Aetheral Space

Several Years Ago, In The Ruins Of A Life…

The man they called the Teacher was cradled by the wreckage of his escape pod, hanging off the edge of the salt-coated cliff. Blood ran down his face from a ravaged eye, and shattered glass punctured his body in half-a-dozen places. Even though he yet breathed -- weakly -- he was surely already dead.

All that remained was for his body to accept that fact.

He looked up as his attacker approached, wiping some of the blood from his face with a feeble shaking hand. A tattoo decorated his wrist, simple text reading ‘ALPHA’, but that too had been all but shredded by the crash. A bitter half-smile tugged at his lips.

“Do you know why they sent you?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Looking down at him now, Dorothy was surprised. The file said that the Teacher was fairly young, yet the person before her was clearly an old man. Thin grey hair and skin pulled taut against his skull. Was it an accelerated aging thing, like with that student of Steigh Kindred, Ash del Duran?

It didn't matter. This man would be dead within a few minutes. Whatever story he had would die with him and disappear. It would be as the Raven had written.

She stopped in front of the wrecked pod, huge black wings twitching behind her. At the first sign of danger, the Sudden Death was ready to send out a volley of feathers. They would surely shred the Teacher and anything he could send out.

“You won't answer me, then?” the Teacher raised thinning eyebrows. “Yet you won't just kill me, either. You feel that if you kill me, you bear responsibility, but if you just watch me die, it's fine?”

Dorothy said nothing. She just stared at him with dark, dull eyes.

The Teacher raised his thin, emaciated hand -- and looked at it as if it were a wonder. “I made contact with you during our little scuffle back there,” he mused. “Suppression, hm? That's a nasty Aether core. You have my sympathies.”

Still, Dorothy said nothing. If this man wanted to tire himself out, wanted to wind down the hands of his life's clock all by himself, he was welcome to. She would simply watch and confirm. That was the role of a Raven.

“If I asked you who ordered my death, would you tell me?” the Teacher looked up at her.

She would not. She'd been given no orders that would require her to. Whatever reason the Three Wise Men had to kill this man, it was none of her concern. She'd learnt long ago not to ask those sorts of questions.

The answers were too often repulsive.

Seeing he was getting no reply, the Teacher slowly blinked. “If I told you Aether wasn't meant to be used for fighting… for killing… would you believe me?”

Delusional pacifism. Dorothy sneered as her wings flexed behind her. The power that put unimaginably destructive powers in the hands of man, that had appeared during the Thousand Revolutions, wasn't meant to be used for fighting? Nonsense.

“It's true,” the Teacher smirked, settling back into his bed of shrapnel. “I've crawled down the rope and I've seen it. Another time, another place.”

Dorothy furrowed her brow, and for the first time that day she spoke: “What do you mean?”

The Teacher sighed. “Ah, not enough time left to explain it… and I don't think you'd understand it if I did. Someone else like me will come along, someday. Everything will happen someday. We'll get it right, eventually.” He looked at her, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “I truly believe that.”

She said nothing. It had been a mistake to do so earlier. Rambling brought about by blood-loss and pain didn't merit a response.

Still, his mouth kept moving. “Do you mind if I ask… how many people have you killed up ‘till now? Including my bodyguard.”

Dorothy's sword dripped red.

“Dunno,” she muttered pointlessly.

“Really? That's sad. A person should always have a handle on their history.”

Numb irritation slithered up from the depths of Dorothy's soul, and she took a step forward. This man was surely starting to annoy her. That was the name for this feeling. She'd give him his mercy and be on her way. There would be other missions that needed tending to. Always other missions.

As the dark wings loomed over him, however, the Teacher just smiled softly. “Tell me…” he began.

The wings came down.

“...is there any hope at the end of this path you're on?”

At that moment, in that place, those words meant very little. They had just enough impact to cling to the girl’s mind, a tiny bit of mental real estate, barely enough to even exist. But they remained… and slowly they grew… and one day, they grew too big to be contained.

Like many strings, bound together into a rope.

The rest of the match lasted ten seconds in all.

Both contestants charged forward. Dorothy Eiro, framed by her vortex of dark feathers, wings spread out wide and deadly. Atoy Muzazi, heralded by the shining light of the fading Quantum King, cables and glass and electricity and even more feathers pursuing him from behind.

The sword of Radiant Almighty had already formed in his hand -- this time greater than ever before. He'd used the power of Quantum King as the fuel for this attack, producing more even as it was absorbed, and now his blade was no less than an instrument of rupture. It was like a white line had been scraped into the world with chalk.

Needless to say, this was far beyond his limits -- Atoy Muzazi had entered the realm of the Aether burn.

He could feel it, already, feel his fingers melting and crystallizing even as they held onto the weapon. Long cracks began to run down his arms even as they burned. This was not a power he could hold onto for long.

So he would not. He would end this -- right here, right now.

For an instant, he relaxed his grip on Radiant Almighty -- and the sheer force of the air pressure released was nearly enough to send him flying. With all of his strength, however, he managed to hold on. His pursuers -- concrete, glass, feathers, and all others -- were scattered far behind him.

He'd created the moment he needed.

Quantum King was finally fully drained, and Muzazi shot forward out of its carcass, Almighty raised above his head. A ravaged, incoherent roar of exertion was already leaving his throat, tinged with blood, echoing throughout the arena.

He would do this. He could do this. He had to do this.

He'd promised, after all.

Dorothy Eiro had been lunging forward with her hand, seemingly to grab him, but when she saw the power he was emitting she seemed to think better of it. In one smooth motion, she ground her feet against the floor to slow herself, and shifted the angle of her hand slightly.

As if she, too, were holding…

If I have to get rid of my pride, Dorothy Eiro thought, her body burning with crisis. Then I'll get rid of all of it!

Still, she felt a tinge of regret.

I'm sorry, everyone. It ain't so easy to fix your heart after all.

“O World: become my sword.”

Everything raced to meet her empty hand -- everything she had infused during this match so far. Broken glass and cruel feathers, flames and electricity, stone and steel. All of it crushed itself, compacted itself, and formed into a hellish weapon in her hand.

A hilt of curling lightning and a blade with a fiery tip. A guard of protruding feathers, spiked like a sea urchin, and an edge of serrated glass. Her hand gripped stone, and a skeleton of steel held the entire monstrosity together.

Blue Aether oozed from the construction as she raised it, ready to meet Muzazi's assault. This, if nothing else, would be a match for that Radiant Almighty. And then… she'd end this fight.

There was no choice. She'd dye this sword red once more.

That was all she was good at, after all.

Muzazi charged in, blade raised high, a maelstrom clutched in his crimson hands. Dorothy raised her own sword to intercept it, and -- as Muzazi brought the weapon down…

…he let the light go.

It scattered into nothing from his hands, utterly dispelled as he canceled the ability. Dorothy's swing -- intended to parry the overhead blow -- instead struck at empty air. Her eyes widened, just fractionally, as she realized what he had done.

Nine seconds had passed… and just one remained.

Muzazi had observed his new allies, the del Sed twins, both during this time on Azum-Ha and back during their fight on Taldan. They seemed to have some sort of severely injuries on their hands, and yet they were able to move and use them freely. They were able to use infusion to force their hands to move.

Now, Muzazi did the same. White tendrils of light crawled up his shredded hands, forcing them into life, exposed bones clicking as they were commanded by the brain. Muzazi's hand whipped down, down towards his leg…

…and, in a flash of white light, it pulled free the gun Muzazi had strapped there.

The tenth second was all but done. All the rest was fractional. All the rest was less than the blink of the eye.

Muzazi rushed forward, hunched over, taking advantage of Dorothy's open guard.

Muzazi thrust the shining pistol forward, pressing it against Dorothy's stomach, white Aether crawling over his trigger finger.

And…

Muzazi pulled the trigger.

Bang.

Dorothy's sword crumbled into chaos, its carcass showering onto the floor.

Hands already falling limp and bloody, Muzazi caught Dorothy with his forearms before she could fall fully to the floor. Blood was pouring copiously from her wound -- the bullet had shredded her insides on the way through, but there was still time. This was one of the strongest Special Officers, after all.

“Dorothy,” he rasped into her ear, his own voice nearly failing him. “Let's… let's stop this, okay? The fight is done… you can't keep going… surrender.”

There was no reply. Muzazi's gaze drifted down, to the shattered remains of Dorothy's recording device, broken on the floor. It seemed he'd destroyed it with that final attack.

“You can't use your ability to heal any further,” he pressed forward, insistent, ignoring the burning pain in his throat. “There’s no point. Surrender, and we can… together, we can…”

Dorothy's head flopped onto his shoulder. Muzazi's next words died in his throat. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her.

Dark eyes stared into nothingness. It was over.

He'd won.

He'd killed her.

Atoy Muzazi rose out of the crater in the center of the arena a few minutes later, black hair hanging down over his face, carrying delicately the body of Dorothy Eiro. It was torture to carry her -- with these hands of blood and bone and splintered wood -- but, in a way, Muzazi welcomed the pain. He felt he owed it to her.

He trembled as the cold struck him. At some point during their battle, it must have started raining. He hadn't noticed. The passion of combat had banished the chill, and as for the noise…

…the applause drowned everything else out.

The sounds of cheering poured over Atoy Muzazi from all sides, the gathered crowds celebrating his victory.

Clapping. Shouting. Screaming. He knew that jubilation like this must be taking place across the entire planet. Across the entire galaxy. They were all cheering for him, for him, what he'd done. Everyone had come to watch. Everyone had come to witness. Everyone had come to cheer.

Murderer.

How disgusting.

Muzazi slowly looked up, his eyes dull, and looked over the faces of the crowd. Twisted in joy, excitement, the rapture of victory. Thousands of bright eyes here, and so many elsewhere. He could feel them. Trillions of gazes, fixed on him alone.

Murderer.

His trembling intensified.

Murderer.

They were all here to watch.

Murderer.

And they were all cheering.

Murderer.

His mouth opened.

“SHUT UP!”

Even his scream of fury was overpowered by the sheer noise, the cheering continuing unabated. Eyes wild, he whirled around this way and that, Dorothy's corpse swaying in his hands. At just the thought of her, he roared again.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! YOU LOVED HER, DIDN'T YOU?!”

The clapping, the clapping, neverending clapping. Congratulations like knives twisting inside his gut. Even the thunder was swallowed by this joy born from death. Forcing his voice out once more, Muzazi screamed, almost pleading.

“SHUT UP!”

It was only when the blood started pouring down his chin that Muzazi realized why he was receiving no response, why his outrage was being ignored, why they were still cheering. He wasn’t shouting at all. His voice had died back in that pit. All his mouth had to offer now was his agony.

A silent, bloody, choked laugh leaked out of him as his head snapped down towards the ground. What a mess.

Only… the cheering did stop, and the clapping with it. Even the rain suddenly came to an end. His eyes dull, he slowly looked up -- first at the shocked pale faces in the crowd, then further up, to follow their gazes.

Oh.

A massive black umbrella hung over the arena, casting its shadow over the spectacle entire. A beast formed of writhing black ribbons, like some creature from the deep sea had abandoned its home for the sky. Ignorant of gravity, ignorant of logic, it loomed -- tendrils slowly winding down to enshroud the stadium.

Deep within the dark, Muzazi could see the face of the end. A grinning skull-like moon, framed by ten severed horse legs, slowly orbiting it. A Flower of Evil indeed.

Muzazi’s breath caught in his throat. Muzazi’s skin crawled with goosebumps.

The PALATINE had come.

ARC 13

END OF PART 3