Stigmata. What are they? Does anyone know?

We do. They are the soul’s manifestation of the Lightsea, flexing its might like a muscle. They are each unique, even amongst lineages, for only the Sagebeasts share amongst their kin. And they develop just as any other muscle would.

Practice. But this begs the question, why are our Stigma what they are?

That is unknown. The only guarantee is that no matter the Stigmata, it is like activating a hidden part of yourself, relieving yet tranquil. But why?

Why do they fit us in perfection?

* Centurion Kamble, in his personal diary, before he began his experiments on Stigmata, Year 3880.

The tentacle-mouthed Araki watched his only friend splash into the waters below, and he moved to help him, momentarily forgetting his emerged power. Through their biting, acidic jaws, a wolf-like Anaphage slammed Rejo to the ground, costing him the opportunity to use the Stigmata as he fought to keep the teeth off him.

A claw pinned his right hand, and he could not touch the Anaphage to release Lucius from his Stigmata. Without doing so, he couldn’t bring Dante up without damning the Martian. With his other hand, he fought to free himself, mere inches away from Archimedes’ cowered form on the walkway.

With Rejo collapsing, the line of defense deteriorated. Sonna retreated backward in a panic while Joan spilled a worrisome amount of blood from her own movement out of harm. The Pouncer glanced at herself, understanding she had little time before she bled out without tending to herself in her birth-form.

Rejo felt utterly overwhelmed as the maw of the Anaphage descended upon him, causing his life to flash before his eyes. He couldn’t grasp it with his other hand, too focused on pushing it away. Any minor slip-up and he’d be dead. His mind struggled to think of a way to survive, and so it turned to the one he looked up to the most.

What would Dante do?

The thought was swift, passing by like a bolt of lightning, and the response was just as immediate. The man would sacrifice anything necessary to survive. With all the force he could manage, Rejo flung his pinned wrist and broke it, allowing his fingertips to grace the paw upon his wrist.

To Rejo, Dante would never care about his own pain. He would only care about survival.

A cry of pain predated the surging of the Lightsea within the Araki. Droplets fell from his flesh before he used his Stigmata. Then, a human body fell atop Rejo, sputtering water from his mouth with the sudden relocation.

The two shared a glance before they both rolled to the side, evading a stomp of a humanoid Dirge. Dante moved water across his arms as if natural, a petite rope wrapping around his target’s ankle.

The instant it took another step toward him, the man wrenched with all his might, bringing it to the floor of the walkway. He shouted to his partner in sync, “Pull Arch back! He’s too close!”

Rejo did as commanded, hauling the lad closer toward Astraeus and away from the rushing figures. There was a brief lull as the wave had paused, too many collapsed Dirge in the way.

Dante stared across the gap for a second, respiring with great labor and heaving his entire form with great effort. Then he glanced back, knowing that this couldn’t keep up.

Eight and Claudius were exhausting Astraeus with the help of Qain and the returned Lucius, but it just wasn’t enough. The damned Anathema wouldn’t let up on his hold of the Lightsea. The incomplete Domain refused to falter despite the blood leaking from the figure.

Dante didn’t totally understand the gap in power between the grades of Dirge, but he recognized that the beatdown of the Anathema was something to behold. The Cryo and the Judge functioned together without a gap while Lucius fit in where he could, and Qain acted as the obscurer for their actions with his steam.

The sight made a decision in his mind as he pulled Sonna with him and took a hard turn across one walkway, “Follow me! Joan! Leap across!”

His words echoed across the damaged aperture, and those who heard him did as he requested. Rejo threw Archimedes onto his back and hustled after Dante while Sonna found her pace. Joan stretched her long figure across the gap she found herself at, and the five were together once more.

They fell into a rhythm, trusting Dante’s mind in the chaotic clangor of battle.

Over ten Dirge rushed after them from behind, regaining ground after stepping over their own. Dante’s mind spun with a place to go, a plan to enact. Somehow, his brain landed upon the slight memory where Sonna’s eyes overcame his vision, and she halted his steps. Then, it flashed to her earlier display. Dante wasn’t sure if it would work, but he could only come up with this one plan as his feet slammed into the metal beneath him.

It was risky. But how else could David fell Goliath? Tricks and thievery. That was the name of the game for the weak.

After all, the catwalks interconnected, and eventually, someone would catch or force them to run into the battle in the center. He just needed a little time to prepare.

Just a little.

“Do your thing to the front one, Sonna!” Dante rallied the Weren as his eyes stayed straight ahead, and she twisted her eyes, locking them onto the foremost figure. Mist roamed out of her pupils while the forerunner received a simple command in her mind.

“Trip.”

It obeyed, falling head over heels and causing the rest behind it to suffer a similar fate. Another pile-up emerged, buying some time. Then, Dante pulled Sonna to peer into his eyes and ignore the surrounding mayhem, the group of five situated close to the ear-piercing clash of Seafarers.

The grasp would be intimate if not for the words Dante had to share, “I need you to use your Stigmata on Astraeus. I am well aware of what may happen. I need you to trust me. Do it. And I swear I will get you out of here.”

Dante asked for Sonna to practically toss away her own life. The woman’s head was already spinning from using the Stigmata a handful of times. Sonna knew Dante to be someone who only cared for himself.

She had seen it right up close. Even heard him discuss it. The bastard damn near led her and Archimedes to a starship to escape the rest behind. And while Sonna would have liked to leave, she didn’t want to leave Rejo behind. Or Joan.

The Araki was bizarre, rarely understandable when he spoke, but Sonna knew him to be caring. He watched out for her. Protected her. Joan, too. The ‘doctor’ was incomprehensible and insane, but she was still trustworthy.

Sonna never had anyone she could trust before, and most certainly not with her life. Before, she had always been by herself or with her slaver, the one who she would have to die in place of.

Despite all the inclinations that would point to Sonna not trusting Dante, she stopped at one moment, which was the very same one that brought the most suspicion.

At the Starport. Dante turned them around. She knew the human, and she was well aware he could find a way past whatever was there. After all, she just watched him take an Anachronism out of the fight that everyone else thought would have doomed them.

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But he didn’t continue. He turned around back then. He placed their lives above his crooked wishes. Sonna’s mind spiraled, and she hesitated, unable to decide as the Dirge regained their momentum.

Dante clasped her tighter, not saying another word, just pleading with his eyes.

The human, too, knew he had made mistakes. Before, he could do everything himself. People would die in a bullet or two, often a simple, neatly placed bomb. Or an elaborate trap. Not anymore. He needed help from people who trusted him.

And he so desperately regretted believing otherwise.

Sonna saw that lamentation on his face, the genuine emotion, and that drove her choice. She ripped away from Dante’s hands and faced Astraeus, saying, “I’ll do it. But you better hold your promise.”

“Good. Now we’re a real crew. Rejo. Replace the one that’s not me with her. Joan. Get Arch to the higher floor and out of the building. Dial at the count of ten from now. You two. Run in opposite directions,” Dante smiled and patted Sonna on the back before darting away from the edges of the room.

His footsteps quickly alerted Astraeus, who groaned in annoyance, “Again? This is getting tiresome! Come! Stop running so much, and let me feed you to her!”

The wording was a warning to Dante, but he couldn’t slow down. His mind beat with agony, the strain of connecting to the Lightsea already building too much for him to handle.

His water possessed little strength, nothing compared to Claudius’ that could bend steel and rend flesh or Eight’s ice that sliced through Astraeus’ defences. Still, he dived into the battle right after Eight teleported away, taking his place once Astraeus pulled back his power.

The human did something idiotic to all others. He strode right up to Astraeus, walking with a slow gait. It appeared to be an obvious bait, but Astraeus and Dante had already shared a moment in the past.

The Dirge knew something about the human that no one else did. It did not possess the knowledge of the pistol Dante kept in his quarters, the single round that he spun every night before bed, debating with himself on its usage. But it knew that Dante had long wanted to die.

Dante was a mix of countless hypocrisies and lies, but even so, Astraeus could not fathom what the human’s aim was walking with so much bravado.

Nonetheless, it batted away Lucius, breaking more of the Martian’s hardy innards before swinging its elongated forearm at Dante. The Lightsea that held onto Astraeus bulged outward, decimating the air before the human through his innate will.

Because of the Judge jabbing water toward the Anathema’s skull, Astraeus haphazardly attacked Dante, aiming the strike only at the human’s chest while protecting his own body. And that was the gamble that Dante lunged for.

It is a gamble that only someone ready to meet his maker would pounce upon. All other opponents would have feinted, bluffing their advance, which is why Astraeus didn’t put his all into the strike, expecting such. Yet that is not what happened.

Dante never bet on his own luck. He made it.

Space tore into Dante’s torso, obliterating the man from between his neck and his waist. Astraeus laughed, seeing that the human was so ready to give up his life, likely in a distraction attempt. As such, he quickly turned, just to hear a voice behind him.

“Kaboom.”

In horror, Astraeus flicked his eyes back, finding a reconstructed human in his place. The single word brought the Dirge’s hands to protect his vital, but no bomb went off. Instead, a lithe woman replaced Dante’s figure in an instant. Before the Anathema could react, his eyes met the Weren’s enlarged pupils, and a command entered his mind.

“Sleep.”

The single word ate into his body, filling him with drowsiness while that woman toppled over the second after, crimson sliding out of her ears, eyes, and nostrils. Astraeus fought to remain awake, but with that drowsiness, a cool blade entered his throat and graced him with a secondary mouth.

In that split second, Astraeus finally lost hold of the Lightsea, his birthright, as the pain and shock overpowered his resolve. Just as the uncomfortable and near-painful use of Dante’s Stigmata brought him to his knees, the Dirge fell, too.

The world regained much of its color as he hit the steel panels below. Eight continued to pierce the Anathema with blades, creating more and more to sink into Astraeus’ flesh, but the damned creature wouldn’t die. Their vitality was too sturdy, not to mention one whose element was Frigo, as snow was the most defensively sound Tide. The entrails of Astraeus were difficult to pierce, let alone the depths.

Eight didn’t know why, but he didn’t stop attacking it. He continued even while Claudius retreated, shouting into the air as an electronic beep resounded above from a young man’s touch, “This is Claudius Vermillion! Judge 001833! Designation, Tide-Seer! I am reporting a loose Anathema on Crislend! It has deployed an incomplete Domain Collapse! Immediate aid requested!”

The words all have been waiting to hear blessed their ears, and the joy only continued.

The reply was short and swift, but it held the guarantee of life to those who heard it with a monotone voice, “Judge 001833, help is on the way. Centurion Heron and his men are three minutes out.”

Despite the news, no one had any time to celebrate. Rejo ran for his life, surrounded by Dirge, and Dante held onto Sonna, prepared to escape with her. Above, Joan stared down back in her four-armed state with gauze across her chest. Arch hid behind her, holding the communicator out on speaker.

Claudius leaned forward, ready to continue the battle, but a rumble echoed across the building. Pillars slid as the colossal room began to collapse. The sudden surge of power after all the damages had caused irreparable deterioration to the plant’s systems.

All the while, Eight continued to penetrate more daggers into Astraeus’ figure, racking up close to three dozen melting knives. He cursed in his mind, furious at the fact it just wouldn’t die. He could swear he’d seen Anathema die more easily, but...

It just wouldn’t.

And suddenly, a handful of fingers folded around his throat. He sputtered in awe, incapable of understanding how it was possible. Despite bleeding from half a hundred wounds, Astraeus grinned at Eight’s struggling form.

“Guah… Surewinter is strongest near its spring... I won’t die… without… waking her. You all… I’ll just have to bear the price of disturbing her!”

The technique of a Dirge, practiced to enhance its physicality, left it on death’s door, tightening Astraeus’ grip further. Eight attempted to reach for his Stigmata, but it wouldn’t come. His injuries had built too far. His body had lost too much blood. And…

He was out of energy, his body and mind tapping out. Through the haze of his strangled eyes, a bloody smile outstretched as the Cryo saw something unbelievable.

Astraeus’ mind unfurled as the Lightsea collapsed into reality, creating a proper junction of impossibility. Tides controlled the lights, the visible of the Lightsea. They were the easily controlled, the thoroughly mastered. Yet beyond the light, there was the fathomless sea beneath, where not even a star’s radiance could breach. Tides were expansive in nature, while Domains were the opposite, always pulling toward the event horizon.

Something that only the strongest of Anathema could do, those bordering on evolution, locked Eight’s feeble ice. Such a sight was out of place, for how young Astraeus was.

The sentients who arrived were not the only talented folk upon the planet’s surface, and Astraeus proved it with words and actions.

“Domain Collapse: Inverted Palace.“

Eight’s mind shrunk with horror, the memories of experiencing such things running through him and paralyzing him. If he hadn’t been so injured, he could have attempted to break out of the effect that spanned the city, but alas, the young man had evils running amok in his mind, too.

He could not connect to the Lightsea and, with his paralysis, failed to move the ice that was already flowing in his veins. His Stigmata was just out of reach, the brutal impacts affecting his focus. With the Domain Collapse, he could only accept his coming death as Astraeus set himself on killing him.

But that end did not come.

Instead, he soared into the air, impacting the ground a moment later as a gaseous body tackled the distracted Anathema and took him overboard. Thanks to the injuries Eight had left behind, the steaming back could do so without having to call for more power from the Lightsea.

Eight landed with a sharp inhale, filling his lungs as a hand lunged for him. Above him, Claudius glared down at the young man with a complex glare, “Get up. We need to go. A man just starting to become good will die because of your weakness. Because of my weakness.”

Unable to defend himself, Eight took the hand without complaint, and sailed to his feet in a moment. The Judge peered at the film of metal that rested underneath the skin of Eight’s flesh, but he didn’t comment on it, not even to inform Eight of the fact. Meanwhile, Eight noticed that Claudius’ water was in lower amounts, and he understood why.

Astraeus’ Domain. It was a Mystique. The rarest kind, such a fact, did not bode well for the combatants.

Inverted Space. It stopped all others from connecting to the Lightsea, preventing them from drawing any further Tides. It was more than devious. Furthermore, that was on top of the natural advantage such a technique gives to its host, which kept Eight from Diving.

The death throes of Qain resounded from below, and to Claudius’ falling sorrow, the Harenlar’s struggle quickly grew quiet. Qain’s death had already arrived, and the reaper was not waiting for an instant.

Claudius siphoned a meaty breath, pushing down the emotions that had only begun to build. He had spent little time with Qain, yet he saw a man willing to grow, to become better. He saw a man that could… grow with him.

Despite his melancholy, he could not stay any longer. The ceiling’s collapse was imminent, with falling rocks landing beside Eight, inches from crushing him.

Eight and Claudius knew better than anyone that it was time to escape. So, together, they rushed toward Rejo and Dante, who were each helping another person run away. Rejo half-assisted Lucius’ azure bloody form, while Dante carried Sonna on his own.

The Judge blew through a group of Anaphage like they were nothing, efficiently using his waters to dice them up, and he shouted above to Joan and Arch, “Run! Meet us outside!” Claudius burst across a gap, dodging another Dirge. “A ship should be here any minute!”

The woman’s head nodded as she picked up Arch with two of her four hands and rushed toward an exit afterward. Beneath their feet, more rubble followed.

From there, Claudius caught up to Dante on the metal sheets, doing most of the work of protecting the others. Still, the human had other thoughts in his mind, “Are we good!?”

The Judge stared him down, sighing as he cut another monster in half with the remnants of his Tide, taking the lead for the rest, “Yes. We’re good. I’ll vouch for you. But if you are revealed to be human, there is nothing I can do.”

Dante nodded, appreciating the follow-through, and had one more question, “Thanks. But... What’s happening? Why can’t I touch the Lightsea?”

His question was answered twice, first by Claudius and secondarily by the figure within his mind that ran alongside him out of nowhere.

The Judge’s answer was short, not explaining much, “A technique from peak Vector-4s and above! Only the strongest of sentients can do it! Run! Faster!”

Judas, however, was much more forthcoming and much more honest in his tone as he said, “A Domain Collapse. Did you not hear? Astraeus was not the only one growing stronger while here. He had a whole megacity to himself to devour, after all, and was beset by many foes. Diamonds and all that. If you fight again, it’ll be a massacre for sure. Oh... and I’m sure Qain’s blood woke her up. My thoughts? Dead as shit. You, I mean, of course.”

Dante could only stare ahead, focusing on finding the exit as he crossed his fingers, hoping that this damned Centurion would arrive in time.