The woman eschewed the use of her helmet, as if her rank of Scarmother placed her above her country's military doctrine. Everyone wore helmets, from rank-and-file Munifices to the Pilus Priori in charge.
Tycondrius wore a helmet! He was the gods-damned Commander of an army!
The audacity made his blood boil.
He reached his gauntleted hand forward, gripping the sides of the so-called Scarmother's face.
"And what use are your fake scars, WHELP?!" He shouted in her ear, "Can they protect you from ME?!"
"Wh-what are you doing?!" One of her helmeted Munifices shouted.
Tycon rolled his eyes, still squeezing the woman's face as she struggled. What did it look like he was doing?
"Unhand her, you fiend!" "Heretic!" "Let go of her!"
"Out of the GOODNESS of my heart!" Tycon roared at her subordinates, "I'm showing your fool of a Scarmother how USEFUL a helmet can be!"
