Aetheral Space

Chapter 273:10.16: The Calm Before The...

Baltay Kojirough’s severed arm fell to the floor, crystals shattering. Green Aether dissipated as the severed limb wrote itself out of existence.

The owner of the arm fell to his knees, looking numbly at the stump. Just like it had been with Hans Allier, there was no blood -- just more jagged crystals, protruding from the wound like frozen sap. A relieved smile crept across his lips.

"It’s your win, Nigen," he said softly. "Just like it should have been the first time."

Atoy Muzazi had finally stopped moving. He stood in front of Kojirough, looking down, his eyes hidden by the long black-and-white hair that had fallen down around him. He’d deactivated one of his Radiants, but the second still protruded from his other hand.

Long silence drifted on, the Supreme Heir watching from the corner, before Muzazi spoke.

"That isn’t my name," he said, and deactivated his Radiant.

Baltay took a deep breath, shaking, and reached up with his other hand. With laborious effort, he peeled the layer of crystals over his face free -- blood pouring liberally from the impromptu flaying -- revealing his own wide, panicked eyes. He had seen the future, after all. He knew what was coming next.

"Nigen, please," he whimpered. "You can’t."

"There is doubtless evidence of your crimes all around here, if you know to look for them," Muzazi said. "An investigation will produce enough for you to be sentenced to some form of imprisonment. Some kind of… rehabilitation, maybe. I have a contact in the Grace family who’ll be happy to assist."

"Kill me!" Baltay screamed, his voice bouncing off the walls. "Just kill me, Nigen, you sick fuck! I can’t live like this anymore!"

Muzazi’s hand shook for a moment, but he quickly steadied it. He took a deep breath.

"Once locked down," he said, protocol driving his words forward. "These quarters will serve as a suitable holding space for you until the proper authorities arrive."

And with that, he turned and began to walk away.

"Nigen!" Baltay cried out from behind him. "You can’t! Nigen! PLEASE!"

Muzazi squeezed his eyes shut, but his resolve went unchanged. This was a decision he himself had made. There was already so little of him that existed in this world -- he couldn’t afford to go back on his own choices.

The Supreme Heir joined him as he reached the door. She’d circled all the way around the room to avoid going near Baltay, who was still screaming after the two of them. Muzazi had to admit, he’d almost forgotten she was here. How careless of him.

She looked over her shoulder at the prone Baltay Kojirough.

"You won’t kill him?" she asked.

Muzazi shook his head.

"Why not? Don’t you want revenge?"

Muzazi opened his mouth to sigh, but instead words came out. "His darkest crimes were against a person called Nigen Rush. Nobody else has the right to seek vengeance for them… and that person doesn’t exist anymore."

Without another word, he strode out of the room, and the Heir followed.

Seven Days Before Avaman’s Assault…

This whole thing really was a mess.

Barry sweated in his hazmat suit as he picked through the evidence the battle of the Child Garden had left behind. He’d drawn the short straw: while his colleagues were poring through surveillance footage and the like, he had the unenviable task of picking through Gretchen Hail’s remains. Lucky him.

More than once he’d had to hold back vomit. There really wasn’t enough of Gretchen Hail left to call remains, just a pile of shattered bones and a slurry of meat and skin. The Fell Beast had really done a number on her. The only truly identifiable piece of her he’d found was half her face, peeled away and stuck to the wall with her dried blood. Gross.

It didn’t help that they were on a time limit, either. That detective Special Officer, Winston Grace, was meant to be arriving within the hour, and they wanted all the remains collected and cataloged by the time he arrived. Apparently the kid was a real diva when it came to stuff like this.

Barry was just bagging up the twisted mass of what might have once been a foot when he saw it. Behind his mask, his brow furrowed. The hell…?

There, right in the corner, previously concealed by the gore, was a weapon. A dagger of some kind, with a black hilt and a red blade, halfway embedded in the floor. Fell Beasts didn’t use weapons like this, so was this something Hail had been using during the fight?

As his co-workers

Muzazi did not blink. "I would like for you to tell me."

"Baltay was one of Paradise Charon’s biggest allies. Through him, she had control over the Supreme Heir. That isn’t something she’s going to be happy about losing. She’ll come after you. If the Second Contender was wanting my head, I’d take any kind of protection I could get."

Slowly, Muzazi nodded to himself, stepping away from the window. "Any kind of protection, yes. Like a title… or a friend." He extended a hand down towards Morgan. "I understand you’re close with the Fourth Contender, Wu Ming."

Morgan nodded. "He taught me everything I know. He’s a good friend."

The words seemed to stick in Muzazi’s throat, but he said them all the same. "Perhaps I too can be your good friend?"

Morgan’s smirk returned. "So -- you want the protection of the Fourth Contender, to protect you from the Second. You’ve finally learnt how to dance, Commander Muzazi?"

Despite everything, Atoy Muzazi couldn’t stop his own lips from curling up. "It seems unavoidable."

Their hands clasped, and Muzazi pulled Morgan up to his feet. There was a lot of work to be done.

Four Days Before Avaman’s Assault…

On Shendor, nothing much ever seemed to change. Days rolled by slowly, and so did people’s lives. The only way you could really tell that time was passing was with the harvest.

Rena Raish wouldn’t have it any other way. She enjoyed her quiet days, looking after the farm, taking these relaxed walks through the fields. Great walls of wheat rustled in the wind on either side of her as she strolled, a basket tucked under her arm.

Her eyes widened, just fractionally, as she crested the hill. Normally, she didn’t run into anyone else out here.

He was a young man, oddly familiar looking, with black-and-white hair tied back in a short ponytail. His grey eyes were scanning the horizon, and his brow was furrowed with such concentration that he clearly hadn’t noticed her. His clothes were fancy -- some kind of robes, brushing against the dirt. Clearly, he wasn’t from here.

Rena smiled pleasantly as she approached. "Afternoon," she said.

The man blinked, glancing towards her. "Oh, uh, good afternoon to you, as well," he said hurriedly. She’d been right -- he really hadn’t realised she was there.

Rena followed his gaze, looking out at the rolling golden hills. "Quite a view, huh?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes. It’s… very nice."

"You’re not from around here, huh?" Rena smiled. "Ain’t often we get visitors."

For a moment, the man didn’t say anything. There was just the whistling of the wind, and the brushing of the wheat. Rena was just beginning to think he maybe hadn’t heard her when he spoke again.

"From around here…?" he mused, as if the very concept was alien. "No. I don’t think I am, no."

She raised an amused eyebrow. "That up for debate or something? You don’t sound too sure."

"I wasn’t until I came here, really… I thought I might have come here a long time ago…" the man said wistfully, before shaking his head. "Forgive my rudeness. My name is Atoy Muzazi -- I’m a Special Officer from the Supremacy." He extended his arm for a handshake.

"Ooh," Rena whistled, accepting the handshake. "Fancy you. I’m Rena Raish. I work at a farm nearby -- well, mostly I repair automatics, but you get it."

She wasn’t quite sure why at first, but Atoy Muzazi’s face dropped when she said her name. His hand continued to grip hers.

"Something wrong?" she asked, cocking her head.

Muzazi came back to himself, releasing her hand and plunging his own into his pockets. "Nothing," he said hurriedly. "It’s just… forgive me if this is inappropriate, but I’ve been speaking with some of the townsfolk."

With that, her face dropped. Ah. So that was what this was all about.

Muzazi went on. "They mentioned that… well, that person, the swordsman who left and became famous… he was your brother. Is that right?"

Rena sighed, tucking her basket under her arm once again. "Look, if you’re here to try and discover some secret family techniques or whatever, there aren’t any. We’re farmers. We farm. That dummy went and got himself killed all on his own."

"That’s not what I…" Muzazi hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m sorry. I was just wondering -- that man… what kind of person was he?"

"What do you mean?" Rena furrowed her brow. "Why would you want to know?"

"I’m just… curious."

It was inappropriate. Of course it was inappropriate for a total stranger to walk up and ask her what her dead brother was like. By all rights, she should tell him to get lost. But… when she looked into those eyes, those glinting grey eyes, she couldn’t help but speak.

"He was… quiet, I guess?" The words came out awkwardly. She hadn’t talked about her brother in years. "Always with his nose in a book, or out practising swords with his friends. Sometimes he liked to do painting. He was good at that. He should have stuck to it… you don’t get killed painting, do you?" Her breath hitched. "That idiot should have just stayed here, where it was safe, and painted."

"Would he have been happy… do you think…" Muzazi murmured. "...if that was how things had turned out?"

Rena slowly shook her head. "No. I don’t think he would have been happy doing anything except what he did. That’s the worst part." The basket slipped out from her arm and landed roughly on the floor, fruit spilling out. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible over the wind. "Could you please leave?"

For a moment, it looked as if this Atoy Muzazi was going to refuse -- as if he was going to say something else, or crouch down to pick up the fallen fruit. A tiny part of her expected him to, for a reason she couldn’t quite place. In the end, though, he did as she asked -- he nodded and turned, walking away.

He didn’t look back as he became a dot on the horizon. Rena never saw him again.

Five Hours After Avaman’s Assault…

Muzazi took the paintbrush away from the canvas, licking his lips nervously as he took his creation in.

It was meant to have been a depiction of a red apple resting on a table. What had resulted was a blotch of red staining a lump of brown. Utterly unrecognisable -- and utterly awful. There was no talent there to speak of, natural or otherwise.

Muzazi smiled.

Just as he was putting the canvas away, however, the doors to his quarters suddenly slid open -- and Morgan Nacht charged in, white in the face. He was breathing heavily: clearly he’d sprinted all the way here. Muzazi immediately leapt up. Morgan was meant to have been guarding Aclima. Had something happened?

Morgan spoke before Muzazi. "Have you… have you seen it? Is your videograph on?"

Muzazi shook his head, confused. "Seen what? What are you talking about?"

Before he answered, Morgan staggered over to the videograph, fumbling around the bottom of it for the on-button. "It’s on all frequencies," he panted. "On a loop. A message. We think it’s all over the Supremacy. Some kind of virus, or… or something." It took him a second to find the button, but eventually there was a click --

-- and the face of the man called Skipper appeared on the screen.

Muzazi’s eyes widened. What was this? Last he’d seen Dragan Hadrien and his crew, they’d been at the Truemeet of the Final Church, struggling against the machinations of the different sects there. Had something else happened since then?

Skipper looked at the camera, grinning. He was wearing a dark long coat as he lounged back in a chair, the camera focused on his face. He narrowed his green eyes.

"This is going to be pretty confusing for most of you," he said, cracking his neck. "You must be thinking: who’s this guy? Can’t blame ya. Sorry for interrupting your shows, folks, but I need to make a little announcement here."

Muzazi glanced towards Morgan. "You said this was all over the Supremacy?"

Morgan nodded. "Every screen I’ve tried is showing the same thing. You know this guy?"

It must have shown on Muzazi’s face. He nodded grimly. "We’ve crossed paths in the past. He’s called Skipper, the captain of a crew of --"

Skipper interrupted from the videograph.

"Well, introductions are in order first of all," he grinned easily. "The name’s Zachariah Esmeralda. Well, that name probably doesn’t mean much to you guys. Some people call me Skipper. Again, probably drawing a blank. I’m not exactly famous. But let me tell you what I’m all about."

What are you thinking, man?

Muzazi was in utter disbelief. The entire Supremacy was listening to this rambling? Had Skipper -- or Zachariah Esmeralda, or whoever he was -- gone mad?

"Around sixty years back," Skipper leaned back. "I tried to take out the Supreme. Didn’t do too well since, ya know, he ain’t dead. But I got a good hit in. Took his ear right off. Bet that’s the biggest injury he’s had in a good while. None of those Contenders or whatever are giving him what I did, that’s for sure. Which brings me to my point here…"

The grin dropped from Skipper’s face, and he stared dead into the camera.

"Ready for round two, old-timer? I am. I’ll be waiting at Elysian Fields. Bring whoever you want. Let’s have fun."

With that final challenge, the message resumed looping, starting over from the beginning. A chill ran down Muzazi’s spine. He could feel it in the air.

Something was about to change.

In the throne room of the Shesha, there was a great cracking -- with two sources. First, a shell of dust falling away as dormant lips opened into a grin. Second, joints crunching into action as someone sat up in their chair. Light entered the eyes of the great statue called the Supreme as it watched the message beaming out all over the Supremacy.

Zachariah Esmeralda.

Oh, he remembered it like it was just yesterday.

The statue became a man again, a curtain of dust falling off him as he rose to his feet…

…and the man began laughing.

End of Arc 10