Aetheral Space

Chapter 81:3.44: Up

Dir lay there, slumped against the wall. Dead.

Dragan let out a breath that he’d been holding in for quite a while, letting his arms drop down to his sides. For a moment, he watched Dir’s body cautiously -- just in case this was some kind of fake-out -- but when the burly security chief moved no more, he allowed himself to drop down to the ground himself, in a sitting position.

Footsteps approached, clicking on the hard floor -- Muzazi walking over. The swordsman looked down at the body as well, just as cautious, before glancing towards Dragan.

"Your first?" he said quietly.

Dragan nodded mutely.

Muzazi nodded, eyes closed. "It gets easier," he said, before turning and walking back out of sight -- to check on Patel, maybe, or get back to that

As the plasma surged towards her, her hand lashed out and ripped away a helmet from one of the fallen officers. Red Aether crackled around the helmet as she infused it -- and then she held it out in front of her, neckhole pointing outwards, like some kind of artsy bucket.

The plasma splashed into the piece of armour, and she could hear it sizzling inside as smoke poured out of the helmet’s seams -- but she trusted her Aether would be enough to let it hold. She was strong, after all.

Ruth span, and -- like a gardener watering their crops -- splashed the plasma she’d intercepted at the guard who’d fired it. He went down, thrashing as he clawed at his burning armour, and she finally ended the fight with a swift kick to his head.

She took a breath. She was starting to work up a sweat.

Tap. Footstep on floor, uncomfortably close. Instantly, Ruth whirled round, thrust her claws forward --

-- and stopped them, barely inches from Bruno’s face.

"Nice to see you too," he said, voice flat.

He was wearing the armour of a security officer, with the helmet tucked under his arm. In his other hand, he held a folded-up plasmabow.

Ruth stepped back, stretching as she took the opportunity to catch her breath. "See you’ve got some goodies."

Bruno looked down at the bow. "Yeah. These things work better folded-up as melee weapons, if you ask me. Trying to use them the right way is just a pain in the ass." He nodded at the bodies littering the floor. "See you’ve been busy."

The exhilaration Ruth had felt during combat was already fading away, replaced by that persistent anxiety, eating away at her like acid. She’d been running around so happily in this pointless fight, while who knew what was happening to Dragan and Skipper? It seemed Bruno and Serena had managed to get away from their captors without issue, but that had been no thanks to her as well.

"They tried to get me in my room," Bruno said, answering the unasked question. "But I’m not stupid -- I know an execution when I see one being set up. Hid in the corner and grabbed the guy when he came in."

Bruno’s dull expression was replaced by Serena’s wide grin. "His neck went crack," she said excitedly. "It was awful!"

"Right," Ruth said -- there wasn’t really anything else to say. "What about Dragan and Skipper? Do you know where they are?"

Serena’s grin faded. Bruno shook his head. "No clue. Once I had this armour, I could sneak around pretty easy, but they weren’t in the cells the records said they should be. Those rooms were empty."

Ruth’s blood ran cold for a moment. That couldn’t mean…?

No. Skipper was strong and Dragan was smart. The S4 wouldn’t be able to take them out with such a simple trick.

"We need to find them," Ruth said quietly.

"How?" She couldn’t sense either approval or disapproval in Bruno’s tone -- it was completely neutral. A soldier awaiting orders.

Ruth took a deep breath. Time to do some thinking.

Enough defending. That wasn’t Skipper’s style.

He charged forward across the function room floor, kicking off the remains of a table as he made a beeline towards Chael. The Citizen, standing still, simply stared at his incoming assailant.

Made sense. The Citizen could fire off as many attacks as he liked without even lifting a finger. There was no need for him to move.

But that was what Skipper was counting on.

The blades came, firing out from Chael’s torso -- a dozen spikes, long and thin like needles. Any one of them was sharp enough to pierce Skipper’s body -- and fast enough to send him flying backwards. But that was only if they hit him.

Heartbeat Landmine.

The pulse of sound that burst out of Skipper’s body -- he could feel it rumble in his bones -- redirected the spikes, sending the majority of them shooting off to the left and right. Only one remained close enough for what Skipper had in mind. Emerald Aether infusing his prosthetic hand -- increasing its durability as much as it could be improved -- Skipper reached out and grabbed the blade out of the air.

No time to think. No time to think about how, even with the infusion, the blade was steadily slicing through his metal palm. Skipper brought his body low to the ground and hurled the spike towards Chael’s face like a spear.

His target was obvious -- the small gap in the helmet through which the Citizen’s red pinpricks eyes could be seen. Before the blade could reach its mark, new silver shards grew to cover the gap in Chael’s armour, his red gaze instantly covered by a sea of interlocking silver spikes. Skipper’s projectile shattered against that shield harmlessly, but that was fine. That was ideal, in fact.

Because now, for just a second, the Citizen couldn’t see. Skipper glanced upwards.

Heartbeat Bayonet.

The whistle that escaped his lips grew in intensity, the sound waves being infused with his Aether and gaining new properties -- sharpness, strength, mass. For just a few moments, the audio was given a physical presence in this world.

The invisible blade slashed incessantly against the ceiling -- the already weakening ceiling -- leaving deep gouges in its surface before fading away. A second later, there was a rumble, a resounding crack, and the damaged ceiling burst apart, the roof finally collapsing in on itself --

-- the weight of the ship above falling directly down onto the Citizen.

That made him move. As the faceshield he’d created dissipated into grey Aether, he turned his head upwards -- and a mass of colossal blades erupted from his back, dwarfing his own body in size as they held the ceiling up.

Skipper rushed forward, blasting Heartbeat Shotguns behind himself in order to increase speed -- and within a second, he was right in Chael’s face. He couldn’t exactly tell through the mask, but he swore he saw those red eyes widen, just slightly.

Against an enemy like this, it was common sense to keep your distance and engage carefully.

Skipper didn’t much subscribe to ’common sense’. He reached forward into the mass of blades, grabbing the remains of Chael’s tuxedo collar and pulling him close, so they were nearly face to face. Skipper’s emerald Aether crackled as it did his best to prevent the blades pressing against him from piercing his body.

"What are you…?!" It was natural for Chael to be confused -- this was clearly a suicidal move. Even with Chael being preoccupied holding the ceiling up, there was nothing stopping him from annihilating Skipper with the blades covering the rest of his body.

The spikes forming his armour lengthened slightly, preparing to fire --

Heartbeat Landmine.

A pulse of sound burst out of Skipper’s body, and the spikes directly touching him shattered. For a moment, Chael’s surprised face was visible -- before new spikes grew to cover it.

Heartbeat Landmine. Heartbeat Landmine. Heartbeat Landmine.

Sound shattered the blades, again and again, even as they constantly replenished themselves. The gap between Skipper’s attacks was too short for Chael to fire the blades -- and if he tried to retreat, he risked bringing the ceiling down upon himself.

The whole thing came down to endurance. Skipper felt dull pain pulsing through his body as the blasts of sound reverberated through him. He knew Chael would be suffering, too, producing those many blades in so short a time.

Who would give first?

Heartbeat Landmine. New spikes. Heartbeat Landmine. New spikes. Heartbeat Landmine. New spikes. The carousel of combat went round and round, second after second, resetting itself endlessly.

"I’d say," grunted Skipper, pushing through the pain. "We’re at an impasse, yeah?"

"No," snarled Chael. "We’re at an end."

Oh, so he was planning something, then. Maybe a blade had landed behind Skipper, then, and he was planning to grow new spikes from it to run him through. Now that he listened, he swore he could hear the tinkle of falling metal behind him.

That was fine. He’d thought of that. All that meant was that they’d have to take a trip.

Heartbeat Shotgun.

Blasts of sounds erupted from the soles of Skipper’s feet, launching the two of them upwards. The blades protruding from Chael’s back snapped, and the concrete they had been holding up came crumbling down again.

Heartbeat Landmine, continuous.

A pulse of sound, like a bass drop, erupted from Skipper’s body -- and kept erupting, like a continuous field surrounding his form. As their upwards flight reached the ceiling, the sound field blasted through the rubble and they kept going, up to the next floor -- a section of hallway that had clearly seen better days.

Chael’s armour was being shed and reproduced so fast Skipper could barely make out his features, just an indistinct silver mass. Still, it was holding.

Well, he wasn’t done yet.

Skipper continued blasting the Shotguns from his feet, and they kept going upwards -- through that ceiling as well. The continuous Heartbeat Landmine tore through it like a drill.

Next floor. A section of offices, recently abandoned. The desks and computers were smashed to pieces by their very presence, sound waves ripping through the room.

Next floor. Some kind of sleeping quarters -- they smashed through the bed on their way up, and the feathers that had stuffed the pillows billowed around the room like massive specks of dust.

Next floor. Another hallway.

Next floor. A custodian closet.

Next floor. A maintenance tunnel.

And then, they broke out into the night -- right on top of the Dawnhouses deck. Cold air filled Skipper’s lungs as the harsh winds buffeted at both he and Chael. The moon hung high above, clearly visible, like a great eye observing the battle.

There was a moment of distraction -- just one -- and Chael didn’t miss it. Skipper grunted as a blade-formed boot slammed into his stomach, and the force of the blow and the fear of impalement gave him little choice but to release the Citizen.

They went flying in opposite directions, Skipper rolling into a kneeling position -- holding onto a maintenance handle for dear life. This top deck was flat, slick with condensation -- clearly it wasn’t meant to have people on it while the Dawnhouse was in flight -- and the wind was doing it’s best to send them both flying off into the abyss.

Chael hadn’t gotten out of that attack unscathed by any means. He was clearly exhausted -- he could only produce enough blades to cover roughly half his body now, and his face was bright red from exertion. He landed on his stomach, and for a moment it looked as if he’d just go sliding right off the deck -- then, he planted twin blades from his wrists deep into the metal below, anchoring himself into place.

Skipper grinned, trying to hide his own exhaustion. "You don’t die easy, huh?"

Chael glared at him through his one visible eye -- the other was covered by a hastily assembled mask of blades. "I could say the same," he growled.

There was no more need for words after that.

Skipper charged forward, and Chael answered him.