Blue plumes sliced through the air in streams, white hot at their centres, rolling and billowing in the unseen currents. Only when these rivers struck their targets did they reveal their true natures, until then merely evident in their searing heat, flaring orange against timbers which blistered and cracked as they were ignited. Napalm: the terrible raw energy of fire elevated in being made to stick fast to whatever it pounces upon so that it might dig its claws in deep, whilst also burning hotter, brighter and longer when it does so. The inferno of this superheated liquid is not a choosy eater, consuming all it bites into with neither scruples nor concerns. It does not discriminate; all is potential prey without exception in its merciless gaze. More than any mere weapon or chemical concoction it is a pure unsullied form of power, captured, contained and then released to fulfil its nature.

Similarly the cruel substance’s source, one side of a dual battle saddle, defied the title of simple weapon. From the high pressure nozzles of its triple maw with their protruding under-bite of an ignition coil, to the threatening hissing it made to sound its attack, all its elements spoke of the barely repressed creature within it. The flamethrower’s partner on the harness, a cut down anti-machine rifle, was also a fun instrument, but not quite as special. This extremely high calibre gun was a hunter’s tool, rewarding those who stalked their enemies and struck at them surgically with a bone-shattering kick of recoil and an almost certain kill. Satisfying yes, both in use and in function, the flames however held a far greater allure, radiating out from their feral strength and cleansing touch.

On any usual day this would certainly have been the case, but today Malignus felt his actions lacking, there being an emptiness in each squeeze of the mouthpiece trigger, spilling over into what would normally be the enthralling results of his efforts. The granite grey zebra stood at the centre of an inferno of his own making, showering further jets of liquid fire over the cluster of shacks which had made up a small trading township, now rapidly being unmade into a mere dark stain on the scorched earth. It of course helped little that exactly zero effort at resistance had been put up against them, making the “victory” (if it deserved that term) a rout more than a conquest. All that had been required was for them to overcome the scant circle of sentries set around the settlement, each one a mercenary whose will to fight was quickly broken with a blade placed against his throat. Such hirelings littered the wastes in droves, it being a shame that very few of them lived up to the martial and honourable standards of those like the Talons, who were worthy of respect and a joy to face on the field. Following this they had simply strode into town, receiving plea after plea for quarter to be given after but a single burst of rounds was sent skyward.

Bucking profligates!

Not only had they been lazy (leaving their entire defence to hired guns), not only had they been weak (falling to their knees unbloodied), but atop of this they had been fools, there being no better word to describe those who threw themselves to the hooves of their aggressors begging for their lives. No matter how many places were put to the sword they never seemed to get the message, there always being at least one who would try to hide himself behind a pile of caps. This could often be mildly entertaining or at the barest minimum could serve as a learning lesson to other captures when the offender was left in a bloody pulp for his transgression. They had to realise that mercy would teach them nothing, but here they had all been cut from the same frayed cloth of cowardice.

Bucking cowards!

A whole town begging, offering up the spoils of their defeat which were no longer theirs to give, there were few more pitiable sites. No “victory” here just a mercy killing, inglorious necessity, like putting down a disease-ridden animal. Still he should have felt something in his task, maybe not the rush of true battle which he relished, but at the very least a sense of some accomplishment. He enjoyed his work, took pride in it, today however these feelings were absent, leaving Malignus’ actions almost mechanical.

Bucking degenerates!

Even his loathing remained muted when it should have been aflame, there in spirit only, faced as he was with the disappointing heights of degeneracy. Part of him very much wanted to give the mercs back their weapons, allowing them the chance to fight and himself some sport, but to do so was too risky. In indulging himself he could potentially jeopardise the raid’s purpose (being one of opportunity aiming to take captures), whilst at the same time he was well aware of the source of his general melancholy and knew that breaking a few skulls would do little to lift it.

‘Beautiful work as always Decanus.’

Malignus doused the last of the buildings in sanitising flames, letting the streams of napalm come to a halt as he turned. ‘Gratias Melissa.’

The first female frumentarius, and first female legionnaire for that matter, gave a nod, the reflected gleam of dancing light playing in her brown irises, a fiery match to the dual mohicans of her mane dyed Legion red. The dark mare’s face was etched with the marks of her past successes: the scars from initiation into what was now the 89th saved tribe, those earned as a gladiator post-assimilation and a great many more running away from her visage, down her throat and beneath the plates of her armour. More so than these minor scratches however, her severed horn, willingly sacrificed, stood out between the crimson fins of her hair. She as much as any, if not more so, had earned her position, yet still it had required Malignus’ own insistence for her to be given the chance at rank, an act which had cemented their friendship. Even now she aimed higher in search of an honour name to add to her triumphs. ‘The captures are loaded up and we await only your order to move out’ she reported, gesturing back from whence she came.

‘Good, lead the way.’ He came into line beside her, retracing her previous approach through a fog of smoke.

‘Pardon me Decanus’ Melissa began whilst they walked, ‘but you don’t seem yourself.’

Crap! Is it that obvious?

‘Thank you, but I’m fine’ he managed, attempting to reset and disguise the features of his mood as he spoke. ‘What do you make of our prizes?’ he continued, deflecting.

‘A couple look like they could provide some... entertainment’ she grinned, revealing the sharpened points of her maw, ‘but the rest are pretty disappointing, probably not even fit enough to deserve collars.’ All six of Malignus’ warband had chosen to emulate his fangs by sharpening their own teeth to match them. Initially this had been against his wishes but by now he had come to accept the compliment, whilst also appreciating the brutal function and easy recognition the serrations brought them, adding to their collective fear factor. It was for this reason that he continued the cannibalism of his diet and permitted his cohort to similarly indulge themselves, for being recognised through such vices had its uses. Their purpose after all was to be a scourge, to strike terror into every profligate before the Legion proper came to a region, whilst he had realised with much relief that the old tribal identity which he bore shamefully with him in his jaws was thankfully absent in theirs.

The pair now stopped in unison, having exited the ashen shroud and ended up before a sorry gathering of shackled ponies, all chained together in rows by metal rings locked about their necks. Surrounding each of the dishevelled forms innumerable sacks sat awaiting departure, crammed with everything of value or use which could be found in the settlement, nothing being spoilt which might serve a higher purpose. Beyond the prisoners and their burdens a pair of guards stood in a cordon, an insane minority set against the crowd over which they stood sentry. It was clear for anypony to see that their attack had been more than a success, yet still Malignus felt nothing.

Isn’t absence supposed to make the heart grow fonder?

The absence had become a protracted one, with the weeks spent on campaign far in advance of the centuries feeling more akin to years. Correction: not nothing, rather what dwelt within him was an emptiness, whose source he was forced to admit to himself. It was simple: he felt alone, he missed his Lux. This overall sense of hollowness was made worse by an undercurrent of guilt, for his departure had been a marred one, leaving him both desperate for and dreading their reunion. What was depressingly stupid was that no matter how hard he tried he could not remember the source of their argument, merely that it stung, and therefore he had only himself to reproach for it. Any anger or vindication there had been had died in the distance in between them, disappearing steadily in each extinguished day and in absence there was fondness yes, but this could only be a starved longing. ‘Mars I’m so pathetic!’ he yelled silently to himself.

Malignus’ thoughts were broken at once by the burst of a signal flare shooting up into the sky from a hillside overlooking their position, a tail of yellow tinged smoke trailing in its wake.

‘Fire!’

A rank of howitzers bellowed in unison to fulfil his order, angry white plumes being flung out with their missiles. Shells screamed through the air in their arcing trajectories, detonating as they struck the far distance and created fireballs where once fortified positions had been. Gun crews immediately leapt to feed their hungry war beasts, preparing a second salvo for their invisible enemies.

‘Forward!’ he continued, adding: ‘only one shot further to support the advance.’

‘For Caesar!’ The roar went around the entire force, merging into battle cries as a red tide charged forth and the heavy guns opened fire once more.

Lanius felt the raw power of the shockwave from the shots slam into him, the cannons he stood beside on the peak being flung violently backward by the blasts. Far below the assault began in earnest, the defenders’ weapons only now finding the courage to raise their voices, as pointless as their token opposition was. This said however a greater pre-emptive bombardment would have been favourable; though as things stood this would be a good test of the centuries’ strength.

Or so you keep telling yourself.

Doubt was not something that he was used to feeling, but it had crept into his thoughts as he had continued to relentlessly drive his force onward over the past week. Although it was his Legion’s purpose to test the mettle of its members, to harden them through strife, he had to admit that the reasons for the present frantic brutality of their advance were entirely selfish as oppose to being driven by any higher principle or objective. This gave him some pause, when for example considering the forced marches required to maintain momentum, another sensation he was not at ease with. ‘Mars damn it Spikey!’ he sighed under his breath.

It’s not his fault you were an ass!

His inner voice strengthened the hammer of its self-reproach by replaying the scene of his love’s departure, now seemingly a millennia ago, the frumentarii being stood at the head of his warband as it filed through the camp’s gates. Malignus was pretty good at hiding his emotions beneath his features, but in turn Lanius had learned to read past this mask in the same way as the zebra was more than capable of looking beyond his Caesar’s own. Even in his mind’s eye he could see the hurt hidden behind those crimson irises and the fact that he himself was the cause, achieving the impossible in piercing their owner’s copiously armoured shell, stirred no small amount of regret. His forehoof came up to his chest plate behind which a small gold pendant hung against his heart.

‘My lord, a speculator with a report.’

The Caesar turned, nodding to allow the scout’s approach through his shield wall of praetorians.

‘Lord Caesar’ the Legionaire began, pulling back the dust hood of his light barding in the process, ‘we’ve located the frumentarii unit as you ordered. They’re in the midst of sacking a township about a mile further west.’

‘You’ve done well, thank you. Lucius’ Lanius continued, turning to his greying praetorian chief, ‘inform Aurelius that he has command and that I have high expectations. We will away to this settlement to establish a marching camp there.’

‘At once my lord’ the older earth stallion replied, taking his leave.

‘Should I go on ahead and inform the unit of your coming my lord?’ the speculator questioned, still in attendance.

Lanius shook his head. ‘No need, we shall surprise them. They have done well in punching so deep behind the enemy’s line and should be rewarded. You may however lead the way’ he concluded definitively, gesturing for all to set off. His brain in contrast was far less clear. Conflictingly he missed Malignus deeply, foalish though that sounded bearing in mind it had only been a few weeks, and at the same time, even more foalishly, he was at a loss as to what to say when they were reunited.

‘Don’t any of you dare move a muscle!’ Melissa yelled, bearing her fangs as she audibly cycled the ammunition in her battle saddle. 'Unless of course you’ve developed a sudden predilection for having your insides shredded by hollow points!’ She grinned, levelling her machineguns at the nearest of the crowded prisoners made hopeful by the sudden flare, her fellow guards following suit.

‘Scrambler, report’ Malignus bluntly ordered, addressing the fast approaching frumentarius who had been acting as message runner to their picket line.

‘Chill out Malignus, it’s all cool’ the dark blue ex-ganger replied flippantly with a wave of his blade-laden hoof.

‘And the flare’ the decanus continued through gritted teeth. The other frumentarius was a psychotic fighter in spite of having lost an eye (revelling in artfully vicious melee so much so as to deny firearms in favour of barbs and spikes covering his armour and a belt of assorted sadistic implements bound around his barrel). This explained his survival to flourish in the Legion when the rest of his kin faced a fate on crosses for their degeneracy, but on occasion his slipping into informality was a considerable annoyance to say the least.

‘Don’t worry, it’s not a counter attack if that’s what you’re thinking’ Scrambler persisted coolly, gaze turning absently towards the cowering shapes of the captives to gleam as he fondled one of the wicked knives on his well-stocked bandolier with a forehoof. ‘There’s a column coming up the road, so it looks like the centuries have caught up with us.’

Malignus paused a moment in consideration before he spoke again. ‘Okay go tell the others to come and assemble here. We’ll turn over this lot and any of the loot we can’t make use of to the main force, make camp here, restock from the supply train and probably head out again tomorrow if our orders are unchanged. Also everypony smarten yourselves up, let's show the legionnaires what the elite look like’ he added with a smile, receiving affirmative nods.

Having set his warband to their purposes Malignus occupied himself with the task of straightening his own appearance, keeping one eye expectantly on the road. Ultimately in doing so he aimed to distract himself from a fresh wave of apprehension working its way through him, after all wherever the frontline had moved Lanius was bound to be not too far behind.

‘Saluto Caesar!’

Lanius stood tall before a row of frumentarii, receiving their salute with left forehooves raised. His gaze however (hidden beneath the metallic face of his horned helm) only had eyes for the unit’s decanus, whose crimson irises similarly remained locked with his. There were few things he hated more than this: having to play the part of lord and master to Malignus’ dutiful servant, both roles seeming as simply wrong as they were synthetic. Necessity be damned, he loathed having to bend to the expectations of others, whilst at the same time forcing his love to bow. Right now this dislike was raised to new heights by the unspoken tension which he could sense hung between them, creating a great want to cast aside the barrier of rank and to throw of his reinforced steel disguise. The fact that their separation felt so prolonged made the fact that they remained held apart in such close proximity almost unbearable, it taking an extreme level of effort to maintain his act. ‘You have all done well’ Lanius began in his imperious tone, addressing the assembled multitude. ‘Your achievements speak for themselves’ he continued, passing a hoof over the piled takings of the surrounding conquest and many previous, ‘and should be more than enough to silence those few tongues which once foalishly cast doubt on some of your unit’s number. Tonight we shall celebrate both our victories won today in the field and yours.’

‘Gratias Lord Caesar!’ the frumentarii chorused together.

‘Later we shall feast and you shall be guests of honour, but for now you are dismissed. Lucius, you shall attend to preparations’ the Caesar concluded to his chief praetorian as all others went to work preparing the camp and the evening’s celebration.

Now, that should create at least a modicum of space.

‘Malignus!’ Lanius called out, having to draw the façade of command back into his voice on realising that the dark zebra was departing with all the rest. ‘I would like to hear your report in full. I’ve always appreciated your preferred medium, so let’s take a walk through your latest masterpiece.’

Malignus fell into step beside his Caesar as the taller earth stallion set off at a stride into the remnants of the carnage wrought earlier that day. The fires still engulfed much of the town (having been left to their own purposes) and burned brightly all around, creating a darkened cloud hanging like fog in the air. His heart meanwhile kicked up its tempo as if in preparation for battle, his mind reverting to autopilot, unsure of how to proceed. He walked a respectful half step behind the one he followed, keeping his gaze mostly downward and ahead, snatching only glances at the steely carapaced form which concealed his love within. So focused was he on everything else that it took him several moments to notice that his partner had in fact stopped and turned to face him. This mild surprise then became full blown shock as Lanius’ forehoof came up to lift off his helmet. ‘What are you doing?’ Malignus questioned in an alarmed tone, immediately leaping forward to prevent the action. The two of them became frozen, one with helm part way off revealing only the bottom half of his face, whilst the other clutched the cheek of this headgear.

‘It’s okay’ the set of lips now set beneath the fringe of a metal beard reassured him, ‘there’s nopony around.’

The frumentarius’ gaze went to his surroundings and realised they were now stood within the burnt out husk of a building, what remained of its walls lightly smouldering on all sides, and beyond this there was only a swirling blanket of a thick smoky haze. Lanius finished removing his helmet, the forehoof which had prevented it ceasing its resistance but not letting him go, instead falling to rest against his shoulder. Malignus’ eyes now returned, passing upward over the scar-crossed visage of light brown fur, tracing each long healed mark with comforting familiarity. Further reassured when he counted no new war wounds amongst them, he came to rest on the green fields of two emerald irises which came up to meet him. He was not greeted with the face that he longed to see, but rather its caricature, drawn darkened with an insecurity just visible beneath the surface, which he knew was likely a mirror image of his own.

Silence extended between them, each aware of and desperate to overcome the hurdle of an angered past for which both felt the guilt of responsibility. ‘I’m sorry’ they each said in unison, ears falling flat and eyes hitting the charred floor, whilst a pink tinge flared across their cheeks as they heard their partner speak. ‘No, I’m sorry.’ Again they spoke in mimicry and burned with embarrassment for it, then quiet once more.

It was in the midst of this fresh absence that Malignus remembered his forehoof, still laid on Lanius’ shoulder, his gaze finding the courage to excavate itself and look back on his saddened opposite. The sight hurt, converting all thoughts to simply a desire to fix it, to make everything better. He closed the distance, rising to his hind hooves as he wrapped both forelimbs tight around the taller stallion’s neck, feeling Lanius respond in kind. They each now stood upright, supporting one another in their shared embrace, both holding and being held.

‘About what I said…’ Lanius began in a whisper as he nuzzled lightly into Malignus’ neck.

‘Forget it’ the zebra responded, drawing back to counter the words, before returning to steal a kiss from the lips that spoke them. This first tender touch begot others, making their voices void, unnecessary as each feathery caress conveyed far better their apologies, acceptance and affections.

‘Lord Caesar?’

They both flinched at the questioning speech, the syllables intruding on them through the mist. In spite of this they resisted the tacit call for them to part, hanging on to one another and their stolen moment.

‘Lord Caesar?!’

The words sounded closer now, forcing them reluctantly to acquiesce to their demand, Malignus laying a final kiss on his Caesar’s cheek as he helped the taller stallion back on with his helmet.

‘Thanks Spikey.’ Lanius’ voice came low, slightly muffled by the return of his helm, but nonetheless it was warm and honest, so unlike that of his public self. By now the smoke had begun to thin somewhat in places, a light evening breeze beginning to break cracks in its curtain. They remained alone unfound but this could only remain so for so much longer. ‘I’ve given instructions for my tent to be placed up there’ he continued, pointing towards a ridge set in the hills above the town, a smile detectable in his tone even though it was hidden. ‘I’ll be expecting you.’

Malignus followed the path of the directing hoof to a solitary peak bounded on most sides by steep slopes of baked orange dirt. ‘You never make it easy do you!’ he responded in mock exasperation at the challenge that had been set.

The two of them fell to sitting side by side, the embers of the surrounding ruin dancing around them, glowing bright against the burnt haze which still lingered thickly. Lanius shuffled closer, running undaunted the risk of discovery as he wrapped a forehoof around his much missed frumentarius' shoulders, Malignus snuggling into it, letting his head come to rest against his Lux. They looked outward, happily indulging for a few moments more as they watched the sun slip away over the western horizon, heralding the coming of the night.