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.

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I overcome. I am indomitable.

In this scene from Origin of Pietas, as Pietas is healing from catastrophic injuries, he's literally at the mercy of Six, the mortal who'd captured him. After nearly a year and a half trapped inside a lifepod, Pietas's once-perfect body is little more than grime and filth loosely gathered around emaciated skin and broken bones. Six tells him that the shuttle that delivered them had pushed Pietas's pod out the door and let it fall, and then shoved himself after it. His parachute had been little help, but it did break the worst of the fall.

Excerpt from Origin of Pietas

They'd shoved Six out of the shuttle? Someone had dared to force one of his men to-- Pietas caught himself. Six was not his. He owed no loyalty. Had sworn him no oath.

Not yet.

"Let me cut these clothes off you, Pietas. They're ruined."

"Good...riddance." Broken and scratchy, but getting his voice back was like taking a step off the high dive into the pool. Exhilarating.

Six grinned at him. "Welcome back."

"Missed...words."

"I've missed having an answer when I talk." He smiled, but then sobered. "I'm showing you my knife. Let me take it out of its holster."

It hung at his side and he released it, then placed it on his palms.

The full tang blade was black with teal trim. Those colors embellished the uniforms worn by Pietas's troops. The serious end was a good five, five and a half inches, Terran. The same length took up the handle. It curved to fit the hand and had a butt shaped for hitting. Pietas had often carried one. You could pound with it. If no other weapon was handy, with the right angle and the kind of force an Ultra could wield, it would bash in the brains of an enemy. The blade had a mild drop point, serrations that began halfway down and looked thick enough to do good work around a campsite. Not the best for skinning or gutting. A solid defensive knife if attacked and not what you'd carry for attack, but Six could have used it to kill him permanently while he was asleep. Cut him up and burned him. Ghost Division had been trained to kill Ultras.

Pietas looked him straight in the eyes. "You--" he coughed "--did not kill me."

"One warrior to another, I'm pledging I won't use this weapon, or any other, to do you harm."

"Why?"

"Back there, back home, it was my duty to kill you. That's not my duty any more."

"What now?"

"My duty is survival."

"You think...that buys your life?"

Head down, Six remained still for a long moment, the knife on his outstretched hands. At last, he looked up, mouth in a straight line. "I spent the last year finding out who you are. What I was taught about you doesn't jive with the man I've come to know. You're not a mindless killer. You have more courage than anyone I've ever met and more honor than ten men. After what I did to you, if you wanted to kill me, I wouldn't blame you." He gave a firm shake of his head. "But I will not kill you, Pietas."

"You show your enemy mercy?"

Six squinted at him. "I give no mercy to enemies. You are not my enemy."

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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."

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