Atoy Muzazi, clad in armour of light, watched his good work conclude.

Without a single drop of blood, King's top and bottom halves went flying off in separate direction, flipping through the air, seemingly helpless --

"I see," mused King. "So that is what your sword tastes like… Atoy Muzazi."

-- until they snapped back together.

Kicking off the rooftop, King lunged at Muzazi once more with a metal fist -- and Muzazi twisted his body to block it with Radiant Horizon. Even if Silver Ratio reduced the individual efficacy of each Radiant, packing them together like this would compensate for the difference. The fist collided with the countless blades that covered Muzazi's arm…

…and then, as each and every Radiant flicked out of existence, that fist kept going. It smashed into Muzazi's forearm, shattering the bone, and sent him flying up into the sky. His arm flapping uselessly in the wind, Muzazi frantically ignited more thrusters in an effort to stop his flight, to steady himself -- and he quickly succeeded. He was skilled, after all.

But that didn't mean it wasn't too late.

As Muzazi stopped in the sky, King appeared before him -- the product of insane speed -- arms raised up as if to spike a volleyball.

His fists, however… were missing. No. Muzazi's eyes flicked upwards. He could see them. He could see King's fists.

They were up even higher, severed and thrown with great force, tiny dots in the sky above.

What on earth…?

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

Atoy Muzazi did not know this, but it was possible for a Fusion Tool to have an ability outside of combining with its user. Zarathustra was one such Fusion Tool.

King's ability, Silver Ratio, allowed him to destroy the connections between objects. By destroying the connection between Muzazi and his Radiants, King had now learnt that he could disable them as easily as flicking a switch. That was how he'd easily overcome Radiant Horizon.

Zarathustra's ability was to repair any connection that Silver Ratio had destroyed. Once King combined with it, he could command that technique as if it were his own.

It wasn't that Muzazi had cut him in half. King had destroyed the connection in his own torso with Silver Ratio, allowed Muzazi to fly through the gap between his top and bottom halves, and analyzed the structure of his Radiants as they passed through. Then, he had simply used Zarathustra to repair himself.

Now, a similar phenomenon was taking place. King had destroyed the connection between his hands and arms, flinging the manipulators up into the sky. With Zarathustra, he was once again repairing those connections -- and those fists were zooming back down, building up momentum as they went. At the very instant they snapped back into place, King slammed them downwards, right into Atoy Muzazi's chest.

He did not have time to take even a single breath.

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

It was like a meteor falling to the earth.

To an outside observer, Muzazi became a ray of white light, a sonic boom pounding out as he crashed directly into the great Cathedral at Pangloss' heart. A great geyser of debris, stone and glass, flew up -- the remnants of the Cathedral's west wing -- demolished utterly by the introduction of Atoy Muzazi. Very few people in the galaxy could have survived such a blow.

Luckily, Atoy Muzazi was one of them. But that was all the luck he was getting.

He lay there, body screaming in pain, at the center of the Cathedral. Broken stained glass had sliced at his skin, and shattered stone had battered his body. He knew without checking that now he'd broken far more than just his arm. When he breathed, it didn't feel right at all.

All around him, looking down, were statues of the Seven Spearmen -- the bringers of the apocalypse in Superbian scripture. How appropriate. With the parts of his body he still had confidence in, Muzazi began picking himself up…

Thump.

… when he was interrupted by the sound of someone landing behind him. Slowly, he turned his head.

"Still alive? You do yourself credit."

In the broken window, silhouetted by the flashing red lightning of the growing storm, stood King. In sheer contrast to Muzazi, he bore not a single scratch on his body. Alarm rose to the forefront of the Full Moon's brain -- now that he thought about it, had he managed to land a single blow against this man?

Anxiety he hadn't felt in a long time crawled through Muzazi's lungs. He'd considered this man a particularly strong mercenary, but what he'd seen so far went far beyond that. When he looked at King now, he got the same feeling he'd got when he'd seen the Contenders. Not just from his strength, but from the way he stood, carried himself.

Muzazi's bleeding hand curled around a jagged blade of broken glass, pulling it out of his side.

Just who was this man?

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

The Shesha

The Very Center of the Universe

Supremacy Space

One Hundred Years Ago…

Levis bowed low, white hair brushing against the floor, as the man as good as god elevated him.

At the edge of his vision, Levis saw it -- a golden sword of light. First, it tapped against his right shoulder, then his left. It barely even qualified as contact, but Levis could feel the power flowing into him, strands of gold peeling off the blade and winding into his body. Even his breathing seemed to grow stronger as he kneeled there.

Levis. He had no surname -- no family to give him one, nor any interest in claiming one. The boy of fourteen had already decided he would be known only by his deeds. He’d been carrying them out as a wanderer, righting wrongs where he found them. Names and titles were unnecessary.

He would accept only this one, granted by the Supreme himself.

Levis of the Purity looked up as the ceremony concluded, the Supreme retracting the Hero-Light as he took a step back. The leader of the Supremacy was a tall and stoic man, golden Aether crawling through his long dark hair and glinting behind his Cogitant-blue eyes. The plate armour he wore was just as radiant as his Aether -- and it glowed, bright enough that the massive halls of the Shesha were enveloped in light wherever he went.

"That's it?" Levis asked, looking up at the Supreme.

The Supreme raised an amused eyebrow as he returned to his throne. "You expected more?" he asked.

Chuckles sounded out from some of his new comrades in attendance. Levis looked back down at the floor, face quickly turning red. He'd forgotten his place already -- a bad habit. To talk back to the Supreme…

"I don't like ceremony," the Supreme said honestly. "Even this is a little too much for me."

He held out a finger from his gauntlet and allowed a merefly to land there. The insect shook the moisture from its wings, clicking in contentment. This throne room was cultivated like a garden, teeming with life even when it would become inconvenient. Indeed, more than a few of the merefly's fellows buzzed around Levis' sweat soaked hair as he knelt down.

The Supreme continued: "The thing that matters to me is the action actually taken, not how you dress it up or justify it. I don't care if a person is saved by carrying them out of a fire or pulling them out of the water or stopping the person trying to kill them. All I care about is that the person is saved."

It was strange. When Levis had been told the Supreme had wanted to meet him, had wanted to reward him for his heroic deeds, he'd expected a more intimidating person. A man of stone, to be sure.

But he seemed bizarrely ordinary. His voice wavered as he talked, as if he wasn't fully confident in the words he was saying. Even that golden armour of his seemed to be just a little too big on him.

You'd think him a fraud, if not for the resolve in his eyes.

"You are Levis of the Purity now," the Supreme said firmly. "That is the result I am interested in. The Purity will grant you complete immunity from all attacks that target the inside of your body. It's a hallowed temple. Your other abilities will of course experience a significant boost as well. That is the contract we three have made -- you, I, and the Hero-Light."

The light shifted over the Supreme's face, and he smiled softly.

"In exchange… show me great things, Levis. I expect it of you."

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

When Levis had been called to join the Supreme's Heroes of Form, the sixteen warriors dedicated to upholding truth and justice within the Supremacy, even he had his doubts. He'd heard talk of their virtue, their mighty deeds, their strength of character… but a tiny part of him had always resisted believing it. Such people couldn't exist, surely. Their universe wasn't one that permitted such unrepentant goodness.

But he was proven wrong, and wrong, and wrong, and wrong.

On Aliasa, he joined forces with Jail of the Stoicity and saved a colony from a horde of Walking Churches.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

On Werghio, he worked with the famous twins -- Gala of the Ferocity and Pippa of the Fidelity -- to evacuate citizens before a meteor strike.

On Mer-fu-ren, he and Shinji of the Necessity cut down countless pirates and rescued the captives they had taken.

Again, and again, and again, they corrected wrongs. In time this would come to be known as the Golden Age of the Supremacy -- but the Supreme himself would never accept that. His work was never done.

"So long as someone out there is suffering," he once said wistfully, looking over the remnants of the battlefield. "Our world is far from golden."

And with those words, even Levis had been forced to admit…

…such people did exist.

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

The Shesha was alive with the sound of screaming.

Levis sprinted down the hallway, sweat pouring down his face -- the usually brightly-lit environment now dark and foreboding. Sweat was not the only thing he'd been covered with. Blood, vivid and crimson, coated one side of his body. It had belonged to Pippa of the Fidelity.

Loyal Pippa. Dutiful Pippa. She had tried to save her Supreme, and the fruit of her efforts now stung at Levis' nose and crawled across his tongue. Incoherent targetless sobs poured from Levis' throat as he ran, childishness he thought he'd abandoned rearing its head once again.

At least she had tried.

Coward. Coward. Coward. Coward. Coward.

The words he told himself seemed to bounce off the walls, whispered by unseen judges in the dark. His arms hurt. His legs hurt. How dare he complain of pain? At least he was alive. At least he hadn't been eaten.

The images flashed through his mind over and over again.

That man breaking into the throne room. His face like a toad, his pupils black as night, his bloody teeth spread out into an ecstatic grin. The Supreme rising to face him. The Supreme… falling. The Supreme being eaten… devoured… torn limb from limb…

…the warped Supreme floating behind his new master, awakened and brought to heel, shining with an eerie red light. His flayed form wrapped in chains. His blinded eyes stabbed by nails. His twisted body writhing.

And then the running.

He had to get away. He had to help. He had to get away. He had to help. He had to… he had to… he didn't know what to do. He wanted to live. Could he live? Was it even acceptable for him to live, when he'd run past so many corpses? His comrades… his friends… half-eaten and thrown away.

Was it alright for him to even keep breathing?

The tears stung at his eyes to such a degree that he didn't even notice the woman until she planted a hand on his shoulder. Screaming, he whirled around -- slipping on blood, collapsing to the floor, holding his hands up in a vain attempt to protect his face. Slowly, when no killing blow came, he peeked out from between his fingers.

Yerha of the Authority was out of breath as well, her hands on her knees, her face a bright red. The older woman ran a hand over her shaved scalp as she stood up, supporting herself against the wall. She was covered in blood as well -- and not all of it belonged to other people.

She'd been hit.

"You always were fast," she rasped, blinking rapidly. "Did anyone else get away?"

Levis shook his head, his throat aching with held-back tears. "No…" he whispered. "Everyone else… everyone else who was in the throne room… I think they're dead… who was that? Who is that person?!"

The demon who'd torn down the Golden Age. The cannibal who'd ripped the hero apart. The monster who'd devoured Levis' life.

"I guess… that's the new Supreme…" Yerha said bitterly, slumping down to the ground.

Levis shook his head, rising to his feet on trembling legs. "No!" he said. "No! We -- we can get away, we can… put together a plan, think of something, take him out! Avenge everyone!"

Yerha seemed to consider it for a moment… but then she took her hand away from her stomach, stared at the blood dripping from between her fingers, and smiled ruefully.

"I don't think that's happening, kid…" she said. "Besides… getting away is easier said than done."

"What do you mean?" Levis asked, trembling.

"That glutton's ability…" Yerha sighed, her breath heavy and bled. "...I don't know the particulars, but it looks like he gains control over the Aether of those he eats. He ate G… he ate the Supreme, right?"

Levis' eyes widened. "Right…" his voice trailed off -- he'd already followed the train of thought to its awful final station.

Yerha nodded. "He's got the Hero-Light, then -- we're all connected to the Supreme through it. There's no shortage of nasty things he could do to us with that connection."

"But…" Levis grasped at straws. "I-If he could do that, we'd be dead already!"

"Only because he thinks he might get the chance to eat us too if he lets us run around. As soon as he figures that ain't happening, he'll get rid of us. Straight away."

"But… but…" Levis paced back and forth, hands clawing at the air desperately. "There has to be something we can do!"

That sad smile returned to Yerha's pale lips, and she turned her head towards the ground. "There is, kid…" she mumbled. "...and that's why I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

There was a moment of silence -- and in that moment, Yerha suddenly looked up at Levis, her eyes flaring a psychedelic purple. Immediately, he felt the pull of her ability -- the Authority. Inviolable mental orders she could give to those beneath her in a chain of command.

Draw your sword.

Levis was powerless to resist. By the time the idea of resistance occurred, the weapon was already in his hand. It was like an alien blade, moving independently of his will.

"Yerha!" he cried, looking at the treacherous sword. "What are you doing?!"

"The only way to break your connection to the Hero-Light…" Yerha whispered, very nearly gone. "...is to make you incompatible with it… I'm sorry…"

Levis knew what would happen next. He opened his mouth, even though he knew it would be useless. He spoke, even though he knew it would be pointless. He screamed, even though he knew it would be worthless.

"STOP!"

Kill me.

Purity was the twin of innocence -- and as that sword plunged into Yerha's stomach, held by Levis' unwilling hands… they died together.

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

Ocean Hate

Floating City of Pangloss (Abandoned)

Supremacy Space

Present Day…

Muzazi's eyes narrowed.

It didn't matter who this man was. Where his skill and power had come from was irrelevant. All that mattered was that he was aligned against Muzazi. All that mattered was that he was Muzazi's enemy.

Back on Elysian Fields, he'd decided that he'd never show his back again. That resolve hadn't changed.

White Aether flowed out through Muzazi's hand into the firm floor below -- and from there, it ran into the looming statues of the Spearmen. As one, their stone spears burst upwards, propelled by thrusters, dust spilling from the statues' now-empty hands. Like rockets, they zoomed upwards towards the shattered roof, beams of light blazing from the base of each weapon.

No doubt King understood that Muzazi was enacting some plan. He chose not to engage with it, lunging instead at Muzazi directly -- seeking to eliminate the source of the attack before the results could make themselves known. His wooden fingers cracked in the air as he bore them, ready to gouge at flesh.

Too slow. If there was one attribute Muzazi knew he was unmatched in, it would be his speed.

With another blast of white, Muzazi too was launched upwards, with speed and force that left caution to the wind.

King was Muzazi's natural enemy -- that much was clear now. With a single touch, he could dispel any of Muzazi's thrusters. Radiants would therefore be completely useless, no matter what form they took.

However… King couldn't cancel out the momentum the thrusters had already created.

Three spears zooming in from above. A fourth maneuvered through the confessionals, seeking to impale King's side. The fifth looped around the outside of the church, re-entering through a shattered window and lancing at King's shoulder. The sixth speared forth head-on, occupying King's immediate attention.

Six deadly blows closing in from six different directions. Even so, Muzazi had no doubt that King would dodge them. He had already proven that he was capable of such a feat… that was why each and every one of those six spears was nothing but a distraction.

A distraction for the seventh, clutched in Muzazi's own hand.

While the spears crashed inwards, throwing up dust from their movements, Muzazi weaved through the chaos -- appearing right to the side of King as he raised his fists to deflect the first weapon. It was a perfect opening. Even with that Fusion Tool body of his, being impaled would surely be debilitating.

Muzazi thrust the spear forward and -- a white bird flew in front of him.

It was King's bird. The parakeet that he'd sent away at the start of the fight. It had surely shown up now because King was in danger. It was no ordinary bird. It was on King's side. It had appeared because it somehow had the ability to assist King. So there was no reason to hesitate. Strategically, there was no reason at all to hesitate.

Atoy Muzazi knew all that. It crossed his mind in an instant. But his eyes saw something uninvolved in this fight appear, and his hands…

The bird tweeted, and red Aether sparked.

…hesitated.

King's fist slammed into Muzazi's jaw.

The attack was incomprehensible. The bird had let out that shrill sound, King had thrust his arm forward towards the flying spears… and Muzazi had been hit. A tear in space opening between King's fist and Muzazi's face. A wormhole ability… but not King's.

It wasn't his Aether, after all.

As the crimson Aether sparked around the parakeet once again, more wormholes opened -- deflecting each and every one of the spears before they could reach King. He jabbed his fist forward again into empty space, and again it struck Muzazi. The wooden fist slammed into the swordsman's stomach, doubling him over and forcing bile from his throat.

King's voice was cold as the bird landed on his shoulder.

"Courtesy of the Absurd Weapons Lab."

Another punch. Muzazi went flying backwards.

"Did you think you'd become ruthless, Atoy Muzazi?"

A kick from empty space, striking Muzazi in the side and striking him into the ground.

"Did you believe yourself cold? Because you'd bent the rules a tad? Did you think you'd abandoned that pride?! You just passed up the easiest of victories for the sake of it! Don't make me laugh!"

Another punch. Muzazi went down hard as an unforeseeable fist cracked into the top of his skull.

"Just because you became the tiniest bit more tarnished," King snarled, seizing Muzazi by the collar and tossing him across the Cathedral. "You thought yourself blackened?! Then why not throw away those ideals of yours?! Because you still thought yourself a hero -- didn't you, Atoy Muzazi?!"

Muzazi lay there in a heap, his breathing ragged, his body bloodsoaked… and the King stood over him. Despite his present lack of facial features, fury radiated from the old man. He flipped the spear he now held in his hand, pointing it down at his prone opponent.

The next words he said were soft, barely audible amidst the storm crashing down on the Cathedral.

"Don't you realize…" he said. "...that such people never existed…?"

Without another word, he thrust the spear down -- and the stone blade, bolstered by Aether, pierced Muzazi's stomach like a knife through butter. Strength had abandoned the swordsman. He could do nothing but widen his eyes. He could do nothing but gasp in pain.

He could do nothing but lie there…

…as his heartbeat came to a sudden and ignoble end.