6:02
Something was misaligned.
“Citizen of R’lyeh!”
Baltay jumped backwards as Larik's Killing Engine slammed down into the ground. It had been enhanced and altered with Aether, strengthened to such a degree that the skin had hardened into crystal, its bizarre structure bordering the mechanical and the organic. Its teeth spun in its mouth like a blender, sending sparks flying everywhere.
“Hey,” Karl Larik said, his voice placid even as his Killing Engine tore apart the rooftop. “Hey. Hold on for just a second. I just wanna talk to you a little bit.”
One.
Baltay should not be fighting Karl Larik right now. Karl Larik should still be trying to catch up to them, and not doing very well. This was not an encounter he had foreseen.
Morgan Nacht swung his makeshift Fog sword again and again, slicing apart the grotesquely engorged maggots that leapt at him. They dropped to the ground, sliced into pieces, smoke rising from their wounds… but more just kept coming. Some were devouring the carcass of the dog that had been struck low by Curse Hand, while others massed in the shadows.
Their master, an elderly Umbrant man with limp white hair, had his face angled right up towards the sky.
“Oh,” he crooned. “Where are the corpses?!”
Mid-Tier Bounty Hunter
Eater-Face
Two.
They should not have run into Eater-Face here. In most of the possible scenarios, that maniac got distracted by easier prey… or he got ambushed by the Hive of Malkuth during the sieges of the hospitals. In the closest version to this fight Baltay knew of, they were battling a Malkuth drone that wielded Eater-Face’s ability.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Gretchen fired off shot after shot down the fire escape -- fending off the gang of bounty hunters trying to use it to ascend. Remnants of the Crimson Carnival, eager to fetch themselves some glory and reward before the organization finally splintered completely. Some of them fired back, but the firepower they could bring to bear was nothing compared to Gretchen's.
She switched Armaments every few shots, bolts of fire and ice and lightning surging down the vertical battlefield. A shield she'd set up deflected any shots that came close to hitting her… and a second shield took care of any that slipped through the first one. They wouldn't be making it up that fire escape any time soon.
But the fact that they were here?
Three.
His vision was failing him… or more accurately, his vision was blurred. The exceptionally unlikely was coming out as certain, and the definite was manifesting as distant shades. Something was still, still misaligned -- like he was looking at the future through a lens of shattered glass.
When he'd gone to Abra-Facade, Luna had trained him to see the future.
When he'd gone to the asylum, he'd trained himself to understand the future.
And yet there was something missing. What? He didn't have the time to think about it right now. Right now he had to --
Four.
Baltay whirled around as he deflected Citizen of R’lyeh one more time, spotting the enemy who'd clambered up the building from the side. Another leftover from the Crimson Carnival, a burly woman grinning from ear to ear. She pointed her hands towards Morgan and roared:
“Guardian Entity: Flatwoo --”
Baltay was upon her in an instant, burying his blade in her face, but they were already on the wrong track. Equilibrium had been broken. The future he'd been doing his best to avoid, the future that spelled disaster, was already --
Morgan Nacht saw his chance.
“J! F! A!”
Before Baltay could even move, Morgan acted. Purple Fog erupted out of his body, spilling over the rooftop -- and at the same time, a horde of Nacht copies poured forth, fleeing in every direction. Baltay's eyes flicked forward into the future, watching himself perform an Aether ping, watching it be rendered useless by the dense Fog within each individual copy.
They'd lost Nacht.
Gretchen raised her shield as the New Moon struck from within the crowd of clones, deflecting a blow that would have taken her head off. That was the sole attack Nacht allowed himself, though. Fog and clones continued to spill in every direction, washing over the gathered parties… and within a few seconds, they were gone.
Baltay darted in, deflecting Citizen of R'lyeh as it lunged for Gretchen as well. Landing back to back with her, he looked around and ahead, seeking any way to get them back onto the path he needed.
Nothing easy. The roads ahead of them were lined with thorns. Still, even if that were the case…
…they had no choice but to start running down one.
----------------------------------------
06:05
Rufus finally took a breath. Damn. He'd been needing that.
The air in the storage compartment of the train was musty as all hell, but it was better than nothing. Rufus lounged back on a makeshift throne of luggage, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his wounds. He'd treated his injuries as best he could, but damn… Appointment really left you feeling it.
“You good?” he grunted, glancing at Atoy Muzazi. “Still alive?”
The Full Moon looked as bad as Rufus felt. Pale as all hell, and Rufus had never been known for his needlework, so his reopened wounds had only been clumsily stitched back together. Still, given his natural constitution and his Aether, he should be able to stay standing until they reached their destination.
Or sitting, at least. Well, he wouldn't die. Hopefully.
“How long until we reach this place?” Muzazi panted, leaning against the wall to support himself. His new bandages were already starting to blush.
“The shopping centre?” Rufus asked. “Shouldn't be long. We sneak out of this train at the next stop, make our way through the side streets -- and then we're there. I've got the codes to get in.”
Muzazi looked up at him. “And Aguta… he'll definitely honour his word?”
“Never known him to break a promise,” Rufus shrugged. “Listen, it's like I said. If Jamilu says he's going to do something, he's going to do it. No buts, no ifs. He'll get your friend if there's still a friend to get.”
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“That…!”
“That'd be bad, yeah, but there's nothing you can do about it. You stay on your feet like that freaking yourself out, all you're going to do is tire yourself out. And I don't wanna be mean, but there's not much of you left to tire out. So chill, okay? Take a load off.”
Muzazi wavered for a moment, looking like he was about to argue. Then his knees buckled beneath him, and he finally collapsed into what wasn’t quite a sitting position… but honestly, it was close enough.
The two wounded warriors hid in the dark, while their silver hearse took them to their destination.
----------------------------------------
06:20
Morgan ran for his life.
There was no better opportunity than the one he'd just taken. The gathered bounty hunters had been focused on Baltay and Gretchen -- who, to be quite honest, Morgan had no qualms about abandoning. While those two focused their ire, Morgan could get away and hide himself within the labyrinth of Azum-Ha.
That didn't mean he was completely in the clear, though.
“Jenimie Shotgun!” screeched a high-pitched voice from behind him.
Chunks of rubbles zoomed towards Morgan, bouncing off the air in bizarre spiralling patterns as they approached. A swing of his bolstered Fog sword deflected them, but their master ran in a second later. A gangly young man in a white vest and shorts, wearing a crude mask of what was apparently meant to look like Dragan Hadrien. Hair taken from a mop and burlap covering the face.
Mid-Tier Bounty Hunter
The Aspirant
“Jenimie World!” the Aspirant screamed as he lunged in, transforming his arm into an augur of blue light.
As the maniac punched, Morgan leaned back like he was playing limbo, and the fist swung high above him. The air pressure smashed a huge dent into the building behind, but -- save for the wind scratching at his face -- Morgan was unharmed. He spun around, swinging his smog-sword at the back of the Aspirant's neck.
Save for any nonsense, this would be the killing blow…
“Jenimie Dominion!”
…but the Aspirant had nonsense to spare.
A white pillar erupted out of empty space, deflecting Morgan's blow as it stretched and waved upwards, oddly flaccid. The Aspirant turned, a grin visible beneath the holes in his mask, pointing his hands at Morgan.
“Jenimie Rail --”
He didn't get to finish his sentence. He didn't even get to finish his breath. In the moment before he executed his attack, he suddenly stopped, his head jerking upwards…
…as his throat birthed the blade of a spear.
The guy from the UAP. Muzazi's sponsor.
Jamilu Aguta pulled the weapon free with a look of distaste, splattering blood and scattered meat onto the floor. His face was covered in ashes and his left hand was bound tight with what looked like a napkin. To put it bluntly, he'd certainly seen better days -- but then again, that was the same for everyone tonight.
“Morgan Nacht,” he said, twirling his spear. “It seems I found you just in time.”
How did you find me? What's the situation? What happens next?
All sorts of questions came to Morgan's mind, but only one made it to his lips.
“Where's Muzazi?”
----------------------------------------
06:00
(a short while ago)
“Clown,” glared Mereloco. “Explain.”
Purple Aether crackled threateningly over his musculature as he advanced upon Wu Ming, passing a silent Gregori Hazzard. In response, the Clown of the Supremacy backed up, raising his hands placatingly. He might have even seemed intimidated, if he wasn't laughing.
“Oh, come on! Come on!” he grinned. “I'm just a little guy, don't get mad! Besides, saving Aclima will bring you closer to finding Muzazi! Trust me!”
Mereloco stopped, and slowly -- slowly -- raised an eyebrow.
“How?” he demanded.
“By the way,” Manron drawled from the corner, red eyes fixed on Wu Ming. “Even if you convince this guy not to tear your head off, I'm still pissed. Start talking -- quick.”
“Um,” said Aclima.
Four pairs of eyes turned to look at her -- and she knew each one of them could kill her in a matter of seconds. Still, she couldn't just sit here. She couldn't just stay helpless.
“I have some questions,” she said, throat dry.
“We all have questions,” muttered Manron, scowling. “Were you not listening?”
She ignored him, and turned her gaze to Wu Ming. “For one… you're dead. There was a corpse. Right?”
“Haha,” Wu Ming scratched the back of his head bashfully. “Well, you're right about that. You're talking to a dead man!”
Gregori crossed his arms. “I think we're all getting pretty sick of your jokes, Ming.”
“No joke!” Wu Ming wagged a finger. “Okay, maybe a little bit of one -- a two-outta-ten on the humour scale, but still in that genre. You're not really talking to a dead man, I guess. It's more like… I'm some Aether that confused itself for Wu Ming, and now I'm just wandering around generating myself.”
Mereloco's glare deepened. “An Awakening,” he rumbled.
“Oh, you're familiar?”
“The Great Chain used them in the war,” Mereloco grunted. “Continue.”
“Existentially, it's kind of horrifying,” Wu Ming said casually. “But I try not to let it get me down. The point is -- the point is --” He turned back to the two former contestants. “-- you guys wanna find Atoy Muzazi, right?”
“You already know,” Manron snapped. “Stop messing around.”
“But I'm willing to bet he wouldn't want to be found. What's a guy to do? Well, if you pop up with this tyke in tow,” he waved a hand at Aclima. “Well, he'll have no choice but to come to you. He's honour bound, you see. That's the kind of disease he has.”
Aclima laughed.
Again, unkind eyes turned to face her, but she still couldn't bring herself to wipe the smile off her face. What a joke. These morons were really listening to this clown, when he didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about.
Honour bound.
Yeah, right. If that were true, Atoy Muzazi wouldn't have betrayed her. If that were true, Atoy Muzazi wouldn't have murdered her father.
If that were true… none of this would be happening at all.
So she stood there, and she laughed.
----------------------------------------
06:51
The Alyn Grace Memorial Shopping Centre was a huge dome-shaped structure, sixteen levels of commerce and entertainment sealed behind a glass barrier, perched atop one of Grip District’s tourism plazas. It had been closed for a year now for construction of an expansion that had apparently run into problems… although Ruth supposed that was probably just a cover story.
If the UAP’s Ultraviolets were using this place as a hideout, then it would be best for the place to be empty, after all.
“Hurry,” Ruth hissed, skulking through the entrance courtyard -- hand holding her aching side.
Annatrice del Sed scowled at her, Bruno and Serena slung over her shoulder. “Don't forget our hierarchy, deviant. I am a Special Officer of the Supremacy, and you are nothing but another criminal on the run. It's only by my good grace -- and for my convenience -- that you even remain standing. Instead of trying to ‘command’ me, a laughable notion from the very beginning, why not but clutch a pinch of gratitude? I can assure you, you'll enjoy the taste far more than --”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ruth hissed, turning her head as she squatted to reach for the shutters.
As Annatrice pouted and scowled, Ruth took a deep breath. Right now, even moving around was painful. The fight against Niain had taken a lot out of her.
Even so, at this moment, she had no choice…
Skeletal Set.
Her gauntlets almost didn't manifest properly. They were droopy and warped, half-melted, like they were made of wax. Even so, they provided enough strength that she was able to lift the sealed shutters and open a small gap into the shopping centre.
She jerked her head, ushering Annatrice in, and -- once the girl had pulled Serena and Bruno in with her -- she rolled under as well. The shutter slammed shut behind her, plunging them into darkness.
So, she didn't see.
She didn’t see the bug-men lurking in the shadows.
She didn’t see the metal titan silhouetted against the moon.
She didn’t see the gathered scum watching, waiting…
…for all the players to take their final places.