The woman knelt by the fallen swordsman, her eyes wide, pulling his bleeding body up in a vain attempt at denial. Her own sword lay forgotten at her side.
"No, no no no," she whispered. "No, he's dead, he can't be, he isn't, no, oh God --" There was blood on her hands. "-- no, no, please, it wasn't… what… what did you do?!"
Those last words were screamed at the young man who was still standing, his green sword hanging limp in one hand. In the other, he held some kind of trigger mechanism, the device rattling as his grip shook. He was staring down at his fallen comrade, eyes wide.
"I didn't…" he muttered, disbelieving. "No, I didn't… I didn't mean to… is he…? He can't be… there's no way…"
Even as the young man whispered that, however, toxic veins were spreading out over the body of the victim -- the spawn of the green sword. The puddle of blood slowly spreading out, soaking into the woman's dress, told its own story as well. If this was not a corpse, it soon would be.
"You tricked me," the woman hissed. "You tricked me!"
The young man took a step forward. "I didn't. I didn't!" he pleaded. "I didn't mean for this! I just… I just wanted…"
The woman's eyes narrowed. "You got what you fucking wanted. You scumbag. You son of a bitch."
"I…"
She looked down at the body in her arms. "He's cold," she breathed, voice shaking. "Oh God no, he's cold. No… no…"
Long seconds passed, the young man's hand suspended in the air, as if he were perpetually about to reach out. The woman just stared down at the body, the spark of life in her eyes visibly dying away until that red gaze was as empty as crusted blood. A long, involuntary sigh trickled out of her throat.
And then, her eyes moved to her own sword.
The young man obviously realized what she was about to do before she did it. He stepped forward, shouting something indiscernible, but too late. Emotion had slowed his step, and had quickened hers. In a flash, she had the sword in her hands, holding it against her own chest by the hilt…
…and then, she plunged it in.
*
Muzazi winced as the headache abated. What in the world had that been? For a moment, it had felt like he'd been somewhere else, some time else, observing distant events as though they were a videograph. The face of the woman he'd seen… had that been Mariana?
No. He had no time to consider such things. It was coming for him, after all.
After losing her head, the corpse of Mariana pan Helios had abandoned all vestiges of grace and restraint. Muzazi had no choice but to retreat down the hallways as she pursued, an utter cyclone of sword-slashes. The false images on the walls of the corridors were shattered as she let loose, shards of glass falling and coating the floor.
Muzazi observed carefully as he propelled himself backwards with his thrusters, always staying just out of reach. His adversary was holding her sword in one hand as she pursued -- in the other, she held her severed head. Those red eyes were tinted with purple as they stared insistently at Muzazi, even as the head swayed back and forth from being gripped by the hair.
It was easy enough to work out what had happened. At some point, Mariana pan Helios had perished and underwent an Aether Awakening -- that Awakening had turned her reanimation ability back on her own corpse, allowing it to keep functioning for such a long time.
How long? Since before he'd gotten here, certainly -- he'd smelt that perfume on her, masking her decomposition, since the first time they'd met. But how long before that? How long had this corpse been walking around as one of the Seven Blades, any peculiarities explained as the product of grief?
There was no vow of silence, after all, was there? Just the hush of death.
Muzazi was not simply fleeing without a goal -- the route they were taking was headed for the arena. In a wide open space like that, he could fight freely. His reach was limited in cramped confines like these, and the swarms of flies that Mariana commanded could more easily reach him. Even now, he could feel them crawling under his clothes, biting at his exposed skin. The pain ran across his body like an electric current.
He gritted his teeth. How much longer? He hadn't been on the Child Garden for long, but it was a good practice to be familiar with one’s base of operations. If his memory was accurate, they should be reaching it in three…
…two…
Mariana lunged forward, her sword stabbing at Muzazi's throat.
…one!
The two of them made it out of the hallway, and Muzazi immediately made use of the available space, zooming upwards to avoid Mariana's thrust. The instant he was finally out of her range, he threw his arms out -- thrusters sprouting all over his body to incinerate the insects covering him. For a split second, he was a silhouette of pure light -- and the next, he was back in a combat stance, ashes spilling out from beneath his charred clothes.
He kept close to the ceiling as he floated, making sure there was no possible way for Mariana to reach him with a display of acrobatics. Luckily, the ceiling of the arena was high, and he was able to keep firmly out of her range. The only thing he had to worry about was her throwing her sword, and from this distance he would easily be able to see it coming.
Mariana walked down the stands, the head in her hand angled to face in his direction. That all but confirmed his suspicions: she still used the eyes of the severed head to see -- probably hear, too. If he was able to destroy it, he'd be cutting off the enemy's senses entirely.
If there was a more easily identifiable weak point, he didn't know of it.
Still, as he looked at the corpse circling him from below, he couldn't help but feel his hands shake. Why? He didn't know. Was he frightened? It would be no surprise if he was -- a headless zombie was coming for him, after all. But no…
No… he knew fear. Back on Nocturnus, when he'd met the Abyssal Knight, he'd felt true terror. The kind of awful fear that scraped its nails over your bones and clawed at your brain, that stopped you from being the kind of person you'd convinced yourself you were. Real fear revealed.
This… this was different. But how?
Muzazi swallowed as he saw Mariana stop directly beneath him. Purple Aether was concentrating around her legs. No doubt she was about to try something, using whatever rudimentary intelligence still remained within her Aether.
Well, he wasn't about to allow that.
Mariana pan Helios leapt up --
-- and Atoy Muzazi swooped down.
----------------------------------------
The horror lurched towards Aclima, squelching and squirming as it moved. Its flesh bubbled and oozed, unidentifiable liquid dripping from its nail-like teeth and steaming on the floor.
Aclima leapt to her feet, fear grasping her heart and quickening her step. She went to retreat backwards -- only for her back to thump against the metal shutter behind her. In this position, in this part of the room, she was trapped. Escaping would mean running right past the monstrosity before her, and she already knew it wouldn't allow that.
Her hands shook. Her breath trembled. Her vision grew hazy. This thing was going to eat her. It was going to eat her. A childhood nightmare come to life.
No. No. She was the Supreme Heir. She was meant to be stronger than this. Fear was supposed to be as foreign to her as injury was to her father. That was the reason she had been born. That was what she was for.
A thing like this wasn't supposed to survive being in her presence!
Aclima squeezed her eyes shut. Aether, she begged. Aether Aether Aether Aether. Please. She could hear it still, the enemy, inexorably slithering over the carpet, but she did her best to ignore it. It was like Atoy Muzazi had said. Aether was something inside yourself. A light of the mind. All she had to do was find it -- find the core that revealed that light to her. She could do it. She was the Supreme Heir. She was. That was all she had.
Aether! Aether Aether Aether! AETHER!
She searched through her mind, through old memories, through the lingering joy and sorrow they evoked, even through the terror this current situation sparked in her. She searched every corridor within herself for the Aether Core that she knew surely must exist. She searched for the miracle.
But the miracle never happened. There was only a yawning void, reminding her that right now she was nothing but fragile flesh and bone -- and soon, very soon, she might not even be that. The resolve she'd briefly summoned up evaporated, as all illusions must.
Aclima opened her eyes.
The thing was right in front of her, the two sides of its body ready to snap shut and devour her whole. She vaguely wondered how long it would take for her to die. Would it be instant, if nothing else? Or would she even die at all? Perhaps there was a worse fate waiting for her.
She wouldn't be surprised.
The tendrils within the beast lashed out, aiming to pull her right into its maw --
-- and fell to the ground, cleanly severed by a single stroke.
Aclima blinked. "Eh?"
"A!"
Before she could do much more than look on, however, Aclima was moving -- with such speed that the air was knocked out of her lungs. She was tucked under somebody's arm, she could tell that, and as they landed and came to a halt, she looked up to see the face of Morgan Nacht. He had come out of nowhere, grabbed her, and gotten her away from the false Heir.
She looked up at him, dumbstruck, as he let her back down. "Um… thank you…"
"Don't thank me," Morgan smirked, glancing back across the room. "All I did was pull you out of there."
She followed his gaze, and saw -- there, standing across from the monster -- the one who had actually made that attack. Baltay Kojirough, his Leviathan drawn, a serious expression on his face as he stared down the false Heir. Black ichor dripped from his green blade.
There had been six tendrils coming for her, all from different angles, and yet this man had severed them all in a single movement. Aclima had heard that some people called him the Miracle Slash. She didn't wonder why.
"Sorry to say," Baltay said, adjusting the angle of his sword. "But I'll be your opponent tonight, creature."
The nightmare seemed to regard him for a moment, bleeding tendrils swaying in the air -- and then its body snapped shut, assuming the false form of a child once again. It lowered itself to the ground, tiny pupils glaring at Baltay, and let out a cracking moan.
"Your target was the Supreme Heir, wasn't it?" Baltay demanded. "Hans Allier and his Kingmakers were simply a means to get you on board. I don't know how you managed to get into Grace's quarters, but I'll be avenging him in full. Prepare yourself."
The boy growled, his voice wet. "We await the return of our King. The light of civilization will go out."
Baltay narrowed his eyes. "Darkstar."
That was barely a conversation, but it was the closest thing there would be between these two enemies. The false Heir screeched as he launched off the ground, firing himself like a bullet right at Baltay. Baltay, for his part, simply adjusted the position of his blade again, took a deep breath, and leisurely…
…won.
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There wasn't a living thing in this world that didn't predict the future. It was a natural process of the mind. When you see someone drop a glass, you predict that it will fall to the ground. It's nothing special.
All Baltay Kojirough did with his Aether was take that existing ability to predict and supercharge it. A natural ability to read muscle movements and body language became something that bordered on the supernatural. Ten seconds: with the precognition he'd honed, he could predict the movements of living things up to ten seconds in the future.
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Baltay knew that the monster would leap at him before it even kicked off the ground. A blue shadow, visible only to him, pounced out of it in his direction, tracing the path of the future. He could see the way its face would twist in feral fury. He could see the way its hands would come down like claws. All of its movements… he could see them.
Easily. But still pathetic.
Once, he had wanted to be stronger than anyone, and knowledge was power. That was why, when he was younger, he had left Supremacy territory and snuck into the UAP -- to Abra-Facade, the land of precognition. He'd learnt from masked oracles and seers, trying to match the future sight they'd mastered, and all he'd achieved were this measly ten seconds. It was said that the elders of Abra-Facade could chart the course of galactic events years into the future, and that was what had elevated them to the UAP's Central Governing Council. People like that -- not even warriors -- had outmatched him from the moment he'd been born.
This thing, though? It barely qualified as an obstacle. Victory came from striking first -- and when you could see the future, you always struck first.
Baltay Kojirough stepped to the side and moved his sword almost lazily as the present caught up -- and, comically, the false Heir fell apart, his head and limbs chopped away. The eyes of the decapitated head continued to flick around, the fingers continued to twitch, the legs continued to squirm… until Leviathan danced again, slicing the thing apart once more into clean pieces of nine by nine inches.
The killer cut: he'd expected it would work against a thing like this.
Baltay silently sheathed his blade, looking down at the inert pile of flesh. As he watched, the pieces began to bubble black and rapidly decompose, eventually becoming an abyssal smoke that lingered in the air for a moment before fading away entirely. He'd have to tell Paradise that her special friend had left behind another present.
But that was for later. Baltay smiled as he looked up at his comrade Morgan and the young Supreme Heir. "Are you alright?" he asked.
----------------------------------------
Morgan blinked.
When he'd seen Atoy Muzazi take out Hans Allier back on Ipsum, he'd been astounded by the swordsman's sheer speed -- but with Baltay Kojirough, what inspired awe was his efficiency. He'd accomplished with two or three strokes of his sword what would take other warriors a plethora. The beast that had killed Edward Grace hadn't even been able to touch this man.
More importantly, though… he'd killed the thing. Morgan bit his lip as the Heir ran over to Baltay.
"What's going on?" she asked anxiously. "What was that?"
Baltay answered her. "We're not sure yet. Like I said, we think that creature was brought aboard by Mr. Allier, but we can't be certain what its objective was here."
"It wanted me…" she whispered.
Baltay nodded. "Most likely," he replied honestly. "We can't stay here -- there's no telling if there's anything else on the ship right now. We need to get you to an alternative location. Somewhere easily defensible. Any ideas, Mr. Nacht?"
Morgan nearly jumped as he was suddenly addressed, pulling him out of deep thought. "Uh, I guess -- the function room? With its position, we can cover all the exits from the center of the chamber."
"Good thinking," Baltay nodded, scooping the Heir up onto his back. He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "This will have to be a little quick, so brace yourself, okay?"
Before Baltay could set off, though, Morgan extended an arm. "Wait!" he called out. "Wait, boss."
Baltay stopped at the forced-open door, looking back at Morgan. "What is it?"
You need to trust someone, Wu Ming had told him. Even if that's just one person.
If Baltay Kojirough was truly the one behind this, then he'd have had no reason to execute the monster that had been about to kill the Heir. If Baltay Kojirough was truly the one behind this, there'd have been no reason for Gretchen to go behind his back. If Baltay Kojirough was truly the one behind this, then he'd have no reason to follow Morgan's lead here.
He swallowed. When you stood alone, even the gentlest snowfall could seem like a blizzard. Sooner or later, you had to trust someone. There were limits to paranoia.
He hoped he wouldn't regret this.
"Boss," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I have to tell you something -- about Gretchen Hail."
----------------------------------------
"Careful now," said the blonde boy, deflecting a hail of bullets with a few quick slashes of his sword. The other two moved behind cover using the opportunity he'd created.
The young man with the helmet glanced around, the golden visor flicking from point to point as he inspected the battlefield. "We can't stay here long, Mariana," he said. "That girl with the bear will be coming this way too."
Mariana nodded, looking up at the sky. As always when the Certification Exam came around, the fields of Tribulation had been filled with smoke. Weapons and abilities of every variety had been deployed here, by participants hopeful for the freedom victory would bring them.
"If you can kill the bear," she suggested. "I can bring it over to our side. It'll be a big advantage."
"The beast is fast," the helmeted man said. "I'd rather take my chances, especially with the poison still affecting me. By the way…" he glanced up at the blonde boy, who was just now joining them. "I haven't thanked you yet. Why are you helping us?"
The boy grinned cockily as he ducked behind the upended truck. "You guys are strong. I've got an eye for it. If I stick with you, I'm pretty sure I'll make it to the end no problem."
"Interesting. Opportunism, then?" the young man chuckled, extending a hand. "Your eyes don't match your words, though. I'm… Nigen Rush, I suppose..."
Mariana giggled.
"...yourself?" Nigen continued, ignoring the interruption.
The boy accepted the handshake. "Baltay Kojirough," he said gruffly. "Nice to meet ya."
*
"You're showing me this, aren't you?" Muzazi muttered to the specter he knew must be right behind him. "But why?"
There was no answer, as expected, but Muzazi was beginning to understand it.
The hallucinations of Nigen Rush he'd been experiencing were not produced by his own mind, but rather were the result of an Aether ability. Perhaps it had been a posthumous ability belonging to Rush himself, or to another third party, but regardless it had latched on to Muzazi somehow, transmitting a part of Rush's recorded consciousness.
That was why Muzazi could experience those memories. That was why Muzazi could access that technique. Doubtless it was what was interfering with his own memories, too. A mind could only hold so much, after all.
He had to get himself out of this situation and somehow exorcise the ability before he was overtaken. But getting out of this situation was easier said than done.
The arena was barely recognisable. The stands had been smashed to bits. The sand of the fighting zone itself had been scattered, revealing the metal floor deep beneath. The lights on the ceiling had mostly been destroyed, leaving only a single source of illumination -- and even that was flickering weakly. The clash of blades between Atoy Muzazi and Mariana pan Helios had so far encompassed nearly a hundred strikes on each side, and their environment had paid the price for it.
Clang.
Muzazi repelled a blow that would have sliced into his eyes. His jaw was set and his gaze firm. His hands were bleeding from the flies that had eaten their fill, and superficial blows from Mariana had left their thin marks on his body. Some had even cut at his dark hair, leaving it strangely lopsided.
Mariana wasn't much better. He'd delivered wounds to her thrice now that would have been fatal for an ordinary combatant. He'd cut off her head, he'd punched a hole into her heart, and he'd opened up her belly. None of it had deterred her in the least. She simply continued to advance, even as her entrails dragged behind her, leaving slick dark marks on the floor.
The only thing for it was to destroy the head, then, as Muzazi had originally suspected. If nothing else, she was using it to sense him. Getting rid of it would make restraining her far easier, if that was the only way out of this.
Swing, swing…
The head swayed in Mariana's hand like a pendulum, suspended by its hair, eyes fixed directly on Muzazi. Thus far, Mariana had defended it far more diligently than her own body, but if he timed it right… if he waited for the perfect moment, for the height of the swing…
Swing, swing…
Mariana came into range.
Swing…
There.
Muzazi thrust Luminescence forward, aiming directly for the spot between the head's eyes -- just as Mariana had no doubt desired. In a single movement, she hurled the head up towards the ceiling -- putting it out of his reach -- and threw her body in the way of the blow instead. Muzazi tried to pull back, but momentum had already betrayed him.
The blade struck perfectly and uselessly, running Mariana through by the heart and impaling her up to the hilt. Before Muzazi could pull Luminescence free, however, Mariana twisted her wounded body, forcing the sword out of his grip. He lunged to grab at it again -- to create a thruster that would bring it back to him at least -- but she leapt back, firmly out of his range, catching her head again on the way.
Muzazi charged after her. He could not allow this new state of affairs to settle. Against an opponent like this, he could not be without a blade.
Use a Radiant, he quietly told himself, but no -- he needed Luminescence.
As Mariana landed, she pushed the hilt of Luminescence further and deeper into her chest, putting it out of Muzazi's grip -- and then, the second he came back into range, she let loose a devastating kick.
He should have been able to dodge. He should have been able to dodge, but some strange feral desperation had stolen his focus and slowed his step. The leg struck him in the stomach like a shotgun blast, forcing him to double over and leaving him helpless as a sweep sent him down to the ground.
Atoy Muzazi looked up just in time to see Mariana pan Helios bring her sword down --
*
The fields of the planet had always been beautiful. The boy had always thought that. Yellow reeds spread out in every direction, punctuated by majestic grasping trees, the farming settlements so tiny in comparison to what nature had built.
The boy paused for a moment on his way to the usual spot, looking out over the expanse. Minutes stretched on -- unusual for him. He stood there for such a long time, in fact, that the person he'd expected to be waiting for approached him instead.
"Hi, Mariana," he said, gaze not breaking from the horizon.
She followed his line of sight. "What are you looking at?" she asked.
"Everything," he smiled sadly. "It's just… you don't really think about it usually, do you? What we have here?"
"What you have here, maybe," Mariana snorted, pulling the straps of her backpack tight. "All I've got to look forward to is looking after the farm."
"Is that so…" the boy blinked placidly.
There was a moment of silence, interrupted as Mariana pulled the two wooden training swords out of her bag. She tossed one to him and he snatched it out of the air without looking. She grasped her own in one hand and got into a fighting stance, a cheeky grin on her face.
"You gonna stand there writing poetry or whatever," she said. "Or we gonna do this?"
He turned to her, holding his sword steadily in both hands. "Mariana. Can I ask you a question?"
The smile dropped. "Uh, sure."
"If I left this place… if I went to become a Special Officer… would you really come with me?"
Mariana nodded. "Of course. Why do you keep asking me that?"
"Why would you come with me?"
Mariana paused, her sword freezing in the air. She glanced away. "Well, you're my friend… I guess? I don't need a reason." It took her a second too long to answer.
The boy smiled softly. "I see. Thank you."
*
-- and inexplicable words came to Muzazi’s lips.
"I think he would have forgiven you."
The sword froze in the air, inches from Muzazi's face. Mariana's body stopped mid-writhe, one arm high up in the air. There was a purple light in the eyes of the head she held there -- and as Muzazi looked on, that light flickered out.
All three -- sword, body and head -- dropped quietly to the ground, leaving Muzazi alone.
----------------------------------------
The function room was already occupied by the time they got there. Morgan stiffened, a hand on his sheathed sword, as he realised what he was looking at.
Gretchen Hail was lounging on a couch made from Ionir Yggdrasil's twisting branches, the Fell Beast himself standing quietly behind her. As the three of them -- Morgan, Baltay and the Heir -- arrived, Gretchen looked up from her repose, her eyebrows rising in surprise.
"Hey there, guys," she called out. "Everything gone okay with the Heir?"
The Supreme Heir herself looked up uncertainly at Baltay. She'd been in the room when Morgan had explained everything -- laid out his evidence -- so she had just as much reason to fear Gretchen as anyone. Morgan put a protective hand on her shoulder, pushing her behind him.
He glanced at Baltay. Fear wasn't exactly the word he'd used to describe that face, though. Ever since Morgan had revealed Gretchen's deceptions, Baltay's expression had become a thing of harsh lines and a stark glare. A vision of utter fury. He'd barely said a word on the whole way here.
His hand, too, was gripping his sheathed sword.
"Officer Hail," he said slowly, seemingly calmly, rage really threatening to break free from between his words. "I believe you were ordered to guard the engineering section."
"Well…" Gretchen shrugged. "Well, you know. Things worked out different."
Morgan could see it in her eyes. She knew the jig was up. Any excuses now would be little more than a farce.
Baltay took a step forward, drawing his sword with a hiss of metal. "Were you perhaps too busy with your treason, Officer?"
Hail frowned. "What are you talking about?"
As Morgan stepped forward to join him, Baltay whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "You go for her left, I go for her right. Don't worry -- Ionir will not attack."
He nodded -- and in the instant Gretchen pulled herself up off that couch, the two of them leapt forwa --
Morgan stopped.
He hadn't intended to stop. He'd intended to move into Gretchen Hail's blind spot and strike her once and for all, but for some reason he'd stopped. Pain was spreading out through his body. Was that the reason he'd stopped? Why had he stopped?
Morgan Nacht looked down, and in that moment he understood.
The blade of the sword called Leviathan was protruding from his stomach. He'd been run through from behind. Stabbed in the back. A bitter chuckle rose to his lips. It seemed there weren't limits to paranoia.
"I'd like to thank you for all your hard work," he heard Baltay say from behind him, sounding genuinely sorrowful. "Nigen appreciates that kind of diligence in the Seven Blades, too."
And then, before Morgan could reply, the blade was torn out of him.