Experiments on elevating the level of a sentient have persisted for many millennia. The Martians are the pinnacle, equal to an Anachronism when properly equipped. Yet, humanity created them over a thousand years ago. Has there been zero improvement in this vast time?

No. We merely found alternative routes. The flesh has an innate limit without dimensional influence. So, that leaves us with two paths.

Steel -> The path of perfecting the fusion of metal and life whilst keeping the soul.

And.

Water -> The path of imbuing a dimension’s influence into our genomes.

* Published paper from Praetor Pathos on the future of evolution after defection from Glaniece.

Shrieking howls echoed between the snow-filled trees, dropping the dusty cold upon two stumbling figures. One possessed shifting waters as skin, the surface freezing beneath the cold, while her piercing eyes searched for the incoming threats. Beside Hana, Melody’s Miro bolstered both of them, regenerating their lost flesh and broken bones. The latter’s breath came out chilled while she worked, the frost turning into slush and falling to the ground to join the sleet.

As they strode through the leftovers of a blizzard, Hana spoke through gritted teeth, “We need to find liquid water. This snow… it’s too cold. I thought this was supposed to be the Inferose? Why is it warm?”

A brief nod followed her words, yet Melody held onto her own thoughts, “Not sure. But those noises… I think others arrived here before us. The air seems to heat as we walk toward where the ‘sun’ fell. Maybe… the center is where the inferno is?”

Neither said another work as a crack snapped beyond the treeline. Both heads whipped toward the noise, holding their breaths while their bodies reached for Tides. Humid air seethed from Melody’s mouth while water stretched along Hana’s tear-ducts, forming into miniature pistols.

The next moment, a hooded figure stepped from the shadows, unarmed but uninjured. His long coat hid much of his features and any weapons that might have been underneath. Hana and Melody shared a glance as Friday spoke, his face beneath night’s gloaming, “I see I’ve found two wounded treats. Hmm…”

His hum flew as the man reached for his shotgun and cleaver, only to find one. With a sigh, Friday found the glimmer of the blade insufficient for the two before him. Still, the man stepped closer, capitalizing on weakness.

Hana furrowed her frozen brows, staring straight ahead at Friday as memories came to her mind. Hidden whispers, meticulously calculated words, and precise movements. That was all the hints she had heard of this man’s kind.

“Church Of Flesh.”

Hate birthed from Hana’s breath, more bitter than the frigid winds. At the title, Melody’s body flinched, and every muscle went into full alarm. The Miro’s mouth opened, prepared to force her Stigmata into action.

Friday chuckled gently, nodding along, “Yes. So what? You know our name. One of them. Do you want an award? Death is all that will come.”

The Hydro shook her head, demanding an answer, “No. It will not. You won’t fight us here. Too much of a risk. You’ll win with my injuries… that much is certain… but at what price? Instead… tell me why the Church is here.”

A hood twisted over its bearer, and then, as the distant shrieks grew nearer, the cleaver fell back into its sheath. Friday whispered beneath his hidden facade, “Take a guess. Don’t we all want MDs for the same thing? If you wish to live… do not approach a petal.”

Then, the man dissolved into the dark forest, leaving Hana and Melody to lose their tension. Both almost fell into the snow as their muscles gave out. The former, walking with faux limbs of hardly liquid water, slammed her back against a tree. Meanwhile, the latter bent over, with hands on her knees.

“Fuck!” Hana released her fury into the air. Melody could only nod, agreeing with the other’s frustration.

“Yeah. Didn’t know the Church was coming. Every member…” Melody’s voice trailed off as she shuddered, recalling what happened when a Dirge revealed the Church’s presence.

They were killed. Permanently.

Each member of the hidden organization possessed strength just inferior to a Caesar or a Praetor. Low rumors even said their elites were above that, and that their leader…

Was above even that.

The biting cold sank into both figures, but that was not the cause for their shivering. Despite their condition and circumstance, neither woman lost their edge. They looked at each other and nodded, speaking in unison.

“We’ll kill him.”

************************

Outside the confines of the Inferose, two bodies walked through a sizzling forest, the humidity beating into their bodies. The younger of the pair, with blood and electricity sparking from his injuries, waved his hand, signaling rest, while he bent over with a gasp.

The older glanced down with a raised brow, “What? We need to get to the battle before it ends!”

Anomaly 888 nodded, but his breaths defied his will, “Yeah… I know… But… you didn’t get… shot in the fucking neck! Give me a second…”

Dane sighed as he felt compelled to form drops of water to from the Lightsea to cool down the overbearing heat of the rainforest. However, he couldn’t, for such power was stolen back by the bestower.

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Creatures moved above the canopy, drawing his attention, yet none pierced the boundary. They stayed out of sight, out of trouble, waiting to scavenge leftovers.

The human rubbed his forehead, his fury building at his circumstance. Just before, he was in over his head, about to drown, but he could at least control the water’s flood. Now…

Everything was left to this gamble. He had Eight with him, but wounds riddled the teen, weakening him.

He looked at the Cryo, stating, “One minute. Then we go. The earth’s tremors are only worsening. I can’t imagine if they realize the Inferose closed what will come. If we miss out…”

Eight groaned as he flicked the air, forcing himself to stand. Then he replied with feigned confidence, “I’m fine. Don’t need the minute. What I need is an engineer. I think. It can wait, though. Let’s go.”

Dante returned a nod before the two resumed their sprint, far slower than when they arrived. Each had their own curses weighing upon them, or in Dante’s case, the lack of one. Regardless, they flocked toward the cataclysmic battle that was unraveling miles away.

Pillars of water flew into the air while a grand mist suffocated the surrounding region. Steam exploded as it met ice, and gunshots echoed non-stop like the crackle of lightning.

Eight and Dante neared the barrier of sight after only a half hour of running. The two crept around Anathema and Sagebeasts, ensuring they didn’t waste any strength, but when they stood before the wall of mist, they paused.

Their eyes met, an unspoken conversation unfolding before both breached the limits. In that same instant, it sank into their flesh, taking pieces from them without their approval. Arido, the devouring mist, cared not for its sustenance. It only ate, ate, and ate some more.

“Shit. That hurts!” Dante bit his lip at the sudden stroke of agony while Eight clenched his fists tight. Bit by bit, the Tide burrowed into their flesh and stole vitality from them, delivering it to the owner’s machinations.

Nonetheless, the two couldn’t stop here. They had to continue.

And they did. The pair trudged through the forest, slower than before and beading with sweat, but gradually, they progressed toward the battlefield. Shadows of other figures lingered in the dense fog, but Dante and Eight stayed away from them, doing what they could to conserve every last breath.

The half-hour turned into a full hour as they finally emerged from the dense, sweltering forest, slowing with each step. Oppressive heat beat against them, every breath weighed down by the new war between thick humidity and hungry haze that clung to their bodies.

It was now that they could see the true battle which had been transpiring for this planet’s fate. The relentless pressure of the Inferose had pressed them forward, but it almost seemed pitiful now.

Their aim had been plain: claim the corpse of a fallen Caesar or, if fortune favored them, deliver a final blow to one on their bloody retreat and take it. Yet, as their eyes pushed through the last line of trees, the scene stretched before them was far from what they expected.

A tumultuous and perilous battle was expected, but the sheer scale was impossible to realize until one stood before it—a chaotic, deadly dance of powers that held them transfixed.

Amidst the devastation, five Caesars surrounded a lone figure.

Each Caesar wielded a distinct element with frightening precision. Geist, cloaked in his misty ghosts, was a near-spectral figure at the edge of the clearing, his Domain’s after-effects stretching forward in hungry waves, consuming everything in its path. Across from him, Thanaris let loose a blood-red tsunami, each pulse of crimson liquid crashing forward with a life of its own, splattering and seething with corrosive leftovers. Heated steam filled the space, thrown forth by Suaze, creating an agonizing barrier of burning air. Ice, piercing and sharp as spears, launched from the Wain’s hands, freezing anything it touched before fracturing and shattering. Last was Balba, whose influence drenched the air in relentless humidity, a smothering, regenerating moisture that clung to Dante and Eight as they observed the display.

But these five, while powerful, were not the main spectacle. They had arrived together conflicted, but now, they stood together.

At the center of this tempest was a woman of striking presence. Praetor Sun’s skin gleamed like burnished metal, her complexion a gray that reflected every ounce of the light she emitted. Her eyes burned with a brilliance that rivaled a sun, each glance a defiant blaze. Even as the five Caesars unleashed their powers upon her, she held her stance, her Domain spreading lazily from her like a guarded storm. The edges of her influence were calculated, stretching sluggishly to keep the Inferose from buckling under the weight of her power.

It only bought her time, but beneath the Domain’s technique, she held her own against all five at once. With the help of her Centurions, namely those like Rasa, who risked their lives each second, she crept toward victory.

Dante clenched his fists as he observed the scene, the pieces falling into place within his mind. Praetor Sun’s technique was not just a defensive tactic; it bore a ticking bomb. If her Domain reached the location of the Inferose—recently vacated—its absence would become immediately clear, and every Caesar present would realize that the anchor binding their Domains was missing.

Their own Domains would then unravel, crashing down into a chaotic implosion that would turn the battlefield into a slaughterhouse. Dante and Eight would not survive the clash between Domain Collapses.

The stakes were terrifyingly clear.

Before he could utter a warning to his partner, a sudden shift shattered the balance of attention on the field. Another figure, wrapped in a scintillating aura of electrified water, emerged with a startling presence. The water cloaked his hooded form like armor, sparking and crackling with energy, commanding attention with an almost magnetic force.

When his feet touched the ruined earth, the five Caesars turned as one, their focus shifting away from Praetor Sun to this unexpected intruder. The momentary reprieve seemed to sap what little strength the Praetor had left. Dante watched as she swayed, the intense light of her eyes dimming just slightly.

This was Claudius’ Praetor. He watched her, curious to the bone, and his vision split to those she brought with her.

Worse than her minor fizzle, those around her, the bodies of her fallen Centurions, lay scattered, torn, and broken from their attempts to shield her and assassinate her foes. However, their efforts were not without benefit, as each Caesar’s figure sported numerous wounds. The sole exception was Thanaris, whose blood closed any injury.

Dante’s gaze flickered to Eight, and he saw the resolve mirrored in his companion’s eyes before the newest arrival spoke. The aspiration they had come for had grown infinitely more complex. The chaotic, delicate stalemate unfolding before them was a rare opportunity, but equally treacherous. One misstep could throw them into the maelstrom of death.

Both briefly considered retreating for now, but the figure, cloaked in water that arced with lightning, removed any such thoughts, “Elize. What a surprise to find you here. The last time we spoke… your home fell from its orbit.”

Dante took a sharp breath, steeling himself as Praetor Sun froze, her words stuttering and lost in awe, “You—Nandum killed you! How did you escape the Nightsphere!?”

Five Caesars ceased their prepared attack, focusing upon the mysterious man, and they listened to his laugh, “Ah… that. The Drowned Dragon beat me just barely that awful night, and after he died against Seal. Nandum and that damn Oswort… almost got me after killing the gutsy Anadromous. But we have our own Dimensions, too. Lucky Nandum wasn’t the first. And this won’t be the second.”

Thanaris shouted a moment later, unable to hold back, “Who are you? Are you… with the Church?”

A laugh echoed as lightning crunched the air, the Nectos meeting gazes, “Hmm… Thanaris. How would you like to join us? I will tell you if you do, for our kind are special. These… fools would never understand.”

Praetor Sun recovered herself at this moment, interjecting as her Domain spread further and further, encroaching on the region of the Lightsea. She waved away the Dirge, possessing only malice for the unknown man, “This man is Joseph Cross, thought to be killed by Legate Nandum. He forced the Drowned Dragon to a stalemate while the old man’s family was killed. If you wish to live, run as fast as you can, or help me. All Centurions! Escape. Don’t look back. Rasa! Take them!”

Obscured remnants followed her orders without complaint, but the premier Centurion, who held his ground against Suaze for several minutes on his own, took several seconds before following the decree. He picked up three of his subordinates and ran to the forest at the perimeter. None stopped him, unwilling to risk retaliation at this juncture.

Still, a scoff rang out from Geist while Balba sank into the shadows of the destruction beneath them. Wane retreated with caution, and Suaze burned more steam, prepared for a battle with his hot head. The fifth and final Caesar growled as her head stooped. Her past swooned in her mind, bringing up memories that forced an unnatural rage to emerge, “You… You are with Stranger the Nameless, no? You and your Church of madmen and—”

“Seekers. We call ourselves Seekers Of A Higher Flesh,” Joseph interrupted the Anacrux with annoyance, raising his gaze as his arms, too, reached the sky. “All we do is for the higher realms, a higher power, a more glorious purpose. You and your… paltry conflicts mean nothing.”

The fallen Domain continued to expand, and Dante slinked back, falling behind a mound to hide. He pushed his spine against the debris and murmured, “Get ready, Eight. You’re gonna have to teleport. A lot.”

Eight nodded, clasping one hand around his open throat. The Lightsea flowed within him, readied for anything. However, sometimes, preparation was less than useless.

Thanaris’s Tide surged, a tsunami of blood at her whim while Elize Sunwin’s oceanic whirlpool grew. Suaze, Balba, and Geist even braced themselves for the next round. Joseph grinned under his hood as the lightning in his Tide sparked further, “It seems you’ve made your choice. Time to guarantee my disciple’s claim. Let’s see whose Tide is—”

His words halted mid-sentence as Praetor Sun’s Domain ceased for a moment, as if sensing the limits of where it could go, then it collapsed upon the entire continent like a spring snapping shut. The Lightsea stretched thousands of miles faster than light itself, and five pairs of hands reached toward their symbols as the Drowned Dragon’s student uttered a simple phrase that held the power to rend a planet. She needed no hand-signs to focus her strength, for the cascade began long ago.

“Domain Collapse: My Summertime Jolly.”