The Legion: Heartson

Victor Popescu's boots sank slightly into the soft, unyielding sand of the endless desert. He moved with no urgency, his gait almost lazy as his eyes narrowed in irritation. The oppressive sun beat down on him, relentless and uncaring, and he sneered at the thought of his pristine outfit being sullied by the harsh environment.

This is unacceptable. Sand, sweat, dirt—it's a wonder anyone can walk through this wasteland and still maintain their dignity. And yet here I am, subjected to this insult of an environment. Just look at my coat—what a disgrace.

His thoughts drifted as he absentmindedly brushed off an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve, his expression contorting with a simmering anger. But his annoyance was short-lived as a sharp voice cut through his musings.

???: Stop fooling around and hurry up. We don't have time for your nonsense.

The voice snapped him back to reality, and Victor turned his head lazily to face its owner. 

The man who had spoken stood tall in gleaming, polished armor that reflected the blazing sunlight. His sharp sword hung neatly at his side, unused but ready. He didn't have a scratch on him, his appearance immaculate, almost annoyingly so. Victor narrowed his eyes slightly, his irritation doubling.

Ahead of him stood the other captains, their expressions varying between meager disinterest and thinly veiled boredom. It was rare, almost unheard of, for all the captains of Obsidian to gather in one place, but he supposed it was inevitable given the strength of their opponents today. Still, Victor allowed himself a small, triumphant smirk.

Unscathed. Not even a mark. 

His gaze flicked across the group, taking in their appearances with a critical eye. The man who had spoken—Roger, was it?—stood straight and proper, his armor pristine and his posture stiff. 

Next to him, another captain stood dressed in what could only be described as regal, old-fashioned garments, as though he had stepped directly out of a historical painting. His outfit bore traces of sand, but otherwise, he too was unscathed.

Further back, Victor's eyes lingered on a solitary figure clad entirely in sleek armor. The design was meticulous, segmented for mobility while maintaining its imposing structure. Victor frowned slightly.

A mystery. How does someone like that even become a captain? He barely moves. What's the point of him?

Victor's gaze drifted naturally to the next figure. A blonde woman—no, not a woman. A teenager, perhaps a young adult with two gleaming swords strapped to her back. For the life of him, he couldn't recall her name, but something about her presence suggested she was significant. 

She had to be. Despite only holding the rank of Vice Captain, she had been included alongside the captains on this mission. Likely due to the fact that the seventh captain's seat was vacant.

If that's the case, why didn't she fill the empty spot?

Ignoring the thought, his gaze shifted left of the blonde warrior, to the fifth captain, and his expression darkened. This one was terrifying. A woman who radiated raw, untamed energy, her heaving breaths making the air feel heavy. 

Her hands were coated in blood—the enemies', no doubt. Victor had no doubt that, if not for the sixth and final captain's intervention, she would have torn her opponents apart completely.

The sixth captain was what truly caught Victor's attention, his presence undeniable despite his lack of armor. Unlike the others, his attire was casual— a red buttoned shirt, simple, unassuming. 

But his body bore the marks of battle, bruises and scratches visible against the fabric. He carried a small sword at his hip and a larger one strapped to his back, but it was his demeanor that truly set him apart. He stood with one hand extended toward the woman captain.

Sixth Captain: Calm down, Arnette. We need them alive. You've done good.

Victor watched as the woman, Arnette, flicked her blood-red eyes toward the man. For a moment, Victor was certain she would lash out, tearing him apart in a fit of rage. But instead, something shifted. Her expression softened, almost as if she had been possessed, and she obeyed his command without question. Victor's teeth clenched involuntarily.

The ability to command and control so effortlessly. What was required for a feat like that…

The thought was a bitter one, and Victor's irritation flared once more as the polished knight's voice called out to him again.

Roger: Victor! Are you even listening? I told you to focus, damn it!

Victor's gaze snapped to Roger, his expression darkening. His voice was sharp, cutting through the air.

Victor: What kind of man do you think you are, to command me around as if you have the authority?

Roger flinched, shrinking back slightly under Victor's fury. But before the tension could rise further, Victor laughed, the sound sharp and mocking, a sudden smile spreading across his face.

Victor: Relax! They don't have jokes where you're from Roger? 

The knight exhaled, his posture relaxing slightly, but Victor wasn't done. His voice turned light, almost playful.

Victor: That fight was tough, huh? I almost could have died, you know. Those girls were no joke huh.

Roger's brows furrowed, his expression incredulous.

Roger: Don't give me that nonsense. You didn't even come close to dying. If anything, it was the rest of us who took the brunt of the force!

Victor chuckled again, waving a dismissive hand.

Victor: Nothing slips past you, does it? But really, you shouldn't complain so much. After all, you spent most of the fight cowering and hiding, didn't you?

Roger's face flushed with embarrassment, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Victor was already stepping past him, his smirk fading into a look of quiet disgust.

Pathetic. A man who exists only to be commanded. No ambition, no drive of his own. It's disgusting. 

Victor's thoughts simmered as he walked away, the desert heat pressing down on him once again. He had no patience for weakness. 

Victor's steps were deliberate. His gaze was fixed on the casually dressed captain, the man who had so effortlessly commanded Arnette. That calm, commanding presence—it grated on Victor in ways he couldn't fully articulate. 

He wanted to press him, to demand respect, to seize the authority that this man wielded so naturally. Victor's fists clenched at his sides as he considered the possibility of losing to this man, not in combat, but in a battle of ambition. No, he wouldn't allow it.

As he drew closer, Victor's sharp eyes caught something—a flicker. Barely perceptible, so faint that any normal human would have missed it entirely. But Victor, whose Astral extended his senses to every grain of sand in this desert, noticed. His steps halted, his posture straightening as his gaze drifted downward.

Hiding. How quaint.

He closed his eyes momentarily, commanding his Astral to reveal what was hidden. Slowly, his vision shifted, sharpening as he focused on the source of the disturbance. There. Laying on the sand, crouched low with a predator's intensity, was a girl. 

She was young, barely in her teenage years, her frame small but taut with tension. She was completely camouflaged, her presence invisible to the naked eye. Yet she hadn't escaped his gaze. Not here, not in his territory.

Victor smirked, his voice slicing through the stillness.

Victor: You. Are you with the others? The ones we captured?

The girl didn't respond. Her eyes, half-hidden by the shadows of the sand, burned with a light so intense that Victor felt it pierce straight through him. It wasn't fear he saw in her gaze. No, it was something far more profound, far more dangerous.

Rage? No… it's something else.

Her right hand was strategically placed behind her back. She wasn't just hiding; she was waiting, calculating. His grin widened as he knelt slightly, his tone turning mockingly curious.

Victor: What's the matter? You shy? Or perhaps… perhaps you're ashamed. After all, you could have helped those girls. You could have used that clever little hiding trick of yours to keep them from being captured. But you didn't, did you?

The girl's expression didn't falter. Her stare remained unwavering, the fire in her eyes growing even brighter. Victor's words had no effect on her resolve, no hint of guilt or shame crossed her face. If anything, her silence only confirmed his suspicions. He chuckled softly, a sound that barely masked his growing excitement.

It's just as I thought.

He straightened, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his coat as he continued.

Victor: Why did you let us take your friends? Surely, with your skill, you could have stopped them. Instead, you stayed here, hidden, doing nothing. How cold-hearted. 

His voice dripped with feigned pity, but inside, his thoughts burned with recognition. That look in her eyes—

The realization sent a shiver of delight through him, his grin widening into something almost feral. He took a step closer, his voice lowering but losing none of its sharpness.

Victor: What's your plan now, girl? That knife behind your back—are you planning to use it on me? Or have you realized yet that your position is hopeless? You've been found. Your hiding game is over, and now there's nowhere left for you to go. You'll be captured, just like the others. And that will be the end.

He paused dramatically, his voice taking on an air of casual indifference, as if the outcome mattered little to him.

Victor: Unless… unless you're smart enough to take another option. You could accept our offer, you know. Live your life however you please, taking whatever you want, whenever you want. It's simple, really. You could have that sort of life, or you could rot here in this desert, or worse, end up in some fortress, forgotten and miserable. I can't be bothered to care which one you choose, so hurry up and decide. 

The girl remained silent, her fiery gaze locked onto him. Victor tilted his head slightly, studying her with growing amusement. Despite the overwhelming odds stacked against her, she didn't falter. That defiance, that burning ambition—it was intoxicating. 

Victor smiled maliciously, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

Victor: Go on, then. Say it. 

But he didn't need to wait for a response.

He already knew what she would choose.