Bruno barged into the room he'd been provided, the strength already leaving his body -- drained by the night they’d had.
Probably it was quite a nice room. This wasn't a bad hotel, by any means. Ordinarily, a place like this would have been infested by businessmen and rich tourists -- the only reason Atoy Muzazi had been able to get this floor reserved was because of his status as a Dawn Contestant.
Even so, though… Bruno wasn't in a state to appreciate any of this. The cold silence of that throne room still lingered inside his ears. A rejection, or -- even worse -- an absence.
He collapsed face-first onto the bed. It was comfortable. That, at least, he was in a fit state to appreciate.
Serena's voice came out of their shared mouth, muffled by the bedsheets. “Bruno,” she said quietly. “You okay?”
“He wasn't even listening, was he?” Bruno muttered, voice dull. “He wasn't there. He doesn’t care. Why would he be listening?”
“I think he was listening, Bruno. It's like you said… Mr. Dragan wouldn't leave something like that just to chance.”
That made sense. He'd told himself that before, and he told himself that now. It made sense that Dragan would have been monitoring the situation carefully. Was that really true, though, or just something he was desperate to believe?
“Um, Bruno…”
“Yeah?” he replied, eyes closed.
“I didn't know you felt that way about…”
Bruno felt heat rise to his face. “Uh…”
“...about Mr. Skipper. About the crew back then. You really wanted us to leave?”
Bruno was silent for a moment, and then… “Yeah,” he said softly. “I…I didn't think it was going to end well. Any of it.”
“Hm…”
“Hm?”
Serena was silent for a moment, and then… “Well,” she said slowly. “I think maybe you were right about that, Bruno.”
Bruno slowly opened his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Look where we all are,” Serena said simply. “Look what we're all doing. I don't think it ended well. I don't think it ended well at all.”
Bruno lay there, on the bed, limbs tangled beneath him like a gaggle of snakes. A bitter smile rose to his lips. What a strange sensation: to realize the life you live now is the failure of a distant dream.
Damnit. Goddamnit.
“Is this a bad time?” asked Atoy Muzazi.
Bruno's head snapped up. The Full Moon stood there awkwardly in the doorway, hands clasped in front of him, looking down at Bruno with those cold grey eyes. Had he really gotten so close without them noticing? Bruno felt a chill go down his spine. They were slipping.
“What is it?” he asked.
Muzazi stepped into the room, eyes fixed on the window -- and the night outside. “I just finished speaking with Morgan. He says you performed well during the operation.”
Bruno shrugged. “It's not like we got the chance to do much.”
“Dorothy Eiro's intervention was…” Muzazi considered his words. “... unexpected, yes. But you did face a Branch of the Tree of Might on my behalf. For that, you have my gratitude.”
“It was self-defense,” Bruno glared at him. “Don't go thinking I went after him for your sake or anything.”
Muzazi frowned. “You seem determined not to have me warm to you. Is there a reason for that?”
“I'm not the biggest fan of the Supremacy,” Bruno snapped, his smashed hands twitching reflexively. “And even ignoring all the bullshit three years ago, you're looking to become Supreme -- so I'm not the biggest fan of you, either.”
Muzazi paced around the bed as he spoke. “What if I told you I wish to change the Supremacy, to make it a definitive force for good?”
Bruno sighed. It was always the same dream, wasn't it?
I wanna change the shape of this world.
“Can't be done,” Bruno said simply.
Muzazi stopped his pacing, looking down at Bruno. “You sound quite certain of that.”
Reluctantly, he produced words. “The Supremacy is a force of domination by definition,” Bruno elaborated, looking back up at him. “If it can't stamp down others, it can't exist. It's like trying to turn a sword into a tool for non-violence. Can't happen.”
“A blade can be used for eating just as much as war.”
“Yeah, and any second I can pick up the knife and stab you over the dinner-table,” Bruno snapped. “Only thing that's changing is the set-dressing. The actual blade doesn't change.”
“But if the blade is made dull…”
Bruno raised an eyebrow. “That's not changing it. That's breaking it.”
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Muzazi stood there quietly for a moment. And, then: “It seems we won't agree on this matter.”
“It seems we won't.”
“All the same,” the Full Moon straightened up, hand grasping momentarily for the hilt of a sword that was not here. “You made me an offer before this operation -- and I'm now ready to give you an answer to that offer.”
Bruno's other eyebrow joined the first. “Yeah…?”
Muzazi nodded. “Yes. If you can help me reach the finals of the Dawn Contest, I will help you find Ruth Blaine and clear her name. And… there is Dragan Hadrien. You fight for his sake as well, don't you?”
Slowly, Bruno nodded.
Muzazi took a deep breath. “I will do… all I can… not to kill him.”
Bruno was silent for a moment.
And then.
“Okay,” he nodded. “I think I can work under those terms… ‘boss’.”
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image [https://i.imgur.com/KmWoNFX.png]
The news came in overnight. PALATINE was free.
The Aether Awakening had broken free of its containment facility, escaped into the city, and slaughtered its upcoming opponent -- Mariner Thirteen, plucked from traffic and shredded in public. Right after doing so, the Flower of Evil had slipped into the shadows, and not been seen since.
Under any other circumstances, this would have been a terrible tragedy -- but during the Dawn Contest? Just another victory. The fever of battle had already infested the population. Security forces were searching for the rogue Awakening, but everyone already knew: it would only appear again when it pleased.
Soon enough, the news of the rampage had already faded to a buzzing in the background. As the sun rose, the people already had a new battle to look forward to. One with human faces, one with human souls, one they could truly -- truly -- sink their teeth into.
Atoy Muzazi versus Dorothy Eiro.
----------------------------------------
They were waiting at Dorothy's apartment when she got home. Men in dark suits and masks, standing outside her door, official and inflexible -- as if she were the intruder here.
One nodded to her as she approached, gesturing towards the door with a hand. “He's waiting for you,” the guard said, voice warped into menace by his mask.
Dorothy sighed. She'd been expecting something like this. To be honest, she was surprised they'd even waited this long. Without giving the guards another glance, she stepped forth through the door, her face already grim. It was like she’d stepped back in time.
The Third Minister stood waiting for her in her lounge.
He hadn’t changed since the last time they’d met in person. Short brown hair and a calm, placid smile beneath seemingly-tired dark eyes. ‘Seemingly’ was the key word. Fatigue didn’t exist behind those dark eyes. As far as Dorothy could tell, very little did. He nodded to her as she entered her own home.
One of the Three Wise Men. One of the true powers behind the Supremacy.
“Welcome,” he said, in that kindly voice of his. “Do you wanna take a seat?”
Dorothy crossed her arms. “No.”
The plastic smile didn’t so much as twitch. “Well, here’s someone who wants to get right down to it. Kinda anxious to get to it, huh?”
“No.”
“Have you been keeping healthy? I’ve seen you on the videograph, of course, and in other places -- but people can hide sickness pretty easily, can’t they?”
“Yes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you’re keeping healthy, or yes, people can hide sickness pretty easily? I don’t know which one of those you were answering. Could you let me know?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he snorted. “I sure walked right into that one, huh? More fool me.”
She said nothing. She glared at him.
This was a man -- this was a force -- that she wouldn’t yield anything to. The Three Wise Men would have to fight hard to get more than single-word responses out of her. The Ministers at the head of the Body -- the bureaucrats who truly controlled the movements of the Supremacy -- had pulled her strings once already, for a very long time. She knew the dangers of showing any weakness, any weakness at all, to men like them.
That was a path that ended with a red sword, and far too many promises to hold on one back.
“It makes me sad that you seem to think we parted on such bitter terms,” the Third Minister said, hands behind his back, his eyes half-lidded. “That’s not how I remember the situation at all. You wished to leave our service to return to the duties of a normal Special Officer, and we chose to allow that. It was perfectly amicable on both sides.”
She said nothing. She glared at him.
“Is there a reason you’re feeling this way now?” the Third Minister asked, taking a step closer. “If I recall, at the time, you were mumbling and keeping your eyes on the ground, yet now you seem to be brimming with confidence. It’s wonderful to see a person come into their own, but I can’t help but wonder if maybe you’ve misinterpreted the past a little as a result?”
She said nothing. She glared at him.
“This isn’t a monologue, you know. You’re free to respond.”
Fine.
“What do you want?” she hissed.
The Third Minister’s smile widened, just a tad, and a shudder of revulsion went down Dorothy’s spine. In some small way, she’d given ground to him. She knew that would have made his heart dance.
“I wanted to congratulate you,” he replied, taking another step closer. “On your victories in the previous round… and the victories I’m sure are yet to come. You’re in fine form… but then again, you always are, aren’t you? Even restricting yourself to just your voice, you’ve achieved such fantastic results. We’re really happy for you.”
She said nothing. She glared at him.
“So happy, in fact…” he took another step closer -- until he was looming over her, that kindly smile still on his face. “...that we wanted to make sure you understood that we still hold friendly feelings towards you -- and we’d certainly be happy to see you as Supreme.”
He put a hand on her shoulder, cold and overbearing.
“I, especially, would be happy to see you ascend, Dorothy.”
His thumb brushed against her neck. He leaned in closer. The room pressed in, suffocating.
She said nothing. She glared at him -- but now the glare was different. Now it was a glare from years ago. Now it was a glare that held the promise of a red sword. The Third Minister seemed to get the message, and quickly released his grip. Even so, though, his smile didn’t waver.
Perhaps he’d already gotten what he wanted. Perhaps he’d regret that.
Her glare didn’t soften in the slightest -- if anything, it only grew sharper. The room just continued to become colder and colder. In response, the dark pupils of the Third Minister began to rapidly vibrate, such that they almost seemed to split in two. The tiniest migraine began to lurk in the back of Dorothy’s skull.
She parted her lips, just slightly: “Planning to use your Killing Engine on me?”
The vibration stopped, and the headache faded. The Third Minister’s smile faded with it. “No. It’d be an error on my part, and besides… I’m unsure if it would even work on a master of infusion such as yourself.”
Damnit. He got me to talk to him.
She blinked, slowly. “I’d like for you to leave now.”
“Of course,” the Third Minister replied, thoroughly satisfied. “Good luck on your match tomorrow.”
Humming to himself, he brushed past her and strolled out of the door, hands once again clasped behind his back. The door slid shut behind him. Dorothy stood there for a good, long moment -- listening to the guards outside leave -- before she allowed herself to let out a long, shuddering breath of relief.
Dorothy took a step forward -- and then immediately stopped. The Third Minister had left something behind for her. There, lying on the coffee table, was a single black feather.
She took a deep breath.
“Burn.”
The flames seized hold of the past, and quickly devoured it.