Chapter I

“With his firstborn son now fully grown, the Father placed in his hand a sword of grey-steel, and did say to him, 'Thou art a man, the first born of my seed. Thy children and thy children's children shall spread across the world. Remember all that I have taught thee about justice, for it will be thy responsibility to see to it that justice is never denied in this world. You shall protect the innocent and punish the guilty. In thine eyes will it be unacceptable for the weak to suffer at the hands of the strong. With this sword shalt thou smite the wicked. Thou shalt take the Mother's gift of life from them so that she may bestow that gift upon one more deserving. Remember this all the days of thy life, for this is the purpose of a man.'

“And so it was that Divi Filius, only son of the Father's seed, set out to bring justice to the world. When he grew old and weary he called his own sons to him, both those of his seed and those adopted, and gave each of them grey-steel swords, just as the Father had done unto him. And he did say unto his sons, 'My bones are old and my life draws short. Even the Father's firstborn cannot live forever. I give each of thee these swords of grey-steel so that thou mightest carry on my legacy. Justice cannot be denied. Thou art the protectors of the innocent and the righteous, never forget thy charge.' And upon Divi Filius' passing the order of the justicars was founded. From that day until this one, the justicars have upheld the Father's will and struck down the wicked.”

Whenever doubt clawed at his mind Dario found comfort in that scripture. For everyone who called him murderer, or who fled at his approach, the scripture reminded him that he was not a monster. He was a justicar, one who carried on the legacy of Divi Filius. He was the hand that slew the wicked so that justice would never be forgotten.

Having gathered his thoughts, Dario drew his sword. Grey-steel, as was tradition. The hand guard was a metal glove, shaped like a fist of bronze, wrapped around a leather-bound hilt. The blade was a dark shade of pewter, and would never tarnish nor lose its edge. This made it perfect both as his weapon in battle, and as his eventual grave marker.

He crossed the street with his sword in his right hand and a kite shield on his left arm. Though it was twilight, there were still those who walked the city streets, and they cowered at the sight of the man in black armor. With the citizens fleeing, each worried what sins the justicar may see on their hearts, the area surrounding the old warehouse grew silent and cold. Soon the only sounds were the whispering of snow in the winds and Dario's own breath.

Dario paused a moment at the door and closed his eyes. His body and mind relaxed, and he meditated on his target. Yes, the target was in the warehouse, as Dario believed. Dario tapped his fist against the face of the Father, carved into the shape of his breast-plate. All justicars wore the Father's face on their chests, as a reminder to both the justicars of his protection, and their enemies of his judgment. “Father, aid your servant as he does what must be done,” said Dario, just before he kicked open the door.

The men inside panicked and reached for their weapons. Dario pounced upon them like a mountain lion on his prey. The first of the four fell instantly to Dario's blade. The second thrust his knife at Dario's side, only to have Dario deflect the blade with his shield and take off his head. The third of the four at the table fell back, with a loaded crossbow in hand, and fired a bolt at Dario. The bolt pierced Dario's shoulder-plate and blood ran down between the plates of armor. Dario leaped upon the man who had shot him, cut the crossbow in two, and smashed his face with the edge of his shield. The fourth man took off in a run, and Dario gave chase.

The fourth man took off down the city streets, his feet sliding in the snow. Dario tore after him, a gleaming shadow against the white. His target ducked down an alleyway, then took the next available turn, then another. After five or six turns he couldn't hear the justicar's footsteps behind him anymore, and he stopped to take a breath. The cold air stung in his throat, and he hacked and coughed. His knees and hands shook.

“You'll never escape justice,” came Dario's deep voice from around the corner to his target's right. The guilty man tried to flee again, but Dario rounded the corner and seized him by the back of his shirt and pulled him back. The man struck out at Dario with a knife, and cut a gash across Dario's face. Dario pressed the tip of his blade into the man's wrist and pinned him to the wall by it. Dario's target let out a scream of agony and dropped the knife.

“Agh! Let me go! Please!”

“Silence!” Dario roared. There was a rage in his eyes that chilled his victim's blood. “The slave trade is an abomination! Men are sold to do hard labor with no reward, and women sold to men who take advantage of their bodies. The Justicars of the Father will not allow it!” Dario twisted the blade in his victim's wrist. The captive cried out in pain again. “You cry and beg for mercy. Do you really think this will dissuade me? How many innocents begged you for their freedom? Did you set even one slave free? Did you?”

Dario's captive said nothing, and Dario had the answer he needed.

“Then, in the name of the Father I judge thee guilty. The sentence is death.” Dario drew his blade from the captive's wrist and slashed the captive's throat.