In its deactivated state, the Hanged Man wasn't much to look at.

Essentially, it was like a massive metal skeleton, all curved lattices and reinforced joints -- with a hollow inside the 'rib cage' just big enough for a human to fit in if they curled up into a ball. Neural connections, like the tendrils of a jellyfish, hung limply as the Hanged Man's innards.

Bear in mind, though, that when the deactivated Hanged Man is described as 'massive', that's only in comparison to a normal human being. Compared to most of the other Arcana Automatics, which could charge through massive buildings with ease, it would seem tiny. But this only applies to the deactivated Hanged Man, of course.

Skipper ran a hand over its smooth shoulder blade admiringly. "Back in the day, it apparently used magnetism to construct its body and attack," he grinned. "But the Paradisas upgraded it with that liquid metal stuff, so it's a lot less reliant on the environment now. Either way, it's the most versatile of the Arcana Automatics. Once things really kick off, the inside of this baby will probably be the safest place on the planet. Pretty neat, huh?"

He looked up from the machine to see Roy's frown. The new Oliphant patriarch was still standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a thoroughly unamused expression on his face.

"Something up?" Skipper cocked his head.

Roy scowled. "Don't pretend we're friends. We both know I'm not here by choice, Esmeralda."

The smile dropped. "The name's Skipper."

"That ain't what you said on the videograph, and it ain't the point. The only reason I'm here is because you threatened me. I'd be on my ass at home, watching cartoons, otherwise. I don't know how you can keep that stupid grin on your face when you're such a goddamn scumbag."

Skipper stepped forward -- and without a hint of caution, placed his hands on the huge man's shoulders. Since arriving here, Skipper had acquired a new prosthetic for his newly missing arm -- a device meant purely for combat, with long dark fingers more like claws than anything else.

"When did I threaten you, pal?" Skipper asked quietly. "I don't recall."

Roy's eyelid twitched. "You told me you'd copied the files Carla had stolen. All our businesses, all our operatives. You told me you'd leak them to the Supremacy."

"I don't remember saying that."

"It was implied," Roy growled.

"Well, there you go," Skipper smiled again, patting Roy's shoulders as he released them. "So rather than getting in trouble with the Supremacy, you're here helping me kill the Supreme. It's a wild, wild world, huh?"

Roy looked down, clenching his fists. Even though the battle hadn't even started yet, he already seemed defeated. With just a few careful words over a script, Skipper had forced the Oliphant Clan's hand.

"I've already passed on control to a subordinate," Roy muttered. "This is just me and a few of my men making a bad decision. When it's over, I'll take the heat… personally. That make you happy, asshole?"

"Nah," Skipper shook his head as he walked back towards the door. "Word of advice: sharks like us shouldn't get mad when someone else takes a bite. Does it make you happy when a junkie overdoses on the drugs you transport? Does it make you happy when a thug shoots an innocent with the weapons you sell? Of course it doesn't. It's all just business. We're both scumbags."

He paused at the door, one hand on the frame.

"You shouldn't have brought your kid, though," Skipper muttered solemnly. "Scout, right? I saw him with your guys. You shouldn't have brought him."

"Didn't have a choice," he grunted. "Once he knew I was coming here, he wouldn't hear anything else. That's why I'm gonna demand something of you now."

Skipper looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. "You think you're in a position to do that?"

Roy slapped a hand on the Hanged Man's head with a resounding clang. "You said this thing was the safest place on the planet, right?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

Roy slid his hand away, looking Skipper right in the eye. "Then my son's going to be piloting it. Any objections?"

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

"You shouldn't have brought her here," Wu Ming said, gulping down an energy drink.

After their encounter with the Baron Lunalette de Fleur, Wu Ming had led their group to his own personal quarters -- a luxurious suite that would have been more at home in a hotel than a starship. They -- Muzazi, Morgan, Aclima and Ming -- were sitting around a coffee table, refreshments from a nearby vending machine laid out before them.

"I had no choice," Muzazi said, taking a stoic bite from a chocolate bar. "After the events on the Child Garden, the position of the Supreme Heir is already in question. I couldn't risk anything that might jeopardize it."

Ming sighed, tossing the can over his shoulder -- where it landed perfectly in the trash receptacle. "You know what really jeopardizes a position? Dying. Once we bury the kid, I don't know if she'll be up for ascending to Supreme."

Aclima gulped, but said nothing.

"We knew this would be dangerous, sir," Morgan said quietly, leaning forward. "But the Supreme Heir is never safe. That's what the Seven Blades are for --

"Two," said Ming, his face a mask.

"What?"

"Two." Ming swept a finger over the two of them, sat next to each other. "You said 'Seven Blades', but there's only two of you guys. Three, technically. Unless you've got some buddies hiding under the bed?"

Muzazi did not falter. "We are enough -- as anyone who makes an attempt upon the Heir will learn."

Wu Ming looked up.

The air turned still.

A chill went down Muzazi's spine.

For the tiniest split-second, he understood what it would feel like to have his head chopped off.

"If I wanted to kill the two of you, right here, right now," he said softly. "I could have just done it. Zero outta ten. You're not enough."

Muzazi swallowed. "You're a Contender. It's only natural that you'd be able to best us. The enemies we'd face would be --"

"Contenders," Wu Ming cut him off coldly. "Ol' Paradise Charon, in fact. Seems she's not too fond of you, Mr. Muzazi. Soon as she gets the opportunity, she'll be coming after you -- and she'll be getting the opportunity soon."

Morgan went to say something -- but Muzazi raised a hand, cutting him off. He could see Aclima's pale face out of the corner of his eye, and he was willing to bet that his own face was just as white.

"If your fellow Contender is after us," he said carefully. "Then why should I trust you to help?"

The tension evaporated in a second as Wu Ming leaned back in his chair, throwing his arms up in a yawn. "Everyone around here's way too serious. It gives me a chuckle to wipe the smirk off someone's face, so I want to mess up Paradise's plans. That's all. Plus… I'd rather not see anything bad happen to a little kid."

"You're saying you're a virtuous man, then?"

"Oh, no no no," Ming laughed, waving his hands. "Please, no thank you. I'm not like that. Writing myself big lists of principles and morals or whatever. I just do what I want, see? If I feel like helping someone, I'll help them. If I feel like killing someone, I'll kill them. Right now I feel like giving you a hand. Ain't that swell?"

Muzazi lowered his hand, and Morgan spoke up. "How would you want to, uh, help us, sir?" he said, exchanging a glance with Muzazi as he addressed Ming. The Contender seemed to be the only person he addressed with any measure of formality.

Wu Ming snapped his fingers. "It's like I said, little man. You're seriously low on manpower, and Paradise's gonna work things out so you two are on the front lines, leaving our poor Heir all alone. I'm willing to make an introduction for a third party who's looking to join your little squad. He can keep the Heir safe while you guys deal with whatever Paradise has in store."

"Even if we trusted you," Muzazi said. "Why should we trust this other party? Could you not protect the Heir personally?"

Ming shook his head. "No way. Best battle in decades, and you want me to sit it out babysitting? I'm not about that life. This other guy, though? He doesn't mind in the least."

Muzazi bit his lip. All things considered, Wu Ming's proposal did make sense. There was no doubt that Paradise Charon would make an attempt to regain control of the Heir, now that Kojirough had fallen -- and these would be the ideal circumstances to do so.

No doubt a good number of the Special Officers who had gathered here reported to Charon. The Baron Lunalette de Fleur, for one, was well-known as one of her allies. He'd only be too happy to go after Muzazi, after the embarrassment he'd suffered earlier in the day. Against sheer numbers and sheer strength, Muzazi and Morgan were just two people -- even with Ionir backing Morgan up from the inside. They needed allies as well.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"This person," Muzazi said slowly. "I'd want to meet them, first. Who are they?"

Snap.

Before Muzazi had even realized that the Contender was moving, he'd lifted his hand up and snapped his fingers. A second later, the doors slid open, and Muzazi turned his head to look.

The man who entered the room looked to be in his late seventies, musculature barely hanging on after the ravages of age. His white hair was tied back into a severe topknot, and rather than any formal wear he'd decided to clad himself in a simple blue tracksuit, spectacles balanced before his green eyes. He nodded respectfully at the gathering as he strode next to Wu Ming, stopping at military attention.

He'd expected to recognise the candidate that Wu Ming had brought before them, and he was not disappointed in that regard. Strength was no issue. Ash del Duran was well-known as a master of the killing arts --

-- and as the foremost practitioner of pinpoint Aether.

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

Dragan peeled his hand away from the console, that same blue gunk clinging to it. Wincing, he wiped it off onto his pant leg.

To be honest, he'd expected activating the Lotus to have a little more bombast to it. A little ceremony, or something. Hell, they hadn't even brought all the Cogitants here at the same time. Most of the Cogitants had already placed their hands on the Lotus by the time Dragan had arrived, and most of the stragglers had disappeared while he'd been unconscious.

Now it was just him, the guard he'd been assigned, and one other -- the Cogitant girl he'd seen the first time he'd come down here. The one with the empty eyes. She looked at him emotionlessly as he staggered back from the console.

Just from looking at her, you'd think she was a civilian -- she was wearing casual and baggy clothing, and her hair hung around her face in what seemed like a case of perpetual bedhead -- but those eyes. There was something about those eyes. Like everything that had once been behind them had been burned away to nothing.

"That's it," Dragan's guard said. "Barrier's now active. Should probably head back to your quarters for some rest -- enemy will get into orbit before long."

The guard was a young man with chestnut hair by the name of Marco, his red balaclava pulled up into it looked more like a beanie than anything else. A punchpoint assault rifle was slung over his back, and -- strangely enough -- what looked like a row of thin sewing needles were strapped to his pant leg, right on the thigh. Dragan had said he hadn't needed a guard -- he wasn't exactly weak anymore, after all -- but Skipper and Klaus had insisted.

"Right," Dragan nodded, beginning his walk back across the bridge.

"Wait."

It took him a second to realize that the Cogitant girl had spoken. Dragan turned his head to look at her. "Yeah?"

"Zachariah Esmeralda," she said, her voice dull. "Do you think he can beat the Supreme?"

Dragan furrowed his brow. "What?"

"Zachariah Esmeralda. You're with him, right? Do you think he can beat the Supreme?"

Ordinarily, Dragan would have stopped to think about it. He might have stood there for a long time, considering it, before giving an answer. But here, now, for some reason, the words came automatically to his lips.

"Of course," Dragan said.

He'd expected her to question him further, to ask his reasoning, but no. The girl just stared at him with the eyes of a corpse, not even blinking, before silently turning and walking away. She vanished into the darkness.

And Dragan was left watching after her.

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

Wu Ming had left them to their impromptu job interview, Ash del Duran sitting across from Muzazi and Morgan, his hands clasped in his lap. Muzazi couldn’t help but notice the sheer efficiency of the man’s movements -- the perfect composure of his breathing, and the steel focus in his eyes. Before anything else, Muzazi could not deny this was a man who knew what he was doing.

"Ash del Duran," he introduced himself politely, voice hoarse. "I don't use a sword, but I'd be happy to join your group."

Muzazi drummed his fingers over the arms of his chair. Appearances could be deceiving, reputations even more so, but Ash del Duran was known to be a virtuous man -- and Muzazi doubted Wu Ming would take any action to betray his own protege. He didn't seem the type.

Muzazi exchanged another glance with Morgan before speaking again. "Out of curiosity… why exactly do you wish to join the Blades?"

Ash cracked his neck. "Why do any of us Special Officers do anything, commander? We already have freedom, we already have power… the only thing we have left to seek out is prestige. A means for our name to live on after us." A sad smile crossed his lips. "I will be gone from this world sooner rather than later, so I'm sure you understand my desperation. I would like to do something important with the little time I have left. Defending the Supreme Heir will accomplish that well."

"I see…" Muzazi nodded.

I will be gone from this world sooner rather than later…

Muzazi had known that to be true, but to hear Ash say it so candidly was surprising all the same. Ash del Duran had a reputation for strength -- he'd fought on many a battlefield for the Supremacy -- but his curse, his tragedy, was just as famous. It wasn't spoken of in polite company, but everyone was aware of it.

The Flashfist possessed an unfortunate Aether tic: accelerated aging.

The man sitting across from Muzazi, with that elderly body, was actually in his early thirties. Muzazi didn't know the actual exchange rate of it all, but apparently every second he used Aether translated to a much longer period of time for his body -- hence why he'd pursued the pinpoint path. It was the only way to keep fighting while extending his life as much as possible.

In terms of combat effectiveness, Muzazi couldn't do better. "Very well," he finally said. "Welcome aboard -- but the Heir remains by my side until the very moment it becomes necessary otherwise. Understand?"

"Course," Ash nodded. "At your command, sir."

And between them all, unseen and unheard, Aclima just sat. If she had any qualms about the plans being formed to protect her life, or any bitterness over being treated as an object to be passed around and defended, she did not show it. All she did…

…was clench her fists, and glare down at the floor.

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

Emma stuck her hands into the pockets of her hoodie as she strode across the green grass of Elysian Fields, looking up at the sky. The neon pink above had gone unchanged, even after the second activation. She guessed that they wouldn't really notice anything until the Supremacy tried to touch down.

A smirk rose to her lips as she imagined the scene. Would there be fire on the way down, she wondered?

She stopped outside one of the ammunition warehouses, where Johan and Palmer were waiting. Johan, smoking a Bubble-tinged cigarette, nodded to her as she approached. "You talk to him?" he asked.

Emma nodded. "He said Esmeralda would win."

Johan frowned, flicking his cigarette off into the grass. "He tell you why?"

"I didn't ask."

Johan's frown deepened. "Why not?"

"You didn't tell me to."

With a deep sigh, Johan ran his hand down his face, before glancing down to Palmer. "Thoughts?"

Palmer considered the question as he devoured his rations, his elephantine trunk waving through the air so as to avoid getting in the way of his toothy maw. In contrast to Emma's baggy hoodie and Johan's trenchcoat, Palmer was clad in a simple sweatshirt and shorts, more suited to the beach than the battlefield.

After what felt like an eternity, he put his tray down.

"The boy says that," Palmer grunted, his voice low. "Because he's got trust. It's that kinda thing, you know… looking up to a person. You, uh, you inflate a person. In your head. It ain't nothing. Don't mean a thing. Power wins in a fight like that. Not faith. He's full of shit. Way I see it."

That seemed to be what Johan wanted to hear. He smirked with those scarred lips. "I knew it. Zachariah's nothing but hot air and pretty words. A former lackey like that won't be the one to take down the Supreme." His lips spread further into a grin, and he cocked his rifle-arm. "It'll be me, with my Freikugeln."

Emma watched impassively. No matter how things ended up playing out, someone would die.

That was enough for her.

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

"My Supreme," came the Ascendant-General's voice over the script. "I have an update regarding our landing."

The Supreme shoveled a handful of potato chips into his mouth. "Go ahead, Alex," he spoke, mid-chew. "I'm listening."

He was sat in his quarters, cross-legged on the floor, looking out at the green-and-blue globe of Elysian Fields. Seemed like a nice place -- apparently, Home had once looked like that too. They'd arrived in upper orbit about an hour ago, and the Supreme had been eager to head down, but the bigwigs had insisted on sending down some probes first. It was a real drag.

"At first, we sent down thirty probes to scout out the enemy encampment," Alex said. "All of them were annihilated before they could even get close."

The Supreme raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Oh…?"

"After that, we sent ten probes to infiltrate from the other side of the planet. Same result. Just like the first time, all of them were destroyed simultaneously."

"Again?" the Supreme frowned. "Just the same thing? Boring."

Alex's voice echoed through the vast, smooth room. "We were going to continue testing in this fashion, but then two of Commissioner Caesar's Special Officers acted on their own." The irritation in his voice was obvious. Old Alex Toll had never liked the Special Officers.

"On their own, huh?" the Supreme grinned, raising his beer. "I like it! Shows initiative!"

"They attempted to land on Elysian Fields ahead of the rest of the army. Needless to say, they too were annihilated. Instantly. Death confirmed right after they entered the atmosphere."

"Oh…" the Supreme soberly put his beer down. "Well, that sucks."

"It seems that the terrorists have access to some kind of countermeasure against attempts to enter the atmosphere. With the imaging we've been able to do from orbit, we've confirmed that Regiment RED are present, but beyond that we're still in the dark. I'm afraid that attempting to land right now would be foolhardy, my Supreme."

The Supreme uncrossed his legs, laying back on the floor and looking up at the ceiling, hands behind his head. That same smile was still twisting his face.

"Heheheh…" he chuckled lightly. "No worries, no worries. I've been waiting a good while for a bash like this, Alex. I can wait a little longer. Let me know when we're good to go."

"Yes, my Supreme."

The call clicked off.

Ah… Zachariah…

The Supreme grinned, still looking up at the dark ceiling above. This really was great. They hadn't even landed on the planet yet, and they were already having tricks like this thrown at them? It made him tingle in anticipation when he thought about what might be waiting on the planet itself.

Oh, that gave him an idea.

"Guess I can't work Alex too hard," he sighed, picking himself up off the floor. "Imaging and probes and all that stuff… there's really no need, now that I think about it. I'll just take a quick look for myself."

He cracked his neck, and stretched his legs. It had been a little while since he'd done this. He vaguely wondered if he'd lost his touch… but then he just laughed again.

As if that would ever happen.

Aether ping.

Golden light flooded the chamber.

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

A wave of Aether, spread out so thin to be nearly invisible, crawled out from the stars and wrapped itself around Elysian Fields. Half the planet was within its range -- more than enough to taste the encampment of Regiment RED. Tiny sparks spread out as Aether instinctively responded to Aether.

Dragan took in a sharp breath.

Ruth's eyes jerked open.

Bruno stumbled mid-step.

Serena grabbed the wall to support herself.

Skipper glared up at the sky.

All across the surface of Elysian Fields, two-hundred and nineteen Aether-users felt the eyes of God fall upon them.