Morgan looked at the monstrosity of metal and glass before him. A cold sweat ran down his arms. Deep down, he could even feel Ionir's trepidation.
Be careful, the Fell Beast warned. She is --
It was entirely possible that Ionir said something else after that point. Morgan couldn't say, because that was the moment when Ruth Blaine struck him with a massive metal fist and sent him flying into the sky. Any communication was lost in the pain and wind.
Everything went black for a second, like someone had turned off the monitor of his life. It dimly occurred to Morgan that he must have briefly lost consciousness. He was still in the air, though, so it couldn't have been long. In fact, he was falling. He was falling a long way down.
Oh.
Far above, he could see the battle between Ablos and de Fleur, raging in the skies. Ablos had changed form again, becoming a massive serpent-dragon the size of a train -- while Lunalette now appeared to be surrounded by a storm of blazing screaming pitchforks. Ablos unleashed mighty white beams from his mouth, turning great swathes of the Baron's weapons into crystal, but they returned just as quickly.
That was all Morgan saw of their fight in that brief moment -- for a second later, Ruth Blaine had leapt right up into his field of view, blocking them and the sun out. She raised her massive clawed hands -- and brought them down to spike him towards the earth like a volleyball.
F! A!
Morgan's Aether moved to survive, even if his conscious mind didn't quite understand the mechanism. Black Fog burst out of his skin -- and with Amplification granting it additional strength and solidity, it was enough to provide an impromptu shield against Blaine's fists. It didn't stop him from being launched towards the ground, of course, but it did stop his body from being instantly shattered by the attack.
Another Fog cushion broke his fall, and Morgan leapt back just in time to avoid being crushed by Blaine's own landing. She blasted down like a meteor, creating a devastating crater from the sheer speed and weight of her leap. As rubble rained down around them, Morgan -- driven by desperation -- drew his leg back.
B! C! A!
A white Block appeared in the air, ready to be kicked towards Blaine. Cut sharpened it's edges to their utmost, and Amplification gave Morgan's leg the power it needed to fire it towards Ruth Blaine like a bullet. It hurtled through the air, spinning as it flew, a razor-sharp dervish of death.
From this distance, and with that speed, there was no way Ruth Blaine could block. She could do nothing but watch as --
Ruth Blaine slapped it out of the air. The Block shattered into chunks of white material that quickly dissipated.
Morgan went to take a deep breath, preparing to dodge again -- but preparation could only do so much. In a second, Ruth was upon him, grabbing him by the collar and hurling him back up into the sky. His uniform was torn to shreds by the claws, and he could feel screaming pain from where they had gouged into his flesh.
But still… this didn't make sense. Morgan was absolutely certain that this woman should have killed him by now. She severely outclassed him in both strength and speed -- all she had to do was cut him to ribbons or punch him to a pulp, yet she'd been sticking to simple punches and throws that sent him flying out of her range. Why?
Ionir answered the question. This is strength and speed she is not used to. Her mind does not keep up with her body.
If that was the case, Morgan still had a chance -- but not for long. Once she became used to her new capabilities, there'd be nothing stopping her from killing him on the spot. He had to end this before that time came.
As he began to fall back down, Morgan braced his arms in front of his chest. Ionir! he called out mentally. Covering fire!
He'd braced himself for the pain, but it was still excruciating. Tiny seeds burst out of his forearms, painted red by his own blood, and zoomed down towards Blaine like machine-gun fire. They tinged off her armour uselessly, of course, but she was forced to lower her head to stop them from piercing her visor -- in short, she looked away.
This was the opening Morgan needed. Once he hit the ground, he'd continue firing while he got in close and --
Click.
Morgan's heart sank as he realized Ruth Blaine was not looking away. She was aiming.
The spikes on the back of her armour fired, zooming all the way up at Morgan. Just like Ruth's claws, each was the size of a broadsword, and it was all Morgan could do to deflect them as they came. Sparks flew as he struck them one after another -- and as they were deflected, they dissipated into Aether and returned to Blaine's back. The final spike stabbed deep into his side as he barely missed his swing -- dissipating just like the others before he could pull it free.
A scream of pain escaped his throat as he fell to the ground, barely managing to muster a Fog cushion to protect himself.
I will use sap to crystallize the wound, Ionir said hurriedly. You do not have time to recover. Fight!
"You're a friggin' taskmaster," Morgan grunted, but he picked himself up all the same.
He'd landed in a thicker part of the forest, so it seemed like the treeline had concealed his exact location from Blaine. That would have bought him some time, but not much. Judging from the power that woman had already demonstrated, smashing through trees like this would be easy.
Morgan glanced down at his sword -- or what was left of it. That last effort had done a number on it -- great cracks had spread across the surface of the blade. Doubtless it would shatter before long. There was no way he could risk blocking or even attacking, with his weapon in this state.
It does not get better, Ionir said sadly. The air is poison.
Morgan's head jerked up. "What?!" he hissed.
It is drifting this way, through the fog. A tranquilizer in the air. Right now, it is only just strong enough for me to notice… but soon, it will put us to sleep.
"Shit," Morgan said. As he'd expected, this fog must be the work of an enemy Aether-user -- and they'd decided to launch an attack while he was preoccupied with Ruth Blaine.
He struck his temple with his wrists, desperately trying to think of a way out of this. If he left the cover of the forest, he'd be spotted and brutalized by Ruth Blaine. If he didn't leave the forest, he'd be knocked out by the gas -- and sleeping on a battlefield like this would surely mean his death anyway. Neither of the paths before him would take him where he needed to go.
So…
He looked down at his free hand, and at the tendrils of black Fog still drifting up from it. He'd managed to sculpt it into cushions before, to break his fall and shield him from Blaine's attacks. He simply wondered… how far could he take that?
Morgan took his last safe breath, long and deep, and recited the sequence in his mind.
A. C. F. A.
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The armour creaked all around Ruth, the metal red-hot against her sweat-soaked skin. The red visor, fogged up, barely let her see anything. Even with the power and speed she had access to, this new Set was still imperfect. Not in Aether, but in structure.
One side of the armour was heavier than the other, putting her off balance. The thickness of the metal varied wildly -- some non-vital spots protected heavily while her lungs and heart had barely any defense at all. Some of the spikes on her back were lodged into their slots, and wouldn't fire when she commanded them. The claws were double-sided, and cut into her own fingers as she swung them.
Then there was the air. It was difficult to breathe in this thing. She took in deep breaths, over and over, but she felt lightheaded all the same -- and the air she was able to breathe was unbearably hot.
Yes, it was imperfect. The Direwolf Set had a lot of room to improve, even outside of the time limit, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. Room to improve meant she hadn't hit her peak.
Had Skipper been right, then? Would she just keep getting stronger?
I won't lose what I have.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A wide grin, unseen, spread across her face. That would be fantastic. All the anxieties, all the doubts, seemed to have vanished from her mind. The disquiet that had plagued her since they'd touched down on Elysian Fields… she could just let it go.
Doubting, worrying, thinking… that wasn't what she was for.
She existed for these moments -- the moments when an enemy needed to be defeated. All she had to do was fight. Anything else was outside of her purview.
Ruth steeled herself as she prepared to pursue her enemy, this Morgan Nacht, into the forest. She had around twenty seconds left before the Direwolf Set disappeared, and she'd use them to the fullest. If Nacht was hiding, she'd just barrel through the trees and…
…oh.
There was no need. Morgan Nacht was emerging from the undergrowth of his own free will, forcing his body through thick vines and long grass, his eyes resolute. He was holding his sword in both hands, ready to receive her… but something seemed different about him. Through the haze of the visor, it took Ruth a second to spot it.
A shroud of black fog was covering the blade of his sword, thickening and elongating it, the cloud billowing around the weapon like a dark aura. A second black cloud covered Nacht's mouth and nose, framing his determined eyes with a mask of fog. A thin black cord connected the two clouds, a tendril of smoke running from Nacht's mouth to the blade.
That was a gas-mask in more ways than one. It would stop him from inhaling Klaus' poisons, Ruth realized, but wouldn't he just run out of air before long anyway? Her grin widened as she connected the dots.
He didn't intend the fight to go on long enough for that. For him, this was do-or-die. Fair enough: she'd play along.
Morgan did not wait for her to attack. He leapt forwards first, running at her, his sword held high above his head. His torso was utterly exposed, but Ruth was sure he'd taken that into account. A guy like this wouldn't make such an amateur mistake: that opening was a trap.
Rather than charge at him directly, Ruth leapt to the side and went to circle him with her superior speed before jumping in. No matter what trap he had in store, he'd need to be facing her to put that sword to use. If she went for his back, the split second it would take to turn around would seal his fate.
Or so she thought.
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She'd taken the bait. Morgan didn't see where Ruth Blaine had disappeared to, but he was sure she'd gone to circle him. The first opening he'd made was obvious enough that she'd gone for the second one -- his exposed back.
He didn't look around to confirm his analysis. If he wasted that second of time, he would die. If he was wrong, he would die. Best to die assuming that you were right.
No, Morgan only had time for one thing. With all his strength, he slammed his Fog-covered sword down onto the ground.
D!
The outer layer of Fog was Destroyed, a black shockwave erupting all around. The claws of Ruth Blaine -- the ones that surely must have been heading for his back -- were thrown away by the force, giving Morgan the opening he needed to whirl around and -- with the last swing of his sword -- sever it! Not her arm, not her leg, not her neck.
No… Morgan aimed for that red scarf wrapped around her face.
As they'd been fighting, that scarf had been getting shorter, sparks flying up from the end as it burnt away -- like a fuse. An ability like this was so much stronger than Blaine's usual power that there had to be conditions to its use. A time limit. A time limit dictated by that scarf!
Morgan slashed it --
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-- and ten seconds became one.
Ruth was not surprised at the sudden attack. Ruth did not despair at the fact that he had figured out her ability. Ruth did not panic at the impending loss of the Direwolf Set. She did not allow herself any of these emotions.
Instead, she lunged once more -- an automaton acting on instinct -- to scoop out Morgan Nacht's brains with the single second she had left. At the same time, he lunged at her, empty hand thrown out. He intended to use that destruction move to finish her off. Ruth understood this the instant she saw his movements, but there was nothing she could do about it.
At this point, this was a contest of speed.
Time dilated as they reached for each other, the moment stretched into what felt like long minutes, their breathing echoing in their ears. Chances were this was the end of someone's life. It would go on for as long as possible.
Ruth's claws began to brush against Morgan's temple. Morgan's palm slammed against her chestplate. And then, in the moment before death…
…a massive serpentine dragon crashed down between the two of them.
Ruth and Morgan were thrown in opposite directions by the impact, the Direwolf Set shattering into nothing as Ruth landed on her feet. Morgan rolled to a less elegant landing, but quickly picked himself up. For the time being, neither of them looked at each other. Their eyes were fixed on the interloper.
Ablos of the Azure had indeed adopted an even more draconic form, but it did not seem to have been enough. A massive blazing pitchfork, the size of a building, had skewered him, the three spokes impaling him through the underbelly and pinning him to the ground. His massive four eyes, unnervingly human, twitched and spasmed in pain and fear.
"To think I had to merge them all into one," mused the man sitting atop the giant pitchfork, legs dangling over the side. "A truly difficult man."
Ruth took a deep breath, holding out her claws in front of her. She’d been told a little about the enemies she’d be facing on her way here, but there hadn’t been much when it came to this guy. A kind of flying pitchfork attack? From what she’d understood, it had been a bunch of little pitchforks flying around, not one big one, but it seemed like this guy had some tricks.
Those red eyes flicked over to look at her, and a cruel smirk spread over those red lips. "So… you're next, I take it, Ruth Blaine?"
Ruth grinned with confidence that -- right now -- she did feel. "If you think you're man enough."
"Haha!" the man laughed cheerfully. "I find myself rather liking you." His eyes narrowed. "I wonder what kind of disgraceful noises you'll make when you die… pig."
The two of them stared off for a moment, the air turning still as they waited for the other to make the first move -- before Morgan Nacht's voice broke through the tension.
"Wait, Baron," he said, stepping forward. "This is my opponent. You keep moving."
The man's -- the Baron's -- eyes slowly slid over to his comrade, a shadow falling over his face.
"Yes," he said. "Of course."
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Ionir didn't have to say anything for Morgan to recognise the threat. A full-body shiver ran across his form, like he'd suddenly been plunged into freezing water, and a panicked fire suddenly flared in his heart. Heat and cold in equal measure, in equal horror.
And even with that, Morgan wasn't quite fast enough.
A blazing pitchfork fired out of the fog at him, aimed right for his midsection -- and moving with such speed and ferocity that dodging was a pipedream. Instinct taking over, Morgan swung his sword at the incoming projectile, but even as he did he knew that he wasn't fast enough.
He missed by inches, the pitchfork passing by unharmed, and…
…it flew off into the fog once more.
At the last second before he would have been hit, Morgan had disappeared. At first, even he didn't know what had happened. One second, he'd been standing there… and the next, he was dangling over the ground, held aloft by the back of his shirt.
He looked up, eyes wide, and saw just who had saved him. Who, at the very last second, had pulled him out of the way.
"Hey," Ruth said coldly to the Baron, dropping Morgan back down. "That's your guy, idiot. What do you think you're doing?"
The Baron Lunalette de Fleur rose to his feet atop the massive pitchfork, raising his eyebrows in amusement. As he stood, he reached out and caught another pitchfork that flew into his hand.
Morgan furrowed his brow as he saw that. The Baron had said not moments ago that he'd put all of his power into that massive pitchfork he'd used to impale Ablos. Where had this additional one come from, then? Or had he just been lying?
"Please don't mistake me for some kind of madman," Baron Lunalette said mildly. "I have good strategic reasoning for my actions. I've already impaled four Special Officers since I got here today, after all."
Morgan bared his teeth in fury, black Fog pouring over his sword once more. "What the hell are you talking about?!" he demanded.
The Baron grinned -- and as he did, the smallest subtlest fangs glinted in his mouth.
"My Damnation is a multifaceted ability," he declared dramatically, spreading his arms wide. "Damnation Gula allows me to generate my pitchforks. Damnation Acedia allows me to jump between them at my leisure. And Damnation Avaritia… activates when an Aether-user is impaled by all three prongs of my pitchfork."
He stomped down on the giant pitchfork beneath him, and the impaled Ablos writhed in agony.
“Those chosen few become Aether batteries -- extensions of my consciousness, repurposed to strengthen and optimize my abilities,” Lunalette explained, taking in the disgusted expressions on their faces with barely suppressed glee. “Ah, how fortunate for them! What fate! What graceful fortune! I told you, didn’t I?!” His voice rose into a cackle as his motions became more wild -- until he was all but dancing atop the pitchfork. “I already impaled four Special Officers today! Four batteries! The fellow with the box head! Four! Four beautiful storage units for my hopes and dreams!” He stomped down on the pitchfork again. “This beast makes five! Five! Ah, how invigorating! I feel like an athlete who just completed his stretches!” He spun on the spot, arms out wide. “Six and seven! Yes! You two shall be the rungs on the ladder to my apotheosis! I thank you! I put your names in my prayers! Become one with me and be subjugated! Throw yourselves at my feet and lick my boots! My friends, my friends, my dear comrades and serendipitous allies! MAKE NO MORE DELAY! LEND ME YOUR STRENGTH! NOW!”
As his rant finally reached the limit of a human’s oxygen supply, the Baron turned back to them, his limbs falling to his sides like he was a puppet with its strings cut.
Red Aether crackled around Ruth Blaine as she stared at the madman, her face softened into fixed fury. Drool ran down her lips -- she clearly paid no mind to it. Every single part of her consciousness was focused on her eyes right now: on the scorn and contempt they were beaming at the Baron Lunalette de Fleur.
“Hey, asshole,” she said, her voice seemingly emotionless. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this alive.”
Lunalette’s face stretched into an unsightly grin. “Brave words,” he breathed. “...for bullets on my bandolier.”
Her threat made, Ruth’s eyes flicked towards Morgan. “Truce?”
Morgan’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. It was strange. Since the battle had begun, it had felt as if he’d been evolving -- becoming a more complete version of himself. His power had been blossoming, and it was as if his self was finally rising to fit his skin. He got the feeling that he wasn’t done evolving yet. That there was more still to see.
Yes… he wasn’t done, and neither was the girl who’d been evolving against and alongside him.
“Truce,” Morgan nodded.
And then the world exploded into red.