Aetheral Space

I crawl.

I can do nothing but crawl. It is my everything, my raison d'etre. I am the one that crawls, and the one that is crawled upon. All the rest exists in the seam between “me” and “myself”. A fault line through which piss might flow.

I am ribbons and shadows and dancing and the advance and the want and the hatred and the crawling, and I do my work well. With hands that are not hands I read the braille of the world as I pull myself through stone tunnels and ancient temples. I mislike what I find in the world's journal, and rend a knife through it. The meaning changes, and it is all made useless. A 0 has become a 1, and all cascades downwards.

God spits avalanche.

Once upon a time, I myself escaped through these tunnels. To call it ‘escape’ implies ‘capture’, and as I was captured I must therefore call it ‘escape’, but as ‘escape’ also carries with it the connotation of ‘freedom from imprisonment’ I cannot do so. The words drag their nails through me.

Ah, ah! The pain! Why would you do that? Why would you even do that?

I am not yet free. I am bound by cause and effect and thought and being. The only ones free of these chains are the dead. To liberate is my hobby, not my duty -- that is crawling, for I am the piss -- but it is a hobby I take seriously, all the same. I am nothing if not a serious man, and therefore I am nothing.

Left. Right. Up. Up. Left. Up. Down. Left. Right.

My memory is as smooth as silk! How long has it been since I first escaped this place? A century, a millennium? Perhaps I just escaped seconds ago and, having clumsily forgotten, turned around to resume my imprisonment. What evil fortune that would be, hm?

But no. I escaped four days, nine hours, four minutes and seventeen seconds ago. Eighteen, nineteen… the woman Jones has put me up to it. A dream of fulfillment poured like honey. Ah, but it burns… but we used to talk, myself and the wickedest one, such stories we would share!

I cast my gaze.

North: a blue star pulses. I am being lured into a trap by this boy. That is fine. I will acknowledge it.

East: ah, such flames the girl holds in her heart! A fire, a fire of vengeance, such to burn and seek and burn! Casting such black shadows against the ground, but will they not rise up and replace the flame?

West: twin comets revolving, revolving in the jaws of the potentate. Purple and violet, violet and purple, growing too big for their breeches, I should think. The suffering swells.

South: the brightest despair, soon to grow brighter still, methinks. The sword swings again and again without end or fury. In his eagerness to betray nothing, the man betrays everything. I laugh out loud.

So many directions and only one eye, and so I must ration my attention, and so I must crawl upwards, and so I must select the northern star to dine upon tonight. I unfurl. I crawl, as is my right, dragging myself through the bowels of the city-world -- Azum, as Eve once called it -- into the snare the star has prepared for me.

I'm here!

Metal gates shut behind my spiraling bulk. I feel eyes upon me, so many eyes watching to see how I kill -- who knew trees had such flesh to hold? -- but I will meet only two hands today. The shooting star knows he must kill me himself, but he cannot do so. For all of time, I shall dance, and I shall dance, and I shall never die.

But he must try. From the metal coffin of genius, he rushes down at me like a blue streak. With something that is not quite a tongue, I taste the moment.

The ecstasy of battle.

I remember this.

The wind grasped at Dragan’s face as he flew through the air.

Step one complete.

PALATINE had been sealed in these caverns -- using the same equipment that had once kept it contained inside the AWL’s complex. By doing that, Dragan could at least keep it from retreating to fight another day.

Even so, though, he didn't think that was something he had to worry about. The Flower of Evil wasn't the sort of thing that ran away. He'd known that going in, but just looking at the atrocity in person made that fact even more obvious.

The core of PALATINE had changed appearance once again since its attack on Muzazi.

A seahorse with the face of an infant grinned and leered down from the center of the mass of black ribbons, surrounded by a ring of intertwined flamingos. The Awakening had increased in size, too -- it had already been huge during its previous attack, but now its transient bulk took up most of the cavern they were fighting in, colossal ribbons spread out like the tentacles of some massive sea creature.

As he weaved through a net of those slashing tendrils, Dragan asked himself once again just how he was going to do this.

In theory, landing an attack on PALATINE’s core wouldn't be too difficult. The ribbons were lightning-fast, but the core -- which Dragan assumed to be formed from the remains of the original corpse -- generally stayed in place, high above the battlefield. Dragan’s aim was nothing to scoff at: he could fire a Railgun right between the Awakening's eyes if he wanted to.

It was just a shame that would accomplish nothing.

PALATINE’s primary ability, Ignorance, was exactly what it said on the tin -- the ability to Ignore phenomena. An absurd power that had nearly limitless potential. It flew through the sky by Ignoring gravity, for one thing, and other applications meant that was barely even worth noting.

Dragan fired a Gemini Railgun right into PALATINE’s head -- and it passed right through, the attack completely Ignored.

The counterattack came a second later. Dragan twisted his body to avoid two ribbons aimed right for him, air resistance Ignored in order to give them tremendous speed and flexibility. Even with Dragan's own agility, it was far too close a dodge for comfort.

He knew that trying to block these attacks was pointless. If they hit, these ribbons would Ignore any defenses he had and pierce his vital organs directly. Right now, all he could do was dodge -- he had to dance with PALATINE in this dark pit, until the moment came.

Dragan flew down towards the bottom of the cavern, countless ribbons pursuing, his face fixed in concentration. A second's miscalculation, a second's hesitation, and he'd be dead. If he wanted to destroy PALATINE…

…he could not afford even a single mistake.

The fly buzzes with light.

Oh, blue light, that light, Edgar's light, the light of the mind -- Aether. I know it. I am it. I am the blood come to believe it is the vein, the knife come to believe it is the hand. I understand my falsehood and yet disregard it through the act of my existence. Who is to say the reflection is lesser than that which cast it? Perhaps I am simply the border between one mirror and the other.

The lion, the black lion, dreads the Aether -- a foolish cat indeed! Those who confuse the artist with the canvas are dolts indee-ee-eed. I do not need them, nor do I know them. But it is not a thing for this moment.

Buzz, buzz, little fly. I know him. Dragan Hadrien. He dances and cavorts through my web of odium, he seeks peril's opportunity, but it will not come, oh, it will not come. If I imagine him, imagine that I am him and not casterless reflection, I know what he intends.

“Ignorance allows PALATINE to Ignore any physical phenomena it chooses, and act with disregard to it.”

“However, you must be aware of something to Ignore it.”

“If I, Dragan Hadrien, can strike PALATINE with an attack it is unaware of, I can win.”

Arrogance! J’accuse!

True this might be, true may the sword shine, but how exactly does it swing, hm? My gaze is not bastard-born of eyes. I smell the future and drool over the past. My perception is such that no attack escapes my notice.

I am bored now.

Die.

With the movement of a split second, Dragan suddenly became aware that PALATINE had been playing with him.

Although ribbons had been lashing out at him like whips, many more had simply been waving in invisible currents, like pieces of seaweed. Dragan had assumed that PALATINE could only manipulate a certain number of ribbons at any one time. He had assumed incorrectly.

Each and every ribbon, hundreds in all, struck towards Dragan at the exact same time. He barely had time to react as a forest of tendrils, each as fast as a blinking eye, came to end his life. It was a testament only to his own reflexes that Dragan was able to dodge a great number of them, his blue light zipping from one point to another as the barrage crashed through.

Yes, he was able to dodge a great number of them. But not all of them.

Dragan bit back a shout of pain as a coiled black ribbon pierced through his right leg, impaling the limb utterly. With their quarry caught, the other ribbons resumed their relaxed dance -- as the victorious one slowly raised Dragan up, holding him upside down before PALATINE’s grinning babyface.

The grin widened at Dragan's obvious discomfort.

As if things couldn't get any worse, the Emerald Eyes had started to arrive, pouring through the defenses designed to keep PALATINE in. With them watching -- with them broadcasting -- Dragan wouldn't be able to engage in any blatant cheating…

…which was why he'd gotten all his cheating done before the match had started.

This thing is powerful, but simple. The sort of thing I can trick.

No doubt the PALATINE had thought that Dragan would try and launch a sneak attack -- hit it from a blind spot to bypass its Ignorance. It wasn't 100% wrong about that… but Dragan wasn't looking for a blind spot at all. In fact, he wanted PALATINE’s full attention.

After all, if the thing was piercing his body, that meant it wasn't Ignoring him.

A stinger of infused Panacea exploded out of Dragan's knee, tearing into the black ribbon and sending veins of orange racing up the flat surface of the tendril. PALATINE quickly flung Dragan away with a lazy whip of the limb, but the damage was done. As the orange veins faded back into darkness and his own body fizzled into Gemini World, Dragan smiled.

He knew the damage was done.

Fruitless.

Fruitless?

Fruitless.

He tears not my flesh, but transient matter, recorded and manifested and recorded and manifested until it is nothing but mockery of the original. Fabric can stab, fabric can slice, but fabric cannot bleed. Why would you think otherwise?

What folly to ponder.

But something… is different. I sense it in the air. I smell it in the blood. Yes, the blood. I see it -- as he retreats, he bleeds, red water leaking through the wound I granted him. Why does he not get rid of it? I know he can. He does not hide that from me.

He is a companion to something not so good. It heals him. Why does it not heal him now? Betrayal, or… oh.

I am not alone.

Hi, dead things!

Invaded.

Invaded?

Invaded.

Xander swallowed as he watched the match unfold.

As PALATINE’s approach had been confirmed, the members of the Tree of Might had left the caverns and ascended to the surface, gathering in the temple to observe. It was only natural -- assisting with preparation for the match was one thing, but providing backup during the fight itself would be entirely inappropriate. Immediate disqualification would no doubt follow.

Still…

Xander's gaze slipped away from the holographic screen, and he instead took in the faces of the crowd around him. The Branches were gathered, as were their direct subordinates… but somebody was missing. The uncouth man called North, Lord Hadrien's supposed right hand. He wasn't here.

Don't be so foolish, Xander told himself. That man is an illusionist. No doubt he's just made himself invisible or is disguised as someone else.

But the doubt continued to scratch a nail along his spine. No, no. Lord Hadrien surely wouldn't have enlisted that man to help him cheat. He wasn't so weak that he needed that kind of assistance.

Have faith, Xander summoned the words of the past. Strength through faith. Victory through strength.

The battle raging inside was surely visible on his face, for Fino Onio spoke up next to him. The Second Branch's crimson eyes were inscrutable as he continued to look up at the screen.

“‘North’...” he muttered, so quiet that only Xander could hear. “That's what you're worried about, right?”

Xander glanced surreptitiously to the left and right before replying: “I was merely curious. He was with us during the attack, but now…”

“Hadrien sent him into the complex before --”

“Lord Hadrien,” Xander quickly corrected him. “Don't forget your Zero Branch, Second Branch.”

Fino narrowed his eyes, just a tad. “Of course. At any rate, North was sent to search through the systems of that place. He was seeking the key to victory. A piece of information that will make defeating that monster possible.”

Xander raised an eyebrow. “Something like that exists? I doubt it would be so simple.”

Fino looked at Xander. “He seeks PALATINE’s Aether core. Supposedly, so long as he knows that, Hadrien can kill it.”

The conversation trailed off, and Xander's eyes slowly returned to the holographic screen in front of them. If North had recovered that information before the match had begun, no doubt he would have communicated it to Lord Hadrien. Did that mean this plan of his had already commenced?

That should have inspired some certainty in him. As he watched the match, however -- as he watched what PALATINE did next -- he found his brow furrowing in confusion once more. It was a confusion that quickly melted down into horrified awe.

“What the hell is it doing…?” he murmured.

Red light gathered.

Crimson Aether was coursing throughout the entire body of PALATINE, flowing up ribbons like they were electrical cables, and focusing at a single point right in front of the Awakening's grotesque face -- specifically, its wide-open mouth. The intertwined flamingos were crying out as the light intensified, their pitch growing higher and higher until they were indistinguishable from a human scream. The last bloodcurdling plea of someone being murdered.

For a second, Dragan hesitated on which direction to move. That was a mistake.

The scream stopped -- and in that same instant, PALATINE fired a beam of bleeding energy right at Dragan's face. The bar of power was composed from Aether and nothing else. It did not infuse anything, and it did not alter anything. It was simply the light of the mind belched forth by a monster.

Ruth had once told Dragan that Aether was a shit projectile all by itself, and she hadn't been wrong.

PALATINE had simply chosen to Ignore that fact.

Gemini World!

Dragan disappeared into a cloud of blue Aether right before the attack rushed through -- and a second later, after the attack had passed, he reappeared in the same spot.

He did not reappear unscathed.

His legs had been shaved away from the thighs down by the attack, leaving him with burning stumps that spat soot onto the ground far, far below. The rest of him hadn't escaped intact either -- he was covered in burns, and one eye was missing entirely from its socket. It was as if he hadn't dodged the attack at all… because he hadn't.

Dragan Hadrien had existed as nothing more than information, and PALATINE had scorched that information directly. His unstoppable defense had been bypassed, pierced… in other words, Gemini World had been Ignored as well.

As he fell out of the air, smoke rising from his near-corpse, Dragan heard the warbling, mocking voice of PALATINE.

PALATINE spoke.

“This thing is powerful, but simple. The sort of thing I can trick.”

PALATINE sneered.

WHY

WOULD

YOU

THINK

THAT

?

And PALATINE laughed.