Serena leapt through the forest -- a miniature Ruth in one hand, and a miniature Dragan in the other. Wolfram poked his tiny head out of her pocket.
Surprisingly, shrinking people brought more advantages than just ease of transport. Aether infusion was more effective the smaller the target was, as the energy could be more focused -- so with Ruth and Dragan being the size of dolls, Serena’s Aether was able to stabilize them far beyond what it could do if they were normal size. It wouldn’t heal their injuries, of course -- they were far too grievous -- but it would at least slow down their deaths.
Deaths? Bruno asked, worried. You seriously think they’re going to die?
Serena shook her head forcefully, landing on a branch and immediately kicking off it. Seeing Dragan collapse like that, blood pouring from the missing sections of his body, had been far too much for Bruno. She’d had no choice but to take control to get them moving.
The plan had changed. That second fleet that had arrived seemed to be sending down some kind of escape shuttles, black pinpricks in the sky that were clearly growing bigger. She didn’t know who these new arrivals were, but it was clear from the firefight in the sky that they weren’t the Supremacy. That was good enough for her.
Getting to where they were landing was a much safer bet than heading to whatever was left of the pyramid. As Serena touched down on the grass for a moment, however, Wolfram wriggled out of her pocket and landed on the ground.
“I need to go do something!” Wolfram squeaked from the ground like some kind of tiny gnome. “You keep going!”
Serena skidded to a halt, turning her head around. “No way!” she cried. “I can’t --”
Leave you behind, she intended to say, but Wolfram clearly expected something different. His tiny hands offered a tiny pair of tiny thumbs-up. “Don’t worry!” he tweeted. “They’ll stay shrunk for a little while! I’ll be back before then!”
She took a step forward, but Wolfram had already scurried off into the foliage and vanished. Darnit. She didn’t much like the idea of letting a little kid run around on his own in a place like this, but she had her hands full with Dragan and Ruth…
…it wasn’t the nicest thing, but she could only care for so much at once.
Taking a deep breath, Serena continued her journey towards the landing sites.
----------------------------------------
There were lights above. There was noise above. There was fire above. But none of it could touch him, and none of it mattered.
Below him, there was only the cold. The chill of an absent life. A body evacuated of consciousness. Blank eyes staring up at his. A hole of blood drying far too fast. A corpse. His son.
Roy Oliphant-Dawkins knelt there, looking down at his dead boy. How long had it been since he’d blinked? His eyes hurt. It didn’t matter. His eyes deserved to hurt. Look at what you’ve done. Look at what you’ve done to Scout. Yes. The cold was with him.
A hand tugged at his sleeve. Roy glanced towards the source. The Scurrant boy -- the one with the tiny antlers and the white hair. He’d briefly shown up before. He had a name, but it escaped Roy’s memory. It was difficult to think of anything that was not this scene right here. The corpse pulled him back. He deserved to be here.
“What?” he murmured, nearly inaudible.
“There are shuttles coming,” the boy said urgently, tugging at his arm uselessly. “They could get us out of here. We need to go!”
“Go, then.” The corpse pulled him back. “I can’t leave him.”
The boy looked worriedly between Roy and Scout, shaking like a leaf. “T-Take him with you!”
“It doesn’t matter.” Roy might have shook his head. He might not have. “Go ahead. I’m fine here.”
“But…!”
Maybe he should go. No, that wasn’t right. He had to stay here with Scout. The corpse pulled him back. But there were other things. Things away from this place. His daughters. His family. There were still things to attend to. Still things to be alive for. He couldn’t just stay here. Could he? But the corpse pulled him back.
Yes. The corpse pulled him back.
Roy’s gaze slid over to look at the young boy. Was this the kid who could make things grow and shrink? He might have seen him do that. If so…
“I’m not going,” Roy finally said. “But you can do something for me anyway.”
A sickly plan was gestating in his brain. It was idiotic. It was ill-conceived. It was nigh-suicidal. Perhaps it was designed to be all those things. Perhaps the corpse still pulled him down deeper. Even if, though. Even if. It was the kind of thing his boiling heart yearned for. It was the kind of thing his screaming brain demanded.
A shadow still lingered over him…
…and the corpse pulled him towards it.
----------------------------------------
Serena opened her mouth to speak, but Bruno got there first.
“Who are you?”
They’d manage to reach this location -- a clearing in the woods -- just as the shuttles had begun landing. Most of them were empty, seemingly piloted by autobrains, but the one at the head of the pack was occupied by a single person. An old woman in a black shawl, looking down at Bruno and Serena from atop the landing ramp with a stern expression. Her Cogitant-blue eyes narrowed as she took in Bruno’s question.
“Skipper never mentioned me?” she said, a tad disappointed.
Bruno shook his head, Ruth and Dragan still clutched in his hands. “Don’t dodge the question. Who are you?”
The woman thumped her cane against the landing ramp beneath her. “You can call me the Widow. I have no intention of telling you my name, or who I work for. Know only that I represent a party invested in making sure the Supreme’s killers escape this planet unscathed.”
Unscathed… Bruno swallowed back the lump in his throat, his shoulders shaking.
“Well,” he said bitterly, voice shaking just as much. “You’re too late.”
The Widow furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?” she asked quietly.
Bruno glared, and Serena glared with him. Enmity enough for two was emitted by one pair of eyes, and bitterness enough for two bounced off one tongue. “Skipper’s already dead.”
Silence lingered for a long moment in that dark clearing, illuminated only by the lights from the shuttles. The glow hung over the Widow’s face in such a way that her eyes were not visible, making her seem like some kind of skeleton -- but even the thin line of her mouth that was visible betrayed no clear emotion. Finally, as if to announce that the silence was complete, the Widow thumped her cane once more.
“I see,” she said. “That’s… unfortunate.”
Taking a deep breath, she looked back up, casting her face into the light -- and the coldness in her eyes made little difference from the sockets they’d seen before.
“All the same…” she said, her voice steady as ever. “You have two choices before you.” She jabbed a long, crooked finger in the direction of the burning forest beyond. “You can remain here and inevitably perish, or…” She brought the finger back and pointed at the mouth of the shuttle behind her. “...come with us and potentially live. The choice is yours.”
Bruno narrowed his eyes. “If I come with you… can you heal my friends?”
“There’ll be a better chance of that if you come with us, yes,” the Widow replied.
“You can’t guarantee it?”
“I can’t guarantee anything in this world,” the Widow said. “Not even this sky above us. But I can tell you that we’ll do our utmost. You’ve become valuable pieces, after all. Believe in our self-interest if nothing else.”
Serena let out a deep breath. “If you want to get everyone out of here… that won’t work. The barrier will stop it.”
For the first time, emotion trickled across the Widow’s face -- the corners of her mouth twisting into the slightest smile. There was no real joy in it, but instead assurance. This was a person who knew what they were doing.
“Leave that barrier to me,” she said simply.
If it was a choice between certain death and possible life, then… Bruno supposed it wasn’t really a choice at all.
“I’m in,” said Bruno, and said Serena.
----------------------------------------
So this is the kind of mess you made, Skipper? What a reckless boy you are…
The Widow looked down at the pit of rubble that had once been the pyramid. The entire structure had been utterly demolished, leaving nothing but dust and blood. Doubtless any unfortunate souls caught in the building at the time had been crushed into oblivion. Was this where it had happened, then? Was this where Skipper had perished?
It was distasteful to admit, but a part of her was glad that Skipper had died before she’d arrived here. Had she been forced to take his life herself… she wouldn’t have hesitated, but it would have lingered with her. This series of events was far more comfortable to contemplate.
Ah, a rueful smirk rose to her lips. What an awful woman you are.
At any rate, she put her feelings -- something almost approximate to grief -- aside. She still had work to do. If this evacuation was to be completed in any kind of timely manner, she had to disable the barrier that was limiting entry and exit. That was easier said than done. From the intelligence she’d received, procured by the UAP’s Ultraviolets, the device that controlled the barrier lay at the bottom of a lengthy shaft beneath the pyramid.
Presumably there’d been some kind of elevator to allow travel through that zone, but with the destruction of the building she had no doubt that it was inoperable. Even if it wasn’t, getting through the rubble to reach it wasn’t practical in the time she had available. The Widow put a finger to her lips as she considered her options.
Well… there was really only one way of going about this, wasn’t there? It was a little finicky, but it was the only option she had.
The Widow knelt down, planting her hand on a chunk of rubble as she closed her eyes. This maneuver would require three ingredients, so to speak. An Aether ping, an infusion… and Cold Harvest, the maximum output of her ability. The first two would be the most delicate. Personally, the Widow felt that proper mastery of these fundamental Aether techniques was the most important factor in a person’s strength… which was essentially a roundabout and arrogant way of calling herself strong.
Her new Vantablack Squad wasn’t with her right now -- that was a shame. This would have been a good opportunity to show them why she was in charge.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
First, the Aether ping -- directed through the thin cracks in the rubble beneath her as it descended down into the earth. The limited space the Aether had to fill meant it could stretch on much further, allowing her to get a complete mental map of the shaft, the rubble blocking it, and the structure at the bottom.
As expected, the thing controlling the barrier was Gene Tyrant technology -- in short, it was biological. Cold Harvest would be able to put it into hibernation without triggering any potential countermeasures, then. The only problem was getting Cold Harvest to the required location.
All problems had solutions. Manifestation was a technique in which the user pulled a recorded object back out from within the space their Aether occupied. Despite how most people did it, there was no rule stating that Aether had to be right next to the user. The Widow would take advantage of that here.
Light blue Aether trickled out from her palm, worming through the tiny cracks and fractures in the rubble until it reached the bottom -- where it ballooned out into a much larger mass. Essentially, the Widow had created a pipeline through which she could funnel her greater Aether to the core of the mechanism. A waiting space for her manifestation.
Cold Harvest.
The Widow felt the chill from all the way up above ground. If she’d been right next to her own ability without sufficient protection, there was a good chance she would have been frozen instantly. As the name suggested, it was a mimicry of a cold harvest reactor -- a unit that generated power through the concentration of extremely cold temperatures. She didn’t much care for any energy her ability generated, though.
As far as she was concerned, it was just a very big and very cold bomb.
The default timer was thirty seconds, and the Widow saw no reason to change that. Once the barrier was down, they’d need to move quickly -- the Supremacy fighters would not miss their opportunity to swoop in and claim their glory. They had to disable the barrier and make their escape as quickly as possible.
She didn’t need to stay in proximity for the ability to complete, and so the Widow turned and began making her way back towards the shuttles, her cane thumping against the ground with each step.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Bang.
The Widow didn’t turn to look, but she was well aware of the effect Cold Harvest would have on the environment. The ice would run all the way up the shaft and emerge from the top like an iceberg, towering over the landscape. Hell, she could feel the shadow of it upon her already, and feel a chill run through the forest around her. A sense of weariness crept into her bones along with the cold -- Cold Harvest wasn’t an ability she could afford to throw around too often.
All the same, though, she didn’t need to turn around to see that her gambit had worked. The only thing she had to do was glance at the sky and see the pink barrier flicker out of existence.
----------------------------------------
The Supremacy wasted no time.
As soon as the barrier deactivated, countless fighters began to zoom down towards the planet like locusts, their plasmafire slamming into and incinerating the landscape below. The shuttles took off as soon as the Widow got back -- and as Bruno watched from the windows, he could see fresh waves of flame coursing across the surface of Elysian Fields. The wildfires that had previously erupted were nothing in comparison: this was utter annihilation.
Skipper’s body is somewhere down there, isn’t it? Serena asked sadly.
Bruno quietly nodded. “I… I guess it is.”
Skipper’s body, and so many others. How many had died today? Before the battle, Bruno hadn’t been able to turn around without seeing at least ten Regiment RED soldiers. There had been enough that he’d had the luxury of forgetting individual faces. Now, though… there were only a handful of people on this shuttle with them. Similar numbers had made it to the others, from what he'd seen.
Ruth and Dragan were still miniaturized, clutched in his hands, their bodies constantly being infused with Aether. He’d been told there were medical facilities on the ships in orbit, but could his friends hold out that long? Even if they could, the golden hours for Panacea were never certain -- and they were ticking away with each second anyway.
Would they make it in time?
Wolfram had made it back just before the shuttles took off. He was sitting in the corner of the cargo bay, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. Bruno supposed it made sense: he was just a kid, after all, and this whole situation was surely more than he’d signed up for.
Are you sure? Serena asked. He doesn’t look scared to me.
Bruno frowned, looking closer. Serena was right. Wolfram, there in the corner, looked more like he was concentrating on something. Keeping Dragan and Ruth small? Bruno doubted it: he hadn’t looked like that before.
Boom.
The chance for investigation quickly passed. Suddenly, the shuttle violently shook -- and as Bruno moved over to the nearest porthole, he saw the shuttle alongside them be obliterated by a plasma shot. Scraps of debris and spurts of flame flew out in every direction, and he could even see an indistinct human form fall from the wreckage and plummet to the ground below.
"Shit!" he shouted, turning his head to the Widow. "Isn't there anything we can do?'
The Widow, who'd been sitting with her eyes closed, opened one to look at him. "My field of cold should disable any shot that gets too close to us… but I'm afraid the rest of the shuttles are on their own. These things happen."
“We can’t just sit here!” Serena cried, overpowering Bruno.
“We can, and we shall.” The Widow’s eye flicked over to look at something behind their body. "But… it looks like the little one already has something in mind."
Serena turned her head to follow the Widow's gaze -- but she understood what she meant before she even finished turning. A white glow was engulfing the shuttle, after all, banishing each and every shadow. The source of it was Wolfram, still sitting in the corner, shining with such intense Aether that one couldn't look at him directly.
Aether burn, Bruno said. That's definitely an Aether burn.
"Wolfram?!" Serena cried, holding a hand up to shield her eyes. "What are you doing?!"
He looked up at her -- and although his eyes were bloodshot and his face pained, a resolve shone through nonetheless.
"Helping," he gasped.
----------------------------------------
There were a lot of flies buzzing around now. That was too bad for them. They'd die, after all.
After Scout had been killed, the Hanged Man had been left unoccupied. Everyone had just gone away and forgotten about it. Even Roy had been guilty of that. After all, it had just looked like a massive metal statue by the end. A memorial for everyone.
But that wasn't it. The Hanged Man wasn't the mourning. The Hanged Man was the kill.
Roy Oliphant-Dawkins plunged his fist into the cockpit of the Hanged Man, and his will went with it. He didn't need the automatic to be humanoid, like his son had. He didn't need the automatic to be a creature, like Ruth Blaine had. All he needed was a shape that could end things here.
An amorphous mass of liquid metal, all tendrils and tentacles, each and every extension tipped with a god-sharp blade. Alone, it would have been no match for the swarms of ships that were descending on Elysian Fields. But Roy was not alone. He had extracted a promise.
When the boy felt the silver beast change shape, he'd promised he would activate his ability.
----------------------------------------
Guardian Entity -- Byakko!
----------------------------------------
An honest boy, just like Scout had been. The ability activated right on time.
The Hanged Man was already massive, but the growth effect made it gargantuan. In a second, the liquid metal surged over the surface of the planet like a tsunami, devouring and overrunning everything, the tendrils so numerous that they were far greater than the trees that had once been there.
And as one… they struck upwards, slapping and slicing the fighters even as they swerved to avoid. With each strike, he struck himself. With each slaying, he slew himself. It felt like he was apologizing for everything. It felt as if he was atoning for everything.
What a joke. As if one could apologize for murder with murder. This was nothing but hypocrisy.
But… hypocrisy was all Roy Oliphant-Dawkins had. It was all he'd ever had.
The mechanical monstrosity, born of mind and grief, killed and killed and killed… until, finally, the lights of those shuttles had vanished into the night.
From there, all that was left were the flames.
----------------------------------------
Panting for breath, Wolfram stared out the window at the devastation on the planet below. A sea of silver tendrils, devouring everything it came into contact with. He’d done that? His Guardian Entity had done that? He knew he’d gone beyond what he should have -- but despite the pain in his body, he could still move.
If this was what he was capable of… he could have done more, back then. He should have done more.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
“Excuse me, young man,” the one they called the Widow said kindly. “I was just wondering… do you have somewhere to go to after all this is done…?”
----------------------------------------
The feeling of touch returned first. Ruth felt cold air brush against her skin, felt the mask of a rebreather pressed against her face, felt dull anesthetized pain pulsing from her legs. A soft bed beneath her. All of these sensations reminded her that she was still alive.
Hearing. People walking back and forth. The beeps and boops of machinery. The hum of an engine. Breathing, not her own, close to her.
Smell. The bitter scent of medicine. The metal tang of blood. A sterility… a place wiped clean. Was she in a hospital?
Sight.
Ruth opened her eyes, and it took a moment for her vision to fully adjust. She didn't know this ceiling. It was dark, barely lit by a flickering panel. With all the strength she could muster, Ruth turned her head to look around.
She'd been half-right about this being a hospital. It seemed to be some kind of makeshift medical bay, countless beds filled with the suffering and the dying, hooked up to machinery to keep them stable. An empty canister of Panacea, discarded, rolled across the floor to join a pile of its fellows.
"Miss Ruth?" Serena asked. She was sitting next to her bed. "You're awake?"
She tried to grin in defiance of the pain, but all she could manage was a weak smile -- and lifting her head was completely out of the question.
"Looks like it," she rasped. "Is the battle… over?"
Serena nodded, brushing some of the loose hair out of Ruth's face. "It's over," she said. "We got away a few hours ago."
"Where are we?" Ruth asked. "How did we get out of there?"
"These people were paid to get us off of Elysian Fields. I guess since we managed to kill the Supreme, we're important now. I think they're taking us to the UAP…"
"Damn…" Ruth chuckled, trying to raise her arm -- and having trouble. "We should have a look around first, if we don't know who these guys are… you up to do some snooping?"
Ruth stopped halfway through an attempt at sitting up. There was a strange, pained look on Serena's face. Had she been injured as well?
"Um…" Serena said, fidgeting. "I -- I'm sorry, Miss Ruth, I thought there'd be a doctor to, like, explain it, but…"
Her eyes kept flicking further down the bed, and Ruth brought her head up to look there as well. Immediately, she understood Serena's anxiety.
Ruth had known that Avaman's dying attack had severed her legs. She'd jumped in expecting an injury -- but an injury that could be treated by Panacea or something. But her legs were still gone.
A cold weight settled in her stomach as she looked down at the bandaged stumps. "Panacea…?" she asked hopefully.
Serena looked down at the floor, her expression downcast. "The… the golden hours passed… we couldn't… get here in time… I'm sorry…"
Ruth took in a deep, shuddering breath. "Did Dragan… come back okay?"
Again, Serena looked away. "He came back, but… he's hurt too… pretty bad… they don't know if… it's pretty bad…"
What could Ruth do? She was lying on that bed, broken, bloody. She squeezed her fists shut, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Within her chest, she could feel the overpowering pulse of her heartbeat.
Yes… her heartbeat. The fatal question came to her lips. The question she needed to ask and didn't want to be answered. “What about… Skipper?”
Serena did not answer. It was Bruno who had to deliver the news.
"Skipper's… dead," he said.
Ruth opened her eyes. "I see…" she breathed.
And there, in the darkness of the med-bay -- driven by pain and loss -- Ruth Blaine quietly began to sob.