Aetheral Space

One Hour Earlier…

The air was crisp in Unicorn Park that night, and the famous landmark of Azum-Ha was mostly empty. The usual crowds that would have come to see the sixty intertwined Apex Trees were reduced to a scattering of onlookers. Most people were either at home right now to watch the Dawn Contest, or at the Arena of the Absolute -- to watch the Dawn Contest.

For the time being, Atoy Muzazi could move unseen.

He'd concealed his identity as much as convenient -- a white cap pulled low over his head and a pair of red shades concealing his eyes. Hands in the pockets of his coat, he marched down the center pathway of the park as instructed, his gaze straight ahead. Even without looking, he knew he'd found who he was searching for.

Jamilu Aguta, Nebula Two of the Unified Alliance of Planets, stepped out from the treeline and joined Muzazi on his stroll. Perfectly natural, as if he'd been there the whole time. If his senses hadn't been sharpened to their utmost right now, Muzazi himself might not even have noticed until his new companion spoke.

“We were relieved to hear you were awake,” Jamilu said casually. “You pushed yourself far in that last match.”

Muzazi glanced at him. “What were you planning to do if I didn't wake up?” He sincerely doubted that the UAP had put all of their hopes with him. There'd be a backup plan. And, given the reasons that Jamilu had decided to support him, that backup would probably be…

“Dorothy Eiro,” Jamilu confirmed. “She's our second choice for Supreme. She might not be able to curry as much favor with the warrior-types as you, but as far as her character goes I have no complaints.”

“I see.”

“However,” Jamilu continued. “In the end, she is our second choice. You're preferable. That's why I asked you to meet with me here. Thanks for that, by the way. I know you only have a short time before the match.”

Muzazi nodded, and they stopped at a split in the path.

“I'm assuming the match is the reason you wanted to talk to me,” Muzazi said quietly.

“That's right. You'll be taking on Mereloco, the right hand of the Mad Supreme. The Ultraviolets have put together a combat dossier on him. It's based on his performance in the Contest so far, as well as historical records.”

Muzazi looked at him, frowning. “It's a little late for me to go over something like that.”

“You misunderstand,” Jamilu replied. “Reviewing that dossier won't help you at all. The results are clear. As you are right now, you will lose to Mereloco -- one-hundred percent.”

Muzazi's frown deepened into a scowl. “If that's the case,” he said. “Why are you here meeting with me, and not with Dorothy Eiro?”

The other Nebula wasn't here, Muzazi noticed. Was he with Dorothy Eiro right now?

“Like I said, you're our first pick,” Jamilu said. “So it's in our best interest to help you as much as we can.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, grabbed something, and extended his hand out to Muzazi. There, resting in his palm, was a syringe filled with a crimson liquid -- eerily enough, it was slightly glowing in the dark. Whatever this was, though, Muzazi wouldn't be able to think of it as anything but blood.

“This is called Embolden,” Jamilu explained. “It's an experimental drug our scientists have developed.”

Muzazi wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Doping?” he said. “You want me to cheat?”

“Compared to what Dragan Hadrien's been up to,” Jamilu said. “This barely qualifies as bending the rules. I understand your body is on a time limit right now. Embolden will exacerbate that effect. Shortly after taking it, you'll be overcome by incredible pain and be unable to move…”

His gaze hardened.

“...but, for the five minutes after you take it, you'll be able to fight with 120% of what you've got. That will give you the chance you need.”

Muzazi looked down at the syringe for a long, long time, clenching and unclenching his fists in consideration. If what Jamilu said was true, this was the only thing that could grant him victory against Mereloco. But… even if he won, it wouldn't be with his strength, would it? The true winner would be Embolden.

Others might be able to accept that… but not him.

“No,” he finally said.

Jamilu closed his eyes. “I thought you might say that,” he sighed. “All the same… hang onto it. See if you don't change your mind once you're fighting him.”

Of course not. I wouldn't change my mind about something like this. My resolve isn't so easily broken. Don't insult me.

All those words went unspoken… and Muzazi's hand closed around the syringe.

Now…

Muzazi clashed against Mereloco -- once, twice, thrice, their speed reducing their forms to ribbons of white and purple, slamming into each other. Fist met blade and blade met fist, at least ten times in every clash. Sparks came down like rain, and the ground beneath them -- slowly crumbling -- followed suit.

If Mereloco was suffering at all from the flashbang Muzazi had used, he didn't show it. He just continued to glare with those bloodshot eyes of his, matching every single one of Muzazi's attacks.

This was a battle of attrition, and it was one that Muzazi would lose. He knew that. But… the alternative was anathema.

He wanted to become Supreme so he could change things, not to be changed. If he cast aside his principles and let this Dawn Contest warp him into someone else, what was the point of victory? He had already experienced being changed into someone else… he was the result of such a process… and he had no desire to undergo it again.

No. He would not use the Embolden.

Muzazi pushed through Mereloco's guard with a roar of exertion, swinging his Radiant right at the man's head… and Mereloco caught it in his teeth.

Despite everything, Muzazi couldn't help but gape at the display. Strong purple Aether coursed through Mereloco's mouth, repelling the Radiant from both sides, making it seem as if Mereloco was biting down on pure heat and light. An illusion of sorts, and yet… the sheer fact that Mereloco had managed such a display nearly made Muzazi's heart stop.

As you are right now, you will lose to Mereloco -- one-hundred percent.

In that same moment, Mereloco planted a heavy palm against Muzazi's stomach.

“Unworthy.”

There was time for only the briefest pain before Muzazi went flying backwards, nearly off the arena itself, a bloody hole opened up in his side. He'd already cauterized the wound by the time he landed, but the coming agony did not care about that. Muzazi grit his teeth, pulling himself up to his feet, holding out a single Radiant to ward Mereloco off.

He needn't have bothered. The man from the past seemed to be in no hurry. He strolled casually towards Muzazi, hands in the pockets of his shredded jeans, his bare chest slick with sweat.

Muzazi understood it perfectly well. This man surpassed him in nearly every aspect. Strength, flexibility, endurance, tenacity… Muzazi held supremacy only in terms of speed, and that advantage was growing lesser by the second from his injuries. Even without Muzazi’s time limit, this wasn’t a fight he could afford to drag out.

He needed to act decisively… or else his dream would disappear, and with it the promise he’d made to Marie.

Radiant Lustrous.

For the briefest moment, Atoy Muzazi’s eyes and mouth blazed with white Aether as he hurled his spear of light right at the incoming Mereloco. He didn’t stop with just one. Again, again, again, again. With all the speed and strength his body could muster, Muzazi unleashed a barrage of spears like lightning bolts. Blood sprayed from his mouth as the determination tore its way out of his throat.

Not one hit.

Right before the spears could hit Mereloco, they shifted out of the way, spiraling into the orbit created by Uncrowned. They spun around him like glowing prison bars -- and, right before reaching Muzazi, Mereloco increased the speed of that rotation, creating a barrier of burning light all around him. One touch would surely be enough to incinerate anything that lived. Seeing that, only a fool would still proceed.

Atoy Muzazi proceeded.

He charged right in, Radiants blazing from his palms, eyes squeezed shut to block out the excruciating light. Hairs burning off his arms, he thrust the blades forward into the mass of Lustrous…

…and in that instant, deactivated the barrier.

Mereloco could force Radiant Lustrous to orbit around him all he liked, but in the end they were still Muzazi’s ability. He could deactivate them whenever he wanted, robbing Mereloco of his shield -- and leaving him with no time to react to Muzazi’s attack. This time, he’d take the heart for sure. This time, he’d step forward. This time, he’d stab into Mereloco’s body…

…and this time, he would fail.

In the miniscule moment between the shield going down and Muzazi attacking, Mereloco had lashed out with animal instinct -- and seized both Radiants before they could reach him. The same way he’d grabbed the Radiant with his teeth before, purple Aether repelling the blades and holding them in place. Even as the skin on his palms burned, Mereloco just stared at Muzazi from inches away, one eyebrow arched.

“Tell me,” Mereloco said, his voice nearly inaudible beneath the rage of the Radiants. “I’m curious. Since you’re not going to surrender, you’re going to die here. Why are you going so far?”

Was he actually curious, or was this some sort of psychological attack? Muzazi had no energy he could devote to questioning his motivations. Instead, his mouth moved by itself, providing the strained answer.

“Because…” he wheezed. “I need to… make it… a kinder world than this…”

Mereloco’s eyes widened to such a degree that they almost burst out of their sockets. Veins raised themselves into grotesque prominence all over his face. His teeth were bared so tight they looked like they’d shatter right then and there.

It was the first display of true emotion Atoy Muzazi had seen from this man. It was also an utmost display of overpowering, terrifying fury.

I messed up.

He only had time for that single quiet thought before Mereloco roared:

“UNCHAINED!”

Up to this point, Mereloco had refrained from using Unchained in close quarters, so as to avoid getting caught in his own attacks. It seemed he no longer cared about that. In an instant, Muzazi was sent flying backwards in a spray of blood, gravity itself hurling him onto the other side of the arena. He could feel his skeleton creaking. He could feel his organs straining.

As he landed in a heap, Muzazi went to pick himself up --

Mereloco kicked him across the arena again.

This time was worse -- Muzazi screamed in agony as he felt ribs give beneath Mereloco’s leg, his body reduced to a streak of white as he was launched across the sky. This time, as he landed, he didn’t even try to get up. He just twitched weakly on the ground, curled up on himself.

Deep in his pocket, his hand seized hold of the syringe of Embolden.

As you are right now, you will lose to Mereloco -- one-hundred percent.

Was that really true? Was this all that Atoy Muzazi was capable of? Bitter tears welled up in his eyes as his grip tightened on the syringe. In order to seize hold of his dream, in order to keep his promise to Marie, did he really have no choice but to debase himself? No choice but to seize stolen strength and confirm forever that he hadn’t had what it took?

Was this how it all ended?

Deep, thundering steps advanced -- and, as Muzazi looked up, he saw Mereloco’s approach. Purple Aether was raging around the man, his hair chaotically spread out in every direction, his face as fixed and furious as a vicious beast. With each footstep, a minute Unchained was released, leaving a trail of craters in Mereloco’s wake.

“Your body is dust…” Mereloco seethed.

He took a step forward, his movements strangely strained as if he were trying to break free of invisible bondage.

“Your name is shit…” he continued, drool flowing from his lips.

Purple Aether lashed out like a thunderbolt, and the Unchained this time nearly split their floating island in half.

“So why,” Mereloco screamed. “Am I still hearing your damn words, DAMON?!”

Muzazi simply twitched again -- and that was enough to set Mereloco off. The stomps resumed, each one slamming down on Muzazi like a sledgehammer, each one enhanced by Unchained. The shape of Mereloco’s foot warped and twisted with each application of gravity, but the brute didn’t seem to care. He didn’t even seem to notice, so consumed he was by fury.

With each blow, Muzazi’s ability to block was reduced… and with each blow, the grip on the Embolden slackened. Even if he wanted to inject it right now, it would take everything he had just to move his arm.

If he wanted to.

If, if, if. He couldn’t. There was no way. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t beat this man. He couldn’t win. He couldn’t surrender. All he could do… was lie here… die… and fade into a memory. That was the only option open to him, a man who’d barely existed in the first place.

Wasn’t it?

There was no way he could have heard them. Such a thing was only possible in fantasy stories. But, all across the surface of Azum-Ha, wishes were being whispered.

In a room separate from his companions, Wu Ming frowned at the image on his script. The image of Atoy Muzazi, lying on the ground. The image of Atoy Muzazi, giving up. A zero out of ten sight, to be sure.

“C’mon,” he muttered to himself. “Gimme a ten.”

In a garden formed from its own body, Ionir Ygdrassil mourned. It had no need of a videograph, nor did he need to leave this room to know the state of the battle. In some sense, it was already there… observing the fight through the fragments it’d given to Atoy Muzazi. It could feel the life connected to them, slowly dimming.

Do not disappear, ATOY MUZAZI, Ionir thought. Until the moment your life ends, do not allow your will to disappear.

In a hospital bed, a long way away, Morgan Nacht watched in horror as Atoy Muzazi was brutalized on the videograph screen. The match had passed in flickers of footage as cameras were destroyed and redeployed, but there was no mistaking this sight. Mereloco brought his foot down, again and again, slowly but surely turning his commander into a corpse.

Morgan had tried to get up three times already, to go and back up his superior. Now, he’d accepted there was nothing he could do but watch… and pray.

“Win…” he whispered.

In her bedroom, Aclima watched in silence, hands clasped over her chest. She didn’t understand this. She didn’t understand this at all. This was the man she hated. This was the man she’d resented for years. She should have been overjoyed to see this happen to him. But… some part of her… even as she felt she couldn’t look away from the image on the screen, she felt at the same time like she wanted to run away and hide.

She didn’t even notice her own lips move.

“Win…” she murmured.

In the darkness of the ancient temple, Dragan Hadrien watched the match alone on a massive videograph. He could see Atoy Muzazi’s blood spreading beneath him. Dragan’s eyes narrowed at the sight. Dragan’s frown deepened.

“Win,” he commanded.

Red fluid, slightly glowing, was exposed to the light as Muzazi brought it out of his pocket.

A needle punctured skin, and his thumb pressed down on the plunger.

The Embolden was deployed.

At the last second, Mereloco came to his senses, leaping back as he felt the swordsman move beneath him. It had only been the slightest movement, nearly undetectable beneath Mereloco’s onslaught, but there had been definite intent behind it. That intent alone had been enough to spark Mereloco’s caution.

What had he done? Nothing had changed about the swordsman himself. He still lay on the ground, battered and beaten, inches from the grave. The only thing that had changed about him… were his eyes. The gaze that had been distant was now locked in, solid, focused on a single point.

Mereloco saw the empty needle.

Mereloco saw the empty needle… sticking out of his own ankle.

Immediately, his mind raced with the possibilities. Poison? No, that didn’t feel right. Rather than being weakened by the substance, he could feel strength welling up within him, rising up to the surface -- as if a fire had been lit inside his heart.

“What is this?” he growled.

“My name is Atoy Muzazi.”

Mereloco’s head snapped back up -- and there the swordsman stood. Limp and broken like a zombie, his face coated with his own blood… and his eyes shining with cold resolve. A single blade of light burnt out of his hand, the other hanging limp by his side.

“Special Officer of the Supremacy,” he continued. “And Full Moon of the Eight Phases.”

The sword of light was raised up, pointing at Mereloco like a marker. Atoy Muzazi did not blink even as the glow of the weapon intensified.

“Some time ago… you said something cruel to my subordinate. I’ll now say something similar to you, Mereloco.”

The swordsman -- no, Atoy Muzazi -- took a deep breath.

“Come and kill me, old man. If I’m still alive in five minutes… then I win.”