Headed by a Snake

Chapter 572 Reaper (Part Two)

?Scarmother Alea watched with horror as Immunes Jason's body fell limp.

"[Oops,]" The armored figure shrugged his spiked shoulders.

He picked up the Scout and without so much as a grunt, flung his body off the rocky hillside, "[Was that one of yours? Alea?]"

Alea felt her heart break... and her entire body shake with rage.

"HHHHERETICCCCCCC!!!!" She screamed, drawing her longsword.

At once, her faithful drew their weapons and fell upon the armored man.

They struck with spears and blade. They screamed. They used dragonfire.

All were useless. All attacks bounced harmlessly off either the man's claws or his full plate.

"M-metal rank!!" A Munifex shouted-- just as the tri-blade of Tyrion steel cleaved into his skull.

"I-Iron faithful!" Alea yelled, "To the front! Everyone else, stay back!!"

Her command only bade the armored man wade deeper into her allies. Each effortless swing of his metal-covered arms rent limbs and body parts of her allies.

More of her faithful flooded forward to fill the gaps. They fought without fear...

But their loyalty cut off Alea's path.

"Die, heretic!!" They screamed.

"You won't touch the Scarmother!"

"Protect Alea!!"

"No, you daft fools! Stop!!" Alea begged, "You can't fight him!!!! Let me through!"

"[This is the power of faith,]" The armored man mocked, "[Sending good men to their deaths as all who watch pray for salvation.]"

Finally, six of Alea's Iron-Ranks surrounded the heretic, shields up and ready. She wasn't sure where the rest of them went, but it meant she had a chance to end the fight.

"Focus on your defenses!" Alea roared, "I'll strike him down when--"

The armored man swiped an open palm to the side... and five of her six were pushed by an invisible force. They screamed as they plummeted down the hillside, breaking their bones against the rocks.

"[I'm done with faith,]" The man clenched a shaking fist. "[I'm tired of the empty promises. I'm tired of praying for the strength to endure... when the POWER has ALWAYS been MINE TO CONTROL!!!!"]

He thrust his palm forward.

Alea could swear she heard the dragon's voice.

'Flee,' it said, 'or all will be naught.'

She stretched her arms to the sky and screamed its warnings at the top of her lungs, "STOP HIM!!!"

Lightning. Dark. Evil. As red as blood.

The heretic's spell radiated a power Alea had never before seen or felt. It was... pure... weaponized... hate.

It flowed out of the man's palm. It arced to one of her troops... it was Agathe... then in a flash, thrice more behind her... and more... and more. With unerring accuracy, the magic struck the hearts of her faithful.

And they died.

In a single attack, over half of Alea's century lay dead on the cold ground.

"[Heresy... must be met with hatred,]" The man tilted his head up... and his cold words echoed in Alea's mind... "[Witch.]"

He raised his hand once more... and lightning again flowed through, cutting down another score.

Alea snapped out of her reverie. Her inaction resulted in tremendous casualties-- all loyal men and women, all Sons and Daughters of Qotal, all faithful to the dragon and the Flame!!!

"I!! am the HEIR of ASH and FIIIIRE!!" She shouted, tears brimming from her eyes. Flames sheathed her Centurion armor and surged through her white-hot sword.

She leapt forward, heedless of the danger, and swung her sword down empowered by her faith-- empowered by DRAGONFIRE!!

"?Flame Dragon BLAAAADE!!!?"

The man turned, blocking her strongest attack with crossed-claws.

That was impossible! Even the other Scarmothers couldn't block her attack so easily!

Undeterred, she pulled her sword back and cut at his side, "?Rising Flames!!?"

"[Pathetic,]" The armored man deflected her sword, a wave of magical flames washing harmlessly over his armor. He casually moved his arms, blocking another two blows, "[This... this is the extent of your faith.]"

He waved his hand again.

Expecting the worst, Alea knelt, jamming her sword into the dirt and tightly holding on. In the next instant, she was buffeted by a gust of wind, pushing her several feet back-- her sword cutting a deep line through the cold, hard earth.

"[Faith without strength. Words without conviction,]" He waved his hand to the side once more.

Lightning.

More of Alea's faithful died without even being able to scream. Their bodies violently convulsed, they fell, and lied still... their corpses charred and steaming.

Alea exhaled sharply... then took a slow breath in.

The heretic was trying to enrage her... He was a deceiver, his hurtful words designed to make her doubt.

"My name is Alea." She growled. Drawing her sword from the ground, she pointed it forward, lowering her stance, "Iron-Rank Sentinel of the Sons of Qotal."

The armored warrior stretched his arms low to his sides, "[Zenon. Iron-Rank Librarian of the Church of the Eternal Flame.]"

A sanctioned psyker? Of the Church? Alea's knees buckled as her heart shook.

This didn't make any sense! This Librarian was guarding the-- No! But the invading force? Was the Church behind the attack on Caeruleum?

She needed to leave. She needed to report back to Scarmother Talon-- to The Exarch, even! This was all just a misunderstanding!

"GRARRGHHHHHH!!!" She shrieked in pain as a crimson arc surged through her body.

It struck her heart.

Alea fell to her hands and knees as she struggled to breathe...

She couldn't feel her fingers. She was blinded by tears.

...and she could no longer hear the dragon's voice.

'No!' She wanted to say.

'This is a mistake!' She wanted to plead.

She gasped for air but found none. The muscles in her throat were convulsing.

Zenon's heavy metal boots approached her... even as she struggled to move... to at least have her eyes meet his.

Then... she felt an unnatural pressure, all around her. It squeezed all the parts of her body painfully, like jagged nails piercing all of her flesh. She felt herself rising... her longsword slipping out of the grip she couldn't control.

She looked down to the Librarian below her, the magic in his empty palm holding her aloft.

He spoke in the same cold, unfeeling tone he had amidst slaughtering nearly a hundred men.

"[Practicing witchcraft in the Holy Country of Tyrion... is punishable by death.]"