Snap.
Eli Masadora's speed was unbelievable, especially for someone without Aether. In a single instant, he'd retracted his whip-sword, snapped the components back into place, and slashed it up at the incoming Dragan.
Dragan couldn't dodge while he was falling. The only thing he could do to avoid the blow was enter Gemini World -- reappearing a moment later on the ground, nearly a meter away from Masadora. His breath was burning through his lungs, his heart pummeling the inside of his chest.
He'd been one second from death there. If he hadn't avoided that blow, he knew he'd have been sliced in half from groin to skull.
Next time, he wouldn't be able to dodge it.
Masadora went to slash again, only to be interrupted by another round of plasmafire from Skipper, forcing him to switch again to a defensive effort. With a resolute gasp of air, Dragan pulled himself back into the game, yanking his stun pistols from their holsters and firing repeatedly at Masadora.
He blocked Skipper's plasma shots, but he was forced to dodge Dragan's infused stun shots, keeping him perpetually on the move. It had been a risky venture, but they'd managed to move the pace of this battle in their favour. So long as he wasn't whipping that tornado around, they had a fighting chance.
The key was momentum. If they gave him a chance to act instead of react, things would just return to the state they were before -- and eventually, Dragan would make a mistake.
He slid forward on his knees to avoid a horizontal slash from Masadora, repeatedly firing his pistols as he did so. Each shot missed by mere inches, but they sufficed to bring Dragan into melee range.
There was the slightest twitch to Masadora's expression. He hadn't expected that. Good.
Dragan flipped the guns around in his hands, holding each by the barrel so that he could use the handles as melee weapons. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't especially confident in his abilities as a close-range fighter, but under these circumstances it was the best choice. Unenhanced arms would have trouble blocking Dragan's Aether-infused pistols without dropping the whip-sword, so Masadora would have no choice but to focus his attention on the closer threat to avoid the attacks.
That would give Skipper better clearance for his attacks. The man wasn't good for much, but Dragan knew he was a pristine shot.
The strikes Dragan unleashed with the pistols were clumsy, as amateurish as if he were swinging a pair of clubs around, but they were enough to occupy Masadora's attention. Just like he had with the shots, the King of Killers dodged each attack at the last possible second -- if Dragan tried to break out of this pace, to try and re-establish some distance between the two of them, he'd instantly be opening himself up to a counterattack. Masadora's eyes, cold and alert as an eagle, were locked directly onto Dragan's own the entire time. It was like a pair of daggers were about to burst forth from his eyeballs.
If that wasn't enough to drive him to despair, Skipper wasn't doing much better. As Masadora ceaselessly avoided Dragan's attacks, waiting for him to make an inevitable mistake, he was swinging his sword around behind him -- intercepting each one of Skipper's shots with pinpoint precision.
There was no denying it: if things went on like this, they'd lose. Both he and Skipper would die right here, in a conflict that really had nothing to do with them. The thought of such a meaningless end sent burning anger down Dragan's throat.
Hell no.
The only one who decides what happens to me is me.
Dragan swung his pistol again, aimed right for Masadora's smug skull -- and the moment before the other man would have dodged, Dragan vanished in a spark of blue Aether. There was the slightest sharp intake of breath from the King of Killers -- the recognition of danger. Before his brain could even register what had happened, his body was already turning on its heel.
Gemini World.
Dragan reappeared behind Masadora, both his pistols lifted high over his head -- and as one, he slammed them down on the ground, shattering tiles and sending shards of ceramic flying upwards. At that moment, those white shards were basically projectiles shot up from the floor. Perfect ammunition.
Gemini Shotgun.
Each of the shards vanished in tiny fireworks of blue Aether. The eyes of Eli Masadora, who was still halfway through his turn, widened fractionally. Even if he didn't know the form this attack would take, he was intelligent enough to see that one was coming.
Not that it would help him. At this range, the only way things could get more point-blank was if Dragan was giving him a hug.
Bang.
Every shard Dragan had just absorbed reappeared in front of him, launching towards Masadora at devastating speeds. Even against someone with Aether, this attack would be something to dodge -- for someone without it, Dragan could only anticipate the gory mess he'd soon see.
His wish wasn't granted.
In a mind-boggling blur of movement, Masadora shifted out of the way of the projectiles, and they zoomed off uselessly into the distance. Dragan was left gaping at empty space, his mind racing.
What had happened? That speed had been inhuman, yet Masadora clearly hadn't used Aether. Was there a trick to it?
Dragan whirled around to face Masadora's new position as quickly as he could, but under these circumstances even that seemed painfully slow. As Masadora came back into view, Dragan got a glance at the smoke gently drifting up from the back of the man's boots. Some kind of rocket propulsion, then? He had more tricks up his sleeve than he'd shown, and Dragan had fallen for it like a sucker.
In that moment, when time had all but stopped, Dragan heard the King of Killers speak.
"The thing about Cogitant bastards like you, son," he said, voice dripping with contempt. "Is that you always think you're the only ones with brains."
Something wrapped itself around Dragan's leg.
Gemini Wor --
Too late. Eli Masadora swung his whip-sword with all his might, and Dragan -- with the blade coiled around his leg -- was sent flying. He smashed into the far wall with such force that an ordinary person would have been utterly shattered, and as the blade retracted -- releasing him -- he fell forwards onto the monorail track.
"Dragan!"
Skipper's voice seemed distant. It was no surprise: Dragan had no doubt he'd hit his head badly at some point during that catastrophe. Even shakily picking himself up, hands fumbling at the rail, sent waves of painful nausea coursing throughout his body. It was like there was a wildfire in his brain.
Still, there was no choice. He had to get back up. If he didn't keep fighting, Skipper was done for.
To think he'd be pushing himself so far for such a useless asshole. On the verge of vomiting, Dragan surged his Aether throughout his body, the split-second jolts of awareness forcing him to his feet. Just like Bruno and Serena used Aether to move their shattered hands, Dragan used it to move his battered body.
He could see flares of light -- plasma shots and silvery metal -- through the haze that was his vision. Skipper and Masadora were already fighting. How much longer could Skipper last, if Dragan didn't do something?
Hum.
Dragan froze. He really wasn't on top of his game. He'd been feeling, rather than thinking. Masadora could have thrown Dragan in any direction, yet he'd chosen to toss him over here. If you put any thought into it at all, the reason why was obvious.
Ignoring the screaming from his neck, Dragan turned his head. It was hard to see as he was right now, but there was no denying that the incoming white light was the monorail. The last tram of the night.
He couldn't dodge. There was only one way out of this.
Gemini World.
Dragan entered that watercolour realm again, the kaleidoscope of reality doing nothing for his nausea and -- timing it carefully -- left about three seconds later. This time, he hadn't moved, but the incoming tram had.
He reappeared inside the first carriage, the sudden motion of the tram rolling him onto his back. He spluttered, the blood he coughed up tinged with blue Aether.
The carriage was packed with people coming home -- there were screams of surprise as Dragan suddenly appeared on the floor, and the feet closest to him backed away in surprise. Someone nearby called out for a doctor, but there was no response.
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A businessman with a shaved head kneeled down next to him, brow furrowed in concern. He reached out hesitantly, taking Dragan's pulse -- not really necessary, as he was clearly alive.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice shaking. "What happened?"
Dragan's first attempt to reply simply turned into him hacking up one of his teeth. Even the second was more choking than talking.
"Don't get off the tram..." he rasped, pushing himself back onto his feet with shaking limbs. "It's dangerous… there's..."
The tram stopped -- and as the doors opened, Dragan had a front row view of the chaos that had ensued outside.
The hurricane of blades had returned, even larger now. Each strike of the whip-sword smashed through walls and kiosks, littering the floor with chunks of concrete and metal. Masadora was only barely visible, a humanoid blur within the maelstrom of metal and air pressure.
Skipper was much worse off than he'd been barely a minute before. New cuts and wounds ran across his body, from his face to his torso, and it honestly seemed like a miracle that none of them had sliced open his jugular or another vital spot. Even with those grievous injuries, however, he continued to dodge, leaping over the attacks with the grace of a trained gymnast.
His pistol had been lost at some point during the onslaught, however, and his hands were empty. All this was accomplishing was delaying the inevitable.
Dragan slumped over in the open doorway, ignoring the panicked screams of the people inside and the attempts of well-meaning hands to drag him back. He wasn't done yet. So long as he still had his Aether, he wasn't done.
Guns and clubs, punches and kicks… clearly, they couldn't win using those sorts of tactics. From the moment Eli Masadora had gotten that sneak attack off, that route had been closed off to them. If they wanted to win -- hell, if they wanted to survive -- they had to play a different game altogether.
He'd said something, hadn't he, that man?
"I get to kill two Aether-users at once!"
"The thing about Cogitant bastards like you, son, is that you always think you're the only ones with brains."
Those might have been intended as taunts, but they'd revealed aspects of Masadora's self as well. They were fault lines -- and Dragan could do good work with fault lines.
He stepped forward, vanishing into Gemini World before anyone could drag him back.
When he reappeared, he was opposite Skipper, on the other side of the metallic hurricane. The twitch of that silhouette at the center of that attack told Dragan that he'd been noticed already, but that was no issue. This whole gambit relied on him being noticed.
His voice wasn't up to much right now, so Dragan had to pour Aether right into his vocal cords to make himself heard. As such, his voice had a strange echoing quality as he called out.
"Must be tough," he cried. "Being powerless!"
It wasn't subtle, but subtlety wasn't really possible at this point anyway. He needed Masadora to make a mistake, to give them an opening they could use, and this was the only route he could see to that destination.
No response. He went on.
"I mean," he continued, choking out a laugh. "Look how far you have to go just to barely be at our level. How much did all the gadgets set you back? An ordinary Cogitant can think circles around you easy-peasy, an ordinary Pugnant can smash your face in with an ordinary punch…"
The speed of the attacks increased significantly, the floor beneath them being utterly shredded. At this considerable distance, Dragan was just barely out of range, but cold sweat still ran down the back of his neck.
"Skipper over there can use his Aether to close the distance against stuff like that," Dragan pressed on. "But you can't even do that, can you? I mean, correct me if I'm wrong… but it seems the only thing notable about you is your bank account. You're just not good enough, you know?"
Through the haze of blades, for a split second, Dragan could see Eli Masadora glaring back at him. Dragan could see the eyes of the Grim Reaper, dilated in utter hatred, staring right into his soul. Locking on to their new priority target.
Bingo.
----------------------------------------
Many years ago…
The moment V stepped out of the back door of the club, Eli grabbed her by the shoulders -- pulling her into a deep kiss. Rainwater, illuminated by the neon lights of Meldred, buffeted down on them as they broke away.
"Took you long enough," Eli grinned, slicking his soaked hair back. "Nobody's gonna come asking after you?"
V shook her head, pulling her hood up to cover herself from the rain. "My friends owe me favours. If anyone calls, they'll tell them I'm still there. Sofia's an Umbrant, so she can do an impression of me if it comes down to it."
"Damn," Eli chuckled. "You've really thought of everything. What do they think is actually going on?"
V looked down, but there wasn't any shame in her eyes. "They think I'm heading out for a couple of hours to meet a boy, then I'm coming right back."
"That's cold. Love it."
V looked back up. "Come on, then," she insisted, patting her dark-skinned hands against Eli's leather jacket. "Let's stop talking about it and get out of here!"
"Your wish is my command," Eli bowed theatrically, whipping a sheet off the lump behind him.
Beneath it was a bike he'd hired out just for tonight, floating a couple of inches off the ground as the engine hummed luxuriously. He'd haphazardly attached a sidecar for his girl. It wasn't too fancy, but it'd suffice to get them to the starport on time.
As the bike zoomed through the planet-city of Meldred, Eli Masadora took a last look at the place that had been his home for the last six months. He'd come here just for another job, but during that time he'd found another reason to stay -- the girl sitting next to him. Next to her, the needle-shaped towers of Meldred and the rows of flying traffic that wound around them seemed drab and mundane.
"What're we gonna do when we get out of here?" V asked dreamily, chin in her hands as she looked out at the city. "First, I mean?"
Eli spoke with authority as he drove. "We'll have to go a long way to get away from your family, so I'm thinking we cross over to the UAP first. I've been talking with a big name over there, the Fourth Dead, so we'll be able to get ourselves involved in some big jobs. Once we've got the stacks from all that, we can live it up."
"You're thinking about work?" V frowned. "That's kinda boring, you know."
"I'm being practical, love," Eli waved a finger. "Fantasies are all well and good, but you need to take the steps to make it actually happen."
"Sounds boring."
Eli rolled his eyes.
There was always a chance that one of V's friends could snitch, and her family would be watching the starport entrance, so Eli had elected to take a roundabout route. The bike touched down in an alleyway, part of a maze of side streets they could use to get into the port. He'd always portrayed himself as something of a headstrong fool, so V's family wouldn't expect him to actually use his head here.
Eli couldn't help but grinning as he helped V out of the sidecar: there was nothing better than outsmarting the arrogant. Hands clasped together, he and V turned to begin their last walk on this planet.
But there were people already waiting for them. A massive titan of a man, arms crossed -- and a young, tired-looking woman in a school uniform.
Eli's breath caught in his throat. He recognised the young woman as V's older sister -- the bags under her eyes were unmistakable -- and the older man… he'd never met him, but Eli knew exactly who he was.
"This isn't where you said you'd be, Valentina," Abraham Oliphant, patriarch of the Oliphant Clan, said. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
The traffic above shifted, and Abraham became visible in the red-and-green light. Eli had heard he was cybernetically enhanced, but that did nothing to prepare him for the actual sight. His entire body was a hulking mass of machinery, like some kind of heavy-duty diving suit -- and the only organic part of him left was his bald head, curiously smaller than the rest of him.
Each of his hands was nearly as big as Eli's entire body. He was painfully aware of that, judging from the chills running over his skin. V was staring down at the ground again, hands clasped in front of her -- and this time, her eyes wide with terror.
"I'm sorry, Dad," she mumbled. "I-I was just…"
"You were just disobeying me. Leave. My men will escort you home. I'll deal with you later."
V nodded meekly, stepping away from Eli -- ignoring his attempt to pull her back, to have the two of them present a united front. Why the hell was she giving up so easily?!
"Don't kill him, Dad," she whispered as she walked past him, vanishing into the darkness. "Please."
Abraham's eyes didn't leave Eli as he replied. "That's rather up to him." His eyes then flicked over to the young girl next to him. "Carla, if this young man tries anything, please shoot him. Even you should be capable of that."
"Okay, Dad," Carla nodded.
Abraham's gaze returned to Eli. "It appears you're fond of my daughter."
Bravado Eli didn't feel leaked into his voice as he looked up at the titanic man. "What about it?"
"You're a passionate young man. Tone it down, or I'll hurt you a little bit." Abraham's voice was as cold as the steel that surrounded him. "Understand that this happiness you envision is impossible. My daughter is a more valuable resource than yourself. Your value is, at most, a tenth of hers -- regardless of mundane talent. Leave this planet, and I will forget what has happened."
Eli's hands shook. He'd known how this man considered him -- V had made it clear -- but to hear it phrased so coldly, so logically, still felt like a crushing weight.
"Aether is something that elevates value, to be fair," Abraham went on, Carla narrowing her eyes next to him. "But you are incapable even of that. No matter how you train, no matter how you compensate, the mightiest ant is still weaker than the boot. Please understand."
He should say something. He should refute those poisonous words. He should defend himself, he should do something.
He opened his mouth.
"Okay," he whispered, barely audible.
"I didn't quite catch that, boy."
"Okay."
"Very good."
Abraham reached out and -- with the slightest pressure -- laid his massive metal hand atop Eli's head. With barely any effort at all, Eli knew that this man could press down and crush him against the ground. He was forced to look down, sweat dripping from his face. The rain was falling from him now.
"I have no personal feelings against you, boy," Abraham said, his voice lacking the apologetic manner his words would suggest. "You simply weren't good enough."
That moment ended quickly, but it would live on in Eli Masadora's memory forever.
----------------------------------------
Now…
The hurricane stopped, and Dragan Hadrien's heart almost leapt out of his chest.
In an instant, Masadora had used those rocket boots to zoom right into Dragan's face, his visage contorted in utter fury, his sword lifted high over his head.
"Corpse," Masadora croaked --
-- and the sword came down.