Skippii gasped as he watched horrors unfold: legionnaires fled, throwing themselves from the hillside to get out of its path. Others weren't so lucky, losing their footing in the wreckage of bodies strewn about, falling beneath its rampage. One legionnaire–figuring he could not outrun the beast–turned and held his shield aloft, spear poised. The monstrous hog did not falter, thrusting its gigantic head at him. Its tusk pierced the shield clean through its willowcore, wrenching it from his grasp. The brave legionnaire thrust his spear into its cheek, but a moment later, he was flung high into the air and disappeared over the edge.

However, the pig stalled. It shook its head in irritation as the spear protruded from its cheek like a thorn. In the reprieve, many men scrambled over the hillside out of its way. As the path cleared, the way behind was revealed. Skippii beheld a strange sight. Three people in robes paced behind the monstrous boar. Stark naked, except for the black war paint that covered their pale complexion, the Ürkün raised their hands and howled at the beast. As though in response, the boar reared its head, squealing manically and stomping its feet. Then it charged right towards him.

Spurred by fear, Skippii turned and retreated with his companeight. But the closer he came to his tonnage's standard, the more congested their path was. Orders shouted by superiors and the bleat of trumpets were drowned in waves of panic. They were trained to fight barbarians, not monsters. Such were things of legend. Trapped as he was, unable to act, Skippii had but a moment to think.

Six ranks of legionnaires stood between him and their tonnage's standard. They were all pressed against the rear of a wagon. One man tossed his arms aside to climb over it in a frenzy. He scrambled past their tonnage's primus: Custos Maritor, who stood above them all. The veteran barked orders, facilitating the retreat, but time and again his eyes fell on the approaching beast and his mouth hung a fraction agape.

He had not seemed to notice or consider the white canvas beside him, and what cargo was sheltered on the wagon.

"Who can fire a scorpio?" Skippii shouted to his companeight–even in the chaos, they had kept together.

He repeated the question, but only Tenoris' head turned. The big man considered him for a moment, then took in a deep breath and bellowed. "Who amongst us can operate the siege engines?"

Tenoris' voice carried over the panic, buttressing it like a crashing wave.

"Aye," Orsin replied, a knowing look in his eye. That was all the planning required. Orsin threw down his spear and shield and climbed atop the wagon beside Custos Maritor. He cut canvas down its centre, revealing the scorpio ballista beneath, passing a few words to his superior. Skippii saw the look on his Primus' face light up, and an instant later, he leapt from the wagon. Landing amongst the pack of legionnaires, he waded to their fore.

"Form a line," he shouted, waving his blade aloft. "Phlanax. Cavalry intercept."

The tide shifted around him–men drawn to his boldness. Skippii turned to face the beast. Tumours sprung from the boar's right-side jaw, pale and pustulated–stark and hairless against its dark hide. Its eyes were full of pain, and rage. With a grotesque howl, it charged.

"Phalanx, on me," Skippii shouted, stepping forward. His companions interlocked their shields and raised their spears.

"Oh Gods, we're dead men," Cur growled.

"Orsin mans the scorpio," Tenoris said. "Its bolt shall slay the fiend."

"I'm gonna trust my life to his aim?" Cur protested, but they were pushed from behind. Legionnaires rallied to Custos Maritor's call, and their companeight was pressed to the frontline. On the front rank were he, Tenoris and Fulmin. Behind them were Drusilla, Kaesii and Arius.

The ground shook as he and his companeight pressed forward. Beside him, Fulmin began to moan like a nervous dog, but kept his spear straight.

"Erymenes Fabricatorus, forge us like steel," Tenoris chanted, rising with pitch and volume–manic like a preacher as the boar came closer. "Strengthen our hearts. Rivet us immovable. Guild our flesh in bronze. Cast our bones in iron! Chrysaetos, witness us. Send us to the heavens swiftly. We shall reunite in your halls!"

"For Auctoritas!" Skippii yelled.

"The Ninth!" Drusilla and Kaesii screamed in unison.

The boar grew in size until it filled his vision. At the last moment, he and the front file crouched low, as they were taught to receive a cavalry charge, and stuck the butts of their spears into the ground.

The impact was tremendous. In a flash, he was upended, rolling in a barrage of stamping limbs. Suddenly, his legs were above him, and he was pinned. The weight crushed his ribs, threatening to buckle his thorax armour and kill him. Then the weight was gone, and Skippii got to his knees, grasping for his spear. A shadow came over him–the pig's gruesome hide, pinning him against the hillside. Its coarse hair scraped against his face, filling his nostrils with its rank. He could not tell where upon the beast he was pinned. Desperately, he drew his kuri and stabbed at its flesh, sinking his knife up to its hilt.

With a roar, the mammoth-pig shuddered and released him, then turned to face him. Crawling over the bodies of the dead, Skippii scrambled to his feet. His companeight were scattered, some grounded by the impact, others jabbing desperately at the pig's hide. He and Fulmin had found themselves at the pig's rear, it having charged through them like a boulder. Raising his empty hands, Skippii shivered with a cold fear. Weaponless as the boar singled him out.

Fulmin dove to Skippii's side, raising his shield. One mighty tusk glanced off the bronze rim, pushing the legionnaire back. Skippii caught Fulmin in both arms and the two fell over the bodies by the hillside. Pinned beneath his shield, they struggled to rise, but the pig thrust its snout into their faces. Biting the shield with its front teeth, it wrenched it away. But the beast was imprecise–its tusks cumbersome–and too enraged for finesse.

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Dirt and bracken rained upon them as its massive tusks raked the hillside above their heads, burying them in a shallow grave. It reared up and smashed its face into them like a ram. Skippii rolled aside at the last moment and two of its tusks dug into the bodies beside him. They trapped him like cage bars as its snout pinned and crushed him.

Fulmin groaned in pain, though Skippii could not see, for the pig's black matted hair and red snout consumed his vision. As its jaws closed around him, he wretched at the stench of decay. Its teeth dug into his armour, closing around his shoulders to tear him apart, Skippii had but one last gambit.

Tensing with all his might, he pulled his arm free from beneath him, stretching it into the beast's maw. His other hand, he dug through the pack of bodies, kicking and wriggling his feet, desperate to make a connection with the earth. Embers flickered within his veins, fleeting, as he struggled to touch the earth. He was too constricted. There were too many bodies in his way. Desperately, he stretched out, probing with his mind beyond the confines of his flesh.

With a rush of heat, the source reached back. The bellows opened. Flames shot out, engulfing his arm. Power rushed through him like never before. Fist alight, he thrust deep within the pig's jaw. Grabbing its wet tongue, digging his fingers in, he ignited his magia.

Flames erupted in the beast's maw, dousing Skippii's face with a rush of hot air. It hissed–a painful, airless sound–and pulled away. Skippii's ribs creaked as the pig's jaws slackened, but he held on, grabbing a tuft of its hair, allowing himself to be pulled free of his grave.

Mist streamed from his body. A golden halo shone in the vapour. Skippii breathed and burned with a will to survive. A dense heat bloomed in his core. Instinctively, he drew power to it, and felt his magia soar.

The urge to release it grew as a tearing pain gripped his muscles, but Skippii heaved a mighty breath, forcing the fires into his fists. Onto the pyre, he piled all of his fear, his anger and pain. His fists felt weightless, yet bursting with power. Like a comet streaking through the sky, he swung his fist and struck the beast.

A flash of fire burst like lightning, but left no mark on his eyes. The massive boar recoiled and one of its mighty tusks caught him in his hip. Flinging him into the air, he landed on the embankment and rolled into the heap of corpses at its base. A plume of vapour rose from him as his magia fled. Skippii fought to contain it–to rebuild the halo at his core–but the impact had knocked his senses from him. Before he could recover, the boar fell upon him.

Skippii sucked in the air and drew his magia, covering his face with his hands. Like a candle in the wind, the magia flickered to life within him. Tensing his whole body, he desperately sent the power into his arms as the enraged boar attacked. Flames flickered across his muscles like burning timber, but the boar's blows rocked him. Sparks erupted as its tusks battered him.

Each blow sapped more of his strength. The weight of it above him was crushing. A tusk struck beneath his guard and pierced his ribs. Curling in pain, he fought to hold onto his fire, but each wound he took was like a cold gust to the flames. The pain swelled, until he felt as though he could no longer take it–as though he would crack like a trunk to the axe and be done.

Suddenly, the massive pig leaned sidewards and the shadow was lifted. A bolt protruded from its shoulder, digging deep to pierce its heart. Collapsing to the ground, its hind legs fell over the hillside and pulled its ruined body downwards, until it became tangled in the trunks of hillside trees, so that only its snout and terrible tusks rested on the pathway.

Skippii watched it die with his remaining strength, then lay backwards, his head towards the sky. The canopy above him looked like a confused mosaic of fractured tiles on white marble. Spots blackened his vision. With each breath, the ache in his ribs lessened. The sun set on his mind, and all that remained was his heartbeat, furious, but slowing. Slowing…

Tenoris' voice came to him as though in a dream. The words were meaningless, but the melody was tuneful. Ice cold water touched his lips, trickling down his throat. Somebody had placed their feet beneath Skippii, and was carrying him in circles. The red cloaks of legionnaires were all about him, some lying dirty in the mud, others hanging tall from the shoulders of men. It was then that Skippii realised he was sitting atop a wagon, not being carried, and the mud-caked feet beneath him were his. Righting his legs, he attempted to rise.

"Whoa," Orsin said, staying him with a hand. "Rest a little longer. We aren't going anywhere."

"Did it work?" Skippii murmured, events unclear in his mind.

"Like Oyaltun's charm," Tenoris beamed, standing above him. "Quick thinking, captain Skip."

"That was immense," Kaesii gloated. "Our superiors saw, didn't they? The Imperator should have been here to witness it."

"Fulmin?" Skippii said.

"Here," he answered, voice shaken. Helmet removed, he sat nearby atop the cart, breathing heavily. His brow was coated in sweat, frizzing his bright ginger hair. Fulmin raised his eyes, but glanced away quickly, as if concealing his inner thoughts. Then, he slunk into a weary slumber.

Now that victory had been attained, the legionnaire's hearts seemed to have turned to butchery and feasting. The corpses of warpigs were loaded onto the wagon beside them, or exchanged for shields and hauled over men's backs as the cohort started up again and continued down the path at a slow pace.

The longer they rested, the more Skippii's body ached. Beneath them, the wagon's wheels rocked as it rumbled over bodies and discarded weapons, but there was no more sight or sound of the enemy in the trees.

Fulmin breathed uneasily beside him. Skippii turned his head and tapped the young man's arm. "Hey, are you hurt?"

"Not badly," he replied dryly. "What was that?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's… something they have over there. Some beast from Ürkün lands, but how they got it here… I don't know. Did you see the three people behind it?"

Fulmin grunted and shook his head.

"They were strange. Not armed. Not fighters. Naked, except for warpaint. It seemed as though they were leading it, or worshiping it."

"Not that," Fulmin said, slipping into sleep. "The fire. What was that heat?"

Skippii's heart froze. In a haze, he had failed to process the events in his mind. The inferno had come upon him effortlessly, and saved his life, but had others seen it? Could they now be carting him off to the arcanus to be interrogated? No, that was extreme–his companions would never betray him like that. Thinking back, he and Fulmin had been separated from the others during the fight, and it had happened so quickly. The blacksmith's son must have been the only witness.

Skippii let out a shaky breath. How much longer could he go on concealing his powers, when all too suddenly they could erupt? WIth each day that passed, he felt his connection to the earth growing stronger. The fires came to him easier, and not so chaotically as before. Moments ago, he had directed the magia where he needed it–into his arms and fists–and in the manner which he needed–both offensively and defensively. The blade of his abilities was forming, but its deadliness could prove perilous to his allies. What if he were to explode while in a tightly-packed phalanx and burn all nearby? How could he justify putting their lives at risk each time they faced the enemy, and each time he encountered mortal danger?

As the wagon rumbled away, he came to know what he must do, but did not have the heart to admit it. One more day, he thought. One more rest. I will face this tomorrow.

He would discover for certain what was raging inside him, and should it be heresy, extinguish the fire himself in order to preserve his honour.

The clouds condensed and began to rain, slow at first, with droplets tinkling off helmets like a hundred pots and pans, then a downpour. Skippii wrapped himself in his cloak and tussled with half-waking nightmares, fueled by exhaustion and paranoia.

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