“So, they did it.” A tall man said, staring out the window.

         “Yes, your Auspex. They have managed to overrun the largest rebel camp of South East Tennessee.” The messenger said. The bright sun invaded through all of the massive windows in the room. In the middle of the room lay a large desk covered in maps, written plans, and a bible. On the ceiling was a glass chandelier adorned in glass crosses. The tall man turned around from the window and faced his messenger. 

          “Beautiful,” He said with a small smile and low voice. He walked over to his desk and unbuttoned his white suit to sit. He picked up a quarter and rolled it through his knuckles.

          “Who was the soldier leading the charge?” he asked.

          “His name is Geoffren, your Auspex. A general.”

          “I assume he’s a rather powerful manipulator? One with leagues of experience considering he’s a general? I doubt he’s another rare case like that one a year ago?”

          “Yes sir, he is powerful. And you'd be correct in your assumption. He's on the older side.”

          “Would I also be correct in assuming he’s a devout follower?”

          “That I cannot confirm, but I would assume so.”

          “Hm…Well he has to be.” The auspex said, stopping the coin.

          “Would I be correct in assuming you would like to release a statement on the victory they secured?” 

          “You would be. Giving them a well needed morale boost after such an important victory is vital. Striking the iron while it’s hot is key to winning any war. Also reminding them that God, and God alone, was the reason for their victory.” The Auspex said as he stood up. He walked over to his bookshelf and picked a book. 

        The boy he killed. He acted as his reflection, copying every move he made. Geoffren tried to stand but the boy grabbed him through the puddle. He gripped his arms with inhuman strength, there was no escape. The boy leaned closer to Geoffren as his eyes grew. The eyes grew larger, and larger, to the size of his head. Geoffren’s arms begin bleeding as he shrieks like a scared child.

         “We see you. For you.” The large eyes bellow before he awakens from his dream. A strained scream bursts from Geoffren’s mouth. His heart races to the point of nausea, he springs up from his cot to vomit. 

         “I'm gonna need a new boot.” He thinks, tossing it aside. He sits back on the edge of his bed. Doing so revealed what that warm wet feeling was. Staring at his dripping pants made him even more disgusted with himself than he already was. He changed clothes, readying himself for his day. A faint voice is heard from the outside of the tent. That voice...it irked him. Stepping outside of the tent irked him more. 

         “He is constant–” the soldier on his soapbox sang. Geoffren stared at him straight faced as he readied for the next line. The soldier noticed and came to a stop, wrapping up his paper and walking off. 

         “Auspex is so annoying,” Raygal said from behind Geoffren. 

         “He spoke live about an hour ago, but they just got the telegraph and started relaying it to us.” He went on. Geoffren started walking to the mess hall trying to ignore Raygal. The sallow dirt pulled at Geoffren’s feet like in his dream. He scowled in disgust as he slowly began to float over it. The camp was themed in a dark blue. Lines of tents created thin alley ways to walk through. These alley ways were usually full of soldiers with somewhere to be and smoke from the mess halls or battles down wind. 

          “General, you look sick today. Take my breakfast from the mess hall,” he said, hoping for Geoffren’s attention. He persisted in his silent trek as other soldiers passed by him.

         “Fine morning, General?”

          “How’d you sleep, General?”

          “Great day to be alive huh, General?” They said as he brushed by. His head laid low, refusing to respond. The mess hall was a rambunctious and crowded tent with a small fire to cook outside. People screamed, spat food at one another, and drank while telling jokes. Geoffren cut through the line and pulled out his pot.

          “Taking a giant camp like that definitely takes the cake, Geoffren. We’ll celebrate you. Drinks and all.”

          “Fine.” Geoffren reluctantly said, sighing. Zultor proudly navigated through the stiff soldiers and exited the tent.

          “Ha! At ease!’’ Zultor shouted from outside the tent. The soldiers sighed and loosened up. Bullus’ armpit stains stuck out like a sore thumb to the other soldiers who laughed at him

          “You worked up a sweat just from saluting?” One soldier laughed.

          “This is why you feed me.” Bullus said angrily to the cook. 

         Night came and the celebration began. Everyone drank, played cards, and sang songs. It was almost as if there was no war at all. The whole camp was covered in smoke as the stench of cigars and food mixed through the air. An obviously drunk Raygal slurred his words as he struggled to make it through his chess game.

         “Check.” He said confidently.

         “That’s my rook.” His opponent responded.

         “Oh. That move doesn’t count. Ok now, check.” He said confidently, moving his piece again.

         “Raygal, you lost 4 moves ago.” He replied. The celebration had loud disorienting music coming from different parts of the camp as multiple soldiers played different instruments out of tune with each other. One soldier fell asleep on top of a vomit covered poker table accompanied with loud snoring.

         “Stop inviting him to play!” One soldier screamed as he threw his poker chips at his unconscious face. 

        Geoffren sat away from the party with Zultor in his tent, laughing hysterically. The two shared whisky and harped on old memories they shared in previous wars.

         “Hahahahaha! Ask me nicely and I’ll stop writing to your wife!” Geoffren laughed, spilling whiskey everywhere.

         “What’s the secret to getting her to write you back?” Zultor asked as they both fell laughing. 

         “W-wait. Wait! Remember that letter you wrote me after you shit yourself?” Zultor asked.

        “They saw you…they watched you.” Ephraim said as his face slowly turned to one filled with anger.

        “I don't know what you’re talking about. Let go of me.”

         “They watched you kill your allies in cold blood.” Ephraim said, keeping his grip. Geoffren paused as he remembered. He blasted his own men with air to take out the enemy. It was a split second decision he knew he would regret. How could he be at blame? He had no time.

 “They...could see me?” He asked.

         “ Yes. All the soldiers were paralyzed, but they were aware. They said you looked like you didn’t even care…” Ephraim said. Geoffren’s body stiffened as he tried to think of a response.

         “I–ehh…” He murmured. 

         “I’ve never liked nor respected you, Geoffren, but now I hate you.”

         “I…” Geoffren stammered as he stared at Ephraim. Geoffren gave the same dead look he always did, even in a time like this. His apathetic mask hid his anxious feelings with a stare. No reaction would be unearthed by Ephraim as he watched closely for one. The lung crushing fear that filled Geoffren only got worse as he began to spiral.

        “I can kill Ephraim, he isn'tEphraim he isn’t a manipulator.”

        “I can blame his disappearance on combat.”

        “What if he has a way to kill me?”

        “What about the other soldiers that know?

        “What if someone sees me kill him?” His thoughts raced. Geoffren never feared nor respected Ephraim until this very moment, a moment where he was at his mercy. Tight in Ephraim’s palm, his hand fought not to shake in fear as he began to slowly pull back. His pulling brought Ephraim to his feet and they met face to face.

         “Oh, so you’re strong enough to kill your allies but can’t think of anything to say?”

         “...What’re you gonna do?” Geoffren finally asked.

         “I’m going to kill you.” Ephraim responded as cheers from the celebration erupted.