Dawkins was to his right, and he had a sniper rifle balanced on top of one of the parapets atop the wall, mowing down their enemies with pinpoint precision. Joseph dashed to his side--avoiding enemy gunfire by ducking and weaving when he was briefly unprotected between parapets. “What’s the situation?” he asked his brother. 

“Smart motherfuckers…” Dawkins muttered under his breath. “They gathered a bigger army than usual. Not only that, but they put suckers on their tentacles so that even ones who can’t teleport are able to scale the wall. They’re fast, too. They can scale this thing in seconds. Additionally, do you remember how we learned when we were kids that Erulanites have to physically see a place before teleporting to it? Well, they had a spy somehow get past our walls, and the asshole managed to make a map of our city that was accurate enough for them to feel confident to attempt to teleport in. It worked for about one-hundred of them, and they made a fine distraction on the inside of the walls while the rest of them worked on breaching the outside of them. We’ve lost a lot of men.” 

Joseph nodded ineffectually, not feeling panicked. “How many?”

“About thirty Erulanites and twenty of the Praetorian Guard.” Dawkins answered, briefly popping up over the parapet and taking a shot at one of the Erulanites. 

Joseph was surprised. They hadn’t lost one of the Praetorian Guard in years, and their stock of Erulanites was particularly brilliant in their tactics and survived most battles unscathed as well. He remained calm and removed his own sniper rifle from the holster on his back. 

He placed it on top of the parapet and began thinning out the crowd of Erulanites below them. They looked like tiny ants from where he was sitting, dashing towards the wall. All of them had specially designed shields being emitted from tight, metal bands on their wrists. The shields were projected in front of them and resembled static whirlpools. Joseph licked his lips, and after taking a useless shot that had been absorbed by the shield, ducked behind the parapet again. After taking a moment, he lurched back to his feet, took aim at the metal band, and fired. The band broke, the shield evaporated, and Dawkins finished the Erulanite off with a shot through its head. He nodded his thanks at Joseph, who bobbed his head in return. “You’re a good shot…” Dawkins muttered. 

Joseph didn’t reply. He was too preoccupied with the vigor of battle. Despite the fact that there was an almost monotonous, tiresome rhythm to gun fights, Joseph enjoyed the comfort of fulfilling his purpose and the fact that there was nothing to distract him from the battle. 

Aim,

Fire,

Duck, 

The cycle repeated itself over and over again, and he relished seeing his enemies slowly disappearing one-by-one. It was strange to be in a situation that was dangerous enough that he might die, but slow-paced enough that Dawkins felt at ease to make casual conversation, and Joseph felt at ease enough to give brief answers to his questions. 

Dawkins murmured, “I hear you got a visit from Dad.”

Joseph nodded as he reloaded his gun, hearing the satisfying clink of his bullets sliding into place. “Yeah. He annoyed me.” Joseph said bluntly. 

Dawkins gaped. “You? Annoyed?” he laughed. “I didn’t think you were capable of such feelings. You’re such a stoic motherfucker. What did he do to make you annoyed?”

Joseph ignored his brother for a moment as he popped to his feet, fired a shot, and then slumped back down behind the parapet. After that, he answered--his knuckles turning white upon the butt of his weapon, “He kept saying pointless things.” 

Dawkins’ caramel eyes nearly sparkled in delight at his sentence. “Oh my god. Did the old man try to make a pleasant conversation with you?” Dawkins’ tsked melodramatically. “He should have known better. A tool like you has no uses for such a thing.”

Joseph looked at his brother blankly. He felt an itchiness under his skin--perhaps even on his bones--that made him irritated at that moment. He felt, briefly, like the only way to scratch it was to say something rude because he had a feeling that his brother was insulting him. Instead, he merely replied, “He and the Daughter of my House kept talking about my well-being.”

Dawkins gasped theatrically, shaking his head with a tiny smile. “The monsters. How dare they.” but then, his face scrunched up in a grimace. “Wait a minute? The Daughter of your House? As in, an Erulanite?”

Joseph nodded wordlessly as he allowed the screams from his falling enemies and the soothing thunder of gunfire cloak his annoyances in a warm blanket of routine and predictability.