A soft finger nestled into the crease of a soldier’s eye, waking him from his slumber as it gingerly pulled away. The man blinked, confused and drowsy, but heard the most beautiful voice in all the worlds, calming his frantic heart, “Why are you crying, Bear?”

His head whipped around, finding his wife with furrowed, concerned brows. Lilith’s face stopped his heart for a reason he didn’t understand. He just stared at her, speechless.

Soft light streamed through the blinds, illuminating her face for him on this lovely morning. The seconds ticked by, and her worry grew, infecting the man with the same unease. They were of one heart. Of one soul. Two halves intertwined.

Suddenly, Lucius felt a liquid drip onto his cheek from his right eye. He lifted his hands, expecting to feel the tears of joy slipping down.

With a sudden glance, he saw sky-blue blood instead of tears.

Before he could shift his gaze, screams filled the house, dousing his world in an impenetrable crimson.

* The dream of a dying man.

Miles across from the contest for the Inferose, six figures found themselves atop a ruined forest, the trees splintered by blood and the grass burnt by dawn. Two women were the centermost figures, one enveloped by a bloody curtain and the other hidden by the blinding radiance that originated from her eyes.

Suaze and Geist crept along the edge of the debris, waiting for their moment to strike. Behind them stood two who carried the utmost caution. Balba’s dripping acid hid beneath a tree’s carcass while Wain stood on a lion of ice.

The lion’s mouth dripped scarlet, but not the tint of Thanaris’ Tide. It held that of the Praetor’s innards. Five Caesars surrounded Praetor Sun, powerhouses by every standard.

And yet, she was fearless. Water surged behind her, matching Thanaris’ momentum and volume. However, the light that bloomed from her Stigmata bounced and reflected off the water, magnified to an extreme.

The Praetor had developed a way to harness an otherwise impossible element. Light.

And that is why the Caesars were so careful, for Praetor Sun’s attacks were impossible to dodge.

They could only be endured if one was capable. Still one of the most significant contributors to the battle, Geist had already sent away his misty phantoms, providing the Praetor some relief.

The selfish Caesar brought her time to speak, something she had not done since she fell from the sky. Stoic and without a hint of joy, Sun pointed upward with her forefinger, “You all... How about we even these numbers a tad? A one on five is so... boring.”

“Balba! Strike the incoming! Suaze! Burn the atmosphere!” Thanaris ordered her equals as pods dropped from the orange and purple heavens, sent by the Nova. Neither heeded her directions the moment they hit the air, however.

The two only moved once the dozen crashing pods were visible above. Balba kicked into the air, striking out again for more lift with his sheer strength and the moisture departing him. Suaze’s Tide filled the atmosphere as he soared for a target, igniting it with a terrible heat.

Praetor Sun bore no singular emotion as she lifted her right hand and spoke with the same calmness, “Rasa. Focus Wain.”

The first Centurion appeared through the steam above. While lit aflame and with burning steel armor, he slammed into the earth, feet away from his prey. Wain turned toward Rasa as the man drew a thin sword from his belt, the blade bending much like his Praetor’s Stigmata.

Rasa’s muscles rippled beyond his skin’s limit, his Stigmata flooding his innards with raging currents, and he stabbed the rapier forward. Driven by hydraulic pressure, he surged forward, encountering Wain’s icy wall.

However, he had company. Three more Centurions, ignoring their armor that melted into their flesh, followed their Praetor’s orders. They ambushed Wain with everything they had, surrounding her with Hydro, Frigo, and Cryo.

However, the other Caesars were not idle, and neither was the Praetor. Thanaris lunged toward Sun. A tsunami of blood sought the woman’s life as steaming crimson provided it an even greater momentum. Geist sent forward his devouring haze toward the Praetor’s back, too.

And yet, as the world practically collapsed around the Praetor, her eyes were obscured from all. None could see her face but herself, and those hidden lips spoke once more with a reverberating profoundness.

As the sound left her shadowless maw, two index fingers and thumbs pressed against each other.

“Incomplete Domain Technique: Forming Sun.”

----------------------------------------

Malnourished hands tapped a keypad strenuously as their owner’s eyes stared, stunned at the telescope’s display. Archimedes had seen nothing of the battle at the Inferose’s entrance but could see the Caesars and the Praetor. It was five against one, and still, she had not fallen.

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The rumors and bits that Isaac had seen on the web sang infinite praises of Elize Sunwin, hailed as the second coming of the late Legate Radian. Taught by the Drowned Dragon himself in her youth, Praetor Sun held countless techniques and had learned much from her mentor’s failures.

No matter how much he had read, none of it could compare to what he saw.

The conflict between the pillars of their respective factions shook him to his core. Every move possessed the strength to shatter cities, rupture islands, and pull starships from orbit. More surprisingly, she had left her Centurions in orbit within pods, waiting for the right moment.

So, he hurried, orbiting his ruined ship toward Claudius, as ordered. Second by second, while death encompassed the planet below, Archimedes grew closer and closer to the Heron’s Wing. Once within range, he set the machines to work in tandem, stretching out the space corridor for him to travel between.

The young man, barely more than a boy, took one final glance at his ship, which he had repaired from broken scrap into a vessel capable of Lightsea-travel, though only once. After the parting image, he walked toward the passageway before halting.

A chill raced up his spine as the lights in his home flickered. His heart pumped erratically once as the boy knew that the light systems were without error.

In his stillness, the utter quiet of the ship sang to him. Meanwhile, the distant monitor spoke despite possessing no speakers for sound to evoke as Sun’s words broke through the vacuum.

“Incomplete Domain Technique: Forming Sun.”

The shadows lengthened within the ship as all the lights immediately exploded from the erupting force from the planet’s surface. As darkness enveloped the vessel, a brilliant light birthed from the windows, almost blinding Archimedes.

While a Domain Collapse was not permitted without damaging the dimensional rift, Praetor Sun had found a way around it like Geist, using her repertoire of knowledge on the Lightsea and ways to manipulate it. By extending the collapse of the Lightsea infinitely and progressively slowing it down, she could benefit from much of a Domain’s bonuses without it ever touching down all the way.

However, API did not have a single second to ponder what the Praetor had done, for the Lightsea had spread onto his ship. The boy fell into a scrambling sprint as clawing echoes resounded through the corridors of his vessel. While the Domain was incomplete at its center, the furthermost edges had reached a genuine touchdown.

Fear raced through his veins until his face slammed into the closed air-seal of the passage. His eyes bulged, remembering the default for the passage, as he rebounded with pulsing agony.

If power was lost, the doors would close automatically with pneumatic pressure.

I’m... trapped.

The power was out in this old-fashioned and hardly working starship. Nevertheless, Archimedes could see the Heron’s Wing illuminated by lightbulbs through the corridor’s windows.

His shoulders sagged as the boy realized that his attempts to reinforce the circuits had failed. One tiny pulse of the Lightsea had broken his ship, whereas the Heron’s Wing was still functioning. Yet the frantic scratching yanked his mind from such future practice.

The depressed muscles tightened into nervous terror, and Isaac’s eyes glanced all over, unable to move. Each sound sent a jolt of panic through his body, making his pulse race faster than his thoughts could follow.

He didn’t know what manner of Dirge had spawned. All he knew was that it would kill him if it saw him. Still, while his mind howled in panic, his legs wouldn’t obey. Every nerve in his body felt paralyzed, and the rational part of his brain—the one that always calculated, always found solutions—was screaming for control.

But fear had taken the reins. For the first time since he had taken Dante’s offer, he felt... completely... utterly... helpless. He was back to how he used to be.

The scratching grew louder. They were closer.

Archimedes’ thoughts flickered back to the Heron’s Wing, just visible through the corridor window. It was right there. Functional. Powered. Safe. If he could just get to the other side, he could survive this. Still, his ship was dead, and with the seal locked, there was no way to cross over.

Lucius could pry the door open. Rejo could shoot it. Joan could use her acid to melt through the glass. Even Sonna could get through, cooling down the glass with her Arido before striking it.

But Pythagoras?

He had no such skills or weapons. Of course, he didn’t. He was a boy who couldn’t hold over ten pounds at a time. His vision was subpar, while his instinct in a battle was to freeze, so why would he have a gun? They thought he would be safe here. Isaac believed he would be safe here.

His fingers twitched, brushing against the cold steel wall, seeking some sort of comfort.

There has to be a solution. Monsters + No Power = ...

He refused to accept that this was how it ended. The mathematical portion of his brain told him there was always something after the equals sign. He wouldn’t let the monsters take him—not without trying everything.

Archimedes forced his body into motion, acting like one of his idols, Lucius. The boy moved despite his fear. No, he ran in spite of his fear, stumbling away from the door and darting down the narrow corridor. His mind whirred as he scanned the walls for a hiding place. He knew every inch of this ship by heart, from the malfunctioning circuits to the ductwork that barely held together.

There had to be something he could use. There had to be a solution.

A thud sounded from the corridor behind him, near the entrance. Heavy. Solid. Archimedes winced, resisting the urge to look back. He didn’t need to see it. He could feel it. An Anaphage, maybe more, had made its way into the ship.

His breath caught in his throat, but Isaac’s legs moved faster, the need to survive overriding the weight of fear pulling him down. For a moment, he had become the Martian he so admired.

Archimedes’ muscles progressed with a power they shouldn’t have, a speed the malnourished flesh had no right to occupy. The boy from an unknown race or planet darted toward the open power rack nestled against the far wall, barely large enough for his already frail frame.

Pale hands trembled as they yanked open the metal door, the tangled mess of cords and circuitry waiting inside like a tiny tomb. The rack had been left open since yesterday for repairs, as had most of the power systems on the ship.

Without a second thought, Archimedes crawled inside, pulling the door shut behind him. It reminded him of Lucius hiding him beneath a table in their prison to protect him from the imminent brawl.

A series of shivers ran through the boy’s whole body, and he felt the tremors in his bones from the adrenaline forcing him beyond his limits. The faintest slits of light filtered through the vents, and through them, Pythagoras could see the corridor outside, which made it only harder to calm.

His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he pressed himself against the powerless cords, trying to make himself as small as possible. He felt like a rat, now trapped in a cage of his own design.

Then, the noises grew louder, reverberating within the prison. He could hear the creatures directly, their movements more audible as they prowled through the halls, searching.

They were hunting him.

The boy’s heart pounded painfully against his fragile ribs, his mind racing with fragmented thoughts. Every calculation he tried to make crumbled under the weight of terror. He knew these things.

“Dirge,” Issac whispered to himself to aid his focus. He had seen Lucius kill many of these creatures. He had seen Sonna, Joan, and Rejo gun down dozens since he had met them. But... he had never killed one. Not even close. Now, he was all alone.

Archimedes squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe, to focus. Still, it failed. Then, a memory resurfaced as his mind spiraled with the endless ways he’d be ripped apart, unable to achieve his dreams.

Several years ago, when Arch was smaller yet nearly as intelligent but far more easily manipulated, Dante and he worked together for the first time. As usual, nothing went as planned; both were trapped in the Medrack with encroaching pirates.

The door wouldn’t hold them for long after the rest of the crew had been killed, the robbery of robbers going utterly sideways.

Archimedes bundled himself together in the room’s corner, hugging his knees. Oppositely, the human stood, his eyes searching desperately despite the surefire death.

Dante glanced down, noticing the boy’s trepidation. A long sigh came from the man as he empathized with Archimedes, “I was once like you. Scared to even leave my room. But... you have, too, Arch. I’ll get you out of here. Get us paid, too, don’t you worry. Let me see here...”

The tired human, bleeding from the bullet he earned retreating here, turned to the med-rack, tossing aside pill bottle after serum until he found what he was looking for. There were four shots of pure adrenaline.

With one hand, he scrambled the shots together while stapling the cylindrical hole in his gut. Arch’s uneasy voice echoed in the tiny room, “Won’t—won’t you die? Th—th—that much will...”

Dante’s eyes met Archimedes’ gaze, and he spoke with a confidence that the boy could never forget, “Perhaps. But is it not better to go out in an inferno than as a shriveled worm? Besides... who says I will die? I’m not so easy to kill, y’know? I say... I say I’ll live. That’s good enough for me.”

The pride the human held was something Archimedes’ insecurity could never reach, especially not as plasma and lead slammed into the reinforced door of the med-bay.

Archimedes’ flawless memory ripped his mind back to the cords overlapping his flesh and the skittering monsters outside. His lips opened a quarter of an inch, enough for a phantom of a whisper, “I’ll live. I say... I’ll live.”

As the words left his mouth, his eyes glowed brilliantly amidst the dark, and a heat formed in his brain. The words gave him power, piercing through his lack of self-confidence while the heat burned brighter.

His hands reached into his pocket, and he retrieved the Immortal Corpse that Lucius had gifted him. It was not something Isaac would have ever considered using without a safety net. Archimedes wasn’t akin to a risk-taker. He was the opposite, in fact.

He survived on certainties, absolutes, and facts. But...

The boy’s scrawny fingers fell onto the clasp of the spherical box, and for the first time in his life, the orphan decided his own fate.

Live or die, he would be the one to decide. Not anyone else. Never again.

Such was his solemn, silent oath.