Headed by a Snake

"I... I have some bandages," Caitlyn whimpered.

The lost child fumbled through her pack, her pitiful tears making tiny splashes onto the bloodstained tile.

Tycondrius placed his palm on top of her trembling hand.

"It's not my blood," he assured her.

"These... people..." Caitlyn started.

"I will answer your questions, child," Tycon chided, "but we will leave this place as soon as I have, do you understand?"

The tearful Witch gave a slow nod in response.

Tycon sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

He felt blood.

There was so much blood everywhere...

Had he accidentally brushed his armor? Or did the blood on his helmet drip down onto his face?

Shaking his head, Tycon began to speak.

"Making's leadership tried to hide away one of their Generals," he explained. "I deemed an organized resistance to be bothersome. And thus, I... de-organized them, so to speak."

"There's... so many... bodies," Caitlyn said between sobs.

And those bodies were lacking in vital organs.

"That's to be expected," Tycon shrugged. "The effectiveness of a General is largely influenced by the quantity and caliber of their subordinates."

"Are... they all..."

Tycon pursed his lips, "I believe Alpha Squad and I have removed all relevant personnel in the immediate area. Alas, some might have escaped into the woods, but--"

"Commander," Caitlyn said in serious tone. "Are they all dead?"

"Why, yes," Tycon nodded.

"Did... any of them surrender?"

"Yes..."

"And you killed them..."

"...Yes?"

Confusion and uncertainty crept into Tycon's understanding.

There was a certain logic behind the young Witch's questioning... but he had yet to grasp its implications. However, judging by her demeanor, she was *not* pleased by his answers.

"Why... didn't you take any prisoners?"

"...Because I didn't want to deal with the hassle," Tycon frowned, "This isn't a war amongst nobles, child. There is no use in ransoming personages or attempting to turn them to our side. Anyone who chooses to ally themselves to the sky lizards..."

Tycon did not finish. It was unnecessary to explain his reasoning... and Caitlyn was no longer listening.

She kept her hands covering her face, weeping quietly.

"These... people. There's so many of them. They all had, like... lives... and people they loved and loved them back."

"...Indeed," Tycon agreed.

He found it contradictory that Caitlyn was so hyper-focused on the notion. His armor was covered in the blood of, at most, 200 people.

Earlier in the sun, he, along with Caitlyn and her flight, were responsible for the deaths of several thousand.

"Do... you not feel anything?" Caitlyn asked, "Like-- I dunno, guilt? Or... sadness?"

Tycon took a deep breath...

"I... don't know how I'm supposed to feel," he admitted. "I suppose if I feel anything... it's disappointment. I can see the end to my journey. Thus far, everything leading up to it has been-- hm... lackluster."

"Wh... why would you say something like that?" asked the tearful child.

"Everything prior to this... this sun, the sun before, the sun afterward-- until our better end, Caitlyn... nothing matters," Tycon replied simply.

The death of an entire Realm was going to be miserable, violent, and unfair.

It was also an inevitability.

Caitlyn had no idea. She and the rest of the anti-lizard offensive were informed that the enemy was simply dangerous. The threat of the Realm ending was used as motivation.

In truth, no matter how hard their side fought, no matter how many small, insignificant victories they attained, the calamity that was the Tyrant God would not be averted.

"Sir... are-- are you okay?"

Tycon furrowed his brows. He did not like that question.

It implied that something was wrong with him.

"Yesss!" he replied-- though somewhat forcefully, "Yesssss. I am. o-kay. Why... does EV-eryone... keep *assssking* me that?"

"Because... you don't sound like you're okay," Caitlyn whimpered.

Tycon took in a deep breath and exhaled deeply.

He dug through one of his pouches for a handkerchief... but it was too blood-stained to be useful. Flicking his wrist, he summoned a different one from his spatial ring, cleaned it with magic, and dabbed it at Caitlyn's tearful cheeks.

"I'll be fine, child. I'm going through the motions," he said in a soft tone. "I pretend to care because it's what is expected of me. I solve problems because that is what I do."

"Can't you just... do what makes you happy?" Caitlyn asked.

It was a seemingly innocuous suggestion.

The notion was glaringly obvious... yet it was not something Tycon often thought about.

His decisions bore great weight-- the lives of his peers, his subordinates... the lives of a hundred thousand sentients comprising civilized society.

"I've come to a similar conclusion," he said. "When I think of the future, I see nothing. So I focus on the present.

"And in these moments, in a bastion surrounded by the walls of the enemy..."

Tycon smashed his fist into a nearby stone pillar, eliciting a shriek of surprise from Caitlyn.

"I. feel. only. hatred," he growled.

He picked up a fallen chunk of stone larger than his head, the tips of his fingers boring into the rock. Then, he rotated his body, hurling it at the temple's central altar.

The altar kept its form, though webs of cracks ruined the lizard script scrawled on its surfaces.

"I hate this war, Caitlyn," he declared... "And I hate myself for being so weak... so fearful... so simple-minded."

He turned to face the child.

She had shrunk in fear or disgust, crossing her arms over her chest.

The whole of her vulnerable, human form trembled.

Her eyes had better adjusted to the darkness... and were focused elsewhere.

She was looking at the bodies... or more particularly, the slaughter.

The crushed. The severed and scattered. The miscellaneous and unplaceable viscera of the enemy that, only a bell prior, lived and breathed, hoped and dreamt.

It was a macabre display-- an effective tool for demoralizing his mortal enemies.

And on the contrary, it was not meant to be seen by his mortal allies... such was Caitlyn's misfortune.

Hmph.

Tycon couldn't help but chuckle to himself.

Had he not insisted on such efficiency... if he wasn't so afraid of failure-- then perhaps he could have avoided Caitlyn's tears.

"I have become nothing more than a monster," he sighed. "There... is a word for that... in the ancient language of the Holy Country.

"Do you know what that word is, Miss Caitlyn?"

The Witchling did not respond.

Continuing to miserably weep was not a proper response.

Still, Tycon continued on.

"The word... is Gorgon.

"A beast. A stupid... monstrous... beast.

"All I know is war," he lamented. "All I know is the battlefield I was born into... and how to effectively utilize everything in my disposal to murder that which I loathe."

He crouched in front of the Witchling, picking up his handkerchief from earlier.

Once fallen, it had become too soaked with human fluids to clean with simple magics.

"I don't want to think anymore, Caitlyn. I don't even want to live."

Tycon felt his face twist into a deep grimace.

The words came out of his own mouth, but they disgusted him, all the same.

"But... such notions are troublesome. I have too much intelligence to be *just* a simple beast... and I have far too much pride to lay down and die.

"So, for now... I'll do as you advise. I'll do as I wish-- that which brings me joy."

Tycon grabbed Caitlyn by the wrist, gently but firmly pulling her to her feet.

Being around the dead wasn't healthy for a youngling like her.

"I want... meat-- mutton roasted over softwood coal," he said with a wry smile.

"I want wine... as red as blood, but thrice as sweet."

He raised his arms and his voice, proclaiming his intentions to whatever lizard gods might have been spying on him from afar.

"I want my enemies, mortals and gods alike, broken and defeated, prostrate at my feet and begging for mercy-- which I may provide at my discretion."

No enemy mortals yet remained to contest him.

And the gods-- they did not respond.

Cowards.

A satisfied Tycon looked down to gauge Caitlyn's reaction.

The young Witch continued to cry, her eyes hidden behind her sleeve.

"...But it seems I have said too much," Tycon mused. "Anyroad... Caitlyn. Miss Caitlyn. Are you versed with the Spell, ⌈Speak with Dead⌋?"

The child did not cease her weeping... though she did shake her head to answer in the negative.

That was unfortunate-- but Tycon took heart. Surely, one of the 'mad' Witches in Alpha Squad was familiar with the Spell.

At any rate, his business was finished in the lizard temple. He kept an intent hold on Caitlyn's wrist, then began guiding her toward the exit.

However, he stopped after a mere three paces.

There was too much light in the hallway beyond.

Tycon's ⌈Venomous Shadow⌋ acted immediately, taking Caitlyn and escaping into magical darkness.

A mana-illuminated Bella Sapphira blinked into view, standing directly in the doorway with her hands resting on her hips.

Bella Sapphira... owner and CEO of the Sapphire Tower... the strongest Witch...

She lifted her chin, looking down at Tycon with disdain.

"Tycondrius of Charm. Your actions in Making have condemned over 45 thousand sentients to death."

",