We had marched well over fifteen consecutive hours after the battle, en route homebound. The army was in tatters; my company was one of the worst off. Of the six or seven dozen men in my particular formation only five of us remained, myself included. Our executive order was a complete and expedited withdraw. The Gangurrian forces were hot on our tail in a counter-offensive.
I had long since discarded my breastplate and boots, walking in bare feet and leather breeches with my blood-rusted halberd slung over my shoulder. To discard the armor bearing your country's symbol is considered treason in Firax; however, no one would question my allegiance. Not in the conditions we were forced into. We were slogging far behind the battalion, being one of the last companies to disengage, and none of our comrades were to be seen on the long dirt road which bisected the horizon that morning. My legs were growing weak, having walked or run all through the night. We fought extremely hard at the city gates only to be forced to flee at maximum speed; the Gangurrian defense had been immensely underestimated.
My eyes grew heavy and my vision blurred, and before I realized it I was on the ground. I fell forward, dropping my halberd, my face crushing down flat before the hard humus. I was too tired to acknowledge the pain. I opened my eyes a second later to bear witness to a magnificent sight.
There was a somewhat sizable, aged puddle on the road, about a dozen centimeters deep. At the base of said pool was a thick lining of algae; a species particular to that world, one whose scientific name eludes me. It was known as "Little Tree" colloquially because of its idiosyncratic shape. The algae grows from the base of the pool upward, branching out like coral in multitudes of thin, frail arms. It really looked like a miniature forest, the algae swaying in the puddle's "current," which manifested as a result of the gentle breeze lapping at the water's murky surface.
Swimming gaily throughout the trees were multitudes of Polypedates leucomystax tadpoles; their assumed mother had burrowed herself in the muck beneath the trees, obscured from sight and camouflaged. She stared up at me with curiosity and caution, no doubt unaware of my seeing her. The tadpoles flitted about, circling one another and running aground at the edges of the puddle only to turn about and repeat the process indefinitely.
Also darting to and fro through the boughs of the trees were Culiseta Anaryxis larva; a species of cold-weather mosquitoes with a very unique trait: a standard high affinity for Water magic. This affinity is so high, in fact, that the mosquito is classified as a magical being which subsists mostly off of mana. In short; they eat little and are mostly herbivorous, most of their metabolism is supplemented by mana, and only the females are known to drink blood during gestation.
Across the surface of the water were various other insects stopping by for a drink of the miraculous water, and in the depths betwixt the microscopic and apparent were the multitudes of bacteria, amoeba, eggs, and masses of other various species of creatures of all walks of aquatic life.
As the wind caressed the water's surface the insects would leap up to avoid the ripples, plummeting soon after to straddle the water's edge. This was life. The water was oxygenated with the masses of creatures inhabiting it, disturbing the surface so oft, and the eukaryotic algae performing photosynthesis. The tadpoles and mosquito larva consumed the algae, the frogs consumed the insects, and the insects consumed the remnants.
It was open; but a sustainable ecosystem nonetheless. A microcosm for the greater world. Life had managed to persist in an area so desolate and traveled. To the creatures inhabiting this small pool, that was their world. The outside meant nothing. They were content to survive in their own miniscule habitat. Much like the planet is an insignificant rock in the grand maelstrom that is the ever expanding universe, so too was this simple, inconsequential puddle a trivial matter to the realm surrounding it.
Yet for all the grand machinations of the lives beyond its borders, this small indentation of topsoil filled with water managed to eke out a living. Through the sheer, stubborn perseverance which defines life's drive this little water planet managed to defy all odds and thrive.
I was in awe. Such a simple pleasure many humans – nay, many living creatures – take for granted; the elementary activity of observation. To watch life in its struggles, to watch it rise and triumph over adversity, to bear witness to the beauty of death in its most natural form… This is what makes life worth living. To acknowledge the facts that each living creature: man, beast, plant, insect, spirit, and microorganisms, share this very same struggle with you… there is no greater sense of unity and camaraderie in the world.
I sighed; a trail of drool ran down my lip and onto the ground. I would have fallen asleep right then and there had the footsteps of my company not disturbed me. They passed, one by one, ignoring their fallen comrade on the ground, treading ever onward without respite or mercy. I did not mind, I was not perturbed; I felt less companionship towards them than they did for me, which is saying something for the enmity which I held for them.
I diverted my attention once more to the puddle. In a cloud of murky water the frog shifted, digging herself further into the mud. I smiled gently; she looked so comfortable in that position. There was no war in her world; no rape, no mass murder, genocide, abhorrent acts of inhumane atrocity, rivers chocked with the blood of her kind. No humans.
I closed my eyes as the last set of boots closed in on me; I would have to rise soon. My palpebra bolted when I heard a heavy, violent splash in the puddle to my right. My oculus conveyed unto my nous a most horrific sight. Occupying the space where once burrowed a female Polypedates leucomystax and hundreds of strings of "Little Trees," dozens of mosquito larva and several tadpoles, and thousands of microscopic bacteria was a single, pointed steel-plated boot. Too many mana signatures flickered violently and then faded into obscurity.
I ascended with vehemence, my eyes alight with malevolent fury, inconceivable odium, "KANT!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, my former exhaustion temporarily abated by my animosity.
The woman turned swiftly, drawing the gisarme from the holster on her back, "What is it?!" She looked around swiftly, stepping left and right in the puddle, crushing yet more and more life beneath her feet.
I began growling. My fingers were curled so tightly into my fists that my untrimmed nails began to puncture my skin, drawing blood, "STOP!" I roared. The others, ahead of us down the road a little, all drew their polearms as well.
Kant, a tall, muscular woman with shoulder length hair which matted to her sweaty face, spat, "The 'ell is it, Zien?! The walk going to your head?"
I stepped forward, being sure not to plant a foot into the water, and shoved her. She stumbled back a few steps, one of which landed on several more organisms in the puddle. After a grunt she screamed, "The fuck is your deal, prick?!" I couldn't formulate speech. I was seething, wiping the sweat and dirt from my brow. All the blood rushed to my face.
Such occurrences are not uncommon, even I am guilty of being careless in my step. It is not natural, for any form of life, to be actively considerate of other beings; especially when exhausted. I loathed that woman, however, and the cumulated stress of inanition, dealing with these depraved soldiers, and bearing witness to some of our prior exploits tipped me over the edge. I couldn't bear to deal with this woman's disgusting habits any longer.
She was, without a doubt, a killer of the fifth class; a ruthless murderer who slaughtered excessively for no other reason than she could. She would strike down a surrendering enemy without so much as a twitch of remorse on her lips.
"I asked you a question, you limp-dick shit head!" She shouted at me once more.
My head was clouding and my vision turned red. After a few moments of labored breathing I managed, "Killed them…" between my clenched teeth.
"What?" Her mouth hung open and her brow furrowed indignantly.
I pointed at the puddle, which was so clouded with mud that I could not visualize anything beneath the surface, "Frogs… mosquito…flies…" Single words were all that escaped my lips.
The others three soldiers drew closer, curious about the origin of the conflict. Kant dropped her jaw and scowled, "The puddle?! You're pissed at me for stepping in the puddle?!" She took the gisarme in her right hand and clutched her head with the left, "'Killed them'? Are you fucking kidding me, you deranged freak?" She threw her arms out in frustration, "You're in no position to bitch at me for 'killing' something," She placed sarcastic, insensitive emphasis on the word "killing", "You're the biggest monster here! You killed more people in that last battle alone than most of us here have in our entire career!"
She slammed the pommel of her polearm into the ground, producing a muffled thump, "I'm sick of hearing your faggity ass nature boy drivel, you mangy freak. Someone should put you down; you ain't right in the head! If it weren't for you Harold would still be alive! But no, you had to break the line so you could lop off some heads!" She took her weapon in both arms, her countenance heating up even further, "I'm sick of covering for your worthless ass, you hypocritical piece of shit. You think I'm a monster? You're a hundred times worse!"
I was hyperventilating through my nose. My eyes felt about ready to burst out of my head. My shoulders tensed and my muscles flexed; hearing the ignorance of this human's simple mind aggravated me to no end.
"I'm gonna end this right here, prick," She growled. No one raised their voice; no one spoke against her. It was clear that I curried no favor with the men, and not a single one of them would consider my loss a particularly devastating one, "I'm too tired to bear your demented bitching any more. I don't care if I am court marshaled; one less Gag sympathizer in our army like you is one less problem down the road."
I bent over, gripping the shaft of my halberd by the langets and taking it in stance. The halberd is perhaps my second favorite weapon, right behind the lo staff. Yet where I cannot utilize my simple diamond rod to its full extent without physical attunement, the polearm is a versatile weapon in the hands of any man. When I am incapable of splitting boulders with a crushing blow from my staff, I am still able to puncture armor and sever heads with the spike and ax head of the halberd.
Kant gave me no time to ready myself appropriately, lunging at me with the gisarme and planting her foot once more into the puddle. My lividity stoked as I barely dodged the thrust; the blade of her single-socket grazed me though I managed to avoid the pike. She paused, gritting her teeth, and I locked eyes with her. I could feel her fear; emanating from those cloudy blue eyes was mortal fear. She knew she made a mistake.
"The difference between you and I," I said, snatching the shaft of her polearm with my right hand. She tried frantically to pull the weapon away from my iron grip and failed, "is that I actively consider the implications of the deaths of those I fell!" I spun the haft of the halberd around with my left fingers, reversing the blade, and swiftly arched it around my side and finishing the motion with a blow to the woman's chest. The fluke punctured the armor of her breastplate and she released the grip on her weapon, falling down to the ground.
I took a step closer, around the puddle, dropping the gisarme. She clutched her chest with closed eyes and gasped; no blood was visible yet but she was clearly in pain, "Something a rabid beast like you is incapable of apprehending." I whispered. I heard the others shout, but my vision was a tunnel and the focus of my ire was before me. I lifted my polearm high above my head in both hands, standing perpendicularly in line with Kant's body, and spun the haft 180 degrees once more.
No sooner had my axe dropped, cleaving Kant's supple neck, did I instinctively drop in reflex to Roger's bill. He made a broad sweep at me from behind, but on all fours I bound over Kant's body below the soldier's attack, then rose and kicked her severed head at the man like a soccer ball. He was so appalled by the act that he let his guard down. As I managed to keep my weapon in hand during the exchange, I used the opening to thrust the spike into his chest cavity, just to the left of the solar plexus through his plate.
I pulled the 20 cm spike out just as quickly as I had inserted it and spun around, dancing over Kant's corpse, to land a decisive blow to the man's armet across the face. The visor he neglected to put down actually served to guide my axe into the man's face; his left eye was sliced out, his jaw broken, nose lopped off, and tissue down to the muscle rent. If the concussive trauma did not kill him the bleeding would in a matter of moments.
As Roger fell to the ground I turned towards the sound of rushing footsteps and managed to parry Alexander's spear. Somehow I managed to hook the wing of his polearm with the fluke of mine. I broadened my grip and twirled my halberd clockwise; pulling and disorienting Alexander's footing. At the end of the first rotation he finally rescinded his hold on the weapon; instead drawing the shortsword at his side.
He made a thrust at me, which I easily dodged, and I countered with a sweep at his feet using the butt of the pole. He stepped over it with his right foot, but the left caught. Alexander was a strong, thick man. He wore full plate a whole sheet thicker than Firax standard issue infantry armor. Because of his sure footing and considerable mass my effort failed, and his boot stopped my sweep, and the staff ricocheted.
Alexander took the lax in my guard to take a swipe at my head. I reacted quickly; burying the pommel of my weapon into the ground at his feet and lifting my halberd's head up to my shoulder. His sword clashed with the false langets of my polearm at the base of the sockets, and I pushed the axe head forward over his right shoulder. The staff caught between his legs and with my motion I was able to pry apart his stance; he tumbled over in a thunderous roar of steel.
Alexander was wise enough to don his helmet, complete with chain neck guard, before facing me. I would not be deterred, however, and I mounted him. Taking my weapon in the short form I quickly slapped the flat of the axe against his helmet. He struggled to toss me aside but was dazed by the blow. I tossed my polearm to the side and hooked my fingers underneath his helmet's chin and yanked until at last I loosened it. He was frantically tossing and throwing aimless punches, shouting and screaming like a frightened child, making my life that much more difficult. In this situation his armor was a hindrance; I could easily grapple the man.
When his naked head presented itself before me, I jabbed the palm of my left hand up into his jaw. His teeth clattered and he bit the tip of his tongue clean off. At that point he was wailing and spitting up blood; it was a sight of beauty. I jammed my right thumb into his eye socket, eliciting yet more screams, deeper and deeper until I finally broke the membrane and a squirt of viscera was produced.
I hooked my thumb upward and pulled his head back, I could feel his brain, and lowered my head to his neck. I tore into it, downward, consuming the flesh until I reached the brachial artery. Of course he was long dead before I finished; his hushed cries still ringing in my ears.
When finally I was satisfied with my kill I relented. I had entirely forgotten about Janine. I must have spent at least a minute in my bout and consumption of Alexander; she had plenty of opportunities to kill me if she was so inclined. I was roused by the sounds of sobbing, the cries for cessation, and the denial of reality.
"Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god…" I turned around to look at the young woman, seated on the ground and embracing her spear like an infant huddling against the skirts of her mother. She clenched her eyes and shook her head violently, tossing her long brunette ponytail violently. Tears streamed down her face and her mouth contorted in fear, disgust, despair and insanity.
She was very young, I believe she once told me 19, and extremely naive. Of all the people in my company I found her to be the most tolerable. She was one of the few people who had not succumbed to the thralls of war's horrors; one who displayed sympathies and empathy for friend and foe alike, one who respected the deaths suffered by each side. Janine did not belong on the battlefield, and it pained me to see her exposed to such atrocity.
I took a few steps closer, kneeling down to meet her face which was still frozen with eyes closed, "Please, go away… Oh, god, please save me…" She whimpered in between sobs.
"Open your eyes, girl," I growled. She stopped shaking her head, and with this I noticed her entire body trembled. Like me she had discarded most of her armor, retaining what was necessary for modesty's sake, "OPEN YOUR EYES!"
They parted. In her dilated pupils and thin brown irises I saw the reflection of my own fears. I did not want to see that… Not in her, "I always considered you a sister, or something close to that, Janine." I remarked honestly. She reminded me a lot of Shaky Paw, one of my coyote kin from a time long since passed. Everything about her; her scent, her mannerisms, her determination, all of it reminded me of that innocent little pup.
"People like you don't make it far in the world," I stated bluntly. Was I speaking to Shaky Paw, or Janine? I continued, "Nature doesn't tolerate weakness. Life is defined by weakness. Strength is measured only in terms of minimizing that lack of fortitude," I looked over at the puddle; much of the cloud had cleared, and saw my reflection. Humor marred my face, my eyes were wrought with fright and darting uncontrollably, "What are you, Janine?"
I shifted my gaze idly back to her; she was trembling even more vehemently, now, "What are you…talking about?" She said, inhaling and exhaling sporadically.
"Only you can determine whether or not you will live, Janine. Are you predator, or are you prey? What will you do?"
She cocked her head to the side, squinting her eyes and sobbing once more. She clutched the spear even tighter; though the hold was not one with the intent to kill. The young woman sought a cold comfort in the shaft.
"In the face of the beast, she hesitated, too. It was over in a matter of seconds. I believe it was for the best, though. She would have grown up incapable, lacking, and a detriment to herself and her society, her species. Evolution does not favor the weak," I rose to my feet, staring down at her solemnly. I had given her the last chance she will ever see, "You need only bar your teeth, Janine… You need only make the beast question your motives…"
"Please let me go…" She sputtered. Shaky Paw was of the same mentality; it ended with her being gored by the frenzied buck.
"I don't want you to live life in suffering, Janine." I hooked the shaft of my halberd with my toes and tossed it up into my arms with my foot.
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She was still trembling, still sobbing. Then she was silent. Still. Her torso fell limp and her head rolled a meter away, but all the while she still held fast to that spear.