Aetheral Space

It hadn't been easy to get out of the Seat of Man, but Alcera Nox had done it. Broken walls and broken windows. That didn't mean she'd escaped, though -- and it certainly didn't mean she was safe.

Not that she was the one she was concerned about right now.

Tap, tap, tap.

She hopped from foothold to foothold as she retreated into the city, sweat coating her face. Surveillance automatics and floating billboards -- all the world was her staircase right now, another step on her desperate scramble to safety. Behind her, the hulking monolith of the Seat of Man refused to grow small, as if taunting her.

She glanced down at the one she held in her arms, trying her best to ignore the warmth of blood coating her hands.

The man from the Tree of Might they'd clashed against -- the Third Branch, Tyr Masterman -- was a terror. Within barely a minute of fighting, Sam had already received a grievous wound -- and Alcera had immediately decided to get out of there. They'd bought the Widow that minute of time, and it was more than she deserved anyway.

How long had she been running now, at full speed? Long enough for a safe distance, at least. Alcera came to a halt atop the next skyscraper, in the midst of a rooftop garden, allowing herself just a moment to catch her breath.

"Alcera…" Sam wheezed. "Don't…"

"Not leaving you," Alcera hissed back, her voice straining against the bars in her mind as she tried to make herself heard.

"Not that…" Sam gasped. "You --"

Tap.

"You're fast, ung dame," came the casual voice of Tyr Masterman from behind her. "Yes, very fast… but I'm fairly fast myself."

Slowly, as if moving through molasses, Alcera looked over her shoulder in horror. She'd put everything she'd had into that escape. Adrenaline and Aether and Aether-infused adrenaline, all driving her as far from the battlefield as possible. She'd been sure nobody could catch up to her, and yet…

…and yet here stood Tyr Masterman.

He looked different from when they'd been fighting before. Branches of wood were winding around his face, surrounding his eyes like a domino mask -- and a cape of vivid autumn leaves flowed out from his back. He smiled politely as their eyes met.

"My Absolutian," he explained, one hand behind his back. "Maple -- when it comes to speed, I'm afraid I can't be beat, young lady."

Alcera swallowed, taking a slow step back, shielding Sam with her body.

She didn't say anything, but Masterman seemed like he understood what was going through her head.

"We began a battle," he said softly. "A duel between me and you. Even if you run away, do you expect me to just abandon our clash? Ah, no, I cannot. Skammelig."

Carefully, Alcera lowered Sam down, setting him down against the wall. He reached out with a hand to stop her letting go, but she quickly stepped away.

"Don't," he said, voice hoarse. "He'll kill you."

"You have good judgement, my child," Masterman stroked his tower of facial hair. "Indeed, putting down your burden turns your situation from impossible to improbable. Now, at last…"

He smiled --

"...it can be called a fight."

-- and came for her.

Five Years Ago…

Once, the name Nox had meant something.

They had been up there with the Graces and the de Fleurs and the Vocinante -- old families, drenched in prestige, serving as jewels in the crown of Supremacy. There had been Nox among the Unkindnesses of Renée the Raven, among Gael's Heroes of Form, even among the bloody Kitchen of Henri the Glutton. The decline had all started with that final bloody bastard, General Artorius Nox.

With his death in the Kingdom Moon Incident, the star of the Nox had steadily begun to fall. Their business connections had slowly cut off contact, their political influence began to wither away… and, day by day, Nox became a word much like any other.

Alcera and Derna had been the family's last hopes -- twin prodigies, skilled in combat. It was thought that they could be pushed to the forefront of the next generation of Special Officers, that they could serve as symbols that the Nox were far from done. What a joke. They'd never even gotten their certification.

Not that things were much better before then.

"Hey," said Daphne Halacourt, thumping Alcera's desk with her foot. "Hey. I'm talking to you."

Alcera looked up from her script, her face blank and unamused. This was not an unusual situation. Every time the instructor left for the lunch hour, Daphne would inevitably beeline for a classmate to torment. Her usual victim Niles wasn't here today, so it seemed she was trying her luck with Alcera.

"Hey," Daphne smirked, putting her hands on her hips as she rattled the desk once again with her foot. "Can you not hear me? Are you seriously deaf or something? Come on, just answer me. That's so rude."

This time, her kick was more vicious, slipping past the table leg and striking Alcera in the shin.

Ow.

Alcera said nothing.

It was funny. Daphne always waited for the instructor to leave before doing this sort of thing, but he probably wouldn't have done anything about it if he was here. Star-Haven Combat Academy was said to be the Supremacy writ small -- while they all wore the blue blazers, the strong were free to torment the weak as they liked.

Even if 'strong' just equaled 'loud and obnoxious' at this age.

Case in point, Daphne peered in further, inspecting Alcera's bored face with a hint of distaste.

"Oh my god," she muttered. "You're so weird. How come you don't talk? Do you think you're better than everyone else or something? That's so stuck-up of you. You're such a freak. You --"

The screech of a chair, making Alcera seem much angrier than she was as she got up. A thin smirk stretched across Daphne's face -- she thought she'd gotten the reaction she wanted. Any reaction at all seemed to fill her with joy, though.

"I'm joking," she giggled, taking a step back. "Are you being serious right now? Did you not get that was a joke? No wonder people think you're weird, you need to chill out, okay?"

As she spoke, she swayed forward and backwards, hands still clasped behind her back, as if daring Alcera to take a swing for her stupid face as it came in and out of reach.

Alcera wasn't mad.

Alcera wasn't mad at all.

Unclenching her fists, she turned to leave --

"I hear your sister's a weirdo too!"

-- and then turned to kick that bitch's ass.

Only -- the door opened.

Derna Nox poked her head into the classroom, her calm red eyes scanning the situation before her. Her frown deepened slightly, and her gaze flicked to Alcera -- who was still mid-step towards Daphne.

"Don't bother with her sort of scum," Derna said, her voice dull. "All she can do is bang at her drum."

Alcera smiled, the tension already leaving her body. "It's true, it's true," she sighed. "An animal like her belongs in a zoo."

Daphne and her friends were already laughing at the Nox twins' unique manner of speech, but Alcera didn't care anymore. As she walked out of the classroom to join her sister, she'd already forgotten entirely about Daphne's taunts. Compared to the peace that had returned to her now, that girl was nothing.

Nobody who looked at the Nox twins would have been able to tell them apart. They had the same face, they wore their hair the same way, and they dressed identically. They were two halves of a whole: it wouldn't do for them to look different from one another.

When Alcera and Derna had been children, they'd had their own language, one that none of the grown-ups could understand -- a tongue for them alone. As they'd grown up, their parents had managed to get them to talk relatively normally, save the rhyming, but they would still only speak when the other one was around. You couldn't talk if you only had half a tongue.

Alcera was half of Derna, and Derna was half of Alcera. Only when they were together were they a whole person. They were two halves of a whole -- and the thing about being two halves of a whole…

…was that you were never alone.

Present Day…

Alcera Nox bled.

Tyr Masterman's speed simply could not be beaten. He'd ceased to be a man and instead become a dancing flicker -- a flit at the edge of vision that drew blood and opened wounds. Blood gushed from the half-a-dozen cuts Alcera had already suffered -- thin scratches carved into her skin with Masterman's infused nails. In the moment he was visible, he waved his hand in the air, splattering blood onto the leaves of the tree beside him.

Alcera gasped for breath, holding her wounded side as she stood protectively in front of Sam. Her cold hand gripped her combat knife and lifted it once more. She closed one eye as blood dribbled down into it.

It didn't matter if she could see or not

She couldn't let this man get past her.

She couldn't let this man hurt Sam.

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She couldn't let this man kill her.

She was one half of a whole, and she wouldn't die apart from the rest of her. Derna was still out there, somewhere, floating in space and waiting. Alcera had to live until she could break free and take her sister back.

Alcera had to live until she could break free and take vengeance on the Widow.

"Veldig bra," Tyr Masterman said, blood dripping from underneath his nails. "It's rare for someone to stay standing after so many wounds. You do yourself a credit, miss."

Shut up.

"But the battle is already over," Masterman continued, raising his stained hand like a blade. "After fighting me, you should understand you simply don't have the ability to dodge or counter, ja? It's not a question of determination or resolve or anything like that. Physically, we are just not equal. A horse cannot out-gallop a bullet."

Red Aether flared --

-- and immediately died down as Alcera collapsed to the ground, blood spraying from the back of her leg.

Masterman was standing behind her now, between her and Sam. It was happening again. No… she had to get up… she had to get up…

"Case in point," the Third Branch said somberly, his arms crossed as he looked down at her. "As I said, min kjære, you fought well… but effort alone is not a victory."

He plucked a single leaf from his cape, holding it between two fingers and infusing it with vivid green Aether. This would be the blade to end the fight, Alcera knew. In the next instant, Tyr Masterman would slice through her neck and end her life.

And then, he would turn around and kill her.

"Farvel."

What happened next couldn't even be called the work of an instant. It was far too fast for that. Right as Tyr went to finish it, right as his muscles began to prepare to take the step that would commence his attack --

-- Sam Set thrust a blade towards his back.

Tyr dodged it, of course. In the blink of an eye, the Third Branch had moved to the other side of the garden, his eyes widened cautiously, his stance wide and ready. The fact that he'd dodged it was no surprise. With his absurd speed, it was no surprise at all.

What was a surprise, though… was the fact that he was surprised.

Sam let out a shaky breath. The 'blade' he held was, in reality, a shard of broken glass from one of the windows. Even as he gripped it, he was painting it with his blood. How long could he even continue to hold onto it? He was hurting himself more than the enemy.

"Sam," Alcera hissed, as loudly as she could. "Don't. Run. Get away."

He couldn't get away, obviously, he couldn't run -- but he couldn't fight either. That backstab was the closest he would ever get to landing a blow on this enemy. Now that it had been avoided, there was no hope.

Trying to keep fighting now was nothing but folly.

Only…

Sam Set looked down at Alcera with exhausted eyes, and smiled with pale lips.

"It's fine," he said weakly. "This'll only take a minute."

"That strike was impeccable," Tyr Masterman stroked his moustache. "If it were anyone but me… well. Who trained you, boy? How did you learn to attack like that?"

Sam Set took a deep breath.

"Practice," he said.

If Sam shortened the duration of Only I's loops, he could greatly increase their number. He'd struck at this man many times. A fraction of a second, repeated again and again -- fourty, maybe fifty times. The angle, the speed, the strike… he'd optimized them through repetition and repetition and repetition.

He'd finally executed the most perfect stab available to him in the circumstances… and it still hadn't been enough. But that didn't mean he could give up.

There was still a long time until he was allowed to give up.

"Self-taught, hm?" Tyr Masterman nodded to himself. "That's a fine thing, a fine thing, gutten min. I've a mind to make you an offer. How about I take you under my wing, as part of the Tree of Might? We could train that skill into something truly magnificent."

Sam hesitated.

"And her?" he asked, looking down into Alcera's wide red eyes with his tired blue.

The half-smile dropped from Masterman's face. "She is my opponent, and she has lost. I must now finish her. That is the way of a duel."

"I see," Sam replied, raising the shard of glass. "In that case… go to hell."

"Fine spirit," Masterman sighed. "But poor judgement. Very well. Die."

The Third Branch vanished…

Only I!

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

…and Sam Set dodged.

The hand that had pulverized his skull countless times swept right over his face instead, just barely avoiding brushing over the tip of his nose.

That strike had taken a tenth of a second, and it had taken Sam a thousand and four tries to dodge it. So long as he found the timing and the movement in his simulation, he could execute it in the real world… but still. For about a minute and a half, he'd experienced the sensation of consecutive murder.

And it wasn't over yet.

The hand like a blade lunged forth like lightning, right for Sam's throat…

Only I!

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

… and Sam Set died.

…and Sam Set dodged.

The first strike had not been deadly at all, Sam realized. It had been practice, play, gauging Sam's strength. It was only because Sam was so weak that it had killed him so easily.

This strike was deadly.

It took ten thousand attempts to avoid the blow. Nearly seventeen minutes against a single attack, dying and dying and dying, until Sam could barely just avoid it. Even then, he felt his ear split into tatters as the strike brushed against it, spraying blood across the left side of his face. That was the best he was going to get.

A chop to the neck and a knee to the gut. A chop strong enough to decapitate, a knee strong enough to disembowel. Impossible to dodge both at once.

Nearly impossible.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam died.

Sam dodged.

A hundred thousand attempts. Three hours. He avoided them both in the end.

Tyr Masterman moved -- and Sam Set died.

Only I.

Again, and again, and again. He memorized the shape of pain. These could very well be the last seconds of his life. He'd become familiar with every element.

Only I.

A hand with fingers like knives seized Sam by the throat. It took him nearly a day to break free. By the time the day had ended, his enemy had blinked but once.

Only I.

A thrust to the eye. Easier. It took only hours to avoid -- but the follow-up kick, designed to bisect, was trickier. For three days Sam Set felt the open air flow into his innards. Even when he survived, he was sent flying, his hip snapping like a twig against the blow.

Only I.

He didn't go flying far. It took him a week, but even amidst the pain and the confusion of that fraction of a fraction of a second, he was able to seize hold of his enemy's cape. He was able to stay within the range of victory.

Only I.

Yes… victory, not survival, was what he aimed for here.

A flurry of blows.

Weeks of dodging.

It's fine. I really don't mind, Alcera. This is what I can do, so I'm doing it. That's all that needs saying.

A hammer-fist to the skull.

Months of feeling brain give way.

Before I met you, I had nothing but empty days, and I could see them stretching on forever and ever. I would live a life I didn't care about, and then I would die. The survival of an insect, not the happiness of a human being.

Since I met you, even when the days have been dark, even when they've been bloody and atrocious and terrible…

…they've never felt empty to me.

A shard of glass dancing over skin.

A year to get the angle right.

So, I don't care how far I have to go.

If you're the one waiting at the end…

…well, that's alright, then.

"Magnificent," Tyr Masterman breathed -- and blood sprayed from his open throat, cleanly slit by Sam's makeshift blade. He collapsed to the ground, awe still shining in his eyes. His mask of wood and his cape of leaves flaked away into nothingness.

Sam joined him a moment later. His head felt like it was on fire, and his thoughts felt like they'd been ground to dust. The floor rushed towards him like a train…

…but it never reached him.

Instead, he was caught by warm arms and pulled close. Alcera. Sam smiled softly to himself as she carefully lowered him to the ground.

Worth it…

Alcera blinked the tears out of her eyes as she put Sam down, resting his unconscious head on her folded-up cloak. She didn't know exactly what he'd done to defeat that enemy, but he'd clearly pushed himself beyond his limits. She didn't see him waking up anytime soon.

Someone would have to keep watch over him, but …

The explosion of ice was distant, but Alcera still turned when she heard it. She knew that noise. Right now, the Widow was fighting -- using the time that Sam had paid so much for.

This was the day, wasn't it? This was her chance. The moment of weakness she'd waited for -- the time when she could enact her vengeance on the Widow. The day she could strike the old witch down.

Alcera had experienced it for herself already -- this was a ferocious battle. If she didn't go after the Widow now, she might lose her chance. If she didn't kill her today, someone else would beat her to it.

She went to stand up -- and then stopped, looking down at Sam.

He… wasn't safe here, was he? So… there was nothing else for it.

Without hesitation, Alcera sat down next to him, picking up the shard of glass and holding it protectively. Until he woke up, she'd keep him safe. She had no choice in the matter.

She was half of a whole, after all.