Headed by a Snake

"Huh?" Zenon was surprised, but only for a moment, "Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't they be?"

"Oh, good," Tycondrius smiled and nodded, "I haven't seen any, as of recent."

"Well, they're not common," Zenon shrugged. "But they do happen. It's usually for something like... military desertion? Most major crimes are usually met with immediate execution."

"(Comin' riiiight up!!!)" Horse neighed as he approached. "(This'll cure your big sad, Snaaake!!)"

The Invictus stallion steadily climbed the incline, dragging a cart latched to his sides. Within it was a single, large wooden stake, two bundles of rope, and whimsically, a sack of iron spikes and a complementing pair of hammers.

It was everything they needed to crucify a human properly.

"Just one stake, Optio?" Zenon asked.

"It seemed cheaper than binding two together," Tycon smirked.

He crouched down over Victorius, gagged and bound... struggling with all his might. He was finding his knotted ropes quite secure.

"You should have died with a weapon in your hand, Mister Victorius."

The man continued to sob-- the cloth gag muting his wailing.

He knew.

Tycon said the words aloud for his own benefit... "Well, young man, you'd best look alive. Quite possibly, your one and only savior is fast approaching. If you wish to live, despite your guilt, your words must hold... a certain weight."

Walking beside Horse was Holy Lancer Tanamar, who had requisitioned the crucifixion materials as Tycon had requested.

"Athanasius!" Tycon stood, opening his arms to welcome the Holy Lancer, "Thank you for making haste. How is Miss Athena faring?"

"We dropped her off at Parthenope's place... Lone's with Sorina and Korr-- and Salt and the others are at the inn."

The silver-haired footman grimaced, pointing to the sobbing wretch on the ground, "What's going on here?"

"Ah, yes..." Tycon chuckled to himself. "I'd like your opinion on the matter, if you would."

"Let him go, Tycon," Tanamar crossed his arms, "Whatever he's done, he doesn't deserve this."

"Oh? What if I told you that he was the one who opened the gates, allowing the Stormbrands to torch the estate and steal the Frost Stone?"

Tanamar dropped his arms, staring blankly with his mouth agape... "He... what?"

Zenon nodded, crinkling his mustache, "He's said as much, himself, the Flame-taken idiot."

"In hindsight, no one else would have opened the doors," Tycon sighed. "Lord Greer and the other one never bothered."

"But..." Tanamar had clenched his fists, seething in fury... "The defensive formations?"

"Our extensive preparations and carefully-laid plans have all been proved useless by human stupidity," Tycon shook his head.

Tanamar stared down at Victorius. His eyes were beginning to glow white... "You Flamescarred son of a--"

"We were going to crucify him," Tycon smirked. "Would you like to help?"

Tanamar turned with a glare, his unrestrained killing intent forcing Zenon to wince.

"No one is being crucified today."

The young man knelt by Victorius' side and began to undo the ropes.

"Tanamar," Zenon frowned. "You can't just--"

Tycon grabbed the Librarian's collar, pulling him back and halting his words.

A beam of concentrated light sheathed Tanamar's form and quickly began to swell in size. As powerful as Zenon's ⌈Mana Ward⌋ was, taking injury from the Holy Lancer's oppressive containment formation would have been troublesome.

The taller man turned to face Tycon with troubled eyes.

Tycon shrugged, "It's probably fine."

...

"Seven HELLS! You came at JUST the right moment!"

Finally free of the cloth gag on his mouth, Victorius managed a wide grin-- even despite the tears and snot still wet on his face.

Tanamar shuddered as he sucked air into his lungs. He was trying to keep his fury in check...

Victorius managed to get the loosened bindings off of him, cradling his crippled hand, "Those crazy bastards were gonna crucify me. Can you believe it? In this sun and age?"

"Yeah... they were."

That's all he managed. He had a thousand things to say... but to say them while not *also* murdering his friend-- that's what he was having a hard time with.

"You gotta believe me, Tanamar... I had no idea that Tancred was gonna burn the house down. Maybe Occam, but... I mean, if I did, I'd have never let them in, right?"

Tanamar spoke very... slowly... enunciating his words. "You and me, we're going to find Athena. Then... you are going to kneel... and you are going to apologize."

"What?" Victorius furrowed his brows, "Come on, man. It's not my fault!"

All of the muscles in Tanamar's right arm were flexed... and he found himself gripping a holy lance in his white-knuckled hand. With a two-handed swipe, he struck the side of Victorius' leg, dropping him to his knees.

Before the Archer could even react, Tanamar thrust the mana-blade of his weapon through the man's good hand, pinning him to the ground.

"ERRGAAARGHHHH!!!! T-T-TANAMARRR!! WHAT THE FFFFFFFFUUUUUUCK!!????!"

"We're going back... to find Athena," Tanamar whispered, his voice harsh... "and you're going to kneel... just like this. And you... are going to *beg* for forgiveness."

"Fffffuck! What the... ff-- aughh..." Victorius groaned. "Ff... Flame, TAKE you, man! I... I already SAID... that it's not my... ffffAULT!!!"

Tanamar closed his eyes, searching his memories.

Was Victorius always like this?

...Not exactly. But still, Tanamar wasn't surprised by the way he acted.

More of the man's agonized tears dripped onto the dirt.

Tanamar felt... nothing. It was like... something had snapped inside. He did not feel pity. He did not feel disappointment... or regret.

He wasn't even sure if it was anger that was swirling in his chest.

"I can't believe you... my... my hand..." Victorius turned his head up, his eyes red with rage, "Man, F*CK GREER!! That guy was a piece of SHITE, anyroad!! Why the hells would I have to apologize for a Flamescarred THING?!?"

Tanamar wound and launched a heavy kick into the blonde man's side. Victorius flipped onto his side, dry heaving.

Free from guilt, he lifted his foot up and brought a mana-empowered stomp down. The bones of Victorius' bleeding hand turned to mush.

Void of mercy, he raised his arm and jammed his holy lance downward. Victorius was pierced through the stomach, with the weapon lodging deep into the dirt.

Yes, Athena's parents were trash.

Yes, they deserved to die horrifically.

However... they also gave birth to the woman he loved.

That... was reason enough.

He considered saying it out loud... but deep inside of him... he knew that words wouldn't change Victorius' mind.

Nothing would.

He channeled more power into his holy lance before he released it. Its form would remain solid... securing Victorius in place, unless he wanted to tear up his insides to free himself.

Tanamar formed a simple stool out of mana, sitting down and steepling his fingers.

If Victorious refused to beg at Athena's feet... then the man would bleed to death, dying at his.