One benefit of an immortal lifespan was that it gave you plenty of time to catch up on the latest trends.
The security automatics that were surrounding Marie Hazzard and Atoy Muzazi were IonTec -- the Gladiator model, judging from the trinocular layout of their eyes. Each of them would be equipped with a high-grade plasma rifle, along with a retractable arm-blade in case a firearm suppressor was used. Most likely they wouldn't need to use that, though: there were at least a hundred of them, and their combined fire could reduce Marie and Atoy to paste long before either one of them could activate any such device.
It wasn't hopeless, however.
The positions the Gladiators had taken -- surrounding the enemy on all sides, with even spacing between each unit -- was part of their default programming. Regan hadn't seemed the technical type, so it was unlikely he'd created any custom formations for them. If that was correct, there was a chance for one of them to get out of here.
In a situation like this, so long as neither of them moved, the Gladiators would wait a short time before opening fire -- in case any of their comrades would appear to try and save them. That artificial idiocy meant they had a chance to strategize.
Marie formed a new mouth on the back of her neck -- facing towards Atoy, who was still back-to-back with her. The Gladiators' facial recognition would only read the mouth on the front of her face: they were literally incapable of perceiving this new one.
"Atoy," she whispered through her new lips. "Don't move and don't talk back. Just listen. If you do anything, they'll start shooting."
Obediently, he didn't move in the slightest -- save for his slow, deliberate breathing.
"These automatic models can't operate far from a controller -- if they're here, and Regan's the one using them, that means he's nearby. I can take these things. I'll distract them, so you find where Regan's hiding out and finish this."
She felt the vibration of the lowest growl from Atoy, behind her. He wouldn't shake his head, but the refusal was still obvious.
We'll take them together. No doubt he'd be saying something along those lines. Oh, Atoy...
"The moment we move," she said insistently. "They'll rain down hell on us. I can survive that, you can't."
Still, she could feel his disapproval. There was no time for that: the window before the Gladiators attacked was almost over. Slowly, but as quickly as she dared, Marie reached back and squeezed his free hand.
"Don't worry," she said. "I won't sacrifice myself for you. I'm not the type."
The slightest sigh escaped from Atoy's lips, and his nod was all but imperceptible. Still, it was all that Marie needed.
In a flash of movement, Marie raised her arm up in the air -- already engorged to three times it's original size -- and slammed it down onto the ground. Immediately, a cloud of snow and dirt flew up, filling the air, and in that obscured moment Marie could hear the rush of Atoy's thrusters as he fled.
The Gladiators let loose as one, plasmafire pouring into the cloud of debris -- so much of it that it could have reduced any human being to ash within the space of a few seconds. Satisfied the proper amount of force had been dispensed, they halted their fire.
That was their first mistake.
The creature that emerged from the cloud of smoke and ash was unique. Nothing else like it existed in the entire universe. It was a form Marie Hazzard had come up with on the fly, using whatever resources were available, to utterly annihilate her enemies.
If she had the extra biomass, she might as well use it.
Just like her original form, this new one was humanoid. That was where the similarities ended. It was at least two times her original height, lacking clothes or even skin, angry red muscle on full display. The musculature was bulging and as defined as iron cables, nigh unbreakable, with reinforced plates of bone protecting her more vulnerable joints.
Her skull was pushed forward slightly, protruding from her face, but the eye sockets were dark and empty. Her former ocular setup had been inefficient, and so she'd decided to make some modest changes.
Two eyes on the back of her head. Two eyes on her collar. Two eyes on the back of her deltoids. Two eyes on her shoulder blades. One eye, staring bloodshot from her navel. Three eyes, arranged in vertical rows, on each of her thighs. All in all, she had a 360-degrees view of everything around her. Vanilla humans could only be jealous.
These automatics’ programming would have them target the head as a certain kill, so Marie had made sure it was little more than a prop in this new form. The eyes all over her body was part of that, but she'd also relocated her brain to her pelvis, where it was shielded upside-down behind layers of reinforced bone.
This was a machine made for killing.
"Well," she intoned, her voice made deep and rumbling by her new body. "Let's get started, shall we?"
At the same time as the Gladiators resumed fire, Marie kicked herself off the ground like a cannonball -- zooming towards her enemies with arms outstretched.
It was funny. Under the right circumstances, metal was just as pliable as butter.
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Yuren Regan had clearly chosen this place for comfort, not secrecy.
The metal shack was right in the middle of a field of the glowing grass Muzazi had noted when he'd first arrived -- dimly shining bulbs hanging from each blade. In terms of appearance, the building resembled a Landfall-01 residence, if just a tad bigger, with a slowly rotating transmission dish on the roof.
That, no doubt, was what was communicating with the security automatics. Muzazi would disable it and then apprehend Regan.
He held Luminescence close as he approached the cabin, eyes flicking around for any more automatics that might have been in wait, but it seemed he had little to worry about. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of explosions and smashing metal -- everything Regan had in reserve was thoroughly occupied by Marie Hazzard.
The front door was sealed shut, but not for long. Muzazi placed his hand against it and -- with a flare of silver Aether -- created a thruster on its surface. The metal audibly creaked as the force of the thruster pushed it inwards, Muzazi pouring even more Aether into it to increase its speed and strength.
Click, click, click, click. One by one, the hinges snapped.
The metal gave a final screech of protest -- and then broke free, flying into the darkened room within the cabin and smashing against the unseen far wall. Before entering the building, Muzazi created a weak thruster on his palm: even if it didn't have any force behind it, it would still produce light.
He took a cautious step inside.
"I think you should sit down, Mr. Muzazi," Yuren Regan said quietly.
The lights were turned off in the room, but the glow from the thruster meant that Muzazi could still see well enough. From the looks of the room, this place was laid out like an open living space, not any kind of technical installation. A kitchen, a bedroom, and a dining room all in one. No space wasted.
What caught Muzazi's attention, however, was Regan himself. He was sitting at the far end of the dining table, bathed in shadow. One hand was missing, wrapped in bandages -- but the other, resting on the table, was clearly visible. He was holding some sort of trigger, his thumb teasingly brushing against the button. Glancing down at the bottom of the table, Muzazi could see what were definitely gas canisters packed together.
Regan leaned forward into the light, revealing the transparent rebreather that covered his nose and mouth.
"I said," he growled. "I think you should sit down, Mr. Muzazi."
Muzazi didn't know what kind of gas was packed underneath that table, but he felt it was a safe bet he didn't want to breathe it in. Slowly, he put Luminescence down on the ground. Then, he walked around and sat opposite Regan, staring the man down. The Governor licked his lips nervously, his eyes flicking between Muzazi and the trigger.
"I take it you think you have me in checkmate," Muzazi said quietly.
He wasn't fully confident in his ability to take that trigger away before Regan could apply pressure to the button -- he needed to discern more about the situation he was in before he could make his move.
Regan's voice was hoarse with anxiety as he spoke up. "Do you know what Decimatus-2 is?"
"I don't."
Could he launch a throwing knife to destroy the trigger? No. By the time he opened his parka and retrieved the projectile, Regan would have pushed the button long ago.
The Governor took a deep breath. Apart from their breathing, the only sounds were the distant conflict and the snow coming down outside. In that quiet, death was lingering close, waiting for an opportunity. You could cut the tension with a knife.
"It's an old Gene Tyrant poison," Regan explained. "Not cheap. Meant to inflict pain for interrogation. You take a breath of that, and -- and you'll go mad with pain before the hour is out."
"I see. I'll endeavour not to breathe it in, then."
Suddenly, Regan slammed his fist against the metal table, the sound of the blow echoing throughout the small room. "Don't act tough, you fucker," he hissed. "Don't act cool. What's so good about you, anyway? Special Officer? There's nothing special there. Any idiot can hold a sword."
"Is that a question you want an answer to?" In contrast to Regan's clear aggravation, Muzazi's breathing was steady and calm.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Regan hesitated for a moment, before planting his palm against the table once again. "Go ahead!" he said. "What's so special about you!? If you try anything, though, I'll push this fucking button immediately. Don't try me."
Muzazi took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes. Truth be told, he had no idea what words would come out of his mouth when he opened it.
"What is special about us, I think," he said quietly. "Is that we take responsibility for ourselves. When we take actions, we stand by our actions. We don't blame others for our shortcomings. Our defeats belong only to ourselves, as do our victories."
"Bullshit," Regan sniffed. "You're just able to hit harder than other people, kill -- kill more efficiently. The only difference between you and me is that you're more vicious."
The slightest trace of anger entered Muzazi's voice. "You've murdered your own people, you've blown up people who have nothing to do with you, and you've discarded those stupid enough to listen to you. And you call me vicious?"
Regan leaned forward slightly more, the hand holding the trigger slithering -- slowly but surely -- across the surface of the table.
"I do," he hissed. "I do call you vicious. Since you've arrived here, you've slaughtered every single person who's opposed you. At least I have a greater purpose."
"And what purpose is that, pray tell?"
Regan took a deep breath, and the trigger retreated across the table slightly. He looked up at the ceiling, and in the dim light his eyes seemed strangely wistful.
"It's humiliating, you know?" he whispered, his eyes narrowed to furious slits. "Being here, in this room, on this planet. I work hard my entire life, put more effort in than anyone else, and they stick me on a snowball like this? At first, I thought it was an honour, but… it's meaningless, this place. And they made me meaningless by putting me here."
I haven't figured that bit out yet, Winston had said when asked of Regan's motive. Probably because he's mediocre.
It really was that simple, then. How disgusting.
"And Darkstar will give you meaning again?" Muzazi glared. "Please tell me there's more to this than that. You disgrace yourself."
A sneer twisted Regan's face as he leaned back in his seat, an unearned arrogance in his posture. "I'm going to be part of the movement that brought about a new era for mankind. My name will live on in history forever, while you're forgotten out here in the dark."
"That's a dead dream," Muzazi said sternly. "You've already failed Darkstar. I'd expect them to silence you shortly."
Regan grinned as he shook his head. "No, no, no, no. I failed with that Hazzard woman, but now I've got you. A captured Special Officer is an even more impressive prize than a dead one."
Muzazi could have laughed. "You seem rather desperate to me, Governor. But I feel you don't understand a thing. Can I tell you a story from my life?"
"What?" Regan furrowed his brow.
The approval of an insect wasn't necessary. Muzazi spoke.
"Some months ago, I met a young man from the AdminCorps. I didn't realize at the time, but looking back on it I expect he was much like you: desiring advancement while never deserving it, and fostering resentment against those who dared to have principles. That young man betrayed the Supremacy, as you did. He was weak and utterly powerless, so he elected to shoot me in the back and flee while I lay there, helpless. When I met him a second time, he couldn't even muster the courage to stand by his decision -- he fled again as soon as the opportunity arose."
Muzazi put his hands on the cold, metal table before him.
"I think he was less pathetic than you," he said.
Regan blinked. His eye twitched. The fury those words had sparked travelled throughout his body in an instant, reaching his finger -- which pressed the button without hesitation.
There wasn't even time for Muzazi to hold his breath. In an instant, orange gas poured forth from the canisters, trickling into his nose and mouth as if the smoke had a will of its own.
Decimatus-2's reputation was not unearned. The gas was pure agony as it travelled through Muzazi's body, cutting through him as if he'd swallowed a bundle of knives. He could almost picture its shadowy, hooked fingers plucking at his nerves like the strings of a violin.
Any attempt to retain his dignity was fruitless. With a strangled cry of pain, Muzazi collapsed out of his chair and onto the floor.
The last thing he saw before hitting the ground was Regan's victorious grin.
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He'd done it. He'd actually done it!
Hardly believing his luck, Yuren Regan got to his feet to look at his quarry. He half-expected to see that Atoy Muzazi had simply vanished -- but no. The meathead was thrashing around on the ground, grunting and whimpering, at his complete and utter mercy.
Regan couldn't help but laugh.
It has taken so long, cost so much money and effort, but he'd finally done it. He'd proven his worth, his own supremacy. These Special Officers could cut a person to pieces, could punch through steel, but they were helpless before a practiced and disciplined mind.
Darkstar would forgive him for the earlier mishap. How could they not? It had been necessary, after all, for this greater victory.
The face that had been judging him, casting aspersions on him, was twisted in agony -- locked in an invisible battle with Decimatus-2. He'd conquered this man. Without lifting so much as a finger, he'd utterly defeated him.
In anticipation of this moment, he'd already sent a transmission to the frequency Darkstar had provided. They'd be along shortly to collect this quarry -- he didn't know for sure, but he was willing to bet that Decimatus-2 was a mercy compared to the hospitality they could provide. Served the bastard right.
"Pathetic, am I?" Regan chuckled.
He drove his foot into the Special Officer's ribs twice, each time earning a pleasant increase in the man's thrashing. With each blow, it was as if he was finally severing the chains that bound him to the Supremacy, that bound him to the government that had squandered his potential. In this moment, Atoy Muzazi was the Supremacy itself, and nothing gave Regan greater pleasure than inflicting pain on that.
Again, again, he kicked, over and over again.
"Pathetic?" he cried each time, punctuating his strikes, the ferocity of his speech intensifying as he went. "Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic?!"
Spittle rained down on his prisoner, and Regan was finally satisfied when Muzazi's thrashing turned to stillness. There was no way the Special Officer was dead from something like that. Doubtless he'd passed out from the pain.
Well, Regan grinned. It's a sensation you should get used to.
All he had to do now was batten down the hatches and wait for McCoy to answer his summons.
The room was freezing at this point. Atoy Muzazi had wrecked the main door coming in, but he could easily use the fire suppression system to activate the fire door there and seal the room. That, at least, would provide some security while Regan waited.
He stepped over to the emergency panel on the wall, illuminated by the grasslight leaking in through the open doorway. Strictly speaking, the fire doors weren't meant to be used this way, but with a little bit of maneuvering they'd work just fine. Regan was nothing if not resourceful.
He tapped the screen, springing it into life, then squinted as he scrolled through the options. So long as he went into the fire suppression menu with admin permissions, he could manually operate the fire doors on a case-by-case basis. It was a little difficult to read the text on the screen, but…
Regan's eyes widened.
It was a little difficult to read the text on the screen -- because the shadow of a man was falling on Regan from behind.
He whirled around, pressing his back against the wall as if he could move through it to escape. No, no, this was impossible. There was no way. How the hell was a man who -- moments ago -- had been writhing in utter agony now standing before him?!
Atoy Muzazi held his sword in one hand, looking down at Regan with wide bloodshot eyes of utter fury. Stains of blood from Regan's assault still painted Muzazi's chest and lips, and his breathing was ragged as he stared Regan down. It was as if a corpse had started walking.
Regan turned to run, but far too late.
Muzazi's fist slammed into Regan's stomach with devastating force, lifting him off the ground and prompting a torrent of saliva and vomit to pour from his mouth. Before he could collapse to the ground, however, Muzazi grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close, his fingers almost tearing through the fabric with the sheer strength he was exhibiting. All this with one hand. Absurdity. Absurdity.
"You understand nothing," Atoy Muzazi whispered. "Not about Aether, nor about life."
He raised his sword high in the air, and --
----------------------------------------
-- struck Regan with the blunt end, knocking him out cold. Muzazi had promised he'd bring him in alive, after all -- and he'd go to any length to keep a promise.
The former Governor fell to the floor like a pile of bricks, limbs splayed out as his face landed in his own vomit with a splat. That, at least, could be Muzazi's tiny vengeance. It didn't make up for the lives that had been lost as a result of Regan's actions, but it would have to do for now.
Muzazi almost fell to one knee himself, but managed to keep standing through sheer willpower. By infusing his organs with Aether, he'd been able to withstand the ravages of Decimatus-2, but the pain had still been unbearable. Even breathing caused him to tremble right now.
He couldn't hear the sounds of battle in the distance anymore. Did that mean Marie had been victorious? Would she be coming to help him?
Slowly, ignoring the excruciating pain that crawled over his nerves like lice, Muzazi bent down and picked Regan up, throwing him over his shoulder. Then, ignoring the shaking in his legs, he stepped through the open doorway. If Marie was coming for him, he wanted to be immediately visible.
It was strange. The glowing grass that surrounded the cabin almost made Muzazi think that his vision had been flipped upside-down. The stars were down on the ground, and the dark earth reigned above.
There was no sound save for the rustling of the grass and the whistling of the wind. The cold cut to the bone. As Muzazi breathed his ragged breath, it floated into the air as fog and disappeared into the darkness.
Regan was an abominable man, but he had been right about one thing: this planet truly was awful.
Muzazi sighed --
-- and a massive object struck the ground in front of him, shaking the earth. The force of the blow was so intense that the cabin behind Muzazi crumbled into wreckage, which went flying away like scraps of paper. The only thing that prevented Muzazi from flying off in the same way was Luminescence -- he planted the Aether-infused blade into the ground below him, holding onto it with one hand while securing Regan with the other. His long hair whipped through the air behind him, coming loose in the process.
The raging winds lasted nearly five seconds before dying down, causing him and Regan to fall roughly back down to the ground. Muzazi didn't waste a moment: he pulled Luminescence free and stepped in front of Regan, holding his blade forward defensively at the cloud of debris.
With the force of that blow, that surely must have been the impact of some meteorite, so why was Muzazi's body so sure it had to defend itself?
The smog cleared.
The figure kneeling in the crater was huge and hulking, clad in rusted and discordant pieces of dark-purple armour insufficient to cover its entire form -- loose white skin was visible in multiple areas. It's head was covered by a smooth and cylindrical helmet, lacking any visible openings for sight or hearing. Not even breathing could be heard from within that iron prison.
Next to it, embedded in the earth, was a colossal sword at least twice Muzazi's height, the blade jet-black. Sinister purple Aether slowly swirled around the figure and the weapon, like a horde of malicious snakes.
With the creak of metal, the figure slowly looked up to face Muzazi. Then, it cocked its head -- at so grotesque an angle that it was a wonder its neck didn't snap right then and there.
"Two?" it gurgled, voice warping and shifting in pitch as it spoke. "Not one? Unexpected."
Muzazi's breath caught in his throat as his hands began to tremble anew. He had never met this creature in his life, never crossed paths with it -- but this bizarre appearance, this aura of utter murder… there could be no mistaking it. He knew exactly who this thing was.
Samson Rhodes. The Abyssal Knight.