In Her Name
He couldn't remember her name.
In the dark moments, and there were always dark moments, he could not help but cast his mind out into the void that lay at the center in search of that name. Sometimes there was the curve of her overly thin chin just out of sight. Blinks after a particularly bright and powerful barrage of artillery cannons sometimes granted him a tantalizing flash of scars covering a face that might have been lovely but just as potentially might have been ugly. It was impossible to tell because the image always disappeared the next instant after. The crash of steel on steel was the worst kind of all. Seeing torn shreds and broken parcels of her was bad enough. Cordite and charred corpses ever so rarely pushed forth a misremembered inhale of the ashen scent of her hair. But when steel struck steel in just the right way, he swore he could hear her voice in the distance.
Indistinct. Unclear. But it was, surely,
hers. For all the way that his chest bled from phantom wounds, he treasured those moments.
Snow piled up all around him as he sat with crossed legs upon the highest point of the hilltop. A massive stone that had been carved flat for him to do just this, to gaze in the far distance as had become routine for the past twenty years. A dangerous position. An
exposed position. Yet here he sat, as always, bare but for a set of rough hide pants from some hunted beast or another as the sun cast an indifferent light from between the darkened clouds. It illuminated him, bathed him in the rare warmth that he – and she – treasured.
Had treasured. In the past that indifferent orb of light had been the subject of many a raging tantrum and curse. Now he accepted it as nothing more and nothing less and in doing so lanced yet another boil upon his psyche.
"Hah…," he let out the breath he'd been holding for longer than any other human on the planet could have held without passing out. In the next instant his barrel chest expanded from the sudden inclusion of the icy winds he inhaled.
For a time that was all there was.
His breath came out as plumes of volcanic steam, and the air was sucked inward as he meditated.
He couldn't remember her name. He couldn't remember…many things.
The first change in his routine came again, in a way its own sort. A titanic hand slowly made its way up from atop the corded muscle of his thighs and atop the back of his head. When fingers so much smaller than his own grasped that hand the whole of him froze. Every inch of him trembled and he wanted to scream and turn to find her again, to find her sitting behind him again with that tight smile she had only ever shown him. Except…he wouldn't find her there.
He had never found her there. Never. Every time he had tried, all that greeted him was the cold wind, the indifferent light of the sun, and the pale snows. Eventually he had stopped trying.
Instead he let those tiny fingers wrap around his hand. To guide that hand down his shaved scalp to…
them.
Holes.
Holes in his head. His mind. His soul.
Slowly. Gingerly. A finger ran itself over the puckered scars. Each and every one, when touched like this, sparked things. Blood being shed in glee with a rapturous smile on his lips. Gore painting his teeth and tongue and indiscriminate pleasure being spread out through the whole of his body from those holes in his head. A scene like that played for each one and it was never the same. It said something that it had disquieted even him when he realized that each one was unique and for all these years he had not yet run out and begun them again.
When his fingers reached the base of his neck, and the craters left in the back of his head were left behind, a sigh reached his ears and those thick and callused hands which had held his own so gently drifted away.
He remembered flashes of her.
Sighting her for the very first time in the arena. Honor displayed, honored owed. The first time he had ever been challenged in that tournament and it had come from a
woman. Albeit warped from birth by genetic enhancement and forced continual cybernetic additions, but nevertheless he had been challenged. Which on its own was not the same as losing but he had watched from the corner of his eye as he fought his own opponents with naught but his fists. As he pulped skulls with his knuckles she knocked low the favored Bound of another city, yet when they cast aside their weapons and made the shameful sign of surrender she acquiesced and moved on. Execution would come for those who broke, and yet she moved on.
Meeting again in the pits beneath the city that had borne him since he could remember anything at all.
Here his chest seized and his lips peeled back in futile hurt at the universe for bringing his mind to those moments in the dark.
It was the first time he had felt passion, and not rage. Fellowship, and not ruling over subordinates.
Other things came later, as they planned and marshalled their strength in the shadows.
The first time he had ever laughed.
Truly laughed. Not the blood soaked cackles that had been all he'd known before then. The first time he had ever cried, when she told him her story.
A fist clenched atop his leg.
He could remember her
telling him, but he could not remember the story. Her face, her voice, her body, her mind. None of it, but he could remember her
telling him.
When they had escaped, a brief war that none of them had been prepared for, he had thought it was the most glorious thing he could ever possibly experience. Thousands of them, led together, raiding the armories of the Master's Guard, making it away to the mountains. Carving out a place there where the only rule was their own. The most glorious thing he could ever possibly experience.
But then she'd shown him something else, and he realized how little he knew of the universe.
How little he would
ever know.
His hand shot up again, and caressed the scars.
"
You could survive it. Be beyond them forever."
A painful lesson, bought in death.
Gushing holes in skulls where their brothers and sisters had torn them out in happiness only to realize the truth of things. Weeping grief that only lasted a single moment before the machines that had been made a permanent part of them bleached that out and left them with fury. Fury at themselves. At the Masters. At the world. At everything. He had been one of them.
But she…
"Father!"
Angron blinked, and the fog of memories and meditation left him behind as he stood fully. The voice had come from below, and so that is where he cast his gaze. A tall red skinned youth bounced the haft of their axe upon their shoulder, smiling with teeth sharper than should have been natural. Her own clothing was as bare as his own, the only addition to the outfit the man himself wore being a bound chest. He had insisted upon it after a few years. Leader of men he might have been but even his closest compatriots were not allowed to leer upon her.
"Ceria," he rumbled, leaping down to the snows and landing without even a crouch. "Where is your brother?"
"Sparring," she smiled again, bouncing the ax again briefly before letting it rest, "Getting ready. The scouts say the Masters are coming after us."
"They are always after us," he leaned down and picked up one of his own weapons, an axe that was larger than his daughters. Larger than his son's for that matter.
"The scouts say they are coming
soon. They've had us surrounded for weeks now, they think we're starving."
Perhaps they would have been.
Before his one love had convinced him. Before he had ripped the Nails from his skull. The pain had been greater than any he had ever suffered nor would suffer up until her death. Yet remove them he had. A doctor taken from the cities who no longer lived now had remarked that they had been driven deep into his skull and had burrowed deeper into his brain for every year they remained. By removing them…early…he had managed a reprieve. No others had repeated his feat, none could. Yet by listening to her he had been granted so much more.
So much.
Without his mind clouded as it had been since the beginning of his life, a war for survival became far more than that. Of the eight grand city-states of Nuceria, only three remained. Soon even they too would fall.
As Angron walked through the camp, he mused on that. On the ranks of gladiators who saluted him yet still bore marks from the cities he had liberated them from. On the ranks of soldiers in uniform who had chosen to rise up against the Master's for a way that did not rely wholly upon bloodshed and poverty. Machines stolen and repaired and learned from chugged along in the machine pits. Guns were dissembled and reassembled on benches of stone and wood near one of the constructed barracks. All around him the camp pulsed with vibrant unrestrained
life. Rage and fury still swallowed thousands, but thousands and thousands more fought with him now. A camp that his daughter left his side to pace off into, wholly unaffected by the frigid environment around her.
"Ceria, do not go too far, I need to speak to you and Nur'e soon."
"All right!" She called out from over her shoulder before disappearing amongst the tents.
Angron could not remember her name.
But he remembered her love. And the two gifts that love had given him.
The Masters and all their armies could bash themselves against his army as many times as they liked.
He could not remember her name. That did not stopped him from fighting for that name.