Aetheral Space

The roof was chaos.

Bruno del Sed charged through the battlefield that had quickly devoured the top of the temple, weaving through attacks and projectiles -- each and every one of them sufficient to seriously injure, if not kill. With an upward swing of an invisible sword, he sliced the spear of an attacker in half -- and then knocked him out with an elbow to the face. There wasn't a moment to celebrate, though: he was already dodging the next barrage of attacks.

In terms of numbers, there was an undeniable discrepancy between their side and the Tree of Might. Against nearly seventy fighters, they'd brought only six people -- and two of those six occupied the same body. It was a miracle they hadn't been killed already.

But, if nothing else, Atoy Muzazi seemed to have become skilled at performing miracles.

It was a combination of two factors that had made this assault possible: Amelia Grace’s wide-range attacks, and the tremor created when the S4 had harpooned the underbelly of the temple. That had thrown off the defenders enough that they could press the attack in a moment of confusion.

Kicking off a shield wielded by a hefty Pugnant, Bruno twisted in the air -- and saw that, indeed, Amelia Grace was preparing to use her ability again. A blinding blue bow had appeared in her hands, and countless rays of light had manifested -- bundled together -- as their payload. She crouched on the floor, bow aimed at the crowd before her.

“Down!” she cried -- and the other members of the infiltration squad threw themselves down to the ground.

Bruno knew already he wouldn't be able to get down there in time. Instead, he went up, creating a transient staircase of forcefields as he gained a birds-eye view of the battlefield. Ordinarily, he'd have been left behind by the traveling temple in the process, but the harpooning had slowed it down enough that Bruno could keep pace.

“Delusional Arrowhead!” cried Amelia -- and she set her arrows free. Immediately, nearly a hundred of those bright blue rays surged through the space in front of her, slamming into the ranks of the Tree of Might.

They did no damage… no physical damage, at least. Bruno supposed that was a condition for the ability’s potency. Arrows that intensified the target's current emotional state until it overrode their common sense. As they struck the enemies, there was a mixture of reactions. Some stopped in their tracks, faces twisted by terror. Others sped up, eyes bulging and teeth bared like wild beasts. Either way, they were thrown off -- and that made them easy targets.

“F! A!”

Bruno heard Morgan Nacht call out from behind him -- and a moment later, a massive tendril of solid black fog swept across the roof, sending countless enemies flying off the side. Poor bastards: dazzled as they were by Delusional Arrowhead, Bruno doubted they'd have the wherewithal to try and escape their fate with Aether abilities.

Whatever the case, Bruno couldn't wait here. He had to get moving. If Dragan was here, then Bruno had no doubt that he'd already be making his escape. Even with a situation like this, Gemini World would make leaving easy. Bruno just had to hope he had a reason to stick around for the time being.

There'd be a throne room, or a command center or something, and that's where Dragan would be monitoring the battle from. Bruno had to reach that place, wherever it was inside this temple. He destroyed the forcefield beneath him, dropping back onto the roof, and began to charge forwards --

Watch out!

-- when a spear of crystallized blood slammed down right in front of him, embedding itself into the surface of the roof.

Immediately, Bruno skidded to a halt. If he'd been just a little bit faster just then… if Serena hadn't warned him… that spear would have skewered their skull. Heart drumming tension, he spun around to face the source of the attack.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

One after another, deadly fast, more spears landed down into the roof -- but these ones clearly weren't intended as an attack. The crimson spears seemed to form a rudimentary fence of some kind, a circular area separate from the rest of the battlefield. It didn't take a genius to work out what the user of this ability was aiming for.

“Real men fight one against one,” echoed a voice from above. “Don't you think?”

Bruno's head snapped up. It seemed he wasn't the only one who'd abused his ability to gain elevation.

His attacker was perched atop a sphere of broiling blood, floating high above the battle. His face was covered in bandages, so Bruno couldn't get a good look, but the crimson eyes glaring down at him were more than enough to grasp the young man's malevolence. In one hand, he held a growling chainsaw, blood seeping from the vents on its sides. An Aether Armament?

“Fino Onio,” said the young man. “Fourth Branch of the Tree of Might. And you're…” he squinted. “...the Ventriloquist, aren't you? How auspicious.”

“How's that?” Bruno asked, already forming forcefields to protect against further projectiles.

“You're an associate of Ruth Blaine, aren't you?” Fino raised an eyebrow. “In fact, you might even have been there. I'm looking for her. Where is she?”

“If I knew where she was,” Bruno glared. “I wouldn't be here.”

Fino shrugged. “You were born free. You can choose whether to tell me what I want to know before I cut your limbs off, or after.”

“I'm telling you…”

“After, then.”

With an explosion of blood, Fino launched himself towards Bruno -- but before he could get close, a massive tendril of Nacht's black fog whipped out and sent him flying off to the side. Morgan Nacht himself, weaving the smogstorm from its core, sneered at the Fourth Branch as he rolled to a stop on the floor.

“As if we'd just let you go for a one-on-one,” Morgan said, glaring right back at Fino. “The rest of us aren't just an audience.”

“Morgan Nacht…” Fino muttered as he rose to his feet, blood from his nose flowing through the air and forming a series of darts over his shoulder. “One of the Phases, huh…? You're another one I find interesting. I've been told that if I can kill you, I'll be well-rewarded indeed.”

Morgan furrowed his brow. “Told by who?”

“Who else? Dragan Hadrien,” Fino replied. “If I acquit myself well here, I've been promised the opportunity to compete for the position of Second Branch.” His red eyes flicked over resentfully to Bruno. “...after your dear friend murdered the last person to hold that position.”

How many times had Ruth been framed for murder in this last week? Bruno hadn't even known about this one. More than that, though, from the way this guy was talking… Dragan had known about this attack in advance.

He wasn't here, was he?

Don't give up, Bruno, Serena insisted. You don't know that.

Right. Bruno shook his head, clearing those gloomy cobwebs from his brain, and assumed a fighting stance.

The other members of the infiltration squad were still dealing with the rooftop guards. He was fairly certain that they and Nacht together could deal with this Fino guy -- he was only the Fourth Branch of the Tree of Might, after all -- but the problem was what came after. If Dragan really wasn't here, what was the mission objective? Getting rid of his reinforcements?

Somehow, Bruno didn't see much hope in that.

“It's as you say, though, Morgan Nacht,” Fino continued, calling out across the rooftop. “A one-on-one fight was far too much to hope for under these circumstances. However, I'm more than happy to settle for a two-on-one.”

He shifted his own stance, bringing his body low to the ground, roaring chainsaw nearly scraping against the rooftop.

“So,” he said. “Shall we dance?”

The way that Fino Onio saw it, there was no motivation in this world more beautiful or more true than vengeance.

In one way, it was the most honest of emotions, animal instinct barely elevated by man. The desire to hurt that which has hurt you. But there was a kindness in it, as well: the capacity to feel the wounds of another as your own, and the drive to avenge on their behalf. And even then, there was malice in it -- definite malice -- the will to inflict agony far beyond the initial pain.

It encompassed all things, good and evil.

And so it was that vengeance swung Ill Humour, a blade of solid blood flying out of the weapon through the sky -- slicing through Nacht's fog like butter and proceeding directly to his face. If he hadn’t ducked, throwing himself down onto the rooftop as well, no doubt he'd have been decapitated.

It was as people said: this was a proficient warrior. Good. That made this worth it.

Fino exploded a globule of blood directly behind his heel, launching himself towards Nacht. Before he could get into melee range, however, he was intercepted by the Ventriloquist -- the bounty hunter swinging what seemed to be empty space in each hand. To the untrained mind, there would have been nothing to dodge -- but Fino had not lived this long by being careless.

Strings of blood pulled Fino backwards, out of the Ventriloquist’s range -- and as they did, he felt the air be sheared apart before him.

He'd made the right decision dodging. Crystalline blood flowed beneath his feet as he hopped from platform to transient platform. With a choked roar, Ill Humour vomited up even more blood from its vents.

Fino Onio’s ability was called Red Rum -- the power to control blood that he had infused for any number of purposes. Ill Humour was nothing more than a tool to bolster that ability further. Its function was very simple, activating under three possible conditions:

When Fino blocked a hit with Ill Humour, it would vomit blood. The more powerful the blocked attack, the more blood was granted.

When Fino dodged a hit while holding Ill Humour, it would vomit blood. The closer the hit was to landing, the more blood was granted.

When Fino landed a hit with Ill Humour, it would vomit blood. Needless to say, the more vicious the wound dealt, the more blood was granted.

In short, the longer a fight went on, the more blood Fino would have at his disposal -- and the more formidable he would become.

Flipping over a cube that Nacht had kicked at him, Fino sculpted the blood pouring from Ill Humour into a crimson sword, clutching it in his free hand -- and dashed forward, towards the Ventriloquist. In a fight like this, he'd do best to take care of them first.

Nacht struck with a tentacle of black fog again, but now Fino had the blood to deal with it. A blood-red copy of his own body leapt out of a puddle at his feet, deflecting the attack with a sweep of its own chainsaw facsimile. Nacht could deal with Fino’s blood-clone in moments, needless to say, but those moments were invaluable.

As he saw the Ventriloquist's hand slam down towards the roof, Fino channeled his Aether through his feet, infusing the section of roof the two of them were standing on before the Ventriloquist's hand could make contact. He didn't know what sort of ability they'd been trying to use, but it was good practice to infuse the environment before your enemy could. Violence had taught him that.

Violence.

Anger tightened his muscles.

Two swipes of Ill Humour, dodged by inches, and a thrust of the blood-sword -- nicking the Ventriloquist's stomach as they dashed to the side. The few drops of blood that sprayed forth were infused nearly instantly, joining with Fino's sword to extend his reach just a tiny bit further on his next swing --

Perfect Parry!

-- but the Ventriloquist had been ready for it.

Fino's sword froze in mid-air as if gripped by an invisible hand. No matter how hard he pulled, it wouldn't relent, so he immediately decided to abandon it. Kicking off it as a platform, he flipped backwards through the air -- avoiding another sweep of the invisible sword as he did -- and snapped his fingers.

The blood-blade detonated, shards of red crystal shrapnel flying in every direction. For a moment, the Ventriloquist was forced to focus on defense, covering themselves with forcefields to withstand the barrage of bloody darts. It was a moment they couldn't afford to lose.

Landing on the ground, Fino went to dash forward again…

…when a blade kissed his jugular.

White-hot, white-cold pain flared out from Fino's neck as his blood sprayed out freely, painting the rooftop around him, a choking sound pouring from his mouth. What had happened? Neither Morgan Nacht nor the Ventriloquist had hit him. Nobody else had even gotten close. Nobody else had even…

…he looked behind him.

There, holding a knife dripping with Fino's blood, stood Beatrice Grace. Her eyes were a cold blue as she glared at him, regarded him… and then vanished. An assassin. A sneak attack.

Oh wow.

Beatrice Grace's ability was perfect for infiltration and assassination. Like her brother’s ability -- Dupin’s Alchemy -- it worked based on the senses. By sealing off one of her own senses, she could become undetectable to anyone else using that sense. By blinding herself, she became invisible. By deafening herself, she became inaudible.

It sounded like an inconvenient power, but Beatrice found that it was perfect for her. At this point, she'd learnt how to move without a world around her long ago.

Dodging the cyclone of blood-slashes that the enemy unleashed, she passed by Morgan Nacht's ear:

“Go,” she whispered. “I'll finish him off.”

Morgan didn't need to be told twice.

Once again, he sent out a massive tendril of Fog -- but this time, instead of aiming at Fino, he lashed out at the del Sed twins. Catching them by surprise, he managed to embrace them in the black smoke before they could even react. Even so, they turned their head once they were already constricted.

“The hell are you doing?!” Bruno cried out.

“My job,” Morgan replied coldly -- he still didn't trust the pair as far as he could throw them. Lowering himself to the ground, he planted his hand against an uninfused section of the roof.

I.

Inside.

In a single moment, Morgan and the del Sed's -- connected to his body by the Fog -- were transported into the sealed space that was the Tree of Might's temple. Appearing in the middle of a hallway, Bruno moved to break free of the cloud, but Morgan just raised a finger.

“We're not done,” he said.

He placed his hand against the floor again.

I.

They appeared on the next floor down, and again…

I.

…and again…

I.

…and again…

I.

…the pair continued to descend through the building.

The design of this temple was most convenient for Morgan's ability. Essentially, every level of the temple was sealed off from the others by the security system, meaning that each floor was a valid target for Morgan's Inside. Just by planting his hand against the floor and activating the ability, he could pass through the fortress like a knife through butter.

It took sixteen uses of Inside before the trio -- Morgan, Bruno and Serena -- appeared inside the temple's throne room.

Morgan looked around, scowled, and clicked his tongue.

The room was empty.

It wasn't as if they hadn't anticipated this. Since the Dawn Contest had begun, Dragan Hadrien had been particularly elusive. He'd appear for his matches and quickly retreat, recording himself and following a roundabout route to throw off any pursuers. It wasn't out of the question that even this mighty fortress was just a decoy -- something to attract the eyes of his enemies while he secretly schemed elsewhere.

Still… they'd thought their chances were good. Morgan tightened his fists; it was what it was. Even if they couldn't take on Hadrien, they could destroy this place -- and hope that at least would deal some kind of blow.

“Come on,” Morgan said, turning his head. “We need to head to the engine --”

He stopped.

Bruno del Sed was crying.

It didn't fit his face. His expression was screwed up as if he were furious, his teeth bared… but tears were streaming down his cheeks. His arms were trembling. A deep, heaving breath struggled through his throat.

“Dragan,” Bruno whispered.

“He's not here…” Morgan replied quietly --

-- but Bruno wasn't speaking to him. With a thunderous boom, Bruno del Sed stepped forward, fury finally overpowering his sorrow, and roared:

“DRAGAN! I know you can hear me!”

A finger froze over a button.

Bruno let out a breath sparking with purple Aether.

“Even if you're not willing to talk to me…”

He looked up, and his eyes were brilliant emeralds.

“...you're going to damn well listen.”