03:31
“Yeah, no,” said Dragan.
Azez cocked his head, the shadows playing across his features. His brown cloak pooled on the floor around him. “Is there a problem, Dragan Hadrien?”
“There's no way you're alive. No, I know you're not alive. Your body was displayed at your funeral -- there're more pictures of your corpse than people on this planet.”
“You don't think that corpse could have been fake?” Azez smiled.
“Was it?”
For a moment, the young man didn't reply -- but only for a moment. He closed his eyes and chuckled lightly. “I'm glad you're a rational person, at least. A lot of people who end up here aren't.” He opened his golden eyes again. “It's as you say. Azez Tazir died many centuries ago. Think of me as something he left behind.”
Dragan narrowed his glowing eyes, slowly circling his counterpart. “For what purpose?”
“For this purpose,” ‘Azez’ replied casually. “To greet the successors to my title and take their measure. Congratulations on your victory in the Dawn Contest, by the way.”
“So you're some kind of projection?”
‘Azez’ very nearly rolled his eyes, but restrained himself. Instead, he reached for his collar and pulled it down, baring his chest -- or where a human being’s chest would have been. Instead, there was just a framework lattice of thin lights… and visible within, where a heart should have been, floated a shining lantern.
“Again,” ‘Azez’ continued. “It's as you say. This form is just something projected by the Lantern of Truth, the real Azez Tazir’s Aether Armament. This impression of consciousness too is just that… an impression. Perhaps the word fabrication is more accurate, though? I'm able to speak and interact with you to a certain degree, but please make no mistake -- I am not a sapient actor.”
“So you're like an automatic,” Dragan noted, stopping on the other side of the being. “How close are you to the original Azez… in terms of that consciousness you're fabricating?”
The projection smiled as it looked over its shoulder. “Who can say?”
“You. You can say.”
“I have to say, you really are a sceptical person, aren't you? I haven't seen one since Renée who questions the mechanics of the whole thing so deeply. Although I suppose that was more of a vivisection than an interrogation, haha.”
It replies, Dragan noted. But doesn't initiate. Maybe the personality is partly derived from the person it's interacting with?
“Okay,” Dragan said. “You want to talk. I get that. So… what do you want to talk about?”
“What else?” the man of light said, turning fully to face Dragan once again. “I want to know your intentions for my Supremacy.”
----------------------------------------
03:32
“I know this sounds rich, coming from me,” Gregori Hazzard said. “But I really think we should work together here.”
The other two in the storage car ignored him. If they had been able to, they'd probably have just left him to his own misery -- unfortunately, however, they weren't able to. Their arms were tightly bound with Neverwire and strapped to the walls behind them, leaving them facing each other. They couldn't move from these spots, much less leave.
Outside, they could hear the thrum of the train carrying them through the skies of Azum-Ha. It seemed the S4 had commandeered this vehicle to take their prisoners to whatever destination they had in mind. Wherever that was, they sure were taking their sweet time about it.
Not that any of that bothered these two anyway. They were busy glaring daggers at each other, mutually eager for blood. On one side, the desire for vengeance -- on the other, the call of spite.
Morgan Nacht and Gretchen Hail.
“So you really were still alive,” Morgan grunted, ignoring Gregori. “I thought maybe you'd set things up in advance… but no, you were handing out those Fusion Tools yourself.”
“Are you proud of yourself for figuring it out?” Gretchen scoffed. “A child could have told you I was alive. Fusion Tools are bespoke for their users -- they wouldn't go spreading across the galaxy all by themselves.”
“You were Hapgrass, then,” Morgan muttered. “That's quite the disguise you pulled off.”
“If you must know, it wasn't really a disguise,” Gretchen smirked, clearly unable to resist the urge to gloat. “I transferred my consciousness into her empty body with an Aether Armament, then used a specialised Fusion Tool to rewrite the body to match my own self-image. So, I wasn't wearing a wig or anything if you thought that's --”
“What happened to Ionir?” Morgan asked.
His heart thumped in his chest. The entire time since he'd woken up, this was what he'd been asking himself, over and over again. An accompaniment to his heartbeat.
He needed the answer. He wouldn't be able to do anything until he knew. But at the same time…
Gretchen's smirk stretched up her cheek. “I killed it.”
Morgan blinked.
“I'll kill you,” he said quietly.
“You two can kill each other later,” Gregori cut in, raising his voice. “But if we don't get out of here, we're all fucked.”
“Speak for yourself,” Gretchen lounged back on her restraints. “These men are taking us to the new Supreme, right? In that case, I don't have anything to worry about. If anything, I'm thankful -- it'll save me the taxi fare.”
Morgan's hands trembled behind his back, a burning venomous sensation crawling up his throat as he made the connection. “Traitor.”
“Hm?” Gretchen cocked her head. “You're surprised at this point? Besides, if I'm a traitor, so are you. Probably more so. I didn't even get the chance to pull off my betrayal, you know? You beat me to the punch.”
“So you were working with Hadrien,” Gregori mused. “I'm assuming your job was to ensure his victory against Aclima, then?”
Wait.
Morgan’s eyes widened. He'd been so caught up in his fury that he'd missed what Hail had just said. The new Supreme. If they were talking about Hadrien, then that meant… that meant…
Gregori seemed to notice Morgan's shock, glancing over at him. “I woke up first,” he said. “Heard the guards talking. From the sounds of it, Atoy Muzazi was defeated by Dragan Hadrien -- and then he got pulled out of there by two of the UAP’s Nebula. So it looks like he's a traitor, too.”
“No…” Morgan muttered.
“I know, right?” Gregori rolled his eyes. “That's two years of my life I'm not getting back.”
Morgan went to snap at the other man -- but before he could, Gregori turned back to Gretchen.
“Anyway,” he said casually. “I wouldn't be so confident if I were you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“You said it yourself, didn't you? You weren't able to pull off your part of the plan. Instead of an easy win against Aclima, Hadrien had to fight for his life against Muzazi. If I were him, I might see that as a betrayal -- or, at least, incompetence. I don't think I'd see much point in keeping an incompetent ally around.”
The smirk faded from Gretchen's lips. “You're just trying to save yourself, Hazzard.”
“Sure. But if you were in Hadrien's good books, why are you tied up with us in the first place? That tells me he sees us as being in the same category.” Gregori smiled thinly. “Obstacles to be eliminated.”
For a good long moment, Gretchen's golden eyes just stared into Gregori's crimson. Neither blinked -- but finally, Gretchen looked away.
“What do you have in mind?” she muttered.
“No,” Morgan growled, his eyes still fixed on the murderer. “No way. I'm not working with her.”
“Fine,” Gretchen snapped back. “Me and him will just escape without you, then.”
“I'm so popular all of a sudden,” Gregori sighed. “But we need all three of us if we're going to do this. Once we're out, we need to break through the S4 lines and get off this train -- and my escape method needs all of us, too.”
“What is it you have in mind?” Gretchen asked.
“This Neverwire is pretty high-quality stuff,” Gregori said. “Sufficient to keep each of us suppressed, at least. But that's each of us individually. You know multi-infusion?”
Slowly, Gretchen nodded. “I see. You want us to channel all of our Aether into one of our bodies simultaneously, so it destroys that Neverwire restraint -- and then they bust the rest of us out?”
“Exactly,” Gregori replied. “The way they've tied us up, we can just about touch each other’s feet. We make contact, then we push our Aether in the same direction as hard as we can. It'll give.”
“Not bad, Hazzard,” Gretchen's smirk returned. “I didn't realise you had a working brain back there. I suppose the only question is… who do we break out first?’
Morgan cut back in, his voice harsh. “Not her.”
“I thought you weren't cooperating, Nacht?” Gretchen sneered.
“Not her,” Morgan repeated, ignoring her, his gaze on Gregori. “Break me out and I'll get you free. You know I'll honour my word.”
“No way!” Gretchen squirmed in her binds, looking for all the world like a particularly orange chihuahua for a moment. “No way, no way, no way. You cut him out first, he cuts my head off. He’s crazy.”
“Fuck you,” Morgan snarled.
“Fuck you,” Gretchen spat back.
“Okay,” Gregori said calmly. “I hear what you’re both saying. How about we cut the difference and break me out first? Then I can free the both of you.”
Both glares swung in his direction.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “I understand both of you have your reasons not to trust me. Think about it, though. Right now, the two of you have every reason to betray each other. But, in this situation, I have no reason to betray either of you. There are armed guards just outside this compartment -- probably Aether-users, too. It’s to my advantage to keep the two of you around to help fight them. Understand?”
“...right,” Gretchen narrowed her eyes.
“So I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m just asking you to trust the principle of mutual self-interest.”
Morgan’s eyes flicked from Gretchen to Gregori, his brow twitching. He sucked in a breath. It was Hadrien or this. At least this way, he supposed, there was a chance.
“Fine,” he said. “We break you out, then me, then her.”
Gretchen opened her mouth to protest, but Gregori cut in first.
“I’ll break both of you out at the same time,” he said quickly. “Happy?”
Eventually -- after much glaring and glancing back and forth -- the pair nodded. Grunting, Gregori slouched down as much as he could, pushing his foot out towards the centre of the room. Morgan and Gretchen mirrored his movements -- neither of them were particularly tall, so it took quite a bit of manoeuvring, but eventually they managed to assume a position where all three of their bodies were just barely in contact.
“Keep it like this,” Gregori said quietly. “On three, flare your Aether as much as you can, for as long as you can -- focusing on my wrists like they’re part of your own body. Ready? One… two… three.”
Morgan pushed.
It was a strange sensation -- flaring his Aether without being able to feel it. It was like a pressure was building up in some imaginary organ, like he was trying to push something bigger than himself through his chest, like he was tightening a vice around his own head. A pain began to crawl through the back of his skull. His bones felt like the marrow was being drained away. It felt like… it felt like…
…it felt like something gave.
There was a series of loud pops, like a firecracker going off, and the Neverwire around Gregori’s wrists scattered in a shower of sparks. Grunting, he stood up, massaging his wrists. Experimental sparks of white Aether crawled around his hands as he grinned easily down at them.
“Great,” breathed Gretchen. “Now --”
Gregori folded his body into a butterfly and flew away. Thin as he was, it was easy for him to slide under the door. Then he was gone.
A moment passed.
“Motherfucker,” said Morgan.
----------------------------------------
03:38
Jude Greer flicked dice of bone between his fingers, staring listlessly at the monitor before him. It was blank, save for a tiny green dot blinking in the corner… their message awaiting a response. He was starting to get the feeling that they wouldn’t be getting one. That thought only made his heart beat harder.
It had been an hour since they’d taken control of this cargo train and sent their offer to the Tree of Might -- these valuable hostages in exchange for clemency for any previous aggressions from the S4. An hour of this black screen and this blinking dot. An hour of nothing.
Why? Had the fanatics of the Tree of Might decided to focus on vengeance, and not informed the new Supreme of the offer? Or was the Supreme himself unwilling to negotiate?
If their offer was going to be ignored, that meant it was no longer safe for them to be on Azum-Ha. Hell, the S4 might have to uproot their Supremacy operations entirely if they were now an enemy of the government. He’d need to get transportation off the planet arranged -- flee to the UAP and inform the board of directors.
The energy in the conductor’s carriage was atrocious at this point. The soldiers he’d brought for this operation manned their stations, but all of them knew that the situation was bad. Even if nobody said it, everybody felt it -- and so the time had come to make the choice.
Jude took a deep breath as he stood, turning his gaze to the man he’d placed on driving duty. “Change of plans,” he said seriously. “Stop the loop and take us to Newverse Starport. We --”
Thump.
His head snapped up, looking towards the ceiling. That sound had come from the roof. Slowly, he readied his spear.
“What was that?” he asked.
----------------------------------------
03:39
By the time the screams started, there were already enough of them to form a crescendo.
Morgan stared at the door, eyes wide, as he heard the sounds of dying men ooze through the metalwork. A scream. A slash. A shot. A thud. A whimper.
A silence.
“What the hell…?” he muttered.
“Well, if he’s killing them on his way out, that’s just as good,” Gretchen grumbled. “Still, it would have been easier if he just stuck to his own plan.”
Morgan slowly shook his head. For some reason, even though this woman beside him was someone he wanted dead more than anything else, he felt some instinctual urge to warn her. It would be unacceptable to keep this feeling in his gut to himself.
Whatever was on the other side of this door… was not human.
“Wait!” shouted a deep voice from the next compartment, emboldened by panic. “Wait, wait! I have the keycode -- I’ll give you the hostages, I’ll forget all about this, just let me live!”
For a moment, Morgan heard nothing, and he thought that whoever had spoken had surely been killed as well.
But then… a reply.
“If I let you live,” someone said. “You use that gun you have in your inner pocket to shoot me in the back as I cross the threshold.”
Wait…
A clatter -- a gun dropping to the floor.
“Please…”
“If I let you live,” someone said. “You kick the corpse of your comrade aside and run me through with that spear you’ve hidden beneath him.”
I know this voice.
Footsteps, someone walking -- walking towards the door, growing slightly louder. A thump as someone’s back collided with it.
“There, now -- now I can’t --”
“If I let you live,” someone said. “You try and kill me. Always.”
Oh no.
This time, there was no scream -- just the whistling of metal through the air, and the slightest gurgle as a throat was slit. Morgan heard the sound of a body sliding down the wall… and then came the noise. The sound of metal being shredded.
The door flew inwards as it was slashed into countless pieces, and Morgan readied himself for the silhouette behind. The man looked like he’d come here straight from bed -- wearing white pyjamas and an undone green dressing gown -- but his stance was that of a warrior. Cold Cogitant-blue eyes surrounded by a mess of blonde hair and stubble. Green Aether crawled up his cheek. In his hand, he held a bloody dinner knife. Over his shoulder, Morgan could see the dismembered corpses of their captors. A dinner knife. He’d done all this with a dinner knife.
Gretchen’s mouth spread into a wide and pure grin… Morgan’s heart dropped into despair…
…as they both beheld the figure of Baltay Kojirough.
This is it. I’m dead. I’m dead for real this time.
The last time Morgan had seen this man -- the former leader of the Seven Blades of the Turning of the Heir -- he’d been betrayed and stabbed in the back, spared a torturous death only by Ionir’s intervention. But now Ionir was gone, Morgan was helpless… and Baltay Kojirough no doubt desired revenge for his humiliation. He would die in this room.
“Baltay!” Gretchen chirped excitedly, wriggling as she tried to climb to her feet -- before remembering that she couldn’t. “What are you doing here?!”
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Baltay’s gaze drifted over to her, but his face remained blank. “Gretchen,” he said, his voice quiet and emotionless. “I need the new Leviathan you’ve made.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you…”
“Please,” he said, even as his tone remained unchanged, stepping over to her. “There isn’t any time.”
He reached out with his tiny knife and slashed through Gretchen’s restraints effortlessly. Morgan couldn’t help but imagine how easy that knife would go through his neck. Baltay had only been second to Nigen Rush in terms of swordsmanship, after all. In the hands of someone like that, any blade was a manslayer.
As soon as Gretchen was free, she reached into her Ragnarok Forge, pulling forth a glowing green blade. It was just as Baltay had said -- it seemed the blacksmith had recreated his sword. It didn’t quite resemble the original -- its blade seemed to be formed from some kind of thin emerald, rather than metal -- but Morgan had no doubt it would serve.
“Thank you.” Baltay accepted it, swinging it through the air once to test the balance before sliding it into a makeshift sheath at his hip. It fit perfectly.
“What’s going on, Baltay?” Gretchen insisted, looking up at the taller man. “I mean -- I’m glad you’re out and everything, but --”
“It should be obvious,” he interrupted, voice flat. “I came to save you.”
That seemed to shut her up. Gretchen’s smile widened, a pink blush spreading across her cheeks. Baltay turned his head to face Morgan, those blue eyes staring down without blinking. A shudder went down Morgan’s spine. It was like the Cogitant wasn’t even looking at him -- like he was looking at something through Morgan.
“As for you…” Baltay said.
This is it. I’m sorry, Atoy. I’m sorry… Ionir.
The blade moved… and the restraints fell from Morgan’s wrists, cleanly cut.
“What?” Morgan said.
“What?!” Gretchen cried.
Baltay glanced back at her. “Muzazi only appears if we have Morgan Nacht alive with us. ‘You save all of us or you save none of us’. If Nacht is dead, things don’t play out the way I want. Understand?”
“No!”
“That’s fine,” Baltay said casually. He turned to face Morgan again. “Come with us, Nacht. You won’t come to any harm if you do.”
Morgan pushed himself back across the floor, as if trying to slide through the wall and out into the night. Once again, the situation had swerved out of his comprehension. Was this a trick? A trap? No, that didn’t make sense. If Baltay wanted him dead, he had the perfect chance to kill him just now.
Did he want him as bait for Muzazi? Is that what he meant by Muzazi appearing?
It was strange. He looked behind Baltay’s shoulder, to where Gretchen was glaring at him. To be honest, he’d planned on attacking Gretchen the moment he was free -- he was just as bad as Gregori. But right now, he didn’t dare. The pressure emanating from Baltay Kojirough would not permit that.
If Baltay wanted Morgan dead, he would die. That was the sensation he now felt from his former superior officer.
Baltay interrupted Morgan’s downhill train of thought. “If we stay here, we’ll all be killed when the man called Appointment attacks this train in fifty-one seconds. I need an answer in the next thirty -- or else I take Gretchen, leave, and pursue another route. Your answer, Nacht.”
Morgan blinked. There was a strange shivering inside his throat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring the words out.
If his reticence irritated Kojirough any, though, he didn’t show it. The man just squatted down, ignoring Gretchen’s frantic requests to elaborate, bringing himself face to face with Morgan. Those empty blue eyes peered into the New Moon’s soul.
“I’ll make it simple for you. Choose life, or choose death,” he said simply. “Now.”
Morgant spent precious seconds looking back into the eyes of the man before him. No matter how deeply he looked, no matter how hard he searched for it… he couldn’t find any sign of the duplicity he was expecting. Right now, he had no doubt that Baltay Kojirough was telling the truth.
And so…
“Life,” Morgan breathed.
Baltay leaped into action immediately, standing up and slashing thrice at the wall with his new sword. The man-sized section he’d cut fell outwards, plucked away by the winds and allowing the force of the thunderstorm outside to flow into the compartment. Morgan raised a hand to his face as the rain battered against him.
“There’s no time to go to the door,” Baltay raised both of his arms as he explained -- as if that was a sufficient explanation. “We jump. Nacht -- five seconds in, use your Fog to swing off the building next to us and launch us over to a nearby plaza.”
Huh?
For all her confusion, Gretchen clearly had no doubt in this man, and so she quickly scurried over and wrapped her arms around his. A second later, Morgan followed -- he had no choice -- grabbing hold of the other one. Baltay took a deep breath…
…and leapt out into the night beyond.
Five.
The three of them were tossed this way and that by the raging winds, water beating against their skin and lightning flashing against their eyes. Morgan reflexively went to scream, but the sound was quickly swallowed by the chaos broiling around him. This had been a mistake. This had been insanity. All they’d achieved was a suicide pact.
Four.
What was he supposed to do?!
Three.
Swing off the building?! Morgan tried to look around him, but the downpour smashed against his eyes. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t see anything!
Two.
Was there even a building?!
One.
Oh, fuck it!
Zero.
F! A!
A rope of black Fog lashed out into the chaos -- and a moment later, Morgan felt it make contact with something. As their fall stopped and they began to swing upwards, he found that he could see again. He looked up at the thin shape of the train now far above them…
…just in time to see it.
Red stars twinkled in the sky.
----------------------------------------
“Schedule Breaker.”
----------------------------------------
A second later, the train was obliterated. Dozens of crimson lights, as fast and thin as raindrops themselves, fell down and pierced through the vehicle -- and the explosion that followed a second later sent debris flying in every direction. Morgan watched in horror, his face illuminated for a moment by the glow of scattered flames.
It was just as Baltay had said. If they’d been on that train, they would have been killed. Instantly.
He was so focused on the destruction above that he almost didn’t notice Baltay shouting in his ear.
“Both of you!” Kojirough roared over the wind. “Cloak your Aether at the crest of the jump -- or else we all die!”
This time, Morgan didn’t question the instructions. As they flew up into the air, swinging off some unseen ledge, Morgan smothered the energy inside him, cutting off his Aether abilities. No doubt Gretchen did the same, as did Baltay. For an instant, they flew unaided through the scorched sky…
…and in the next instant, an Aether ping as deep and dense as the ocean itself washed over them.
Morgan gasped as he felt the blue aurora pass over his body -- and the moment it was done, he lashed out with his Fog again, grabbing onto the side of a plaza barely visible in the smog and pulling them towards it. Again, Baltay had been right.
If that Aether had belonged to the man called Appointment, then he wasn’t someone they could fight against. It wasn’t even a matter of running away from him. The second that thing knew where they were, they would die.
It was as simple as that.
----------------------------------------
03:45
The man called Appointment had a reputation.
Most killers of his level made a name for themselves through massacre, frequent and bloody, a constant reminder of what they could do. In just a few years, the Sixth Dead had proven herself in just such a way. That wasn’t the case with Appointment, though. He was considered a professional who showed up once in a blue moon, executed his targets, and vanished until the next contract.
Only… even that wasn’t quite accurate. Appointment didn’t appear ‘once in a blue moon’. He appeared exactly once a year -- according to Azum-Ha Common Time, anyway.
The name of his ability was the same as his alias: Appointment. It took a basic principle of Aether ability development -- restrictions boosting potency -- and exploited that to its utmost. The ability was a seal: removing his ability to use Aether, at all, for all but one day a year.
And in exchange, for that one day a year? He was a man whose fangs could reach a Supreme.
Thrusters blazed from the back of Appointment’s Chassis as he floated over the inferno he’d created, his X-shaped visor scanning through the falling wreckage of the train. Nine charred cadavers, but based on their builds and remaining facial features, none of them were Morgan Nacht or Gregori Hazzard. What’s more, they all seemed to have already been killed by a blade -- not by his attack.
Appointment’s advanced Armoured Chassis, infused with his absurd Aether, filtered and decoded all of this in seconds. The equipment he used was the equivalent of a top-of-the-line UniteFleet model, designed to take down genetic abominations leftover from the reign of the Tyrants. It had taken several years of work -- very lucrative work -- just to commission it.
But that was fine. To Appointment, this was all just a job, to be approached rationally and pragmatically. He had no problem investing in the future.
He considered his next move. If he couldn’t confirm Morgan Nacht and Gregori Hazzard’s deaths, he couldn’t very well claim the bounties posted by the Supreme. If he tried and either turned out to be alive, it would severely impact his professional reputation. That he could not allow.
The results of the Aether ping… that, too, had been suspicious. He knew for a fact that Morgan Nacht and Gregori Hazzard had been here. The transmissions he’d intercepted from the train had made that very clear. Those two were warriors. Had they really gone down without even trying to use their Aether? Even if their bodies had been destroyed, Appointment would have expected traces of Aether to remain on the giblets.
No. The fact that there had been no Aether at all suggested that it was actively being cloaked -- and dead men didn’t cloak their Aether.
Appointment flicked through half-a-dozen settings on his visor, switching to a fine tuned temperature sense designed to track body heat. He could see a dozen trails stretching out from the site of the explosion, like thick strokes of paint spread across the sky. Some of them were definitely false positives. Appointment narrowed the possibilities down and calculated a median direction to the remainder.
That would be the path he’d follow -- or, at least, it would be… if someone wasn’t now here to kill him.
Schedule Breaker.
Once again, the crimson raindrops fell. In these early hours of the night, they were small and thin enough for precise shooting -- and so, the flesh of the Malkuth Warrior behind him was cleanly pierced, nervous system scorched and severed to such a degree that its body looked like a piece of cheese.
Appointment glanced over his shoulder.
Funnily enough, the Warrior was still moving, even with all the damage it had taken. White feathered wings twitched from its shoulders as it raised a shaking blade-arm to feebly strike at him. Appointment did not allow it, reaching out with a hand and seizing the unit by the throat. The first squeeze stopped its struggling, while the second ended its life.
A quick scan with the module in his Chassis’ hand detected the alterations made to the Warrior’s nervous system and logged them for future reference. Next time, he’d end things with the first attack.
He turned fully to face the rest of the forces arrayed against him. Three other members of the Hive of Malkuth, flying on similar feathered wings. The one at the back had a halo to complete the angel aesthetic -- or rather, a mechanical gear, slowly turning over its head.
Appointment recognised that ability -- Power of One. It allowed the user to share their other abilities with allies within range. That explained why the Queen hadn’t bothered to reclaim the flying ability from that first Warrior before he’d finished it off. It hadn’t been the actual user.
As he faced off against the Hive of Malkuth, Appointment flexed his arms, readying the missiles stored inside his angular shoulderpads. At the first sign of a serious assault, he’d bombard the forces before him. Against an enemy that could pull out any number of coordinated abilities, you couldn’t be too careful.
He jabbed a finger in their direction.
“Explain,” he said, voice lowered to thunder by his helmet. “Has the Hive finally decided to recruit me?”
Of course not. My ability would be more of a burden than a boon to the AWL’s failed experiment. They prefer to operate all year round.
The Malkuth Warriors said nothing. They just stared at him silently with those eerie compound eyes. Then, as one, they faded and vanished from sight. Just to be safe, Appointment scanned his surroundings with all the sensors available to him -- along with another Aether ping -- but they were definitely gone. The Queen had probably granted a transportation ability to the bug with the halo once She saw this battle couldn’t be won.
Not to say that this had been a serious attempt. The Hive of Malkuth had just seen an opportunity and decided to try their luck -- those in their profession were always eager to cut down on rivals. They hadn’t even lost anything in the process, either: Appointment had no doubt the Hive already had thralls on standby in the city below, waiting to be promoted into drones proper.
If anything, he was the one who had lost out. While he’d been dealing with those flies, the trail he’d intended to follow had quite literally gone cold. For the time being, Morgan Nacht and Gregori Hazzard were out of his reach.
He clicked his tongue.
“Lucky bastards.”
----------------------------------------
03:47
Gideon Grain -- called the Kennelmaster by some -- sniffed the air as he strode through the broken window of the hotel room, glass crunching under his boots. One of his massive hounds -- Guard -- strode alongside him, sniffing the air for threats. Its tail dragged along the ground behind it, motionless. Good. That was the way Gideon liked it.
His eyes flicked around the wrecked sitting room, scratching idly at his dust-grey mutton chops. Wary of traps, Gideon tapped the tiny dog resting atop his hat. “Storage,” he grunted, voice gravelly. “Bring out Search #1, #2 and #3.”
Storage yapped in response -- and a second later, there was a series of sickening crunches as it began to open its mouth wider and wider, far beyond what could be expected for an organism of its size. By the time it was done, Storage’s jaws had stretched to the point that they were bigger than Gideon himself, and he was not a small man.
Three dogs crawled out of Storage’s cavernous throat, their bodies as long and thin as snakes. If not for their tiny limbs and twitching snouts, one might not even have realised they were dogs at all. They spread out through the hotel room, dutifully searching for traps and other threats to their master. For his part, Gideon just sat down on the bloodstained couch -- once it was confirmed clean of hazards -- and lit a cigar, putting it to his lips. Guard dutifully sat down by his side, as still as a statue.
The Eight Phases of the Turning of the Heir had certainly done a number on this place. He’d picked up the report of the Heir doing battle with her own bodyguards on a nearby rooftop, and followed the trail of destruction back here. Hopefully it would have the material he needed to begin his hunt in earnest.
Search #2 scurried past, brushing Gideon’s boot, and he kicked it away in irritation. It showed no sign of anger at the attack -- in fact, it sped up its labours, crawling up the wall like a lizard and poking its head into the crawl space above. Gideon smiled. For master and servant, a relationship of terror really was ideal. He raised his hounds with that in mind.
“Found…” gasped Search #1 from his side, a bark warped into a word by hours of training. “Found…”
Gideon turned to look. Search #1 had returned from the hallway, carrying something in its mouth -- some kind of fabric. He tore it from the dog’s jaws, turning the garment over in his hands. It was one of those new trendy dresses, the kind of thing you’d find in a young girl’s closet. His mouth twisted up into a lopsided grin. This belonged to the Heir, didn’t it?
Bingo.
“Storage,” Gideon barked. “Bring out Tracking.”
More cracks as Storage’s jaws enlarged once more -- and a second later, Tracking emerged. Unlike the rest of the Kennelmaster’s dogs, it looked relatively normal. White fur and staring red eyes, with the sort of lean proportions you’d expect from a racing hound. As the Searches returned to their nest inside Storage’s abyss, Tracking leaned over and sniffed the dress Gideon offered it. Slowly, the colour of its eyes deepened to a pitch black.
Lock-on. Gideon let his grin spread to the other side of his mouth.
The other hunters could follow whatever trails they could find to go after the smallfry, but Gideon did things differently. He was going for the big ones straight away -- the brat Aclima and the failure Muzazi. He was sure he could find something that belonged to the Full Moon here, too, after all. By the end of tonight, he was never going to have to worry about work again.
“Just through here, sir, we weren’t sure what to do, so --”
The grin fell from Gideon’s face as the door opposite him opened, revealing the hallway beyond. Standing there was a hotel employee, her eyebrows raised in surprise to suddenly find somewhere here -- and next to her stood a man in a city security uniform. It looked like the hotel had called the cops when they’d seen what the Phases had done to their property.
He sighed. At any rate, he didn’t want any complications.
“Storage,” he said. “Bring out Corpse Disposal.”
----------------------------------------
03:47
The man was dying. Beyond that, he didn’t understand a thing.
He’d been sleeping -- rough, on the streets -- when something had dragged him off into this alleyway. Not someone, something. After all… there was no way that the one now holding him up by the throat was human. It stared at him with merciless compound eyes, like those of an insect, their red glow shining on his twisting face.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had a daughter. He had a granddaughter. He couldn’t die without seeing them one last time -- without apologising. As his legs flailed against empty air, he tried to force out words.
But it was no use. God did not intend to grant him any more words.
As the creature tightened its grip on his throat, he felt a stabbing pain -- as though dozens of tiny needles were penetrating his neck. He gasped for air -- and as he did so, again and again and again, glowing red veins spread out beneath the surface of his skin. As they charted the course of his nervous system, rewriting on the way, their vicious light burnt away everything he had. Will and memory, sentiment and intention. ‘Daughter’ and ‘Granddaughter’ were washed away like piss in the rain.
When they were finished, the light of the veins faded -- but the red glow lingered in his pupils. The creature released him, and the man dropped to the ground. He just stood there, a low moan oozing from his lips, staring into space. He no longer had the desire to run. He no longer had the desire to do anything at all.
He might have stayed like that forever, a mere thrall, but She had need of him tonight. His body shuddered as his skin rippled, the tremors growing more and more intense -- until finally there was an explosion of blood, spraying through the alleyway as his skin flipped inside-out. The creature opposite him was painted red from head to toe, and yet it just stood there without flinching. It just watched.
It just watched as compound eyes forced their way out through the man’s sockets.
It just watched as the man’s skeleton stretched and reconfigured itself.
It just watched as the man’s arms sloughed away, replaced with limbs of liquid metal.
By the time the process was complete, only thirty seconds later, the creature was looking at a being now identical to itself. A Drone of the Hive of Malkuth. They regarded each other emotionlessly -- awaiting the instructions of their invisible Queen.
They came quickly.
WELCOME TO THE HIVE OF MALKUTH. YOU ARE NOW DRONE 64. YOU AND DRONE 103 WILL JOIN SQUAD 3 AS THEY ASSAULT TERONIER HOSPITAL. YOU WILL ELIMINATE THE DESIGNATED TARGETS.
“We obey,” the two Drones buzzed in unison.
DOWNLOADING ABILITY… “Noble Rocinante”
DOWNLOADING ABILITY… “Travel Link”
The bloody alleyway was filled with the glow of crimson Aether as the bodies of the two Drones shifted once more into bulky centaurish forms… and, without a moment’s hesitation, they galloped into the night.
----------------------------------------
03:50
“It’s been a while,” said Atoy Muzazi.
“Yeah,” replied Ruth Blaine. “I guess it has.”
The two of them stared at each other over the length of the apartment. The two Nebula were running around getting their exfiltration arranged, so for the time being their guests had been left to this awkward reunion. How many times had they tried to kill each other now? Muzazi had lost count.
Both of them were covered in bandages. Both of them were barely standing. Whatever Ruth Blaine had been trying to do, it had clearly ended as well as Muzazi’s own endeavours.
His eyes flicked down to the couch where his temporary ally was resting. “Are they okay?”
Apparently, the Del Sed’s hadn’t woken up since taking an attack from Dragan Hadrien at the Arena of the Absolute. It was odd, though. From what Jamilu had said, the attack had only managed to break through the first layer of their epidermis before fading away. After his fight with Muzazi, that had been the extent of Hadrien’s remaining strength. Was it shock then that kept the Del Sed twins asleep?
“I dunno,” Ruth muttered. “But I know they won’t be okay so long as we’re here. So I’m getting them out.”
“You think you’ll be targeted for this Banquet too?” Muzazi asked.
Jamilu had explained the situation to him after he’d finally managed to climb out of bed. To ring in the glorious new era of the Supremacy, the Supreme would bring forth the scum of the underworld and have them eliminate any lingering enemies for him. It sounded like a bad joke. Was this really how things were done?
“We showed up at the Arena at the same time as these guys,” Ruth shrugged. “So I guess it could look like we were part of the team saving you. You know… that’s… I guess people are really pissed off about that.”
Muzazi squeezed his eyes shut. There was another blow to his heart, as if he hadn’t had enough. They’d been plastering his face all over the media since the match, exposing the fact that two of the UAP’s Nebula had swooped in to save him from trouble. Evidence, they said, that he’d been supported by the UAP all along, that he was a traitor who’d sold out his principles to attain victory.
They weren’t even wrong.
“I’m in no fit state to fight,” Muzazi said honestly. “Are you?”
Ruth shook her head. “I’m surprised I’m still standing, honestly.”
“Then it seems we must rely on them,” Muzazi said, turning his head as the two Nebula returned to the room.
Rufus lingered by the door, arms crossed, while Jamilu approached. Muzazi had never known the warrior to be anything but calm, but right now his movements betrayed a certain anxiety. A sheen of sweat clung to his forehead.
“Alright,” Jamilu said quickly, his ghastly spear slung over his shoulder. “It’s guaranteed that the people hunting us will be watching the starports, so I’ve made contact with an Ultraviolet team on the planet who should be able to get us out. They’re preparing a starship on top of the Alyn Grace Memorial Shopping Centre -- should be ready for flight in around an hour. From there, we’ll have to take one of the smuggling routes to get across the border.”
“I see,” Muzazi nodded. “That… that sounds like a good plan.”
“You can’t fight right now, so use this if it comes down to it,” Jamilu continued, handing him a plasma pistol. He looked over at Ruth. “I’m sorry, but we’re limited in supplies. Defend yourself with your armour if it comes down to it, alright?”
“Alright,” Ruth grunted.
She squatted down and picked the Del Sed body up in a piggyback, even as she winced from the pain. Muzazi supposed they couldn’t waste either of their viable fighters moving them around. He was just about to offer to help when a thought occurred.
He turned back to Jamilu. “You said one hour?”
Jamilu -- who had just been about to head back for the door -- turned back and nodded, hand on his hip. “Yes, that’s right. They’re moving as fast as they can.”
“Will that be enough time to find Morgan and the others?”
Jamilu looked away.
I knew it.
“I’m not leaving without my comrades,” Muzazi said seriously.
“I understand,” Jamilu said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Believe me, I do, but we need to get off this planet as soon as possible. It’s just not realistic. Your team is competent. I’m sure they’ll be able to lay low and --”
“You’re concerned because these people coming after us are a serious threat to you,” Muzazi pressed on. “If they’re a threat to Nebula, they’re a threat to my friends. I’m not leaving unless I have them with me.”
Jamilu breathed in deep through his nose. “I’m sorry, but every second we spend on this planet is a risk. I am not extending that risk any further than --”
Muzazi put the pistol to his own head.
“I’ll make it simple for you,” he said. “You save all of us or you save none of us.”
Do it! Victory jeered. Nobody loves you!
Jamilu exchanged a glance with Rufus, and a glance with Ruth. After a moment, it seemed they realised none of them would be able to grab the gun in time. “Muzazi… come on,” Jamilu said quietly. “Think about this. You wouldn’t --”
“I wouldn’t?” Muzazi laughed. He’d forgotten what that felt like. “What a strange thing to say, Nebula Two. You saw what happened at the Arena of the Absolute. You know my history. What I’ve lost, what I’ve bled. I’m sure you know all of that, and yet you say I wouldn’t? If you don’t understand, then let me just ask the question another way.”
He glared into the eyes of the Nebula, and his gaze was steel.
“What exactly do you think I still possess that would stop me pulling this trigger?”
The spear slipped from Jamilu’s grip and clattered to the floor.
“Damn you,” the warrior whispered.