Sometimes, Morgan Nacht felt emerald envy well up in his heart.
It happened when he looked at his teacher -- the Clown of the Supremacy, the Man With A Thousand Powers, Wu Ming. If you saw that man dancing across the battlefield, defeating his enemies with conjured absurdities, you might think it was effortless. Not Morgan.
Morgan knew it was effortless.
Wu Ming was not like other people. At the moment of his birth, all the dice had been rolled in his favour. He had a connection to his Aether like nobody else Morgan had ever seen. Abilities that would take years for lesser men to develop were cobbled together in mere moments. An omnipresent core meant he was always in his best condition. If there was an advantage, Wu Ming had it.
That was the kind of divine talent that effort could never overcome -- and that was what bred the envy inside Morgan's heart. He had strength too, he had skill, he even had multiple abilities… but what was that compared to Wu Ming? What were twenty-six abilities compared to the infinite?
Compared to him… Morgan often thought. I'm nothing but an amateur.
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8:16
“Run,” snapped Jamilu Aguta.
He opened his hand, and Victory rushed out of the inferno opposite and into his grasp. The moment he recovered his weapon, Nebula Two whirled around and slammed it into the wall behind them, shattering an entrance into the building beyond.
Scattered screams rang out as he and Morgan ran into the now-exposed room. A restaurant's dining room, occupied only by staff at this early hour -- staff who fled for their lives as the two warriors entered. The tables were set and the decor immaculate.
Morgan felt bad.
Bang.
Jamilu skidded to a halt as he heard the Sixth Dead launch off the roof. With a snarl of frustration, he turned on his heel and swung his spear, deflecting a blow that would have punctured his skull. Purple Aether danced with pink in the dawn's light.
The Sixth Dead jumped back as a blur, avoiding Jamilu's counterattack, and touched down on a nearby table.
Cutlery rattled under her increased weight as she landed. Morgan hadn't expected the maniac to be able to pursue them so quickly after taking a blow like that -- but now he saw how she'd done it. A shudder went down his spine.
The Sixth Dead was covered in armour of her own making -- layers upon layers of purple arms, sprouting from all over her own body and wrapping together to cover her form. It looked like it had just barely worked. As Morgan watched, the last of the hands crumbled away -- casualties of the pink flames -- revealing the Sixth Dead's crazed grin beneath.
Jamilu adjusted his stance, cold eyes focused on his adversary.
“Redundancies, huh?” he muttered.
Morgan glanced over. “What?”
“Those hands are called Redundancies,” Jamilu explained, watchful for the next attack. “When she kills someone, she records their arms -- and then she can spawn them from any surface infused with her Aether.”
“You're well informed,” the Sixth Dead chirped, standing up straight. “I can understand figuring out how my power works through observation, but finding out its name? Hm. Hmm. You've got a little something-something going on, don't you, spear boy?”
Jamilu moved one hand up the length of his weapon, preparing to attack.
“Mr. Nacht,” he said. “I'm going to keep her busy. While --”
“No you won't,” smiled the Sixth Dead.
A wave of purple Aether pulsed out from her body, filling the room -- and in that same instant, Redundancies sprouted from every place at every table, like a legion of dismembered diners had just arrived. As one, they plucked the knives and forks beneath them -- and as one, they hurled them towards Jamilu and Morgan.
The cutlery shone with transferred Aether -- they would be stronger than bullets.
F --
Morgan went to erect a barrier of Fog, but Jamilu was faster. He pushed Morgan behind him with a foot and blew -- spraying spittle into the air before him. There was a single spark of pink Aether -- and that spittle ignited, becoming a cloud of broiling pink fire. As the attacks passed through the makeshift shield, their courses went wild, half-melted cutlery dropping to the ground around them.
Their enemy hadn't just stood there and watched, though. The Sixth Dead was running around the circumference of the circular room -- seeking to get behind Jamilu -- and as she did, she grabbed a knife herself and threw it towards the Nebula’s throat. He swung his spear upwards, shattering the uninfused blade and sending its shards thudding into the ceiling.
The Sixth Dead narrowed her eyes.
She stopped running and instead kicked off the wall towards them, a tent of hands manifesting atop her head to create an aerodynamic cone. Morgan went to jump out of the way -- but no, he couldn't. His eyes flicked down -- Redundancies had sprouted from the floor as well, and had seized hold of his and Jamilu's ankles, holding them in place.
Jamilu didn't try and escape. He just stood there, readying his spear in that miniscule and endless moment.
Like Wu Ming would do, Morgan realized bitterly. Like a real warrior would do.
As the Sixth Dead reached them, she dispelled her hand-tent -- and instead, eight Redundancies sprouted from her back, muscular and flexile at the same time, like the tentacles of some deep sea creature. Laughing wildly, she unleashed a flurry of mirrored punches.
The air trembled…
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The air trembled…
…and spear met fist and fist and fist and fist.
Jamilu Aguta moved with all the speed his body was capable of, parrying each and every punch with a thrust of Victory, ignoring the growing exhaustion tugging at his soul. Clangclangclangclangclang -- the sounds of their inter-second clashes shook the furniture around them. To pull his mind away from the building fatigue, Jamilu tapped into his Principality -- into the information on his enemy it was feeding him.
The Sixth Dead.
As the name suggested, the sixth incarnation of the Aether-user known as the Dead. Unstable, severely unstable. Possessed a capacity for slaughter and an antipathy for her past lives unmatched by any of her predecessors. Wielded a massive scythe in battle, believed to be some kind of Aether Armament. Extremely dangerous.
Jamilu frowned as sparks danced past his eyes. Scythe? Where was this scythe that the Sixth Dead supposedly used? Was the fact that it was missing significant?
No time to speculate. He barely had time to think at all. Time had capacity only for a nervous impulse to propel him to his next block.
It was a losing battle, he recognised that. Even as he deflected the Sixth Dead's fists, she was manifesting more, knuckles against knuckles slamming into Jamilu's weapon. Eventually, he would make a mistake. Eventually, he would slip up. Eventually --
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Ah. He'd lost his focus. Now he would surely die. Alarm flared through Jamilu's brain for only a moment before he heard it…
“I. A.”
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One moment, Morgan and Jamilu were standing in what was very quickly becoming the ruins of a dining room. The next, Inside had transported them both down to the floor below -- into a dusty storage room, lined with shelves holding boxes.
Lifting his legs in a strange dance, finally free of those creepy hands, Morgan turned his head to Jamilu.
“We need to --”
A shudder ran down his spine as a purple Aether ping swept across the room -- and he and Jamilu's Aether sparked instinctively in response. Shit. They hadn't even had any time to think about cloaking.
Jamilu's gaze hardened.
“We need to go,” he said.
A single swipe of Victory obliterated the locked door before them -- and without further ado, the two of them were off. They sprinted down the long hallway, sealed doors on either side, charging in pursuit of an uncertain escape. As he heard the rubble behind them shift, Morgan chanced a look back over his shoulder -- and immediately wished he hadn't.
Eyes.
Redundancies had emerged around the shattered remains of the door they'd escaped through, but these weren't like the ones from before. These hands had unblinking eyes resting in their palms -- eyes that focused on Morgan as he met their collective gaze. The pupils shrank as one.
Another shudder went down his spine.
“Hands from Scurrants…” Jamilu muttered as he followed Morgan's gaze. “If her victim’s hands have unique abilities, she can use those abilities herself? Damnit. She can see us.”
Bang.
The ceiling shook -- and the storage room behind them exploded into a cloud of dust and debris, sweeping down the hallway. Morgan felt the intentions of a killer close in on him, like teeth waiting to bite down on his neck. The Sixth Dead had broken down through the floor to follow them, and any second now, she'd --
She did.
The smoke parted behind them as the Sixth Dead launched herself out of the storage room, once again clad in hand-armour from head to toe. Jamilu pushed Morgan to the side with one hand, and with the other he readied Victory. The spear crackled pink as Jamilu held it, preparing to counter the incoming attack.
Only…
Bang.
The hallway ahead of them exploded into dust as well -- and from this side, another Sixth Dead launched herself, far faster than the first. This one had no hand-armour, this one was grinning wildly, and this one -- Morgan realized -- was the real deal. His heart dropped.
The other one, coming from the storage room, was a decoy -- a puppet of Redundancies. Jamilu swung back around, caught unready by his real target -- and Morgan moved to handle the decoy in his place.
F! A!
A barrier of black Fog stopped the puppet's advance -- Morgan heard it slam against the cloud -- but he knew the moment had still been lost, for he heard other sounds as well. He heard Jamilu Aguta gasp in pain, and he heard the tearing of flesh.
Fearing what he'd see, Morgan Nacht turned his head.
The Sixth Dead had stopped, slamming her heels against the ground so she came to a halt right outside Jamilu's range. Nebula Two’s swing had missed her by centimetres… and she had used that opening well. A clawed Redundancy had sprouted from her wrist and stretched forward, striking Jamilu in that instant.
For a lesser man, that would have been the killing blow -- but a Nebula was a Nebula, even if they were caught off-guard.
Jamilu had blocked the attack… after a fashion. He’d raised his injured arm to protect his chest -- and now the claws of the Redundancy were embedded deep within the limb, squeezing as tightly as they could. Blood leaked freely around the digits. His face contorted with pain as the Sixth Dead smiled, slowly twisting the Redundancy inside his body.
“I guess you guys really aren’t all talk,” she chuckled. “You’re the first one to block that attack of mine, you know? But you really need to use your brain more.”
Jamilu smirked through the pain.
“I could say the same to you,” he hissed -- and, squeezing his eyes shut, he pulled himself free. A huge chunk of his arm was torn away in the process, locked in the grip of the Redundancy, and blood sprayed freely from the jagged wound. For a moment, Morgan thought that the Nebula had made a misplay, that he’d surely lost too much in that exchange, but no…
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Blood sprayed freely -- and coated the Sixth Dead’s face.
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Calamity!
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It was strange, seeing it from so close.
At first, Morgan had thought that those pink flames were a trade technique. In exchange for recording and banishing part of his own body -- whether that be spit or blood or flesh -- Jamilu could manifest an equivalent amount of those vivid pink flames. But that wasn’t the case at all. What Morgan was seeing right now, he realized, was alteration.
In an instant, Jamilu Aguta was altering every property of the blood he’d released -- transmuting it into those flames. The level of skill on display in just the simplest usage was astounding. Despite everything, Morgan found himself impressed.
The results spoke for themselves.
The Sixth Dead screamed as pink flames ran across her head, the Redundancy disappearing from her wrist as she staggered backwards -- garish light consuming the hallway. They had done it. They had won. For the briefest moment, Morgan even felt relief tug at his heart…
…until the Sixth Dead stopped screaming.
…until the Sixth Dead stopped playing.
…until the Sixth Dead started laughing.
She ran her hands though her hair like she was washing shampoo out of it… and the flames vanished, smothered by her touch alone. Morgan’s mouth popped open in despair. Those movements had been calm, without a hint of pain in them -- certainly not the pain of someone burning to death. It hadn’t worked. The Sixth Dead had taken Jamilu’s desperate gambit and shrugged it off like it was nothing.
“It’s a good thing I tested it with the knives,” the madwoman said casually, strolling forwards. “That fire only affects things infused with Aether. If I release my infusion, it might as well not even exist. Of course…”
A Redundancy lunged out from her torso -- and slammed an uppercut into Jamilu’s stomach, smashing him into the ceiling. His spear slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground.
“...once the fire’s gone, I’m free to go wild again.”
Her head snapped to look at Morgan, and her eyes widened in horrid anticipation.
“Your turn,” she breathed.
He was going to die. If he didn’t do something right now, right now, he would die. It didn’t matter what it was. It didn’t matter how stupid it was. All that mattered was that it was an action. That was the only thing that could stop his skull from being shattered in the next second: an action.
So Morgan Nacht took action. He reached down -- and picked up the spear called Victory.
“No!” Jamilu screamed from above… but too late.
Images flashed behind Morgan’s eyes.
A thousand years ago.
A battlefield like the world’s end.
A sun drowning in its own light.
A body bathed in blood.
A smiling enemy with eyes of blue ice.
A set of words drawing horror out of a heart already twisted.
“███ ████ █████ peace and joy for all mankind ████ ██ ██ █████”
Morgan gasped as the world snapped back into focus, pushing away the maggots eating at his sanity. He had no time to waste. Not even a moment had passed. He was still inside his last chance.
Drawing on the strength of his Aether, Morgan hurled the spear. Just like before, the Sixth Dead simply moved her head, allowing it to sail right past her and down the hallway. A mocking smirk spread across her lips. She knew about Victory’s ability to return this time -- she’d be ready for it. But that was fine.
Morgan couldn’t do that, anyway.
F! A!
Lassos of Fog lashed out from Morgan’s hands. One wrapped itself around Jamilu’s chest, plucking him from the Sixth Dead’s grip. The other attached to the flying spear -- and so it pulled Morgan and Jamilu along as its passengers.
The Sixth Dead struck at them with a snarl as they passed, but Morgan parried her blow with an Aether-infused kick -- and with that, they were past her. The hallway became a blur of door-smears and flickering wallpaper, the spear still hurtling forward in a straight line. Morgan looked back at Jamilu, the Nebula’s limbs flapping in the wind. He was unconscious, but Morgan supposed that only made sense. He’d already been injured, and he would be losing a lot of blood from that last wound too.
Which means… it’s all up to me.
Thump thump thump thump thump.
Morgan looked past Jamilu -- at the adversary that he’d already known would be pursuing. Just like them, the Sixth Dead had elected to travel with a makeshift vehicle. She’d peeled part of the floor away and perched atop it -- while dozens of Redundancies sprouted from the sides and skittered onwards, creating what looked like nothing less than a spider of hands.
Sweat trickled down Morgan’s forehead as they finally cleared the hallway, emerging into another circular room, clearly unused judging by the lack of furniture. There was no easy exit here. There were no windows here. The door on the opposite side led only to another hallway.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Victory was starting to slow down -- and the Sixth Dead was already gaining on them. How many seconds did they have? Five, six? If she managed to catch them again, they wouldn’t survive. Was there anything else Morgan could do? Were there any more cards he could play?
No, he thought, looking at the Sixth Dead’s face as it stretched out in victory. There aren’t. I’m all out of cards.
So I’ll just have to make a new one.
Theoretically, it was possible. He’d observed it in action, and he wouldn’t need it to be as specialized as his template. But was that really something Morgan Nacht was capable of? After seeing it only a couple of times, could he really replicate it, even modify it?
Yes, he realized. Yes, I can. I’ve done it before.
F! A!
Morgan released another barrier of Amplified Fog in the Sixth Dead’s path -- but it didn’t even slow her down. She reached out with her hands, seized hold of the hardened gas, and wrenched it apart. It poured over her body as mere trails of smoke, greater structure lost.
Of course, that was exactly what he’d wanted.
The Sixth Dead continued onwards, the dissipated Fog washing over her form. But, right then, right as she was about to clear the cloud, she hesitated -- just for a moment -- as she saw the look on Morgan’s face. His lips were spread out in a manic grin to match her own.
Compared to him… I’m nothing but an amateur. But compared to anyone else? I guess I’m not half-bad.
Those lips moved.
“L.”
Let there be Light.
Fog became fire. These weren’t like the flames that Jamilu Aguta had produced -- they wouldn’t have any special effect against Aether, but that meant dispelling Aether would do nothing to relieve oneself of them. This time, the Sixth Dead screamed for real as her face and hair caught aflame, slipping from the hand-spider and rolling on the floor.
Morgan didn’t waste his chance. In one smooth movement, he linked the Fog-ropes so Jamilu was connected to Victory directly, then leapt off. His feet came down only twice. Once on the ground, then a leap put him on the crawling floor-tile, and then a second leap brought him high above the Sixth Dead, his smoke-sword raised.
This is it.
This is my chance.
This is my last chance.
He brought the blade down…
…and purple Aether raged.
“ARE YOU STUPID?!” the Sixth Dead screamed.
Purple Redundancies burst out from every inch of her body, a tidal wave of hands deflecting Morgan’s blow and sending him flying backwards. He managed to transition his landing into a roll, ending up on one knee -- but by the time he was on the ground, the Sixth Dead had already completed her maneuver. He beheld it in horror.
A cocoon.
A cocoon of hands.
There was no other way to describe it.
The Sixth Dead had wrapped herself in so many Redundancies to smother the flames that her form was now spherical, elbows and wrists intertwined ad infinitum. Deep inside, through the spectral barrier, Morgan could see a pair of golden eyes staring at him. Golden eyes, gleaming with hatred and humiliation.
“Are you stupid?!” the Sixth Dead hissed again, her voice echoing through the layers of ghostly constructs. “Are you stupid, are you stupid, are you stupid?! I can just smother normal flames with Aether, you fucking moron!”
Morgan took a shaky breath. Victory had finally fallen to the ground behind him, Jamilu laying next to it. They were trapped. They were caught. Worst case scenario.
Engage her, he told himself. Buy time.
“I --”
No such luck.
The moment he opened his mouth, a Redundancy stretched out from within the mass and seized him by the ankle. Before he could even react, he’d been scraped across the floor and slammed against the opposite wall with such force that he left an indentation in the concrete. The ghostly fingers pushed him in deep, so tight around his chest that he could barely even breathe, let alone escape.
“See?!” the Sixth Dead snarled from within her fortress. “That’s what happens when you don’t think! It’s just fire! Normal fire! You think I’m scared of burning?! I’ve already melted, you little -- ah, no! What did you make me say?! You motherfucker! Homewrecker! Fucking compost dipshit moron! I hate you! I --”
“I’ll give you one thing,” croaked Jamilu from behind her. “You’re more persistent than your predecessor.”
Her rant came to a sudden and cold end.
“...huh?”
Those golden eyes swivelled to face Jamilu instead, widening to their utmost as their owner’s fury reached the absolute. For the third time that day, Morgan felt a shudder go down his spine. The Sixth Dead’s annoyance at him was nothing compared to the malice she was exuding now. Whatever she intended to do, there would be no corpses left as evidence of it.
Oh, Morgan thought. No.
This is my last chance.
J!
A copy of Morgan leapt out from his form, a false man with a false sword and false steps -- steps that raced along the length of the Redundancy towards the cocoon that had spawned it. The Sixth Dead didn’t even bother to intercept the illusion. She knew there was nothing it could do. To her, it didn’t even qualify as an attack.
And of course, that would have been true… until around two minutes ago.
L. A.
The copy exploded into an inferno -- an inferno that fell upon the Sixth Dead’s cocoon like a shroud. Even with her armour of hands, the heat trickled through, and that made her whirl around, even more Redundancies sprouting to slap the flames away. It was too late.
Morgan’s last chance… had created Jamilu’s last chance.
Nebula Two spat once more -- but this time, it wasn’t mere spittle. A bullet of blood shot forth from his lips, collected around the edges of a deadly payload… a tooth, dislodged by one of the Sixth Dead’s earlier attacks. In the eyes of Victory’s ability, blood was more valuable than spit… and it seemed a tooth was more valuable than blood.
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Calamity.
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The Sixth Dead was struck -- by orange flames on one side, and pink flames on the other.
The pink peeled away her defenses, and the orange burnt at the body beneath. Her scream, amplified by Aether, was loud enough to shatter every bit of glass in the room -- and her remaining Redundancies went wild, slamming and smashing everything within reach even as they were scorched away. The room shook, and the room buckled -- and in the moments before the room collapsed, Morgan broke free of his weakened prison.
His last charge was on an instinct. He sprinted and weaved through the web of flailing arms, vaulting and flipping his way around death until he reached Jamilu. There was no time for pleasantries. Without a word, he scooped Jamilu over his shoulder -- the Nebula had already reclaimed his demon spear -- and charged off down the next hallway, leaving the pink-and-orange aurora behind them.
From there, a stairwell.
From there, a window.
From there, finally, finally…
Morgan Nacht took a breath.
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8:33
She’d kill him.
If it was the last thing she’d do, she’d kill that little twerp. Dig her fingers into his ribs and pry him open. Pour his eyeballs into his mouth. Pull at his scalp until it tore free. A thousand murder scenarios ran through her mind as makeshift anaesthetic.
Finally, finally, she managed to pull herself free of the twin flames. Her body was charred, her Redundancies were destroyed nearly instantly each time upon manifestation, but she did it. She managed to drag herself out into the hallway, and she managed to survive. Angry, heaving breaths kept her alive past that -- and the pain they produced kept her conscious past that.
She’d kill him. Oh, she’d kill him.
No. Not yet. It wasn’t the time to go crazy yet. She needed medical attention. She needed Panacea. She needed to patch herself back up before she headed to the prom. What would Atoy Muzazi think if she saw him like this? Brought low by a blade that wasn’t even his? What a humiliation. This was basically adultery. Bitter tears stung at her eyes.
She wouldn’t forget this. She wouldn’t forget this until the day she died. Spectral arms carried her along, an octopus of hands guiding her to her destination. Medical attention. First things first, she needed medical attention.
Ha. Hahaha.
She almost felt sorry for the doctors.
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8:47
Sitting in the dark shopping centre, Atoy Muzazi barely had hope. There was the tiniest, flickering spark of it still deep within his core, and he was holding onto that spark with all he had… but there was only so much he could do against the dark. If those doors didn’t open, or if they opened to the wrong sight… that spark could go out.
He’d barely exchanged any words with the others when they’d arrived. They just sat there, hiding in the dark, wishing only to go unnoticed. A gang of rats, waiting for a door to open. How long would they wait? How long could they? A second? Forever?
Muzazi closed his eyes…
Please.
…and for once, his prayers were answered.
The doors opened, and light washed into the black box. Muzazi opened his eyes, and he looked up. There, standing as a silhouette, stood Morgan Nacht. Aguta was slung over his shoulder, unconscious… but alive. Both of them were alive. Both of them were here, and both of them were alive.
He thought of words to say.
He thought of apologies to make.
He thought of regrets to weep.
None of them came forth. Instead, he just got up and ran -- wrapping his friend into a tight hug.