Sweat trickled down the chin of the one who called themself the Crown.
The Interstellar Museum of Supremacist History was considered one of the great wonders of Azum-Ha. A massive complex, full of relics from both the Supremacy’s own history and the countless planets they had enlightened over the centuries. The place saw thousands of visitors every day -- a useful smokescreen when one was trying to avoid the reaper.
The place was air conditioned to within an inch of its life, and yet right now it still felt like a sauna.
The Crown walked from exhibit to exhibit -- from a holographic reproduction of the Dranell Breaches to an obsidian statue of the First Supreme. The Legend of the Supreme Exhibit was spread across five levels -- the walkways above hosting even more artifacts and articles. The Crown had made their rounds through this place several times already. Their wandering was aimless, more for the sake of not staying still than anything else. A moving target was more difficult to hit.
Even without their obvious anxiety, the Crown would have stood out. The black bodysuit they wore, with gold trimmings along the joints, was hardly subtle. The golden visor atop to their head, stylised to look like their namesake, boosted their vision to an epiphanic degree -- and yet, right now, they saw nothing of the threat they were watching for. The only part of their skin visible was the bottom half of their face, and it was pale as snow.
They knew, after all, that death was coming… that death was hunting them. More specifically, the King of Killers, Nael Manron, was hunting them.
Since the night's events at the Arena of the Absolute had come to an end, the assassin had been on what could only be described as a rampage. The Crown’s fellow Contestants, Zhubis Rune and Billy Ogden had been slain in these dark few hours -- whether ambushed or honorably defeated, the Crown could not say. The dismembered bodies told no tales.
What they did know was that they would be on that list too. It was only a matter of time before the King of Killers paid them a visit.
They weren't the only one who'd come to that conclusion. As the Crown passed by a display case containing the Skull of Granba -- four empty sockets shining an eerie green -- he spied his temporary ally through the glass on the other side. Helena Athena Lux. The Cogitant seemed a reasonable woman.
Her short white hair was covered by a black flatcap, and she clutched a bulky and conspicuous antique camera in her hands. The sharp waistcoat and bright red tie she was wearing didn't do much to stop her from standing out, either. Then again, the Crown couldn't very well talk -- and besides, all of that was a fool's errand anyway.
They were Dawn Contestants, after all: they'd long since lost the right to go unrecognized.
According to the tournament bracket, they'd be fighting against each other tomorrow, but for the time being they'd decided it was best to work together to repel the King of Killers.
The Crown put their script to their ear. “Anything on your end?”
“No,” Helena's husky voice came back. “Maybe he's skipped us?”
The Crown shook their head, putting their back against the wall. “No way. Both Zhubis Rune and Billy Ogden are dead -- we're next on the list. I'd bet you anything he'll be trying to wipe this bracket clean.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“You saw that first match, same as me,” the Crown replied, eyes flicking through the crowd. “Xander Rain was definitely in league with that Dragan Hadrien guy. You think he's the only one?”
“You think Manron's working for him too?”
“Makes sense to me,” the Crown said. “Hadrien wants to make his way through the bracket without fighting, right? I don't know if he can avoid battling Paradise Charon, but he wants to get our section out of the picture so he can score a free win near the end.”
“You're sure about that?”
The Crown frowned in annoyance. They had served in the Supremacy military for some years before beginning their preparations for the Contest -- this level of chatback was something they very much weren’t used to. “I was using my ability when I figured this out,” they said. “So, yeah -- I'm pretty damn sure. Anything feel off to you?”
“No. Maybe the plan worked? This place is a galactic treasure. Not even the King of Killers would dare attack here.”
“Hm.”
That didn't check out. The Crown had done a little research on Nael Manron. From what had been observed of him since he'd appeared on the scene two years ago, he didn't seem like the type to balk at attacking a place like this. Besides, he was from a Lilith World if you believed the stories -- the savage probably didn't even understand the significance of this place.
They made their brain the King again, enjoying the sudden rush of information and calculation. Possibilities balanced against each other, scenarios simulated, loose threads pulled, until…
“Hm.”
“Hm?” Helena shot back. “What's ‘hm’?”
Their body became the King again, a glowing golden crown symbol appearing between their shoulder blades. “We're already surrounded,” they muttered into their script, as casually as they could. “Members of the Crimson Carnival -- they're making sure we stay put until Manron gets here. If we move now, we can break free, but --”
A spindly man stepped up towards the Crown from out of the crowd, holding up a script of his own. “Excuse me, excuse me!” he chirped excitedly, his grin wide. “Are you the Crown? You are, aren't you?! I'm a huge fan! Could you --”
The Crown pulled out their pistol and blew his head off.
The corpse collapsed to the floor, smoke rising from the stump of his neck -- and the museum exploded into panic, the crowds suddenly surging past to avoid the sudden violence. The few who didn't make a rush for the exits were security automatics… and the assassins.
A supposed security guard whipped off his blue cap, revealing a gnarled face of protruding fangs and crystallized eyes. “Guardian Entity!” he screamed. “Jarzhi Devil!”
He leapt into the air, and his beast appeared beneath him, ready to be mounted. It was a hideous creature, like a horse with human skin pulled taut over it, so taut you could see the skeleton pushing against its restraints. As it sprinted towards the Crown, it passed the security automatics -- and they slumped onto the ground, thoroughly deactivated.
Some kind of EMP?
The Crown rolled out of the way as the Jarzhi Devil galloped through -- the beast tore apart a priceless painting of the Fall of Azum before turning back to its prey. Steaming saliva dropped from its mouth, which grinned wide with all-too-human teeth. Barbed hooves dug greedily into the ground.
The next voice came from behind the Crown.
“Guardian Entity…” they wheezed. “Mothman…”
A little boy in a floral shirt -- no, not a little boy, a tiny old man -- who'd been hiding in the corner of the room. A faceless humanoid figure with baggy grey skin materialized behind him, spreading glowing green wings from its back. The Crown whirled around with their pistol, ready to take this new enemy out immediately, but --
Click.
-- no dice. The gun wouldn't fire.
Mothman whipped its wings forward -- and countless tiny green scales flew towards the Crown. For just an instant, they made their mind the King again, and understood the form of this attack. Those scales were tiny blades, ready to shred through the Crown's skin on impact.
“Lux!” the Crown roared, right before the attack made impact. “Do it!”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
They'd discussed their strategy beforehand, of course -- how they'd use their abilities to support each other when the attack came. Now, though? Now was the moment of truth. Would Helena follow through on their agreement, or would she betray in the hopes of getting her opponent killed off early?
“Age Shift,” Helena said calmly. “Safe for Kids.”
It seemed they'd chosen an honest partner.
The Crown was indeed sent flying backwards by the barrage of scales, but not a single one of them cut through their skin -- instead bouncing off harmlessly. They flipped through the air, landing on an antique chandelier high above, hanging onto the side of it as they looked down at the room. A few seconds to think were invaluable, especially when their mind was the King.
Helena Athena Lux had two abilities -- but the one she'd just used, Age Shift, was the better for defense. Once she'd captured a subject with her camera, she could change the ‘age-rating’ associated with it. Apparently, videographs rated Safe for Kids in the UAP didn't allow visible blood, so the blades had been unable to draw blood from the Crown.
Blunt force was still a factor, though. The Crown winced from the aftereffects of the scales slamming into them. They'd have to be careful.
The Crown's own ability, also called The Crown, allowed them to designate various aspects of themself as the King. Once they'd done so, their Aether would scan the surrounding area and boost that aspect of themself until it exceeded everyone else in the vicinity. If their body was King, they'd be the physically strongest in the room. If it was their mind, they'd be the smartest. So long as their Aether could handle the required level of enhancement, it was absolute.
They were well prepared for most threats -- in theory. Time to put that to the test.
After that Jarzhi Devil had shown up, both the automatics and the Crown's gun had stopped working. Less an EMP, then, and more an ability that disabled any technology past a certain point of advancement? If so, getting rid of him was the priority.
Again, the Crown's body became the King -- and they leapt down at the Jarzhi Devil’s user. “Lux!” they roared. “X-Re Rating on the horse!”
If Age Shift could prevent damage, it could also amplify it. In the UAP, X-Re was the most extreme indecency rating a production could be marked with. X was already the highest real rating, and the Re meant that even that was under review -- in short, the work was likely to be banned outright in the near future. Needless to say, one of the factors that contributed to this…
The Crown slammed their fist into the user's arm.
…was excessive gore.
The user screamed out in terror as his arm exploded from the contact, newly formed guts and entrails spilling from the wound. He was killed instantly, needless to say -- and as he fell off his dissipating Guardian Entity, his body collapsed in on itself further from the mild impact with the floor. A single punch and a fall to the ground made him look like he'd gone through a car compactor.
A sight as gruesome as that would have made most people vomit, but they didn't have time for such luxuries.
The instant the Jarzhi Devil vanished, the Crown pointed their gun at the tiny old man again -- firing the hand-cannon three times in quick succession. The first shot reduced the man's right arm to pulp, but the Mothman blocked the second and third with quick slashes of its razor-sharp wings.
Even as the wreckage of his arm twitched and bled, the old man didn't so much as flinch. His eyes were wide as saucers, though, and saliva was slowly oozing down his chin. Was he high on something?
The Mothman flapped its wings again, scales spinning around it in a miniature tornado. A defensive move -- but that was no problem. The old man hadn't moved since this had all started, even when dodging would have been to his advantage.
There was a reason for that. The scales that the Mothman had fired off earlier were still lingering in the air, like deadly snowflakes. If the old man touched them, they'd cut him up just as much as anyone else.
The Crown went to open their mouth, to give another order -- but there was no need. Helena Athena Lux wasn't blind, after all. She'd seen the exact same thing.
“Genre Shift!” she cried out, the lens of her camera crackling with gray-scale Aether. “Slapstick Comedy!”
No doubt the old man thought she was about to fire some sort of projectile from that camera of hers. No doubt that was why he concentrated the scales in more dense waves around him. No doubt that was why he adjusted his footing.
But there was also no doubt… that he did not notice the banana peel that was suddenly right between his feet.
The result was obvious. With a cartoonish whoosh sound, the old man went head over heels, sent flying into his own storm of blades. The Crown found themself distinctly reminded of a blender.
They caught their breath, the Crown and Helena Athena Lux, accompanied only by the corpses and a blaring distant alarm. Obviously, this wouldn’t be the end of their long night. The Crimson Carnival was on them, and even if it seemed like Manron himself wasn't --
“So,” Manron said from above. “Those are your abilities.”
The Crown snapped their head up, their blood suddenly running cold. Nael Manron stood just outside a broken skylight on the ceiling, that red fur coat flapping around him, his crimson eyes cold as they regarded their prey. When had he gotten here? Long enough to observe the battle, obviously. All of that… had just been one last bit of reconnaissance.
Nael Manron, the King of Killers, was a man who fought with the sharpest of weapons. No doubt he was wary of Age Shift.
Nael Manron, the King of Killers, was a man who fought with a body trained to physical perfection. No doubt he was wary of the Crown.
Nael Manron, the second King of Killers, had not earned that title by chance. No doubt… he would choose his path carefully.
Decisively.
“Guardian Entity,” he muttered, dispassionate. “████████.”
----------------------------------------
“Word is that the Azum-Ha Guard has the place surrounded,” Morgan's voice came through over the communicator, barely audible through the deluge. “They're not moving in, of course -- they don't get paid enough to take on the King of Killers -- but they're making sure the civvies stay out.”
“I see,” Muzazi said, rain battering against his face. “Do you think they'd let me in if I showed myself before them?”
“Well, legally they should, but it's a pretty crazy situation. I wouldn't be surprised if it ended up more complicated than that. Finding your own way into the museum's the better way to go.”
“Understood,” Muzazi replied. “I'm moving in now. Make sure you're all in place.”
“But of course.”
The communicator clicked off -- and Muzazi swooped out of the way of an incoming truck, cutting across the skylines as he made a beeline for the museum below. The motorcycle he was riding blazed with its own thrusters as well as the ones Muzazi had added, parts of the paintwork wearing away from the sheer speeds he was pushing it to.
There were skylights on the roof of the museum. Once he'd determined this was Nael Manron's location, Jamilu had provided Muzazi with blueprints of the building. How he'd gotten them, Muzazi couldn't say, but he doubted it was through legitimate means.
Even if they were working together for the time being… those two were Nebula of the UAP, and Muzazi was a Special Officer of the Supremacy. Sworn enemies.
Beep. Beep. Chirp.
Muzazi cast an annoyed glance to the side as the Emerald Eyes caught up with him. Small camera automatics, their lenses shining a bright green, bobbing and weaving around each other as they pursued Muzazi relentlessly. A similarly green light pulsed within Muzazi's wrist.
Upon registration for the Dawn Contest, all contestants received a tracking implant in their wrist. When two contestants marked to fight began to approach each other outside the Arena, the implants detected this and the Emerald Eyes were dispatched -- to ensure the ensuing combat was recorded for the enjoyment of the masses.
So long as they didn't get in the way, Muzazi would tolerate them… he supposed.
The stately building of the Interstellar Museum of Supremacist History, all stone and marble and pillars, grew large in Muzazi's vision. Forget the spectators, it was time. Without hesitation, he leapt off the bike, letting it crash through the skylight below, providing him an entrance as he hovered down with his thrusters.
As he'd expected, the bike didn't reach the museum floor. Before it could, it was suddenly sliced up into countless pieces, the fiery fragments raining down. The silver strings that had cut the vehicle apart coiled in the air like agitated serpents…
…as they ran back to the shamisen held in Nael Manron's hand.
Muzazi had done some research of his own on his first opponent. Both through the records the Phases could find, and through the intelligence the Nebula had provided. Nael Manron fought with one of these Guardian Entity abilities -- namely, that shamisen he used as a weapon, Shamichoro. Each of the strings was as sharp as the most fearsome blade, and Manron could manipulate them freely.
A dangerous ability… he'd have to be careful.
As Muzazi landed atop the walkway on the top level of the room, Manron looked up at him from the bottom. Two bodies lay at his feet. The charred corpse of who could only be Helena Athena Lux, judging from the ruined camera in her hands… and the twitching near-carcass of the Crown. Their stomach had been sliced open and a good trail of their entrails scraped out; it was a wonder they were still alive.
Not a wonder to envy.
Nael Manron narrowed his dull red eyes as he regarded Muzazi. “Full Moon,” he said, voice low and lethargic. “You made it.”
Radiants ignited from both of Muzazi's hands as he prepared himself. “That I did.”
The Emerald Eyes buzzed around at a distance, surrounding the two of them. No doubt countless people were already watching this on the videograph. Even if it didn't take place in the Arena, this was the next match of the Dawn Contest, after all.
Manron cracked his neck as he took a step forward, raising Shamichoro up.
“Well…” he muttered, slinging the instrument over his shoulder. “Time to earn my keep.”