Trial of Servulus

Chapter 4- Breakdown

After their intense conversation, Claire didn't speak to her sister for a considerable amount of time. The weeks that followed were demoralizing for both siblings, Lauren began personally every single training session that followed, hovering in the sidelines to observe the classes. For most, the Vatican's presence was motivating, sparking the apprentices to push their limits. For Claire, it was a tense game of pretending not to see her. Her sister's presence was a mockery, having to wake up every day with disgust twisting her expression. Apparently she just wasn't allowed to be happy anymore, everyone and everything against her.

Day after day sessions were taken by storm, Claire channeling all her fury into carving through each lesson. Frequently the yard was obscured by clouds of dirt as students hit the ground, violently bludgeoned into submission in full view of the observing warriors. She knew she was being watched, lacing her anxiety although driving anger into her assault. With every victory she'd look up, waiting for Rome's reaction with pleading eyes. Not once did he ever approve of her battles, not once did he ever give her anything.

She began spending more time in The Tipsy Hen, so much that even Morgan flashed concern every time she came through the door. Many of Claire's nights were drowned in watered-down ale and cheap mead, the only things she was able to consistently afford. Even with the business, Morgan's worry increased with every mug she filled, even once pleading for Claire to go home. She would never reply directly, the apprentice's mind hearing only the muffled static churning within her. If it was truly decided that Peter planned to get rid of her, as Lauren had stated, then what was the point in even trying anymore? Despite the endless distractions Claire craved every second of the day, the true urge to fight was slowly fading away from her.

Things changed one night, mere days from the next trial. In a moment of awakening -and drunken mead-soaked inspiration- Claire started boiling at the bar. She clenched her bottle tightly, her face going red with heated rage. A powerful fire ignited in her chest, and she looked up at the glass of the bottle, reflecting back her empty expression. If Peter demanded a performance, she thought in her maddened state, then a performance he would get.

Lost in a drunken mind, Claire traveled back to the apprentice quarters, brandishing a training sword. Such a tool could hardly be labeled as a weapon at all. They lacked sharpened edges, rendering more as pointless slabs of hardwood unable to do real damage, yet they were the perfect tools to get her started. Brimming in ferocity, Claire charged through the night and knocked her way into the apprentice quarters. The servants already knew what was coming the moment they saw her, their bodies tensing as fear spilled into their faces. They ran from her, but she paid no mind, letting them run by without a single look. There was no honor in tearing down the defenseless, she knew, the only coherent thought able to reach her.

She began her crusade, fears of being erased in the minds of those she loved motivating every step she took. Every student was hunted down, no matter where in the building they happened to be. If they were asleep, Claire kicked the bed until they awoke or actively dragged them out. Not a single ambush was seized, instead waiting with anticipation as her peers ran to grab their weapons. Meeting each one face-to-face, three dozen students were pulverized one after the other. Many were slammed off the stone walls, knocked against the furniture, and the less fortunate were beaten down by her own hand. Every strike of her weapon laced with hatred, a terrified desperation driving her frenzy. Once each classmate was brutally defeated, Claire left the quarters and didn't return, collapsing under a stone bridge outside of the clan. With the last of her savings, she spent the following nights in The Tipsy Hen, occupying one of the rentable rooms.

The day before the next trial, Claire absently dwelled in her room staring sickly into the wooden ceiling. She was supposed to be better than this, her heart bled with empty regret, perhaps she truly was just a violent brute after all. Laying motionless for hours, she didn't stir until sunlight came through the window; a dreaded signal that the next day had begun. It was audible even as she fastened her armor; the marching. That signature marching as the students traveled the dirt road back to the arena. Quickening her pace, Claire grabbed what little things she had and slipped through the window.