Legion

"What's wrong?"

The question echoed in Legion’s ears.

~-~-~

“What’s wrong?”

Legion is nine years old. He can’t hide his sobbing despite his best efforts. His eyes spark continuosly, the tears of a Diablan. The loud footsteps behind him tell that his father has entered the room. Legion doesn’t have the courage to face him, not after what he’s just done.

He thinks his father will go straight for the antique chair in front of Legion, the one covered in fresh char marks, but the old man drops to one knee so that he can turn Legion to face him. His mustache is thin and well-groomed. The glossy black hairs catch the light and draws Legion’s attention. It's better than looking his father in the eye.

“Legion, tell me what has happened.” The mustache bobs up and down. Was he looking at the chair? He had to be looking at the chair.

“You’re going to hate me.” Legion whimpers. There is no doubt in his young mind that this is true and will remain true from this moment on.

A hand, not quite firm, not quite gentle, caresses the patch of hair on Legion’s head before cupping the back and massaging it with its fingers.

“I can’t hate you if I don’t know what happened.”

The mustache curves upwards. A smile.

Legion’s lip trembles. His tail secures itself to his left ankle.

“I was using your magnifying glass.”

He points a shaky finger to the incriminating instrument on the floor. At first he had meant to imitate how his father had inspected the chair. Bringing the magnifying glass close to the aged wood so that he could interpret the carvings on the legs. But then…

“-I’m sorry!” Legion halts his explanation. He pulls himself away from the kind hand he is so unworthy of.

“Legion.” The mustache goes taught. The hand grips Legion’s head to hold him still. It returns to the massaging motion from before. Legion finds himself exhaling.

“The light made marks.” Legion stutters. He holds the magnifying glass to the vibrant sunlight to demonstrate. If he tilts it just right, the white shadow cast by the lens becomes small like a pinhead. Smoke rises from the wooden floor and a black trail follows where the light leads.

Legion chances a look at his father. He bypasses the eyes and focuses on the brow this time. Already flecks of grey tint his eyebrows. They aren’t bent inward like a frown and that makes Legion calmer.

“And that burnt the chair?” One of the eyebrows shoots up. Not angry. Skeptical. It’s the same tone Legion’s father uses when he talks to himself about the nature of an artifact.

“No. I did that.” Legion shuts his eyes. “With my hands.”

There is absolute silence. Legion is certain that he has just uttered the trigger phrase to seal his fate. His father can no longer love a child that can do that with his hands.

“I made a beam.” He says weakly.

The hand leaves the back of his head and finds his chin. He is made to tilt upwards and when he opens his eyes, he is staring into his father’s eyes of soft pink fire. The expression they make is unreadable.

“You made a beam of light?” His father speaks slowly. “On your own?”

“Yes?” Legion doesn’t know what the answer should be.

“Incredible.” His father whispers. He only utters that when he has found something truly impressive. Something that’s a “once in a lifetime find.”

“Legion, you’re an Incarnate.” Two hands hold Legion’s face. They are gentle and warm and do not mind the sparks falling from his eyes.

“What does that mean?” Legion asks in a small voice. It’s dawning on him that he is not about to be destroyed.

“It means you are even more special than I originally believed.” The hands tussle and tickle Legion’s hair.

Legion giggles but he has to return to the matter at hand. “What about the chair?”

His father breaks away from him. He examines the breadth of the damage to the chair.

“I’d say not to make a habit of it, but knowing that you’re an Incarnate, I’ll give you some leeway. Let me know the next time you feel this might happen.”

The knot spread across Legion’s body unravels. He just needs a final confirmation to feel full relief. “You’re not mad?”

There is a brief sigh from his father. He shakes his head with a smile. “It’s just a chair. A thing. Things don’t matter Legion. Not like how people matter.”

He holds up his singed hands. “Seeing those burns didn’t worry me nearly as much as seeing these tears. You understand me, Legion?”

Legion unwraps his tail from his ankle. “I understand.”

~-~-~

“You killed my father.”

Legion let the words rest in the air. He said it calmly, but the group reacted like lightning had just struck the space between him and Rerume.

“What do you mean?” Cole was so baffled he almost thought it a joke.

Legion pointed Death’s End at Rerume. “Him. He killed my father. Cold blooded.”

Even Legion was surprised by how controlled he was speaking. He had to do it in short bursts, otherwise it was possible he might start screaming.

The murderer, Rerume, walked towards Legion to inspect him closer. Legion didn’t flinch. His wand was ready for sudden violence.

“I don’t know you.” Rerume said flatly.

The restraint it took not to tackle him at this distance made Legion’s voice crack. “I know you. I’ve memorized your face from every time I relive that moment in Refuge.”

At the mention of Refuge Rerume’s mouth curled. A memory of his own held his attention as his stared Legion down.

“Rerume…” Bréag entered the conversation cautiously. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

A breeze passed over the group. From the surrounding hills the trees shook in chorus. It sounded like the waves of the Insólito. Legion and Rerume didn’t take their eyes off each other.

“Your father was a cultist.” Rerume answered.

Every muscle in Legion’s body clenched. He lunged at Rerume. He had no attack plan other than to inflict harm. Frost stopped Legion and held him back. His face was racked with confusion.

“He was not. He fucking was not!” Legion screamed as he struggled against Frost’s strong hands.

Rerume shook his head. Restrained, he no longer deemed Legion a threat. He turned to the others.

“Yes. I killed this boy’s father. It was my duty as an Avenger. There was a monument to Kurtzkith kept on the premises, bold and brazen in what it represented.”

“It was an artifact! My father was a historian.” Legion shouted not just at Rerume, but to the other three as well.

Rerume looked to the sky. “Those are almost the exact words he used. A clear lie. History does not need to remember the sins of the past, not unless it intends to emulate it.”

“You killed a man...on a guess?” Cole couldn’t believe that this is where their day had led.

“If I was wrong, then I would have received a sign.” Rerume answered firmly. “He was not the first I killed ‘on a guess’, nor was he the last. It is my duty to root out any cultists of Kurtzkith, no matter how benign they seem.”

“Even if they’re the Eldest Cleric of your faith?” Bréag asked. He looked as if a great revelation had been set upon him.

Rerume flinched. His mouth hung ajar.

“I heard the Eldest Cleric tell you he was once a cultist. He was murdered not long after. Everyone blamed a diablan, but some said it was an imperial coatlmade.”

Rerume did not respond. His face was hardening to a mask.

“Rerume…” Cole was breathing hard. His eyes might break from their sockets if he forced them any wider. “What happened to the people of Saltspring? Cory Montelban? Zoe? Hays?”

He said that last name like it was a damning nail in a coffin. Rerume seemed to shake as if the words had struck him physically.

“It is my duty…” He began for the third time.

“You killed them.” Frost gaped at Rerume. His grip loosened enough that Legion could break free.

“They protected the boy. The boy with the mark on his arm. I had no choice. Perhaps they were all in on it; perhaps they were only fools. It’s for the Sunless Border to decide.”

Cole stepped away from Rerume. An expression of horror crept across his face. Bréag and Frost were frozen with shock. For every step Cole retreated, Azeroth advanced. The half-orc was controlled, stopping just short of walking into Rerume. The two men scowled at one another.

“I suppose if we’re clearing the air, you should know that I never liked you.” Rerume spoke directly into Azeroth’s face.

“I know.” Azeroth replied. “I heard it every time you looked at me. You’re not a quiet thinker.”

This statement broke the tension, however briefly.

“Azeroth, can you read minds?” Cole asked as if it was something he had finally received confirmation for.

“Sometimes.” Azeroth answered.

In the midst of that revelation Azeroth socked Rerume hard between the eyes. Rerume recoiled, stumbling back while spitting curses at Azeroth.

“That one was for me.” Azeroth growled. “The rest are owed to him.”

He jerked a green thumb in Legion’s direction. It was all the confirmation Legion needed to start marching on Rerume. Cole, Bréag, and Frost were stunned into immobility.

Legion whipped his wand like a sling. A cluster of black sparks struck Rerume, singing his cloak. Rerume recovered from Azeroth’s strike. He cast his cloak aside and spun his spear into attack position. A tongue of flame left his lips, igniting the spear tip with brilliant fire.

“Son of a cultist. Father of a cultist.” Rerume sneered.

He thrust forward three times. Legion scrambled to avoid, but Rerume was quicker and could guess his movements. The flames that scrapped Legion’s sides did not kill him, but it reminded him how tired and drained he was. Nosib’s magic had only healed immediate wounds, but the lingering trauma of his torture came to the fore with each fresh burn.

Legion brandished his wand like a spear of his own. Black flame spewed from the tip, charring everything it touched. Rerume had to roll to avoid it. He rushed forward and swept Legion’s legs. Before he could strike down, an arrow caught Rerume’s shoulder.

Bréag had broken from the spell of his shock and was prepared to fight on Legion’s behalf.

“No!” Legion shouted. “It has to be me!”

Bréag’s aim faltered. He looked to Legion, then Rerume, then his comrades. Frost and Cole were reaching for their own weapons. They all knew that Rerume was in a class beyond Legion. Legion felt weak. Weak like when Maya trained him. Weak like when he watched Jayjay be murdered. Weak like when he cradled his father’s head in his lap.

“It has to be me.” Legion repeated.

A black blade launched from Death’s End. It severed Rerume’s spear, launching the flaming tip into a nearby stump. Legion sprang to his feet. Not to let weakness show, Rerume used the pole of his spear as a quarterstaff. He cracked it against Legion’s wrist. Death’s End shot from Legion’s hand and nestled inert on the ground. In a panic, Legion held up both his hands. Red rings condensed on each palm, exploding with a forceful shock wave of light that pushed Rerume back and sent his weapon sailing behind him.

Furious, Rerume unleashed his own fire. The inferno breath was sudden and all consuming. Legion felt himself pass through the core of the fireball. His skin wracked with pain he never knew possible. He fell backwards. The red tint of his skin was obscured by black char.

Death’s End was within reach, but when he stretched for it a hard boot stomped it in place. Rerume was above him, holding a crystal red knife.

“There is a difference between cultists like you and I...” Rerume kneaded the wand under his heel. “Deprived of your tools you can no longer spray fire. Whereas I have it burning in my core.”

Smoke poured from Rerume’s mouth as he inhaled. Legion went deaf. If the others were coming to his rescue he didn’t know. Rerume’s visage melted away to an image of his father.

All of this had been, and always would be, for his father.

His hands cracked with pain, but he put both to Rerume’s chest. Before he could breathe Rerume was thrown back by the force of an arcane beam. Legion forced himself to his knees in time for Rerume to recover himself. Legion flexed his palm, ready to cast again.

“Mother I beg your blessing!” Rerume declared just before the beam struck him.

The beam burned through Rerume’s armor, searing the red scales underneath. The coatlmade seemed unaffected. He stood and took the beam as he inhaled for another fireball.

Legion roared. The beam pierced through Rerume’s chest and exited the other side. Rerume swallowed his fire and gawked at the diablan. He was mouthing something.

“Mother I beg your blessing. Mother I beg your blessing. Mother I beg your blessing.”

Each time he said it he seemed more worried that nothing came of it. For the first time, Legion saw terror in Rerume’s eyes.

Legion dropped his hands. He had no more energy to give. The beam dissipated into vapor.

Rerume trembled. The hole in his chest was a window to what was behind him.

“Mother…?” He whispered.

He fell to his side and moved no more.

Somewhere, in the trees, a vulture hissed.