Three years ago...

It felt like a great weight was slowly being eased off of Ruth's shoulders.

They'd done it. They'd almost done it. Optimism danced in Ruth's brain as she made her way through the thick jungle, Skeletal claws slashing apart any vines that got in her way. Before the day was out, Zed Barridad would be dead, and the rebellion would be victorious. Everything would be over.

Ruth hopped over a river, leaving a massive dent in the ground where she kicked off. What would she do when the war was over? It wasn't as if she'd never fantasized about it. Fighting was what she was best at, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything waiting for her when the fighting was done. She could do whatever she wanted -- any debt to Rupert Grave would be paid in full.

Whatever she wanted, whatever she wanted… it was funny, but Ruth didn't actually know what she wanted. She was excited to find out, though.

Robin was always talking about other planets -- the places she'd seen, the farm-world she'd grown up on with her mother. Maybe Ruth would check a couple of those out.

Or maybe she wouldn't! The choice was entirely hers. A giddy giggle slipped out of her throat, swallowed by the wind.

She couldn't get ahead of herself, though. One thing at a time: she couldn't celebrate the victory before it actually happened. She had to fulfill her part of the mission first -- extracting Robin from the agreed-upon location.

It wasn't exactly the most exciting role in the final battle, but truth be told she didn't feel any need to personally plunge her claws into Zed Barridad's throat. To her, he was a nebulous threat, any real enmity born only of second-hand accounts. Grave was the one with the real grudge against him. She was sure he wouldn't miss the chance to finish off his hated foe.

Well, he was welcome to it. Grave could execute whatever revenge he felt entitled to while Ruth got Robin out of here -- and then her life could really get started.

This was the day. This was the day! Ruth burst through the clearing --

-- and ground to a halt.

There were men in the clearing, men in armour, men with guns pointed right at her. The Admiral's men. The armour was obvious, the guns smoking residue plasma. The Admiral himself stood nearly in the middle of the clearing, staring impassively at Ruth, dull eyes over that stupid little moustache.

He wasn't in the middle of the clearing. There was something next to him. There was… something next to him. There was something next to him.

There was a pole in the middle of the clearing -- no -- there was something strapped to that pole -- no -- there was a person strapped to that pole -- no -- there was a corpse strapped to that pole -- no, no, no -- there was, there was….

Robin was strapped to the pole.

Her skin had already turned pale from blood loss, but it was obvious with a single look that she'd been dead for some time already. Flies crawled over her contorted face. Her eyes stared sightlessly, locked in a final expression of agony.

The skin of her torso was missing, stripped away by repeated lashes. Blood still dripped from the whip in her father's hands.

Half-formed thoughts oozed incoherent from Ruth's mouth. "I'll…" she muttered. "Y-You…"

Zed Barridad spoke, ignoring her words. He gestured towards the corpse with his free hand. "What you see here," he said, calm as the night. "Is the result of your decisions as human beings. You must come to expect natural consequences."

He was utterly, completely detached, neither the inflection of his voice or the expression on his face betraying any emotion at what he'd done. He'd killed her. He'd killed her.

The buzzing thoughts in Ruth's head solidified into murder.

"I'll kill you!" she snarled, leaping forward, claws held high. Even if the guards burnt her to ashes, she could kill this man first. Rip him to pieces. Kill him. Kill him. Do that, at least, before she died.

Barridad stared at her as she rushed right to him, claws slashing down to peel away his face. There was a shout of alarm from the guards -- they hadn't expected such speed. There wouldn't be time to react. She'd kill him.

"No," she heard Barridad say, as calmly as ever. "You are insufficient. Emperor Set."

When Ruth's claws came down, they struck solid steel instead of soft flesh -- and in the next instant, she found herself suspended in the air as a gauntleted hand grabbed her by the throat. Zed Barridad had been utterly transformed.

His uniform had been replaced with a massive set of steel armour, composed of countless interlocking plates, like some sort of titanic knight. Curling golden horns protruded from the helmet, and a burning red cape fluttered in the wind behind him.

Ruth's eyes widened as Barridad's grip tightened. It was the same kind of ability as her Skeletal Set. She could tell just from the grip -- this was armour many times stronger than her own.

"Pitiful," Barridad muttered. "You attempted to create some kind of counterfeit, Grave? As an insult towards me? How cheeky of you."

Ruth's eyes flicked around -- Grave? Was Grave here?! -- but Barridad was speaking only to empty air. There was nobody here to help her.

Helpless anger ran dry, replaced by the anguish that poured free from Ruth's eyes, warm as fire on her cheeks.

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"You killed her," she sobbed, glaring forwards at the slits on Barridad's helmet. "Your own daughter! You killed her! You're a fucking monster!"

"No," Barridad said patiently. "I am simply true to myself. It is in my nature to execute traitors, you see."

His grip tightened slightly, and Ruth choked as she heard her own neck creak. She'd die, she was sure of it, she'd die here just like Robin. Just like Robin.

There were tiny holes, pinpricks, all over Barridad's armour -- and as Ruth struggled, liquid metal poured freely from them, forming into solid tendrils that held her firmly still. Soon enough, it was impossible for Ruth to so much as gasp for breath.

Barridad was still speaking, though, even as he squeezed.

"I see you are not a person who understands, so let me explain. The purpose of organisms like us is to act according to our nature. If our desire is to help others, then we must do that with everything we have. If our desire is to inflict pain, we must inflict pain -- pain more agonizing and more cruel with each iteration, such that it almost becomes an ideal." He waved a free hand towards the body on the post. "This is what I have done in this instance. A human soul requires tempering in the same way as a blade -- and with each act like this, I become more and more like myself. That's my duty as a living thing."

Ruth felt her vision growing dim as her lungs screamed for oxygen, darkness like videograph static creeping in on the edges of her vision. Dimly, she wondered what would happen first -- would she suffocate, or would Barridad snap her neck with just a tiny bit more pressure?

That was it, then. Her arms fell limp to her sides, her claws useless. Her vision became nothing but dark.

And yet… she heard a grunt of disapproval from Barridad, followed by the unimpressed words: "I see you don't understand at all."

The last thing she felt before true unconsciousness subsumed her was the heavy thump of a gauntlet against her skull.

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Ruth blinked as her eyes came back to the present. These swamps looked like death.

No matter how much Aether she infused into her eyes, it was nearly impossible to see through the dark-green fog that permeated this part of the planet, swirling around nauseatingly as it oozed into every nook and cranny. Every now and then, she'd spot some barely visible silhouette through the sickly air -- the faded ribs of some long-dead beast, or the lone sentinel of a dying tree, but for the most part their journey was nothing but fog and sludge.

The crustacean 'horse' beneath Ruth jostled slightly as it stepped through the swamp, and she found herself clinging more tightly to its spinal spurs. The two sharing the ride with her, however -- Old Owl and Grena -- didn't so much as twitch. Riding like this was second nature for them, obviously.

"Your armour thing," Old Owl croaked, staring straight ahead at the front of the beast. "The claws -- you will not use them. Understand?"

Ruth nodded -- and then, realizing the old man wouldn't have seen, replied: "Yeah."

"Understand why?"

"Any sparks will cause an explosion. You told me."

"A thing can be listened to, but not heard," Old Owl said, patting the horse beneath him. "If an explosion happens when it is not supposed to, many of us will die. It is important that the opposite of this happens. Yes? Many of them must die."

"Right," Ruth said. "What's the plan, then?"

"We will win."

Ruth sighed. Was this how Dragan felt, when Ruth acted without thinking? No wonder he rolled his eyes so much. "Listen -- I've let you drag me all the way out here. I've been pretty good about all this. I wanna help, but you gotta tell me what we're doing here."

There was a deep, croaky sigh from Owl Owl up ahead. "Aubrisher's rebels are coming out through this swamp. Garth's toy soldiers are waiting to ambush them. We will act."

Ruth nodded. "We'll ambush them before the attack, then. Drive 'em back and get 'em while they're off-guard."

Old Owl did not reply. In the corner of her eye, Ruth caught Grena very intentionally looking away.

Wait.

Ruth leaned forward slightly. "That is the plan, right?"

Old Owl's thin, wrinkled fingers drummed against the carapace. "There… is a different stratagem."

"And that is?"

Some sudden, inevitable anxiety was thundering through Ruth's body now, intensifying her heartbeat to a drum of war. Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong. The Grinhe soldiers on the neighbouring horses, all part of the same convoy, looked at her cautiously.

Slowly, slowly, Old Owl turned in his seat to face her. His eye narrowed inscrutably.

"There is a hill ahead," he croaked. "A hill that rises out of this place, safe from fire. We will wait for Garth's men to begin the ambush. We will wait for them to finish it. We will wait for them to move in to capture the survivors."

Ruth's blood turned cold, as she realized the implication, but she had to ask all the same: "And then what?" Her mouth was dry.

Old Owl blinked.

"Then," he said. "They burn. All of them."

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Dragan held his nose as they marched through the darkness of the swamp, doing his best to ignore the slimy plants that brushed against his legs. This whole endeavour was absolutely disgusting.

At his insistence, they'd left everything metal behind -- he trusted these people to be competent enough to not intentionally start a fire, but doing it by accident was another story. He sure as hell wasn't getting blown up because someone in this merry band had butterfingers.

Well, there was one exception to the metal rule. Dragon's eyes flicked over to Skipper's prosthetic arm, half-submerged in the muck ahead of him.

"You try and snap your fingers with that," he said seriously. "And I'll actually kill you."

Skipper laughed, his voice infuriatingly loud. "I'd like to see ya try, Mr. Hadrien! Nah, seriously, I mean it. You gotta have more confidence in yourself."

Dragan ignored whatever that was supposed to be. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Never anything but, pal."

Serena sulked as she swam through the swampwater -- wading wasn't her style, it seemed. "This place sucks," she pouted. "It stinks."

From ahead in the sad little crowd of marching rebels, Dragan heard Lily Aubrisher call out: "Less talking, more marching! We've only got so much time to get out of this place."

You're talking yourself, Dragan thought, perhaps a little immaturely. She was right, of course -- they had to get out of here as fast as they could if they wanted to--

Dragan narrowed his eyes as he glanced up at the sky. There was something up there -- a tiny shape beyond the fog. He poured Aether into his eyes, staring as hard as he could.

His heart skipped a beat.

Floating far above, looking down on them, was a flying humanoid figure clad in a red-and-blue cloak, face hidden behind a bone-white mask. The Guardian Entity that had almost killed him and Ruth -- she'd told him that it was called Aka Manto.

Clutched in its hand, delicately between two fingers, was a tiny strip of flaming cloth. Dragan's eyes widened, almost bulging out of their sockets. He took in a greedy gulp of breath, enough to fuel a truly tremendous scream.

Aka Manto let go of the cloth.

Dragan opened his mouth.

"Scatter!"