By the time Marius had finished cleaning his face and treating his wounds the sky had become a rich mauve tapestry dotted with stars. Noctus, Illustria’s blue moon, felt impossibly large, yet there were no signs of the polychromatic skyscape they had all been warned of. Inside, a spring of hope began to well, and Marius considered that perhaps the royal soothsayers had been wrong. Perhaps for all of their foresight and all of their knowledge of runes and arcane secrets, they were just as fallible as any other man. Marius was sure that the Emperor would have their heads displayed on pikes before Hyperius rose in the morning.

Even if The Culling did not commence, he knew he would still be forced to accompany Centurion Levy on his rounds. Part of him prayed it was a single night, but an unsettling feeling in his gut told him it would be otherwise. Already he could feel the way his fellow soldiers perceived him after the Duellum. Even on the short walk from the barracks to The Panopticon he had noticed groups of soldiers and servants glance at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. It was not a new experience, but in the past it had always been when he was accompanying his father. Atticus was accustomed to the attention. Marius felt stifled by it.

Now he stood before the immense shadow of the tower waiting for Levy to emerge. Marius nervously fiddled with the hand mirror Caranir had given him. They talked briefly at the barracks. Caranir’s face paled worse than Marius’ own when he heard the change in orders for the evening. He insisted that the mirror was a way for them to communicate should they need to. A simple phrase would activate the innate magic hidden within and the hand mirror would become a means in which they could see and hear each other.

Marius didn’t pretend to understand the magic. It looked like an ordinary mirror, albeit smudged to the point of cloudiness. He could barely make out his bruised face in the reflection. The frame of the mirror was a dulled pewter with splotches of tarnished and worn metal. It was indistinguishable from any other vanity glass one might find in a boudoir or powder room. If Marius closed his eyes and focused solely on the mirror he could feel a slight hum of energy rattling inside. Though he had found the classes dull, he had received rudimentary training on enchantments and magical artifacts. Without them he wouldn’t have been able to sense any sort of arcane energies stirring within the item.

He slipped the mirror into his satchel as two shadows emerged from the flickering recesses of the Panopticon. Levy Von Berenger looked much the same as he did when Marius and his companions had met him in the dimly lit chamber that served as a mock command center. Now though he carried two vicious looking blades that were fastened to his hips. Neither were the standard gladius that most legionnaires carried. The first blade positioned higher on his side, and thus easier to access, was thin and long with a handguard of gilded iron. It was a popular style of sword that the heavily armored knights of the Three Kingdoms from the farside of Torin often used.

However, it was the second weapon that truly caught Marius’ attention. The blade bore no name, but its reputation was undeniable. To Marius it was less a weapon of war and more an instrument of torture. Forged from heavy black iron, found in abundance in the Wyrlands, the weapon was Levy's maw. It lacked all the grace of Talissian steel and instead was a mishmash of saw teeth and nightmarish barbs. At the tip of the blade the smoky steel curved into a grim hook. This was the blade that men sworn to death by Ionus often suffered in a ritual that was equal parts gratuitous violence and debasing humiliation. This was the blade that had given Caranir a hundred nightmare nights that woke him repeating the begging and sputtering noises the brigands had garbled out as they greeted The Reaper.

“Do you like it, DeSilva?” Levy asked, stopping a few paces away from Marius. “I plan on using it tonight.” Marius ignored the goading comment and stood at attention, saluting his superior. “Intente,” the centurion growled.

“Ideally you won’t need to,” Marius said, gazing up at the still mundane sky. “Perhaps we will luck out.”

“Unlikely,” Levy said. “The soothsayers rarely make predictions these days - a false prophecy is likely to get them killed. When they do make one, they damn well make sure it is going to happen.” He started heading towards the camp entrance with the second much smaller, meeker looking man trailing behind him. He wore nothing that marked him as a member of the legion, a servant, or a slave. He wore a dark tunic under slate dyed leather jerkin. A few small blades no longer than the length of Marius hand hung from rope loops tied to a soot hued sash fastened around his waist. His sharp face was half hidden behind a bristly black beard and his oiled hair was tied in a neat topknot that certainly wouldn’t have fit any legion standard.

“Now grow a spine, DeSilva. I’d rather have had you flogged for the stunt you pulled down at The Pits, but the damn bastardess seems to have taken a liking to you,” he grimaced. “She talked of divine intervention, and being a proper role model to a soldier from a Trueborn family in good standing. Bullshit if you ask me. She is likely just trying to groom you,” he gave Marius a dagger like stare over his shoulder. “I tried telling her you couldn’t fix something that wasn’t broken. Some people just aren’t quality material,” he spoke as if Marius wasn’t even there.

“But there is a chance I misjudged you,” Von Berenger continued. They had passed the barracks and approached the front gate where several guards waited at their post with everburning torches illuminating the cobblestone road. The base had grown eerily silent as the majority of Marius’ peers had departed for their various orders. Only a handful remained to watch over the grounds now steeped in stillness. The guards saluted as they passed beyond the threshold and walked upon the Magna Via. “Gor wasn’t much of a conversationalist; honestly something I kind of preferred, but there was no doubting his ferocity.” He paused, turning around to look at Marius. “If you can show me there is something in you worth my time, I’ll mold you into a proper man. A proper legionnaire - the one daddy always wished you actually were.”

Marius felt his face flush and his tongue felt hot and sticky in his mouth. He wanted so desperately to say something back but an inkling of terror seeded at their first meeting many moons ago caught the voice in his throat. Instead he simply looked down, staring at the intricate stonework of the Magna Via.

The Magna Via was an immense road system that stretched throughout Talissima. Every time a new region was conquered, the road was extended, and like the serpents from a hydra’s neck, more and more pathways splintered off reaching to new settlements, fortresses, or resources. It was one of the things that made the Empire so efficient and so dangerous. Yes, they had a vast swath of land, and it was true that their military was exceedingly well trained, but more than anything, it was the logistics that they had mastered many many years ago. What truly made the Magna Via so magnificent was the subtle enchantments that had been laced into the complex stonework of the highway. Sigils had been carved into each brick that manipulated the Stream and allowed soldiers and beasts of burden to travel great distances at highly efficient speeds with little effort. Corresponding sigils worked into the soles of their sandals, or boots, or the horseshoes of a pack mule would allow even the most magic inept individual to tap into the flow of aether that spilled throughout Torin and move across the road as easily as a breeze across the ocean. While rail, boat, and airship still had their uses, the Magna Via was the main way that the army itself traversed the continent.

Marius recalled from his history lessons with Master Fornicus the handful of times where so many legions had been mobilized and so many individuals had been moved that even the immense arcane array of the Magna Via exhausted itself. When arcane energies were too quickly pulled from the Stream before the Sea had a chance to replenish its current, an area could run dry of magic. Non-Etherians could no longer reach into that invisible wellspring and even the mightiest of Magi could be reduced to incredibly mundane. It was rare, but it had happened before, and at least once in Marius' time. The slave riots that sparked across Fauran Tir and Solas Tactus when Marius was just a boy of three had posed such a risk to the infrastructure of Talissima that every legion that was available was recalled and sent to crush the insurgents. The Emperor viewed the rebellion like a wildfire - to allow it to manifest any further than the cinder that started it could have done untold damage. It was best dealt with harshly and swiftly. Slaves could always be “restocked,” but the system itself would be hard to recreate should it crumble. That was what Fornicus had said at least.

Though they couldn’t utilize the enchantment in their caligae, given the darkly dressed man had none, they still made swift progress towards Hearthage. The walk had been done primarily in silence. Only the sounds of their feet against the cold stone, and the occasional call from a bird or croak of a frog from the treeline on either side of the road disrupted the otherwise pristine quiet. The glow of Hearthage made the city akin to a torch in the night. It wasn’t nearly as large or impressive as the pink and white marble of Talim’s ascending city rising into the Tali Mountains, but it was awe inspiring all the same. Nearly a hundred thousand souls called the City of the Phoenix home. Most were sequestered away, heeding the curfew set by the magistrate, but undoubtedly the street still stirred with legionnaires and urchin.

“Excuse me, Centurion,” Marius finally broke the silence as they approached the city gates. “But, who is our companion?” He motioned to the third man who had been walking with them with a nod of his head.

“Skulk,” Levy replied without pause. Marius had never worked with a skulk before. Indeed, he had never even seen one. They were information brokers. By necessity their job was one done under the cover of darkness. Their operations were said to always be just beneath your nose, but never within sight, within sound. Their coin passed through many hands and a proper skulk could have informants as far as the Senate back in Talim. As far as Marius was aware it wasn’t an official guild or title. Skulk was simply a term that had cropped up and found its way into everyday vernacular. It was a precarious profession. To be known as a skulk was to offer one's neck to a pack of ravenous gnolls. There was always a party who was unhappy when their secrets were spread. Consequences await those who dealt with such volatile affairs, Marius thought. The fact he could see the skulk’s face at all most likely meant this particular rogue had either already been apprehended and chain ganged into service, or that he was a pariah amongst his colleagues. Skulks that worked with the legions and other “proper” establishments were not unheard of. They were simply unliked.

“I’m not here by choice,” the weaselly man said as if he could read Marius’ thoughts.

“It seems we have that in common,” Marius replied.

“Something tells me why you are here, and why I am here are several shades of fucked apart,” the skulk said.

Suddenly they came to a halt just outside of the gates into Hearthage. Massive stone palisades erupted from the damp earth, nearly ten meters high. The brass forged gates were adorned with imagery of the city’s patriarch, the Canina family. Four large brinewolves stood atop the edge of a cliff representing the founding of Hearthage at the edge of the Medici Bay. The sculptor had clearly intended for them to look regal but Marius simply found the depiction of the deadly sea predator as horrific. He wasn’t sure if it was the dorsal fins that lined the creatures backs like a razor of spines, or if it was that he knew the Caninas had come into power and wealth through enslaving the enemies of the Imperium.

Above them though, gilded in ostentatious glory, was the double headed phoenix of the Tiberian royal family. Another name for the city had always been The City of Phoenixes - named not just for the settlement's location on the coast of the Sea of Phoenixs, but because the Tiberian Royal family could trace its origins to the port town. Well before the rise of the Dusk King, there had been a civil war between the three wings of the Tiberian bloodline. It was a long and exhausting subject that nearly every sage taught to their students. It had been a favorite of Master Fornicus. Marius had found the whole unit, which had taken months, to be entirely confusing. Memorizing the names and stances of long dead royalty and senators, trying to recall dates and titles of important legislation and battles, even analyzing the speech given by Emperor Decimus Tiberian at the end of the whole Seventy Year Bloodletting were but faint memories from a stressful and mostly forgettable time in his life. What he did recall was that the third of the family that had succeeded and currently occupied the throne had originally hailed from the Medici line of the family - meaning that their current ruler was more of Torvan descent than from Talish. Not that anyone dare bring that up in anything but hushed tones.

“Stop fraternizing with a skulk, Desilva,” Levy interjected. “They’re scum.”

“Always a pleasure to work with, centurion,” his voice dripped with sarcasm.

“What else do you call a spineless rat who sells secrets to the highest bidder? No better than any goblin or orc I’ve ever killed, Grimworm. At least they know loyalty.” Levy had stopped and turned to tower over the skulk, apparently named Grimworm. Marius could see the venomous hatred in every word Levy spoke and every muscle that he flexed in barely controlled restraint.

“This is nothing more than forced conscription,” Grimworm fired back. Immediately Marius knew that this was a mistake. Levy simply lifted one leg and delivered a vicious knee to the skulk’s midsection. He doubled over in pain, unable to speak except for the raspy gasp that escaped his throat. Levy wasn’t done though. He grabbed one of Grimworm’s hands who had raised it in a pathetic attempt to protect himself and pulled back on one slim long white finger until all of them heard a cracking sound. Grimworm’s scream was so visceral that even the guards at the gate turned to see what was happening. Immediately the appendage swelled into a corpulent red and purple sausage.

“You would be lucky to be conscripted, worm,” Levy said. “If Scalde didn’t demand we work with you, I’d sooner force myself upon my own blade than willingly cooperate with a skulk.” Marius was glad that for once he wasn’t the one being verbally assaulted.

Grimworm let out a few choice expletives as Levy stopped to talk with the guards. He darned the wetness that had accumulated at the edges of his eyes with a handkerchief he pulled from a small linen satchel strapped around his chest. Marius reached into his own bag, nudging aside the Fey Glass Caranir had given him to pull out some clean cloth bandages. He couldn’t help himself. Given what Von Berenger said, it was clear that Grimworm was no innocent soul, but still, he felt motivated to provide him with aid.

Marius’ mother, Vipasania, was a Daughter of Apis. The organization, closely associated with Balinda, goddess of family, restoration, and nature, were renowned for the gifts of healing. The order was fairly secretive, and composed almost entirely of aristocratic women. They used charms to mend flesh, siphon illness, and alleviate pain from their charges. His mother had taught him some basic medical knowledge and a few techniques she had sworn him to secrecy over. The secrets of the Daughters were closely guarded, and under the divine word of their matriarch, the goddess herself so they say, tools fit only for women.

“Let me see,” Marius spoke softly to the skulk. He reached out and took Grimworm’s swollen hand and examined the bloodlodged finger. It wasn’t hard to figure out where the digit had been snapped. Only now, with Grimworm’s hand in his own, did he notice the brass circlet tightly sealed around his wrist. Before it had been concealed beneath the long cuff of his shirt. Marius recognized it as an Adjudicator’s Cuff - a marker that meant judgement awaited Grimworm, and an adjudicator’s verdict was rarely lenient.

“Right bastard, that one,” Grimworm said through barely concealed tears. “It isn’t enough to humiliate someone,” he continued, “he has to dominate them. I swear that fucking dog gets off on it.”

“I’d lower your voice unless you want him to give you a second broken finger.”

“All I am saying is that I don’t envy the houndfuckers wife,” Grimworm continued his tirade. Marius was mildly surprised that Levy had a wife. He knew it shouldn’t have - he was of noble birthright and there were likely expectations about lineage in place, but still, being a commanding officer in the legions was not exactly a conducive place to rearing children or fostering a relationship. Levy likely spent less than a month at his estate each year. Still, Grimworm was right. Marius certainly didn’t envy her.

“This should work for now, but you’ll want to get that looked at by a proper healer,” Marius said as he finished securing the cloth wrap in place.

“Thanks…” he murmured. He took his arm back and slid his hand inside the loose sleeve, once again hiding the tangible metallic marker of his crime. “I don’t suppose you can get that thing off me, huh?” The two locked eyes and Marius felt mild discomfort in the awkward proposition.

“I’m not sure Centurion Von Berenger would approve,” Levy responded after a brief pause.

“Yeah, I guess not. Maybe we can reapproach the topic when the night is done,” Grimworm said. He was clearly desperate to get the bangle off his wrist. Marius wasn’t sure what crime the man had committed, but to have an Adjudicator’s Cuff was a clear indicator that it was something truly egregious. Marius certainly wasn’t a fan of Levy, but he couldn’t see himself freeing a known criminal just to spite him. Besides, Marius wasn’t confident he had the ability to get the cuff off Grimworm’s wrist. It was almost a certainty that an enchantment of some kind had likely been woven into the dark brass jewelry.

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Now, Levy approached the duo as their conversation waned. Concerned marred his face. It was a quality that Marius had never seen worn by the wartorn veteran. “Scatrii,” he spoke in a downcast voice. It took Marius a moment to connect the words to what they meant. It was a term he had rarely encountered, as Scatrii were a species anyone rarely ever encountered.

“What, here? Now?!” Grimworm’s voice approached a feverish panic.

“The sages back at Hearthguard spoke of something akin to this happening. They may as well speak in tongues though. Trying to understand a diviner is like trying to break a code without a cypher. I guess this is what they meant.” Marius again recalled a brief lesson about the Dark Below - the subterranean world that was like eyes in a wheel of cheese through the crust of Illustria. It was a place where Stonekin empires rose and fell but it also housed other things - more dangerous things. The Skatrii were a race of feral rat-like humanoids who worshiped strange gods and who rarely left their hypogean homes.

“Mostly in the countryside. We’ve had to relocate a number of soldiers out there to deal with the threat. Not a damn clue what they want but plenty of reports about them raiding farming communities,” Levy spoke, mostly to Marius. “That means double duty for us.”

Marius looked up at the sky again - still perfectly clear and crisp. “Are we sure this is happening? Can we not wait until the Chaos Sky actually happens?” he said.

“That's not what the order’s say, DeSilva. Do you not follow the word of your Emperor?”

“Of course…” Marius said, unable to draw his eyes into the stormy gray of Levy’s own.

“Then if the Emperor demands we kill in his name, we do it without question. It won’t matter if the Great Chaos comes tonight or not. He issues orders and we obey, because that is what soldiers do.”

“But if these people did nothing wrong…”

“Then it is a shame, but it doesn’t matter. If I tell you to slit a man’s throat tonight, you will.” He cut Marius off. “If I tell you to dash a babe’s brains against a stone column, then you do it. Unless you are an apostate who can’t show fealty to our lord who provides.” The way he talked about wonton violence with such ease sat uneasily in Marius’ mind. He wanted to protest but again that inkling of self preservation and the stern voice of his father kept him from speaking his true feelings. He bit his tongue.

“Is that clear?”

Marius nodded his affirmation, but the sting of a sharp backhand radiated through his face.

“Did you sever your tongue? You speak when addressed, DeSilva.” His words carried the bitter memory of their first encounter.

“Yes, centurion,” Marius said. He forced himself to maintain eye contact with Levy. It had been many months since his superior had laid hands on him. A seed of resentment that burrowed within his bosom ached.

“The first step to tempering you into a proper legionnaire is discipline, Marius. I shouldn’t be forced to beat you into submission. You will listen without prompting. You will do without needing a leash tied to your neck. I’ve broken plenty of bitches others thought untrainable. Raising soldiers and rearing warhounds aren’t all that different.” He turned from Marius and began to march westward towards The Dregs. Marius didn’t much appreciate being compared to a dog. The tension in his chest grew louder still. Yet, he followed after Levy heading for the slums of Hearthage. Grimworm was only a step or two behind.

The city streets were somber, grieving the events to come. Not a sound except the muffled shuffling of their steps pierced the funeral pall that stifled the empty streets. Marius pondered for a moment where the soldiers were, but it occurred to him that most of them had probably been diverted to deal with other problems. Prying eyes peered at them from behind the closed curtains of the pink stone buildings. Tonight felt different. Tonight they felt like outsiders. Like wraiths there to sweep away infants like the horrors in stories told by old maids meant to scare children. Except this time they were real.

As the road descended towards the bay, the homes carved from pink and white stone gave way to buildings of timber. Marius noted the distinct difference in quality and craftsmanship between the dwellings. The further they descended towards The Dregs, the smaller and more ramshackle the buildings became.

“These places hardly look like they could fit a family,” Marius noted as they turned down an alley.

“You think this is bad?” Grimworm spoke, “Wait until we make it down to The Dregs. The lodgings up here in Sailor’s Wharf will look quaint.” Marius had never been to The Dregs. In fact, most of his time spent in Hearthage had been either at the Bazaar district or amongst the civic buildings in Canina Court.

“These are homes of sailors?”

“Aye,” Grimworm responded, “most of these dwellings are owned by shippers or trade merchants. They lease the land to their workers for a price.”

“That hardly sounds fair.” Marius ran his hand across the weatherworn facade of one derelict house. It had seen many days, and it had seen many families. All it would take was a single day in which the goddess of the sea let loose her wrath; one gale too strong, or one flood too deep, and the house would collapse upon itself making a waterlogged tomb for whichever hapless family that found themselves inside.

“Fair?” Levy scoffed. “They should be thankful for the prosperity that the Emperor provides. They are clothed are they not? Sheltered from the cold and the heat. Ilias does not rain upon their heads and their masters give them work so they may be of use to the Empire. Every day they should awake with a smile and a prayer for the fortune they have been blessed with. They are not slaves.”

Marius felt himself nod. There was some truth to the statement. They weren’t entirely destitute. Levy hated agreeing with Von Beringer, but life amongst the Sailor’s Wharf was surely better than other options. He knew that the Emperor did indeed provide; as horrifying as the man was. Marius had never struggled for food. He had never done without in his entire life. Besides, if these men and women who called the wharf home wanted a better lot in life, then enlistment was a quick way to gain that upward mobility.

“They may not have docked ears, but most of the people who call this place home suffer from the same affliction that stifles most slaves. It’s hard to grow if a weight around your neck holds you down. It is hard to move if your feet are bound to the ground where you were born,” Grimworm offered. Silence sat upon them like a deathmask as Marius reflected upon his words.

Had they originally thought that the Sailor’s Wharf was in penurious condition, The Dregs proved otherwise. Whereas the wharf still felt like a proper part of the city, the slums had been excluded. It was a separate entity - a clear declaration of “the others”. Tall, vicious looking wooden fences had been erected around the outskirts of The Dregs. Two city guardsmen stood watch at a makeshift checkpoint. They wore ocean blue wool tunics beneath rawhide cuirass embossed with the fierce guise of the Brinewolf. A nod was all that was exchanged between the two men as they passed; all but ignored by Levy. There was a feeling amongst the legion that simple guardsmen were utterly beneath a proper ranked soldier.

As they passed the threshold and entered into destitution the stench struck Marius like a concussive blow and smote him speechless. Before, the air carried the scent of salt and oil, but here the air was strangled by a fetid odor. Marius could not call the hovels within The Dregs homes. They were more akin to smoldering ruins left behind from a violent war. Some buildings had fallen over completely while others seemed to be held together by nothing more than wishful thinking. The buildings that did have roofs overflowed with the bodies of the hungry and ragged, barely visible in the darkness. Sunken eyes followed them with suspicion, and Marius empathized with their distrust. Apparently the curfew was more of a suggestion here.

This was nothing like what Marius knew from his home. In Talim the plebeians lived largely in blocky buildings meant to house dozens if not hundreds of citizens. The bottom floors were often the business which they labored at, and the upper floors were their accommodations. It was not an easy life - but it was certainly better than what lay before him now.

“What… why…” Marius found himself muttering. He couldn’t find the words.

“In a city built on the backs’ of slaves, there is little work for those who are free,” Wormtongue said. Levy was several meters ahead of them, out of earshot, especially with the rising murmur amongst the poor inhabitants of The Dregs.

“But even in Talim, things aren’t this desperate,” Marius turned to face the skulk. “I’ve never seen conditions so loathsome.”

“Then you aren’t well traveled. The capital has appearances to keep up. It is supposed to be the shining gem of the Imperium. Diplomats and aristocrats from all over Illustria visit Talim on a daily basis. It would be uncouth for the domain of the Dusk King to be seen as derelict. Perhaps you should ask the houndfucker what peasants in his own fiefdom live like.”

Before the conversation could proceed any further a disturbance echoed through the dingy streets of The Dregs. Shouts of protest spurred the three into a sprint through the manure sodden roads. The origin of the sound became more clear as they rounded a corner and a skirmish unfolded before their eyes. Beneath the sputtering light of a dulling torch four legionnaires had drawn gladius against a growing mob of violent Dreg dwellers. A fifth lay face down as a pool of his life flowed freely into the soil. He did not stir.

Even in the faint light of the dying torch, the faces of the angry and riotous men hid no hatred. Armed with cudgels and handaxes they crept forward in sweeping arcs. The legionnaires were hopelessly outnumbered but they stood steadfast. Folded into formation before their fallen brother, one legionnaire had taken control of the situation.

“Left!” he shouted, breathy and exasperated. A shield flew up to meet a heavy handed strike. His comrade beside him thrust forward his gladius earning the sound of flesh ripping before unyielding steel.

“Do not yield! The Emperor demands it!” his rallying cry steadied them.

“This! This is what we live for, Marius!” Levy roared over his shoulder to Marius. Already he had unsheathed his longsword and charged forth into the crowd. With all of his momentum he swung forward with the foreign blade and sent men scattering. One man, his ghastly face frozen in shock, grabbed at his abdomen as the gash drew thick viscera splattering to the ground in a grotesque painting. Soundless words sputtered from his blood spattered mouth with his dying breath. Wild-eyed and sickly, he looked as beggarly in death as he had in life.

Heads turned to glimpse the commotion but more men armed with common tools made war ready emerged from open doorways and alleys covered by darkness. Marius didn’t even think, he moved, his body performing on its own. He knew somewhere within him was a faint feeling of remorse, but years of training, years of being a part of this unit spurred him forward. He clasped his gladius and bellowed a prayer to the Emperor.

The night was too dark and Marius found himself slashing out at faceless men. It was easier to ignore his conscience when his enemies seemed anonymous. Behind him his comrade in arms swelled ahead, reinvigorated by the arrival of Levy and Marius. Dreggers fell into the muck at their feet. Untrained and ill equipped, they had little chance against Talish blades swung by men who had trained beneath the demanding eyes of Ionus Scalde.

One dregger swung wide at Marius. A deft parry set the man off balance, and a kick to the hindquarters knocked him down. Another vaulted forward, a pitchfork dappled with rust poised to skewer Marius. He stepped a pace back and weaved to the right. The dull prongs caught nothing but the chilly night air. Marius struck his assailant with the pommel of his blade. They collapsed to the floor, his emaciated form barely made a sound. Marius counted four men he drove back or made prone with the butt of his blade.

“You disgrace the blood goddess, doddering child!” Levy boomed. Marius felt the world turn sideways as a sharp shove heaved the world askew. He barely registered that his centurion had been the one to knock him aside. Before him a scene of despair unfolded. Dropping the longsword to the moist earth, Levy unleashed his black iron jaws. The vulgar sin blended hues with the inkiness of the night. Only a faint shimmer of red cast from the flickering flame of the dying light displayed the true horror of the maw to the dreggers. A shudder coiled through the assailants and the tone of the already desperate fight shifted towards macabre.

“Only death awaits those who fail to obey our heavenly patriarch,” his voice was manic. A single monstrous swipe of the blade caught one man who had not the time to flee in his navel. For a second it held there, caught in the tough muscle and sinewy flesh. Levy pushed his weight into it and the teeth sawed through the man like he was made of custard. The wet squelching sound his innards made as they dropped to the floor in a sickening mound nearly caused Marius to vomit.

A shriek pierced the night air, and the maw had won. Those who could manage, fled, slinking back into the night. Eyes still watched the legionnaires who now stood upon a world dyed crimson. Levy pulled a small coin bag from his side and held it aloft. The wary eyes grew curious.

“A golden denarius for whoever brings traitorous filth to Hearthguard.” Low voices hummed through the stillness around them. It was more money than most of them had likely ever seen. Levy turned back towards the legionnaires who had collected themselves. One knelt before the fallen soldier while the others stood at attention, waiting for Levy. Marius heaved himself up with the help of Grimworm who had appeared from the background. He had blended so effortlessly into the destitution here that he had been indistinguishable from the impoverished masses.

“You didn’t kill them?” Wormtongue whispered into his ear. “Perhaps I misjudged you.”

“We aren’t all cut from the same cloth,” Marius croaked. His stomach hurt. Equal parts physical discomfort and repulsion.

“Your cloth is as gilded as the rest of them, but at least it isn’t blood soaked.” The pair made their way over to Levy and the legionnaires, one of which roughly held down a surviving dregger with his foot. The gaunt creature below him squirmed in the muck which became caked to his face and thinning hair.

“What spurred the ambush, Gaius?” Levy asked the legionnaire at the front of the pack.

“They were… upset about the Culling,” Gaius responded. He dug his foot deeper into the ambusher. He groaned in protest but a swift stomp stunned him to silence.

“Apostates then. Had they reason?”

“We had dealt with an impling we found.” Gaius nodded his head towards a building where the door had been smashed to pulp. “The creature’s mother swore the babe had been birthed yesterday, but the orders are clear, centurion. We made sure its death was swift, patronly mother take them,” he spoke of Balinda, but invoking the name of the familial goddess felt like blasphemy to Marius given the situation.

“The Emperor would be proud,” Levy spoke, turning to face Marius and Grimworm. “You could learn something from these men, boy.” Again the man beneath the heel of Gaius groaned and attempted to free himself. “And you,” he grabbed Grimworm by his top knot and roughly pulled him to his knees. “You couldn’t even be bothered to pretend? Limp wristed and lame, like all of these Torvans.”

“I reserve my blades for the backs of tyrants, dog fucker.”

“And I reserve my wrath for feckless rats best spent as fertilizer.” Yanking downward on his hair, he brought Grimworm’s face into earth shattering contact with his armored knee. Marius flinched as a stream of blood poured from Grimworm’s pulverized nostrils. Von Beringer tossed him aside, sending him into the dirt near the prone dregger. Levy turned back to Marius with a look of disgust. “I’ve an idea, whelp.”

Marius didn’t speak. He swallowed hard instead.

“You’ll finish the job you failed to complete when we fell upon the insurgents.” He looked down at the hapless beggar. The sneer he wore showed only distaste and cruelty. “Bring him to the Reaper. Your mistress, the canonness, will have your praise if you can show me that you can beat back the yellow streak which prohibits you from being the man your bloodline demands.”

Marius’ mind raced. His hand grasped the pommel of his gladius; it was warm and reassuring. How many hours had he trained with the blade? How many goblins or centaur had he laid low with it? Still, he had never used it to extinguish the life of another man. He looked down at the helpless dregger; a world of affluence separated them, but he was still a creation of the gods, and he was still a human. Marius wondered if the man had a family. He was someone’s child. Perhaps he had taken a wife, or he had a child of his own. Certainly he had a name, not that men like Levy ever would have acknowledged that. There had to be an alternative.

“Doesn’t local doctrine demand such insurgents be given to the magistrate? A trial and punishment befitting the crime - perhaps imprisonment or bondage as is the custom within Torva.” It grated his insides to think of selling the man into servitude, but it was all he could come up with given the situation.

“We, the sword and shield of Emperor Cassius Tiberian, do not hold ourselves to the standards of local politicians. No. These puppet rulers answer to us.” Even with a hood of shadows, Levy’s storm gray eyes glittered in the near dead embers of the fading torch. “Now kill him, or I will be done with this farce, and you’ll return to camp a figurative eunuch, and be discharged from my unit. I’m tired of catering to the wants of that she bitch - your name be damned. You can finish your tenure down in Parthus.”

Parthus. If the statistics he had read were true, Parthus was a hellscape where the worst of the fighting in all of the imperium happened. It was a blood guzzling machine - always demanding, always taking; never satiated. Holding the city had cost hundreds of thousands of men their lives over the last decade, and despite their best efforts the legions rarely made more than a few kilometers of progress. It was a land that had grown intimate with death.

“But…” his words faltered, like notes from a broken harp. He looked down at the dregger again. “What is your name?” Marius spoke low, trying to find his confidence which had seemed to buried itself deep within him. Gaius stepped back, lifting his foot from the man’s neck. He coughed and a spume of blood and spittle sprayed the crackled mud. He drank in the dusky air in heaving gulps mixed with sputtering hacks.

“Jason, my dominus,” he managed to say. He licked his peeling lips and even in the dark, Marius could see that tears had dried to his earth sodden face.

“It’s a good name,” he knelt down and placed his hand upon the man's shoulder. He quivered so deeply that it rattled Marius’ arm down to his core.

“Me mum named me for the Dawnbringer, she said.” Jason of Afini had been one of the Dawnbringers of Hyperius, the sun god, in a time before Marius’ had been born. He was a famed hero with as many tales as there were books in most libraries. Every seven years the rising god would select a new Dawnbringer. Some were better than others, but they all spread hope in the name of their liege. It was a name meant to inspire.

“Stop galavanting with a condemned man,” Levy spoke. His face had become stone. His mouth tightened in anger. “Bring this man to his destiny, for I am out of patience.”

“My lord, please, I beg of you!” Jason dropped to the mud, his arms splayed before him in a position of worship. “It was a mistake. We was just defending Tiya. Her babe hadn’t even a name.”

“A mistake you’ll have no time to regret further. Your mistake cost Lysander his life. I care far more for one of my own than I ever could for the likes of you.” There was a heaviness to his words that settled upon Marius like a burial shroud. He had broken fast with Lysander several times and found him likable. They had not been friends, but there was still a comradery that was now lost.

Marius stood and held his gladius out before him. It shook with apprehension. He could not stay his nerves. “When you greet The Reaper, wear your name proudly, Jason.” In an instant he felt his sword pierce the man’s frail skin, and his chest gave way to the unyielding blade. He gave a momentary gasp, and Jason’s eyes grew frightful with panic. There was a sickness within Marius now that seized his stomach but he refused to look away from the man he had just promised to death. Marius could swear he heard something about cloth muttered from the mouth of the still prone skulk.

As the last light flickered from Jason’s eyes the sky above imploded with all the colors of the cosmos and chaos spilled forth.