James had been in fights. He had looked death in the eye more than once. Each and every time, the fights had been against animals, and the deaths were simply the danger of an untamed wilderness, a consequence of being dumped in the midst of an eminently hostile landscape. This? This was different. The giant crocodile men were people, sentient enough to make the decision to enter into such carnage. Everywhere around him were dead bodies, mammal and reptile alike, and many with familiar faces. This was not 'nature taking its course', it was war. Both sides were riddled with holes made by spears, or covered in bolts like porcupines. When the Kaenid started glowing, it turned from an engagement (of which they had the upper hand) to a massacre. Like a force of nature, they tore through person after person, but for each kill, they took a wound, until finally they fell.

He could recognize some of the dead. In the final charge, the commander of the Kaenid platoon struck Greg. His head had popped like a balloon, and James could still remember the terror and the rampant fury he had felt in that moment. Greg was his friend, even if he was a bit of a quiet guy. He was part of his flock, as small as it had become. At least one member of his shrinking group of lambs had been taken to slaughter by a wolf in a scaly disguise. It was wrong, and he hated hit. James had not been one to hate, but the hate he felt now for the Kaenid officer who had killed one of his was a giant stone weighing down his mind. No matter how he thought about it, or what he thought about, it was still there, just waiting for him to fix the problem. "An eye for an eye, Mister Moses," it whispered into his ear, a slow tide of insanity grinding away at his psyche.

He shook it off as best he could, or at least tried to ignore these alien urges he was feeling. He stood in an army of corpses, and there were still wounded who needed to be carried back to town. James rallied the survivors, many of which were still elated at Jim's triumph over the officer. He wondered why he didn't feel like celebrating, but that brought back that sickly voice whispering in his ear, so he instead doubled down on getting people corralled. Eventually, people started to respond, noticing a few of the 'dead' were simply wounded. When James took a more quizzical look, he spotted the girl who sang at Tavern every evening. She had been hit, but it was a glancing wound. She fell from the shock, and judging from the way she held her stomach, she was stepped on. It was startlingly difficult to avoid corpses, especially if you didn't notice them. Thankfully, she seemed salvageable, so James decided to carry her back himself. He hefted her up into a princess carry- which was far less 'awkward' when the recipient happens to be bleeding to death- and looked expectantly out at the crowd of people. They started to shuffle about to survivors, lifting them up or working to tie their wounds over.

It was a grueling trip back up to the gates. They were glad to have the hill, given that it was the only reason they still had a place to call Home, but it didn't make coming back to the city any easier. The city was left wide open and James could see concerned people, the humans who had remained in the city and gomen who had family members participate alike, lined up in the market streets. They were like a funeral procession, and he was struck nearly dumb by the odd atmosphere. Half of the crowd was waiting in anticipation or tears as they tried desperately to spot their own loved one, while the other half applauded for their triumphant return. He wasn't sure what sort of response he was supposed to give that, so he just looked stoically down at Madeline. She was stirring now, pulled back somewhat from the shock that had taken over when she was injured. He quite hoped the people looking at him didn't get the wrong idea about his staring.

It struck him hard when he realized that this was what life was, now. War. The unlucky few left Home to hope they returned alive, and himself desperate to see those he cared for survive, even on the battlefield. He remembered Jim's fury when he saw Greg die, which made him recall his own, and it took him a few beats too long to realize he had stopped walking, and someone jostled him from behind. He acted like nothing happened, twisting the terrible grimace that had swept over his face back into a straight-lipped placidity. Why did they have to die, really? What was this all 'for'? Merrilyn had shown them some magnificent things with the city's mana well, but it simply wasn't worth all this carnage. Surely there were lines of people like this back in the Kaenid city too, awaiting their war-party. Perhaps not. Gen had said that they were watching- that they had some sort of magic that let them 'see' far away. Maybe they had already spotted their dead war-band, and they were preparing the bulk of their army already to avenge the fallen. It would be dumb luck if they had more than a week to prepare, really. It was too much to fight off an established empire with just a ragtag band of humans and some half-willing subjugated aliens.

He bet that the only reason they even participated in the fight was because of the Kaenid's reputation. If Warden Ayala thought she had a chance in hell negotiating a ceasefire, he was almost certain she would have thrown them all under the bus, proverbially speaking. Even if she seemed happy with the way the city was shaping up, they were still conquered, and something about the way these "magical powers" worked set James on edge. It was bad enough he had 'changed' just by coming to this shit-hole of a New World, but when he really used and abused the mana properly, it pushed him over the edge. All of the rampant socialization he had become accustomed to became nigh-irrelevant and he just took over. Sure, they needed to consent, but how long would that last? Mind-Mages were notorious in every game he had ever played for being absolute assholes. No one really liked being controlled, and James quite suspected the fear of an absolute take-over was why Gen had never given him a drop of external Mana. Not that he could blame him, of course. It was simply too much of a risk. Gen had a real adverse reaction to 'linking with people', and while James couldn't feel much when he did it, what if it was actually addictive?

The bridges were empty. Ever since the traders disappeared off the face of the earth, that had become an oddity. The cityfolk had taken to meandering around on them, using the bridges as a sort of gathering spot, a scenic place to hang out. Without caravans roaming back and forth over them to worry about, it was more of a commons. Now, though, they were devoid of anyone. That gave James a bit too much time to think about how the goblin traders had disappeared off the face of the earth. He didn't know too much about medieval combat, but he was pretty sure that sieges were wars of attrition. Gen hadn't seemed worried about it before, but he had mentioned off-hand that they were running low on long-term foodstock. The markets were drying up too, so it wasn't like they could requisition their supplies. If they were looking at a defensive war, wasn't that a problem? At some point, James had ended up at the front of the army line. Their footfalls were more or less in unison, rattling the bridge as they marched. He worried about the future for a while, then worried about Madeline a bit when she tried to stir and move about, and then he worried some more for good measure. It was hardly a good state of mind, but it was better than the alternatives of panic or rage, which were about all he could muster at the moment.

He was drained. Usually he enjoyed long walks, and especially on the lush grass that lined the little sector that was the 'military district', but he just couldn't enjoy it. Every moment was another they weren't training for the next fight, or another moment they hadn't treated the wounded. It was a relief to finally arrive at the Keep, swinging open the doors. The tables in the room had been replaces with fabrics and quilts, and Merrilyn stood alone in the room. There were a few boxes of curious implements, and when he got close enough, he could distinguish quite a few stone-age replicas of modern medical tools. The fort's main hall had been turned into an impromptu combat hospital. He strode forth towards the nearest emplacement, carefully laying out Madeline upon it. She twisted in pain as she stretched out, still half delirious from blood loss. He went for the tools, hoping to find gauze or some sort of tape, when someone reached out and snagged his wrist. It was Merrilyn. She had practically floated across the room, and she wore an impressively welcoming, disarming smile. He almost forgot who he was dealing with in the radiance of it. "I will take care of the little miss," she said, wearing a lilting accent he couldn't quite identify like a brand new set of clothes, "while you go speak to Gen in the back room. He needs you immediately." He almost refused, but it might have been for the best, anyway. The Imposter had quite a variety of talents by necessity, and it was quite likely first aid was one of them. He was also quite certain that the steely eyes that sat right above her mouth were not smiling. He hurried away, gratified to see her get to work. "An eye for an eye, Mister Moses," Madeline's pained grunts and yelps called after him. James had heard of PTSD giving people hallucinations before, but this was just getting obnoxious. He had only heard the phrase once, so why was it chasing him, and why did it make him so angry?

Gen was alone in the back room. It had been cordoned off with a rare, proper door, and it was his de-facto office. They didn't use it too often, the community of humans wasn't super discreet given all they'd been through, but it was private enough. Gen sat forward, leaning on the peg-legged table, hand crossed over his hook in an impressively businesslike gesture for a teenage pirate. He smiled as James walked in, pointing to a chair. James was confused- this was not the sort of meeting he had expected. There were people dying out in the next room, and Gen was in here doing some sort of interview? He withheld judgement, though. For his equal measures of intensity and awkwardness, the boy usually knew what he was doing. Also, even if he did get pissed and start a fight, he would probably get butchered. They had 'brawling practice' once, and Gen had downed four people at once- with one hook tied behind his back. It was actually quite frustrating, having your boss's authority backed with true force. So, James just sat. Time crawled by, and suddenly he started to get a real bad feeling about the whole situation.

"I'm not a good person, James." Gen said, as matter of fact as can be. His shoulders twitched, as though shrugging. He exhaled with the words, letting it all out. The airy quality gave it a guilt that James recognized from conversations with those in the group who had done things, who had done wrong. He sat at attention. Gen continued, "I am, in fact, a very good General- at least in theory. I took my name for resolve, more than anything. You haven't met me in my capacity as General, have you?" James shook his head. There had been off-putting moments, but nothing like what Kat had described on the night they arrived. Gen had just been Gen. Short of a few little brawls; he hadn't even been especially remarkable. "I have mislead all of you, and almost from day one." Tears welled in his eyes, contrasting his otherwise stoic and determined face. "The losses out there today were acceptable losses. A small sacrifice." James reeled back, as though he had been punched. Fury roiled in him. What did he mean, 'the losses were acceptable'? What was the point of a General if he was going to treat his soldiers like toys? He stomped to his feet, rushing forward. Gen didn't respond at all to the (non-verbal) threat, he just spoke once more. "Other than me, none of our little group knows it. Not even Merrilyn, though I suspect she's pretending as much as I am." James stood there, angry and confused. He could hear his beating heart chanting to him. "An eye for an eye, Mister Moses," it said, insistent. If for that reason alone, he forced himself back together. He would be furious, but not controlled.

He huffed his way back to his seat, and Gen exhaled softly. The boy didn't look intimidated, but he had been worried of something or another. "You see, we have been at war from day one. I am not playing to win a battle, as tantalizing as more soldiers alive-" James' face twisted in rage once more at the insinuation that people were merely soldiers, but Gen placated him, hardly pausing, "but to win the war. I suspect you have played Chess, James?" He asked. It was actually fairly rare for someone to have played Chess, as antiquated as it was, but James had at least played the modern variants, so he nodded. Gen smiled, "I trust you understand that sacrifices must be made if you should hope to win. Now, it isn't quite as impartial if you've tossed human lives out like pawns, but it's still valuable. Somewhere in my broken mind, the thought of only the strong ones like you, only the survivors returning was satisfactory." He said, resolute. James kept himself calm, focusing on the implications. Gen wasn't focused on Greg or Madeline or James, and maybe not even his own suffering. He was playing Chess, and James suddenly suspected the General was not, in fact, the King. If it wasn't self-interest, a need to survive, what was it? Realization dawned on James' face as he thought it all through.

Gen's smile deepened. "You've figured it out, I take it. In the long history of this New World, I," He jumped to his feet, suddenly gaudy in every motion. He flourished about, finishing his sentence amidst the motion. "I am to be the first Cao Cao. I will exterminate the Kaenid so tidily none will remember they existed but for the monuments to my triumph, and my people will hate me all the more for the terrible guilt of triumph" He stopped, stoicism returning. "When the people learn of what I've done, what I've decided to do, they will respect me, they will fear me, and perhaps most of all they will hate me. I will rule only on the grace of my repeated victories, the first Human tyrant to have his names down in the history books- and ideally the last. Assuming that my very first gamble pays off, that is." He learned forward, grim face suddenly uncomfortably close to James' own. His metal hook tapped monotonously on the table, suddenly ominous in the torch-light. Said torch-light seemed to dim, weakening to a glow that emphasized the curvature of Gen's face. "I already look like this, imagine what I'll be like in a decade? With a few more battle-scars to deform me? I'll be a monster, inside and outside," Gen finished. He fell back to the chair, seemingly exhausted. James slowly nodded, soaking it all in. The boy had been broken at some point, although that may have been way back at the starting line. It may not have been a problem in the cushy planet that was Earth, but here? Gen was struggling with circumstances that even war-hawks would gawk at. His fury seemed to fade, although it really just found its way back to the real target of his animosity- the lizards.

He hated the Kaenid. Deep within him, he knew it was wrong, that they were sentient, more than some unfeeling mass of murder. Perhaps they could be reformed or maybe even quarantined away to where they could hurt no more people. At the same time, it was so easy to hate the damn lizards for what they had done, the losses he faced in the wake of their- and Gen's- decisions. Gen was sympathetic, accountable. James felt more pity for the boy, given the decisions he had made, and the role he had taken. James couldn't have done it himself, and maybe that was why he wasn't the General. The Kaenid? They had obliterated person after person, members of his Flock. Destroyed some so thoroughly that he couldn't even recognize them- James still hadn't seen Jeremiah since they left those stupid city gates, and he couldn't know if he was dead or wounded or missing, because too many of the dead had been mangled beyond recognition. The big reptiles hadn't even been polite enough to give a real reason why it needed to happen, and as he thought of them, he found that his anger was actually growing stronger. In contrast, Gen's face drained of emotion, returning to the placid and commanding look of the General that he was starting to get awfully familiar with. James spoke for the first time, finally confident that he had listened long enough to earn the chance to be heard. "Why are you telling me this? Why not leave me to be shocked and appalled with the rest when it's all said and done?" He asked, watching Gen's reaction carefully. There was none, which was… jarring.

The boy responded, saying that "When this war ends, I will become the next big bad, an oppressor they will struggle to oust, at least until a bigger threat arrives. We have returned to the era of Caesar, and I hope not to find his fate." James gasped. He would never kill Gen, especially not now- he froze. What if he did learn with the rest? He had been a leader- or at least a legitimately influential figure- before throwing himself, and his Flock, at the General's feet. He was uniquely positioned to have betrayed Gen, or even led a rebellion. The kid was playing a long game, two steps ahead. His voice quavered as he spoke. "Wouldn't you just- kill me? To get me out of the way?" He asked, both worried and now wary. He didn't move though, since in all likelihood, Gen could kill him before he could make it to the door. It would be a very General-y thing to just up and eradicate threats before they could become a real problem, even if this was quite the campy way to do it. Suddenly compliance seemed like a very, very good idea. Gen didn't lunge for him, though. He just chuckled a little, shaking his head.

"As much as I am monstrous, I am not a monster-" James took note of the fact that the General liked to dip into petty eloquence for use at a later date- "and I don't want to see you dead." Which was at least a little bit reassuring? He wasn't quite sure. Gen continued, "I hope to put you to good use. If you're as smart as I think you are, you've figured out why I'm- why my decisions are a necessary evil." He pointed at James from across the table, intent. "I am to be the first Cao Cao," he said. "and you are to be the first Napoleon. With less me-decapitating, of course." James nearly fell over, and he was sitting. If he had his Enlightenment history right… "You want me to rebel?" He asked incredulously, barely keeping himself from shouting. The General chuckled again at that, far more vigorously- confidently. "This land has one leader, and that's not good for business. There needs to be at least a second country for the interim periods, somewhere for pacifists, free-thinkers, and the otherwise rebellious to flourish." James started laughing as well- that was ridiculous, but in the strange logic of this New World, it made sense. He would have his Flock back, after all. They both grinned at each-other, suddenly seeing each-other as they truly were: leaders of men, monsters in human skin, and most importantly, kindred spirits.

"What's the plan then, oh Tyrant?" He asked, not concealing the good humor in his voice. It'd be rare for them to get chances to talk alone like this from now on, no doubt, so they might as well take the chance to be friendly. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more patient, you dumb rebel," Gen drawled. They laughed and laughed, only finally putting a stop to the laughter once Merrilyn barged in and informed them that their maniacal laughter was, in fact, quite audible to the small army of people other room, and that a few people were looking uncomfortable. With that, they had to put a cap on it, and when they were certain Merrilyn had left- and stopped listening in- they refocused on the task at hand. It was going to be a long night, after all. There was a conspiracy to plan.