The Legion war machine had swung into motion. Warriors of the Abyss, the Legion had been in a constant state of war for over a thousand years. The struggle against the Dungeon did not end with the Cataclysm, it had merely changed, and over all that time they had become very good at what they did. That machinery was now within Titus’ hands and he directed with precision and confidence towards meeting his ends. From his side, Morrelia watched with mounting dread as her father drew the noose tighter around the neck of the Colony. In her heart, a storm had been brewing as the conflict had drawn on and she felt her emotions boiling to the bursting point without having any solid idea of what would happen after.
She had finally reconnected with her Father, with her Mother. The pain and hurt she had felt after the death of her brother had finally begun to heal. Even as she had rebelled against her family and the Legion, she had hoped for this feeling of resolution. She had the answers she’d wanted all along. Slipping back into her place amongst the family she had grown up with, not just her parents but the army that they served, had felt like such a homecoming. She felt whole once more, no longer angry at the world with nowhere to direct her rage.
But now that comfort had been stripped away by harsh reality. Where once she had been convinced that killing monsters was always the correct decision, she was no longer so sure. The Colony had done no harm in her eyes, yet had done so much good. They had protected the lives of the Liria refugees when the Legion itself had failed. Not only had they saved those people, they had assisted them, helped them to thrive where normal monsters would have only killed and eaten. It was something that had fundamentally challenged her understanding of monsters and the Dungeon forever, yet now she stood on the brink of participating in an assault to kill those very saviours.
It wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right. The only question that was left to answer was if she was willing to throw away what she had regained in order to stand up for it. She didn’t have an answer to that question yet, but she was running out of time. The pressure had built within her to a point where she feared to move, lest she explode and lash out at those she cared about. So it was a subdued Morrelia who checked over her armour, once more surrendering to the familiar routine. The Legion camp had been moved forward over the previous day with the help of the reinforcements that had arrived. Not an hours march away, the great nest of the Colony awaited them. Titus had ordered the assault and informed his guard that he would participate on the frontline, personally. There was nothing left for her to do but prepare to take the field. Desperate to avoid her traitorous thoughts, she was all too happy to engage in a mindless task.
Her check complete, she began to put the armour on. Piece by piece she strapped it over the thick padding she already wore, ensuring that each section clicked into place, locked in with its neighbours. Her two weapons found their sheaths and she placed her helmet on her head. She was ready. For what, she wasn’t sure, but she was ready.
She left her tent to find the camp alive with activity. All around her Legionaries rushed to complete the final preparations for what was sure to be a difficult battle. Orders were being relayed, scout reports continued to flow in constantly, necessitating last minute changes in strategy. Centurions argued loudly in corners as soldiers assembled their armour and honed their weapons in groups. Despite the frenetic action, the mood was subdued, grim. The faces she saw were focused and ready, determined and unflinching. Many of the Legionaries in the camp were fairly green, much as she was, yet over such a short time they had become inured to the grind of war.
She found her father in his customary place, in the command tent surrounded by the tribunes and other senior officers of their Legion. The new addition, the leader of the auxiliary force was a seven foot giant of a man covered in thick reptilian scales. His name was Charles, apparently. A former convict sent to the Legion and force fed Biomass in order to turn him into a serviceable weapon. He had served with distinction and risen to command his own company which had been attached to Titus’ force for this mission. She herself felt slightly uncomfortable in the man’s presence. He was a living reminder of just how far the Legion was willing to push in order to see the spawn of the Dungeon die. When she arrived, her father spotted her almost instantly and waved the officers away as he strode out of the tent to meet her.
“Don’t you have work to do?” she asked him.
“Indeed. Making sure my daughter survives is my most important duty.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’re laying it on a bit thick, commander.”
Titus’ expression didn’t change in the slightest, his seriousness carved into the planes of his face as if sculpted from stone.
“I don’t joke, child. Your mother gave me official orders to ensure that you didn’t die during this extermination.”
Morrelia stumbled.
“You’re kidding!” Would her mother really bend the rules to issue an order like that?!
“Sign and sealed,” Titus nodded, “I never kid about orders.”
The berserker felt lucky she had put her helmet on already since nobody could tell her face had flushed bright red. The Consul of the Legion issuing official orders to keep her child alive! It was a scandal! It was nepotism! It was… very like her.
“Come on now,” her father patted her on the shoulder, “let’s get moving. It’s time.”
Only then did she realise her father had already suited up, his massive, bulky armour appeared to weigh a ton, yet he moved as if he didn’t notice he was wearing it. Even his great axe was already strapped into position on his shoulder. Morrelia fell into place with her fellow guards and marched in precise order, her mind once more falling into chaos. What was the right thing to do? How was she supposed to save this situation?!
That long march toward the nest was special hell for Titus’ daughter. With every step she thought about talking to the commander, yet every other step she reminded herself it would do no good. She felt confident that even if the Colony had done miraculous things, the Legion would still want them dead. They were monsters and that was enough. If she spoke up, all she would accomplish would be to disgrace her family and get locked up in the camp as a traitor to the Legion her parent’s had served their entire lives. The Legion her brother had died attempting to serve. She couldn’t do it.
Suddenly, she noticed her father had stopped marching and she stilled her feet, looking about it confusion. They stood at the head of the Legion column and behind her the thousands of soldiers ground to a halt as they waited. What had stopped them? She strained her neck to try and see. What she saw caused her heart to leap into her throat.
“Welcome, fellow humans,” Enid called to them. “Welcome to the nest of the Colony.”
In the centre of the tunnel stood a lone, old woman, garbed in simple robes and bearing a solid stick of oak to assist her walking. There was no fear on her face, in fact, she was smiling at them. From Enid’s point of view the approaching Legion was almost entirely shrouded in darkness, the thick mana of the second strata meant that all but the first few rows of soldiers were blurred to nothing in her eyes. Old age probably played its own part in that.
“I see you, commander Titus. I have never met you, but I’ve heard many stories of the man who came to Liria to raise his family. Would you be willing to speak with me?”
Titus turned back to the rest of them.
“Wait here,” he said and strode forward.
