Aetheral Space

It took more than hands to wield an Old Demon of the Dawn.

Once great heroes of Inganci, their long war against the Supremacy had transformed them into degenerate beasts of bloodlust and mayhem, eager to turn their malice against the universe at large. That malice was not an easy thing to resist. Even just touching one of the five weapons that housed their consciousnesses… you could feel it. A second heartbeat just beneath your own, seeking to climb your soul and supplant you at the peak. A drumbeat in your bones. A call to endless war.

Those who could not control the Demon would be controlled by the Demon, and those that could not control themselves had no future but puppetry. So it was that only the finest, most disciplined warriors of Inganci were permitted to even approach an Old Demon of the Dawn. Even fewer were allowed to wield one.

It required iron will.

It required constant vigilance.

It required a heartbeat that drowned out all others.

And so, as Jamilu Aguta fought against the First Branch of the Tree of Might -- the child warlord Xander Rain -- he felt no fear at all. Why would he? He faced a far more dangerous opponent every day, all for the sake of repaying his debt to the Oba.

This opponent didn't even matter to him.

Xander Rain spun his halberd in the air as Jamilu rushed in -- and six twisting tendrils of wind lashed out from around him, each one striking towards Jamilu with strength enough to shatter bones. The attacks were nearly invisible, but Jamilu was ready for them -- dropping to the floor and sliding under the great round table Xander was standing on. From there, he stabbed upwards with Victory a dozen times in an instant, peppering the table with holes and causing it to split into countless pieces.

It had been too much to hope that those blind attacks would have hit their mark, though. By the time Jamilu had started stabbing, Xander had already retreated upwards. He floated in the air, robe billowing majestically around him as the currents of wind danced.

Jamilu's Principality had unlimited access to matters of combat -- and so it had access to Xander Rain's observational data as a potential enemy. His Aether ability, instinctive and subconscious, allowed him to control the flow of things. A vague power like that was troublesome, but essentially it allowed him to control the direction and speed of moving objects or forces -- at least to a limited degree, and in a limited radius around himself.

"It's a shame," Xander Rain called down, in the tone of one mimicking someone much older. "The Inganci are strong warriors, and yet you submit yourselves to the degeneracy of the UAP. It's unsightly."

"Our blades are for the protection of the people," Jamilu replied, adjusting his grip on his spear. "Those like you, who fight only for self-advancement, could never understand that."

Xander narrowed his eyes. "There is victory," he said, voice low. "And nothing else."

"Indeed," Jamilu said -- and he focused his pink Aether into the tip of his spear. "Come here, then. Come meet Victory for yourself."

There was a sound like a gunshot as he launched himself off the ground, and a sound like artillery as two blades met.

Many Years Ago…

The Watcher-Bells, right at the top of Inganci's Grand Palace, were not open to the common man. Five huge Aether constructs of shining silver, they hung in a row before the gathered warriors, silent and still. If the world was kind, they would remain silent and still forever.

Alas.

Each of the five Watcher-Bells was linked to one of the Old Demons of the Dawn. Wisdom, Resolve, Daring, Mercy, Victory.

If one of those dread weapons was to slip out of their chains and threaten the world once more, their bell would ring, sending a signal through the Principality network and mobilising those who could subdue it once more. Today, though… silent and still.

For this most solemn of ceremonies, the spear Victory had been brought here -- ready to receive a new wielder. The threat the Old Demons posed was severe, but their utility was undeniable -- the Aether Armaments their consciousnesses had been recorded onto were of the highest grade, each one a central pillar of Inganci's military might. The spear Victory was no exception.

Sixteen chosen warriors awaited judgment today, sixteen who had honed their minds and bodies to control the power of an Old Demon of the Dawn. Three of the chosen had already tried to become Victory's wielder, and three had already failed. Their resolve had been lacking. Two had suffered personality contamination, and would require treatment for what could be years… while the third had been struck down before Victory could wield him.

Yes, not all warriors were here today to try their hand at mastery of the demonic. Some were here to watch and -- should it become necessary -- act. One blade wept blood already.

"Jamilu Aguta," said the Oba, standing before the pedestal upon which Victory rested. "Are you prepared?"

He was resplendent in his golden armour, distinguished with his seasoned gaze. A throne rested right at the back of this massive chamber, beneath the bells, but there was no need for the Oba to sit upon it. He was a man who stood with his people. Wherever he happened to walk was his throne.

Jamilu stood. Sixteen years old, with many accolades and triumphs under his belt already, and not a sliver of doubt in his mind. He nodded.

"I am, my Oba."

Jamilu strode forward -- but just as he passed the Oba on his way to the pedestal, he felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder. The Oba's next words were for him alone.

"You imagine a debt," the Oba said quietly. "But no such debt exists. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Jamilu took a deep breath and looked up at the face of the sovereign. It hadn't changed at all since the day he'd welcomed the orphans into this palace -- since the day he'd given Jamilu a place in this world. His heart thumped with confidence.

"I owe you too much," Jamilu replied, just as quiet. "It can't go unpaid. I couldn't bear it."

Slowly, the Oba closed his eyes and suppressed a sigh. The hand fell from Jamilu's shoulder. When the Oba spoke once more, it was with the king's voice -- speaking to a kingdom, not any individual.

"Then go," he said, turning back towards the gathered warriors. "And take Victory in your hands."

Jamilu stepped through the Oba's shadow, the pedestal growing larger in his vision as he approached. The weapon that rested on it… just by looking, he could tell it was a physical object, just a spear infused and altered by Aether… but it felt like more. It was as though someone had drawn their fingernail over the world and opened up its skin.

A ghastly red wound of a weapon.

He reached out… it was warm.

He grabbed hold of it… it was hot.

He took a deep breath… and it was burning.

And when the moment of pain cleared, the world had changed.

The palace was in ruins around him, the roof broken open, exposing a burnt red sky. The five Watcher-Bells lay demolished on the floor, crushed and warped beyond recognition, and all the stone they rested on was charred a deep and scratchy black.

Jamilu took a breath. It tasted like smoke. Everything was like smoke here.

"Oh? Another one…?"

He steeled himself as he looked up -- past the ruined building, past the mangled bells -- and saw that the throne at the end of the chamber was no longer empty. A shadow sat in it. An indistinct silhouette, vaguely humanoid, sprawled on the throne in a gnarled pile of limbs. It stared at Jamilu with two tiny pink pinpricks of eyes.

Jamilu dropped to the ground, planting his fists against the floor and bowing his head low.

"Honoured ancestor," he said respectfully, closing his eyes. "I bid you greetings."

"Comedian…?" the spirit purred. "Oh… we have a funny guy here. Hahahaha…"

Victory's voice did not echo through this place as it should have. Instead, the sound seemed to crawl across the floor, squirming up into Jamilu's ears like some unwelcome insects. He suppressed a shudder.

"Not at all," he said, keeping his voice steady as he opened his eyes and looked back up a tad. "No matter what you have become now, you and your kin were once heroes of Inganci. I would be remiss to ignore that."

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The pink eyes narrowed.

"Sweet talking me, huh?" the demon sneered. "That sort of shit might work on Daring, but not me, brat. You just want my power. Right? Hahaha… I don't blame you. It's really something."

Jamilu took a deep breath. "The duty of an Inganci warrior is to protect the Inganci people."

Victory scoffed. "Warriors… people…? Nah… there's no such thing as warriors or people. Just animals, eating each other, all the way down. You shouldn't stress yourself out worrying about duties or ideals or whatever the fuck. Just enjoy the feeling of meat between your teeth, hot blood on your tongue. That's all there is… in the end."

Jamilu said nothing.

"You don't agree, brat?"

"A human who declares themselves an animal," Jamilu said. "Sounds like a human who's given up… if you ask me."

"Here we go," Victory chuckled humourlessly. "All that so-called respect goes away pretty quick, huh? Go ahead. Tell me how you really feel. What do you need my power for, boy?"

Jamilu gritted his teeth. He hadn't come here with deceit in his heart; when he'd offered the ancestor his respect, he'd meant it. But, just as truly, the things it was saying now boiled his blood.

"I have a debt I must repay," he said, voice low. "I'll repay it through service. Your power will aid me in this service."

"Duties and debts and service…" Victory sighed. "You're boring, man. Is it really such a terrible thing to just live for yourself?"

Jamilu said nothing to that.

"Fine, then. You can talk a big game…" Victory crawled out of his throne, pink eyes drawing closer. "...but let's see if you can live up to it."

It was the work of an instant.

Victory was upon Jamilu before he could breathe, the shadow lunging forth with a clawed hand -- a hand that tore right through Jamilu's chest. Dodging wasn't even a possibility. Jamilu opened his mouth, and blood sprayed from deep within his throat.

"Ah…" he choked. "Y-You…"

"Weak," Victory chuckled. "Very weak, hahaha… the last guy challenged me to a contest of arms, you know? That was a mistake. It would've been even worse for you. Still, the result is the same either way."

Those pink eyes blazed into contemptuous life, inches from Jamilu's face, staring as he succumbed to his injury.

"If you survive on the way out," Victory mocked. "You tell the Oba to send someone a little more impressive next… hm?"

The demon looked down at its fist, still running Jamilu through. It had just tried to pull it free… but failed. It tried again, and failed again.

"What are you doing?" it snarled. "Get off."

Jamilu grinned with bloody teeth. "If you want to tell the Oba something…" he wheezed. "...you can tell him yourself. You're leaving this place with me."

He seized hold of Victory's arm, gripping it with all his strength and will, ignoring the agony from his wound as he slowly dragged the demon backwards -- towards the end of this illusory realm.

"Fuck off!" Victory barked.

"If it's as you say…" Jamilu gasped. "...and you are nothing but a beast..."

He looked into those blazing pink eyes with a blazing resolve of his own.

"...then I'll be the one to bring you to heel."

"You little shit!"

Jamilu pulled one last time…

…and as he saw the world return to life…

…he felt the weight of Victory in his hands.

Present Day…

A bead of sweat trickled down Xander's forehead.

Xander's father had had a saying -- actually, he'd had so many sayings. For Xander, the world had been made of the things his father had muttered to himself, over and over again. They formed the spine of his life.

Win, and you are a winner for a short while. Lose, and you're a loser forever.

He had lost to the Supreme, that was true… but that was within the realm of the Supremacy, that was the establishment of subordinate and superior. That defeat was poison that Xander could swallow. Losing here, though? Losing to an enemy of the Supremacy, and failing his mandate?

Unacceptable.

Xander spun his halberd, whipping the air into a frenzy and then adjusting its flow -- creating a barrage of wind-bullets that smashed into the ground far below, shattering the floor and sending clouds of dust flying in every direction.

His eyes flicked around as he floated high above, watching for signs of his enemy's approach. Every now and then, he'd see it -- a shadow darting through the smog, disappearing by the time he fully looked at it. Nebula Two was waiting for his chance --

No. He'd found his chance.

Xander whirled around, raising his halberd and blocking the spear-thrust that would have pierced his heart. Nebula Two had used that spear of his to float up behind him and execute a sneak attack -- and now even as Xander blocked, Aguta was pushing in further, seeking to pierce his defenses.

As if.

There was a flow to all things, and the force of this attack was no exception. Xander took the flow of kinetic energy within his weapon -- the flow of vibrations from the block -- and redirected them. Out of the blade, down the handle, into the palm of Xander's right hand… he could feel the pressure in his skin there, ready to explode.

He would not deny it.

With a cry of exertion, he thrust his hand forward -- planting it against Aguta's stomach and releasing the blast of force. Pressure exploded out of Xander's palm, striking Aguta deep and sending him flying, his back thumping against the concrete wall.

Xander did not relent. Manipulating the flow of air around himself to stay aloft, he rushed forwards, swinging the blade of his halberd towards Aguta's neck. Today, he would bring home the head of a Nebula.

Only…

Calamity.

Xander gasped in pain as the beads of Aguta's sweat left on his hand burst into a shower of pink sparks, a wave of heat clutching his fingers in an instant.

Jamilu Aguta didn't miss the chance. Taking advantage of the opening, he darted right back in, seizing Xander by the collar and hurling him down towards the floor. Xander gasped as he struck the ground, a wave of brown Aether exploding out from the point of impact. An eager spear's blade pointed down towards his prone figure. The kill was prepared for.

As Jamilu lunged down, Xander raised both his hands, ready to unleash another barrage of air shots -- but Nebula Two was ready for this as well.

Victory danced.

As Jamilu plummeted, he spun his spear in a complex and chaotic revolution -- the sheer air pressure produced by the movements disrupting the flow of the air even as Xander tried to control it. Under these conditions, he couldn't even take flight again to escape. Once, twice, thrice, he thumped his fist against the ground to produce geysers of kinetic energy -- but Aguta just darted out of the way each time.

As the distance became nothing, Aguta raised his spear above his head, the blade pointing right down towards Xander's heart. The boy watched, transfixed, as the end came for him.

I'm going to die.

I'm going to lose.

No.

Xander's hands twitched.

He had been told not to do this. His teacher had told him not to do this, his father had told him not to do this, his Supreme had told him not to do this. The sheer potential of his subconscious ability made this unstable. Such strength without the proper will behind it was nothing but a disaster.

Xander's eyes watered.

And yet…

Win, and you are a winner for a short while. Lose, and you're a loser forever.

Xander's mouth opened.

"ABSOLUTIAN!" he screamed.

Jamilu Aguta blinked -- and in doing so, he missed the end of the battle.

One second, his blade was inches from Xander Rain's chest, ready to pierce his heart and end his life. The next, Jamilu was crumpled against a wall nearly dented to destruction, his body full of pain and tremors. What had happened? Had he lost consciousness?

He looked down, and saw where his pain was coming from. He had lost his right arm. Blood poured copiously from the stump of his shoulder, adding to the growing puddle beneath him. Slowly, he blinked.

"Well," Victory giggled. "Looks like you're fucked, brat."

Jamilu looked up, and saw that the demon perhaps wasn't wrong.

Xander Rain had changed.

It was still the boy before him, Jamilu could see… but he was no longer himself. An armour of wood had erupted from within his body, forming a humanoid cage, encasing him between bar-like branches. Rain's body dangled, legs in the air, within the arboreal beast.

The boy's head was encased in a wooden helmet, exposing only his teeth -- bared like some animal, thin wooden tendrils trickling out from between his jaws. Saliva dripped from his mouth, pooling on the ground far below him. Blinded by his own Absolutian, he loomed in the middle of the wrecked meeting room, great bolts of brown Aether lashing from his form and crashing against the floor.

Jamilu took a deep breath, wincing as he tried to pull himself up, blood still gushing. The bulk of the pain hadn't reached him yet. This fight was not yet over.

He grabbed hold of Victory…

…and Xander Rain opened his mouth.

"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅!"

The roar shook the air itself, so loud that it became silence, gusts of pressure blasting out and nearly sending Jamilu flying by themselves. The walls cracked, the roof fell in… Jamilu heard the sound of shattering glass, and knew that it was coming from every window for miles around. This wasn't just a monster before him. This was a disaster.

And then came the charge.