"Ruin..." Alexa turns and takes in the planet again. Views it as it was--wreathed in flames, shadowed by Ares, stricken. Views it now, a verdent paradise, blue and green and teals. Quietly, decisively nods. "In the end it was, I suppose."

But it wasn't always like that, was it? Back in the beginning, when she could still believe in the cause. She could look at Molech and see the brilliant tactician, marvel at the sweeping ambushes, the precision with which enemies were cut down, and tell herself the cruelty was worth it. Planets scrambled to fall at his feet, without a single shot! They were making it possible to fight wars without fighting wars! Soon, warfare itself would be pointless, eradicated! And all she had to do was ignore the gnawing feeling that this was very wrong.

She was broken, obviously, if all she had to do was fit into the place that Molech told her to fit.

It was so simple. When she won, it was because she successfully carried out Molech's orders. And when she failed, obviously she'd failed to understand what he wanted.

That's part of the reason she never actually commanded the army against Thriss. Even then, back when Nero was a jumped-up nobody from a backwater, Thriss was a capital-T Threat. Her grasp of strategy, her ability to surprise, to plan and execute maneuvers, almost rivaled Molech himself. Alexa would go to comply with orders, and find Thriss two steps ahead in routing it.

(Privately, she almost suspects that Nero had to have gotten rid of her quietly. But no, that's what Molech would have done. Far better to occupy a resource like Thriss with conquering somebody else--with bringing others under the heel of Empire. Something to occupy that needle-sharp mind and keep her far from the capitol.)

Much better to fight Mengekai. You'd never find a general so willing to respect the rules of war, so rigid, so damn polite about things. It was never about the objective, about winning the day at any costs. Only with Mengekai could she demand single combat, a duel of champions, and find an agreeable, almost charming wink in return. He expected honor, and if it was found, would return it. For him, war was... Well, not a game. Not exactly. It was a messy affair, desperately to be avoided. But if there were no more battle, then where would he win glory?

Would it be strange to call him a friend? On opposite sides of the war, certainly, and they'd kill each other in a heartbeat if the war demanded, but also not entirely an enemy? It's strange--she almost wishes she could track him down, find out what he's up to, reminisce about all those times they fought each other.

Such an odd whim.

He can't have settled down--he'd never be able to sustain his troops, ply them with gifts to establish his own power, without a steady supply of plunder. Pirate, maybe? Would Nero turn him loose on the galaxy, let him play warlord?

And, at the end of the day, he's not Vatemoral, and thank goodness for that. Thriss's grasp of strategy was flawless, but you never knew what Vatemoral was packing or even, half the time, what they hoped to gain. The only universal was that it was going to be nasty, be bigger than last time, and involve an esoteric or two. They [i]were[/i] playing a game, and damned if anybody else knew the rules. 

That wasn't to say they were a bad person, but Vatemoral was the kind of person for whom the answer was less important than asking the question. They delighted in poking simply for the knowledge of what would happen when you did. Vatemoral is probably in an order of mysteries somewhere far from here, and Alexa is too glad for that.