“Two thousand and sixty nine years have passed and over two thousand and sixty nine times I have stabbed in honor of Caesar. Do you know the stories, little maid? Do you know of how sixty of us gathered and vowed to destroy that which stood between peace and tyranny? Do you know that I was the last to tuck a blade into his back? That he only had 23 wounds by the end?” Brutus smiles, wistfully. “It was a beautiful day, soured by the evils of the unrighteous oppressor’s hand, broken vows by senators and the blood of friend, brother, kin. It means much that you would so dutifully carry out action on my behalf.”
His chest begins to heal, slowly stitching itself together in front of them, though the pain barely registers. Sinners this old have built up a tolerance to it, after all. It’s almost insulting to believe this would have killed him after all these years.
“In the time since, I’ve learned the power of the blade. A knife’s edge is just as much a warning as any prophet’s words, perhaps prophecy itself written in the blood of those too overwhelmed by self-importance to know their own misdeeds. Arrogance is a magnetic force, let no man deny its power. Those above and below us both know that climbing to heights from a full pit means clawing your way through the backs of those around you. No good comes from those with good intentions and a blade.”
He turns to Vox, a sarcastic smile gracing his features. “If it were a year ago, it would have been you on my blade. I certainly gave it my best go, but if you even have a mind to remember, it was your partner then that I caught, too. The moth fellow. You didn’t seem to mind so much then…” He sighs and shakes his fingers at Vox, watching the blood soak his chest even as his own heals. “But I suppose thats how it is with you dictator types,” his eyes cut towards the TV demon, “you’d cut off your right hand if it meant saving your crown.”
Brutus laughs boisterously his wounds almost completely healed, though he stays where he lay, watching Vox carelessly. “But thats not you anymore, I suppose. Less power in your hands now that you’re using them to save others rather than build your empire. But I do wonder… your partner had quite a few stab wounds already when I got here. How close do you think she is to 23? And will it be you in the end? Last to realize she’s becoming just as much a monster as the one you’ve fought to escape from before?”
He pushes himself up, face to face with Vox, his nose filled with the scent of sinner blood.
Brutus dissolves into a pool of inky black, not to be seen until the next Ides of March.
