Wisps of vapor curled from Jason's shoulders and arms, rising to meet the downpour. His tears sizzled as they tracked down his face, each droplet vanishing before it could fall, while Lance held him in a cocoon of rising steam. How many were used to make that suit? Who had been used? Names ran through his mind, which did nothing to help his mental state. His brothers, his sisters, the ones that had fallen in battle... their flesh rendered down, their bones pounded into shape, their very essence transmuted into the 'metal' that he had worn for years. The alloy he believed was simply an absurdly strong metal was no such thing, he learned that it was made from Dragon bone back in the Romai caverns, but he'd assumed that it was Jyn's bones… not his siblings. His first assumption had made sense at the time, Jyn's regeneration was instant, he could have hacked off limbs for an infinite amount of Adium. Yet that had not been the case.

He hadn't cared all too much that learning it was made from bone at the time, particularly because of his hatred for Jyn. He could continue operating with it at peak efficiency that way, he couldn't care less at the time… but now? Every blow he'd taken with that armor was a desecration. His stomach heaved as he imagined their screams trapped in the alloy, their souls imprisoned in the suit he'd maintained, worn, and unknowingly defiled. It was practically a casket of his families corpses.

Wearing the dead, protected by the bones of his murdered kin—the thought slammed into him like a physical blow, doubling him over as his lungs seized, teeth clenching hard enough to turn stone to powder. The scream that tore from his throat wasn't human; it was primal, feral, the sound of something breaking beyond repair. He clutched onto Lance desperately as he fought against the void of horror threatening to swallow him whole. Her hands trembled as she held onto him tightly, and through the drumming downpour, the catch in her breath between each ragged inhale betrayed her—a sound he recognized from his own throat moments before.

She really was taking some of the burden of this upon herself… it wasn't fair for him to do this to her. He tried to pull back, to get a grip, but his body refused to obey. The grief cut through him like a serrated blade, shredding everything it touched. Each breath became a battle against the void expanding inside him, threatening to collapse his ribcage with sobs that could shake the world.

"Why would he do this!?" Jason shouted at no one, "His own children, slaves to his war, branded cattle to be re-purposed however he sees fit! Why!?" He sobbed, "I don't understand why-" He coughed, "Why he hates us!"

It was the only thing that made sense, why else would Jyn torment his own children this way? It was clear, the monster hated it's offspring; children that it chose to create! That was why there were no more Hoplites after the first generation, Jyn saw his children, and hated them, despised them even, something about them, in his eyes, was wrong. Whatever his original intent for the Hoplites were, they clearly had not lived up to Jyn's expectations, and seeing that they were failures, had sought to recoup his losses by making them weapons of war… yet still, why not create more for that sole purpose? Why continue making Paladins at all, when Hoplites were superior? His breath caught again as another wave of grief disrupted his train of thought.

Paladins were easier to produce- he's been down this line of thinking before, Hoplite's need to be grown from Jyn's own DNA, Paladins can be made from anyone- His eyes widened. Jyn had Paladins treated the same way as Hoplite's were, did that mean he hated them? No, it couldn't be, they were always intended to be soldiers from the start, slaves just like Hoplites. It wasn't that Jyn hated the Paladins or the Hoplites…

He was just uncaring for their suffering, seeing them as tools to be used, discarded, and harvested like cattle. You don't hate the hammer that drives the nail, or the knife that slits the throat—you simply wield it until it breaks. That was why—that was it—Jyn saw them as objects, as things, their lives no more significant than a nail, a saw, Hoplite's were merely a toolbag to him. Perhaps he viewed the entire human race in this same light, and was merely using them as a tool to further his own goals, whatever those may be.

Hell, perhaps Jyn had already harvested everything he needed from humanity's bleeding corpse—whatever sick purpose that served—and hadn't disappeared at all. Maybe the monster had simply discarded Earth like a drained husk, tossing aside billions of lives the way a child abandons a broken toy. Humanity: nothing but disposable tools whose purpose was fulfilled, their bones ground to dust, their souls drained. He latched onto the rampaging train of thought, hoping for it to pull him free from the grief seeking to consume his mind.

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It barely worked as he continued his pathetic sobbing. Where would Jyn have gone after he was finished with humanity? Another galaxy to bleed dry? Another dimension to rape and pillage until nothing remained but bones and dust? Or had the monster found a way to return here to Ahkoolis? No—Jason's hands trembled at the thought—if that were the case, Ahkoolis would already be under Jyn's boot by now. He wasn't fully aware of how powerful the Pillar-Gods were, but even they had only been able to banish him, not outright kill him.

If literal deities couldn't kill Jyn, then there wasn't a chance in hell anything else on this planet would be able to—and yet Jason's blood screamed for vengeance. He imagined ripping Jyn apart with his bare hands, tearing through immortal flesh, crushing that monster's skull between his palms until brain matter oozed between his fingers. He would make Jyn feel every ounce of agony inflicted on humanity and the Hoplites, would force him to choke on his own entrails while Jason whispered the names of every sibling into his dying ears.

Thinking of his siblings loosened his hold on the rope of thought he'd clung onto in order to escape it, plunging back into the pit of grief as familiar faces flashed through his mind. More sobbing erupted from him, his face a grimace as freezing knives sliced his heart to ribbons. Despite it all, Lance clung to him, as if he were going to float away were she to let him go— and who knew, if she did, he might break away, running back through the forest in a bid to escape her. The shame of it burned like acid in his veins—Lance witnessing him like this, stripped raw and bleeding from the inside out. Bad enough she'd seen him go Wendigo, to see the monster within him, but this? This pathetic, shattered thing? This wasn't even a man anymore, just a pathetic sobbing mess, ready to collapse into dust.

He attempted to pull his head away from her, but she locked her arms around the back of his neck, refusing to let go. Breaking her grip would require force he wasn't willing to use against her… so Jason surrendered to her embrace. It could have been minutes or hours, Jason wasn't sure—time had ceased to exist. His throat felt scraped raw, his body healing the damage near immediately with every scream that tore through his mouth. When the final sob finally escaped him—more a ragged exhale than a cry—he noticed that the crushing weight in his chest had lightened, somewhat. The agony hadn't vanished, but had settled into something almost bearable, a dull throb rather than the serrated edge that had been carving him apart. He shuddered for a moment, just sucking in air through his teeth before he put a gentle hand on Lance's shoulders.

"I'm sorry." He said, speaking over the downpour, "I put you through a lot of trouble." He said, standing from the ground.

Lance's fingers dug into the back of his neck, refusing to break contact as her boots left the ground. He shifted his weight, one arm sliding beneath her knees while the other supported her back. Her head fell against his shoulder, her breath escaping in a long, ragged sigh. Guilt gnawed at him when he saw the extent of the damage done to her, no doubt accumulated from her pursuing him through this storm. Her cloak was ripped in places, a bruise was welling on her cheek, her palm was sliced up, among dozens of other bruises and lacerations. She was pale as parchment, her hands trembling, but despite that, she reached up to put hands on either side of his face.

"I'm sorry-"

"Stop it." Lance told him firmly, "You needed my help, so I came."

Jason smiled, "You're a great friend."

Lance's smile turned to a deep frown, cutting her eyes at him.

"Just friends… hmm?" She asked, quirking a brow.

"I lost Terlin in the rain." He replied, quickly changing the subject, "He knows where the Trinkett's are, the clan will need to relocate, and fast."

"I can't think about that right now-" She coughed, "We have time, lets head back— think of a plan after that. Now please… hold me closer."

Jason blinked, before drawing her more into his embrace. She let out a small sigh as she pressed her face against him, whispering a small complaint about the cold. Of course, it was freezing out here for a normal person like Lance, his body heat would be necessary to keep her from getting hypothermia. He did agree that a plan should be made after getting back to the copse, he could convene with Nelan and the others to discuss where they should flee too… the problem was, if he was busy ushering out the Trinkett's, he would have to delay killing Terlin. If he even could. It was possible that another encounter wouldn't end with the elf being routed. Jason could have gotten lucky— there was no guarantee of victory a second time… not unless he donned the Phalanx armor.

A knot formed in his gut at the thought. He would need to wear the armor for a definitive win against Terlin, but doing so would require him defiling the corpses of his siblings yet again—

He set off in a jog, following Lance's directions, as well as the path he had carved on the way here. Plan when they got back, figure it out as they go, don't think of anything but the here and now. Yet despite that, as he ran, steaming through the cold rain, he could feel calm tears streaming down his face, invisible against the rain.

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