Fate comes for all.

Faust felt like he was dying. He took a moment to regain his composure, his breathing growing heavy as he tried to steele himself.

"Centurion?" Legate Silvano asked. He stopped his walk, eyebrow raising as Faust composed himself.

"It's nothing," Faust muttered. He stood up straight, chin raised high, as he turned to the Legate. He needed to keep up the appearance that he was well, especially in front of the other men. It would do him no good to lose himself now. Not when both men were strolling around the war camp, every grunt's eye on them.

"I do hope so," Silvano said with a sigh. He turned away from the Centurion, his hands clasped behind his back. "I'd rather have Caelus' Champion to set an example to the other men, one that wouldn't imply that he was a habitual drinker."

Faust blinked at that, his posture faltering. Caelus' Champion. The Centurion took a moment to process the words, his mind stopping for a moment. He then shook himself back to reality, almost chuckling at himself for nearly forgetting. Faust was a Champion of Caelus, a status earned from his fight with Leonard Kord a month back.

Ever since the sudden rise to power, Faust had been training to hone it in. It wasn't as easy as he hoped it to be. For one, he wasn't sure what castings and blessings the god had bestowed upon him. The only thing for certain was the runic glyphs burned into his armor, their glow a soft greenish color. Even then, the magic wasn't special. The protection granted was equal to that of a basic Carapace, and even then, it sapped at Faust's reserves in the midst of battle.

Being a Champion of Caelus, it seemed, was a title that did not come with much benefit. Sure, the Centurion appreciated the protection. Of course, he did like the new sense of authority and power he held over his legionaries. Yet despite it all, Faust felt little to nothing was gained from the god's blessing. The war camp's priests had told him that he needn't worry about it. They informed Faust that Caelus would reward him with more power as long as the Centurion continued to garner favor from him.

It was a stupid prospect. Why would he need to garner favor from a God that bestowed him the title of Champion? He already garnered enough to be recognized. Wasn't that itself enough favor?

"What bothers you so?" Silvano suddenly asked, his deep voice interrupting Faust's thoughts. The Centurion gave a dejected sigh as he ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. The sun was baking him from the inside of his armor despite the elemental protection runes that were engraved onto it.

"Nothing," Faust said curtly. He focused on the walk, hoping—praying—that the Gods would show some mercy and send a cool breeze his way. "Just itching to get back onto the battlefield."

The Legate nodded slowly at that, eyes narrowing. "Of course. Do tell me, Desimir, how many days you have left? Before your tour ends?"

"Well, I suppose you should know that."

"I forget. Please, remind me."

Faust frowned but did not argue. He closed his eyes, thinking back to the last time he had been around the main tents. "Twenty days left. I leave for home at the end of Thaw."

It was strange to say those days aloud. The time for his leave seemed so much closer now that he admitted it to Silvano. Faust couldn't help but feel a pang of regret in him as he thought about Cyrus' words. About his promise to himself on that balcony in Arendton. Diane was probably worried sick for him now, waiting for his return.

The image of the Emperor watching him as he condemned thousands to death. A fortress burning as Faust watched on with grim resolve.

Faust shook that image away, his eyes blinking as he moved past that memory.

So much had happened since that time. Faust had done much, killed many, and avenged those who perished. All that was left was the small city of Roma. Lumen troops were reported to be headed to the territory, bent on taking it over and using the flat hills as staging grounds for their raptors and griffin mounts.

Faust's battalion was fortunately closer—by a day's march—ahead of the Lumen bastards by a week. However, it also meant they got stuck with defending the small city. Which meant they were bound for either a siege or bloody invasion. Faust did not prefer either. Especially when scouts reported that a Lumen Knight was amongst those troops. Rumors floated around that it was a relative of Kord, making it all the more undesirable.

As Faust contemplated the possibilities of such a confrontation, Silvano stopped his walk. The Centurion barely managed to avoid bumping into the Legate. As he straightened himself, Faust noted how their surroundings changed. Instead of the bustling war camp, they were on the outskirts, the only life around them being the bright flowers that swayed by their ankles. He didn't even pay attention to where they were walking. Only that the Legate was taking charge.

"We're moving out to Roma tomorrow," Silvano said. "I'd like to cut your tour short and send you home before our march."

"What?" Faust said with surprise. He took a moment to process the words before he spoke again. "Send me home? Did Cyrus–?"

"He did not ask me," Silvano said. "I promise you. This is a decision of my own."

Faust stared at the Legate, looking for any signs that the aged man was lying. Then again, Silvano never lied, every word from his lips truthful as the deity that had granted the Centurion his blessings.

"Why? Why would you send me home so soon?"

"Simple," Silvano answered. "Roma is bound to be a venture that would last months if not years. Either from siege or urban battle. While small, I do not think that the Lumen Kingdom would appreciate us holding it. In any case, you will be overstaying your time here. I doubt there will be a chance for you to back out during the conflict."

"Perhaps that could change," Faust said. "If we coordinate ourselves, Roma could very well be ours in under a month, Lumen backsides facing toward us."

"Perhaps, but it is a gamble," Silvano said. "A dangerous one. This is not a fight that can be won with risky tactics and bardic bravado. Roma could very well be the tide that determines this war's end."

"Then all the more reason I fight," Faust insisted. He locked eyes with Legate, not daring to break his gaze.

"Why are you so insistent on this?" Silvano asked softly. "You have someone back home, no? Someone who cares deeply for you, I assume. Why would you want to risk your life for this when you can go back home to be with her?"

Faust clenched his jaw tightly at that. It wasn't that he didn't want to go back to Arendton, to Diane. Hel, it was he was looking forward to toward the end of this cursed campaign. Yet, Faust couldn't back down. Not when the fate of the Legion was just a day's march away. Not when he had Caelus' own blessing.

There was a certain poetic justice in the upcoming battle for Roma. One last fight, one that could tip the scales for good. Faust would only need to win. After which, he would retire with Diane without regret. This was something he needed. Something that he could change. Not even his duel with Leonard Kord was this important to him.

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"I only wish to serve Cyrus' will," Faust stated with the utmost confidence. "That is all. Give me this, please."

Silvano stared at Faust for a good minute, cold dark eyes examining him head to toe. After a moment, he nodded with a sigh. "Fine. Once Roma is ours and the Lumen force is defeated, will you be satisfied? Even if it doesn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things?"

"I only ask for the glory of one more victory," Faust said. He watched as the Legate gave a curt nod.

"Understood," Silvano said, his expression hardening as he turned back to the war camp. "We will mobilize at dawn tomorrow. Ready your century before then."

"Of course," Faust said with a bow, watching as the older man strode back to camp, hands clasped behind his back.

As he watched, Faust could feel a sense of dread form in his chest. For some reason, he felt as if he had doomed himself.

"I am afraid of its grasp."

Faust panted as he stumbled through the streets of Roma, his gladius nicked and his armor falling apart. He grunted as he rested against a destroyed shop, his hand digging into his pouch for a potion. His shaking fingers came back with a small bronze vial, its wax seal still intact. Faust tore it off with his teeth, revealing a viscous red liquid inside. He hesitated and drank the contents, his body reacting almost immediately.

His wounds healed slowly, pain flaring in all of them as the potion forcibly increased his metabolism. Faust held back a groan of discomfort as the bloodied wound by his side felt like it was on fire. He clenched his jaw tightly, more pain becoming apparent as he breathed heavily. After a few seconds, it finally passed.

While most of the cuts and strained muscles were restored, his side wound was barely affected. Faust cursed his luck as he stumbled to the street, his body not feeling much different. He would have a talk with that cursed apothecary once he got back to camp. That's if he survived today.

The ambush in Roma went to shit so fast that Faust didn't even realize they lost until less than five minutes ago. It was only once he stepped into the destroyed town that he realized that the battle had been a lost cause. Legate Silvano was dead, his head placed on a pike at the town's center. Legionnaire bodies littered the streets, the buildings all up in flames.

To add insult to injury, Faust had also lost the blessings of Caelus. Somehow. He still didn't know how it happened. Only that he lost the favor soon after the battle's beginning. Was it something he did? Something he said? He never meant those insults about the deities' balls.

'Dammit, focus, Desimir! Find a way out of this accursed town, now!'

He needed to retreat to the war camp. To Cyrus and his honor guard. They would protect him. Faust nodded at that plan. It sounded fine for the moment. Maybe he'll—

"Shit!" Faust cursed as he nearly stumbled over some rubble, his body nearly giving out. As he straightened himself, he noted something in the distance. Faust blinked and focused on the figure who walked with regal authority.

They were clad in steel plate armor, blue cloaks wrapped around their shoulders. This man had his back turned to the Centurion, his men surrounding him as he patrolled the streets ahead of him. Faust focused on the cape's heraldry, his heart dropping at the familiar sight of a white Phoenix encased in Delphine's seven-pointed sun. House Kord's coat of arms, combined with the symbol of the Lumen Knights.

He was a Kord. Just like Leonard, the man Faust had killed months ago.

'Didn't Silvano mention that Leonard had a son? Eobard, was it?'

The Lumen Knight had not noticed Faust yet, his focus mainly on the bodies ahead of him. His men were stabbing at their corpses with spears, probably making sure none were still alive. The sight filled Faust with a burning rage.

"Kord," he growled, his hand tightening around his sword's grip. His jaw tightened as he watched the knight, who cared little for the men who tried to surrender or crawl away. He was executing them.

"Kord!" Faust yelled in challenge, more out of desperation rather than bravado. He just needed to buy time for the men. "Come fight me!"

As he spoke those words, viscous blood filled his mouth. Faust spat it out, his lungs wheezing as he tried to regain some sense of poise. He needed to stand tall before this bastard. At least until his men were out safely.

'Why am I doing this?'

As Faust watched Kord turn to him, a part of himself screamed to turn tail and run. There was no winning with this man, the same man whose father he had killed. No rightful son wouldn't bear a furious anger toward such a killer. Yet, as Faust watched on, Kord simply did not acknowledge him. He just stared, his helmet's visor emotionless. The men around him continued to stab injured soldiers.

"Come and fight me, coward!" Faust shouted, practically screaming at the other man. He gritted his teeth as he thought of something biting to say. A morbid thought came across his mind not a second later. Faust grinned a manic smile as he called out once more, "At least the other one gave me a challenge!"

That seemed to do it. The men around Kord started, their spears dripping crimson as they headed toward Faust. They were stopped when the Lumen Knight raised an inquisitive fist. Eobard was very still, his posture straight and his poise unmoving like a statue. His men backed off, almost reverent, as they allowed Kord to step forth.

Faust stared at the knight, his body shuddering at the man's calm movements. Something then made itself present in him, a pit forming in his stomach. He was afraid. He had forgotten the feeling. It had been so long since the Centurion had known such an emotion.

'Not since that time. Back in my first battle.'

Faust faintly recalled it. It was when he was serving as a Legionnaire. Back then, his only weapon was a spear, and his armor was some ruddy chainmail passed down to him from a dead man. Faust had nearly died then, and that pit had formed like a steel ball dropped in mud. He hated it and had since vowed to never allow it to take hold of him.

He did a good job upholding that vow. Until now.

'I'm going to die, aren't I?'

Faust swallowed hard at the realization. There would be no running away. Not when he was faced with this creature of a man. Just the way Kord moved unnerved the Centurion to no end. There was no doubt that he'd be killed if he even tried to retreat.

'Death by a man whose father I killed. Can't say I don't deserve such a fate.'

For some reason, Faust's fear evaporated at the realization. It was… strange. He expected that pit to sink deeper, to weigh him down. Yet, now that he accepted death, it faded away. He smiled at that, a small chuckle escaping him as he faced down Eobard Kord. The man was still posed, enchanted sword drawn as he awaited Faust.

"I suppose you're too much of a bastard to actually approach me, eh?" Faust asked with a chuckle. He smiled as he took his stance, gladius at the ready.

'I'm sorry Diane. I wish I wasn't blinded by my own rage and hubris. I should've taken Cyrus' offer.'

If he did manage to live through this by some miracle, he would be sure to buy her a ring made of valdoran steel and studded with arenian emeralds. Sure, it would be his entire yearly pay, but the Centurion liked to think it'd be far from his worst worries if he did manage to survive to see that day.

Faust grinned as he rushed Kord, his sword raised as he sprinted. Maybe if he did kill Kord, he could die in peace knowing he did something noteworthy before his end. That was also a nice thought.

'I hope you're watching, Golden Bitch.'

Faust would soon reach Eobard, his arms straining as he prepared to feint his swing, hoping to bait the knight. He could see how the Knight's sword readied for a strike as Faust came closer to striking distance. For a second, Faust believed his gambit would actually succeed. All he needed to do was to feint his strike and have Koird take the bait. He would leave himself open to attack.

'He's mine.'

The thought had run so clearly through his head.

"Flash Strike."

Faust's vision went black.

"So, I died?"

In a way, yes. In more ways than one, however, you have become something more.

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