Then There Was || vitiorum
Zion was not enough for him.
Joshua had thought – they all had thought – that defeating the White-Legs and killing Salt Upon Wounds would be enough for him, to bring him some sense of healing from all the Legion had done. But it was not enough; vengeance, with its flame so hot, so tempting, was not tempered. It was dampened for a while, but then the bones of the enemies came in burning, and it rose once more. He remembered the face which had ordered forth the burning, the face he had once loved and all at once:
Zion was not enough for him.
The Dead Horses made good men, their devotion was unwavering. They would follow him to the ends of the earth; fanatical, unending. The Fury inside Joshua made good fuel, and though it took much time, he was able to find an opening. The Fort, though no easy task, one day became his; and surprise had been on his side. Oh, to have seen Caesar's face when the bandaged spectre from his nightmares emerged from ash and smoke! It was like so many dreams of Joshua's returned to life.
And now, now he sat upon the throne that Caesar had, now he looked upon the remains of the Legion – once his home, his kingdom from which he was cast away. He had won out though, his determination, his devotion, his faith had proven that he was the strongest force within and without the Mojave's endless expanse.
Victory was not the end though, it never was, and there were loose scraps hanging about still. Some officers who were away, men he remembered, men he had raised and trained. Some had turned back to him upon the securing of his victory; their colors showing not as loyalty but cowardice, and either fine by he, for he would have satisfaction either way. From fear or command, he was supreme.
Rumor spread, and in the nights following returned some men who were missing; information filtered down to him, of desertion, of a new fear in the NCR – who he could care less about – of men who would not be coming back like pale-bellied cowards.
And then there was Vulpes. The boy with the greased hair, the boy with the pale skin and pink eyes and unearthly voice. A face like an angel on the earth but the tongue of a devil, so loyal, so proud.
And then there was Vulpes, who had not yet heard for he had been traveling, who entered the Fort warily and confused, who approached the tent and called stupidly into the dark for his Lord and Master, hoping that it was just a problem, so mindlessly devoted to the idea that Caesar would never fall, that the old man was immortal.
❝ — I remember you.” Were the first words to fall from his burned lips into the darkness. “I remember how you speak and how you move – I remember how I raised you to what you were. Yes, I could never forget you, the clever one, the one who had been my favorite.
❝ — Caesar is no longer here. You missed your chance for goodbyes. The knee this place takes is directed at me now. So stand – I know you. I know you do not bend to anybody but Caesar, I know that you are as proud as you are sneaky.— ❞
Joshua stopped talking; his words fell away into the night as a small growl, as a smooth tone roughened by smoke-burned lungs and charred vocal chords. He waited, one good eye peering into the barely-lit night, peering at the stiffened figure before him.
He waited.
