“Did you see that kid with Judge Vermillion?”
“No. Did he find a recruit or something? Surprised Praetor Sun didn’t nab him a good Jury.”
“I don’t know. The kid gives me chills. Something ain’t right with him. Feels like old metal.”
“How? He looks like he’s sixteen.”
“Dunno. But he’s way older than he looks. Be careful when they dock next. He’s not one to anger.”
* A conversation between two engineers on the Nova.
“Dante.”
The word entered Dante’s mind, but his fixation was so inward, so deeply entrenched in his thoughts, that he scarcely noticed at first. He dismissed it as one of the many distractions he had learned to ignore. But the voice persisted, sharp and urgent.
“Dante!”
A slap to the human’s face brought him straight from his idle meditation as Astraeus kneeled inches from his face, “Get up! We have a problem!”
In a blink, the fog of Dante’s meditation cleared. His days aboard the blood-ship had melded into a strict routine: training, eating, sleeping, and repeating. It hadn’t been easy to fall into the rhythm with the omnipresent terror surrounding him. As such, he snapped to attention, his instincts roaring to life from the sudden stimulus.
“What is it?” Dante questioned, his gaze flicking across the horizon until it settled on what Astraeus must have seen.
In the distance, looming ominously, was an immense fog. This heavy, swirling gray blanket covered their path like an unnatural storm. Dante might have chalked it up to an anomaly in the weather if they had been on any other planet. But this was the Lightsea. Nothing here was as it seemed.
Worse yet, this was the first weather-like phenomenon he’d seen since the journey began. The skies had always been calm, safe for starships breaking the void.
The human’s gaze shifted to Thanaris, who sat at the ship’s helm, eyes closed and hands clasped in a serene gesture. Yet Dante knew better. He followed her gaze, then turned back to the fog.
“Thanaris?” Dante’s voice broke the silence. “Do you have any idea what that fog is?”
In horror, the man watched as the Caesar’s brows furrowed in confusion. Then her eyes shot open, immediately setting upon the fog. She stood a mere second later, twisting her right hand with motes of blood.
Another step delivered her to the ship’s railing.
“Another Caesar. With such cold fog, it can only be Geist. He’s the only Caesar coming, and I am unsure if I could kill him. Too slippery, like all Aridos,” Thanaris spoke, a challenge living in her honest words.
Dante nodded, piecing the situation together. Other Caesars, like Geist, were en route to the Lost Reaches, all converging on the Inferose. It was a race, but one that could quickly turn into something more precarious, for the Caesars were not the only ones on their way.
Astraeus stepped up to his master, careful not to lean over the crimson railing. He glanced at her distant gaze, concern on his lips but hidden in his swirling dots, “Master? Should we greet him? Or do we ignore him?”
The woman took the question in stride, shifting lightly to face the human behind her. With a smile, she reinvented the question, “Dante? What do you suppose? You’re our Talker.”
Dante bit the inside of his lip, expecting such a thing to fall to him, only not this early. It was apparent to him that Thanaris wished to use his unpredictability and wit to gain an edge. Though he wasn’t against it.
He just had to figure out the best course of action.
All Caesars heading this way must be traveling like us. Light, packed only with elites. I’ve heard that fights in the Lightsea are risky for all but the absolute strongest. Too many unknowns. That means... neither will initiate an open confrontation unless severely provoked. And even then... they won’t go too far. I can work with this. We need more information. And... I have plenty to mislead with.
“We need more information,” Dante said, his tone decisive. “We should board their ship, see what we’re dealing with. If we can, let’s stage a fake fight—lose purposefully to give them the impression we’re weaker than we are.”
He glanced at Thanaris, waiting for her response.
The Caesar’s smile deepened, but Astraeus wasn’t convinced. He threw up a hand in protest. “Throw a fight? You know that could get us killed, right? One good hit to the head is lights out for either of us.”
Dante shook his head in reply. He did not believe such to be fact and pleaded his case, “Not quite. They can’t go all out here. But if we make them think we’re weak, especially that you can’t do a proper Domain...”
Astraeus’ eyes opened in understanding, slapping Dante on the back with pride and cutting him off, “See! This is what I mean! You’re a genius! They won’t be expecting me to rip away their connection to the Lightsea! No matter who we’re against, we could take them down!”
Both turned to Thanaris, whose expression was unreadable, just as Saerer and Hatle had no input, quiet as usual. After a moment, she gave a slow nod of approval, “Very well. But if you get yourselves killed, I won’t save you.”
The human didn’t react to her warning, already knowing such to be the issue. Instead, he brought his hand to his chin, pondering how to fake weakness in front of the Dirge.
The thing was, however, it wasn’t a big issue for him to do so. He was, traditionally, weak. His control over his Tide was mediocre, while his Stigmata only lengthened his endurance in a battle.
He had come up with ways to use it more offensively, but that wasn’t something he’d reveal here at all. He wouldn’t even showcase his Flick, the swift burst of piercing water that emerged from his fingers.
So, then, what could he use?
He would have to make do with merely his control over Hydro, good old arrogance, and utilizing his hardiness to its best ability. As for the other two...
Dante didn’t concern himself with Hatle or Saerer, for even after the many days that they had spent together on the boat, he didn’t care much for either. With the situation coming up, he wanted to stick in as small of a group as possible. Astraeus, however...
“Ast, use only your Frigo and the strength of Surewinter. Try to show some of the stuff I’ve taught you about fighting, but keep your cards close. Go all out with your Stigma, as I’m sure it’s already known—” Dante spoke to his ally while the fogs drew nearer.
“Shh! Aridos can hear everything in their mists. No more talking,” Astraeus clapped a hand over his mouth before they entered the fog, forcing the human to stop.
Without complaint, Dante crouched low to heed the warning, keeping quiet as the thick fog enveloped their ship. The mint-green glow of the sea below faded into nothingness, leaving them surrounded by an eerie white. Every which way further than two arm’s length was simply a pale haze.
Thanaris stood tall at the helm, her gaze unbroken as they drifted through the chilling mist. Her calm control reassured the crew, even as the air grew thicker, making breathing harder. Dante’s mind raced, not with fear, but with shrewd observation.
The fog parted slightly moments later as their ship drew parallel to another. It was hardly large enough to be called a seafaring vessel, just as their ride was the same. Its form was made of never-ending sublimating mist, packed until it became solid and shimmering as it re-formed with each passing second.
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Dante marveled at the sight that reminded him of Sonna’s Tide but remained focused. This was the enemy.
Thanaris stepped onto the open sea, casting her bloodied Tide into the air. A long plank of hardened crimson met a matching bridge of sublimating ice, connecting the two ships. The sounds of the Lightsea drifted for a moment before Thanaris’ boot landed upon the front of the pathway.
A voice sounded from the other side, chilling Dante’s bones to the core as he felt an invisible hand caress his flesh, “Well, hello, Thanaris. It is a... pleasure to see you out here at such an hour.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed in alarm as he caught sight of the figures standing across the gap as the proximity lifted the veil. Eight figures, each clearly Dirge based on their countenances, stood on the opposite ship. One stood out above the rest—his ghostly appearance so translucent that Dante could see through to his very insides. Caesar Geist. The air itself seemed to tremble around him as if recoiling from his mere presence.
Next to Geist stood another figure, nearly equally terrifying in her own right. A woman with skin of roiling waters and piercing, predatory eyes that locked onto Dante the moment the boat floated into view. Her gaze was not one of casual curiosity but one that assessed, measured, and hunted.
It reminded the human of the first Seafarer he had ever met, an old, retired Centurion, yet Dante didn’t flinch.
“Fuck,” Astraeus whispered from beside him, his voice low with dread. “That’s Hana. I can’t believe Geist recruited the Gunwale. She’s... known to be one of the strongest Anathema.”
Dante didn’t need Astraeus to elaborate further. The weight of her presence alone was enough. The other six Anathema on the ship were undoubtedly elites like Dante’s partner, but Hana was something else entirely.
Dante didn’t look away. Instead, he met her gaze head-on, his eyes flashing with a challenge. She wanted to measure him, size him up? Did she think he was fascinating? Strong?
He would return the favor, for this was a perfect chance.
Thanaris and Geist exchanged words, the tension between them palpable across the misty gap. Dante’s helmsman strode up the plank to the other side with a confident tone, “Likewise. Would you like to discuss the coming contest? I have heard that Praetor Sun herself is on her way.”
Geist’s voice was filled with mockery as he dismissed Thanaris’ words and her crew with poorly disguised contempt, “Bah. That woman isn’t all that impressive. She’s lucky we haven’t run into each other yet. I won’t give her time to reach her ‘nirvana’ or whatever it’s called.”
His pride was clear in every syllable. It was the confidence of one who believed himself untouchable.
Dante loved to hear such things the most, for it gave him a breadth of prospects to work with. The thing was, however, his opponent wasn’t Geist. It was Hana.
His mind worked fast, Dante’s eyes never leaving Hana, even while he boarded the plank, carefully pursuing Thanaris. He understood what this was. Geist’s pride would be his undoing, but Hana... she was different. He could sense it. And that’s what he needed to exploit.
Once upon the ship’s deck, with the many Dirge surrounding him, Dante stared directly at the woman, noting how she must be a Hydro based on her skin’s fluidity. Thanaris and Geist drifted to the back of the ship, leaving the four from Dante’s ship to face Geist’s seven.
Despite the number disparity, the human voice cut the air, cold and direct, “Hana.”
The Anathema’s eyes narrowed at the sound of her name, her focus sharpening on Dante. He could feel Astraeus stiffen beside him, but Dante remained calm.
Inwardly, his heart beat with terror at a hundred notes per minute, but outwardly, he kept it under control. No matter how Dante wished he had Nullify, he forced himself to manage without it.
Dante broke the stillness by stepping forward and pointing straight ahead to the woman who reacted to the name, “So you’re her. I thought you’d be stronger. Not much, I see.”
A slow, menacing smile curled on Hana’s lips, her eyes narrowing further. “You must have a death wish, young ‘Thema,” she hissed, her voice as frigid as a pole’s freezing river while she misunderstood the human’s origins.
Dante shrugged, his expression mechanical before he let his face spread into a prideful grin, “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just pointing out what everyone here already knows. You’re over-hyped and weaker than the ones behind me, let alone my great self.”
The challenge hung in the air, crackling with tension over the dangerous water. The crew around Dante and the Anathema opposite them were silent, watching, waiting. Even Thanaris paused in her conversation, her gaze flickering with feigned confidence toward Dante’s bold maneuver.
Geist’s face twisted in a snarl, but Hana raised a hand to silence his worry, her eyes never leaving Dante, “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” she said, her tone dark but laced with amusement. “But you don’t know what you’re playing with.”
Dante stepped close and leaned in slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carried itself over the short distance to her fluid ears, “I know exactly what I’m doing. Teaching a dog her place. Won’t even need my Stigmata for this.”
For a brief moment, there was nothing but silence between them, a heavy pause that seemed to stretch into eternity. Then Hana’s smile faded, and the amusement in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something far more dangerous.
“Be careful, kid,” she murmured, her voice like the bite of a tide’s pull, “You may not like the game once it truly begins.”
Dante didn’t flinch, his smile only growing wider. He received precisely the reaction he wanted. He knew this was a game, and now Hana was compelled to play it. Her words were intended to intimidate him, but all they did was affirm that he had her attention.
Without waiting for another warning, Hana’s arm flicked, and water formed in the air, materializing into a flowing spear of water. It launched toward Dante’s arm faster than a bullet. He didn’t dodge it or even attempt to—he couldn’t—not without revealing too much. Instead, he let the spear graze him, cutting deep into his shoulder, sanguine splattering onto the icy deck.
“Is that it?” Dante mocked, peering ahead without clutching the wound. He felt confident that his Stigmata could save him as long as things didn’t go too far. So, he taunted her further, “I’ve fought tougher ‘Thema. No Domain Collapse? Pitiful. I hardly felt that. Why did Geist recruit you?”
A low growl escaped Hana’s throat as her hand twitched again. Her wrist harbored a watery revolver this time, the cylinder spinning lethally. Dante sidestepped with purposeful stiffness as he anticipated the future and took another wound to his chest while he also dispatched a spear of water.
Unfortunately, Hana deflected it without issue, dousing against the sublimating ice below.
To anyone else, they would have been sweating for their life with the internal damage dealt. Still, Dante trusted in his Stigmata and his own body’s durability. He wobbled on his feet, but he refused to fall or retreat despite the flooding lifeblood.
“Hmm... Let’s just kill you then. I’m sure Caesar Thanaris won’t mind with how arrogant you are,” Hana said, her voice dripping with malice as she lifted the Tide-forged gun toward her target again. Thanaris and Geist glanced over for only a moment, neither saying a word.
Astraeus, standing behind Dante, caught on in a single moment. He took a step forward, lifting his hands as if in preparation to use his Stigmata, but Dante subtly signaled with his hand—not yet.
“Stay back, Astraeus,” Dante said aloud, his voice calm but carrying an underlying tone that said he had a plan. “Let me deal with her.”
Astraeus hesitated, his eyes flashing with concern, but he nodded. He knew the game Dante was playing, yet their time together had inspired trust. The trust was that Dante was clever enough not to walk to his own death.
Hana’s smile returned, this time more feral. The Anathema beside her backstepped with fear while Geist laughed from afar. Dante’s opponent was done playing, “How brave. I wish you weren’t so stupid.”
She stepped forward, her movements fluid and graceful, the ice beneath her feet billowing with every step. Another pistol formed, this one hovering beside her. Dante’s eyes widened as he realized that her title was indeed honest, for more and more watery firearms formed around her, creating a ring of death behind her back.
When twenty watery pistols appeared in a deadly ring behind her, Dante’s mind whirred with calculations. Each weapon was a manifestation of her Tide, with more stopping power than a traditional gun, and she could control them effortlessly. However, it appeared to take time to create many. For now, he had to maintain the facade of weakness while ensuring he didn’t get himself killed in the process.
The triggers pulled themselves.
Dante reacted just in time, calling for water to shield him, but the force was too much. The shield caught some bullets, yet several pierced through. Two slammed into his stomach, one punctured his lung, and another shattered his knee, sending him crashing to the deck.
The pain was excruciating. Blood splattered across the icy surface, and for a moment, Dante’s vision blurred. But even in the chaos of his mind, he forced himself to stay grounded. This was the plan. This had to look real.
He gasped for air, blood bubbling up from his mouth as he pushed himself onto his elbows. More water surged from his body, catching a few more bullets, but he was barely hanging on.
Astraeus, seeing his companion down, took the cue. He launched himself toward Hana, his movements sluggish, as though the mist itself was sapping his strength. His arm whipped out nonetheless as space bisected the imminent death of Dante.
Then, snow burst from him, chilling his surroundings and weakening Hana’s control over her Tide. Unfortunately, it did little to nothing, as more pistols appeared before they melded, forming larger calibers of watery armaments.
Hana laughed as she caught Astraeus mid-attack, stopping his Stigmata before it could bloom. Her fingers curled around his arm, and with terrifying strength, she threw him to the deck next to Dante, driving her fist into his gut with brutal precision. “Pathetic,” she spat, the disdain swimming in her voice.
“This will be easy,” Hana sneered, turning back to Geist. “If this is what the Lost Reaches offer, we’ll have no trouble taking control.” Her Anacrux grinned with glee, seeing her domination over his rival’s subordinates. Geist had chosen right in picking Hana.
Astraeus groaned in genuine agony, clutching his side where Hana’s fist hit him. He made no attempt to use his full strength, just enough to make it look like a desperate struggle.
Saerer and Hatle were frozen in shock while Thanaris continued to speak with Geist. They had heard the plan, but it did little to comfort them as Hana placed her boot against Astraeus’ back, shoving him into the deck.
With Astraeus subdued, Hana turned her gaze back to Dante, her eyes flashing with cruel amusement. “You thought you could challenge me? You’re not even worth my time.” Then, she lifted a newly forged rifle of water with one hand, a conglomeration of several pistols, the barrel hollow in Dante’s gaze.
The human’s heartbeat quickened, but he forced his breathing to steady. Dante had calculated this risk. He knew exactly how far to push it. This is where it would have to end for now. The moment before the watery bullet could end his life, a blood-red streak slashed through the air.
Thanaris stepped between them without room for hesitation, “Enough,” waving a bloodied hand as the crimson liquid flicked out with intelligence. Her Tide slashed the rifle in half before popping each evolving watery firearm.
Once Dante’s life was no longer in danger, Thanaris’ attention dipped to her equal. “Haul back your dogs, Geist,” she commanded, her voice cold and unrelenting. “The battle hasn’t started yet.”
Geist smirked from across the misty gap, his translucent form flickering. He shook his head in disappointment and threw up his hands, saying, “Oh, I was just letting Hana have a bit of fun. Surely, you can’t blame her for taking a challenge when it’s presented so... boldly.”
Thanaris’s gaze hardened, “Call her off, or I’ll end this before it begins. Neither of us will like what comes next.”
Geist’s face sank, and he raised his hand, motioning for Hana to stop. She scowled, clearly unsatisfied with the unfinished fight, but she obeyed, stepping back with a glare that promised future retribution.
Dante struggled to his feet with Astraeus’ help, their bodies battered and bruised. Thanaris didn’t spare a glance at either as she began walking back toward their ship. “So hospitable,” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t even take a taunt. I wonder how that will fare in the coming days.”
The plank of blood retracted with Dante and Astraeus atop it, delivering them back to their ship, leaving the gap between the two ships wide again.
Several seconds passed as the ships veered away from each other, yet Dante held himself up with Astraeus’ help. Dante could feel the ticking death approaching from the loss of blood, yet he held off from doing anything until he had exited the fog.
The moment they were out of Geist’s touch, Dante collapsed to the deck, his breath ragged, his wounds severe.
“That... went well,” he muttered, gritting his teeth through the pain.
Astraeus let out a pained laugh, wincing as he clutched his side, “You call that well?”
Dante inhaled sharply through his teeth, his body glowing faintly as he activated his Stigmata, and time reversed a bit over twenty-four hours, stripping away all his progress with his technique from then on. More importantly, however, the several bullet holes and wounds vanished, his body mending itself in a way that should have been impossible.
“She should’ve crippled me,” Dante murmured, his voice low. “She thought she did. That’s all that matters.”
Astraeus watched in awe as the last traces of Dante’s wounds disappeared, leaving no scars behind. “You’re insane,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “But I have to admit, that would’ve fooled me. You looked like a reckless new Anathema, in way over your head.”
Dante stood, his body fully healed, and walked to the ship’s bow. His eyes stared out into the mist, where the icy ship of Geist and Hana had vanished from view.
A slow grin stretched out over his lips while Thanaris stepped beside him. He left her with a nod of thanks, something she chuckled softly at.
“I’ve got an idea for her,” he whispered, the wheels in his mind turning. “Those guns... it takes time for them to ramp up. Time we won’t give her.”
The waves continued to ripple before Dante realized the silhouette beneath had returned. Two Caesars had scared them away, but one was evidently not enough.
After stepping away from the edge, Dante prepared himself for the prompt arrival at the Lost Reaches.