AETHERAL SPACE 13.84
“Dusk”
Dragan Hadrien could strike no more blows without his arms, but Atoy Muzazi fell to his knees all the same.
It was strange. He'd expected some noise at this moment. Cheering, perhaps, or the jeers of those who had aligned themselves against the winner. But with the chaos of their battle, and whatever else had happened in their absence…
…the Arena was empty.
…the Arena was cold.
…the Arena was hostile.
As Atoy Muzazi stared at the ground -- with a broken gaze -- and Dragan Hadrien’s flesh slowly returned, they were surrounded only by the chittering of Emerald Eyes. Elsewhere on this planet, no doubt people were celebrating, no doubt people were lamenting.
But here, right now? There were only these two, and the despair they'd weaved together.
Atoy Muzazi didn't know how long he lay there, his mind taking leave… all he did know was that when he returned to an approximation of his senses, Dragan Hadrien was standing before him. His fresh legs were absent of burn or bruise. It was as if the entire fight… as if the entire Contest… had never even happened.
“Move,” the Shooting Star said.
The backhand caught Muzazi in the cheek, sending him sprawling to the ground. Blood sprayed onto the ground, a single tooth serving as punctuation. He could have dodged that, Muzazi knew, he could have blocked it. But what was the point?
He'd lost.
The promise he'd made to Marie. The flesh he'd given up. The sorrow he'd brought Aclima. The efforts of those who'd brought him this far… the belief of those who'd supported him… he'd wasted it all.
no no no
Muzazi pushed himself up with his good hand, almost crawling -- but he was capable of no more, now that adrenaline had started to abandon him. Even just this action was a great effort now. The pain had him in its grasp, but still…
“No!” he roared after Hadrien.
The Cogitant stopped, glancing over his shoulder at Muzazi. Needless to say, incineration had done its work upon his wardrobe, and Panacea couldn't restore clothing -- so he stood in the middle of the arena naked as the day he was born. If that bothered him any, he didn't show it. He already walked with the dignity of an emperor.
“What?” Hadrien asked, his voice flat.
“I…”
don't
“I-I…”
you mustn't
“I…!”
BUT I PROMISED
“I killed the Supreme!” Muzazi screamed on his hands and knees -- before the Arena, before the Emerald Eyes, before the turning world.
Hadrien raised a single silver eyebrow.
Muzazi crawled forward, dragging his ruined arm through the dirt. “I killed him!” he repeated, desperation warping his tone. “Me! The Supreme, on Elysian Fields! I did it! It was me! Me! With my own hands, with his own sword! I cut his head off and ended his life! Me! This Dawn Contest is a farce! All of it! All of it! I killed him! I killed the Supreme! ME!”
----------------------------------------
In a dark room in a dark corner of a dark city, North clicked his tongue.
Bad time to wake up, kid.
The girl stared at the monitor before her, the gun to her head forgotten for the time being. The words that Atoy Muzazi was screaming streamed over her, a river of knives, her face twitching as the new information was reviewed. Her breathing became rapid and irregular. She visibly paled.
“Wh…” she mumbled. “Wha…?”
And then, without North even having to do anything, she slumped over -- unconscious once more.
“Oof,” North said.
----------------------------------------
“ME!”
Muzazi's final scream echoed through the empty arena, the world screaming right back at him. Tears flowed from his eyes, washing away the blood. Slowly, he dragged himself forward another step, as if to pursue Hadrien. He had to… he had to… he had to keep --
“No,” said Dragan Hadrien.
Muzazi looked up at him. A bright light was shining from behind Hadrien's head, like a halo, casting a deep dark shadow over Muzazi's form. The slightest smile worked its way across Hadrien's lips.
“You killed Kadmon,” the Shooting Star corrected. “I'm the Supreme.”
And with that, the Supreme turned away from him once more.
The light rose higher, revealing its origin as it came into view -- the temple of the Tree of Might, docking with the Arena of the Absolute, slotting into it as if they'd been one structure from the very beginning. A wooden staircase descended from the base of the temple, thumping down into the dirt.
The Branches flooded out of the temple, forming a human corridor for Hadrien to pass through on his way to the staircase. As he passed, they bowed low, their respect such that their heads were touching the ground. One attendant passed Hadrien a fresh white cloak, which he pulled around his body to preserve his modesty.
What happened to strength? Muzazi thought vaguely. I thought that was the point. I thought that was the point of all of this. He cheated. He cheated! Didn't you see?!
But they just bowed to him, like none of it even mattered… like none of it had ever really mattered.
Oh.
The scream of despair trailed off too quickly, exhaustion and agitation and pain ganging up on it. He was spent. Atoy Muzazi slumped down on the ground, gave up, and was dead to the world.
----------------------------------------
Bang.
The Neverwire bullet froze in the air, suspended by a bubble of redirected air, touching only the side-effects of infusion and not the source.
Slowly, Dragan Hadrien turned to look at it. It had been stopped inches from his head -- in the instant before he could had knocked it out of the air himself with a reflexive Railgun. Still, though, he appreciated being able to save the effort. He gave Xander a slight nod.
“Thanks,” he said -- and then, almost lazily, he pointed a finger in the direction the attack had come from.
Gemini Railgun.
The blast enveloped the tiny nest the sniper had used, consuming it in fire and smoke. An avalanche of rubble poured down into the stands, burying the shattered seating. No second shot came.
“Go see if they died,” Dragan said casually, turning back to the staircase.
“Yes, my Supreme!” Two members of the Tree of Might scampered off to follow his instructions.
Not Lord Hadrien, huh? That was right, he supposed. He'd won the Dawn Contest. To these true believers, his name had already vanished from this world. He wasn't the Shooting Star, or the Zero Branch, or even Dragan Hadrien anymore.
He was the Supreme.
I'm here, Skipper, Dragan thought, slowly climbing the staircase into the darkness of the temple. I finally reached the starting point. From here on in… there's no turning back. From here on in… it's time to decide the shape of this world.
He took a step.
“Dragan!” cried a voice from behind him.
He stopped.
No.
----------------------------------------
Bruno del Sed panted for breath, kicking up dirt as he skidded to a halt before the procession.
Metal sang as dozens of weapons -- swords and spears, guns and bows -- were pointed at him all at once. The arsenal of the Tree of Might, aligned in mutual caution. That made sense, he supposed. It was common for assassins to go after the Supreme right after their ascendance. He’d run ahead of Ruth, so he hadn’t had time to think all of this through…
…but they wanted to protect their new sovereign.
The young First Branch of the Tree of Might, Xander Rain, scowled at the new arrival. “That's the Supreme you're speaking to, intruder. Mind your tongue.”
Bruno ignored the brat, and instead called up to the man who had stopped at the top of the staircase. “Dragan!”
Dragan said nothing. He didn't even turn to look.
“Dragan! I'm talking to you, damnit!”
“You must not address the Supreme by their name!” Xander barked, face twisted with fury. “Leave -- now!”
“DRAGAN!”
Xander opened his mouth again -- perhaps to signal his subordinates to attack -- but before he could do so, he was interrupted.
“Bruno,” said Dragan.
A half-formed smile crept across Bruno's face.
“We need to talk,” he said, taking a step forward. “About this -- about all of this. What the hell is going on, Dragan? What do you think you're doing?!”
Reluctantly, the Branches parted to let Bruno pass. It seemed the acknowledgement of their sovereign was enough for them to let some things slide. Bruno's footsteps thumped on the wooden staircase as he slowly ascended.
As he did so, the staircase itself began to ascend too -- being pulled back up into the temple, like a tongue returning to the mouth. The other Branches floated up in the air, no doubt carried by Xander Rain's strange ability, but Dragan and Bruno stood alone on the uneven platform, the ground growing small beneath them.
Again, though, Dragan seemed to have gone quiet. He hadn't even moved in response to Bruno's questioning. Exasperation finally forcing its way out of his throat, Bruno snapped: “Draga --”
“Bruno,” Dragan interrupted. “Have I done something that made you think I wanted you here?”
Finally, he turned to look at Bruno -- and his eyes were full of mundane disdain, like he was looking at an insect half-crushed beneath his foot.
Bruno blinked. “Huh?”
“Did you not hear me?” Dragan asked calmly. “I asked why you thought this was the place for you. Are you stupid? Why are you here? You're just some guy I hung out with a couple of years ago. Did you think you were that important to me?”
“Dragan,” Bruno said. “I…”
“I thought I made it clear. You chased me across half the galaxy -- if I wanted to see you, why wouldn't I have just turned around and seen you? Get lost. You're annoying, del Sed.”
Bruno felt Serena's anger deep within his core, but he stuffed it down, taking another step forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Xander Rain tighten his grip on his spear, but he ignored it. The things Dragan was saying right now… he… he didn't mean them. It was just another attempt to get Bruno to leave. If he could just push through, if he could just reach his friend, he could --
“You're not gonna stop, are you?” Dragan said softly, glancing at Xander. “You even went to see Fix. That really pissed me off, you know.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“I need to talk to you,” Bruno persisted, fists clenched. “I-I get why you're saying this, but I need to --”
“You want to talk to me,” Dragan corrected mercilessly. “But I don't want to talk to you, Bruno. I'm sick of talking to you. I'm sick of having to look over my shoulder to see if you're catching up. But you know what?”
He raised an arm, pointing a limp finger at Bruno.
“I know how to put a stop to that,” Dragan finished.
No. He wouldn't. You wouldn't.
He stepped forward.
“Dragan,” he said, mouth dry, throat scorched. “Skipper wouldn't --”
Dragan Hadrien silently mouthed two words.
----------------------------------------
“Gemini Shotgun.”
Ruth Blaine charged out into the arena -- just in time to hear those words, and see a flash of blue light envelop the world.
She skidded to a stop, arms falling limp to her sides, her thoughts screeching to a halt. She didn't blink. She didn't breathe. As the blue light poured over the arena, she could do nothing but watch and stare…
…as the Gemini Shotgun blasted into Bruno's chest.
The effect was immediate. Bruno had raised no defense, and so crumpled into a limp pile -- like a puppet with its strings cut. Thump, thump. He rolled backwards down the stairs. Thud. He hit the ground.
He did not move.
Ellis. Alice. Rex. Skipper. Bruno…? Serena…?
Rage took Ruth Blaine once more. Her injuries were forgotten. Her pain was irrelevant. Within an instant, she was clad in bestial armour and charging forward on all fours, rushing straight for Dragan. Red Aether crackled a thunderstorm around her.
“DRAGAN!”
She wouldn't make it, of course. She'd known from the beginning that she wouldn't make it. The First Branch of the Tree of Might raised his weapon. His subordinates raised theirs. She was about to be struck by the full might of the arsenal aligned against her. Only Dragan himself stayed still, his eyes wide as he looked at her. She ignored it.
Armour or no, this wasn't something she could survive.
A many-coloured light poured over the Arena, scorching towards Ruth and the two bodies on the floor… before something suddenly landed between her and the conflagration, blocking its passage. Rays of destruction spat out in all directions, burning through the stands, but not a single trace of the attack crossed the halfway mark of the stadium. The force that had landed would not allow it.
It wasn't someone that Ruth recognised.
A Pugnant with bright red hair and bright gold eyes, wearing a black fur coat -- and holding a thick shield that dwarfed his own body. That was what he'd used to block the Tree of Might's attack. As if that wasn't enough, he'd done it with one hand -- the other had tight hold of Bruno and Serena del Sed.
Had he grabbed them in the moment he'd landed? Why?
“Looks like we made it in time,” the Pugnant grunted against the beam still blasting his shield. “He alive?!”
Ruth's armour was already disintegrating, adrenaline losing its advantage, freeing up her neck so she could look around more clearly. This man hadn't come here alone. Another man was suddenly here too -- a dark-skinned man with long black dreadlocks, holding an ominous spear. He was crouched over the body of Atoy Muzazi, checking the wounded warrior's pulse.
After a moment, he looked up at his companion and nodded. “He's alive. We need an exit. Go wild, Rufus.”
A grin flashed across the Pugnant warrior Rufus’ face -- and immediately, he turned his gaze back towards the back of his shield.
“Let's go!” he roared, pushing his shield forward. “You dumbasses gave me a nice temperature! Bastardborn!”
There was no doubt that the massive shield was some kind of Aether Armament. As Rufus pushed it and called its name, jets of heat began to pop out all along the rim of the shield, like someone turning on a stove. The side of the shield facing the enemy began to glow red with heat. The light built and built and built, until blue flames were visibly stretching out from the weapon, until…
…there was the slightest pause in the enemy's attack.
Rufus' roar, empowered with Aether, devoured the Arena -- and a beam of pure white heat blasted out from the face of his shield, towards the gathered ranks of the Tree of Might. Ruth watched, eyes wide -- the bar of godfire instantly melted through the metal floor of the arena as it went, carving a tunnel as it came to fell the Tree.
The enemy wasn't defenseless either, though.
Xander Rain stepped forward, extending a hand crackling with brown Aether, extending it -- and the flow of the incoming beam shifted, separating into disparate rays of fire that blasted off in every direction. As the arena was consumed by strobing obliteration, concealing their group from sight, Ruth felt a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up. It was the man with the spear, his face serious, Atoy Muzazi slung over one shoulder.
“Ruth Blaine?” he asked, shouting to be heard over the destruction. “If you want to live, come with us!”
How had he recognised her? Wasn't she meant to be in disguise? Ruth put a hand to her face -- and when she pulled it away, she could see tiny withering strings coating her hands. The ability had run out? When had that started happening?
There wasn't really a choice, that she knew. Whoever these people were, they had Bruno and Serena -- and Ruth alone couldn't stand up to the kind of forces attacking them right now. Even if Dragan was standing there, even if Dragan had just done what she thought he'd just done…
…there wasn't anything she could do about it by herself.
Ruth nodded seriously, accepting the offered hand.
The man smiled -- just slightly, just for a moment -- before turning his head to face Rufus. “That’s enough, Rufus! We need to go! Now!”
Rufus broke off his counterattack, the beam of heat ceasing immediately as he turned and began sprinting over to them. Even without the sheer annihilation, though, the amount of smoke the attack had produced was enough to keep them concealed. At least for the moment, they were hidden.
From that side, at least.
Bang!
Ruth swung her head around as she heard the gunshot, reflexively blocking it with a swing of her gauntleted arm.
The Ascendant-General had arrived from the entrance tunnel.
However his fight with Niain had gone, Toll had surely taken his damage. There was a gaping wound on his stomach -- and the man was visibly holding his entrails in with one hand while he limped into the stadium. His other hand was holding a shotgun like it was a pistol.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
They were far away, and so the spear-user was able to deflect the shots with swings of his weapon. As Rufus reached them, putting a hand on his companion's shoulder, the spear was pointed up towards the sky. Pink Aether crackled around it.
“Hold on,” the wielder said…
“Tch.”
…and, like it was magic, the weapon pulled them up into the sky.
----------------------------------------
Dragan watched as Ruth, Bruno, Serena and the interlopers flew off into the sky, disappearing among the night clouds. Xander went as if to pursue them in the air, but Dragan caught his gaze and shook his head.
“My Supreme,” Xander said quietly. “They have Atoy Muzazi with them, though. There's the possibility of a pretender…”
“It's fine,” Dragan replied. “That's what the Banquet is for, after all, isn't it?”
Slowly, Xander nodded. “As you say.”
The Second Branch, Fino Onio, spoke up -- taking a finger away from his ear as he did so. “We've just received confirmation from the Body. They've accepted your victory. The Alec Alexander's waiting to receive you for transport to the Shesha.”
Dragan smiled thinly. “Well… let's not keep them waiting, then.”
With that, he turned, pulling his cloak tight around him as he vanished into the darkness of the temple. That had been a close one. The business with Aclima, the battle against Muzazi, the thing with Bruno… it had all come far too close for comfort.
But then again, comfort was another thing Dragan Hadrien had flayed away from himself.
Now, he only had patience for victory.
This is how it starts, Skipper.
The doors thumped shut behind him.
----------------------------------------
Dragan climbed.
The words of the Three Wise Men would be beamed out to every corner of the galaxy that night. Their acknowledgement, their congratulations, their approval. Even in places outside the Supremacy, the people would listen… because they knew the shape of their world was about to change, whether they liked it or not.
“Tonight has been an auspicious night. Titans have clashed and one has been found wanting. Through strength, through valour, through wit… a Supreme fighter has been found. The Dawn Contest is over… and so the sun rises.”
----------------------------------------
Three bodies -- two men and a woman. Morgan Nacht, Gregori Hazzard, and someone Jude didn't recognise. Well, that was fine. So long as she was here, it was just as well.
Jude Greer observed dispassionately as he watched his men bind Neverwire around the unconscious bodies and prepare them for transport. He clicked his dice between his fingers, but for the moment he didn't roll them. He'd already gambled once this Dawn Contest, gambled that Atoy Muzazi would stand victorious, and he'd lost. For the time being, he wasn't leaving things to chance.
Now was the time for damage control.
It had been a mistake for Shooting Star Security Solutions to publicly align themselves with Atoy Muzazi in the first place. Even more of a mistake for them to publicly oppose the contestant who shared their moniker. Right now, they were in very hot water.
But that was fine. Jude recognised the best path that now lay before him. The Supremacy now had a new god, and what was the best way to ingratiate yourself to the divine?
Easy. Offer up the non-believers.
----------------------------------------
Dragan climbed.
He'd taken the opportunity to get some new clothes -- he still wore the white cloak, but now there was black fabric beneath to cover his body. In one hand, he held a great staff tipped with a stone eyeball. In the other, a bulky gauntlet of interlocking bronze. Amulets hung from his neck. Rings adorned his free fingers.
Meaningless trinkets and baubles. Marks of office, taken from the Shesha’s Supreme Archive. The moment he was done with them, he'd let them fall to the floor… but for the time being, he needed to look the part.
“The age of yet another false Supreme has ended, and the true scion of the Supremacy has made himself known. Let us cheer. Let us make merry! Let us rejoice in the knowledge that the majesty of this great nation has been rekindled by a finer flame than any other.”
----------------------------------------
The Shepherdess bit her thumb.
Actually… that didn't do enough to describe it. She wasn't just biting her thumb, she was biting her thumb. She was really biting it. Blood trickling down the edges of her mouth biting it. Her teeth halfway through the ligaments biting it.
Eion just sat awkwardly next to her, looking down into the pit of the arena. He didn't know the cause of her anger. Was it how Atoy Muzazi had replaced the Supreme Heir? Was it how Dragan Hadrien had defeated his opponent through underhanded means?
He was just a human, after all, so he couldn't begin the guess the thoughts of a mechanism… or what that mechanism would do next.
----------------------------------------
Dragan climbed.
The Shesha was indeed as cavernous as people said. It felt more like a tomb than a temple, all things considered. The dark hallways seemed to stretch on forever, and the rooms themselves were so large that they felt like they had horizons of their own.
Doors the size of starships slowly opened, allowing a pale light to flood into the throne room… and the shadow of Dragan Hadrien stretched forth to meet it.
“And let us be grateful.”
----------------------------------------
As the wind whipped past, as the spear pulled their motley group across the sky, Ruth Blaine squeezed her eyes shut. The last traces of gold and blue stripped away from her face, scattering in the air as so many strings. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest like a shotgun.
The last few minutes… felt like a dream. A nightmare. Dragan shooting Bruno, these people arriving, all of them flying off together. The del Sed's and Atoy Muzazi were both unconscious, their limbs flapping in the air as they flew, their faces strangely peaceful. They were blind to the world.
Ruth found herself strangely jealous.
Dragan…
“I'll show you,” Ruth had said, in that sun-dyed tower on Caelus Breck. “I'll show you that people aren't how you think. I'll show you that they're good.”
A lie. She'd never shown him anything at all, had she?
----------------------------------------
Dragan climbed.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Dragan's footsteps echoed through the throne room as he approached, claiming dominion over the space. For the moment, he was alone. He had demanded that -- at the moment of his ascension, he was to be solitary.
It was for that reason that nobody could see the strangely downcast look in Dragan Hadrien's eyes.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The bells of a new world.
“Let us be grateful for the future now offered to us.”
----------------------------------------
North put his pistol back in its holster as he turned on his heel, strolling out of the dark room.
He really should have asked for a bonus for this kind of work. Running all the way from the Arena of the Absolute to this corner of the city had been tiring work, after all. It was a miracle he hadn't had to fight the Phases to claim Aclima, too.
A bonus… North smirked ruefully. Yeah, right. How long had he been working for free now?
“Well, I'm sure ya don't wanna hear this from me, kid,” North called out over his shoulder. “But ya got my condolences.”
He'd left her bound with Neverwire, but she'd be able to break out of that given time.
----------------------------------------
Dragan climbed.
His hand brushed against the arm of the throne, and he took a deep breath. This was still the seat that Kadmon had taken, coated in dust, much too big for any normal human. Blue Aether crackled against Dragan's finger…
…and with a tap against the stone, he scattered the dust away.
“Let us be grateful for the strength we once more wield.”
----------------------------------------
Niain stalked through the alleyways of Azum-Ha, a frown on his face, Smith oozing along with him across the floor. He flicked his red hand, scattering loose bits of Alexandrius Toll’s insides onto the ground. Smith greedily slurped them up.
“You seem in low spirits, my King,” Smith cooed, a shadow of his face appearing inside his black mass like a sourceless reflection. “I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry…”
Niain ignored it. True, meeting a del Sed had certainly put a damper on things… but the night had still been entertaining, after all. The Shepherdess had been insulted, he'd managed to confirm the plan's viability… and a new Supreme had risen.
His smile returned, as it always did.
“Ah, Smith…” he sighed fondly. “There's never a dull moment in this world, is there?”
He didn't know the full extent of it, though. In what was a truly rare occasion, someone was following the King of Darkstar without his knowledge. Someone with dancing rainbow Aether, and a body that had long since left this world.
----------------------------------------
Dragan climbed.
The throne reconfigured itself, segments rotating and contracting to suit the stature of the person now standing before it. By the time it was done, it was nearly half of its original size. Dragan just watched it silently, standing before the seat like he was taking audience with an invisible king.
“Let us be grateful for the vision that cuts through the endless, bitter night.”
----------------------------------------
Deep in the dark bowels of Azum-Ha, where few now ventured, a young man with dark skin and white hair waited.
Azez the Absolute smiled.
----------------------------------------
Dragan climbed.
It was ready.
Even shrunk, the throne dwarfed him. Through the grace of a white backlight, the shadow it projected devoured Dragan's own. He swallowed. He'd come this far. He didn't have the kind of leeway to be intimidated by furniture.
Dragan Hadrien stepped forward…
Dragan Hadrien turned around…
…and the Supreme sat down.
“Let us be grateful for our one true Supreme -- and let him sit the throne until the end of time.”
END OF ARC 13