Category: Fallen Empires

I am invincible.

In this scene from Origin of Pietas, Pietas is free of the lifepod, but his injuries have incapacitated him. He must rely completely on Six. Depending on others is not the king's forte. In his ritual, the final line is that he is invincible. Here, he is anything but.

Excerpt from Origin of Pietas

Six brought out a metal box and opened it. "Plain soap. Scrap of cloth. You'll be clean before you know it." Six lathered the soap and gently scrubbed Pietas's face.

Afterward, Pietas rested on the blanket. Six dried him and worked his uncooperative arms and legs into the clothes.

Mortifying to be so useless. He hadn't been this helpless since he was an infant.

The ordeal of movement and cold exhausted him. Pietas dozed and woke to find himself clothed, dry and warm.

"Ready for a manicure?" Six used the knife to pare the claws on Pietas's hands and feet. As he had on board the ship, Six passed the time with tales.

How many were fanciful stories and how many true? Pietas doubted he would ever know. It didn't matter. He could rest his throat and learn more about this ghost. The thought that he no longer gathered intel in order to kill him was unsettling at first. How long since he'd listened to someone without thinking how he could use the information to his advantage? Since he'd listened to enjoy a story?

This time, when Six told a bawdy story, Pietas laughed aloud.

Six grinned at him, threw back his head and laughed along.

The ghost cleaned up the area. He put the bar of soap back in its box and withdrew a metal comb. "This comb is also a magnet and it's strong, but it's not getting through that rat's nest. I can take care of it, if you don't mind a haircut with a blade."

The last haircut he'd had, at Dessy's hand, had been with a blade. Then, he'd thought he would trust no one else near his neck with a sharp weapon. For Six, he did not hesitate. "Please."

The knife sawed through his wet hair faster than Pietas's dagger. And didn't that tell a story all by itself?

"You okay for a few minutes while I grab a quick swim? Wash off some of this dirt?"

"Yes." He soaked up the sun. The reflective blanket warmed beneath him.

Six stripped. Like most soldiers, he showed no concern about baring his body. However confined he'd been on board the ship, he'd kept up with exercise. The ghost turned and waded down into the water.

Spread across Six's entire back was a tattoo of a mythical beast, teal outlined in black. Wings unfurled. Claws out. Fangs bared.

A dragon.

The sense of destiny coming full circle hit with the impact of a tornado slamming into a shack.

Pietas thought about the dragon while Six finished bathing.

At last, the ghost picked up his shirt and began drying himself. He dressed and came back up the slope. "Okay. Let's get you back to camp to rest and I'll fish. I'm ready for some solids and I think you could handle some tomorrow. Ready?"

"Ready."

Six picked him up.

"You like teal."

"What?" Six tossed wet hair out of his eyes.

"The color. Teal. Turquoise."

"Turq-- Oh! You saw my dragon. Took a lot of visits to complete that."

"Why?"

"It's the detail. They draw the outline first, and then--"

"No, why a dragon? Why teal?"

They'd reached camp, and one end of the parachute cloth had pulled loose. It flapped in the wind.

Six put Pietas down, and began refastening the cloth. "Dragons are primal. They're protectors. They represent courage. Teal because it's the color of sky and sea. It's heavenly energy. Pure. You ever get a tattoo?"

"Ultras could never keep them."

"Oh, right, forgot. Tattoos tell you about a person. Who they are, where they belong. Some, who they belong to."

Pietas smiled. "Yes. They do."

I vanquish every enemy.

In this scene from Origin of Pietas, as he's healing from catastrophic injuries, Pietas muses about pain.

Excerpt from Origin of Pietas

Pietas had taught himself, disciplined himself never to fear pain. To welcome it. Invite it. Embrace it. Make pain and death a regular part of his life. Whatever frightened him, he ran toward. Pain was joy. He conquered it. Made it his lover. Made it his own. Absorbed it into himself.

When you fear nothing, nothing is a threat.

Now? Did he fear pain now? Pietas mulled that. Well, he no longer had to wonder about pain that didn't end. He'd experienced it.

Conquered it.

Did he want to repeat it?

He finished his food and took a long, satisfying breath of clean air.

Not if he could avoid it. But dying every day for a year would be a good exercise for his immortal warriors. If you survived that kind of peril, you'd survive anything. And no threat the enemy brought would be worse than what he could do to them.

He'd have to give that some serious thought. Maybe train them that way, one soldier at a time. Teach them to embrace death the way he did.

An army of soldiers like that...the galaxy could not stop.

The ritual concludes in three more steps.

My will is absolute.

In this scene from Origin of Pietas, Six and Pietas are crossing the planet, searching for the other immortals. After cleaning gear and laying out what little clothing they own to dry, they sit on a grassy area side by side. Pietas asks if Six wants to return to his homeworld.

"Not really. I don't want to go back, except to see family. I have nothing there. All my life, all I've ever known is war. I enlisted at seventeen. Thirty-eight now. Too old to fight. Tired of it."

"Too old? I'm almost two thousand. Try another excuse."

"Best I got. Thirty-eight's old, in my book."

"I've been thirty-eight a few times. Most lives I'm dead by then."

Six's attention snapped back to Pietas. "What?"

"I'm a warrior. I don't live to see forty. Hazards of the profession." He picked a yellow wildflower and twirled it between his fingers.

"How many times have you died?"

Pietas tossed the flower aside. "I've lost count. Felt like a thousand times in that pod." He shuddered.

"If it would get you off this planet, would you get in the pod?"

"Six, I will never do that again, but if we get stuck here, ask me in a few thousand years. Might be a different story then. I think I'd go crazy if all I had to do every day was hunt and fish, eat and sleep." He tossed himself back on the grass and tucked his hands behind his head. The bright blue sky held wisps of clouds, moving on the wind. "I miss entertainment more sophisticated than deciding what shapes the clouds are taking."

Chuckling, Six stretched out beside him. "I hear you. I miss women."

"So do I. And men, too."

"You weren't kidding about having sex with whoever cut your hair in that ritual?"

Pietas gave a short laugh. "That was a joke, ghost. I was-- How do you say it? Messing with you."

"Get out!" He shoved Pietas's shoulder. "Okay, so you're not bisexual."

"I'm pansexual. Most Ultras are. When you live forever you get bored with the same thing every day. At least I do."

"Pansexual. What? Someone with a pulse?"

"I'm a bit more discriminating than that, thank you. But I'm open-minded. I appreciate sexual activities of various kinds. Ultras can never become pregnant or sire children--except for my parents--impart or contract sexually transmitted diseases. For us, sex is pure pleasure. One we never grow immune to, the way we do drugs and alcohol."

"So you didn't grow up being slapped down for experimenting?"

Pietas coughed. "I wouldn't say that, but my people are born adults and we're far less restrictive than humans. According to my friends, I'm less picky about lovers than I am about food. Sex is one of the few times I don't feel the need to be in charge. I like equality in a lover. Someone who can be as strong as I am." He let out a long, sighing breath. "The longer I live, the less of those there are."