Aetheral Space

Many Years Ago…

Astra walked through what was left of the chapel.

She looked a ghost as she made her way through the ruined hall. She was still wearing her wedding dress, the white fabric now coated with thick smears of red. They'd have to pay for it now, she realized -- that would be difficult with the change in circumstances. The bullet-holes in the carriage wouldn't help either.

Raising an eyebrow, she looked down at one of the corpses that lay in her wake. Most of the guests had been massacred in that brief attack, but she was pretty sure this one was who the gang had actually been after. One of her fiancée's uncles -- apparently, he'd owed money to some powerful figures in the Adrust underworld. He'd gotten the lion's share of the bullets when the gangsters had fired through the stained glass windows. His head and his legs were intact, but his torso had been reduced to a bloody twig.

Astra frowned. If he'd known there was such a danger, couldn't he have just stayed home?

Her fiancée's corpse lay just a few feet away, face-down on the blood soaked carpet. His hand was still outstretched to where she'd been standing when the attack had started. As soon as the windows had shattered, he'd tried to run over, presumably to try and save her. That had been nice of him.

Did this make her a widow, Astra wondered? They hadn't actually finished the ceremony before the groom had died, but still.

As carefully as possible, she reached out and turned the corpse onto its back, now facing towards the ceiling. All things considered, he'd gotten off fairly easy compared to his uncle. A single bullet had slammed right between his eyes, ending his life instantly.

Astra ran a finger across his face, wiping some of the blood away. It hadn't really sunk in until now, but this was the man she would have married. This was the man who would have been her husband.

It's not that she regretted agreeing to it. They'd known each other since they were children, and so she had a good idea of his character. He had pleasant manners, he had an alright face, and getting married made sense financially given the current state of things.

Still… as she looked down at the face of the man who -- for some reason -- had decided he loved her…

Well, she thought, standing up. These things happen.

Present Day…

The Widow thrust her hand forward, ready to fire forth a torrent of ice and freeze Blackmane where he stood…

…but nothing happened.

The lion didn't have the face for a smile, but the smugness dripped from his sourceless words all the same. "Please don't imagine I was unprepared for this. Speak No Evil!"

As if suddenly seized by his bestial instincts, Blackmane roared -- and before the Widow could react, a burst of invisible force slammed into her, sending her flying back across the massive room.

"Let me make something clear to you," Blackmane said as the Widow landed, slowly prowling forward towards her. "I don't fight anyone I'm not sure I can kill."

"I see…" the Widow grunted, holding her hip as she stood back up. "I take it you've made preparations for me, then, yes?"

"Of course," Blackmane replied, stopping for a moment. "The temperature of this chamber is variable. The moment you attempt to generate ice, the temperature immediately around you will skyrocket to counteract it. Your ability is therefore neutralised."

The Widow nodded. "I see. And that?" she nodded up to the Brain of Granba, that white sphere, still floating behind Blackmane. "How will that help you kill me?"

"The One Promise," Blackmane chuckled. "Did you know that our modern concept of Aether batteries stem from this marvelous Aether Armament? Right now, the Brain of Granba has reconfigured itself to act as an extension of my brain. In essence, it's external storage -- and a means of optimizing my Aether usage. Are you familiar with Kadmon's Excel Surge? The effect is similar."

"I see," the Widow repeated, twirling her cane in her hands. Again, she tried to generate ice, but all she managed was a thin sheen of melting slush that quickly vanished from her weapon. "Is it wise for you to tell me all this, though?"

"It's rare I get the chance to display the fruits of my research like this," Blackmane sighed. "But you're right -- we should proceed. Speak No Evil!"

Again, the lion roared -- and again, the attack struck the Widow like a car, sending her flying. She understood it now, though. Blackmane was attacking her with the same ability he used to speak.

He was manipulating the sound his own body produced to fire off projectiles.

Just like him.

Splendid.

Many Years Ago…

Wilhelm Lostwood, Chief Ultraviolet of the UAP, smirked to himself as he flicked through the file before him.

"Now this is impressive stuff," he said, with the slightest drawl to his words. "Both your ability and your good fortune."

Astra sat silently, her hands in her lap, her pale skin a stark contrast to her bright orange prison jumpsuit. There wasn't much point in replying to this man. There hadn't been a question, nor any need for her to provide information. Everything the man needed, he already had.

"When I say good fortune," he said, leafing through another page. "I mean the fact that we found you and not Pandaemonium. Some of the people you took out had pretty close ties to them. Still, I can't blame you. I heard about what they did at your wedding. You were after revenge, right?"

No.

She hadn't killed those people for any sentimental reason like that. Her concerns had been purely practical -- now that her fiancée was dead, there was every chance those people might now seek to extract his family's debt from her. It was just good sense to get rid of them before they could do harm to her. If she'd been able to do it without getting caught, that would have been even better.

If only.

"Think what you want," she said, her voice quiet, her eyes fixed on the metal table before her. "What's done is done."

"The way you took them out, though…" Wilhelm grinned to himself, still looking down at the file. "The landmine with Galore in particular was excellent -- I'd call it art if I was a sicko. Do you have prior?"

"Prior?"

"With wetwork, I mean," Lostwood said as casually as if it were the weather. "You know, killing people."

Astra shrugged lightly. "It just seemed the right way to do it."

"A natural talent, then," Lostwood narrowed his eyes slightly. "I'll tell you what, Astra. There are two paths before you right now. On one path, you stay here in prison, and Pandaemonium eventually finds you and kills you. On the other…"

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He raised his eyebrows.

"...you go free with me, and you get a job for your troubles. We'll put that natural talent of yours to use. How's that sound?"

Astra considered it for a second. It really didn't require that much thought. It was a question of death in bondage or life in servitude.

Here, as well, the right way to move forward was obvious.

Present Day…

A dislocated arm. That was inconvenient. The Widow grunted as she popped it back into place. This old body really wasn't what it used to be.

It was funny, she supposed, as Blackmane bounded towards her -- already preparing for his next attack. Even in a seemingly hopeless situation like this, she didn't feel the slightest trace of despair. Was that a good thing, though?

Ever since she could remember, she'd lived the life of a silenced pistol. The emotions and passions that seemed to drive those around her were almost nearly smothered within her heart. Sentiment, in particular, had evaded her ever since she was young. She'd lived her life based purely on logic and reason… and that life had led her here.

Was that even something she regretted, though?

"I am curious…" she lied as she clutched her arm. "You've talked a great deal about this experiment of yours, yes? What exactly is this great purpose we're supposed to die for, then?"

Blackmane came to a halt, narrowing his crimson eyes. "There's no reason for me to tell you that."

"But it's as you say," the Widow replied. "You get to talk about your research so very little."

Those blood-red eyes narrowed further.

He knows this is a trick of some kind. A ploy to stall for time. And yet… he can't resist, can he? He's the kind that's devoured by sentiment. Even though he's determined to kill me, he also needs me to know what I'm dying for. Anything else would be unacceptable to him.

What a fool. Should I envy that?

"For seventy-five years now," Blackmane purred. "I have known in my bones -- these or any other -- that mankind will doom itself."

Seventy-five years ago…

"The Kingdom Moon Incident," she said.

"I was there, on this very starship, when the Kingdom Moon Cult threatened to tear the galaxy apart. Driven by belief, they nearly scorched the face of this world beyond recognition. A few humans, armed only with Aether -- a power any can access -- could do such a thing. After coming to that realization, what conclusion remains but apocalypse?"

"Isn't the point of an experiment to produce a conclusion? What point is there if you're already certain?"

"The experiment isn't to determine the problem," Blackmane growled. "It's to implement the solution."

"By what means?"

The Widow went to stand up -- but as she did so, Blackmane thumped his paw against the ground. The thump became a scythe of sound that whipped at the back of the Widow's leg, drawing blood and sending her right back down on the ground. She scowled: right now, she really was in the palm of Blackmane's hand. Well, he didn't have hands, but still.

Even with that, though, Blackmane just kept talking.

"You and your people have undergone great suffering in the last few days. Know that it wasn't without virtue. We are developing an… 'intelligence'. An intelligence designed to aid in the continuity of humanity. Your experiences on the planet below will provide context for that intelligence to work with. Know that your sacrifice will not be in vain."

The Widow blinked at those last words.

As if that would mean anything to me.

Many Years Ago…

Indeed, it was the life of a silenced pistol.

Astra, who had come to call herself the Widow -- a convenient moniker -- did her work well. As an Ultraviolet, she nudged planets and governments wherever her superiors directed. Presumably, they based these on some underlying principles or ideals they wanted to put into action. She didn't care much for any of that. To her, her work was nothing but comfortable pay.

A lack of conscience proved useful in her arena, and so she found herself progressing down it quickly. She pulled the trigger again, and again, and again. Some of her colleagues found themselves broken by that. She found that unusual. It was just killing people, after all.

The label of 'Ultraviolet' soon became inconvenient for her work. The first iteration of Vantablack Squad was her new home -- a group of people just like her. Those detached from the world, those detached from humanity, who could do whatever was needed and never be traced back to the UAP. She pulled the trigger again, and again, and again. It still wasn't much to speak of.

She pulled triggers within the UAP.

She pulled triggers within the Final Church.

She pulled triggers within the Supremacy.

And that last trigger brought her into the heart of Azum-Ha, into the hallowed halls of the Body, face to face with a vat of liquid Panacea…

…and the boy from the past who had been reborn from it.

Present Day…

"You know," the Widow said, falling back into a rough slouch on the floor. "I think there was a time where I wanted to be like you."

Blackmane cocked his head slightly.

"Oh, not you specifically," she waved her hand. "But those like you, yes? Those who drown in sentiment. Those with that strand attaching them to this world."

She chuckled.

"Don't misunderstand me," she said. "It wasn't a great yearning or anything like that. More… a mild curiosity than anything else. There was this boy, you see, from back in my Vantablack days. Back then, I thought he was like me… but when I saw him again, a few years ago, I saw that he'd become like you. Drowning in sentiment."

"Is there a point to this?"

"You'd deny an old woman her last words?"

Blackmane fell silent. Ah… he truly was a fool.

"That boy, that man… he'd gathered people around him. Vibrant people, people firmly latched onto this world… I guess they must have rubbed off on him. Through them, he was able to take the silencer off his pistol. I was curious to see if the same could happen to me. Hence my current Vantablack Squad."

She raised a hand.

"Alas," she said mildly. "It turns out it doesn't work that way. I don't feel any different at all. Well, these things happen."

"Are you done?" Blackmane scoffed.

"One last thing, yes?" the Widow smiled back. "From what I know of you, you have three abilities. Speak No Evil creates your voice via manipulating sound, while See No Evil and Hear No Evil boost those senses respectively to absurd levels. You can read my actions via looking at my Aether, and listen to me so intently you can count my heartbeats. With that in mind, I do have to say one thing."

"And what is that?"

She looked up at him. "You really shouldn't have been focusing on me."

The One Promise popped.

Blackmane whipped his massive head around as the ancient Aether Armament suddenly exploded, showering glass and brain matter on the floor beneath it. A roar of outrage poured from his throat as he saw the treasure of humanity be destroyed -- and his red eyes brightened into murder as he saw the culprit responsible. A young boy clad in white, kneeling amidst the destruction.

"Wolfram," said the Widow, rising to her feet. "He's part of that squad I was telling you about. I apologize for the deception," she lied. "But I needed to keep you focused on me while he infiltrated the Armament."

Blackmane roared in bestial fury -- and the sound projectile crashed through the floor towards the Widow, this time seeking to crush her completely.

In response, she waved a hand --

-- and negated it entirely.

"W-What?!"

"The boy I was talking about had a similar sound-manipulation ability," she answered calmly. "If I project my cold air in a certain pattern, I can disperse the sound and negate your attacks. Even if I can't create ice, I can create the necessary movement in the air currents. Now that the One Promise is gone, that's all I need."

Blackmane took a heavy step backwards. "Y-You…!"

"I trusted that boy a great deal," the Widow said, lowering her body. "And I don't trust anybody I don't know how to kill."

Without another useless word, she darted forward.

No matter what shape they took, she knew how to kill a man.