Aetheral Space

There were fireworks that morning.

Great red dragon-plumes and screeching Helios Wheels. Drones surrounding themselves with fogs of sparkling pink mist before popping like overripe balloons. A field of gleaming emerald stars settling and overpowering a golden ray before fading away themselves. A single sapphire light swinging past the light show and vanishing from sight.

And, of course, at the peak of the festivities was the great white light. So bright for a moment it was like a second sun in the sky. An honest light. An all-revealing light. A light absolute.

That took much longer to fade than the others. Even the afterimage was enough to make one squint.

Azum-Ha was a boiling kettle, excitement building up over excitement building up over excitement. Even with the non-standard way some of the matches had gone, the world was reaching a fever pitch. Everyone was watching. Everyone was happy.

Everyone wanted to see.

Aetheral Space 13.57

“All-Word (Part 1)”

Muzazi tightened his boots. They fit perfectly, but he checked them twice more -- it gave his hands something to do.

Muzazi checked the gun strapped to his thigh. He hadn't needed it before, but perhaps this time it would provide the slightest edge.

Muzazi took a deep breath. When he let it out, it trembled disgracefully. He tried again and found no difference.

Wu Ming sipped from a massive pitcher of Meep Cola as he watched the videograph screen. The match was yet to begin, so for the moment the cameras were still showing the empty arena while a procession of irrelevant talking heads discussed how they thought the match would go. It seemed a lot of them favored Atoy Muzazi, but Ming supposed that made sense.

Dorothy Eiro was the kindest Special Officer, after all, and a great many people confused kindness for weakness. Ah, these guys… they just didn't get it.

“It's gonna be a crazy one,” he said out loud, turning his head to look behind his armchair. “I'll tell you how it went when you wake up.”

Ruth Blaine couldn't hear him, of course. Right now she was suspended in the Cradle, hanging from the ceiling -- being remade, cell by cell, into a warrior that could tap into her full potential. Wu Ming stared for a moment, looking at the shifting silhouette deep within the hanging mass, before shrugging and turning back to the screen.

“C'mon,” he muttered to himself. “Show me something ten-outta-ten.”

Dorothy Eiro carefully wound her twin black braids. Long hair could be a disadvantage on the battlefield, but Atoy Muzazi wouldn't get close enough. She wouldn't allow it.

Dorothy Eiro buttoned her jacket. Bullet-proof -- that wouldn't do much against Atoy Muzazi’s Radiants, but every little bit of protection helped in a fight like this.

Dorothy Eiro splashed water on her face. This was it. There wouldn't be any turning back from here. Turning back was something she wasn’t allowed to do anymore.

Xander Rain crossed his arms as he watched the empty arena on the videograph, the other members of the Tree of Might gathered behind him. The Dawn Contest was nearing its final stages. From here on in… these would be battles of legends. Xander couldn't afford to look away.

It seemed that Lord Hadrien disagreed, though. He glanced over his shoulder, looking towards the sealed door to the throne room. The Zero Branch had locked himself in to prepare for his next match. The Crown had already given an automatic victory -- before suddenly vanishing from their hospital bed -- so Xander supposed that Lord Hadrien was now thinking of the semi-finals.

In truth, it was something of a relief -- Xander had dreaded Lord Hadrien's response to his impertinent interference with last night's battle. Lord Hadrien hadn't even mentioned it. His mind was truly fixed on the path before him.

How admirable!

His gaze returned to the massive videograph -- excitement had gripped the crowd once more, and uproarious cheers were overpowering space. Immediately, Xander saw the cause of their jubilation: both contestants had emerged from opposite sides of the stadium, and were slowly walking across the arena to meet in the middle. Xander’s grip tightened on his forearm.

Atoy Muzazi, the Full Moon of the Eight Phases of the Turning of the Heir…

…and Dorothy Eiro, the one they called the kindest Special Officer.

Xander sneered just a tad at the thought. From what he saw, what he'd experienced last night, that kindness was nothing but a frailty of the spirit. A true warrior would have killed him when they had the chance.

The cheers of the crowd were overpowering, and yet Atoy Muzazi's heart seemed to beat even louder. He could feel it -- vibrating in his bones -- intensifying with each step he took towards his opponent. Did Dorothy Eiro feel the same?

He supposed he would not find out. The time for words had come and gone.

In contrast to the previous rounds of the Dawn Contest, the Arena of the Absolute hadn't been customized for this bout. No jungle, no beach -- just a flat grey expanse, with two human souls atop it. From here on in, there would be no factors save strength and skill.

Muzazi stepped forth. The crowd cheered.

Dorothy stepped forth. The crowd roared.

There was the most subtle difference in reception there, but Muzazi supposed it only made sense. He was respected. She was beloved.

They stood, face to face -- only meters separating them. She gave him a sad smile. He couldn't bring himself to return it. There was a darkness at the end of this fight, he could feel it. Nael Manron had given up, allowed himself to fall. Mereloco had given up, allowed himself to be struck.

Atoy Muzazi couldn't picture Dorothy Eiro giving up at all… he knew he wouldn't.

Distantly, he heard the word, as if it were swimming up at him from the bottom of a dream.

“Begin!”

He darted forward, swinging a split-second Radiant -- but Dorothy had anticipated his attack. She rolled to the side, blade of light brushing past her back, and as she rolled she spoke. The blue Aether she'd poured into the ground through her feet twitched in response.

“Cables: wrap around Atoy Muzazi and restrain him!”

Cables?

It was instinct, not thought, that saved him. The second Muzazi felt the ground creak beneath him he leapt upwards -- just in time to avoid the writhing electrical cables that burst out from the concrete like feral serpents. They must have been running underneath the Arena to power its various mechanisms.

Muzazi twisted his body in the air, bisecting a cable as it tried to wrap around his neck, and used his thrusters to fly out of the range of the rest of the metal hydra. It was a bitter choice, though, and he recognised that. Putting space between himself and Dorothy Eiro meant giving her time.

Time to speak.

Dorothy took advantage immediately, plucking two thin knives from the pockets of her jacket and holding them out to her sides by the blades. Blue Aether ran across their surfaces.

“Knife on my left: pursue Atoy Muzazi and inflict non-lethal attacks to slow him down. Knife on my right: automatically defend me against any attacks that get close.”

The knives flew through the air -- one zooming towards Muzazi as instructed, the other hovering lazily around Dorothy's own body.

Muzazi threw himself backwards into a flip, the dagger narrowly missing his face as it shot past him. Still, even as Muzazi blasted himself towards Dorothy, he knew he’d bought himself only moments. That knife would continue to pursue him until it was either destroyed or the infusion broken. That was the sort of ability All-Word was.

Aether crawled out from Dorothy’s leg and infused some rubble near her feet. The whole thing was so quick Muzazi barely had time to see it before:

“Rubble: pursue Atoy Muzazi and detonate once you’re within a meter of him.”

As the rocks hurled themselves in Muzazi’s direction, he narrowed his eyes.

It was just as Morgan had pointed out: when Dorothy Eiro used All-Word, she had to very specifically designate the object she was commanding. If she didn’t specify, would that mean the command would be obeyed by everything she’d infused? That could be disastrous, considering she had to infuse her own body to fight.

It also meant that Muzazi didn’t have to worry about short, simple commands -- Dorothy would have to say at least a few words when giving an order. That would take time.

Time he no longer intended to give her.

Quantum King!

Just as the rubble came into range, Muzazi blasted it away and apart -- his split-second usage of Quantum King illuminating the arena like a camera flash. His path cleared for a single vital moment, he swooped in towards Dorothy, Radiants aimed for her arms. A wound like this had brought down Nael Manron. It could suffice.

The cables, still writhing out of the ground, lashed out at Muzazi, but he was ready. He spun and weaved, he sliced and diced. One caught him by the leg, but without even looking back he cut it in twain, electricity sparking from the severed pieces as he continued his pursuit of Dorothy.

Her speed wasn't anything to sneeze at, either, though. As Muzazi swung his twin Radiants, Dorothy dropped down to the floor -- the blades of light passing right over her once again. Muzazi adjusted his angle for the next attack, ready to bring his blades right down towards Dorothy --

“Electricity: zap him.”

Muzazi's eyes widened. The electricity from the cables? Even that was a valid target? He barely had time to panic before the rabid lightning struck him.

Infuse!

Muzazi's body blazed with white Aether as he focused everything he had on internal defense, willing himself to withstand the current pouring through him. Parts of his skin blackened and charred, but he paid it no mind. A warning of overload popped up in his artificial eye, but he paid it no mind. The knife Dorothy had set to chase him finally caught up, dancing shallow slashes upon his back, but he paid it no mind.

He could barely even hear Dorothy's hurried addition to her command:

“But not enough to kill!”

Right now, the entirety of his attention was on the insides of his body. Nerves. Lungs. Heart. Brain. If he could just withstand, if he could just withstand, then surely his opportunity would come. Surely --

Red.

For the briefest of instants, Muzazi thought that maybe something had gone wrong with his eyes, that this was blood he was seeing. Perhaps his remaining good eye had popped in its socket from the current. But no: what he was seeing wasn't blood at all.

He was looking at a red slipper, aimed right for his face.

Dorothy's kick struck Muzazi in the head, sending him flying backwards across the arena. Mercifully, he was sent out of the range of further electricity, but that was all the mercy he was getting. Smoke poured from his skin and out of his mouth as he landed in a graceless heap, slowly forcing himself to his feet with thrusters from his kneecaps.

The knife, already with him, snapped for his ear -- but he snatched it out of the air before it could make contact. It tried to struggle out of his grasp, but a thruster from his palm quickly overpowered it -- melting the implement into a vague pool of metal in his hand. He let it go, the silvery mass splashing on the floor and remaining inert.

I see. So if it's not a knife anymore, the command no longer applies.

Looking back up to Dorothy, he lowered himself into a fighting stance once more. Even so, doubt crawled over the back of his neck. Dorothy surely could have pressed the attack just then, finishing him while he was down. The fact that she hadn't… meant two things.

One… she still believed she could get him to surrender.

Two… she believed she didn't need her full strength against him.

That's nothing but arrogance, Dorothy Eiro. I'll demonstrate that right now.

White Aether flooded out from his feet, infusing the floor tiles around him. A moment later, they burst out from the ground, carried by blazing thrusters on their backsides, swinging as one to face Dorothy. She raised an eyebrow at the legion of projectiles, ready to be fired.

“Oh?” she said. “We’re comparing the speed of our powers?”

Go.

The floor tiles flew towards Dorothy, wind whistling around them, and in that same moment she spoke:

“Floor tiles: defend me.”

She'd done the same thing as he had. Tiles tore themselves out of the ground around her, moving independently to serve as shields against the projectiles coming for her. Concrete shattered, and shattered, and shattered again -- an unending hail of attack and defense, sending rubble flying in every direction as the conflict continued.

Even with the attack and defense being made from the same materials, Dorothy's shields were holding up -- while Muzazi's projectiles were steadily breaking on impact. He understood why, or rather Morgan had helped him understand.

It was the result of Dorothy Eiro's infusion.

The four basic pillars of Aether usage: infusion, alteration, recording, and manifestation. In some philosophies, recording and manifestation were the same thing, but that mattered not here. There were those tremendously proficient in a single pillar, a method of Aether usage perfectly suited to them in a way others could only dream of.

Needless to say, Dragan Hadrien was a prodigy when it came to recording -- and it seemed that Dorothy Eiro was his match when it came to infusion.

The moment Dorothy's Aether came in contact with an object, it completely infused it nearly instantly, with such solid structure that it would be incredibly difficult to dislodge. That was what made All-Word so versatile. That was what made her such a formidable opponent.

Still… it didn't make her unbeatable. Atoy Muzazi hadn't come here today to play catch.

He charged forward -- then around, circling Dorothy once again, pulling up more floor tiles as he went and having them follow him. The first set he'd infused were still clashing with Dorothy's shields, forming a smokescreen of dust that Muzazi could now take advantage of. With a flick of his finger, the remaining floor tiles zoomed forth…

…but not towards Dorothy Eiro herself.

Floor tiles: defend me. That was the order Dorothy Eiro had given, and so it was the order the floor tiles would follow. Therefore, if an attack was aimed at something other than Dorothy Eiro, the floor tiles would have no cause to intercede.

Muzazi's projectiles flew inwards -- and then split paths to either side, pinning down the writhing cables that had surrounded Dorothy. Her defense had three layers: the forest of cables, the floating floor tiles, and the flying knife. Muzazi was sure he could make it through two of those three to land a blow.

Now he'd get the chance to prove it.

The second the cables were restrained, Atoy Muzazi shot forward -- kicking off a tile he'd positioned behind himself to launch like a bullet. Dorothy's tiles rushed to intercept him, but he was a dervish of Radiants. They could have withstood Muzazi's projectiles, but never Muzazi himself. Chunks of cleanly-sliced concrete fell to the ground.

The knife was next. It lunged at Muzazi's wrist, no doubt intending to throw off his aim, but he was ready for it. Flipping over in the air once more, he slammed his foot down on the blade of the knife, pinning it too on the ground as he landed right before Dorothy Eiro.

Surrender, he begged -- even as he slashed at her in that same instant.

“Air: hit him!”

They struck each other at the same time. Muzazi went flying backwards as an invisible fist slammed into him -- his blade of light slashing through Dorothy’s shoulder as his aim was thrown off. As Dorothy let out a cry of pain, Muzazi used his thrusters to twist himself into an upright position -- landing back on the floor, boots kicking up sparks as he went.

He let out a breath it felt like he’d been holding for minutes now. He hadn’t expected Dorothy to be able to command even the air, but still…

First blood.

Red dripped down onto the floor from Dorothy’s wound -- a thick gash on her shoulder, barely covered by her other hand. She panted for breath, sweat coating her face as the remaining tiles orbited around her, along with the now-free knife. Muzazi rose to his full height once again, pointing a Radiant at her.

“This is your last chance, Miss Eiro,” he said, voice resolute. “Surrender now, and --”

“Wound: heal.”

The wound that Atoy Muzazi had gone so far to inflict snapped shut like it had never even existed. Dorothy let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from her brow as she stood back up straight. Her eyes were stone. The same eyes as his.

As if she ever would have surrendered.

“Very well,” he smirked ruefully. “Let’s see if you can heal from this, then. Radiant Almighty.”

The world exploded into light, five blazing pillars erupting from the ground -- forming a wide perimeter around Dorothy and himself. Even with the sudden aurora, she didn’t so much as blink. She simply tensed, ready to move, ready to fight. His own smirk was mirrored on her face.

“I’m waiting,” she said. “Atoy Muzazi.”

He raised his hands, and specks of light began to coalesce there -- slowly, but surely, forming into a blade of rapture.

“Very well,” he grinned. “Here I come, Dorothy Eiro!”