“What are your thoughts on black holes?” Niain asked.
Ruth's gaze snapped from the monitors -- where Dragan and Muzazi had just vanished in a flare of blue Aether -- to the spectre standing before her. She furrowed her brow. “What?”
“Black holes,” Niain repeated, as if she hadn't heard him. “Those two will be gone for a minute or so, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to chat for a bit, haha. Do you dislike idle chatter?”
Ruth narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”
“Right now? Right now I'd like to talk about black holes. I have a fondness for them that I'd love to share with you.”
“How about you tell me how you'd help me kill the Shepherdess, exactly?”
He ignored her.
“Black holes are unlike everything else in this world,” he said dreamily. “In that they're subject to nothing. No matter what kind of sword you have, you can't cut a black hole. No matter what kind of gun you have, you can't shoot a black hole. Even if you were a god of Aether, you're still at the mercy of that inevitable gravity.”
He closed his eyes, smiling fondly as if watching the singularity behind his eyelids.
“Philosophy, morality, history… none of it matters. All of it is pulled in. All of it is devoured. It's like I said… a black hole is subject to nothing, because it is the subject. It's not even a case of the world revolving around it…”
He opened his eyes again, black pupils staring unblinkingly at Ruth.
“...it's just that the whole world is at its mercy. Haha. That's rather admirable… don't you think?”
Ruth blinked. “Huh?”
Niain cocked his head. “Hm?”
“Sorry. I don't get it.”
“I admire black holes because they make the world move according to their rules,” Niain sighed, reluctantly summarising his little monologue. “That's the way a person should live their life. They should treat reality as their putty. If they want something to change, or to break, they should pursue that end without hesitation.”
To change the shape of this world…
Slowly, Ruth nodded. “Okay,” she admitted. “That I understand.”
“Right?” Niain grinned cheerily. “That resolve is something I think we share, Ruth. You want to kill the Shepherdess no matter what. I want to change the shape of this world… no matter what. Just like Skipper.”
Ruth looked up. “What exactly is it you want?” she asked, mouth dry.
“Right now?”
“No,” she snapped. “What do you want?”
Niain nodded solemnly. “Well, it's my belief that the world has taken the wrong path. So long as we're on this path, this atrocious situation is inevitable. Skipper fought wonderfully, but it doesn't really matter if you kill the Supreme. Just look around: it's all accounted for, all part of the machine we live in. I want to break the machine. I want to lead humanity by the hand, back down that path, so we can make the right turn next time.”
“And that's what you want my help with?”
“That's what I want your help with,” Niain smiled. “So… how about it, Ruth Blaine? Will you become my friend?”
He extended a hand. Ruth looked down at it. Just by taking hold of it, she could get what she wanted -- what she needed. Vengeance. Justice. The power to finish what Skipper had started.
Ellis… Alice… Rex…
Ruth reached out --
That last night on Elysian Fields, when they had all sat together under the stars. They'd watched a videograph, they'd chatted, they'd looked up at the shield keeping them from obliteration. They'd known it might be the last time they'd all be together.
Skipper had looked up at the stars back then, too, with such tired eyes.
-- and she took Niain's hand.
The man's smile widened as he clasped his fingers around Ruth's. A shudder went down her spine. His skin was cold as ice.
“You’ve made a good choice, I think,” Niain said. “There's a lot of splendid work we can do together now, haha.”
Ruth nodded, smiling slightly. “Yeah,” she said, shaking his hand. “It's like you said. What you want is what Skipper wanted…”
And then she drove the claws of her other hand through his chest.
She snarled: “Do you really think I'm that stupid, asshole?!”
The moment her claws pierced his body, though, she knew something was wrong. Just like his skin, his insides were freezing, like she'd just plunged her hand into a winter’s sea -- but more than that. There was… movement inside him, things writhing and skittering against her hand, like he was just a man-shaped hive of insects.
And, of course, the thing that was the most wrong about this… was the fact that being stabbed in the chest didn't seem to bother him much at all.
Niain wasn’t smiling anymore. He only sighed, even as a drop of black blood oozed out from the corner of his mouth.
“You know…” he said quietly. “...I really think you might have misjudged the situation.”
Ruth felt a hand brush against her stomach.
“Ahura Mazda.”
----------------------------------------
Alexandrius Toll glared into history.
He sat regally upon a massive chair, looking down at the battle in the arena so many had gathered to see. Rather, that would be what he was doing, only the two contestants had -- unsurprisingly -- decided they didn't care to keep their fight in the constraints of the arena, and had quickly left. So Alexandrius Toll was left watching a videograph monitor. Which he could have done from anywhere.
“Shee-shee…” came an irritating laugh from the other side of the observation booth.
Toll’s golden eyes flicked over to observe the nuisance. For some Y-forsaken reason, the Body had elected to assign both the Ascendant-General and the Commissioner of the Special Officers to the same booth for this final match. A measure to show that the military and the Commission were brothers-in-arms, they'd said.
Bah. Toll knew it was a form of harassment. The bureaucrats had never been fond of him, he knew that. He was someone who had climbed up to his position from the real world, while most of those parasites had been born to their roles.
Let them have their fun, Toll told himself. They'll get theirs eventually.
Toll leaned to the side, whispering into the ear of the commander of his Honest Men. “Any change?”
Pax Telinosh, his face concealed behind a blank white mask, shook his head. “No Deathmarks upon you, sir,” he whispered. There had been controversy when Toll had assigned an Abra-Facadian to his personal guard, but this ability made it worth it.
In a way, though, the fact that there were no Deathmarks was a pity. If someone had tried to assassinate him here, after all, there was a good chance that the Commissioner would have been caught in the crossfire.
“Shee-shee-shee…”
Toll's eyes flicked over again.
The Commissioner of the Special Officers reclined on a seat that looked like it was more for sunbathing than ceremony, hands forming a pillow behind his head.
His black hair stuck up chaotically in every direction, while unkempt stubble peppered the lower half of his face. Like Toll, he was golden-eyed, but he didn't share the Ascendant-General’s absurd size -- if they stood side-by-side, the Commissioner would only come up to Toll's waist. As Toll observed, nose wrinkled in distaste, the Commissioner stretched out his legs and picked up a drink with the hands he had instead of feet.
With the unsightly skill of a contortionist, the Commissioner brought the straw of the drink to his lips and sucked it down greedily.
Zun the Immortal, Commissioner of the Special Officers -- and puppet of the Body. Caesar's designated successor had also been killed on Elysian Fields, and so the Ministers had wasted no time infesting the carcass of the Commission. It hadn't even been a month after her death before they'd put their own man in charge.
Toll had despised the wilful Caesar, but he had also respected her as an opponent in the political arena. This man, though? This man he couldn't stand.
Not because he was a puppet of the Body. Not because he was a cowardly layabout. Not because he was opposed to Alexandrius Toll.
Zun opened his mouth.
“Oh? Did something about me catch your eye, Alexandrius Toll? I couldn’t possibly imagine what it is. My face, or perhaps my posture? It’s not every day you see a man turn himself into a pretzel, but I imagine you see a great many things, don’t you Alexandrius Toll? On the fields of war there must be terminal conclusions far more dramatic than a mere pretzel. Liquidation, for one, or would the term instead be liquefaction? I have to say, I don’t know how the term applies when a human being is involved, but that altogether sounds more proper, wouldn’t you say? To the point, though, I do sincerely doubt that your attention has come from my face or my posture, resplendent as both might be. Shee-shee-shee. No, no, if I had to hazard a guess -- although I would have to also hazard another guess that every guess is a hazard against one such as you, my Ascendant-General -- I would have to wager that it’s my conduct, my behaviour, my decorum that’s caught your baleful eye. Well, while ordinarily I’d feel obligated to defend myself -- a natural human instinct when faced with sudden criticism, perfectly normal -- on this occasion I would find that I have to agree with you, Alexandrius Toll. I mean -- look at me, it’s plain for everyone to see! Even if it wasn’t though, I’m sure you’d be able to spot it with those discerning eyes of yours -- besides, we both know the vision benefits that Aether can confer, shee-shee. But, getting to the point -- as I can see you’re growing impatient, perfectly understandable in your position -- your issue is perfectly valid, assuming that I have surmised your issue correctly, Alexandrius Toll. To say again, look at me! Lounging here like it’s my own mansion -- which it is not, although I like many others would surely be delighted to live in such a place, shee-shee -- eating and drinking with my feet like some kind of animal! Ah, perhaps I chose the wrong turn of phrase, though. There’s an undercurrent of prejudice when comparing the body of a Scurrant like myself to that of an animal, don’t you think? While I cannot deny there is a certain resemblance of the simian variety, to extend that to a judgement of my character is another thing entirely. It’s the tendency of humans -- we humans, if I’m to stake my claim, shee-shee -- to deny humanity to those who are unlike us, often in very superficial ways. I am a Scurrant myself, as I’m sure you can see, but it’s not like I’m immune to that impulse. There’s such a great breadth of difference between us Scurrants on a physical level, and there’re no shortage of invitations for persecution in this world. All we can do as humans, as fellow humans -- when you get right down to it -- is acknowledge the differences between us and choose instead to focus on the heart, the human heart -- in a metaphysical sense, not a physical one, as some rare Scurrants do lack that par-tic-u-lar organ, didn’t you know? Still, though, even putting all of that aside, I do feel some guilt for the situation the two of us have found ourselves in. I hope you don’t take me pointing out Scurrant prejudice to be some sort of indictment of yourself, Ascendant-General. I trust that you have a good human heart, and that you understand the duty of a human being to embrace others. As your great height is quite unusual, at least compared to a ‘baseline’ human -- if there ever was such a thing, shee-shee -- I’m sure you understand what I’m talking about. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. As I have faith in the strength of your character, Ascendant-General, I shall also trust that your criticism of me -- voiced or otherwise -- was entirely based on my conduct, and not on my physical appearance or my body’s morphology. I’m glad that we had the opportunity to understand each other on this occasion and I’ll do my best to take your feedback into account, but in the event that I don’t, Ascendant-General? Please feel free to call out my behaviour again if you feel that you must. It’s important that concerns be voiced. Silence itself is acceptance in a sense, don’t you think? It’s only because we hear each other’s words that we know each other to be alive. A noise in the hush is a light in the darkness. It’s hope. In that way, humans themselves are hope, no? Shee-shee.”
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…
That was why he couldn't stand Zun the Immortal. He was a man drunk on his own worthlessness. If not for his Aether ability, Toll doubted that the Immortal would have ever made it out of combat school. Certainly not out of his first conversation with a superior officer.
Toll said nothing. This man wasn't worth his time. Instead, he just turned his head back to the screen…
…and frowned as, ever so slightly, he felt the Arena of the Absolute shake.
Immediately, he looked down at Pax, who shook his head. “Still no Deathmarks, sir,” he confirmed. “Not for either of you.”
That didn't mean there was no trouble. Toll stood up from his chair, feet thumping as they made contact with the floor. With a jerk of his head, the two Honest Men by the door moved to accompany him and Pax, the four of them marching out into the hallway.
He'd had a bad feeling about these finals since the moment he'd arrived. There was something rotten in the air -- and that rot had only grown stronger as matters had developed. The Supreme Heir was now Atoy Muzazi, apparently, and so he was the one fighting Dragan Hadrien instead.
Toll didn't necessarily disapprove -- he'd rather have a soldier as a Supreme than a brat -- but it still didn't sit well with him. He should have known about this long before Muzazi had arrived at the Arena. Gregori should have informed him. Why hadn't he? And why couldn't Toll reach him now, no matter how many times he tried?
Where are you, Gregori? he wondered, moving down the hallway, his face a mask of stone. Are you compromised? Are you safe?
----------------------------------------
Ruth’s back slammed into the wall of the hallway, the metal surface denting deep to accommodate her. She wheezed, each coughing fit sending blood spraying out onto the floor before her. Her vision wavered in and out -- until, with a great effort, she pulled herself back into consciousness.
Legs shaking beneath her -- until she brought them to heel with a wrench of metal -- Ruth Blaine stood up.
What had happened to her? That attack had sent her flying right out of the observation booth , down the stairs, and out into the hallway. Judging from the smog pouring from the doors before her, it had probably destroyed much of the room itself too. It had been the work of a second. She hadn’t had a chance to see what kind of attack that Niain guy had used, but something had come for her -- something had crawled forth.
She didn’t know what it was… but unfortunately, it seemed like she might get the chance to see it in action again.
“I can see why the Shepherdess is interested in you,” Niain said casually as he strolled out of the smoke, throwing his black cloak out before him. “You’re an exceptional young woman, Ruth Blaine.”
She clutched her stomach as she glared daggers at him, and his black eyes flicked down to glance at it.
“You felt that I’d interfere with the manifestation of your armour,” he smiled. “So you chose to manifest it beneath your own skin, where my Aether couldn’t endanger it. You had less than a second to react, haha. That really is great. I have to applaud both your quick thinking and your ready resolve to inflict such pain on yourself.”
“Fuck you…” Ruth snarled, manifesting her clawed gauntlets.
“Is there a need to talk to me like that?” Niain said, cocking his head in mock-sadness. “All I’ve done is try to talk to you, haha, and you’ve gone and stabbed and cussed at me. Still, I wouldn’t feel too guilty about stabbing me, if I were you,” he tapped the blackened hole in his chest. “For me, this is essentially the same level of damage as getting a haircut. I’ll praise your skill as a barber if nothing else, Ruth.”
“You sure like to yap, huh?”
“Yeah,” Niain admitted, his smile opening just enough to show his teeth. “I do. I also like to show people interesting things, so I think I’ll show off a little more, since I don’t often get the chance, haha. You’ve seen Ahura Mazda, the apotheosis of manifestation…”
He flicked the wrist of his left hand -- and a jet-black sphere appeared, like a void in space, floating against his palm and tracking its movements.
“...so let me show you the most vicious recording. Angra Mainyu.”
Niain’s foot tapped against the floor --
-- and in the next moment, the devil lunged.
If that thing touches me, Ruth knew. I’ll die.
She bent backwards to avoid the swing of Niain’s arm, the black orb passing over her head and sliding through the wall behind her. Red Aether coalesced around her foot, manifesting the boot of the Noblesse Set -- and as she kicked against the floor with all her might, the recoil of the shattered armour sent her flying out of Niain’s range. If that bothered the bastard any, though, he didn’t show it. He just watched her fly backwards with that playful smirk on his lips.
In the moment before she landed, Ruth’s eyes flicked to the wall. There was now a deep, clean groove in the metal there -- as if everything that black orb had touched had been erased entirely. If that had hit her head, would she have just been killed instantly, then?
Niain no longer intended to give her time to think about it. The black hole vanished from his left hand, and he raised his right arm lazily in her direction as she landed. “Ahura Mazda.”
This time, with some distance, Ruth could see the attack coming. A white orb appeared against Niain’s right hand -- and in the same moment it appeared, a barrage of writhing purple tentacles were belched out of it, their bulk filling the entire hallway. The metal was torn apart instantly, the windows were smashed through, the entire complex creaked as the integrity of the structure was threatened.
It was like Niain had opened a portal to some deep sea realm.
Ruth continued to move backwards, fleeing from the tentacles, but they disappeared just as quickly as they had appeared. They suddenly wilted, darkening and wrinkling, falling limp against the ground like dead plants. Ruth drove her metal feet against the ground to stop her movement, kicking up sparks -- but she should have kept running.
Niain burst out of the mass of dead tentacles, scattering them like leaves as he pursued Ruth. His smile was gone and his eyes were wide -- the intent of a murderer oozing from every movement he made. The white hole -- Ahura Mazda -- was still out. As he closed in, Niain reached into it -- and this time, he pulled free a sword of flesh and bone.
The blade was odd, segmented, with a crimson eye glaring from the hilt. Niain swung it from a few metres away -- and the segments dislodged from each other, turning the blade into a whip that sliced through space. Ruth dropped down into the splits, the blade whistling past her head, but the second swing was even faster -- and the third even faster than that. She was forced to flip backwards, again and again, barely avoiding injury as the whip-sword shredded everything around it.
If that hits me, it’ll hurt. Good. That’s just what I want.
The blade began to move once more…
Noblesse Set!
…but Niain had timed his movements well.
Indeed, he went to swing a fourth time -- and then, as Ruth readied herself -- he dropped the blade, charging in himself instead. While the sword continued to slice everything around it independently, he weaved through the web of his own attacks -- and, in an instant, he was upon Ruth, left hand raised high as if to bring down an invisible hammer.
No. He was bringing down something much worse.
“Angra Mainyu.”
The blind spot of the universe reappeared, and Niain brought it down towards Ruth’s head.
Noblesse won’t block that. No choice.
Monarque Set!
----------------------------------------
Alexandrius Toll braced himself as a massive explosion shook the arena once more -- and this time nobody could deny that the whole place rumbled. One of his Honest Men fell to the ground, and he quickly grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back to her feet before the shaking could even stop.
Alarms began to blare across the Arena of the Absolute. The voice of the announcer began to echo through the hallways. The prelude to panic was in full swing…
…but Alexandrius Toll was already on the move.
“With me!” he barked, sprinting down the halls. “Honest Men, with me!”
----------------------------------------
Bruno seized hold of the seat in front of him as the Arena of the Absolute shook. A wave of screams ran through the crowd around him, the excitement of the finals quickly replaced with terror. Even if the rumbling gradually stopped, the panic of the people didn’t go with it. Demands for explanations, whispered conspiracy theories, more screams -- the air was filled with all of them.
What happened? Serena asked.
She quickly got an answer.
“An unexpected incident has occurred in the Arena of the Absolute,” the synthesised voice of the announcer cut through the noise. “Please note that there is no present threat to civilian life. However, we ask at this time that you proceed to your designated evacuation station in a calm and orderly --”
They did not proceed to their designated evacuation station in a calm and orderly manner.
The crowd became a flood of humanity, a stampede charging for the exits to the stands without mercy or restraint. Some people had been standing when the tremor had happened, and so had been thrown down to the floor -- ripe for trampling as the masses now rushed to evacuate. Purple Aether sparking over his body as he kept himself in place, Bruno reached down and managed to pull a few people free, even if they vanished into the crowd soon after.
Are we evacuating, Bruno?
Bruno turned his head -- looking at the other side of the arena, the mirror image of this stampede. He couldn’t see anything over there, but the sound of the explosion had definitely come from that direction. He narrowed his eyes.
“Nah,” he grunted. “Let’s go.”
----------------------------------------
“Oh, jeez louise…”
Amantha Noon sighed to herself as she retracted the lead barrel of her massive sniper rifle, Demon Core, tucking it back into the darkness of her little alcove. This was just typical. She’d managed to find a suitable nest, she’d managed to get a good line of sight on the victor’s position, and what happened next? A load of baloney.
What had that explosion been? Had someone else been given the same mission as her, and had decided to disrupt the match to facilitate it? Oh, she hoped not. If other people were getting the same missions as her, that probably meant she was going to be disposed of soon.
Aw, heck.
Huffing in anxiety, she adjusted her glasses and ran her hands through her white hair, considering her next move. Did she still go ahead? Did she wait and trust that the finals would still end here?
The mission was vital, apparently, given what she’d been told. The bigwigs really wanted Atoy Muzazi to win, so she was to wait for the finals to end and -- if Muzazi didn’t win -- take a killshot at Dragan Hadrien’s head with a Neverwire-infused bullet. Personally, she thought that plan wasn’t entirely great -- Hadrien was fast, after all, and he could vanish -- but that was the job she’d been given. Oh, what to do, what to do…?
Nothing else for it, she guessed. She’d just have to keep waiting, and hope the opportunity still came.
Oh, she thought miserably. I hope the Widow doesn’t get too mad at me…
----------------------------------------
Smoke billowed around in a vortex as Ruth’s Monarque Set rose out of the gloom, moonlight leaking in through the obliterated roof.
All around her was destruction, the hallways shredded by the activation of this ability -- even the manifestation of the Monarque Set was enough to cause this kind of devastation. It was why Ruth didn’t like using it unless she really, really had to. It wasn’t a power she had full control of yet.
If she had full control… perhaps it would have been more effective here.
“Haha…” chuckled Niain. “Like I said, so impressive.”
The colossal skull-egg of the Monarque Set swung around to face the enemy, wings of fabric fluttering in the air behind it. A great black sphere floated before it -- not the dark hole that Niain had conjured before, but an actual physical object made of something like graphite. As Ruth backed up, the sphere began to collapse, the material pouring inwards to return to the hand of its master, being reabsorbed into that dark gap in space.
When it cleared, Niain was perched atop a spike of protruding metal, feet planted against the tip with perfect balance. He grinned that tiny mocking grin at her, his eyes cold.
“Do you like my shield?” he asked. “I don’t like to brag, but it’s basically impenetrable.”
Against his left hand, a black hole rumbled. Against his right, a white hole hissed.
Angra Mainyu and Ahura Mazda.
He can use them simultaneously, Ruth realised. He’s been playing with me this whole time.
“If you’re going to work this hard,” Niain said. “I suppose I need to keep up, don’t I?”
He raised both hands…
…and tore the world apart.