point.
She checked over on the Roman forces. While it was hard to see thanks to the wall blocking her way, they had breached the openings in the wall and had engaged the URE forces directly in a melee. The Roman archers were returning fire, thinning out the remaining soldiers on the wall. They were without a doubt making good headway. But it could go better.
“Once you guys are finished, Boudica will rendezvous with the Roman troops and finish securing the rest of the fortress,” she stated. “Mash, you’ll move with Caster then to reinforce Spartacus and bring Caesar down. For now, focus on dealing with these URE troops – last thing we need is to be flanked and for our newfound morale to shatter.”
Mash could only blink in surprise at her orders, but hesitantly nodded. “Y-yes, senpai!” she called out before jumping back into the soldiers, lashing out with her shield. Tamamo, who had listened in on the entire conversation as it pertained to her too, simply frowned a bit more deeply but accepted the orders, nevertheless. For perhaps the umpteenth time now, she could only think her Masters were odd. Ritsu, however, continued to defy her expectations at every turn. How vexing.
Meanwhile, the redheaded Master continued to monitor the battle from a distance, anxiety wrapping around her heart and stomach like an icy claw. While what she said was true, there was another reason why she kept Mash from immediately rushing to Spartacus and Caesar. The emperor was incredibly persuasive with his words and charisma – even she felt herself swayed during his speech and the dinner just the night before. As expected of a Roman emperor who stood at the top of the empire’s political world.
Thus, there was no guarantee that Spartacus wouldn’t be persuaded by the emperor. As much as she wanted to believe in the Berserker, to underestimate Caesar would be their downfall. The emperor may be trying to lose, but like hell she was about to put her full faith in that fact – all it would take would be a single command seal, after all, to bring his full might to bear. And who knows what kind of leaps of logic the Berserker would jump to? With that, there would be a high chance that Spartacus would be persuaded.
And if Mash was by herself there, then the conclusion would be obvious.
So Ritsu bided her time. She knew all too damn well that sometimes, a gamble was necessary. But like hell was she gonna gamble Mash’s life in such a scenario. The shielder may not put a high consideration on her own life, but she was just as valuable as anyone else in Chaldea. No, more so. Just as high as Ren and Morgana, two of her greatest idols.
Ren…
How would the Phantom Thieves have handled this? How would Ren have handled this? They would’ve done something spectacular and flashy, no doubt. There wouldn’t be any casualties, Caesar would be taken out of the equation one way or another, and they’d be on their way. And even if it wasn’t nearly as clean cut as she hoped it would be, at the very least, he’d be fighting either alongside Mash, or with Spartacus negating whatever Caesar said with that razor-sharp wit of his.
And yet here she was, just spitting out orders to figures way more awesome than her like a damn novice telling pros what to do. Was that her capacity as a Master? Maybe, but it definitely didn’t sit right with her. They were here risking their necks and probably have a lot more knowledge and experience in this entire field. At the very least, she should be fighting alongside them or something so she’d have something to back up her words!
Her frustration boiling over, she could only punch the tree beside her. The bark scraping against her skin and the shock through her bones jarred her out of her anger for a bit. She needed to focus. Bringing back up her binoculars, she continued monitoring the battle, ready to distribute orders as necessary.
If she couldn’t make sure everyone came out of this alive, she could never face everyone else ever again.
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Each time their blades met, the sound of metal on metal rang through the air. The swings of the two were so fast and fervent, that it sounded like a rain of steel and war that echoed throughout the ruined audience hall. The air reverberated with each impact, blowing away the dust and small pieces of rubble. There were one or two Roman soldiers who had stumbled upon the battle, but even a fool with no sense knew not to interfere.
If they entered, only certain death awaited them.
The shining, golden blade of Caesar and the dull iron sword of Spartacus clashed again and again. Both of them moved about, trying to gain a more favorable position on their opponent. Caesar could move faster than Spartacus and had better martial skills, but the gladiator had the instincts and experience to ward him off and retaliate in turn, meaning the emperor had to stay on his toes.
Caesar and Spartacus may have shared the same period of time, but neither of them ever fought face to face. The former had been busy trying to ascend his career while the latter fought miles upon miles away in a different battlefield. To think this would be how they would meet face to face: Among ruins far from Rome, surrounded by facsimiles of Roman soldiers, with the rebel fighting for the empire as the emperor fights against it.
The sheer irony could only come from either the most horrid of plays or the most masterful.
Any further thoughts were interrupted as Caesar had to stop a swing from Spartacus, the sheer force blasting him through a wall and out onto the outer fortifications. Using his blade once more to stop himself, he came to a rest on the battlements as he caught his breath. Glancing to the side, he noticed some Roman soldiers staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers.
The emperor blinked in surprise, then out of the corner of his eye saw Spartacus leaping towards him. He took the brief second to wave the soldiers away desperately before raising his blade, blocking the Berserker’s sword as the battlements crumbled underneath him, sending them crashing to the ground. “I must admit,” he panted. “Your strength and skill far surpass my already high expectations. You have my greatest compliments, Spartacus!”
Spartacus turned toward Caesar. Though that grin of his never dropped, the bloodthirsty stare from his eyes only intensified. “Compliments from an oppressor like you are worth less than drivel,” he growled. Your tyranny ends now, oppressor!”
Caesar heaved an exasperated sigh. While he had been glad that the Berserker was far too mad and set in his ways to ever listen to his speech and therefore be persuaded, it was starting to get a bit tiresome. Well, at least one way or another, he wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. Still, his compliments to Spartacus were sincere: as befitting the gladiator, his martial skill was impressive, honed by experience, and his strength had certainly been prodigious. Every single time their blades met jarred his arms painfully, forcing him to either deflect, yield, or outright dodge his blows.
But now, with their battlefield forced out into the fields of Gaul, it was perhaps time to end it. The sun was peering over the horizon, bathing the land in golden-orange rays of dawn. Their armies were too far away now to assist them. He could see in the distance reinforcements to his own men, but the enemy Servants had hemmed them in and were systematically eradicating them.
And then there was that Master who stood a distance away, watching the battle unfolding with cold, impassive eyes. Such a change from the nervous yet energetic girl who sat at his table last night. How curious. Still, it mattered little. Everything he saw only reinforced what he wanted: One way or another, this dawn would greet his triumph.
He jumped back and began focusing his prana, his blade radiating energy. At the same time, Spartacus began emitting power of his own, the feeling akin to a wild beast who had just broken free from its shackles. It seemed they had both decided that this exchange would be their last and would hold nothing back. Both barely registered the Master immediately scrambling for cover as they focused on their opponent.
“I came, I saw, and now all that is left is to conquer,” Caesar intoned as his blade glowed brightly. His sword was one that would guarantee victory, one that would carve the way for his future. Now and in the future, it would mark the way for the empire, for good or ill. It was his symbol, his strength, his power. And with it, his fate would be decided.
“Crocea Mors!!”
With that, he rushed forward, his golden sword shining brightly. Spartacus didn’t take his eyes off him as he chanted in turn. “Rebellion is truly my life,” he rasped out. “Ah, my oppressors in the distance… Take up your blades and try to destroy me!”
So that was his Noble Phantasm chant? Well, no matter what it was, it was far too slow. Reaching Spartacus, the Crocea Mors swung in a wide arc. Spartacus moved to block but the golden blade simply didn’t meet the sword, as if it was fated to hit. And it struck true: carving a bloody furrow that sprayed blood on Spartacus’s torso as it easily sliced through flesh and armor. Caesar swung again, and just like before, he cut Spartacus as if it was fated to happen.
And he cut again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And yet again.
By the fourth cut, however, Caesar noticed something was wrong. The wounds inflicted by Crocea Mors were healing at a faster and faster rate. And unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, Spartacus seemed to be getting larger, his muscles bulging even further. The more he cut, the further Spartacus seemed to grow, his aura of power sending a cold chill down his spine. He realized in the end too late what he was cutting: Not a Servant, not even a rebel gladiator, but a monster that would destroy all oppression even if he had to spill a sea of blood.
Finally, Crocea Mors stopped, halted by the bulging flesh of Spartacus. The Berserker was now easily twenty feet tall, utterly monstrous, and only barely held a human shape. Caesar couldn’t even see his surroundings anymore, the presence of the gladiator utterly dwarfing everything in the vicinity, even him. The light from his golden sword faded away, leaving the emperor in his shadow, untouched even the rays of the oncoming dawn.
“You cannot defy the fate of all oppressors,” Spartacus growled, his voice sounding more bestial than human. He raised his hand that held onto his sword, now looking little more than an iron toothpick in his massive hands. “Perish.”
Caesar could only stare up at the Berserker – no, the force that stood against him. Against such power, his brilliant mind failed him. There is no chance of victory here. Only defeat and death. And yet, despite losing, he could only feel a profound sense of satisfaction. In the end, this loss was also his victory. The Roman Empire would continue without and despite him. He only wished he could be with Cleopatra and Cesarion as it bloomed once more.
Then Spartacus swung down. All his senses were obliterated, and he knew no more.