Pyrrhic

by Alicia McKenzie

 

 


DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Marvel, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. Rated PG-13 for disturbing imagery. A Clan Chosen what-if...


This does not feel like victory.

It should. I should feel something more than grim satisfaction, to see the banner of the Clan Chosen flying from the citadel of New Canaan. It should be a stirring, inspirational sight. It is not.

But we have won. This is victory. I wonder if I will believe it, if I repeat it to myself often enough.

Sullen, terrified citizens line the streets, held in check by lines of our battle-armored troopers, and watch as we pass. I am walking through the streets, my son at my side. This was my choice, the entrance into the conquered city that I was determined to make. Tetherblood and the others raised objections, concerned about security. I dismissed their concerns. I lead here, and if I choose to walk to the place where I am to receive Parridian Haight's surrender, walk I shall.

"They're afraid of us," Tyler says, quietly.

"They should be." My voice comes out soft, but savage. I feel their fear. Their terror, that they will be held to account for the deeds of their leaders and their armies. Part of me would like nothing more than to raze this accursed city to the ground, preferably with all of them trapped within the walls. They may not have been the ones who raped and tortured and killed and burned their way across Eurasia, but it was in their name that the Canaanite armies fought, for their benefit that the conquests were made. They have grown fat and complacent on our suffering. I will not feel sympathy for them now.

But the city is pacified. I will not kill civilians who have surrendered. There is enough honor left in me, and the memory of my beloved is still strong enough to prevent me from plunging headlong into slaughter.

Part of me wishes I could. Part of me wants to drown my pain in blood.

We reach the citadel, and Tetherblood strides forwards to meet us. "We have them in the council chamber," he reports tersely. "The senior officers, the council members--Haight and Stryfe both."

"Good. Very good." I feel that cold, tight smile grow on my features. "Let's make an end to this, brother." He nods grimly, and we continue on.

Inside the massive, high-ceilinged chamber to which Tetherblood directs us, the officers of the Elite Guard and the members of the Canaanite council are assembled, under guard. Parridian Haight stands foremost among them, tall and proud and implacable, even in defeat.

I spare him barely a glance. My attention is drawn to the man in chains on the floor, an inhibitor collar around his neck. His silver armor is scorched and broken, and the wounds from the battle are all too obviously untended. I should rebuke Tetherblood for not having a medic see to him. Once upon a time, I used to insist that our prisoners be treated kindly.

A very long time ago, before the eternity of this last year. Before my heart went cold.

He raises his head, and has the unbelievable gall to smile at me. Tyler steps forward with a growl and backhands him with a gauntleted hand, nearly breaking his jaw.

"Keep your eyes on the floor, you piece of filth," my son snaps, blue eyes blazing.

I smile faintly. "I'm glad to see that you survived the battle, Stryfe." And I am glad. Passionately glad. The idea that he might have died before I ever got the chance to look upon him again--

He coughs, spitting blood at my feet, and the guards standing on either side of him haul him backwards, their eyes promising terrible things. "I--doubt your good wishes," he chokes out, managing a laugh. "I doubt them very much. You may have inhibited my powers, but I know what's in your mind."

"Do you? Do you really?" I ask softly, and look up at the Elite officers, focusing on them. "I will not waste time with a litany of the atrocities you and yours have committed over the last fifteen years," I say bluntly. "As of today, the Elite Guard of the Canaanite Order ceases to exist. Your lives and those of your subordinates are forfeit." I glance at Dawnsilk. "See to it, sister," I ordered, my voice roughening. She nods once, and has the guards remove the officers from the chamber.

I have just ordered the deaths of nearly fifty thousand men and women. I should feel more than this.

"Are we to expect the same treatment?" Haight asks expressionlessly. "Do you choose not to respect our surrender?"

Haight is too dangerous to live, certainly. The others--they are politicians, no more, no less. I must walk a fine line. If you strip a conquered people of too much, you get--

Rebellion.

You get us.

"I haven't decided yet," I say truthfully.

"Askani bitch!" one of them hisses, and the guard standing beside him presses the muzzle of his gun against the man's temple, warningly.

"You will speak of the Lady Aliya with respect, or not at all," he snarls, and the man pales and goes silent.

The guard looks almost regretful, and I smile to myself, humorlessly. They are more dangerous of late, these Clansmen of mine. Darker, and colder, just like I myself am. Was it my pain that changed them, or the other way around?

Immaterial, I suppose. Despite our losses, despite the long exhausting stretch of our latest and last campaign, we are as united as we have always been. I spare a moment to silently thank the Bright Lady for that blessing. For a time, I was afraid we had lost what held us together. That it had died, as Nathan had died in my arms that day amidst the ruins of our camp. I close my eyes, remembering. It might have been Tyler and I, so very easily.

But what is, is. And it had been Nathan who had fallen that day, fallen in our defense. I had held him close, weeping the last tears I would ever shed as the light faded from his eyes, and a void that could never be filled opened in my mind.

Our Chosen One was dead, but the Clan had endured. And in his name, in his honor, we had carried on the fight, warred without respite until we were at the gates of New Canaan and victory was within our grasp.

All that is left is to stretch my hand out and take it.

I step forward to face Haight. He swallows, loathing blazing from him like heat in the desert. "New Canaan is yours," he says curtly.

"Good of you to admit that," I answer, smiling softly. "Considering that I've shattered your army and captured your capital. Then again, watching your propaganda broadcasts all these years, I've come to the conclusion that you have a wondrous talent for stating the obvious, Haight."

He bites back whatever response he wants so desperately to make. "Do I have your leave to withdraw?" he rasps.

"No. Not yet."

I turn to face Stryfe. He raises his head again, still smiling, and this time I stretch out a hand and hold Tyler back with a single silent gesture. "Nothing to say?" I ask him, in a voice for our ears alone.

He laughs, a wheezing, broken sound. "What is there to say, Aliya? Perhaps you'd like to hear what I had in mind for you, if we'd won the day--"

I see the images in his mind, gleefully constructed, as vivid as life. Him killing Tyler in front of my eyes. Raping me on the council table in this very chamber.

It is meant to make me angry, to make me lose control. Is he truly that foolish, that he does not see? How can a man with my Nathan's face be so stupid?

I have been angry since the moment my husband breathed his last. And control no longer matters.

My hand tightens on the grip of my psimitar, and I step forward, my other hand tangling in Stryfe's hair as I yank his head upwards, placing the blade at his throat. A moment's concentration, and it begins to glow, telepathic energy flowing through the staff and turning it ice-cold to the touch.

"You didn't realize, did you." My voice is still soft, but sharp, edged with emotions I can not, will not allow myself to express. "You didn't understand what would happen if you killed him. What a martyr he would make."

And so he had. Bright Lady, what power the memory of him still has, even now. Not just for me. For the Clan, for all those who have flocked to our banner and fought with us across the continent, all those who have brought us to this place. To this triumph.

I would trade it all to have him standing beside me, alive and well. And he would curse me for the thought.

"A--mistake," Stryfe rasps, his smile growing. "To kill him so quickly."

And in his mind appear more images meant to provoke me. Flashes of Nathan suffering, Nathan in agony. Tormented. Broken. Pleading for release--

And I laugh. For he is a fool. The images are horrific, but they have no power to hurt me. There is a point past which there can be no more pain, and I reached it long ago. For I still remember Nathan's eyes at the last, and everything they held. The agony of his wounds, his sorrow at leaving us. His guilt and shame at dying with the work unfinished--

I made a promise to him that day, that I would carry on. In his place and in his honor.

I swore I would not rest until we were free.

And I made a promise to myself.

Staring down into those so-familiar eyes - my husband's eyes, his murderer's eyes - I smile. "Sanctity didn't teach you everything," I murmur, and lash out with all my anger, all my pain.

I touch his mind, that twisted, shadowed mind that could have been a wondrous thing, a source of light for all around him. I see, in that moment, everything that has brought him to this--the child he had been, distorted into the man he is now.

And I do--not--care.

His undefended mind shatters like glass, and he dies without a sound.

Straightening, I let his lifeless body fall to the floor and stare down at him for a long moment. There is no expression on his face, just as there is none on mine.

"G'journey," I whisper beneath my breath, on impulse, as I look up. There is satisfaction on the faces of my Clansmen, shock or fear or frozen stiffness on the faces of the Canaanites.

"Mother," Tyler murmurs.

I reach out and take his hand. "It's over," I say, loud enough for both my Clansmen and the Canaanites to hear me. The war is over, and the harder task remains.

Something twists inside me. How am I supposed to make any sort of peace when all that's left in my own heart is ashes? I look up into Tyler's eyes and realize suddenly that it will be his task, not mine. His peace. He and his generation are the future.

Me and mine have fought our battles. Run our course.

"It is over, Mother," Tyler says softly, urgently, as my eyes stray back to Stryfe's body. "We've won."

This may not feel like victory, but it is. For a moment, I surface from the bleakness, and a spark of something that might have been joy, had I felt it an eternity ago, flares in the darkness of my heart.

"We've won," I echo him, casting the words out into the void, wondering if Nathan might hear me, wherever he is.

We've won. We are free, my love. Both of us.



fin


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