"Who is that?" Zachariah asked, the young boy looking up in awe through the sea of the crowd.

He was on the shoulders of his father, hands in his hair, the man's already impressive height raising him far above anyone else watching. From this position, he could see clearly -- the man walking up the stairs to the throne, golden cape billowing in the wind behind him.

He could see his glory. He could see his strength.

"That's the Supreme, boy," his father said, voice full of pride. Not pride in the boy, necessarily, or himself, or even the Supreme he was looking at -- it was more like this display gave him a sense of pride in all existence. Like all this proved something to him.

The cityscape of the capitol, layered between ancient and modern, spread out below the floating coliseum. It had been used for the Dawn Contest -- and now, after some repairs, it was being used to crown the victor. Countless additional stands floated through the area around the central construct, so as many people as possible could come to watch this historic moment in person.

"The Supreme…" Zachariah mumbled.

He couldn't see the face of the young man from this angle, but he could see that he looked powerful. Perhaps that was the only part that truly mattered.

Zachariah knew who the Supreme was, of course, and what he represented -- but his father, lost in legend, spoke as if he did not.

"The Supreme is the very strongest," he whispered, his usually booming voice brought down to a rare hush by the solemnity of the occasion. "The one everyone else must now strive to reach. He's the one who is like god."

Those words settled deep into the young boy's mind -- and as he watched the man sit the throne, his eyes twinkled with admiration. When the applause began, ringing out across the galaxy, Zachariah clapped as loudly and as long as any other.

Until his hands hurt.

Until his hands bled.

Skipper floated in a sea of darkness. His eyes weren't closed, for right now he didn't have eyes. He didn't feel pain, for right now he didn't have a body. All he had was consciousnesses -- and even then, only barely so.

He just floated and existed.

The obvious question occurred. Had he died? The last thing he remembered, the Supreme had just triggered the eruption of the dormant volcano they'd been fighting on. It wouldn't have been a surprise if that had killed him… but he doubted it. This didn't feel like an afterlife. Any afterlife of his would be far worse than this.

A dream, then. A moment of unconsciousness. Perhaps a chunk of rock had struck him, propelled by the explosion, or perhaps the shockwave of the Supreme's attack had done it all by itself.

Either way, it wasn't that bad of a feeling. It felt like years since he'd just closed his eyes. A guy could get used to this.

No.

Skipper pulled himself upwards, resisting the dark crawling over him. He was thinking. More than anything, he needed to keep thinking. If he just lay around snoozing, he might as well be dead already. Even if the Supreme didn't kill him personally, the mess he'd turned the world into would surely finish the job.

That man was still waiting for him. He needed to beat him. He needed to --

You're just like me. Admit it.

Yes, that was what the Supreme had been saying, wasn't it? That Skipper was here for the same reason as him. Not for high ideals, or a greater good -- but to test his strength or feel alive, whatever you wanted to call it.

That wasn't true… was it? He wasn't lying to himself… was he?

There was a flash of green -- and when it cleared, he could see himself once more, locked in battle against the Supreme, blasting Heartbeat Shotguns into his body. This was from just a minute or two ago. He hadn't realized at the time, but…

On his own face, mirroring his opponent, was a massive and exhilarated grin. In that moment, looking between him and the Supreme, it was hard to tell the difference. Was he right, then?

Was all of this just a vanity project?

Was all of this just… futile?

He'd brought people here, convinced and blackmailed and manipulated them… for a war that, deep down, he knew they'd never had a chance of winning. To have their dying screams power his strikes, and their clashing blades raise his wings. The only battle that mattered was right here, right now. Him against the Supreme. But surely the Supreme would say the same.

All lip service. All bullshit. All…

A flash of green.

A Skipper of days past, lying in that hospital bed, Dragan standing over him. That man was talking to Dragan, but his gaze was fixed on the present Skipper. Those eyes were disapproving.

"I want…" he reminded.

A flash of green.

A Skipper of days past, crawling through the foggy woods. A young man, his memories suddenly returning in bits and pieces, tearing a temporary identity apart in the process. Clutching a tree, he gasped for breath -- and remembered himself. Remembered his resolve.

"I want…" he reminded.

A flash of green.

Skipper, standing in that hangar on Caelus Breck, pointing his arm towards the one attacking Dragan Hadrien. A boy he'd barely known. A boy he'd dragged into this mess. A boy betrayed by the Supremacy he'd served…

…just as Skipper once had been.

Back then, he'd gone overboard. The blast he'd fired had been so strong that it had obliterated the arm it had come out of. He hadn't known to protect his body, but that only made sense. It had been the first time he'd ever used Heartbeat Freedom. The point at which his eyes -- over many months -- had begun to turn from cold grey to vibrant green.

An Aether tic he hadn't even realized he'd had until he was staring in the mirror at a man come back to life. That man stared back at him.

"I want…" said a thousand broken men, over a thousand broken years. "I want…"

"I want…" Skipper muttered -- and, with that, he opened his eyes.

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

Ruth looked up at the sky, eyes wide and uncomprehending, trying to understand what she was looking at.

It was impossible. The two Contenders were far too fast for that -- their speed was such that the concept of afterimages did not even apply. All she could see of their clash was an indiscriminate blur.

Oh, she could feel it, though. With each collision, mighty gusts of air pressure swept over the ground -- nearly sending Ruth flying if not for the Skeletal claws she'd buried in the dirt before her. She held Bruno and Serena under her free arm, their own faces just as awestruck by the battle raging above them.

"Is this real?" Serena muttered, as the Fourth Contender battled the First. "Can we trust him?"

Thump.

"Of course not," Wu Ming said, standing behind them. "I just said I was a traitor. Are you stupid?"

Ruth nearly jumped out of her skin. Before she could even realize that the chaos above her had halted, Wu Ming had dropped out of the sky and landed right behind the two of them. She hadn't even noticed his presence until he'd spoken.

He'd lost the Scurrant traits his cocoon ability had given him, and his skin was slick with sweat, but he was grinning all the same. Ruth could see a flame of passion blazing deep in those dark eyes.

So this was a Contender. Ruth had understood they were strong, but these two seemed to be in an entirely different league. The Supreme was even stronger than this? A tendril of fear -- not for herself, but for Skipper -- crawled through her.

Wu Ming dropped to his knees, raising a conspiratorial finger to his lips. "Gave old sourpuss the slip for a second there. He'll find me soon. Excuse me one-a sec… Verdant Greens."

He moved Ruth out of the way with one hand -- and then the strings on his other hand speared down into the earth. As Ruth and Serena watched, the landscape around them began to change, as if the battle had never happened at all. Fresh grass forced its way up out of the soil. The burns fell away from the trees like snakes shedding skin, and they began to grow once more -- perhaps even more voraciously. In the span of a few seconds, the wasteland was teeming with life, a thick forest as far as the eye could see.

"How did you do that?" Serena whispered, as Wu Ming pulled his hand free of the dirt.

Again, he looked at her as if the question had been something ridiculous. "With Aether," he said simply.

"Be serious," Ruth demanded, leaning in closer, her voice low. "Can we trust you? You're not just gonna betray us too, right?"

Ming blinked, his face utterly carefree -- unnaturally carefree. "Well," he said, as if considering it for the first time. "You can trust that I'll fight this guy, since that's something I've wanted to do for a while. It's pretty much the main reason I've turned traitor here. As for afterwards? Stabbing you guys in the back would be a zero out of ten move, but I'd say there are circumstances where I'd do it."

A normal person would have said 'no' and left it at that. Ruth leaned in further, desperation trickling into her tone. "But we can trust you right now, right?"

"Sure," Ming nodded. "Right now."

Good enough.

Ruth reached out, placing a hand on Wu Ming's shoulder. He glanced at it curiously. Ignoring his confused gaze, Ruth took a deep breath, and spoke: "Skeletal --"

"Don't you run from me, Wu Ming!" Avaman screamed.

The attack slammed into the part of the forest they'd been hiding in -- but before the winds could tear them apart, Ruth felt herself and Serena be thrown aside by Wu Ming's timely push. The two of them rolled to a stop just outside the blast radius, but Ming himself was buffeted by the winds, the area he'd been standing in quickly becoming incomprehensible as it was shredded apart.

Ruth watched, mouth agape, as coursing winds rushed so quickly they nearly looked like a solid white object…

…with a strange red glow in the middle.

"Skeletal Set, huh?" Wu Ming's voice emerged clearly from the blast zone, his casual tone overpowering the winds of Maelstrom Job. "Nice, nice. I dig it. A seven outta ten, I'd say, or maybe an eight. I'll have to take it for a spin before I say for sure."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The winds exploded outwards as Wu Ming swept his claws, and Ruth was forced to seize hold of one of the new trees to stop herself and Serena from being blown away. It was only when the gusts finally stopped that she could look up and understand what she was seeing.

Wu Ming was wearing her Skeletal Set as he looked up at Avaman in the sky. It looked different from usual -- the mask fit fine but the chestplate wasn't quite his size. Usually, Ruth could adjust it for whoever'd be wearing it, but everything had happened so quickly…

The claws, at any rate, were sharp. Wu Ming scraped them together, and the resultant shower of sparks went far beyond mere confirmation. She heard the lightest muffled chuckle from behind the skull.

"Hand-me-downs, Wu Ming?" Avaman sneered, floating in the sky as if he were standing on thin air. "Is that what you've been reduced to?"

"Hey, what can I say?" Ming laughed, doing a few squats on the spot. "I'm a fashionista. You wanna try it?"

"Not particularly."

And, without further ado, Avaman pointed Maelstrom Job down at Wu Ming once more. The air blasted out -- but did not strike true. Ming had already moved long ago.

If he'd been fast before, it was nothing compared to his speed with the Skeletal Set. A grey blur bounced from tree to tree, each impact splintering wood as it ascended up towards Avaman's position. The First Contender's head whipped around as he tried in vain to find his opponent -- but always slow, always just a little too slow.

With a snarl, Avaman dispelled his Aether Armament -- even weightless as it was, it would not suffice to keep up with Ming's new speed. Instead, he sent out another barrage of Whirlwind Crossbows, the homing projectiles trailing after Ming as he circled his opponent. Before long, though, his speed overwhelmed them -- and they ended up crashing into each other instead as they tried to pursue.

With a wave of his hand, Avaman unleashed a flurry of slashes that sliced Wu Ming apart limb from limb -- but before blood could even begin to pour, lengths of string had burst out from the stumps and pulled the limbs back into place. Stitches bound the wounds so tightly that there was no sign they'd ever existed, and Wu Ming just kept on fighting like nothing had happened.

Avaman fired more projectiles, but Wu Ming was too fast for them.

Avaman swung his sword of wind, but Wu Ming was too fast for it.

Avaman screamed in fury, and caused the very air around him to explode… but Wu Ming was too fast for it.

And finally, Wu Ming struck true. With a resounding crack, that gauntleted fist of his slammed directly into Avaman's face. The mask shattered as Avaman was sent crashing down into the ground, a shockwave of dust and dirt flying out from the resultant crater. Ruth and Serena, right on the edge of the impact zone, looked down at the First Contender in shock.

Ruth shuddered.

Skipper had told them after Avaman's attack… but hearing about it and seeing it for herself were two entirely different things. As Avaman picked himself up from the ground, his ragged cloak billowing around him, she could see his face. She could see Skipper's face.

Younger, perhaps, and twisted by a fury that she'd never seen on the man himself… but that was the face of the person she looked up to more than anything.

Avaman seethed as he rose to his feet, one hand holding the side of his face as if to cover his shame, as if he didn't feel like himself if he wasn't wearing some kind of mask. He bared his teeth, saliva falling from his lips like a rabid animal.

"How dare you…" he rasped -- Skipper's voice warped beyond recognition by sheer spite. "How dare you…"

Wu Ming shot down from the sky, kicking off that floating ball of string -- he'd left it there -- and launching himself directly towards Avaman. The killing blow. The coup de grace.

He'd misjudged it.

Just before Wu Ming's rainbow-shining claws could finish him, Avaman raised his free hand up and screamed, voice hoarse.

"Whirlwind Fortress!"

It was the ability he'd used to defend himself before -- only this time, that ridiculously strong bubble did not appear around him. It appeared around Wu Ming, acting as a prison as it held him in place. Just like with Ruth, the Skeletal Set's claws snapped off as they struck the inside of the bubble, and Ming could do nothing but slam futilely against its surface.

Avaman staggered back from the bubble, turning his hateful gaze -- visible only through the gaps between his fingers -- towards Ruth and Serena.

"Kill you…" he snarled, taking a step forward as he left Ming behind. "Bastards… I'll kill all of you… don't look at me…"

Serena hurled one of her invisible swords at Avaman, but he batted it away with a hand -- uncaring that his fingers were sliced up in the process. He ran that same hand down his face once again as he advanced, painting himself with his own blood.

"He's interesting…?" Avaman ranted to himself. "He's interesting? No, you're mistaken. What the fuck are you talking about? I, the most loyal… I, the most faithful… what are you all looking at him for?!" His eyes snapped to Ruth and Serena once more, and his grey pupils were shuddering in exhilaration. "He's nothing! There's nothing to look at! He's not interesting! It's not fair! It's not!"

Ruth took a deep breath. The moment Avaman took another step, she'd recall the Skeletal Set to protect herself. What she could do against this madman, she didn't know -- but it was do or die time, and she knew she had a preference.

That moment came before long. Avaman stepped forward, Ruth flared her Aether…

…and there was a loud crack as that bubble of air shattered from the inside.

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

This really sucked. Avaman was saying something, something long from the looks of it, and Wu Ming couldn't even hear it from inside this bubble. What if Avaman was explaining something cool about his ability, or he was about to use some kind of special move?

Wu Ming was missing it!

So, how did he get out of here, then? The claws of this armour weren't strong enough. They were pretty good -- and they had room to grow further -- but right now they just didn't have the power needed. Avaman had poured way too much Aether into the bubble.

With his current level of strength, Wu Ming couldn't break free, but that wasn't his only problem. From what he could tell, this bubble had only a limited supply of air inside of it. It made sense: this ability had clearly been designed as a defensive measure. Presumably, the limited oxygen supply had been one of the conditions Avaman had enacted in order to increase the strength of the shield. By using it on Wu Ming instead of himself, though, he'd turned that time limit into a deadly attack.

You saw these kinds of things often -- 'cheats', using supposed disadvantages in ways that basically defeated the purpose of them. Intentionally inserting loopholes into your ability's conditions would typically reduce the benefit you got from them, but that was only if you understood those loopholes at the point of realization. If you figured them out afterwards, like Avaman clearly had, it was no sweat.

Anyway, the gist of things at this point was that Wu Ming needed more strength. This Skeletal Set wasn't cutting it, but the principle was sound. An external Aether Armament, boosting the abilities of the user. Could he maybe put his own spin on that?

His strings began to weave together, quickly forming something, the kaleidoscopic fibers turning pitch-black. He had only seconds of air, but Wu Ming felt neither fear or doubt as he worked. It wouldn't matter if he did, anyway.

After all, his Aether core was emotion itself.

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

Avaman whirled around as his Whirlwind Fortress shattered, gusts of wind flying in every direction.

"What?!" he cried.

Wu Ming calmly strode out of his prison, each footstep heavy on the ground. His appearance -- or rather, his attire -- had changed. The Skeletal Set had vanished, replaced by a sheer black blanket that he'd draped over himself, covering his head and upper torso like a poncho, arms and legs visibly sticking out of the ensemble.

It was like… a bedsheet ghost. Almost comical, if not for the spiraling design of an inhuman skull on Wu Ming's head and the eerie malevolence that seemed to radiate from the black sheet. As Wu Ming took another step forward, rainbow Aether crackling around his footsteps, he seized the side of the blanket with one hand -- and pulled the skull design taut against his face.

"Ha-Satan Set," he rasped.

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

The world was hell.

The world was fire.

The world was smoke.

Skipper staggered out of the hell, the fire, and the smoke, his body screaming at him -- all the pain he'd long ignored bursting to the forefront. His feathers had assembled into a rudimentary prosthetic at the stump of his leg, allowing him to walk… but it was a slow and ponderous walk. It would be generous to describe it as a stagger.

The eruption of the volcano had devastated the landscape, far more than any other result of the battle. Rivers of lava spilled down from the peak, incinerating anything they came in contact with and sparking a wildfire that surrounded the area like a moat. The rocks between Skipper's feet -- foot -- were burning hot. If not for the protection of his Aether, his other leg would surely have melted away… along with the rest of him. The smoke running up into the sky had turned it a vicious pitch black.

As he'd said… hell.

Skipper staggered through the burning mist -- the corpse of the previous ocean -- and struggled for breath. Once he got his bearings, he could fly up to the sky again, above all this smoke, where there'd be fresh air. But he was only halfway out of unconsciousness. He needed to come back to himself. He needed to wake up.

Skipper took a step forward --

-- and a hand landed on his shoulder.

The man who was like god towered over him from behind, that presence as if the sun itself had taken notice of him. His face was calm, lids heavy over his eyes as he looked down at Skipper. No matter how calm he might have seemed, though, Skipper knew he could shatter that shoulder with only the slightest exertion.

"You see now, Zack?" the Supreme muttered, smiling gently. "You see why we're here? What we're really fighting for? For this, man. This landscape. The proof we were here. The proof we were alive."

Skipper looked out over that scenery. This was what he'd leave behind? Fire and ash? And the Supreme was proud of that?

"You can talk about whatever ideals you want," the Supreme continued. "But deep down… folks like us live to fight. We fight to feel alive. That's all there is. We don't even need a reason."

For a long, long time, the two of them stood in the inferno, flames raging around them. Despite the sounds of hell, the two of them were silent. Twin statues awaiting completion.

Eventually, though, the Supreme grew tired of waiting for an answer -- as he'd grown tired of everything else. "You get it now, right, Zack?" he prompted. "Don't talk bullshit anymore. We're here to fight, right?"

Slowly, Skipper nodded, his face cast in shadow. "Yeah… I get what you mean. I do live to fight. I don't know if it's the way I am, or the way I was raised… but yeah. I fight. I live to fight."

"Right?" the Supreme nodded eagerly, grinning from ear to ear. "So --"

"But," Skipper continued. "That doesn't mean I fight for no reason."

The Supreme blinked. "What? What are you talking about?"

Skipper chuckled -- laughter forced through smoke and blood and exhaustion, but laughter all the same. He turned his gaze up to the Supreme, his face holding that old cocky grin. Green eyes glinted bright in the darkness.

I want…

"You gotta be deaf or something, yeah?" he said. "I've been saying it over and over again, old man, but I'll say it one more time just for you." Skipper winked. "I'm going to change the shape of this world."

The smoke shifted, and the last slivers of sunlight faded away. In the absolute dark, all Skipper could see were the Supreme's blue eyes glaring down at him. The grin of the man who was like god had vanished. Skipper didn't expect to see it again anytime soon.

All there was now was the rage of a beast denied.

"I see," the Supreme said, voice solemn. "Die, then."

Like hell he would. The moment those words passed the Supreme's lips, Skipper whirled around -- feathers moving from his leg to his fist -- and blasted a punch right at the Supreme's face. It was fast, as fast as Skipper could manage given his current injuries…

…but not quite as fast as sound.

"Excel Surge," said the Supreme -- and golden Aether illuminated his furious expression in flashes. "Heartbeat Freedom."

Skipper was blown backwards, down the hill, by the sudden light of a star unleashed. Before he could collapse all the way down, though, he drove his feathered leg into the ground like a stake -- giving him enough stability to keep his position while the blazing sun rose off the ground before him. His hair whipped back as he stared up at the Supreme, eyes widened to their utmost.

Six golden wings held the Supreme aloft, and that same golden light flowed from his eyes and mouth, so bright that it hurt to look at. His wounds shone, too, all the way down to the stump of his missing finger -- making even those unsightly injuries seem glorious, like badges of office.

"And for good measure," the Supreme intoned, with a voice that was like God. "EIN SOF."

Golden Aether flashed again -- so bright and so quick that it was almost white -- and when it had cleared, the Supreme was holding something in his hand. A sword. A rusty, broken, dull sword -- and yet one that inspired more fear than anything Skipper had seen so far today.

EIN SOF. The Supreme's personal Aether Armament. The most powerful Aether Armament. The sword that had shattered Dranell.

Skipper took a deep, hitching breath -- and lowered his body to the ground, ready. He'd passed the point long ago where fear could affect him. The time had come. The last hurdle. The last step.

Like hell he'd chicken out now. Skipper pointed his remaining hand behind him.

"Heartbeat Shotgun!" he roared.