Aetheral Space

Two Years Ago…

Devastation.

Atoy Muzazi tried to close his eyes to it as he forced his way through the corpse of Elysian Fields, but it was no use. Gruesome absurdity surrounded him, companions on this journey. There had been corpses, so many corpses, flayed and battered and shredded… but for some reason, one particular sight remained with him.

A body like so many others, resting against a tree, belonging to one of his fellow Special Officers. The corpse had been nearly untouched, so pristine that they could have been asleep -- if not for their empty eyes, staring sightlessly up at the sky. A butterfly had been perched on the corpse’s nose, bright and blue and true… and for some reason, that was what stuck with Muzazi.

That butterfly, perched on the tip of that nose. He knew already he would dream of it.

In the distance, far behind him, a scorched-black tree reached out to the stars. A grave marker for the Gardener of Sin? He wouldn't be the one to find out. Muzazi sought not a Contender, but the Supreme. He had promised Aclima he would help protect her father.

In truth, he didn't know how much help he could be. He was missing half his face and barely wading above the waters of unconsciousness. Even if he were in peak condition, bitter experience had taught him he stood no chance against Zachariah Esmerelda as the man was now. If he were to jump into a battle between those two titans, his life would amount to little more than confetti.

But he had promised -- and he was bound by promises.

Muzazi finally emerged from the crumbling forest, reaching the mountainside where the Supreme had faced his challenger. At least… it surely had once been a mountainside. Now it was a massive crater, all rubble and fire and even some glass, smoke drifting through it like fog.

He steeled himself as he entered the miasma.

Aether pings, weak as they were, gave him the right direction. Ambient Aether still hung in the air from both combatants, muddying his senses, but he could still follow them to their source. He could still…

Clang.

He stopped, looking down at the thing he'd just stepped on. His remaining eye widened. This was a treasure he'd hardly expected to ever lay eyes upon in his life.

EIN SOF.

The god-sword, the greatest Aether Armament the Supreme possessed, lay at his feet. The blade was dull and dark and spent, but the presence it exuded made it feel like it was made of solid gold -- or perhaps something even more fundamental.

With trembling, bleeding hands, Muzazi picked up the implement. It was lighter than he'd expected. Had the weapon been blown away during the fighting?

His heart dropped. If the battle had been so intense that the Supreme couldn't even hold on to his Aether Armament, things might have been worse than Muzazi thought. He had to hurry.

Black blade in hand, Muzazi charged through the dark smog.

AETHERAL SPACE 13.63

"Sword"

Two Years Later…

Muzazi took a sip of his drink.

It was funny. His hands weren't trembling anymore. He hadn't expected that. He'd expected more terror on this dreaded day, but after everything, after all he had seen and done… it seemed he had long since run out of terror. All that remained was a numbness that kept his hands as still as ice.

“We thought you were dead,” he said after a moment, putting the glass back down onto the bar. “Everyone thought you were dead. Your family, too. You were announced dead.”

Winston chuckled bashfully, scratching a hollow cheek with a finger. “Ah, well, things kinda just worked out that way, you know? When you're on the run, you can't go telling people where to find you, right?”

Muzazi glanced at him. “On the run?”

“Hadrien,” Winston sighed theatrically. “He's right up my ass. Not literally, though, but you get what I mean. He's got eyes everywhere. If I pop my head up, he comes with the hammer. It's a real drag.”

Slowly, Muzazi turned his glass with his fingers, even as he continued looking at Winston. “Dragan Hadrien's been trying to kill you?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Muzazi closed his eye. Of course. “I see.”

For a minute, Muzazi just kept that eye closed. How long had it been since he'd had a chance to truly rest? Since the beginning of the Dawn Contest? Since Elysian Fields? Since perhaps before even that? It would be so nice to rest.

To not have to think, to not have to consider…

“Hey, are you falling asleep?” Winston asked. “We're still talking, you know!”

Muzazi's brow creased. Unfortunately for any dreams of rest, he was sitting next to a sapient alarm clock. He'd find no succour here.

He opened his eye again, his gaze dull and dead as he looked down at the wood of the bar -- and the fruitless patterns in its surface. “What is it you want to talk about?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “Why come to me, and not your family?”

Winston drummed his fingers along the wood. A war-drum, or something more playful? Nearly everything sounded like war-drums to Muzazi's ears these days.

“When I was a kid,” Winston said. “I really liked detective novels.”

“Wow.”

“The thing is,” Winston continued. “The good ones are never from the point of view of the detective, right? They're always sort of outside, or from an assistant's perspective or something, so that the reader doesn't just get told the answer to the mystery. Because the detective always knows the answer way before the reader does.”

“I see.”

Winston looked blankly at him. “I've been working on this one for two years now. Mind if I bounce some ideas off you?”

Muzazi looked back at him. “What?” he smiled humourlessly. “Like an assistant?”

“Sure,” Winston matched his smile. “Like an assistant.”

Two Years Ago…

The burnt breath caught in Muzazi's throat, and his hands tightened into bloody fists.

He was too late.

Guilt seized the back of his brain. He had promised Aclima he would protect her father. He had knocked her out, stopping her from coming here, because he was so confident he would do better. He had promised her.

And he was too late.

The Supreme lay on his knees, scorched from head to toe, smoke still rising from his charred carcass. His arms were cauterised stumps, limp strips of meat and gristle hanging from them like strings. Just looking at the body, Muzazi could hardly tell what had been clothing and what had been skin.

Whatever attack had done this… had done its work well.

Heartbeat Freedom.

Muzazi's grip tightened around EIN SOF. Esmerelda had destroyed him using those emerald wings, but Muzazi knew that those alone wouldn't have been enough to take down the Supreme. Until this moment, Muzazi hadn't thought that anything would have been enough to take down the Supreme. The symbol of strength -- the avatar of Supremacy itself -- should not die so easily.

Esmerelda must have unleashed something more.

The culprit was obvious, emerald Aether mingling with the golden in the air all around him. He could feel the presence of that man growing stronger just a short distance away. Muzazi’s grip tightened on EIN SOF. If he peered through the fog with everything he had, he could even see him, a battered husk collapsed against a rock.

Muzazi took a step forward. That man wasn’t dead yet. As a Special Officer of the Supremacy, what was his duty now? To avenge the old Supreme, or welcome the new one? His thoughts were a vortex. Everything had become vague and indistinct.

EIN SOF’s hilt was cold against his fingers, though, and that chill pulled him back into his purpose. He had promised Aclima he would protect her father. If that was no longer possible… all that remained was the blade.

He went to move towards his prey -- and stopped. His remaining eye widened to its utmost. His sword nearly fell out of his hand. The purpose he’d clutched at had frozen and shattered in an instant. All of these things had happened for a single, simple reason.

Atoy Muzazi had just heard the Supreme cough.

Two Years Later…

“I was pretty beat up after Elysian Fields,” Winston said casually. “I mean, I never actually went down to the planet, but that Lily Aubrisher woman went and attacked the Tartarus. I actually helped take her down. Did you know that?”

Muzazi blinked. “I did.”

The serving automatic returned, putting down the lemon juice that Winston had ordered. He took a greedy gulp of it before glancing at Muzazi. “You’re paying for this, right?”

Muzazi blinked. “Sure.”

His voice was cold and still, and his gaze was matching stone. He knew what this was. He’d been dreading this day for the last two years. It was disgusting, but a part of him had been relieved when he’d heard Winston Grace had gone missing. It was the same part of him that was filled with dread at his presence now.

“Anyway,” Winston went on, finishing his glass with another huge gulp. “Me and Beatrice and Marie’s brother took that lady on. Well, I mean, that freak’s not really Marie’s brother -- but whatever. There was another guy, too, but he ended up getting killed. Gregori didn’t care too much that his buddy died, either. Kinda weird. Anyway, what was I saying?”

“You were saying that you got hurt.”

“Right, right,” Winston nodded. “A lot of the injured were taken to Iosefka-2, since there was still fighting with the mercenary fleet. It was a real drag. Once I’d recovered and they’d assigned me the confirmation of the Supreme’s cause of death, I had to head all the way back, you know? And that was only after they’d shooed off all those mercenary ships, too. At that point, it’s basically a cold case, right?”

“Right.”

“I mean… all the clues were basically gone.”

Stone cracked. Muzazi’s pupil trembled, just a tad. Did he dare…?

“Well, actually,” Winston leaned over the bar. “Maybe not all of them.”

Two Years Ago…

Slowly, Atoy Muzazi turned his head.

He hadn’t been mistaken. There, behind him, the charred cadaver of the Supreme was undoubtedly moving… and undoubtedly breathing. Hoarse coughs spilled forth from his blackened lips -- and a moment later, they were followed by rasping words.

“Damn…” gasped the man who was like god. “Still here…?”

“My Supreme!” Muzazi roared.

He charged back towards him, already channelling Aether through his hands to infuse the massive man’s body. Even if the Supreme were still alive, with his body like that he was surely on the verge of death. Any additional protection Muzazi could provide would help keep him alive until medical personnel could get here.

“Ah…”

The Supreme groaned as Muzazi’s white Aether spread over his form. He was still on his knees, staring sightlessly up at the sky, stuck like a statue melted into place. Tiny sparks of golden Aether began to crawl across the remains of his muscles, but they were still weak, barely even visible.

Still… Muzazi had witnessed that final attack even from a great distance. To think that the Supreme had survived a direct hit from it, if only barely… he truly was constructed differently. Muzazi didn’t dare touch the man’s body directly, but he could still channel his Aether through the ground to reach it.

“Damnit…” the Supreme repeated, strength slowly returning to his voice, flakes of hardened skin breaking off his neck as he tried to wriggle in place. “Who’s that…?”

“Atoy Muzazi,” he replied breathlessly, sweat pouring down his face. “Special Officer, sir. Your daughter sent me.”

Crack. The Supreme cocked his head a tad. Even with his injuries, he was quickly regaining his powers of movement. “My daughter…?” he asked, confused. “Oh… you mean that kid.”

Muzazi’s heart twisted at those words, but he nodded all the same. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“Cool… cool. Just… gimme a sec, yeah?”

“My Supreme,” Muzazi said slowly, gaze cast down towards the ground. “Y-Your eyes are gone, so you may not realise… I… I’m sorry to say this, sir, but your injuries… they’re quite atrocious. I fear that… I fear that even with medical attention, recovery would be --”

“Oh, this?” the Supreme chuckled, a low scorched sound. “This is nothing. Once I get going again… I can fix this right up. One of the older abilities… Rhodes’ Seal… ah, that was a fight, hahaha… I should track him down, go at it again… there’s so much stuff to do now, hahaha… yesss…”

“My Supreme?”

For a moment, the Supreme remained silent, and Muzazi feared that the end had taken him after all -- but then his lips peeled back into a grotesque grin, like a bright white wound.

“This is like a shot in the arm!” the Supreme laughed, blood spurting from his mouth. “I’ve wasted so many years! That bastard on the Shesha, I’ll rip his head off… and then… and then… they say Death’s still alive! I wanna take on the Arcana Automatic’s daddy! I wanna fight Nebula One, let’s go get him! Let’s fuck the UAP! Let’s set the whole thing on fire! Let’s do it! Ah, let’s do it!”

Muzazi took a step back from the Supreme’s sudden rambling frenzy. The man who had remained in place for decades was now thrashing this way and that, scraps of burnt meat slipping from his form with each movement. A chill went down Muzazi’s spine, his grip on the sword slackening.

What… is this thing…?

“Ah… ah…” the Supreme bucked, spittle flying from his lips. “What about Esmerelda?! Tell me, Atoy! Is he still alive?!”

Numbly, Muzazi nodded. “H-He is, sir… I think… but only barely, I think…”

“He is?!” the Supreme roared, salivating like a wild animal. “Get over there, boy! Keep him going! He can’t die, he’s the goddamn best! Contender number five! He ain’t allowed to die until he fights me again… and again… and again… ah, ah…”

Muzazi’s lip trembled. His hand trembled. His mind trembled. For some reason, even with the Supreme barking his instructions, he found himself entirely unable to move. His vision seemed to waver in and out of clarity. Everything seemed to waver in and out of clarity.

All he could think of, all he could think of, was that corpse -- that dead warrior with a butterfly balancing on their nose. All he could do… was speak.

“My Supreme,” he whispered, mouth dry. “Many of ours are injured… many of ours have fallen… perhaps… if you could order a temporary retreat…?”

Tattered eyelids flickered over empty sockets. “Eh…?”

Muzazi’s breath was heavy. “As I said… many are dead.”

A single second, and then:

“Who cares?”

Two Years Later…

“The thing is,” Winston said, finishing his fourth glass of lemon juice. “They didn’t really need to send me for that, you know? It’s obvious when you look at the crime scene.”

Muzazi quietly nodded. “I suppose it would be.”

“He took that huge attack from Zachariah Esmerelda, right? It did a real number on Kadmon’s body, too. Arms blown off from the pressure -- you could tell from the gristle -- and his body scorched by the heat it produced. Nasty, huh? But the thing that threw me… the thing that should’ve thrown anyone who looked at it… was this last wound…”

Winston blinked, his eyes coldly sparkling.

“...the one that finished him.”

Two Years Ago…

The Supreme’s head fell from his shoulders.

His thrashing stopped immediately. His golden light died. A second later, the white infusion vanished as well. The Supreme’s last sound, a half-gasp of what might have been surprise, scattered into nothing. All that reigned there now was a cold and lonely wind, whistling through the world of ruin.

Muzazi blinked. “Huh?”

What had happened? Had Esmerelda’s attack had some delayed effect? Had they come under attack from some Aether-user? Why had the… why had the Supreme… why had…? No, no no no, no… what was… what was this…? This wasn’t…

Slowly, Muzazi looked down at the sword clutched in his hand. Blood dripped from the blade of EIN SOF -- the blood of its master. Without even realising it, Muzazi had taken this sword, and he’d -- and he’d --

He’d killed the Supreme.

Murderer.

The sun was beginning to set, casting an angry orange glow over the world. The Supreme’s corpse, head resting on the ground before it, was already becoming a silhouette. Muzazi’s shadow stretched far behind him as if it were trying to drag him away.

What was he looking at right now? This was not a man who should have become a corpse. This was not the sort of man that should die at the hands of Atoy Muzazi. Was this even a man he was looking at, or what was left of him?

“Who cares?”

The words -- those putrid, evil words -- bubbled again into Muzazi’s mind, and his hand twitched around an absent sword. He knew. If he heard those words again, he would swing his sword again.

He couldn’t see properly anymore. His eyes were water and his throat was fire. He was looking at something else entirely, he had cut something else entirely. He had swung his sword at this world, this galaxy, this entire damned universe.

What had he done? What had he done?! Aclima… oh, Y… he’d promised, he’d promised… he put a cold hand to his mouth, holding back the vomit.

“...heh…”

Slowly, he turned to look into the fog.

That short distance away, lying against a rock, was Zachariah Esmerelda. He grinned wordlessly at Muzazi, relief and victory carved into his features. For a moment, Muzazi thought of approaching him -- but no. EIN SOF fizzled away from his hand, becoming golden Aether, vanishing entirely from this world.

Muzazi continued to look at Esmerelda for a moment -- and then, his mind completely blank, he turned…

…and began to wander away.

Two Years Later…

“If someone…” Muzazi began, before the words died on his tongue. He tried again: “If someone killed the Supreme like that… like you say… why wouldn’t they announce it? They’d become Supreme, there and then, wouldn’t they?”

Winston didn’t break eye contact. “Shame.”

“I don’t think a person like that could feel shame.” Muzazi’s hand tightened around his glass, tiny fractures spreading across its surface.

“Hm, you’d be surprised,” Winston shrugged. “Especially if they thought the Heir couldn’t ever forgive them. They couldn’t bear the idea of becoming Supreme that way, so… they just kept quiet. They just let things play out like this, so they could reach their dream properly, I guess. Dragan Hadrien wanted a Dawn Contest too, most likely -- that’s why he wanted to shut me up. He went after me on my way back from Elysian. I lost an arm getting away from him, and he’s been trying to get the rest of me ever since. Needless to say, I’m pretty invested in the mystery at this point, so… I want you to tell me.”

He finally blinked.

“Am I right?”

Muzazi eased his grip on the glass, but even so it crumbled onto the bar before them. He looked down into the shards, like there’d be some answer there, like there’d be some future save for the demanding eyes of Winston Grace… like there’d be some future save for the final hatred of Aclima. The broken glass gave no answers.

“I thought you hated spoilers.” His own voice seemed alien to him, all emotion drained from it. He knew there was nothing else he could do.

“I do,” Winston replied. “But that’s only when I don’t already know the answer.”

Muzazi blinked.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You’re right.”

Two Years Ago…

Muzazi walked through the forests of the night, among the corpses and the flames, myriad words spiralling through his head. The words Dragan Hadrien had cursed him with. The word he cursed himself with. The words he had sent out into the world, long before he should have known them.

Get lost.

Murderer.

The Supreme is dead.

Fire bathed in the sky, fleets of ships clashing against each other. Blood pooled on the ground in a river, sticky as he waded through it. The dread tree of the Forest of Sin reached up into the sky, a grave marker not just for the Gardener, but for all the world. For God.

Get lost.

Murderer.

The Supreme is dead.

He tripped. Whether it was a branch, or a hole in the ground, or a dead man’s leg, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he collapsed to the ground, the final strength abandoning his body. Numb, he rolled over onto his back, staring upwards into the war.

Was he just one more corpse here, resting with his fellows? Would that be better? Would that be what he deserved?

Blue wings flickered past Muzazi’s vision… and a butterfly perched on his bloody nose.

Get lost.

Murderer.

The Supreme is dead.

A single bark of laughter was all he could manage.

Get lost.

And, for two years, he did.