Aetheral Space

Two Years Ago…

It would be disingenuous to say that the shuttle had landed. It had slammed into the surface of Panacea like a bullet after all. But that was fine. The thing inside the shuttle didn't have to worry about being injured. It was already far past the point of no return.

The blue Aether oozed out of the crashed shuttle, failing sparks blinking in and out of existence. It could sustain itself no longer. It was more than a miracle that it had made it even this far. With the planet wide quarantine, there was a good chance it would have been shot down before reaching this place. Only the fact that the shuttle had been ‘empty’ saved it.

Crackle…

Crackle…

No more.

In the instant before he would have been consigned to oblivion, the boy voluntarily deactivated his ability. He returned to reality, crashing down onto the coarse sand below. He did not scream. The parts of him necessary to scream had already been lost, and the rest of him wasn't faring much better. All his body could manage to do right now was drag itself along… and die.

But he only needed to do one of those things.

Pushing the pain as far down as it would go, Dragan Hadrien began to crawl across the surface of Panacea.

Present Day…

Adaptation was the name of the game. The Tower knew this.

The Arcana Automatics had been created by a man now lost to history as weapons of war in the revolution against the Gene Tyrants. The Tyrants were capable of assuming any form, of becoming any threat. In order to effectively combat them without the advantage Aether provided, the automatics needed that same power of adaptation.

This adaptive ability was shared by all the Arcana Automatics, at least to some degree. The Hierophant adapted its defenses against the attacks it was struck by, ensuring it could continue fighting even after receiving a variety of blows. The Hanged Man adapted to the mind of its human component, allowing it to shift and change in imitation of its Tyrant counterparts. And the Tower…

…well, the Tower adapted to murder -- using whatever means were necessary.

It would be a mistake to say that the Tower was self-aware, but it would also be a mistake to say that it was not. The Tower was conscious only to the degree required to hate something external to itself. This sheer odium was not something it had been programmed with. Perhaps it was just another adaptation: perhaps it had determined that it was a more effective killer when it loathed the target.

Whatever the case, it wasn't saying -- and besides, at this point everything was its target.

As Dragan Hadrien vanished into his Gemini World, the Tower immediately filed away all records of his existence. No visual, auditory, tactile or pressure sensors could detect his presence. Therefore, he was no longer present. Therefore, he was no longer relevant.

All of its attention switched to the person before it: Paradise Charon.

It began with its most basic attack. Machine guns fired plasma out from the hollow in its body, blasting the branches that emerged to protect the target. Five seconds of sustained fire, then 0.001 seconds to judge the result.

Ineffective.

The Tower was familiar with Aether in the sense it knew that humans could use some form of energy to enhance the durability of objects and cause them to behave in unexpected ways. Unlike the Moon, it couldn't use Aether, but it comprehended it as a factor in battle. Immediately, it understood that was what was happening here -- more than that, though. Within another second, the Tower had snapped two-hundred and nineteen images of the forest surrounding it, before checking that against its database.

While the human faces in the foliage were unnatural, the appearance and texture of the bark of these plants was consistent with Apex Trees. An extremely rare kind of tree, engineered by the Gene Tyrants, sturdy enough that their bark could be used for starship hull. It had been enhanced on top of that with Aether. In that case, no amount of machine gun fire would be effective.

“Obliterate!” the Tower screamed, its voice distorted from sheer volume. “Excise! Eliminate!”

Roots rushed forth to seize the Tower from below and hold it still, but it was prepared for that. If the enemy could control the branches and trunks of the Apex Trees, it only followed that they could control the roots as well. This was a positive scenario.

While mature Apex Trees were incredibly durable, the same was not necessarily true for the roots while they were still growing. The enemy was controlling the roots by forcing them to continue growing outwards. As such, they were immature. Vulnerable. The Tower calculated the heat required for incineration, adjusted it slightly above that to account for the Aether, and then adjusted it slightly above that just to be spiteful.

“Die! Die die die!”

The machine guns crawled inside, the Tower's body snapped shut -- and a second later, opened again, revealing an array of flamethrowers pointing in all directions. Blue fire poured out of the Towers’s midsection, cremating the roots of the forest before they could reach it, effectively creating a barrier of heat.

A defensive strategy had been confirmed effective. This was a positive scenario. As such, the Tower could continue to test attack methods against the target until a promising lead was confirmed.

As the flamethrowers spun, creating a wheel of fire all around, the Tower converted some of its superfluous mechanics into a neurotoxin generator. This was an implement that had proven effective against Aether-users in the past. While their bodies were more durable and they were more resistant to injury, they did eventually succumb to poison.

It took only a few seconds to concoct a reliable brew.

Looking for all the world like it was stuck on the defense, surrounded by flames, the Tower sneakily opened a mouth that did not exist…

…and released an invisible payload.

Adaptation was the name of the game.

If the Forest of Sin had a real mouth, it would have sneered. Whether that would have been at the pathetic automatic that was trying to surpass it, or at the foolish user who'd gotten them into this mess, it could not say. Perhaps both. Perhaps all. There was so much in this world that deserved to be sneered at, after all.

No doubt the Tower thought itself quite clever. The Forest had to admit -- against anyone else, that neurotoxin might have been quite effective. But the Forest was not made up of mere trees. It was a confluence of souls, the experiences and expertise of many unfortunate victims bound together by a rope of malice.

It could think, more than most -- and more importantly, it could see.

The pathetic and clumsy implements that the human body relied upon were nothing compared to the suite of sensory miracles the Forest perceived the world through. That supposedly invisible neurotoxin was as clear as smoke. Even if it hadn't been, it wouldn't have mattered.

Right now, the Forest constricted Paradise Charon, body and soul. As if it would allow her to die from something so petty. No matter what that poison did to her body, the Forest would keep the brain running until it was done with her.

The brain was the most important thing, after all. If Charon died without the proper preparations, there was no guarantee that the Forest would continue to exist as an Aether awakening. It had to approach the issue carefully, create the right scenario for the ability to be transferred to another…

…so that the dream could become the dreamer, and thus never die.

The Tower considered matters.

It seemed the enemy was capable of adapting at a comparable level to itself. This was a negative scenario. The neurotoxin was proven ineffective on both the enemy and the forest they controlled. The direct application of force, too, was impractical. While continuous assault against an Apex Tree could be damaging, the Tower didn't have the hours required for such a feat.

Its prior conclusion was not incorrect, however. The user of the ability was the weak point. If they were dismantled, the forest would cease to be a factor as well. While force was ineffective against the forest, that didn't necessarily hold true for the user.

For example, if the Tower were to remove all of the enemy's limbs, how would their combat effectiveness be affected?

It wanted to know.

Another array of machine guns was belched forth from the Tower's body, spread out in a range of directions. The roots took their chance as the flames ceased and began coiling around the Tower's under section, but that was an acceptable level of risk. More than that, it would help mitigate the recoil.

All in all, this was a positive scenario.

It opened fire.

Adaptation was the name of the game. Paradise Charon knew this -- and in this case, she was the clear winner.

She smirked to herself as the hail of bullets thudded harmlessly into the shield of bark she'd summoned. It seemed she'd overestimated Dragan Hadrien -- and she'd certainly overestimated this automatic. She'd recognised it immediately from the historical records she'd devoured when she was young -- an Arcana Automatic, supposedly the apex of mechanical evolution. She'd expected it to be on a completely different level.

Yet another thing to disappoint her.

When you got down to it, the Tower was nothing but a machine. It was prone to getting locked into useless cycles. She'd put it into a scenario it couldn't escape from, so it was going through all the most commonly effective strategies to try and find a gap in her defenses. Now that it had failed to kill her with any of its arsenal, it had looped around to the beginning.

If this was what Dragan Hadrien was relying on to win his battle for him, he'd be very disappointed as well.

Forest of Sin, she commanded. Crush that soda can. I'm sick of --

Pain.

It was sudden, white-hot -- and accompanied by the pungent scent of smoke. Paradise's eyes flicked down to the source, to her right arm -- and saw the hole cleanly burnt into the forearm, so hot that it had already been cauterized. She could see the scenery around her through it.

“Huh?”

It had now confirmed a reliable method of inflicting damage upon its despised enemy. This was a positive scenario. While the machine-gun fire had forced the enemy to erect a shield and limit her own visibility, the Tower had been able to execute its plan.

Two new gun barrels protruded from the upper corners of the Tower's body, each distinct in appearance. The one on the right was thick and heavy, ready to fire its payload of smooth glass spheres. The other was thin and precise -- it would fire no bullets, but instead expel a beam of focused light and heat. Together, they would serve as the killing implements.

The shield of Apex bark meant that any attacks fired from the Tower's position would not hit the enemy. Therefore, it only had to attack from a different position. The stratagem was simple.

The Tower fired a glass sphere at such an angle that it would fly over and behind the enemy, sailing high above their shield in the process.

The Tower would, using its perfect aim, fire the beam at that sphere mid-flight.

The beam would be reflected off the glass sphere and strike the enemy from behind, bypassing her defenses.

If the Tower had a mouth, it would have grinned. The test case had been successful. Now it could unleash the attack in earnest.

This was a positive scenario.

The Tower opened fire, spheres and beams flying out of its weapons array so quickly that neither were truly visible. The environment was devoured by flashing lights, like a strobe going off, as the attacks struck true again and again and again. The sound of screaming rang out from behind the shield.

“Excise! Extinguish! Exsanguinaaate!” the Tower roared.

It seemed that the Forest's fool of a user was losing.

That was no surprise, given her attitude. She was far too eager to believe her opponent was an idiot, as if that would make her a genius in comparison. A fool who seeks to escape their foolish nature is but a fool twice over. The Forest alone, with its own towering intellect, could see that.

Paradise screamed, erecting more and more shields to block the beams of heat -- but each time she did, the Tower just found a new angle to attack from. Her foot, her other arm, her stomach… each felt the bite of fire. Even the Temple of Sin, coiled around Paradise's very being, could only do so much to hold back the pain.

She was in agony. The Forest was tempted just to observe… but it still couldn't have her die just yet.

Obeying her mental commands, it formed another cocoon of wood, encasing the Gardener on all sides. Now she was as trapped as the Tower, to be sure, but at least she wouldn't be struck by any more attacks. She had time and room to breathe and plan.

As did the Forest.

Unlike its own user, this Dragan Hadrien seemed to know what he was doing. By deploying an enemy that would occupy all of Charon's attention by necessity, the Shooting Star was free to observe and plan his own attack at leisure. The Forest found that kind of competence… very appealing.

But for the time being, it still had to keep the woman alive. It would have to wait for its own ideal moment. After this Tower was gone, and Paradise was facing Hadrien dire --

Huh?

There was a loud crack.

Many in the automatic industry said that the future of assistant machinery would proceed in one of two paths. The first of these were liquid automatics, pioneered by the Paradisas of the Final Church and various firms within the Unified Alliance of Planets. Their fluid forms gave them an edge in both maneuverability and utility, and as such the technology had already spread quickly throughout those territories.

The second, favored by Halcyon Interstellar, was nano-automatics.

Those had not been bullets that the Tower had been firing at Paradise Charon. It wasn't a 1:1 match, but the closest description of what it had been firing… would be eggs. Eggs filled to the brim with voracious nano-automatics. It injected them directly into the roots restraining it, as well.

All around the Tower, the wooden world began to crack and shudder, slowly but surely collapsing.

It was true that Apex Trees were extraordinarily durable. That was when they were solid and stable objects, however. By altering the trees to allow flexile movement, Paradise Charon had made a necessary sacrifice when it came to their sturdiness. Ordinarily, that difference would have been negligible -- but it was a weak point all the same.

And a weak point… truly, truly was a positive scenario.

The Tower had crafted these nano-automatics with inspiration from the common termite, and now they flooded through the innards of the Forest of Sin, devouring everything in their path. Wooden pulp poured from the opening cracks in the forest, spilling down like rain as the Tower now easily broke free of the roots.

With a whirring noise, the many machine-gun barrels protruding from the Tower's chassis deconstructed and then reconstructed themselves into one colossal grenade launcher. This would be the final implement. The nano-automatics were eating their way through the woman's cocoon now, too. They'd concentrate on a single area. As soon as that gap was opened, the Tower would fire into it.

It giggled madly.

This was the Tower's flaw. The hatred it had developed might have given it focus, but it also made it too eager. The opportunity to fire a grenade right into that woman's face, ensuring she'd be splattered all across the ground? It simply couldn't resist.

The instant the hole in the cocoon opened, the Tower shot forth the grenade -- and, as it exploded, it hit nothing. Nothing was splattered. Nothing was killed.

Because the cocoon was empty.

Immediately, the Tower spun around, reigniting its shield of flame -- but too late. Paradise Charon burst out of the ground behind it, having crawled through the bowels of the forest itself, her body covered in blood and ash. Screaming like a banshee, she swung a blade of Apex wood at the automatic --

Gemini Railgun.

-- and found herself with another burning hole… this time in her chest.

Paradise Charon had been foolish to disregard Dragan Hadrien in this battle, but even if she had decided to search for him she wouldn't have succeeded. While the sparks of blue that made up his recorded form were noticeable, that was only if they were in a position you could see. If they were placed correctly, they could be hidden just as well as anything else.

Dragan Hadrien's disembodied hand reached out from the innards of the Tower, his finger pointing at Charon's wound, as if he were just another of the automatic’s firearms.

Paradise blinked --

Gemini Railgun.

-- and the barrage began anew.

Adaptation was the name of the game. Dragan Hadrien knew this.

Two Years Ago…

He’d been dragging himself along for hours. Maybe a day. Maybe more. He didn’t have the luxury of timekeeping.

Dragan Hadrien had moved through the desert, the sun torching itself upon him. Dragan Hadrien had moved through the caves, the jagged rocks clawing at his skin. Dragan Hadrien had moved through the dark, feeling the cold begin to claim him. But he still moved, and he moved, and he moved.

He’d lost things in the long trek here, into the bowels of the world. Left them behind. Unnecessary guts. A painted trail of red. So long as he made it to his destination, it didn’t matter. So long as he made it to his destination, he didn’t need anything of himself to remain.

Make this stick for me.

He opened what amounted to eyes. He’d made it.

A great orange pillar, the first root from which all else stemmed, crawling into the soil of the planet and infesting it. Pan was lucky in that regard. Humans had to believe in their souls, while hers could be seen and touched.

Dragan Hadrien weakly reached out…

…and the Panacea reached back, a single glowing tendril extending out to meet its friend.

In the silence and the shadow, the two made contact -- and everything went orange.