Wu Ming, Fourth Contender of the Supremacy, looked down with a smile at a world burned by war.

He was standing high in the sky, atop a massive ball of white yarn, utterly unburdened by gravity. Too far up to be targeted by any attacks, and in a position to get a decent view of the battlefield. At this height, even the smoke from the raging forest-fire didn't prove too much of an obstacle.

Saying that, though…

Wu Ming leaned over the side of the yarn ball, his arms crossed, an inquisitive frown on his face. The fires -- triggered by the Supreme's landing attack -- seemed to be dying down a little. That shouldn't have been happening naturally. The enemy must have at least a few adept water-manipulation abilities on their side, then, or some other method of quickly extinguishing the flames?

That didn't mean they were out of the woods. The fire wasn’t the only thing coming for them, after all.

Charon's Forest of Sin had spread out in a relatively straight line towards the pyramid, the ugly thing crawling across the landscape. No doubt Charon herself was in there somewhere, riding her ability all the way to the finish line. Ming couldn't help but smirk. If that was what she was thinking, then she'd certainly be disappointed.

A secondary cloud of smoke, blood red, had emerged from the pyramid, forming a gaseous barrier against the Forest's advance. The already-rotting trees and vegetation seemed to be decomposing into pulp wherever the smoke made contact, preventing the Forest from fully encroaching on the pyramid. Wu Ming laughed. That was definitely driving Paradise Charon crazy.

He put a hand to his chin. The smoke-user was Klaus El, from what he remembered. If he had enough capacity to simultaneously hold off the Forest and keep track over the entire battlefield, then he had to be pretty strong, right?

Then again… maybe the fact that El was so busy already meant he wouldn't be able to divert anything else for combat… so he probably wouldn't be a fun fight.

Ordinarily, Wu Ming wouldn't want to bother with boring combat, but in this case he didn't have much of a choice. His usual modus operandi was to remain above the battlefield like this, keep watch for a while, then use an Aether ping to pin down the worthwhile opponents.

In this case, though, he couldn't do that. That white fog -- the one spreading out from the pyramid in all directions -- was irritating. Not only did it serve as an Aether ping for Klaus El, it also served to block any other Aether pings inside itself. Wu Ming couldn't track anything within that smoke.

So, essentially: he didn't want to fight Klaus El because it would be boring, but to find an interesting fight he had to get rid of Klaus El first. Oh, but he really didn't want to…

Well, he had a secret technique for occasions like this too. Wu Ming put a finger to the communicator in his ear.

"Hey, Hellhound?" he said.

The artificial growl of the Third Contender came back as expected. "What?"

"One million stator if you kill Klaus El for me."

"No."

Wu Ming frowned. "One billion?"

"Fine."

The Hellhound ended the call, and Wu Ming could only grin. What a funny guy. The Hellhound, Enrico Garza, was probably the only Contender who was actually in it for the paycheck. He'd been a mercenary before becoming a Contender, and he still had that mindset -- if there wasn't any money in it for him, he probably wouldn't even get up in the morning. All that cash went back into his cybernetics, which were probably the only thing Enrico really cared about.

It was a mindset Wu Ming couldn't comprehend, but it made him pretty easy to deal with. Now that the Hellhound was properly incentivised, Klaus El wouldn't be long for this world. Wu Ming offered a casual salute to the void.

My condolences.

The Hellhound was good, but he wasn't a miracle worker. It'd take him some time to get rid of the old man. In the meantime, as much as it pained him… it seemed Wu Ming would have to do this the old-fashioned way.

He sighed, spread his arms wide, and let himself fall forward…

…plummeting down towards the earth.

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"Fire!" Hanx screamed, plasma blazing from his rifle. "Fire!"

He needn't have said it. Everyone was already firing anyway -- the RED soldiers in cover alongside him, firing desperately at the figure approaching across the grass. The three Aether-users who'd been commanding their squad lay dead on that same field, massive holes in their bodies, their blood seeping into the dirt.

Plasma surfed through the air -- but not one drop struck its target. The woman with the tricorn hat continued to advance relentlessly, her stride calm and steady, her face impassive. She held a cutlass in one hand, its blade shining in the pink sunlight, but not a drop of blood stained it. She hadn't swung it even once yet.

She hadn't introduced herself, but they'd all recognised her immediately. The Commissioner of the Special Officers, Marcela Caesar. The woman in charge of all the monsters who'd come to this world.

Her face was iron, nearly expressionless if not for the slightest distaste curling her lips. She narrowed her eyes at the firing soldiers as she approached. One marksman leaned too far out of cover -- and immediately, a hole appeared on his face, obliterating one side of his head and killing him instantly. Not a spark of Aether emanated from Caesar's body.

Hanx couldn't help but shake as he watched this incomprehensible event. They'd received information on many of the Special Officers and Contenders who were likely to show up on Elysian Fields, but Commissioner Caesar… she had guarded her abilities well. Not even the Supremacy itself seemed to know exactly how they worked.

And so they could do nothing but watch, frozen in fear, as inevitable death walked their way.

"Feel free to run," she said mildly. "You're all worth just one point, anyway."

Even as she spoke, the plasmafire continued to rain down, striking her uselessly -- wait, no, Hanx realized. It wasn't striking her at all. The plasma shots were passing right through her body and striking the landscape behind her. His eyes widened as he figured it out.

Intangibility! He turned his head to call out to his comrades, and --

Bang.

-- a hole appeared in his chest, obliterating his heart and killing him instantly. His mouth still dumbly open, Hanx fell down, his head falling onto the knee of a neighbouring soldier.

That was the last of it. Their spirit, their resistance, their lives. What was left of the squad -- seven soldiers in all -- leapt out of cover and began charging back towards the pyramid, retreating as they'd been invited.

"Then again…" Caesar mused. "Waste not, want not."

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

One by one, maybe a second apart each, the soldiers were killed. Massive holes, the size of fists, appeared in their bodies. Some had their heads or chests annihilated. Others had their limbs blown off. One had only the top of his skull smashed open, leaving his bleeding brain exposed, and was able to walk a few more steps before finally expiring.

Regardless of the method, they died. That was all they could do.

Looking out at the scene of devastation -- the broken bodies, the spreading puddles, the screams still echoing on the wind -- Marcela Caesar could do nothing but sigh. Even after this, she only had sixty-two points. Slaughtering fodder like this would do nothing to match the killing speed and quality of the Contenders. She'd definitely already fallen behind.

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Well… it wasn't as if she could do anything differently, either. With that fog cloud disrupting Aether pings, she couldn't track down any People of Interest to boost her point total. The best she could manage was seeking out larger groups like this, easily noticeable ones, aiming for quantity over quality.

With another sigh, Caesar sheathed her sword -- a useless gesture, really -- and faded into nothing, like a deadly mirage.

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Atoy Muzazi killed. Atoy Muzazi killed and killed and killed. With three effortless waves of his Radiant, three more soldiers fell to the ground -- their bodies charred apart. Their faces, still frozen in terror, landed in pools of their own blood.

His eyes dull, Muzazi raised the black ribbon around his wrist to his mouth. "Point total," he requested. He'd been doing it in his head all this time, but perhaps he'd made an error. Hopefully he'd made an error, otherwise…

"Seventeen!" Caravan chirped from his wrist. "Seventeen points! Good going, pal!"

He hadn't made an error. As he'd expected, the Special Officers he'd slain in self-defence hadn't counted towards his point total. He supposed that made sense -- anything else would actively encourage friendly fire -- but it didn't help him much. The automatics he'd destroyed didn't seem to have netted him any points, either. Likely they hadn't been accounted for when creating these Caravans.

The seventeen points he'd accumulated had come from the deaths of seventeen ordinary soldiers. Non-Aether users, caught outside of their squads by the chaos of the battlefield. Unlucky stragglers, met by his blade.

Atoy Muzazi sighed, rubbing a hand over his temple. He'd tried to find his way towards more populated areas, where he could perhaps find actual Aether-users to fight, but that was easier said than done. This ever present fog reduced visibility dramatically, and even prevented his Aether ping from releasing. He was as good as blind.

Amidst the swirling white vapour, Muzazi took a break for a moment, resting his back against a mighty tree. There was no denying that he'd fallen behind at this point. His fellow Special Officers had likely killed many enemy Aether-users, not to mention the devastation the Contenders had certainly unleashed. If things continued like this, there was no way he'd earn the Supreme's favour.

Playing catch-up at this point was a fool's errand. No matter how many rank-and-file combatants he dispatched, he wouldn't be able to catch up to others who were doing exactly the same. If he wanted to come back from this, he needed to track down People of Interest -- those worth fifty points. That would bring him up the rankings quickly.

Still… he couldn't help but feel conflicted. Not so long ago, on the planet Panacea, he'd fought alongside some of those People of Interest. Yakob del Sed, Ruth Blaine… Dragan Hadrien. Was it really right for him to hunt them down now, after they'd fought together?

He shook his head free of foolish thoughts.

This is war, he told himself. We do not choose who we kill. Only the manner in which we do it.

They had chosen to fight against the Supremacy, and he had chosen to fight for the Supremacy. Anything else was irrelevant. In a battle such as this, they'd be foolish to think he wouldn't come after them. They'd have prepared themselves for that. It would be insulting for him to think otherwise.

Finding them was easier said than done, though. The same issue applied as his initial strategy: this damnable fog. He was certain he'd remember the way their Aether felt in a ping from his previous encounters, if he could only use a damn ping. To find them, he'd have to take another tact.

Atoy Muzazi put a finger to his ear, opening a private communications channel.

"Winston?" he said, glaring up at the sky. "Are you there?"

A second of silence, and then: "What's up? I'm kind of busy, you know. This is sort of a bother."

Muzazi smirked despite himself. The great detective was as rude as ever. Well, he supposed it made sense: Winston Grace was busy providing battlefield intelligence from aboard the Tartarus. It was a wonder he'd even answered the private call to begin with.

"I need help," Muzazi said. "I'm looking for People of Interest. Direct me to the closest one."

He heard Winston click his tongue. "Not so easy. That fog interferes with our imaging from up here, too. It's hard to see where anyone is, outside of the trackers we have on you guys."

Muzazi narrowed his eyes. "No… but I'm sure, with a mind like yours, you've managed to deduce where these people are. Haven't you?"

An awkward moment of silence stretched on, before: "Sorry, Atoy. I'm under strict orders. It's not a fair game if I just tell my friends where the good stuff is, right? Good luck, though."

A deep breath to steel himself. His free hand clenched into a fist. Atoy Muzazi hadn't wanted to do this, but deep down he'd known he'd have to.

"Are you familiar with the death of Nigen Rush?" he asked, voice steady.

"Uh, what?"

Muzazi repeated himself. "Are you familiar with the death of Nigen Rush?"

"...sure. Why?"

"From what I understand, there's something of a mystery regarding what happened to his body," Muzazi went on. "A lot of disagreement. Am I right about that?"

Winston chuckled awkwardly. "Well, uh, yeah. A lot of people in my line of work have theories. I do, too, but --"

"I know where Nigen Rush's body is," Muzazi said coldly. "I'll tell you the location right here and now -- unless you give me the information on the People of Interest."

The words felt alien on Muzazi's tongue, but he spoke them without hesitation. There was nothing that Winston Grace hated more than being handed the answer to a mystery -- than losing the ability to solve it for himself. Against a person like that, this strategy was more effective than any death threat.

Winston's voice was dangerously low and angry as he replied. "Are you fucking around?" he asked.

Don't show him your back.

"Listen to my voice and tell me if I'm bluffing," Muzazi persisted. "I know where Nigen Rush's body is -- and I'm going to tell you in three… two… one…"

There was a beep from his script, and Muzazi looked down to see that his map had been updated remotely. Half-a-dozen red marks, each indicating the general position of a Person of Interest. The closest one was not so far away from him. Muzazi ignited the Radiant on one hand as he steeled himself.

"Thank you," he said into the communicator.

"Fuck you." The channel was terminated.

Fair enough.

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How irritating.

Paradise Charon frowned to herself as she reclined on a throne of the Forest of Sin's tormented twisted wood. She'd expected the pyramid to have been overrun quite quickly, but it seemed her opponent had some kind of countermeasure. Within the dark shell of the Forest, she couldn't see it, but she could feel her ability disintegrating right next to the pyramid's border.

She drummed her fingers along the arm of her chair. Her Forest grew as fast as it was destroyed, of course, so she was in no actual danger… but a stalemate was a stalemate. She'd have to adjust her strategy to keep moving.

Her Forest had created a chamber for her right in its core -- a hollow sphere of wrapped together trunks and branches, a veritable fortress. While her Forest of Sin slaughtered, racking up points, she could stay here and relax. That was the kind of leisurely combat she'd hoped to embark upon today.

But it seemed that wasn't possible. With a sigh, she rose from her seat -- and a tendril of the Forest rose up alongside her, forming a rudimentary mouth with which to speak.

"Mistress…" it hissed. "They come… they come…"

"I know," she said casually, looking up towards the dark roof. "From above, right?"

Her Forest of Sin was nothing if not perceptive. Even if she couldn't see what exactly was going on outside, she could sense the inside of the Forest as if it was an extension of her own body. It was easy as pie for her to spot the object currently crashing down through her Forest from the sky.

Well, if nothing else… it seemed her points were coming to her.

The object crashed through the roof at devastating speeds, smashing the wood apart and landing before Paradise. Clouds of debris obscured the thing from view, but Paradise could sense it through the Forest just fine. Humanoid, massive, wielding some kind of sword, its body oozing adrenaline.

She smiled as the smoke cleared and her analysis -- as always -- was confirmed.

The thing was like a bipedal tortoise, its shell nearly pitch-black, the pale arms and legs absurd with muscle. Its face glared down at her, reptilian features warped into humanity, twin antlers protruding from the sides of its head. As she'd expected, a massive greatsword was clutched in one of its hands, just as dark as the rest of the beast.

"Belias Hailel," the thing grunted, voice bedrock-low. "The Cardinal Beast called Belias of the Black. I have come to kill you."

Paradise raised amused eyebrows. "Oh? How bold of you. Unfortunately, you seem to have --"

Bang.

Paradise heard a sound like an explosion from behind her -- and in that same instant, a new presence appeared. She turned her head just in time to see Yakob del Sed, eyes narrowed and focused, swinging empty air towards her neck. Her eyes saw no weapon, but the Forest sensed the shape of a sword.

Branches suddenly lashed out from the walls and struck del Sed in the midsection, sending him flying back. At the same time, on instinct, Paradise leapt to the side, avoiding the greatsword that would have smashed down on her skull.

So they wanted to team up on her, then? A wise move, but two-against-one still put the odds in her favour. There was something else going on here, too, though. Yakob del Sed definitely hadn't been here a second ago. Some kind of teleportation ability, then? No, she hadn't sensed anything like that. This was something else.

Fine. She'd play along… for now.