NONE SO VILE

18: Seize the Moment

Barendo, Yaravania, 1804.

Leon hissed, pressing a paw to his bloodied ear. Pain thrummed, large and clumsy. A chunk was missing – the bullet had taken a greedy bite out of him, but the ear still worked, and that was what mattered.

He wiped dirt from his eyes. The rocky hills of the forest were difficult to traverse, but Leon's Ishim were still faster than any conventional unit. For most soldiers, once the fighting started there were no more orders from the top. Formations came naturally, nobody could be heard during the volleys, and regiments had nothing but their drill and immediate commanders to fall back on. The Ishim were not this way. They were all linked, and even though they could not hear one another they didn't need to. As Leon pulled back, lifting his legs high to avoid the redcoat bodies, the Ishim came with him.

As he'd expected, Kiberland's 40,000 were struggling against Leon's greater numbers, even bruised as the Rennairans were from the fight with Yaravania. As the first horn of war sounded, the Rennairan columns had pincered the redcoats like two forks into a fatty piece of lamb. The columns levered against one another, just as Leon had planned, shredding the Kiber ranks and sowing chaos. The redcoats were not as comfortable in the hilly forests as the Yaravanian's had been, and although it was new to Rennaire as well, Leon's army was learning fast.

But that was not what worried him.

“Where is she?!" He asked one of his Ishim, shouting right into the man's ear to be heard. 40,000 men were no match for Leon's army on a normal day, but everyone knew fielding an Angel could easily tip those scales. Yet Kiberland was ceding more ground by the minute, and Leutgard had still not appeared. What was she waiting for?

“HOLD!" Leon roared, hunkering down in a dense copse, peering through the trees with his spyglass as he tried to decide the best course of action. A trail of redcoat bodies showed where his own squad had come through. Thirteen was an incredibly small number for a military unit, but Alabaster's ritual meant that each of Leon's Ishim was worth ten men, maybe more. The sorcery taken from Lazare's dead body was wrapped around them like armour, making each one faster, stronger, and more resilient. Leon felt almost as if his single unit could take on a small army, if the conditions were right.

But I'm not here to kill an army, only an Angel. It sounded easy, phrased like that. He spat, irritated that he could not fit the pieces together. Kiberland must have a reason to hold off on deploying her, otherwise why wasn't she here?

Leon stepped back mentally, reconsidering. He projected the battle in his mind, laying out the map, the pieces, and adjusting them to match as he scanned the chaos with his spyglass.

Could General Wellick be trying to lure him in deeper as a trap?

Or could the Rennairan scouts be wrong? Perhaps Kiberland did not have Leutgard with them and it was only a rumour, or maybe they had reinforcements hidden over the next bracket of hills, and it was only a matter of easing the Rennairans into the gully until it was too late to retreat?

Still doesn't add up, Leon thought. Kiberland were taking far too many losses for this to be considered a tactical retreat. Feints were about mitigating damage, but Wellick was haemorrhaging bodies. He had to be careful, careful about rushing in and hitting the Kiberlandsmen tripwire. If it even exists.

Could the Kiberlandsmen somehow know about the secret of the Ishim? Were they trying to force him to waste Lazare's body? Leon immediately dismissed the theory; nobody outside himself, Alabaster, and the other Ishim knew the particulars of their power; it was impossible for Kiberland to have figured it out already.

Unless they have their own witchdoctor. The thought chilled him to the core.

“She's not here!" Leon decided, calling it over a shoulder. He ground his teeth together. Was she ever?

He wiped blood from his rifle, it was still running from his ear and down his arm. The pain had faded now, blending into the background of exhilarating noise and discomfort that came with battle. He felt the other Ishim behind him. They wanted to fight – defeating Lazare had only been the start. He'd deliberately chosen career soldiers for this unit, men who had fought in wars and seen the devastation Angels could wreak firsthand. Leon was giving them a chance to finally fight back, and they were chomping at the bit to take it.

“WHAT DO WE DO?" Shouted Gaspar. Leon's second, he was a wide-shouldered crocodile, and was famous for his preference of carrying four wheellock pistols rather than the standard-issue rifle, usually firing one from each claw. Red was smeared across his face, spattering and gleaming on his white teeth as he spoke.

As if to answer Gaspar's question, a young runner from Marshal Laurent's corps came sprinting up the hill behind them, his uniform spattered with mud, huffing as he tried to catch his breath. The boy was maybe sixteen, his eyes hurriedly finding Leon.

“General!" He said, saluted, then fumbled. “Er, I mean, First-Director, or, Director-General, I–" The stumbling protocol was mostly lost to the enemy's returning volley down below, but Leon cut the boy short with a chop of his paw.

“SPIT IT OUT!" He yelled into his ear.

“ANGEL!" The boy screamed back, wincing as something exploded deeper in the forest. “THE FORTY-FIFTH! BACK AT THE FORT!"

The fort? Leon frowned. “ALONE?" The boy hastily nodded. Think fast.

The timeline was problematic; Leutgard had appeared, then a message was run to Marshal Laurent, and then he had run a message to Leon. By the time Leon's squad arrived, more than forty minutes would have passed. Easily enough for an Angel to massacre his men beyond repair.

Two options immediately opened up for him. He could pick up the Ishim, and they could sprint back to the fort to try and save what was left of the support corps and eliminate Leutgard.

Or, he realised, aiming his rifle forward. He could strike directly at General Wellick, certain that Leutgard was not coming to save him.

“GO BACK BOY!" Leon demanded, his Ishim all standing in unison with him. “MEN! TO THE HEAD OF THE SNAKE!"

An Angel was an excellent weapon, but an army alone it did not make. Kill Wellick, and the entire enemy force would crumble. The Kiber King's nose would be sufficiently bloodied, possibly even enough it would force him to withdraw support for the war.

“What of the support corps?" Asked Gaspar, a pistol raised in each of his green claws. He was from Thorn originally, but nobody could doubt the croc's loyalty – he was a Rennairan man through-and-through.

“They are on their own," Leon replied. His words were drowned out, but the tenuous link between them conveyed his message.

Alabaster. That gave a moment of pause, and Leon cursed himself from not bringing him like last time. The dragon was alone, and in open battle he wouldn't stand a chance against Leutgard.

Can you give up a chance to cripple this war for one man? Even Alabaster? He decided not, and knew Alabaster would do the same. Leon would kill Wellick, and return to the fort immediately afterwards. Alabaster is a survivor, he knows how to stay alive.

But he'd still try to be quick.

Leon ran and the Ishim followed. They sluiced through the enemy lines like a ship through ice. Redcoats broke and shattered on their bow, Gaspar's pistols firing one after the other, small-fire supporting the slower shots of Leon and the others' rifles. The squad moved as one, sticking close but not holding to any traditional formations. The enemy ranks had no answer for them – Kiberland was half in the old way of war, and half in the new. Their soldiers had no mobility, no time to react or think independently. The concept of just thirteen men deep behind their lines was almost unthinkable, and most of the regiments ignored them unless directly confronted, still busy withstanding Marshal Pierre's vicious shelling at the front.

In reality, it took less than ten minutes to weave through the ranks, but it felt like hours. Leon must have killed ten men all on his own, with rifle and bayonet and sword and teeth, he slaughtered them, the stolen Angel's magic driving him forward. Compared to his infernal ability, the enemy troops moved achingly slow, lumbering like toddlers as he pierced their hearts and shot their backs.

“COMMAND!" Gaspar roared, firing two shots up the hill towards the mound General Wellick had chosen for his tent. It was a good position, and Leon buckled down against the boulders as they tried to press up.

“Pinned," he growled, and Gaspar nodded. It was a stalemate – Wellick's guard firing down on them, and Leon's men firing back up, but nobody making any proper headway.

But time is on their side, Leon thought, a piece of rock near his head exploding as it caught a stray round. It was only a matter of time until one of the Kiber ranks decided to finally turn around and help their general. The King's army may be slow and old, but Leon would not make the mistake of underestimating it.

He glanced back and saw Gaspar was missing. He checked the ground but none of the bodies were large enough to be the crocodile. He pushed his awareness out and felt him, circling around on the ridge. He and the Ishim fired another round to hold the enemy's focus, and then he saw Gaspar's straight sword burst out of the Kiber captain's chest. The fox screamed a curdling wail, and as Gaspar yanked the blade free he went tumbling forward, bouncing down the rocks and collapsing in front of Leon's cover.

“PUSH! PUSH!" He roared, standing up and taking a daring shot up at the enemy guard. They were quickly routed, and the Ishim charged up the hill at twice the speed of a normal man, colliding with the General's guard unit and skewering them on bayonets.

Leon turned right as a man tackled him – the ritual had made the jaguar strong, but he was no heavier than before. The blood-slick rifle squirmed out of his grip as he was lifted off his feet and slammed to the mud. The enemy wolf punched at Leon's head with wild abandon, fist clipping his wounded ear and sending an arc of pain shooting through his head. The world blurred, and Leon felt fingers close around his neck. He shoved, snarled, and then the man's face exploded. Splinters of bone and meat soaked Leon's face, and as the body fell aside Gaspar offered him a claw. The jaguar took it and was hauled to his feet, grinning, spitting out the taste of the enemy's brain.

“The General's inside." Gaspar jerked his head towards the large tent before them, and Leon nodded solemnly. He held out a paw, and the crocodile dropped a pistol into it.

“You," Leon said, snapping his fingers at Gaspar and three of his men, and then pointing out a set of cannons braced a few metres away. “Get on those, start firing into the enemy ranks! Aim for whoever is busy with something else!"

“Hit people who can't hit back!" Gaspar cried, laughing. “You heard him boys! Time for some puppy-clubbing!"

Leon left them to it, cocking the wheellock as he approached Wellick's command tent. He brushed the front slit open and a shot went off, deafening in the smaller space. It missed, blowing a hole out of the tan canvas wall. Leon straightened from his flinch, raising an eyebrow at Wellick and trying to ignore the ringing in his ear.

The Kiber general was a lemur, thin and wiry with black and white fur fluffing up the edges of his face. Two round, yellow eyes stared venomously up at Leon, the spent blunderbuss still clutched in his ink-black paws.

“I admire the attempt," Leon said jovially. The tent was made of thick fabric, and although it did not block even half the noise of battle outside, there was just enough muffling to be heard without shouting.

Wellick lowered his smoking blunderbuss, nose wrinkling. He said something in that round, bulbous tongue of the Kiberlandsmen, and Leon sighed.

“HUBERT!" He cried, and the collie rifleman quickly joined him in the tent.

“Sir?"

“You speak this fucking tongue, correct? Translate. Tell him to repeat his threat if he cares for me to quake at it."

Hubert relayed this to General Wellick, who sighed deeply, shaking his head. Finally he spoke, and the collie quickly translated for Leon.

“So there he is. The One God's favourite child." It sounded almost like a compliment, but Leon had not forgotten his scriptures – the church taught that the One God of Men hated his creation of life, and rained suffering upon them whenever they caught his attention. By calling Leon his favourite child, Wellick was naming him a scourge upon Midland.

Wellick sneered. “Godless, wicked, arrogant peasant," Hubert dutifully repeated.

“How easy it must be for people like you," Leon said, waving his pistol about lackadaisically, giving pause for the collie to translate. “To blame every misfortune of your life on some cruel deity. I own my mistakes, General, can you say the same?"

“They will string you up, boy." Wellick dropped the smoking blunderbuss and sagged in his seat. “King Phillipe was the cousin to half the monarchs in Midland, you think they will ever give up hunting you for what you did? Bah!" He spat on the desk. “That will be your legacy. Piss and vinegar."

“They have to defeat me first." Leon considered how he must look to Wellick. By now rumours of the Rennairan revolution burned through Midland like wildfire, and stories surrounding Leon himself chased close behind. Everyone had heard of the new Director-General and his uprising. Now here he was, covered in the blood of Angels and soldiers alike, grinning madly.

“Have you come to demand my surrender?" Wellick asked, straightening his vest. “You will find it hard-pressed to get meaningful concessions out of me, sir. His Majesty the King of Kiberland has made it clear you are scum and not to be treated with! To parlay with you would be like laying with a feral pig! Tell me, Valoisier, is there any tradition under heaven that you won't defile?"

Leon waited for Hubert to finish translating the diatribe, then sighed. “Alabaster must get tired of hearing this sort of thing." The comment had been meant for the collie, but he still dutifully repeated it to the lemur.

“Oh, I know all about him too," Wellick snapped. “Don't think the royal monarchs are unaware of that disgusting creature you allow fester in your government! A witchdoctor, a necromancer, a sodomite of corpses and the innocent alike! They say he sees the future, that he controls minds! He is the devil incarnate, and the Supreme Cardinal of the One God petitions my King daily to pledge to bring his head forth!"

Leon waited patiently for Hubert to explain it, then nodded slowly.

“I see. Hubert, please tell him to relax. I did not come for his surrender."

Leon delighted in watching confusion twist on the lemur's face. Just as he opened his mouth to ask a question, Leon raised the wheellock and squeezed the trigger. Wellick's body jerked as the shot took his brain, killing him instantly and sending his body limply to the ground.

“Hubert, run to Marshal Laurent and give him the good news. Then, make for Fort Endo to meet up with us. We go now."

“Yes, sir!" Hubert gave a quick salute, then spun to obey.

Leon glanced back at the dead lemur. Traditionally, a man of that high a rank would be ransomed back to his government after capture. Killing one in cold blood was, as Wellick himself put it, a mockery of tradition. But Leon was sending a message.

I am not playing by your rules, anymore. The future of Midland is mine to take, and no amount of tradition or custom will stop me. Wellick said the Kiber King was determined not to parlay with him, fine. Leon would force him to listen. Unrelenting violence was the only way to win this war, but Leon would win it, no matter what it cost. Kiberland had been one of the strongest Midland nations for decades now, but nobody could stay on top forever.

“Your age of supremacy is over," he whispered. “Mine begins now."

The battle with Leutgard was over before they arrived. Dozens of men and women laid dead across the fields outside Fort Endo. They'd tried to run after Leutgard made her appearance, but the Angel had caught them. Bodies were skewered on huge shards of ice sticking up from the grass like great spines. The largest of the spikes would be nearly as tall as Leon himself, and from what he saw the lucky ones had been impaled instantly.

“Keep your eyes open," he muttered to his men, but he knew the forty-fifth was already gone. They began to close in on the fort, and each body they found was dead. By Leon's guess most of them were running away when the ice appeared. It had come out of the ground fast, slicing off arms, puncturing legs, splitting through middles. No death was clean.

The Ishim picked their way around the spikes as they closed in on the fort itself. The north-west tower had been frozen completely, and the brittle ice had cracked in the middle. The tower's top had come off and smashed into the ground, bricks, corpses, and ice scattered across the grass like shrapnel.

“They never stood a chance," Gaspar said, crouching over a woman who had been carved in two through her middle. “That golden cunt will rot for what she did here."

“Coward," said Hubert. “She should have stayed and fought someone who could fight back." He spat.

“Are we sure she's gone?" Leon asked, turning a circle. He could hear the sounds of artillery blowing in the distant battle with Kiberland, but there was no sign of a struggle nearby. No screams, no guns, no life.

Alabaster. He was alive. Leon knew he would be. He had to be. He's too smart to let an Angel kill him. As he looked up at the destroyed tower however, doubt creeped into his mind.

“I think it is clear," Gaspar said, walking closer. “Of course she left, probably got bored. Damn it." He kicked at a spike, the ice cracking as it burst apart. “They were support staff! Non-combatant!"

Leon remained silent. It was a vicious move, there was no denying that. But if he had been a general for Kiberland, he would have absolutely done the same. Now his army was stuck in enemy territory with no real support. An army was only at its best if it was healthy, fed, and clothed. Without that, all you had was a mob.

“I'm going inside," Leon said, making for a large, ice-capped hole in the wall. Gaspar grabbed him. “Sir, I'm not sure that's wise. It could come down any minute."

“You forget yourself, Gaspar. Alabaster is in there, there could be survivors."

The crocodile's eyes showed just how likely he thought that was, but he released his grip all the same.

Please be alive. Fear slammed itself against the inside of Leon's chest as he began to search. Cool air wafted through the halls, and the ground was slick with frost. More spikes of red-stained ice jutted from the floors and walls, bodies lying where they fell. Was it worth it? He tried to believe it was, checking the corner of every room, rolling over every corpse to scan their face.

His heart felt like it was paused, hesitating, waiting for the moment when he finally found Alabaster's lifeless corpse amongst the rest. He pushed the image from his mind, but it clawed back in; ice spikes puncturing the dragon's body. Suddenly the idea of having to continue without Alabaster felt very possible. Leon almost couldn't imagine it. The dragon was his closest ally now, he'd been there when he killed Phillipe, hell, Alabaster had helped kill Phillipe. Jacques had become more and more a faceless servant as of late, and everyone else was either in constant fear or constant awe. Alabaster was the only person Leon considered an equal, someone who wasn't afraid to tell him no and truly fight back.

“Please…" He whispered, flinching at how haggard his own voice sounded. It was the come-down of his Ishim power sapping his energy reserves. Nothing more. He wasn't worried. Alabaster would be fine he would be he had to be. But what if he's not?

Leon winced as he found more devastation. The kitchens had been torn apart, the huge spikes of ice impaling the cooks and splitting the tables. He didn't need to check to know the food was ruined. Several walls had fractured, and those people lucky enough to avoid Leutgard's spikes had just enough luck to collect a stray brick atop their head.

Eventually the sound of murmuring voices drew him towards the courtyard, hushed whispers and grunts too low to make out if they were friend or foe. Leon shimmied up to the wall beside the door, thumbing back the hammer on his rifle, exhaling slowly before peering around the corner and into the courtyard.

A small group of survivors sat gathered in the corner. Most were laying down, wounded. He heard sobbing and hushed, frenetic arguments. There was no cover, but instead they had chosen a place with the least amount of ice. Easing the trigger on his rifle, Leon pulled from the wall and began to approach. His eyes checked every one of the faces as he reached them, hoping to find white scales amongst the fur. Some of them seemed to recognise him, but they were all preoccupied, either with their own frostbitten injuries, or tending to those of the others. But no Alabaster.

Why isn't he here? Panic thrummed through Leon, ripping up from his gut towards his throat like a punch. He was going to be sick. This wasn't fair. It wasn't right. His eyes stung and his stomach cramped.

Leon whirled, vision blurring.

“No, please." He grit his teeth, forcing sour air through them.

Then, mercifully, he saw him. Wrapped in a frost-bitten cloak, Leon had walked right by the white dragon when he arrived. Alabaster knelt with his back to the jaguar, wedged deep into the crowd hovering over a young drummer boy, a lad of no more than thirteen years old.

Relief washed through him suddenly and Leon gasped, the stopper in his lungs finally uncorked as he began to breathe clean air again.

“Alabaster–" He said, reaching to grab the dragon's shoulder.

“Wait." The venom in his voice stopped Leon in his tracks, and he stared over the mystic's shoulder.

Alabaster's claw was gently holding the whimpering boy's elbow. The boy was a young fox, his navy drummer's uniform crisp and well-maintained despite the carnage of the fort. Ice had frozen his joint stiff, and by his side a mother muttered furtive prayers, not caring that the man who outlawed her faith was standing right beside her.

“Do not move," Alabaster said to the boy. “Can you obey?"

“Y-yes, I can, I can," the boy said, swallowing. He was so young, his eyes so wide.

“It might hurt. Brace yourself, child." Leon watched as the dragon drew his fingers around the ice, invisible calligraphy summoning his sorcery. The sensitive hairs on Leon's muzzle all twitched together, and Alabaster whispered a series of quick, unintelligible words. The boy winced, a keen hiss escaping through his pursed lips.

“Ow, it hurts… it stings…" He yipped.

“Be still and strong, only a moment more. Do not move or the ice will crack your bones."

No pleasantries, as usual.

Still, despite his curt demeanour Alabaster slowly brought the ice to recede. It seemed to simply melt up out of the boy's arm, dripping to the grass below as the teenaged fox whimpered, but remained still.

Finally, Alabaster released him. “Flex it, gently now." The boy sniffed back his tears, then gingerly worked his arm, a smile breaking across his face as his tail kicked up dust behind him.

“It works…" He said in amazement.

“Oh, praise be, thank you monsieur!" The mother pulled her boy tight, squeezing him hard and rocking him. “You're well, André, thank you, you're well."

“Keep the joint warm and try to work it regularly, you could still risk nerve damage," Alabaster cautioned, the boy and his mother hastily agreeing to it all.

Eventually, the dragon stood, shooting Leon a sharp glare and stepping away from the people.

“I didn't expect to find you out here tending to the wounded masses," Leon said, after they'd put some distance to the survivors. “Not your usual style."

“Well someone had to," Alabaster snapped back. “You took the entire damn army with you, Leon. Not to mention wasting the last useful pieces of Lazare, even when I warned you against it."

“It had to be done." Leon flinched back, surprised at how much Alabaster's words stung. “We got word Leutgard was here, but General Wellick was left undefended. Without him the Kiberland army will be rudderless, and in the–"

“You knew she was here, killing everyone, and yet you did nothing?" The venom in Alabaster's voice was very real, and Leon raised a paw to try and slow him down.

“Not nothing," he corrected, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone. How could Alabaster be so short-sighted? “I made a tactical decision. Winning a war means compromise. Without a General to steer them we can pick off the remaining Kiber forces over the next few weeks. That's a whole army wiped out, Alabaster, with this momentum we can–"

“I don't give a shit about your momentum."

“Stop interrupting or–"

“You are so unbelievably arrogant," Alabaster exclaimed. “This was a trap, set by Kiberland and aided by someone inside your command and you fell right into it! But you are so damn self-assured of your own fucking greatness that even after coming back here and seeing this you assumed it was still some brilliant move of your own design!"

“A trap?" Leon's paws curled into fists. He'd made the best of a bad situation, what did Alabaster expect? “What are you talking about?"

“Think, Leon, if you can manage it. Do you suppose Leutgard just walked up from a distance? Look at the ice! She started in the middle. There was a flash of gold and then people were dying, by the dozens. And she had help, somebody let her in. Though with how fixated you are on attacking, maybe you accidentally left a door open for her without realising, what do you suppose?"

Leon clenched his teeth together. Why wasn't Alabaster listening to him? They had won the day, and while yes it had hurt, no great victory came without cost. “Be quiet," he hissed, grabbing the dragon by the arm and dragging him inside. They hurried down a hall, stepping around bodies and the huge shards of ice stabbed up through the ground. Finally Leon bundled them both into his makeshift quarters, slamming the door behind them.

It was a small, cramped room, but thankfully the Angel's damage hadn't reached this far, and they could at least talk freely without being overheard.

“You need to be mindful of what you say," Leon said, jamming a finger into the dragon's chest. “Our army is riding a wave of victory, you start spreading careless rumours and you'll hamstring them just as they find stride."

“There is no wave of victory here, General." Alabaster spat the last word like it was a curse. He opened his mouth to continue, then stopped, turning away and sighing.

“Look at me–" Leon reached forward but the dragon shrugged him off.

“That was the last of our Angel corpses," he said to the wall. “We have a few dismembered arms and legs, but not nearly enough core tissue to complete another Ishim ritual. Next time Leutgard appears you will fight her as an ordinary man."

“You will figure something else out, I've no doubt."

“I am a sorcerer in the real world, not a magician from a fairy tale," Alabaster replied icily. “I cannot magically summon shit out of nothing, Leon."

The jaguar blew air from his cheeks. He tried to calm himself down. The adrenalin from the battle, the exaltation of killing Wellick, not to mention the strange emotional interference caused by the Ishim power burning in his veins… it was all pushing him to act, to do something, to attack. Slow down. Alabaster nearly died here. He needs you right now, even if he doesn't know how to show it.

“Why did you say that Leutgard had help?" He strained to keep his voice level and smooth. Not an accusation, a neutral question. Meeting Alabaster's rage only made things worse.

“The prisoners. The men who were garrisoned at this fort before we took it. There were hardly any of them, only left behind for show. I believe they got wind of the plan, perhaps it was the only way to get them to agree to stay behind… regardless, they'd all been killed, before Leutgard revealed herself. Someone in your army killed them."

“I see." Leon stared down, trying to recall who had been in charge of managing the surrender. The whole movement had been at speed, there was no formal command at the time, things were simply done. Leon had been so focused on getting in and moving out to attack Kiberland again… You got sloppy. “But we still won the day. This is a victory."

“A victory?" Finally Alabaster turned back, his red eyes wide. “The entire support corps is gone. I believe Leutgard's plan was to kill you, but when she realised that – for some reason – the general of our army was off fighting on the front lines, she targeted our supplies. All the food is gone, along with nearly the entire staff. We have only weapons and gunpowder left."

“Listen, I need you to listen to me," Leon began slowly. “War is never clean. You must take what you can, and the support were soldiers too; they knew the risks. But we can still press on further to–"

“We cannot eat bullets, Leon!" Alabaster showed his teeth in a snarl, fingers curling in an effort to work the anger within him. “I am running out of words for how stubborn, hubris-drunk, and prideful you are. We're going to starve."

“The army will forage until a new support corps can reach them," Leon explained. He was fighting to remain calm, but Alabaster's refusal to see the big picture was starting to nettle him. “It will be a lean few weeks, but they will survive. As for you and I, we will take the Ishim squad and return to Albedo. Joachim and I will press this loss onto Kiberland, and Alabaster, if we can get them to withdraw their support this war could end. Without the King's money, Yaravania will struggle to sustain it!"

He left out the part about the Kiber King supposedly refusing to parlay with him. We'll see how he feels with a dead general on his plate.

“Oh, I admire your ability to see the silver fucking lining," Alabaster said. They were so close together, breathing heavily. Leon's heart thundered in his chest, he was full of emotion, furious and excited all at once. “Guess I'm the typical cynic, right? What's a few hundred lives in the grand scheme of glorious conquest?"

“I am sorry," Leon said. He reached forward, laying a paw on the dragon's firm shoulder. He was shocked to feel how tense the man was. “I left you alone here, and you could have been hurt. You must have been scared."

“Scared. Tch." Alabaster closed his eyes, tilting his head down to his feet, as if he couldn't take the weight of Leon's gaze. “You're just like everyone else, aren't you? You think I am some selfish beast, a cold-blooded monster who cares only for himself and nothing else."

Leon reached forward, cupping the ivory scales on Alabaster's jaw. “I don't think that."

“Well I do," Alabaster whispered, opening his eyes and meeting Leon's gaze. “Because it is true. They are right about me and always have been. I don't care, I am a monster. You're an idiot. A fool that I've been too stupid to truly see until now. My first impressions were right, you're a war-hungry maniac who is going to lead this country into complete and utter devastation. You bastard, Leon, why can't you just–"

His words were cut off as Leon pressed his lips to Alabaster's. The kiss was rough, firm, and he allowed all that frustration and worry to channel through.

Grunting, Leon shoved the dragon back, tipping him onto the bed and following him down. They went in a mess of paws and claws, running fingers over their bodies, huffing breath as they kissed and grinded against one another. There was nothing gentle about it, tugging and pulling and shoving.

“I am sick of this," Leon gasped, as they broke apart. He had one paw on Alabaster's neck, the other on his trousers, his body pinning the dragon down. “Sick of not having you."

“I–" Alabaster started, but Leon shut him up with another kiss. It pushed his teeth into the back of his lip, hurting, but that was fine by them both.

Fumbling, his other paw finally got through Alabaster's trousers, revealing his cock, as hard and quivering as Leon's own. He stroked it, moaning softly as his paw pads wrapped around the head, slicking the precum down over the length.

“Leon," the dragon muttered. “Leon… I don't know…"

“I do," the jaguar grunted. He picked himself back up, undoing the top of his own trousers and tugging his own pink dick out. It was long, but not quite as thick as Alabaster's red, ridged dragon cock. “I know you want me, Alabaster. And I am tired of wanting you."

Before Alabaster could reply, Leon seized both his wrists, pushing them up over the dragon's head. His other paw squeezed fiercely at his waist, bodily flipping Alabaster onto his belly. Whenever the dragon squirmed or protested, Leon just shoved him down harder again. He meant what he said. A year since they had lain together and he thought about it every day. He was sick of not having what he wanted, fed up with feeling so alone.

He yanked Alabaster's pants down to his knees, revealing the firm muscles of the dragon's ass. White scales rippled across his buttocks and hips, a brilliant white pattern accented with scarlet currents. Leon traced his fingers over the smoothness of it, the cool sensation so different to that of a furred body.

“Leon–" Alabaster protested, pushing back up. Leon only pushed back, forcing the dragon's head down into the thin military mattress.

“No, enough talking." He smacked Alabaster's ass, hard, digging his fingers into either side of the dragon's hips. He pulled him back towards him, using a paw to angle his dick forwards. The scaled cheeks were cool and slippery, but Leon felt as his head passed between them, there was a soft wetness inside. He did not hesitate, driving his cock inside Alabaster.

The dragon gasped loudly as Leon entered, arching his back with a grunt. Leon grunted right back, the tight pleasure squeezing his dick. His chest turned and thrashed, and he pulled his hips back before thrusting in deep again.

He leaned his body over Alabaster's, stomach-to-spine, pressing his lips up to the dragon's ear. One paw reached under Alabaster's arm, snaking up his chest to again squeeze at his throat.

“I want you to be mine," Leon growled. “Mine. Enough bandying about, I don't care who has to know. I want you, Alabaster." He shoved himself deeper again, hard and rough, balls slapping against the dragon's own. It felt so good inside him, tight and firm.

Alabaster moaned. “Ah… ah… f-fuck… Leon…"

“Mmf," Leon gasped. He fucked Alabaster harder, picking up the pace as he found a rhythm. It was messy, rough, and he didn't care if he hurt the dragon, he wanted him and he was taking him. “No one can stop me having you, I won't let them, you understand?"

“I… ah… gah…" Alabaster rocked with each thrust.

“I know you want me too." Leon pulled back, slamming in again hard, whining from the pleasure and release of tension flowing through him. All that annoyance and irritation pulsed through him. “It makes me feel good when you argue with me. I get hard when you say I'm stupid. I know you… unff… feel the same, huh? You want me too."

“Y-yes!" Alabaster's claws dug into the sheets, curling the fabric as he was fucked hard. “You, idiot, ah!"

“Say it," Leon ordered. He slammed his hips in as hard as he could, a low purr following each of his words. “Say it, Alabaster, say you want me."

“Fuck you," Alabaster replied, before moaning with pleasure.

Leon laughed. He had one paw squeeze harder at Alabaster's throat, and the other wrap around his waist. He held him firm, fingers clenching around the dragon's cock, milking him in time with the thrusts filling up his tight hole.

“You want me," Leon huffed. “I want you. I love you Alabaster, and you are mine, you belong to me."

“I…" His words were lost to a gasp as Leon pulled himself right out, before thrusting in deep again. His balls were tightening beneath him, and he felt the orgasm coiling inside his dick, building to a pressure point at his tip.

“Say it, be my bitch," Leon snapped, fingers tightening around the dragon.

“I w-want you," Alabaster finally spat out. He heaved in a breath, as if it had been a great effort to say. Leon gave himself over to the moment, he thrust harder and harder, the skin beneath his fur slapping on the dragon's scales. Inside he felt cool, but not in an unpleasant way, and Leon delighted in the sensation of his cock head sliding against the dragon's narrow inner walls.

“Breeding your ass feels good," Leon chuckled, licking his lips. “Feels right." He released the dragon's neck, straightening his back as he took hold of Alabaster by the hips.

Grunting, huffing, he redoubled his effort, fucking hard again and again. Every moment of irritation from the last year and a half bubbled through him. The constant politics, the war, the if-this-then-that of every single fucking problem. He let it all go, anxiety and anger bleeding away as he bred that dragon's hole. A year ago Alabaster had taken his mind and fucked him the same way, now it was Leon's turn.

“Ah… Ah…" Leon heard the voice and realised it was his own, moaning as his orgasm built to climax, ready to overtake him. “I'm… f-fuck… Alabaster… I'm so close…" The pressure was painful inside him, so tight, so ready to burst.

“Fuck me, do it," the dragon growled back.

Leon had already started. The immense pressure was suddenly and violently released, agonising bliss ricocheting from his cock and into his hips as a thick wad of cum shot from his tip and into Alabaster.

“Ahhh…" He moaned, shuddering, collapsing forward atop the dragon, hips giving tiny little thrusts as he continued to spurt his seed deep into the man. Pleasure rippled through him, almost painfully sensitive as he continued to shoot more.

Alabaster huffed along with him, and Leon reached around and felt several ropes of dragon cum shoot into his palm, dripping down his fingers. Leon reached the paw up, pushing two of his wet fingers into the side of Alabaster's mouth. “Lick it." The dragon obeyed, forked tongue curling around his digits as he sucked his own cum free.

Leon sighed, shaking as the last parts of his orgasm were squeezed from his cock, Alabaster's tight rim tensing around his base.

“I… ah…" He grunted, sliding back and pulling himself free. He wiped the last bit of semen from his tip, pushing off the bed and redoing his trousers. Panting, they both took a moment to fix their clothes and catch their breath.

“Well," Alabaster said, for once at a loss for words.

“I… needed that," Leon said, his grin quickly turning to a laugh.

“I noticed."

Leon sobered fast. They didn't have much longer, people would be looking for him soon. He took Alabaster's claw, holding it with both his paws. “And the things I said, I meant them. I want you, and I'm sick of not having you."

“I thought you said you didn't like the fretting wife?"

Leon winced. “The fretting part is what I don't want. Please, can you ever just accept something without biting back?"

“Hm." Alabaster paused, as if considering him. “You make me so angry, Valoisier. Angrier than anyone I've ever met."

“I could easily say the same. Perhaps that is what it means to love someone."

“Spare me."

“I promise not to fill any buildings with roses, but…" Leon pushed even closer, so their bodies were against one another. “I know what I want, Alabaster. I want Rennaire, and I want you. I love you. Your presence robs me of reason, and believe it or not I have no power to go a single minute and avoid having thoughts of you."

“You are a fool," Alabaster replied.

Leon grinned. “But a happy one, at least for this moment."

“There is still a war," Alabaster reminded him. “And a traitor in this army. And a coalition of enemy empires that wishes us all dead."

Leon sighed. “Yes, yes… traitors were inevitable. We have changed a lot in our motherland, it only makes sense that some would prefer to go back to the old ways. Especially when things start getting difficult."

“I will find them," Alabaster said. “Do not do anything to let them know we are onto them, Leon. For all they know we are still ignorant of their involvement. But be careful, it was you they were after, if they tried this they will try again. Our enemies know you are the linchpin in Rennaire's future."

“Such patriotism, oh, Alabaster, never thought I'd see the day." Leon felt another grin push to his face. He was alive with the thought of this hunt. “But even you believe it now – there is no room for traitors in Rennaire."