Aetheral Space

Paradise Charon hated.

What specifically she hated, in this particular moment, she could not say. Was it the script in her gnarled hands? Was it the words her blood-tainted eyes read? Perhaps it was the whole world -- the world that had done this to her, for no crime other than seeking greatness.

“I'd advise keeping calm,” McCoy said, the bandaged woman lingering in the shadows. “Your treatments are still unstable. Best not to agitate them, hm?”

And them. There was always one of them, one of the Darkstar scum, hiding somewhere nearby. Eyes and ears watching her. Fingernails crawling over her skin, over her bones. Like ants making a nest inside her tongue. She licked her cracked lips.

“It seems you're not listening to me,” McCoy said calmly. “That's fine, too.”

Paradise narrowed her eyes. She surely hated these people as well, even if she was making use of them for the time being. It wasn't as if she had much of a choice.

After she'd been attacked by the Supreme Heir, it had taken all of the Forest of Sin’s power just to keep her alive and stable. The humiliation lingered even now, the rage at just how helpless she had been. It rushed across her body, a mixture of hot and cold that twisted her face into a now familiar snarl.

It had taken six months for her to even recover the ability to talk. Without Darkstar’s assistance, it was doubtful she'd ever have been able to leave her hospital bed. But she never should have needed to resort to Darkstar. Their leader had been a tool that had refused to meet his purpose. He was supposed to have helped her kill the Supreme. All he'd done was sit there and do nothing. Bastard. Scum. She'd kill him. Take his throat between her hands and --

“Miss Charon,” chided McCoy.

But she’d made use of them. She’d bent their means to her will. It had been torturous -- and humiliating -- but she was now near her previous level of strength. The titan she’d been, before the Supreme Heir had… before the Supreme Heir had…

That little bitch.

The tallest flower was cut away first. An old fucking hag in that backwater village had once told her that. She’d assumed it was the dementia talking, but now she understood. You found pearls of wisdom even in the mouths of swine. That brat Aclima was the one responsible for this predicament. She’d get hers. She’d get hers, too. Once she was the victor of this Dawn Contest, she’d teach that little cunt a lesson before the whole Supremacy. Jam her thumbs into her eye sockets and feel the brains give way. Kill her, kill her, kill her.

Tears brimmed in Paradise’s eyes. She'd been beautiful. She had.

They’d taken it from her, they’d all taken it from her, everyone. They’d left her with nothing and forced her into the dirt, to writhe, like a dog. And why? Because the tallest flower was cut away first. She’d kill them, oh she’d kill them.

Her eyes flicked back down to the script in her hand. Her mouth twisted into as much of a smile as it could manage. Such joy.

Aclima… Atoy Muzazi… Darkstar… Baltay Kojirough… her former subordinates… her former allies… her former enemies… she’d kill them all…

And she’d start with this Dragan Hadrien.

“Lord Hadrien,” said Xander Rain. “Please accept this. The Sap of Human Perseverance.”

The entirety of the Tree of Might had gathered in their headquarters for this official inauguration. They’d spared no effort in preparing the central hall -- a long and grand staircase ran up through the centre of the room, lined by white-flamed torches, the membership gathered below. The Second through Eighth Branches stood at the head of the crowd -- that Scurrant woman Violence and her fellows -- while the First Branch Xander Rain knelt before the throne.

Dragan Hadrien slouched above him, wearing a traditional white war-robe, his eyes cold.

Rain extended the golden chalice in his hands, the container filled to the brim with a thick red liquid. North, standing next to the throne, eyed it with a wry smirk.

“What?” he chuckled. “You all spit in it or somethin’?”

If looks could kill, North would have been butchered in that moment by every single member of the Tree of Might. Dragan suppressed his own urge to roll his eyes: ceremonies like these were important to such fanatics. If doing this enabled him to keep control over a valuable asset, he’d gladly debase himself a little.

“Show some respect, North,” Dragan said, taking the chalice in one hand and raising it. “This is glory.”

He brought the chalice to his lips, tipping his head back as he swallowed the whole thing in one gulp. A slight smile spread across his lips as he licked them clean. Before the gathered Tree of Might, he raised the empty chalice once more and smirked.

“Life through battle!” he called out.

Oh my god. Oh my god, that’s so fucking gross. I think I’m gonna be sick.

“Life through battle!” the Tree of Might roared back, the sheer power of their collective voices enough to shake the room. North put his hands over his ears, frowning in annoyance. Dragan sat back down in his chair.

With this gesture, he was now the first Zero Branch in the Tree of Might’s history. An absolute overseer, whose will overrode all others. It wasn’t bad.

The Tree of Might would be invaluable going forward. Unlike the Crimson Carnival, a gang of treacherous criminals who Dragan had done his best to keep at arms length, the Tree of Might were a fighting force based around discipline, honour and loyalty. Those weren’t necessarily values that Dragan shared, but they made it much easier for him to trust them.

His gaze flicked over to Xander Rain as the boy took his position on the other side of the throne. He’d been lucky that he’d gone to fight the First Branch when he did. The boy’s emotions had been in turmoil after the death of his father, and his ability had still been immature. Now, a year later, it would have been a much more difficult battle.

Xander Rain’s potential was frightening. There was a spark of strength in him that could mature into the storm of a Supreme, given the right circumstances.

If he got the idea into his head at any point that his strength now surpassed Dragan’s, things could get difficult, but that honestly wasn’t likely. Xander Rain was a true believer. He’d latched onto the figure of Dragan Hadrien as Supreme -- he wanted to see the world the Shooting Star would create.

Poor bastard.

So long as he controlled Xander Rain, he controlled the Tree of Might. Eighty-three central members in total, all Aether-users, with the Branches in particular being the equivalent of high-level Special Officers. Seventeen of those were able to access Absolutian, the Tree of Might’s ancestral Aether ability. With them, Anya Hapgrass, and the joker in his back pocket…

Dragan’s smirk widened.

…he’d drawn quite the potent hand.

It was strangely quiet in the Arena of the Absolute that night.

Of course, that was somewhat understandable. Right now, neither of the Contestants taking part in this fight were really a crowd favourite. The Shooting Star, Dragan Hadrien, had burnt away a lot of his goodwill after his anticlimactic ‘match’ against Xander Rain. The Gardener of Sin, Paradise Charon, was a disgraced ex-Contender who had vanished from the public eye for the last two years. If you believed the rumours, she was hideous to behold under that ragged cloak of hers.

A cheater versus a monster. Nobody was quite sure where their excitement was meant to be placed.

Nevertheless, they came to see. The Arena of the Absolute was as filled with spectators as ever, ready to watch the next set of matches begin. Hushed conversations filled the space as they waited for the Contestants to arrive.

Well, to wait for one of the Contestants to arrive.

As Paradise Charon sat down in the centre of the arena, fingers scraping against the sand below, Dragan Hadrien was nowhere to be seen. This in itself wasn’t especially surprising -- he’d shown up at the last minute for his previous match, too -- but by now the rumours were already beginning to spread.

Was Dragan Hadrien just not going to show up? Had he decided to surrender? When faced with a real fight, had he chickened out?

How easily his battle against the Kaiser was forgotten.

Paradise hissed beneath the cloak that covered her ravaged form. “Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it… are you mocking me…? This place is too loud… my head’s gonna burst… fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…”

Her muttered rant went unnoticed by the crowds. Most of their eyes were fixed on the scripts and monitors before them. If Dragan Hadrien didn’t show up by midnight, he’d be disqualified by default -- and he really was playing it close. There was only a minute remaining.

In Rae Ruditia’s observation booth, high above the Arena, Ruth crossed her arms. She bit her lip as she watched, waited.

Come on, Dragan, she thought to herself. Don’t fuck around. Losing by default would just be way too sad.

Rae Ruditia herself, sitting on the bench, narrowed her eyes as she looked down at the sole Contestant in the arena. She didn’t seem too impressed. Ruth supposed that made sense: Rae was a reporter, after all. This wasn’t shaping up to be a very exciting story.

Standing guard on the other side of their client, Rex sneakily checked his watch. He clicked his tongue. “Thirty seconds left…” he muttered. “Is he really not gonna show?”

Serena had taken control while the del Sed’s were acting as Ruditia’s bodyguards, but as Rex asked his question Bruno visibly slipped back into the driver’s seat. He narrowed his eyes as his frown deepened. “He’ll show up,” he grunted. “No doubt about it.”

Thirty seconds.

Over by the door, Alice checked her nails.

Twenty seconds.

Ruth gripped her forearms, the tension in her body growing by the second.

Ten seconds.

Paradise Charon growled, beginning to pick herself up. “Waste of time, a waste of time…” she snarled. “Where is he?! I’ll drag him back myself --”

A finger curled around a trigger… and pulled.

A bombardment. That was the only way to describe it.

Infused punchpoint bullets were fired continuously from the mouth of the entrance tunnel like it was the barrel of a minigun, mercilessly pelting Paradise Charon. Debris from the shattered floor blasted through the arena -- the only thing stopping it from raining down on the crowd being the automatic shielding. Even so, there were more than a few screams of surprise and shock. The attack was so sudden and devastating that, for a moment, Ruth thought Charon had been caught off guard and instantly killed.

As the smoke cleared, though, it became clear that wasn’t the case. Where Paradise Charon had been standing was now a gnarled sphere of black wood, coiled around the former Contender like some grotesque cocoon. A shield she’d conjured with her Forest of Sin?

Behind Ruth, Bruno shuddered. Seeing this ability didn’t bring back good memories for anyone.

The shield began to retract, like a blooming flower in reverse, the wooden segments retreating back into Paradise Charon’s body. For a moment, she stood there, seething amidst the devastation -- then, lurching forward, she allowed the Forest of Sin to manifest again. Blood burst out from her shoulder blades as four flexile branches wormed their way out of her back. They waved through the air like tentacles, dwarfing Paradise herself, every inch of their surface glinting with deadly thorns.

She grinned with a warped mouth. “Come on out, little boy.”

Since Paradise Charon had revamped her ability, it now manifested in two forms.

The first, Forest of Sin, was essentially unchanged. Using it, Paradise could manifest parts of her self-aware Forest into the real world, whether that was a single branch or the Forest in its entirety. With a single thought, Paradise could convert the entire battlefield into her own territory -- in terms of area control, it was unmatched. The only flaw was that it was self-aware -- while Paradise could direct it, it also had an irritating tendency to act on its own. While Paradise would try to efficiently eliminate the enemy, the Forest would prefer to play with its food.

Funnily enough, that was also the flaw of the second form.

Temple of Sin, devised by Paradise and Darkstar as a means of accelerating her recovery, incorporated the Forest directly into her own body. It would prop her up and allow her to move beyond her means, as well as automatically defend her from attacks. Even the roots of the Forest were wound around her bones, infesting her flesh and stopping it from sloughing away. Her brain too was kept stable by the Forest -- and even though Paradise Charon wasn’t fully aware of this, the border between her own mind and that of her ability grew hazier by the day.

Because of Forest of Sin, she wasn’t worried about losing track of Dragan Hadrien. If it came down to it, she’d just envelop the arena and let the Forest have its fun.

Because of Temple of Sin, she wasn’t worried about being damaged by his attacks. The branches could slap Gemini Shotgun away, and the cocoon could withstand Gemini Railgun.

But that didn’t mean she was just going to stand here and let Hadrien do as he wished. Paradise’s grin widened as her eyes flicked through the smoke around her. Every now and then, she could see him -- just for a moment -- darting from cover to cover in the ravaged arena, slowly getting closer to her. His intention was to get inside her range and unleash an attack that the Temple of Sin couldn’t block in time.

She laughed, bloody saliva pouring from her mouth as her tongue lashed at the air. As if she’d ever allow that to happen!

The Branches of the Tree of Might had gathered to watch the match in their great hall, lined up before the monitor. Xander Rain frowned as he saw the new form that Paradise Charon had taken.

“Is that an Absolutian?” he asked, a hint of outrage in his voice.

The Third Branch, Tyr Masterman, shook his head. “Nei,” he said, stroking the first of his white moustaches with a finger. “Perhaps she took the inspiration from her former teacher… but it seems to be something far more atrocious.”

Xander’s hands tightened as he looked at the mockery of their traditions, and his eyes narrowed into a glare.

Paradise threw her head back, cackling at the sky as she began her victory.

Her branches twisted for a moment -- and then fired all their thorns as an omnidirectional attack, the spikes shredding the air around her. At the same time, she unleashed an Aether ping, her dark-green sparks coursing throughout the battlefield. Faced with the Aether ping alone, Hadrien might have cloaked -- but that would be much more taxing if he had to protect himself at the same time.

She felt a response, deep in the smoke. Her laughter increasing in pitch, she whirled around and slashed through the cloud with one of her branches, banishing the smog. With that single movement, Dragan Hadrien was revealed -- running towards her, his blue Aether coursing around his body. His eyes were fixed directly on her, like a bird of prey locked onto its quarry. He was clearly ready to kill as well.

Good, she grinned. Then you can’t complain, can you?!

Only… a thought occurred.

Launching that thorn attack had been more a product of bloodlust than anything else, rationalised as strategy afterwards. Projectiles were the attacks most beneficial to Dragan Hadrien. He could record them and immediately fire them back, after all. So why hadn’t he?

Come to think of it… why was he running around like this at all? Why hadn’t he just hidden inside his Gemini World before launching another sneak attack? Was it a bluff? No, he was definitely exposing himself to her attacks. There’d be no reason to do that…

…unless he couldn’t use Gemini World.

Dragan Hadrien smiled.

Paradise moved with animalistic speed as she raised her hand, the words already on her lips. She’d take no chances: rather than responding to Hadrien on an individual level, she’d just flood the Forest against him until he was utterly crushed. If she’d been just a second quicker, her plan might have worked.

But she was not a second quicker.

Gemini Dominion!

Forest of Sin!

Right before the Forest of Sin washed over him, Dragan fired his burden out of his Aether. Then, finally free, he vanished into his Gemini World, escaping the tendrils of the Forest as they attempted to seize and crush him. The landscape of the arena was completely infested by the Forest, the trees forming a sphere of warped human faces that encompassed the entire battlefield. Dragan fled into the cracks as stray sparks of blue, a stark contrast to the world of black and red that had just been created.

However, Paradise made no attempt to track him. She couldn’t afford to.

Her attention was fixed solely on the thing that Dragan Hadrien had released from his Aether. A metal cylinder the size of a man, like an oversized trash can, its surface covered in countless tiny rectangular panels. A red dot of light swam around the rim of the machine, before finally settling on Paradise like a beady and malicious eye.

It dilated.

Paradise Charon had never seen this thing before. But her instincts -- bolstered by the Temple of Sin -- informed her that without a doubt… this machine was the greatest threat to her life right now.

Temple of Sin!

A cocoon of wood enveloped her body once more, protecting her completely -- and in that same moment, the Arcana Automatic known as the Tower opened up its own body. A pack of machine-gun barrels that should not have been able to fit inside the chassis crawled forth, pointed as one at Charon -- and began to fire.

“Kill!” the automatic screamed. “Kill! Kill! KILL!”