Aurelius walked the broken streets of Carthage like a magistrate returning to a riot he'd already ruled on.
His cloak trailed over the pulverized stone scattered everywhere. The soldiers around him fought without care, none of them even sparing him a glance, more preoccupied with killing the other person.
His silver mask glinted through the drifting smoke, its expressionless planes reflecting fires and falling bodies as if nothing in them mattered.
He didn't hurry. He did not need to.
Ahead, a wedge of invaders charged. Their leader saw Aurelius and screamed for them to loose, before Aurelius' mask even registered on their face.
A dozen enhancements flared, lances formed from ice, bolts of hardened air, and even darts of iron pulled from the torn railings of a collapsed terrace. The sky turned into a bristling quiver.
Aurelius raised one gauntleted hand.
Time drew down around him, a pale halo that made the air appear viscous.
