Aetheral Space

Chapter 315:11.42: The Shape of this World

Aclima ran so hard that her feet hurt.

It was no surprise she was in pain. Ever since her pod had come down on the surface of Elysian Fields, she’d been sprinting through this wasteland, heading as fast as she could to the green-and-gold aurora she could see on the horizon. Horrors flashed past at the edges of her vision -- corpses in conditions she’d never considered -- but she did not stop to look at them.

She had a job to do, after all. She had to help her father. She had to show him that she wasn’t as weak as everyone thought.

She had to prove that she existed now.

And yet, her legs screamed at her, feeling like matchsticks about to snap under their own weight. Aether -- especially newborn Aether -- could only do so much, especially with a body that was already pushing itself far past its limits. Aclima blinked rapidly as her sweat dripped into her eyes, and she panted raggedly as her lungs protested their labour.

Finally, finally, she had no choice but to stop. Hands on her knees, gasping for breath, she leaned against the charred remains of a tree. Just a second to recover. That was all she needed. As soon as she could move again, it’d be straight back to running --

"What are you doing here?" asked Atoy Muzazi.

Aclima looked up at the man looming over her -- and immediately recoiled, collapsing into the mud. Muzazi had changed since she’d last seen him. His uniform was caked with dirt and mud, torn all over, but that wasn’t what had surprised her.

She didn’t know how it had happened, but the Special Officer had clearly suffered a grievous injury. The skin on the left side of his face was utterly gone, revealing bloody flesh and muscle beneath. The eye on that side too was a dull white orb, half-crushed, clearly seeing nothing.

Aclima swallowed back bile at the gruesome sight. "Your… face…" she whispered.

"It’s nothing," Muzazi replied, his voice an exhausted monotone. "What are you doing here, Aclima? It’s not safe. I told you to stay on the ship."

Aclima shook her head, slowly picking herself up off the ground. "The ship’s not safe, either! They attacked it. There was a woman with these feathers -- and, and Ash beat her, but the Commissioner’s aide showed up too and fought us, and then the Second Contender sent one of her -- um -- her tree things and…"

Muzazi shook his head. It was unclear if he’d even really heard her words. "Nevertheless…" he said. "The Tartarus is a safer place than here. Why did you come?"

Aclima’s mouth opened silently at first -- her weakness returning -- before she hurriedly shook her head and declared: "I need to help my father!"

"The Supreme… doesn’t need help," Muzazi said slowly, blinking in surprise. "...and you would not be able to help him. Even I --"

"I can help!" Aclima insisted, taking a step forward. She raised her hands up, purple Aether sparking around her fingers. "I unlocked it -- and I beat a Contender! Did you see that big black tree? I think that was me!"

"That’s… splendid. Nevertheless…" Muzazi mumbled. "You’ve only just unlocked that Aether. I am proud of you, but you’re not capable of fighting with the Supreme as you are right now. Few are. People like you and I would be annihilated in the crossfire -- and the enemy is strong. I faced him myself. He’s too dangerous."

The Special Officer seemed to sway on his feet as he spoke. How much blood had he lost? Too much, at a glance. Was that why he wasn’t listening?

"I’ve got an ability," Aclima said, annoyance trickling into her tone as she threw her hands wide. "I can -- it can beat Aether. I beat Paradise Charon, and it was easy! I’m strong!"

"You’re not!" Muzazi barked.

The air in the clearing seemed to grow still as Aclima blinked, looking up at the Special Officer like she hadn’t understood what he’d said. Like it had been a different language. Still… still… after all of this, everything that had happened, he still thought she was weak?

Cold realisation settled in her stomach. When he looked at her, all Atoy Muzazi saw was a weakling -- and that was all he’d ever see. That cold realisation was quickly replaced by hot anger.

"You’re not," Muzazi repeated, more softly, but it was too late. "By unlocking Aether, you’ve taken the first step, but --"

"Move," Aclima snapped, pushing past Muzazi -- and that was when her consciousness stopped.

She had no way of knowing this, of course, but at the exact moment she’d walked past Atoy Muzazi, the Special Officer had struck her on the back of the neck with a cold and precise chop. Her eyes rolled up into the back of her skull as she keeled over -- and she would have collapsed to the ground fully if Atoy Muzazi hadn’t caught her. Holding her up, he sighed.

"Was that right?" asked the voice of Morgan Nacht.

Muzazi looked up -- and saw Nacht perched up in the scorched remains of a nearby tree. Branches were protruding from his back, holding him in place, and his eyes were coated with green moss. It didn’t take a genius to work out who was really speaking.

"Is Morgan dead?" Muzazi asked, his voice dull. At this point, he didn’t have anything close to surprise left in him.

Nacht’s body shook its head. "Morgan Nacht is only unconscious," Ionir Yggdrassil explained through that mouth. "But was it correct for you to subdue Aclima? She wanted to fight."

"Take her," Muzazi grunted, passing Aclima’s limp body into the reach of a stretching branch. "If she fought, she would have died. There is nothing but enemies here -- enemies and corpses. It’s as I told her: even if she’s grown stronger, this is far beyond her abilities… as is the Supreme."

"I see." Ionir took Aclima into his grasp, holding her up high. "I will take her to medical treatment. The surviving simpletons tell me a location. What will you do?"

Atoy Muzazi took in a deep breath once more, and a deep step forwards, facing away from Ionir -- and towards the green-and-gold mountain on the horizon. With a flash of white, a Radiant began blazing resolutely from his palm. The warrior exhaled.

"I promised Aclima before all this began," he muttered. "That I would aid the Supreme in her place."

And without another word, he became a blur of white light, burning his way across the world.

Dragan Hadrien reappeared between his friends, gasping for air as his lungs came back into existence.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Maybe he’d gone a little overboard? The destruction of the Slipstream AE -- rest in peace -- had left a massive crater, filled with copious fire and smoke. Even looking at the bright inferno was enough to make one’s eyes hurt -- and the flames were already beginning to spread to the rest of the virulent forest Wu Ming had grown here.

It was tempting to think ’nothing could have survived that’ -- but that was the sort of thought that ended with you turning your back and getting your head cut off.

This was a Contender, after all, the First Contender. Something like that could definitely have survived that.

To his left, Ruth cracked her neck, her flickering claws reflecting the dim pink moonlight. To his right, Serena planted a hand on a nearby tree, turning it into a gargantuan sword and slinging it over her shoulder.

And behind him… behind him, he knew, even without looking… that gold-and-green light was blazing in the distance. The battle Skipper was waging against the Supreme. The battle that everyone was giving everything just to facilitate. So long as they could keep Avaman away from that light, even if just for a little longer, they could…

Crack.

It was the tiniest noise, like drinking glasses tapping together, but in the tension of that place it resounded like a church bell. The sound had more than one source. The sound came from Dragan Hadrien. The sound came from Ruth Blaine. The sound came from Serena del Sed.

More than anyone else, though, the sound surely came from Skipper.

Dragan looked down at what remained of his lapel. Most of his body was recorded into Aether to keep it stable, but the top of his chest was still part of reality. He looked down at it, and did not see what he expected to see. His eyes widened.

The green feather had just broken.

It was the same for Ruth, and it was the same for Serena. The glowing green feathers Skipper had given them had suddenly shattered, dissipating into emerald Aether. Dragan’s stomach sank -- and as he swung his head around to look at the horizon, he saw that the gold-and-green aurora there was receding as well.

Receding.

Fading.

Dying.

His mouth felt terribly dry. His eyes felt terribly wet. Pain he’d tried to ignore started to creep back through his nerves. For a moment, Dragan nearly lost his concentration -- nearly lost the one thing that was keeping his body together…

…but then he heard Ruth, heard her voice, and was pulled back to reality once more.

"Help him!" she was screaming, her eyes just as wide as his, spittle flying from her mouth. "Help Skipper! We’ll finish him off!"

Serena’s teeth were bared, and Dragan could see that she was shaking -- whether that was from rage or sorrow, he couldn’t tell. The cracks that spread across the hilt of her greatsword as she squeezed it sent a far clearer message.

She glanced at him, and her voice was even and calm as she spoke. "I think you should go, Mr. Dragan."

He didn’t need to be told a third time. As Ruth and Serena lunged at the flaming crater, Dragan ran in the opposite direction, feet pounding against the grass as he headed for the fading light on the horizon. That light was hope. That light was Skipper. He couldn’t just let it go out.

Even if he ran at full speed, of course, it would take him ages to get there. But he wasn’t the sort of person who needed feet to get around. Throat burning, he screamed out:

"Gemini World!"

AETHERAL SPACE 11.42

"The Shape of this World"

Devastation.

The moment Dragan reappeared, feet sliding against unsteady ground, the smell of burning filled his nostrils. Burning wood, burning grass, burning stone and burning flesh. Burning everything. It was like he’d arrived in the aftermath of an inferno that had devoured the world… and yet not a single flame remained.

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Shifting soot rustled.

Burnt grass smouldered.

Distant trees collapsed.

The moon hung low.

"Skipper?" asked Dragan.

There was no response.

"Skipper?" asked Dragan.

There was no response.

If you asked Dragan later on how long he remained there, crouched down next to Skipper’s body, he couldn’t have told you. It could have been seconds, minutes or even hours. He simply remained, staring at someone who could never stare back, bracing himself for the moment he knew would eventually have to come.

That moment was the only certain thing.

Dragan stood up, took a deep cold breath, and walked away.

Atoy Muzazi’s legs ached. It was no surprise, what with the speed he’d used to get here. Atoy Muzazi’s arms ached. That, too, was unsurprising. Atoy Muzazi’s head ached. Even this was expected -- after all, he’d witnessed many flavours of hell today. A person who could see all of that without anguish was a person he wished neither to meet or be.

When he saw the figure approaching, he nearly ignored it. His body was in no fit state to fight anymore, and his mind was at the breaking point. How easy it would be to see an enemy and simply let it walk past.

But he was a Special Officer -- and more than that, he was Atoy Muzazi. He had no choice but to raise his blade.

The white light of the Radiant illuminated the incoming figure, the young man trudging through the woods. Dragan Hadrien. His head was cast downwards, and he was a patchwork man -- crossed between Aether and flesh -- but that silver hair was unmistakable.

Of course. Of course they would meet here.

"Dragan Hadrien," Muzazi said, powering through the pain in his rasping voice. "I’m placing you under arrest. Relinquish any weaponry and place your hands behind your head."

This was the one kindness Muzazi could offer. He and Hadrien had fought together, after all, bled together, so he could at least extend this mercy. The boy could leave with his life -- he could survive and see another day. What manner of day that was remained to be seen, but so many hadn’t even had that chance.

And yet, Dragan Hadrien continued to walk forward. He did not reply, nor did he look at Muzazi.

This, too… was not entirely unexpected. Muzazi took a deep breath and pointed his Radiant at Dragan… but the Cogitant spoke before Muzazi could. Just two words. But they were enough.

In the end, all Atoy Muzazi could do was stand there -- frozen by that pressure -- and watch as Dragan Hadrien silently stalked past. The Cogitant vanished into the darkness, and as the Radiant flickered out of existence…

…so did the Crownless.