A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"It can't be," Asabel said, biting her lip. There was no way that the Generals she so respected could be overturned so easily, by that which appeared so simple, and thoughtless. For Skullic to lose meant for Blackwell to lose as well, for the General had positioned him there, before they had been caught up in Tiberius' overwhelming fog, believing indeed that Skullic could handle whatever was thrown at him.

So now why was it that Blackwell wore such a face riddled with doubts? Why had they all begun to doubt? Were these not the same instincts of House Black that had guided them to the current position in the war that they were? They should not have managed to cause as much of a disturbance as they had. Once, victory over the High King seemed a distant thought, but under Blackwell's leadership, and with Oliver Patrick's victory over the Emersons, it had started to glimmer not just as a probability, but a strong one.

And now they were all plunged into the darkness. Those decisions that they had made when they had the liberty of time of thought, they were disregarded, for some strange reason, and entirely forgotten. Those men that had built up such a trust in various things before the battle had begun now declared themselves faithless. Bit by bit, that aura that the Generals wore, that seemed something so divine, was stripped away. It was not only Skullic that was sullied by the events that transpired on his left wing, but the entire army for it. They were made to look fools. They were led through the streets naked, and shown to be mere mortal men by the eyes of their soldiers. It was a crushing thing for morale, and an immensely cruel thing to do in General.

Queen Asabel knew not battle, she knew not strategy, but she did think, to a degree, that she knew people. She knew what sorts of people that she liked and respected, and she knew very well what it was that made her trust someone. There was a particular quality of fieriness that warmed her up to any person quicker than anything else ever could. Or perhaps, rather than just fieriness, it was indeed the actual fire of heart that a man did possess. That was why, she supposed, even when she had found him at his weakest, suffering in blind quietness, she had decided she rather liked Oliver Patrick. She had decided, before the two had even said a word to each other, that she would be fast friends with him.

For, after all, was that not what Queen Asabel admired more than anything else? Was that not, if she could reduce the entirety of her being to a single desire, what she wished to see more than anything else? There was the heritage of dragons in her blood, and her only want was to see those men of greatness, like the heroic memory of her uncle Arthur, fight back the darkness, with the immensity of their own fire that blazed in them.

And indeed, Skullic's fire did blaze. It flickered with uncertainty, but it was hotter than she had ever seen it from the man. It simply lacked its shape. It knew not what direction to cast itself into. By Skullic's own efforts, Queen Asabel could see the immensity of the blanket of darkness that they so aimed to penetrate. It was not a foe equivalent to the might of a thousand men. It was something, far, far mightier.

She shivered her disgust, and her fear. For something of that size, and that incredible magnitude, to be so adept at concealing itself. For a foe to be that grand, yet that invisible. It was sickening, and it was terrifying. It was like the largest snake in existence.

"DO NOT BE FOOLED, SKULLIC!" She shouted to him, knowing very well that she was just a silly little girl, with a silver crown on her head, giving support on a battlefield that she truly knew nothing of. "THOSE ARE NOT A MERE THOUSAND MEN! THOSE ARE TEN THOUSAND, AT LEAST!"

Flitting around in the dark by his lonesome, Skullic had nothing. He found himself reaching for more will, more effort, in order to elicit something that might have some kind of effect, that might raise some kind of bastion that he could cling to, so he could fight his way forward. But eternally, those efforts, those little sparks of fire, simply disappeared into the void. When Queen Asabel spoke, her wanting obvious in her voice, along with her sympathy and care, she spoke to a man that had wandered, as if for a lifetime, in a space that he could not reason with, nor even properly interact with. When she gave him a lifeline, and beat back the darkness temporarily, he seized it with both hands. He dove headfirst into the bonfire that she erected, unthinkingly, for even if it burned him, it mattered not – he needed not joy, he needed not salvation. He simply needed to feel. 'I just want to feel pain,' he found himself wishing, manifesting the truest extent of the suffering that Tiberius was capable of drilling into him.

He was moving before he even knew what he was doing. He was a veritable whirlwind of activity. His eyes were both bright, and they were bleary. By Queen Asabel's words, it really did seem as if those men in front of him were ten thousand strong. And they were not merely men by his eyes, but beasts. Ten thousand beasts in front of him, and he had barely four thousand men to deal with them.

"FALL BACK TEN PACES!" He said, his voice slamming down like a hammer. There was certainty in it now. He made his own steel ring, when once more he cut down one of those men in front of him, and by his eyes, he saw that mass of ten thousand men reduced by ten soldiers at once. It was a greater step than he could likely have hoped for. It made his heart feel just the slightest pang of satisfaction, but it was hardly enough. Against ten thousand men, Skullic knew, he had to be cautious, and careful, he had to make every soldier worth more than it ever could be.