Aetheral Space

Two Years Ago…

“I’m surprised,” Rex laughed, kicking his feet up on the table as he wrestled his beer free from the drinking slot on his mask. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again after the Truemeet.”

Ruth frowned. “You’re the one who gave me your card,” she replied, slapping it down on the table.

Rex Restorossi

An Independent Military Operator

PL-9266-CD-8921

They were at a bar on the Moon of Prush, a tropical landscape stretching out beyond the window. The temperature outside was humid to an inhospitable extreme, and only the state-of-the-art air conditioning in this sealed city kept it inhabitable. In fact, it was fairly cool.

Ice clinked around at the bottom of Rex’s drink as he took another sip.

“I give plenty of people my card,” Rex said. “I usually don’t ever see them again -- and I’ve never had one ask me to start a business with them.”

“Why not?” Ruth sat down across from him. “You’re smart, you know the business -- and I’m strong. Strong enough to make it work.”

Rex plucked his card off the table and flipped it over in his hands. “That’s pretty arrogant, no? Calling yourself strong like that?”

Ruth grinned. “If I said I was weak, I’d be a liar… besides, you already know I’m strong.”

The mask covered Rex’s face fully, but she could hear the grin in his voice. “How’s that?”

“If you didn’t think I was strong…” Ruth said.

In an instant, she snatched the card out of his hands and turned it back towards him.

“...why’d you give me this?”

Present Day…

“Which one looks better?” Rae asked, holding up a shirt in each hand. “Be honest.”

This was not how Ruth had expected to be spending her day.

Late last night, the word had come in: the Muzazi camp had proposed a delay to the fight between Atoy Muzazi and Mereloco, and -- surprisingly -- Mereloco had consented. As such, the fight was moved right to the back of the current schedule, opening up a rare day in which no fights would be occurring at all. The public hadn’t been too happy about that, of course, but they didn’t have a say in it.

And so, Rae Ruditia had decided she’d spend this day on personal recreation. And so, she’d brought Ruth along to accompany her.

And so, Ruth had spent the last two hours trailing after the reporter as she rampaged through nearly every store in the Gresterholme Crown Mall. By this point, a legion of storage automatics were following them as well like floating dogs, their backs holding all the clothes and other goods that Rae had decided to toss her money at. Hell, Ruth was half-tempted to sit on the back of one of them and get a free ride too -- if not for the fact that the weight of her mechanical legs would surely have crushed them.

They were getting on her nerves, too. Usually, she could tune out the cold and clumsy feeling of the prosthetics to some degree, but this was one of her bad days. Today, it felt like she had freezing metal glued to burning legs -- legs that no longer existed. A shudder went down her spine.

“Ruth?” Rae prompted again, blinking. She raised the shirts up again. “Thoughts?”

“Uh…” Ruth scratched her head. “They both look fine, I guess. This isn’t really my thing. You should’ve brought Alice if you wanted to talk about this stuff.”

If Rae had asked anyone apart from Ruth to accompany her, maybe Ruth could have someone else to talk to. Maybe Ruth wouldn’t be on the verge of death from boredom. What was even the point of hiring so many bodyguards if you only actually took one out with you?

“Oh, it’s fine!” the reporter laughed. “Everyone wears clothes -- you have an opinion!”

Raising an eyebrow, Ruth tapped her legs with a finger. Ding ding. “Not really been in the market for pants these last few years.”

Rae rolled her eyes. “But these are shirts.”

The conversation didn’t progress much past that point.

That next hour was basically a blur, a sequence of events melted together -- Rae dragging her from store to store to store to store, more and more automatics joining their parade, and more unsuccessful attempts to drag Ruth into a conversation she had no interest in. It was only when the two of them had finally stopped to rest, sitting at a bench beneath the fountain-statue at the mall’s heart, that Ruth finally came back to herself.

“So, Ruth,” Rae chirped. “Do you think life has a meaning?”

Ruth glanced over, mid-chew through a cheeseburger. “Where’d that come from?” she asked, her voice muffled by beef.

“Like I said,” the reporter grinned. “You’ve sparked my curiosity! I wanna know what your take on life is.”

“Well, uh,” Ruth scratched her cheek. “Meaning of life, meaning of life… I guess I’ve never really thought of life that way. Take each day as it comes, you know? I’m still around, so it must work well enough.”

Rae nodded sagely. “I think you’ve got the right idea there. Personally, I think there should be a purpose to life rather than a meaning.”

Ruth cocked her head. “Aren’t those the same thing?”

“Not at all. A purpose is something you decide for yourself, but a meaning is something given to you by someone else.” She turned her head to look at the statue behind her. “Like these poor bastards.”

Ruth turned her head to follow her gaze.

Looming above them was a statue of Archibald Grace, one of the old war heroes of the Supremacy -- but that wasn’t where Rae's gaze was pointing. No, she was looking down… at the vanquished enemies the Grace progenitor was standing upon.

The Inimants.

Nobody quite agreed how to classify them. Some considered them a fifth great sub-race, some considered them as a particularly troublesome kind of Scurrant, and some considered them as not even being human at all. Even if that was the case, they looked human -- even their demonic depictions in this statue were vaguely recognisable as human beings. In some sense, they'd been jacks of all trades. Some of the intelligence of Cogitants, some of the hardiness of Pugnants, and some of the deceptiveness of Umbrants…

…only it was all turned to the purposes of human slaughter.

They were one of the Genetic Vengeances, like the Fell Beasts or the UAP’s Angel of Applause, time bombs left by the Gene Tyrants to go off long after their demise. Roughly three-hundred years ago, the Inimants had emerged onto the scene all at once, long-dormant genes suddenly activating in those who'd previously appeared to be Crownless. With their biological Killing Engines, they'd rampaged across the Supremacy… but eventually, the tide had turned, and the subspecies had been all but wiped out.

Ruth looked over to Rae. “What do you mean?”

Rae looked back. “Even back then, the Gene Tyrants must have known that these Inimants couldn't have won. They were a spit in the face of the future, engineered out of spite. But there was definite meaning to their lives, right? It was given to them by their creators. As close to guaranteed divine providence as I think you can get in this world.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“The meaning of their lives was to inconvenience the galaxy and then be slaughtered. Don't you think it would have been less cruel for their lives to be meaningless?”

Ruth looked back at the statue, and the demonic creature being crushed underfoot suddenly looked terribly sad to her. Her frown deepened.

A purpose is something you give to yourself… huh?

“I don't want to lose what I have,” Ruth said, with certainty. “If there's a purpose I've given to my life, that'd be it.”

“That's swell!” Rae grinned. “I think I'm pretty much the same. My dear friends entrusted me with something they spent a long time building… and I've made it my mission to keep it going. That's my purpose.”

“Your friends?” Ruth blinked. “Sorry, are they…?”

Rae nodded. “Sadly, they're no longer with us… although you do remind me of one of them.”

“How's that?”

“He wanted to protect as well,” Rae smiled softly, her eyes distant. “That’s the sort of person he was: a protector. It’s all he wanted. It’s all he thought about. It drove him a little bit crazy in the end. Do you think you’re the same?”

Ruth scowled. “Crazy?”

“No,” Rae chuckled, shaking her head. “A protector.”

She thought about it for a good while, tenting her fingers and leaning forward. Golden eyes stared off into space. She’d tried to protect, hadn’t she? She’d tried so hard. But she hadn’t succeeded. The fact that they were here now, without Skipper or Dragan, proved that all by itself. As a protector, she was a failure. That couldn’t be denied.

But that didn’t mean she was a failure forever, did it?

“Yeah,” she said, with confidence. “I’m a protector.”

“Great!” Rae grinned. “If that’s the case…”

Ruth’s eyes narrowed.

The reporter finished: “...could you protect me right now?”

Well, she was certainly getting paid enough for it.

Skeletal Set.

It was a partial manifestation, just the claws and gauntlet on her left hand -- but the boost in speed and strength was enough to allow her to lash out and strike the fist that had been about to hit Rae in the face. Blood sprayed onto the floor -- and the sudden attacker flipped backwards, landing a short distance away. In the same smooth movement, Ruth stepped forward, standing protectively in front of her employer.

“Hands off,” she said seriously.

She recognized the attacker immediately as they rose back to their full impressive height. The Scurrant woman from the Tree of Might, the one with the transparent skin. The Second Branch, Violence, wasn’t it? She shook her damaged fist, more blood dripping onto the floor from her shredded knuckles. She had no visible eyes or face, but Ruth could tell she was being glared at.

One of Dragan’s subordinates? Ruth pondered. What’s she doing here?

Violence cracked her neck, her face angled past Ruth’s shoulder -- locked straight onto Rae. “Rae Ruditia,” she growled. “I’ve come to demand a blood duel from you. You have no right to refuse. Prepare yourself.”

Rae didn’t seem too phased by the situation, and simply cocked her head playfully. “Can I designate a proxy?”

“You have that right.” Violence’s voice was cold and merciless.

A big grin on her face, Rae planted her hands on Ruth’s shoulders from behind. “Then I’ll designate my lovely bodyguard, Ruth Road!”

Lovely? Ruth glanced away.

Violence snorted, lowering her body into a combat stance, her good palm extended out in front of her. “I won’t deny… since we clashed at the temple, Road has intrigued me. You’re strong, aren’t you? I’ll have you demonstrate that for me now.”

It was always the same with these people. Battle junkies, eager to test their strength against others. Once upon a time, Ruth had felt the same way, but these days…

…it just kind of got on her nerves.

They both darted forth at the same time. Ruth manifested the other arm of the Skeletal Set, while Violence pulled her good fist back for a punch. As the fist came back in, Ruth raised both her arms in front of her face to block -- and right before the punch landed, red sparks of Aether crawled up those arms.

Noblesse Set.

At the last second, Ruth switched her Skeletal arms for Noblesse -- and the impact of Violence’s attack was sent right back at her. The Scurrant went flying backwards, fist crushed by its own force, and Ruth darted in to pursue. She manifested the Skeletal arms once more, and --

-- and Violence swung her other fist right at Ruth’s head. Ruth didn’t hesitate at the unexpected attack, nor panic as it rushed towards her. There wasn’t time for such things. She just acted.

Skeletal Set!

This time, she manifested the legs -- and used the enhanced speed to duck under the punch. However, she didn’t take advantage of the opening and press the attack. There were still too many unknowns. Ruth retreated backwards, claws raised to defend against any pursuit.

None came.

As she and Violence once again stood a short distance from each other, Ruth unmanifested her armour and caught her breath, running through her observations in her mind.

Barehanded fighter. I was able to damage her both times with just Skeletal and Noblesse, so her durability’s not great. However… she definitely regenerated her shredded fist just now. She didn’t have time to apply Panacea between attacks. A healing ability, self-targeted. What conditions need to be met for activation? Too early to tell. I’ll need to observe carefully. If she can heal, I need to either get around that healing or bring her down with a single attack.

“Your eyes…” Violence murmured approvingly. “Those are the eyes of a warrior. You’ve fought in countless battles, haven’t you?”

Ruth didn’t blink. “Is there any way we can end this without fighting?”

“As a fellow warrior, you should know there isn’t,” Violence replied. “Our language is the fist. To those like us, the killing blow is the full stop that concludes our declaration. Anything else is worthless noise.”

“I get that…” Ruth sighed. “...but isn’t there any way?”

Violence growled, and her fist tightened. She hadn’t healed the one that had been hit by Noblesse’s reflection, just the one that Skeletal had slashed first. Was the order of injuries a factor? Or could she only heal injuries from specific sources? Near-instant healing, so long as the wound was inflicted by a blade? No, that didn’t sound right.

“Do not ask that question again,” Violence snapped. “You disgrace yourself and me.”

Again, Ruth sighed, straightening up. The bracers of the Skeletal Set reappeared on her arms, and she raised those ready claws. Golden eyes seemed dark and tarnished in the shade.

“Fine,” she said quietly. “Come here. I’ll crush you.”