Wu Ming was a man who lived according to his whims. Sometimes, those whims carried him through mere minutes -- others would last for decades. Whether they were long or short, though, they were still whims. Wu Ming would throw them away without a second thought.

Quite often Morgan Nacht worried that he too was one of those whims.

The arena was his today, the only other occupant being a training automatic right in the middle of the space. Morgan danced around it, striking it with his saber as it attempted to block with a light shield. It didn't have much luck -- he was faster than it, for one, and his acrobatic skill meant he could strike from unusual and unforeseen angles. The automatic was already heavily scuffed and dented from previous sessions, and that was only going to get worse.

Morgan leapt over it as it attempted a counterattack, flipping in the air. His sword a blur, he struck the automatic on the top of the head at the height of his jump.

"A!" he cried, purple Aether dancing over his weapon.

Amplify. The strength of the strike was increased by nearly five times, and the attack that would have just created another dent instead smashed the head like an egg. Electronic innards spilled out, buzzing, but the automatic did not fall. For machines like this, heads were superfluous.

It swung the shield at him before he could land, clearly intending to catch him off guard -- but Morgan was ready. He kicked off the shield, launching himself away to a safe distance. As he landed, feet skidding against the floor below, he held his open hand out.

"B!" Block. As the name suggested, a white cube appeared in his empty hand. The ability had been an early experiment in manifestation, something he hadn't quite been taken with, but it was still an easy way to get his hands on a projectile.

Morgan infused his arm with additional purple Aether and hurled the cube like a farball. The automatic went to lift its shield, but too late: the projectile smashed right through its midsection, leaving a square hole all the way through.

Structural integrity was quickly lost, and the torso of the machine snapped in two. The legs fell to the ground, inactive, but the upper half of the automatic continued crawling towards Morgan, dragging the shield behind it. A headless upper torso, writhing across the ground -- if it wasn't just an automatic, it would have been disturbing.

Morgan cracked his neck as he approached the wreck. This was no longer training -- it was cleanup.

The automatic was no longer capable of attacking, so he had no need to fear. Morgan knelt down next to the metal carcass and placed his hand on its back, Aether crackling across his palm. He closed his eyes. This time he would do it. This time, this time.

"D," he muttered. Destroy.

The damage that already existed would be forced further open by his Aether, destroying the enemy from the inside out. That was the principle around which he'd designed this ability. He knew it was possible -- he'd seen his teacher do something similar. All he had to do was analyze the object's internal structure and exploit the vulnerabilities he found there. Easily done.

And yet nothing happened.

Morgan clicked his tongue with disappointment, but not surprise. "C," he sighed. Cut.

Fingernails sharpened into murder weapons, he reached into the automatics chest and tore free the power source, tossing it over his shoulder. The automatic immediately ceased movement, like a human with its heart ripped out. A victory, but not the kind of triumph Morgan had wanted.

"Nicely done," said Wu Ming, over the communicator.

Morgan smirked. "As if you could see it."

"Who knows?" Ming laughed. "Maybe I can. Maybe I've put little strings inside your eyeballs that let me see whatever you can see. Like a camera or something.”

Morgan paused as he rose to his feet, his smile faltering slightly. "Seriously?" he asked. "Have you?"

"Well, no," Ming admitted. "But I could if I wanted to -- it's a good idea for an ability, now that I think of it. I could call it something like Eye Spy -- no, no, Seeing Eye. Oh, I just made it."

Morgan sighed. "How many abilities does that make now?"

"You think I count these things? Like, I dunno… a hundred, at this point, maybe? It's not a great ability, anyway. Probably won't even use it. Three outta ten, and that's being generous. Don't wanna waste time on it during a fight when I could be doing something useful, like setting the other guy on fire. Could I maybe set their eyeballs on fire with it, though, like with a combination attack? What do you think, kid?"

Morgan watched as the cleaning automatics collected the chunks of their fallen brother and quietly zipped them away. "I don't think it really matters what I say," he replied. "You'll just do whatever you want anyway, right?"

"Of course. That's the only way to live a life."

One hundred abilities? That estimate was so off the base it wasn't even funny. Morgan didn't know the exact number, but it was more than the number of hairs on his head. Ming even had multiple abilities that did basically the same thing, but through another method -- because he'd forgotten he had the ability in the first place. He was a man who had so much strength that it overflowed out of his mind.

Meanwhile, Morgan Nacht could barely handle three abilities. He wanted to have a whole alphabet of powers available to him, a suite of tricks that he could use in combination, but that dream seemed perpetually out of his grasp.

Recently, he'd been worried that he'd hit some kind of ceiling, that he wouldn't ever grow more than this -- that he was done, complete. Speaking to a man who seemed incapable of ever ceasing to evolve didn't exactly help that.

Morgan's heart sank. If he wasn't able to catch up, would he be left behind?

"Anyway," said Ming over the communicators, audibly stifling a yawn. "How's stuff going? Did you figure out who did the, uh, who did the thing?"

"Who killed Gustavo?”

"That's the one."

Morgan held his sleeve up to his mouth as he walked over and took a seat in the stands, doing his best to conceal his lip movements from any cameras. "Gretchen is still suspicious as hell. You know Hans Allier, the Kingmaker guy? She's somehow got things worked out so she's the only one allowed to interrogate him. There's something going on there."

For the first time, a note of interest entered Wu Ming's voice. "You think they're working together?"

"Remember Westmore? Wouldn't be the first time someone betrayed the Seven Blades as an institution. I don't know what would be in it for her, though -- maybe a cushy spot at the new Heir's side? With how weak those guys were, though, that's a stretch…"

"Westmore?" As expected, Ming ignored Morgan's speculation entirely. "Ugh. Demonic guy. Eight outta ten, but when it comes to personality… no thank you. If you're that suspicious of Gretchen, though, shouldn't you be talking to ol' Baltay Kojirough about it?"

Talking to Wu Ming was like watching pinball. The topic of conversation would bounce around chaotically, and the switch from frivolity to grim purpose would throw Morgan off each and every time. The return to the topic at hand left Morgan silent for a moment before responding.

"No way," Morgan shook his head, even though he obviously couldn't be seen. "I can't trust him either. Can't you do something? As a Contender, you have influence."

"Too busy!" Ming said cheerfully, clearly meaning that he couldn't be bothered. "Isn't there anyone you trust?"

Atoy Muzazi, Morgan supposed, if only for the fact that he'd arrived after all the treason had already been committed.

Damnit. While he was here, grasping at the dark, he could almost feel some greater plan snapping together. The enemy was advancing while he played catch-up. It was humiliating.

Wu Ming was still talking. "You're in trouble if you can't trust anyone. There's gotta be at least one person, no matter who it is, or you'll go crazy."

"Really?" Morgan sniffed. "And who do you trust?"

"Oh, I trust plenty of people. You, for one. You've got a good head on your shoulders. But the reason you trust people is so that you aren't alone. It doesn't matter if the other person is an asshole or whatever -- so long as you know what kind of asshole they are. You can trust them to act a certain way -- that's all you need. Once you've got that, you…"

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Ming's voice trailed off. Long seconds passed as Morgan waited for a reply. His face slackened into a frown.

"You what?" Morgan asked.

There was no reply.

"Ming?"

Again, no reply. His frown deepening, Morgan took the communicator from his ear and inspected it. A purple light blinked steadily on the side: interference. Heavy interference.

Morgan could only inspect the device for a moment or so before the arena was plunged into deep red light. As he looked up, startled, he could hear an alarm blaring in the distance. A general alert. Why?

He returned the communicator to his ear and rushed out of the room.

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"Edward Grace is dead," said Baltay Kojirough, his voice grim.

He needn't have said it. The hologram was fairly self-explanatory. Morgan watched in mute horror at the security footage -- at the false Heir tearing Grace's head in half and ending his life. He'd never been close to the old man, but to see such a renowned warrior be slain so easily was disturbing all the same.

Four of the Seven Blades had gathered in the briefing room. Atoy Muzazi was still unconscious in the infirmary, and Mariana pan Helios had been assigned to guard him. Edward Grace obviously wasn't in attendance. So it was Morgan, Baltay, Ionir and Gretchen who looked up at the hologram, replaying Grace's final moments again and again and again.

"With his bare hands…" Gretchen whispered, tilting her head to get a better look as the false Heir tore Grace's arm off. "He's incredibly strong. Do you see any Aether there? I don't."

"Forget how strong he is," Morgan snapped, reaching over the controls. "What the hell is this?"

He rewound the recording, back to the point where the false Heir first appeared. It was lightning fast, so Morgan had to slow the recording to a crawl to even observe the phenomenon. Grace was holding that golden bead between his fingers, looked over his shoulder, and… the bead unfolded.

It was like grotesque origami.

Morgan didn't understand how it was possible, but somehow the false Heir's body had been folded in on itself thousands upon thousands of times, until it had been compressed into the shape of the golden bead they'd found on Hans Allier. In a split second, the bead opened itself back into the boy, bones and limbs snapping into place and his head inflating like a balloon. It was so quick that, if they didn't have the ability to slow down the footage, it would have looked like teleportation.

"No Aether…" Gretchen was still whispering, repulsive awe in her voice. "No Aether at all."

As the hologram paused -- right before the boy attacked -- Baltay circled it, his eyes scanning every aspect of the scene.

"A genetic experiment, perhaps?" he muttered. "Someone attempting to create an artificial Heir? Even so, what about the weight? Even if he shrunk down to a size like that, he still should've been incredibly heavy."

Morgan cleared his throat. "And he's in the vents. We haven't found him yet? None of the security systems have picked him up?"

Baltay shook his head.

"This stopped working, too," Morgan said, holding out his communicator. "Right before the alarm went off. Could it be related?"

Gretchen planted her hands on the circular table between them. "We're passing through a distortion field," she explained. "Wreckage from the war with the Great Chain, y'know? That's what's interfering with the systems."

Oh, what an incredible convenience.

It took everything Morgan had not to say that out loud. He was nearly certain now that Gretchen was behind all of this, but he couldn't make a move until he was in an advantageous position.

Baltay's wrist rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword. With his other hand, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "How long until we're clear of the field?" he asked, stress trickling into his voice.

"Hard to say," Gretchen muttered. "Two hours, maybe? The auto-brain needs to chart a path through all the wreckage."

"Right." Baltay stepped back. "In that case, we need to assume a defensive strategy. We cannot leave the Heir alone right now. Morgan, you'll join me and we'll guard her together."

Morgan nodded.

"What about us, boss?" Gretchen asked, nodding towards Ionir.

"If the false Heir is crawling around the ship, we need to make sure he can't sabotage us directly," Baltay replied. "You and Ionir Yggdrasil will defend the engineering section against any trespassers. Hopefully it doesn't come to it, but take whatever measures you need to."

Gretchen offered a cheeky salute, and Ionir rumbled in affirmation.

Morgan didn't take his eyes off Gretchen for a second. She'd use this. He knew she'd use this. Somehow, she'd been behind what had happened to Edward Grace, and she wasn't finished yet. Blades were dropping like flies -- Gustavo stabbed in the back, Muzazi unconscious, Grace decapitated -- and Gretchen Hail just kept smiling.

Morgan clenched his fist.

What should he do about it?

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It was dark.

Aclima, the Supreme Heir, sat up in her bed, sheets clutched around her, illuminated only by crimson emergency lighting. Heavy metal shutters had fallen over all the windows and doors, and the vents had closed too. The room would be using a secondary oxygen supply.

This had happened only once before, when an assassin had tried to get her when the Child Garden was being refueled. That time, Nigen Rush had saved her -- cutting off the enemy's head -- but now…

…now there was silence.

Nobody had even told her what was going on. She'd just been left here, to speculate, to watch as fear turned every shadow into a dagger in the dark. Every slight creak and crack became the hiss of an unseen monster. Every inch of the room she couldn't see clearly was filled with unkind hands.

Aclima couldn't remain here. That senseless thought ballooned quickly, pushing all other instincts out of the way, and she climbed out of the bed. She was the Supreme Heir. She was. She couldn't just sit here, quaking in the dark.

Even with the urgency of her thoughts, though, she could do little more than slowly walk across the room, sheets still pulled around her. The sealed door seemed perpetually distant. Her feet tapped against the floor as she went.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Thump.

That last one… hadn't been her footsteps. Slowly, begging herself that she was wrong, Aclima turned her head. Terror became a physical lump in her throat.

There, standing right behind her, was the false Heir. The boy, clearly a few years younger than her, with a bald head and a blank expression. He slowly cocked his head as he inspected her. His eyes were dull and empty, lacking the spark of consciousness.

He can't see me, she thought deliriously. He's like a doll. He can't see me.

She opened her mouth to scream -- but before she could begin, the false Heir had smacked her across the face with his hand and sent her flying across the room.

----------------------------------------

Sometime…!

First, they had stopped at the Hoatlake lightpoint.

Then they'd passed over the edge of the Dranell breaches.

Last they'd heard, the ship called the Slipstream #3 had stopped with a cluster of merchant ships orbiting Adresa Alpha. They'd remained there only a few days, gathering supplies and information -- but from the course they'd taken and the information they'd sought, their destination was obvious. The planet Panacea, right on the border between the Supremacy and the Unified Alliance of Planets.

Atoy Muzazi clicked the script off, slapping it down on the conference table. It was a piece of furniture far too big for the two-person crew, with a holographic map of Supremacy space hovering over its surface. Across it, face illuminated by the digital borealis, Marie Hazzard smiled back at him.

"You're absolutely sure this is real?" he asked, standing up from his chair.

Marie leaned back. "I'm absolutely sure. After a few drinks, that glass-handed merchant was very happy to tell me all about it. Dragan Hadrien and the crew he was with were looking to buy codes to get through your shields."

"And you're certain this man wasn't lying? Deceit is one of my primary weapons. It's entirely possible I paid off that merchant to lead us astray."

As Muzazi spoke, he paced across the room, wringing his hands. The blue lights washing over from the darkened floor made shadows dance across his face, his clear anxiety visible only for seconds at a time.

"Paranoia doesn't suit you, Atoy," Marie sighed, resting her chin in her hands. "Besides, I can always tell when you’re lying."

"You can tell as well as a Cogitant?" There was a sliver of doubt in Muzazi's voice.

She raised her eyebrows. "Anything we gave them, we had first. I'm better at lying than you’ll ever be -- so I can always tell."

Suddenly, incongruent with the memory he had been plunged into, Muzazi saw Marie change her path and rush over to him instead. She slammed into him with such speed that he was nearly knocked over, the only thing keeping him upright being the arms she wrapped around his waist. She buried her face into his chest, giggling.

"Officer Hazzard?" he spluttered, surprised.

“Mu-za-zi…” she whispered, voice muffled. “Mu-za-ziii…”

"Officer Hazzard!" Muzazi exclaimed, gripping his partner by the shoulders. "Please, get a hold of yourself!"

Chomp.

Oh. That was right. Marie was dead, wasn't she? So this was…

Blood ran down Muzazi's chest. The woman before him had just bitten into it, tearing right through the muscle and bone. Her grip on his waist was beyond a vice -- he could feel himself being crushed as she squeezed tighter, and tighter, and tighter…

"Mu-za-ziiiii…"

He couldn't move.

The woman looked up. The wreckage of his heart hung from her lips, clung to the glowing silver blades that served as her teeth. Her eyes shone with a poisonous light, burning at the world.

She giggled madly, the viscera shuddering in her mouth.

"Let go of me…" Muzazi wheezed, blood pouring from his mouth, his organs an utter pulp. "Please, please, I beg of you, let me go…"

"Mu-za-ziiiiiii!" Luminescence cackled.

The grip tightened. More, more, more, more. More, more, more, more! Until all his fucking bones turned into dust and his soul was a shitstain on the floor! More, more, more, more! EVEN FUCKING MORE!

Atoy Muzazi screamed.

----------------------------------------

Atoy Muzazi woke with a start --

-- just in time to see Mariana pan Helios plunge her blade right down towards his face.