Aftermath

[Strazio Rockwell]

Strazio did not rest for long. When he opened his eyes not much had changed. The remnants of Darkshire’s militia worked to pick up the pieces. Strazio watched them, his body too much of a battered mess to provide meaningful assistance. Turning to his apprentice Strazio only found empty space, the young troll had wandered off somewhere. Not that the mage minded, peace and quiet was hard to come by with his hyperactive companion. In the distance he caught sight of a limping warrior, a man clad in hardened leather armor and covered in blood. As the stranger approached a familiarity washed over Strazio and he stood to greet the man.

“Rumford!” he shouted.

“Hell of a day isn't it Straz?” Rumford responded, his voice strained from overexertion.

“Indeed,” Strazio said, taking a few steps closer to the sergeant,  “are you okay? You look like hell.”

“You look pretty banged up yourself, I’ll be fine, just a few close calls is all,  it’s been awhile since I’ve seen a battle like that, lost a lost of people today.”

Strazio frowned and looked off into the distance, “this’ll be the last one if I have anything to say about it, I’m tired of this shit, I’m ready to kick down Dracula’s door.”

“Well I hope you're right, I’m getting to be too much of an old fart for this shit,” he said with a chuckle.

For a the two stood and stared across the battlefield. Rumford unclasped his helmet and held it to his side. He had gotten lucky and he knew it. Sure his skill carried him a decent ways, but the only difference between him and a corpse was little more than a coin flip. His squad had been devastated in the first wave and although he had experienced such wholesale slaughter before it still burdened him. He sighed and sat against the crumbled section of wall and stretched out his limbs.

“It never gets easier does it Strazio?” he asked, “death I mean.”

Strazio didn't answer.

“I’ve lost count of how many soldiers I’ve seen perish, fathers, mothers, brothers, daughters, you’d think it’d get easier seeing good people die, that their deaths wouldn't phase you as much,” he paused, “maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”

“People die,” Strazio responded, “and sometimes good people die for the wrong reasons, it ain’t right, but that’s how life is, that's why I fight, Rumford, sometimes I can't save them, but I sure as hell can get revenge for them.”

Another empty space filled with nothing but the quiet hustle and bustle of those around them. A messenger, clad in yellow stripes and pennants, ran towards them. Upon reaching the two she stopped, clearly out of breath.

“Sergeant,” she said exasperated.

“Messenger,” Rumford responded.

“A member of the junta has been murdered, you, Sergeant Ruthergive, and Sergeant Mallon have been ordered to return to the town hall with your men and secure the area,” she said, “do you understand?”

Strazio’s mouth hung open, a tingling sensation travelled through his lower back.

Rumford spoke, “all my men are dead.”

“Your appearance is still required,” the young girl responded and without waiting for a reply took off in a dead sprint.

“Fuck,” the sergeant said, re-equipping his helmet and standing up.

“I’m coming with,” Strazio said and stepped past his companion. 

Darkshire was in a state of semi-controlled chaos. Soldiers stormed up and down the streets, each of them heading to their personal posts and tending to their duties. The capitol building was swarming with civilians and soldiers alike, the news of a slain politician traveled fast and a soft panic shuddered throughout the city. Strazio pushed pashed a wall of bodies and stormed through the large wooden doors. Inside he was stopped by a captain and several guards. Rumford stepped in behind his hot headed companion.

“Let me through,” Strazio demanded.

“Sergeant Rumford reporting for duty sir,” Rumford said, pulling Strazio back by the neck of his shirt.

The captain nodded and pointed towards the door, “greetings Sergeant, you and your men are to form a perimeter around the town hall, allow no one in or out.”

“My men are all dead Captain Ruiz,” Rumford responded.

“I see,” Ruiz said, furrowing his brow, “this whole thing is turning into more of a clusterfuck every minute.”

Strazio stepped between the two and asked, “who was murdered?”

“Now who the hell are you?” Captain Ruiz said, instinctively puffing up his chest.

“Strazio Rockwell.”

“Ah you’re a prime, well, prime or not you’d do well to respect the chain of command,” the captain said, his voice raising in intensity, “especially in times like these.”

Strazio growled and threw his hands up, “I don’t give a fuck about the chain of command, I need to know who the fuck died Omni damnit!”

Captain Ruiz narrowed his eyes and stepped chest-to-chest with the prime.

“You wanna try that again soldier?”

Strazio grinded his teeth and locked eyes with the indignant captain. Small sparks danced across the prime’s body, faint vestiges of his barely-controlled power. Exhaustion and anger formed a powerful tonic and clouded his judgement. Strazio cursed under his breath and took a step back. Rumford exhaled upon seeing his friend step down. He exhaled too soon. Strazio’s body sizzled and erupted into a cloud of sparkling motes of energy. They surged past the captain and his guards, reforming on the other side as a white-haired and very frustrated prime. The transformation took a toll on his body and little fingers of smoke drifted from his flesh. Before the others could think to react he broke into a dead sprint and rushed through the halls. A minute later he had rushed past a few other guards and slammed open the door to Demitri’s office. 

It was a bloodbath.

“No…”

Demetri’s body was splayed open, torn apart by some unholy force. Strazio’s heart stopped and skipped several beats. Exhausted both mentally and physically he collapsed in the doorway, falling to his knees. His fingertips dug into the floorboards, his nails scratching against the wood. A tightness formed in his throat and he fought back the urge to tear up. Behind him he could hear the rushing footsteps of the guardsmen sent to retrieve him. His eyes caught sight of a curious red stone, a tiny ruby embedded into the wood. Familiar. He sat up and pinched the stone between his fingers and examined it. The prime remembered his first foray into the Pale Moors. He tossed the stone into a pool of blood and after a few seconds it sizzled and a small explosion sent a puff of smoke into the air.

“Nemesis,” he muttered.

Behind him he heard the guards finally catch up and he stood to greet them. Rumford was with them and urged the prime to leave. One of the guardsmen grabbed Strazio’s arm and tugged at him. In a blur of motion Strazio snatched the man’s wrist and held it in the air.

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” Strazio growled.

Once outside Strazio split from Rumford and returned to the breach in Darkshire’s walls. Once outside the confines of Darkshire he screamed. He yelled and shouted and cussed and cried out in vain. His throat burned and his lungs wheezed after every torrent of aggression. Coils of white lightning wrapped around his arms and he fired spear after spear of magick into the sky. His already diminished reserved of energy reached empty. Soldiers watched from afar as their defender threw a tantrum. Strazio raged at the injustice of the world. He cursed Omni for creating such a world and he cursed Dracula for exploiting it. He fired another blast of energy and it fizzled out halfway. Strazio tried to fire again but was able to conjure nothing more than a small smattering of sparks. He screamed one last time and fell to his knees, utterly exhausted.