05:50
Curse Hand.
Aclima pressed her hands against the pink bubble surrounding her, but there was no response -- no scream, no horror as her target's body erupted into gore. Whatever this strange barrier was, it had only been generated by Aether -- now that it was in the world, it was only the material's own physical properties that were keeping her trapped. As she watched the cityscape rush by outside her new cage, frustration swelled in Aclima's heart.
Damnit.
Everyone going after her knew what she could do, and so they had simply found ways around it. The power she'd thought gave her an advantage -- the ability that was supposed to make her the natural enemy of Aether-users -- was so easily circumvented. She pounded her fists in fury against the pink walls, but they just bounced back as if to mock her.
Damnit!
In the distance, she could see Gregori Hazzard in pursuit. Was this really all she could do? Watch and wait for another traitor to come rescue her? It wasn't as if she didn't know Hazzard’s game. He'd said it himself: to make his dream come true, he needed the favour of the Supreme. Rather than betting everything on an assassination attempt with Aclima, it would be more convenient for him to deliver the former Heir to the new Supreme himself, and gain favour that way. If Hazzard saved her here, all she'd be doing was passing into a new clawed hand.
DAMNIT!
Nothing had changed. Nothing had ever changed. Baltay, Atoy, Gregori… they were all the same, all seeking to exploit her for their own ends. All liars. All traitors. Damnit, damnit, damnit! Red-hot hatred boiled in her veins as she thought about the words she'd said on that rooftop. The stolen sympathy she'd given that bastard.
She wouldn't forgive.
Never. Never, never, never! Never! Never. NEVER. Never! NEVER!
DAMNIT!
Aclima's fists exploded into a flare of synchronized Aether as she slammed them into the barrier once more -- and this time, the bubble could not hold up. The material tore open, fresh air flooding into the sphere, the chill of the early morning pouring over Aclima like a balm.
The monster, who had been dragging the bubble along by a chain, snapped its head around.
“What?! Impossible! 😱”
For a second, it slowed down, and that second looked like it would have been fatal. It had provided an opening, after all. Gregori Hazzard was suddenly upon it, slashing a blade directly at its head --
-- but once again, the attack passed through without even making contact.
“Just kidding~ 😜”
Aclima leapt out of the torn-open bubble, landing on an adjacent rooftop -- and immediately, she kicked off, avoiding the second bubble that appeared around where she'd just been standing. It seemed this thing hadn't given up on taking her alive. She kept running, and it kept making bubbles, pink spheres rolling across the floor as she barely avoided capture.
“It's a shame… 😢” the creature mocked. “I was hoping just to suffocate you a little until you fell unconscious -- 😴 -- but it seems I'll have to get a little rough with you after all, hm? 😈”
As it ranted, Gregori continued attacking, darting through the air as he slashed at it again and again. Each attack missed -- but now, with the phenomenon occurring over and over again, Aclima could actually see what was happening. Her stomach turned.
In the instant before Gregori's blade made contact, the body of the creature would warp to avoid it. A dent would push down into its head, an arm would bend inwards, its torso would compress to the width of a pencil… whatever the manifestation of the ability, the result was the same -- Gregori's attack would pass through empty air, and the deformity would snap back a moment later.
It noticed that she noticed.
“Impressed? 😏” it chuckled. “It's understandable. This is ‘Invincible Allison', a particularly potent evasive ability 🤓. The original user -- Allison, of course -- didn't have a body suited to extensive use… oh, but when we visited her in the hospital? We were quite happy to grant her absolution 😇. Why not catch your breath and see what it's like? 🙂? No? Oh well.”
It raised its mouth-arm, and the jaws snapped open.
“Blez Peshi.”
The limb belched forth a sphere of what looked like brain matter, the projectile thudding into the rooftop -- right in front of Aclima's path. The danger was instinctual: bomb. She skidded to a halt as she moved to avoid it… and in that instant, she heard the bomb. She heard it speak.
“Wait!” it cried, in a voice warped by torment. “Wait, don't do it! Please! PLEASE!”
“Oops~ 🤪”
The bomb screamed as it exploded with force far beyond its size -- sending Aclima flying back, her back slamming against the wall. Blood sprayed from her mouth as she crumpled into a pile, pain holding her down just as well as any restraint. The enemy chuckled as they slowly touched down on the rooftop, their neck snapping at a right angle to avoid Gregori's swings.
“Oh, my apologies, 🤭” it said, wings retracting into its back. “I was so irritated by this fly -- 😒 -- that I might have gone a little too hard. Well, if you're still breathing, that's just well enough ☺️. Just so you know, though, Mr. Hazzard -- even if you manage to get around my auto-dodge, my Godsheen ability is strong enough that your attacks will actually just be papercuts 😂. So I wouldn't waste your precious energy if I were you. Now then…”
The monster lifted its mouth-arm and reloaded, the length of the limb pulsing like a cat preparing to vomit. As its body flickered in place, dodging Gregori's lightning-fast attacks, the panel covering its own mouth slid open -- revealing a wide and cruel grin.
“...one for the road, princess? 😆”
Blez Peshi opened its mouth to fire…
…but never got the chance.
“Unchained.”
The effect was immediate.
In an instant, the creature was slammed against the rooftop, the attack taking place over too wide an area for it to automatically avoid. Blez Peshi, more organic than the rest of it, was immediately reduced to pulp -- but the rest of its body survived, metal skin scraping together as it slowly tried to pick itself up, struggling against the intensified gravity.
It shouldn't have bothered. If it had just accepted death, it wouldn't have had to face that man.
Mereloco strode across the rooftop, clad in nothing more than a pair of boxer shorts, his gaze disinterested. Tubes and medical instruments hung limp off his form -- clearly, when this man had decided to leave the hospital, he'd just taken part of it with him. Scratching the back of his head, he regarded the enemy as it finally reached a crouching position.
It seethed as it looked back at him, its compound eyes flaring red. “Mere… lo…”
“Unchained,” Mereloco repeated, yawning.
The gravity intensified once again, pressing the creature further against the roof. The armour finally began to give way -- and so limbs ruptured, spilling their slurried contents onto the ground around them, fracture lines spreading all over the parts of the body that somehow managed to remain relatively intact. A true dent slowly established itself on the monster’s head, like someone was gradually digging a finger in, and for a moment it looked like the skull might just burst too…
…but no.
There was a burst of blood, but it didn't come from the skull. It came from the neck. The monster screeched as its head suddenly popped off of its body, launching itself towards Mereloco. The crimson wings erupted from its temples, propelling it forward, and its mouth became a spinning dervish of whirring fangs.
“You utter fool! 😡” it screamed. “Malkuth technology is the finest in the galaxy! 🤣”
At first, Mereloco said nothing. He just crossed his arms and watched the head shoot towards him. Then, he raised a single eyebrow.
“Well?” he finally said, in the moment before the head could strike his throat.
----------------------------------------
Guardian Entity: Hachiman.
----------------------------------------
Eh?
😕
Praetorian 2 found it's righteous anger suddenly replaced by confusion as its killflight stopped, inches from Mereloco’s throat. It stretched out its fangs as much as it was able, but they still couldn't quite reach the short man's skin. What had happened? It could still feel the wings produced by the Red Wallpaper, so what was stopping it from moving?
It wiggled, and understood.
Ah.
😟
It had been skewered.
A wooden spear had literally come out of nowhere, impaling Praetorian 2 from temple to temple, and now its owner held their prize aloft. A reaper of straw and flame, wielding a weapon in each of its four hands, a skull grinning sightlessly up at the trapped Malkuth warrior. It floated over the ground, and its master stepped out from behind it.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
It was a man with unkempt white hair and jagged black antlers. Another target… Praetorian 2 checked its records. Nael Manron.
“You took your time,” grunted Mereloco.
“I thought you could handle it yourself,” muttered Manron. “You were testing me?”
Mereloco said nothing.
Foolish. Both of them, foolish. Celebrating victory without confirming it. Did they think they had killed Praetorian 2? Ha! It would take far more than this to defeat one blessed by Her Majesty! Even now, the Praetorian was calculating a plan to turn this situation around.
Taking all the variables into account… along with existing damage and abilities… the chance for success was 22.3%. Nearly a one-in-four chance of surviving this encounter, eliminating four targets, and obtaining Curse Hand in one swoop. It would take that chance and turn it into certainty.
It would --
UPLOADING ABILITY: “Godsheen”
Your Majesty?
UPLOADING ABILITY: “Invincible Allison”
UPLOADING ABILITY: “Robin in the Night Garden”
UPLOADING ABILITY: “Blez Peshi”
Your Majesty? I need those abilities to execute the plan.
UPLOADING ABILITY: “The Red Wallpaper”
UPLOADING ABILITY: “Excel Replicant (N)”
UPLOADING ABILITY: “Capture Ball”
Your Majesty?
Your Majesty?
Hello?
SEVERING LINK…
Oh.
…
☹️
----------------------------------------
Hachiman turned its spear, and the head of the monster dropped to the floor, roughly twisted in half. A few sparks flew from the mechanical components, landing in the black-speckled blood that flowed freely. Red light flickered in the compound eyes for just a few moments… before dying out completely.
“There,” Manron said calmly, kicking the head away. “Looks like the Queen didn't want to risk losing any abilities on this.”
Mereloco glanced at him. “You know these things?”
“We were in the same business,” Manron explained, his second Guardian Entity fading away behind him. “It's just common sense for me to be familiar with the competition.”
Mereloco said nothing.
“Um…” the noise creaked out of Aclima's throat.
She lay against the wall, her eyes flicking between the two new arrivals, her injured body swaying between relief and caution. Once again, the situation had escaped her understanding. Here were two contestants from the Dawn Contest, two warriors who'd lost to Atoy Muzazi.
What were they doing here? Why had they saved her?
She opened her mouth to ask -- but before she could, Nael Manron interrupted.
“The Supreme Heir, huh?” he sighed, slinging his shamisen over his shoulder -- an awkward motion, given his missing arm. “Looks like we got tricked, big guy.”
Mereloco -- ‘big’ in presence if not height -- just stayed standing there, his arms crossed, as still as a statue. “Hmph.”
“Tricked?” Aclima breathed. “Tricked, what do you mean tricked? Who were you looking for?”
Like I even have to ask.
Mereloco glanced down at her. “Atoy Muzazi.”
“Oh, really?” asked a voice through the night.
Gregori Hazzard finally reappeared, emerging from the cloud of smoke that the Malkuth warrior's death had produced. His arms unfolded as he walked over, returning to their normal shape, but his red eyes remained cold and fixed upon the new arrivals. Paper-white Aether sneakily trickled up the back of his wrist.
He was ready for another fight. Aclima knew that she wasn't.
“If you were tricked,” Gregori asked, narrowing his eyes. “Who exactly tricked you?”
Mereloco and Nael Manron just looked at him… no, Aclima realized. They didn't look at Gregori Hazzard at all. They looked at the person standing directly behind him.
“Who?” A hand of bundled thread landed on Gregori's shoulder. “Why, that's a ten-outta-ten question if I ever heard one, my boy.”
----------------------------------------
6:00
That makes nine.
Jamilu pulled Victory free of the enemy's carcass, tearing out what amounted to its digestive organs in the process. It plummeted after its guts, body smashed to pieces by the racing traffic below.
It didn't matter, he knew. Even though there could only be one-hundred and eight proper members of the Hive of Malkuth at any given time, there was no such limit on the number of thralls they could convert. Each time they killed a drone, some unfortunate walking corpse would no doubt be promoted to take its place.
Which meant fighting like this was pointless.
Which meant that their focus had to be on escape.
Which meant…
“With me!” Jamilu barked, diving off the overhang they'd been fleeing across.
Ruth Blaine and the spirit medium -- carrying the del Sed's -- followed a moment later, and as one they smashed through the massive window before them. Strobing light and deafening music spilled out of the building as they passed through this unorthodox entrance -- a club, at the height of celebration for the end of the Dawn Contest. The party was still in such full swing that barely anyone even seemed to notice the window shattering.
They did notice the next part, though.
As the trio landed in the middle of the party, Jamilu whirled around, slashing through the chest of a pursuing drone. Red-and-black blood sprayed everywhere as the pink light of Jamilu’s Aether filled the room -- and that got the message across. A chorus of screams joined the music as the crowd rushed to escape the sudden battle, flowing towards the exits like a lake being drained.
Jamilu glanced at Blaine and the girl.
“Blend in with the crowd as they leave,” he said seriously. “The escape ship is at Alyn Grace Memorial Shopping Centre -- make your way there. I'll deal with these creatures and rendezvous with you.”
Blaine's eyes flicked between him and the insect-men amassing on the other side of the broken window. “You sure? I --”
“I don't want to be rude, Miss Blaine,” Jamilu cut her off. “But as you are right now, you would be a hindrance to me. Besides, I have a promise to keep to Muzazi. Go.”
The medium hadn't needed to hear it twice -- she'd already run off -- but Ruth took a second to choose retreat. A battle raged across her face… but eventually she nodded, and eventually she turned. She vanished out of the doors alongside their odd new comrade -- who had sprinted off without hesitation.
“Oho?” Victory chuckled. “What's this? You sacrificing yourself, brat?”
“Silence,” Jamilu said sternly, striding through the parting crowd to meet his enemies. “I'm not so weak that I need to give my life to defeat enemies of this calibre.”
“Cocky shit. Let's see if you can still say that when --”
Jamilu interrupted.
“Compass,” he snapped. “Power of One.”
Immediately, the spear flew from his grip and spun in the air -- before finally pointing straight at a drone at the back of the incoming horde. As Jamilu had suspected: in the last few minutes, the enemies had started using low-level abilities at the same time. That support unit was sharing the powers between the group: it would have to die quickly.
It was time for Jamilu Aguta to earn his title.
The Hive of Malkuth charged…
…and Nebula Two met them.
Two stabs of Victory slew two drones, so quickly that Jamilu had already run past them before their knees could even buckle. A third seized him with burly arms of binding chains, grasping him by the hands and holding him in place for a moment… but only for a moment. Jamilu spat right between the creature's eyes.
Calamity.
The saliva burst into pink flames, forcing the drone to relax its grip -- and Jamilu immediately broke free. He stepped to the side as a fourth drone lunged for his back, spat in his hand, and ignited that as well. With that additional power, it was easy for him to plunge his hand right through his attacker's chest and pull free their heart.
The third drone, its head still aflame, fired a machine-gun volley from its shifting arm -- and Jamilu span Victory to deflect the bullets, his gaze cold. As he deflected, he advanced. Two seconds were all he needed to close the distance, seize hold of the gun-arm, and tear it free.
From there, it was just a matter of applying force. Two heavy blows to the head of the drone with its own severed arm were enough to finish it.
The drones knew no fear, and continued to attack even as Jamilu massacred them. Heads and limbs flew in every direction as they were severed, the numbers assaulting the club constantly replenished by a steady stream of reinforcements from outside. However many thralls the Hive had created on this planet, they were surely keeping them nearby.
Ideally, Jamilu would have liked to destroy that storage facility and cut off the Hive’s supply lines… but he didn't have the time. Now that he'd given the others an opportunity to escape, he needed to seize an opportunity of his own. Once he'd opened up a gap in the Hive's forces, he would…
The Hive spoke in unison.
“Domesday Clock.”
Jamilu's eyes widened as a massive ornate timepiece appeared, hovering in the air before him, becoming the centerpiece of the room through its sheer presence. It bore hands of bone and banners of ragged skin hung from its body. Immediately, his thoughts of escape were put aside.
Domesday Clock was an ability that had been famous… no, infamous… even before the Hive of Malkuth had acquired it. Its user had been like Nebula Ten -- human garbage who delighted in massacre. Someone who did not kill for a purpose, but whose purpose was killing.
Jamilu's Principality knew how this ability worked. After these first five seconds, it would automatically launch an attack against a target within range -- weakest first. Once a target had died, they would be removed from the kill-list, and so the Domesday Clock would slowly work its way up to the strongest target within its operational range.
Judging from the number of notches on the clock before Jamilu, there was no doubt that the civilians escaping from the club were still within range. Without Aether, an attack from the Domesday Clock would pop a human body like a balloon… but the Hive didn't care about that. To them, anything that would cause Jamilu to hesitate was a minor victory.
When the Domesday Clock activated, there would be five seconds before it attacked the first target -- before it took the first life. From there, it would be a murder a second. The streets would be bathed in blood.
Five.
That was as much countdown as they were going to get.
If these creatures wanted to make Nebula Two hesitate, they'd have to do better than that.
Jamilu reached down and tore off his own pinky finger.
As a warrior of Inganci, he had been raised with three principles in his heart:
1. To serve and honour the Oba.
2. To serve and honour the Nation.
3. To serve and honour the people.
With these duties in mind, Jamilu Aguta had trained since he was a child to fight for his homeworld, to control Victory… to take evil in his hand and not be consumed by it. He had never betrayed those vows, and he never would. If he had to sacrifice a body part to perform his duty, then there was nothing else to be said, and there was certainly no reason to stand there agonizing about it.
Pink Aether sparking around him, Jamilu hurled his severed finger at the face of the Domesday Clock…and the digit became a point of light. That clock would not survive one more second. Victory’s third ability was no Der Freischütz, but it had been designed to oppose Aether all the same. Ignited by Victory, even just his saliva could melt through most Aether barriers.
And a finger was far more than just saliva.
Calamity.
The hand of the clock went to tick…
…but before it could tock, flame ate filth.