Several Years Ago…
Morgan Nacht panted as he lay back where he had fallen, looking up at the sky. The pale moon above seemed particularly mocking today. His hand was slick with sweat, but he still did his best to keep hold of his sword. Wu Ming would like that. Morgan had already been with the man long enough to understand his ways.
The moon's light was blocked out as the man himself -- Wu Ming, the Fourth Contender -- leaned over Morgan's prone body, frowning.
"Three outta ten," he said, disappointed. "At least you kept hold of your sword, though. Let's say three point two, three point three?"
See?
"Get up," Wu Ming extended a hand downwards. "We'll try it again."
Morgan did not take that hand. Instead, he let out a heavy breath and laid down a despairing arm over his face, blocking his eyes. He didn't want to look at that bright moon, nor that disappointed gaze.
"Try what again?" he muttered. "You're not even teaching me anything. You're just humiliating me."
It had been going so well, too. He'd been tasting a kind of freedom he'd never experienced before. Back home, his dad would never have let him cut his hair short, or pick out his own clothes. He'd thought things would finally be changing -- but no, he wasn't measuring up, and soon enough he'd be sent back home.
What a joke.
Wu Ming's frown deepened. "Humiliating you? How's that?"
Morgan moved his arm away, annoyed, and glared. "You're just beating me up!"
"Yeah," Ming cocked his head. "We're fighting, man."
"That's not teaching me anything!"
Wu Ming scratched at his hair like Morgan had just said something bizarre. Then, he squatted down next to the boy, rubbing his chin. He looked off into the distance -- or perhaps at his future dinner -- as he spoke.
"I don't know what you expected, little man," he said. "But I'm not going to roll out a chalkboard or anything. That's kinda weird. That's not how you teach someone how to fight. Did you think I was gonna give you a textbook on throwing punches? I don't think they sell those."
Morgan narrowed his eyes. "Then what?"
Wu Ming rose to his feet, hands on his hips. "The way I see it… if you want to punch through a brick wall, there's only one way to do it."
"Aether?" Morgan asked.
"What?" Wu Ming blinked. "Oh, right, yeah, Aether. But the important thing is persistence. You keep punching that wall until you figure it out. The best spot to hit, the best punching angle, the best tempo. There's no way to learn how to punch a wall except by punching a wall. It's even better if the wall's trying to stab you."
Morgan furrowed his brow. "What?"
Wu Ming snapped his fingers. "There's no better motivator in the world than the fear of death. I don't really get it, but that's the way it is. Your brain goes into overdrive, and you develop the skills you need to survive so much faster. Obviously, I'm not gonna try to kill you here, but you know what I mean. You not wanting to get beaten up is a good budget alternative. Right?"
Morgan had nothing to say back to that, and -- at first -- nothing to say as Wu Ming stood up and began to walk away, either.
"Well," Ming sighed again, waving over his shoulder. "If you wanna let yourself get crushed by that wall, that's up to you, too. Have a good one."
Clink.
Ming stopped -- and was already smiling by the time he turned his head. There, standing across from him on the roof, was Morgan Nacht. In his hands he held his sword, and in his eyes he held his resolve.
"Again," he growled.
Wu Ming grinned. "You just crawled up to a four."
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The dragon and the demon clashed in the sky.
With a wave of his arm the Baron fired off a sequence of three pitchforks deep black like holes in space as they flew towards Ablos who reduced them to crystal slag with the effort of a single breath but with a red flash the Baron appeared behind Ablos teleporting to a fourth pitchfork that had positioned itself and swung it at Ablos' head who only managed to avoid it by flipping in the air like a fish in water but did not avoid the kick that followed which sent him plummeting into the ground below with a great cloud of dust only for the devastation to be replaced seconds later by a barrage of white spheres fired upwards towards the Baron who deflected them one and all with expertly placed pitchforks before seizing one of his weapons and hurling it down like a javelin using his thumb to gauge the distance managing to strike the ground right next to Ablos and teleport next to him with another red flash before the fight continued as white and red collided again and again and again as their bout spiraled up once more into the sky.
What… the… hell…?
Morgan stared upwards, mouth agape, as he beheld the sight of that clashing Aether. The two of them were clashing so quickly that he couldn't even follow their movements, each combatant getting faster and faster as they were pushed to their limits. The Cubed Man, standing next to Morgan, was just as shocked.
To be honest, Morgan had expected this fight to become three-against-one, but he realized now that had been an absurd proposition. There was no way he or his impromptu companion could do anything here. There was no opening, no moment -- only the continuous and fluid clash, spread out like a red ribbon.
The Baron Lunalette de Fleur… along with Dorothy Eiro and PALATINE, he was considered one of the three Special Officers closest to the level of a Contender. Witnessing this, now, Morgan could understand why. Still, he couldn't just stand here and watch… his grip tightened on his sword. Even if he couldn't win that wish with his current strength, he still had desires broiling in his heart.
He couldn't give up yet.
Enemy, cautioned Ionir.
Of course. Morgan wheeled around on the spot, sword ready to receive the enemy blow. Ablos had said it when he'd first arrived, hadn't he? That there were reinforcements on the way. More strong enemies to test themselves against. Well, if they were looking for a fight, he wouldn't disappoint them!
Morgan swung his sword on instinct -- and it clashed against the steel claws of the woman who leapt out of the treeline.
His eyes widened as he recognised his opponent -- recognised the iron mask and the red lenses. As she kicked off of Morgan's chest and flipped back into the air, he adjusted his stance. He couldn't afford to be incautious here.
This was a Person of Interest, after all. One of Zachariah Esmeralda's direct subordinates -- Ruth Blaine.
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As the Baron Lunalette de Fleur fought, he thought. Being able to think calmly despite the situation was the most essential skill for a warrior. You should be capable of sober and rational thought even as blades were piercing your body, even as blood was gushing out of you, even as your consciousness was slowly drowning into oblivion.
There was no way anything like that would ever happen to him, but Lunalette had honed that skill all the same.
Lunalette clung onto one of his black pitchforks, the floating weapon keeping him aloft. As Ablos of the Azure lunged at him, body glowing with that white light, Lunalette teleported himself to another pitchfork -- a little higher-up -- and kicked it down towards the back of Ablos' neck.
The blast of light that exploded out of Ablos crystallized and destroyed the projectile, of course, but that was fine. Right now, they were still testing each other. A battle did not truly begin until both combatants were seriously going for the kill.
Lunalette vanished in another red burst of light, reappearing on another pitchfork -- balancing atop the handle like it was a surfboard. At his current level of strength, he had access to only twenty-nine of his six-hundred and sixty-six pitchforks, but that was more than enough. Against an aerial opponent like this one, the mobility and unpredictability that Damnation provided was a good fit.
He'd created a network of pitchforks around Ablos, each of them ready to suddenly spear in his direction the second he looked away from them. He'd considered a simultaneous omnidirectional attack -- striking inwards from every angle -- but Ablos' pulse would easily neutralize that, and leave Lunalette vulnerable for the few seconds it took to resummon a destroyed pitchfork.
Lunalette rapidly teleported from pitchfork to pitchfork, never remaining on one for more than a second, as he ran through the information he'd already gathered.
He'd been observing this battle from the start. Originally, this man had transformed his arm into a beast, using that as the medium to fire off his crystallization shots. Once Morgan Nacht and Augustus Creed had pushed him further, though, he'd transformed further -- taking on his current form. With that transformation, he'd obtained greater control over his shots, the ability to fly, and a noticeable increase in his physical capabilities, even before Aether infusion was taken into account. The injury on his arm had already healed, too, so there was definitely some form of regeneration happening.
Lunalette's leg throbbed from where he'd kicked Ablos earlier. If he hadn't protected the limb sufficiently, he had no doubt it would have been broken by the impact. With that in mind, there was no guarantee that Damnation's pitchforks could penetrate Ablos' scales. In order to get the perfect strike he needed, Lunalette would need to aim for the parts of him that were still human -- his torso and his upper arms. So long as he could impale this man on all three prongs, he would win.
He stopped teleporting, smirk spreading into a grin as he raised a hand.
Well… of course he would win. His victory had been assured from the start. All the rest was busywork.
He had twenty-nine pitchforks, but he didn't need all of those for the strategy he was using. With a flare of red Aether, he turned twenty-eight of those pitchforks into fourteen, doubling up their strength and speed. Unnaturally crimson flame coursed around the new weapons as they reappeared, rotating geometrically around Lunalette's position -- he'd retained one normal pitchfork, continuing to stand atop it as the centerpiece of the display.
The Baron Lunalette de Fleur clicked his fingers -- and as one, the fourteen weapons snapped to aim at Ablos, still floating in the air.
What will you do now, my friend? Lunalette smiled, the slightest giggle escaping his lips. Show me. Show me! I want to see what you look like when you die!
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Ablos of the Azure continued to laugh as he danced through the sky, avoiding the burning pitchforks striking at him -- but if he was honest, this was starting to get dicey.
The speed and power of these weapons had increased drastically. Ablos was only just barely able to avoid them by twisting his body unnaturally -- and even as he dodged them, they just turned in the air and struck at him again. They moved in complex patterns, some diving into the fog below to avoid his gaze before re-emerging from an unexpected angle. Fourteen weapons in all, along with the one the enemy himself was standing on.
The smug-looking guy was keeping his distance from Ablos, moving backwards whenever he tried to approach -- and using the flurries of pitchforks to keep him in one area.
Ablos took a deep breath, releasing another crystallization pulse as a pitchfork got too close for comfort. The weapon crumbled into glass -- but a moment later, an exact replica of it reappeared beside the enemy and fired at him again.
He'd been watching for a while, and now he figured he was getting a handle on the enemy. This guy's ability -- Damnation, he'd called it -- allowed him to remotely control a number of floating pitchforks and teleport between them, giving him absurd mobility. Additionally, he could combine the pitchforks together to increase their speed and power.
With the flexibility of his attacks and his ability to instantly dodge, Ablos was at a disadvantage. But that was easy. Most people started off at a disadvantage. The only thing he had to do…
…was keep climbing.
Guardian Entity -- Seiryu: 99%!
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Several Years Ago…
Ruth grinned, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she looked at the pile of ruined automatics. Sliced apart, punched to wreckage, torn in half… if these had been people, it would've been a freaky sight. With toys like these, though, she could just appreciate her hard work.
Behind her, leaning against a pillar, Skipper clapped. "Nice going, kiddo. Smart work with those last few." He offered a thumbs-up.
Ruth's grin widened at the praise, but as she rolled her arm she couldn't help but shake her head. "Nothing smart about it. I just beat 'em up."
Skipper frowned. "You finessed the hell out of them, Ruth -- you got them to shoot each other by exploiting their automatic counterattacks, yeah? That's not something anyone can do."
"Yeah," Ruth conceded, sitting down cross-legged atop her metal corpse pile. "But that doesn't mean I'm smart or shit. I wasn't even thinking about any of that stuff, I just did it." She shrugged. "I'm dumb as bricks, you know. Only thing I'm good for is swinging my fists."
There was no resentment or sadness in her tone. That fact, if nothing else, was something she'd accepted a long time ago. What she wanted was to protect those things dear to her -- and the only way someone like her could do that was through violence. She just wasn't built for anything else.
Skipper, though… he crossed his arms, that same frown still on his face. "You know what a genius is, Ruth?"
Ruth shook her head, smiling ruefully. "You know I'm not a genius, Skipper."
"Well, maybe you're not so good at the other stuff, but you kick ass at this one thing. For you, that's fighting. You're a fighting genius. It comes so naturally to you that you don't even realize it's genius -- so you doubt it's even there, and that holds you back."
Ruth frowned, looking down at her hand -- down at the claws of her Skeletal Set. All she'd done was wave them around and break things. Could that really be called genius?
"You're gonna keep getting stronger, yeah?" Skipper grinned. "I don't think you'll ever stop."
Ruth blinked.
"Sure," she murmured, not really believing it.
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Ruth kicked off the tree -- breaking it in the process -- and launched herself towards her enemy.
The Skeletal Set wrapped around her form granted her additional strength and speed, and Aether infusion increased that even more. All in all, she looked like a blazing red bullet, her shining hair billowing out behind her. Just on its own, that would have been enough to deal with most opponents.
But this guy knew what he was doing. Rather than move to dodge or block, the guy with the purple hair whipped his sword all around him, calling out letters as he slashed wildly.
"C!" he bellowed. "E! A!"
Letters? Were those the names of his abilities? Before Ruth could consider it further, she saw the form of his attack -- countless slashes of air pressure, heading directly for her. The launch that was meant to be a killing blow would instead send her flying into this killing barrier.
As she reached into her Aether and used her ability in a way it had never been designed for, Ruth Blaine did not think. This was so natural for her that she did not need to think. She simply followed the natural instinct that would lead her to victory. The thing she'd always had.
Revolutionnaire Set!
The cape of the Revolutionnaire Set alone appeared in her hand, curled together into a rope -- and she flung it, the fabric wrapping around the branch of a nearby tree and allowing her to swing, adjusting her path to avoid the incoming slashes. As she flew up into the air, propelled by her beastly strength, she sent the cape back into her Aether.
She didn't think about that either. It was just the natural thing to do. Nor did she think about the fact that, airborne as she now was, she'd made herself an irresistible target. This was like breathing: automatic.
"CEA!" the young man cried, sending another air pressure slash up towards her -- and Ruth seized upon the moment by reflex.
Noblesse Set.
The white helmet appeared in her hand as she flipped through the air -- and she hurled it down, intercepting the slash. As the two collided, there was a flash of white light, and the force rebounded, barely visible -- more like a shotgun blast than a sword-strike. It struck the Special Officer in the stomach, knocking him down to the ground.
Ruth landed, perched on the ruins of a tree like some kind of spider, carefully watching her enemy.
He wasn't dead -- and as he realized she wouldn't be coming closer, he threw himself up to his feet. That saber of his was still clutched in his hand, too. He was good: even after being hit by an attack like that, he hadn't let go of his weapon.
Still, it wasn't like he was unharmed. A thin sliver of blood trailed down one side of his mouth before he wiped it clean with his sleeve. He pointed his sword towards her with the other hand as if it were a thin, long finger.
"Ruth Blaine, right?" he said, slowly moving to the right. "I was wondering if I'd get the chance to fight you."
"Oh?" Ruth grinned a fanged grin, slowly moving to the left. "You know me?"
The two of them circled each other, watching for weaknesses, even as the battle in the sky raged above them. Ruth hadn't really looked, but it seemed that Ablos had changed form again, and the other Special Officer had brought out more pitchforks as well.
Wait… Ruth frowned. Hadn't there been a third guy? The Dude with the Box Head? That was what Klaus had said over the communicator, but this guy's head was definitely a normal shape.
Whatever. She'd deal with the other guy when he showed himself.
"Morgan Nacht," the Special Officer introduced himself, dragging his sword through the earth below as he walked. "I work with Atoy Muzazi, Commander of the Seven Blades of the Turning of the Heir. I believe you're familiar?"
Ruth raised her eyebrows. She knew Atoy Muzazi, of course, and she thought she'd heard of something called the Seven Blades before, but never together. Looked like he'd been busy since the last time they'd seen each other.
She cracked her neck. "Yeah, me and your boss are real good buddies. You wouldn't wanna hurt your boss' friend, right?"
Morgan clicked his tongue, looking up at her. "Unfortunately, this is war. I don't have the luxury to do as I like -- and besides…" His eyes narrowed, and the glint of murder sparked within them. "When I see someone as strong as you, I can't help but want to fight them. Ten out of ten… that kind of thing. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah," Ruth grinned, sparking her claws together as she threw out her arms. "I do."
They both stopped.
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Morgan moved first, sending a vertical pressure slash hurtling towards Blaine with a swing of his sword. She leapt over it, twisting in the air -- landing on all fours for just the instant required to kick off towards him. He took a deep breath as he saw death approach, her claws sharp.
Unconsciously, he moved his free hand out to the side.
Destroy. He'd used it just earlier, and he was certain it would work again now, but whether it would be effective or not was a different story. A fighter like Ruth Blaine would be infusing her entire body with Aether -- and Aether abilities had trouble affecting those with proper defenses directly. What could he Destroy, then, to get out of this situation?
The shape of the idea had barely formed when Morgan pursued it. He opened his hand wide, and in the second before Blaine's claws would have reached him --
D.
He Destroyed the air.
The resultant blast sent him flying off up and to the side, while Ruth Blaine went flying backwards. Blaine transitioned into a flip again, landing on her feet -- and before Morgan could even get close to the ground she hurled something towards him. Something red and grey.
It took him a second to recognise it: it was the cape she'd used as a rope earlier, but this time she'd attached one of her claws to the end. Her method of escape had become her method of attack. Impressive work.
But she wasn't the only one who could play that game.
The fog around them had become thicker and thicker as the fight had gone on, and Morgan's Aether had been… tasting it. The majority of the vapor was infused with Aether, so he couldn't do anything to it, but the slightest traces lingered on the edges of the clouds naturally. Those he could record, he could alter, he could infuse, and…
…he could manifest.
Your brain goes into overdrive, and you develop the skills you need to survive so much faster.
F!
Thick black Fog erupted out of Morgan's body, concealing his location and pushing back the white smoke around him. Ruth Blaine's attack went far, and Morgan landed in the grass below, unharmed. He couldn't waste any time -- he already knew this woman would only be thrown off for a second, if that.
Yes, he couldn't waste any time… but he couldn't help but feel a wide grin spread across his face. He couldn't help it. He was evolving, wasn't he? Getting stronger by the second. This was what it felt like.
Right now, it felt as if he could overcome anything.
Morgan Nacht charged at the speed of lightning, all of his Aether focused into his blade, and slashed at the neck of his opponent -- at the brick wall in front of him.
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The world had stopped moving. Fog hung still in the air. Dirt, kicked up by infused feet, remained suspended around them.
Ruth Blaine did not take a breath. By the time she took a breath, her life would have ended. The blade of that sword was inches from her throat, and the distance was growing shorter and shorter. Time was dilated to it's utmost, but it passed all the same.
So Ruth Blaine did not breathe -- but, for the first time in this bout, she did think.
She'd been thinking about this since the battle against Avaman. The way she'd used her Revolutionnaire Set to boost the capabilities of her other Sets, stretching them out to cover an entire starship. How far could she take that?
Genius, Skipper had called her, a long time ago. It was time to put that to the test.
Cold metal touching her neck. Cold air clawing at her fingers. The fabric of the cape, still clutched in one hand. She could use that.
The Revolutionnaire Set. First, she manifested the ammunition alone, using it on herself without even needing to fire it from the musket. Then, she took that power -- that increased capacity, that freedom, that energy -- and sculpted the Skeletal Set. She widened it, broadened it, took it to the absolute limit. She forced the armour she was wearing into another dimension of existence.
To any observer, this transformation would have been instant -- but Ruth felt it all come into being so easily.
First, the claws of the Skeletal Set elongated, becoming broader and sharper as they went, until they were each individually the size of a broadsword. The metal arms lengthened to match as well, soon surpassing Ruth's actual limbs and leaving them strapped to their underside. More like a mech suit than a set of armour. The ribs of the Set melted into a full chestplate, thick enough to withstand any blow. The red lenses of the Set stretched out and connected into a single visor, through which her feral gaze could only barely be seen.
Morgan Nacht had already been blown away by the pressure of the transformation, but it wasn't done. Additional spikes -- like her claws -- burst out of the back of the Set, sixteen in all, their collective weight sufficient to drive her to all fours like a beast. Her breath, warped by the enhanced mask, sounded just like a lupine growl.
Like she was being given a medal, the crimson cape of the Revolutionnaire Set wrapped itself around her neck like a scarf, sparks rising from the end as it slowly burnt -- like the fuse of a dynamite. Even with the enhancement that the Revolutionnaire Set provided, she could only hold this new Set for so long. The scarf would serve as a timer.
Finally, there was a screech as the bottom half of her mask forced itself open -- to reveal a sharp set of red glass fangs.
You're gonna keep getting stronger, yeah? I don't think you'll ever stop.
"Direwolf Set," she growled.