Aetheral Space

There was smoke in the distance.

Morgan Nacht watched it, golden gaze steady, standing on the balcony of his hotel room. The blaring of alarms filled the air, and the sky -- for once -- was void of traffic. Ever since the arrival of the Sheshanaga, and the first explosions from the Seat of Man, an evacuation warning had been sounding again and again. Everyone else in the hotel had flocked to the nearest shelter.

Not Morgan, though.

Muzazi was at the Seat of Man -- he'd gone there to meet with Pierrot, to try and get his help finding Aclima. Morgan didn't know what was happening over there. Calls were being jammed, it seemed like, or Muzazi just wasn't picking up his script. Maybe he was already in the middle of all that chaos, fighting. If that was the case, then Morgan surely should have been on his way there already, to join his friend in the fight.

But Morgan had his… suspicions.

So he stepped back inside, turned to face the window, and sat cross-legged on the floor. His sword rested across his lap. Even when he saw the hellish pink glow blazing in the direction of the battle, he didn't budge.

He was waiting, after all.

Waiting for his suspicions to be proven right.

Blood dripped from the ceiling.

Victory had to hand it to the warriors of Inganci accompanying the Oba -- they'd really hauled ass down here once they'd found out what happened. Their Principalities would have given them a signal once he was detected in the network, but still. It was just a shame their strength hadn't matched their speed.

Victory glanced back at his handiwork as he held one warrior against the wall by his head. He'd really done a number on the poor bastards.

Disemboweling was about as tame as it got. One man had been impaled on the corpse of one of his comrades, their two bodies forming a bizarre X that prevented either of them even hitting the floor. Another lay in a grotesque heap, arms and legs broken, his tongue resting on his chest -- Victory had pulled it out, right down to the root. Others were suspended from the ceiling by their own entrails, like puppets dancing along to strings of meat.

Victory smiled fondly to himself. In just a few minutes, he'd turned the Central Governing Council's meeting chamber into his own personal art gallery.

"Please… just let me go…"

He turned back to the young man who was holding against the wall. Only one eye was visible between Victory's fingers -- and it was wide, filled with terror. That was Victory's favourite look in the whole world. Fear was respect's neighbour, after all, and honestly? His place was much nicer.

"Sure," Victory said. "I'll let you go."

He pushed beneath the warrior's face with his fingers, digging deep and digging red. It was just like peeling an orange from there. Victory listened with great interest as shrill screams of agony faded into inhuman gurgles. Only when the hollow rattling stopped did he let go -- and watch the body slide down the wall, face flapping in the wind like a flag.

"You can go now," Victory said cheerfully, turning away.

Only one guy left -- from the current crop, at least, obviously they'd send more. One of the highest-ranking warriors, wearing armour much like Victory's. Being honest, Victory didn't know if he deserved it. He'd hardly even done anything, after all, and the little guy had ended up like this.

One leg gnawed into uselessness, the other one missing, leaving a red trail long behind him. An eye hanging from its socket, swinging like a yo-yo. Teeth bared -- from anger or fear, maybe both -- to such a degree that they had turned red from his bleeding gums.

Still, at least he was trying to crawl away. There was something to be said for his tenacity. Not much, but something, sure.

As Victory approached, swinging his spear like a carefree child, the warrior stared up at him in horror.

Oh, that look again. A hardened warrior, reduced to the terror of an infant. Victory understood it. No doubt these guys knew about him, knew what he was capable of. They'd heard the stories, and there were plenty of stories. But there was a difference between hearing about something and witnessing it for yourself. Information was no rival to experience.

"What…" the warrior gasped. "What are you…?!"

Victory smiled as he raised his spear.

"A demon," he replied.

"Think about this rationally, if your defective brains are capable of that," said Zephyr Pandershi, his arrogance unchanged by his dire situation. "Should manhandling me like this really be your priority right now?"

Tom Foolery didn't reply as he pushed the Director of the Pandershi Foundation forward. As the most able combatant in their group, it had been decided that leaving the prisoner in his direct custody was safest. With enemies and allies all mixed up in the Seat of Man at the moment, you couldn't be too careful.

"You're not in any position to make demands, formbo," Botfly said sternly, floating along in her chair, flanked on each side by Paradoxian guards. "Besides, I'm fairly sure you're involved with all this ruckus, blerk."

"Do not engage, ma'am," Tom cut in. "He's trying something, I guarantee it."

Despite Tom's best efforts, Pandershi just kept talking, even with his hands bound behind his back with Neverwire and a Nebula dragging him along. Running his mouth was probably the same as breathing for him.

"Honestly, consider your situation," Pandershi went on. "You've kidnapped the most valuable member of the Central Governing Council, a head of state, and now you're running around the Seat of Man -- in the midst of a terrorist attack -- with no clue what to do next. If the ranking was based on ineptitude, this clown behind me would certainly be Nebula One by now. Or perhaps he's just obeying your inept orders, Miss Botfly? If I were you… well, if I were you, I wouldn't be in this kind of situation to begin with --"

Tom let the words become background noise.

What Pandershi was saying wasn't true, in any case. They did have a plan -- and they were executing it now. Now that Pandershi was secured, they would proceed to the Seat of Man's transport hub and get him out of the building, moving him to a site they'd already prepared elsewhere in the city. With the current crisis, the trains almost certainly wouldn't be running… but they could still smuggle their quarry out via the subway tunnels. For an Aether-user of Tom's calibre, running wasn't too different from taking a train anyway.

He ran through the map in his mind. The Seat of Man consisted of three main sections, layered on top of each other:

The government headquarters, where the day-to-day workings of the UAP took place. That was where they were now.

The transportation hub, where thousands of workers took the trains in and out of the Seat of Man each day, whether heading into the city or to associate complexes like Ultraviolet Tower. That was where they needed to go.

The reactor complex, where the cold harvest engines that powered the government district were maintained by state-of-the-art automatic systems. With the lockdown, that part of the building would be sealed off even more securely than usual. Escaping through there wasn't an option, then.

Right now, they were headed towards the stairwell to descend to the transportation hub -- they'd discussed using the elevators, but given the situation it didn't seem a reliable option. Perhaps they could reconsider after getting off the floors where the fighting was happening. But for the time being… it was run, run, run.

"...and besides, even if you did have a plan," Pandershi said smugly as they passed through the last walkway. "Oh. It just became doomed."

"What do you mean, skrinski?"

"Ma'am," Tom sighed. "I'll say it again, don't --"

There was a flash of orange.

Tom Foolery's body moved with the unconscious speed nurtured by decades of experience. With one hand, he pulled Zephyr Pandershi down to the ground. With the other, he pulled Pollyana from her chair and dragged her down too. One of the Paradoxian guards quickly dropped to the floor as well… but his partner wasn't fast enough.

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His head alone dropped to the floor, cleanly severed.

The roof slid off a moment later, sliced away like a piece of cake, exposing the walkway to the sky. That had been the true target of the attack. The unfortunate guard had just been collateral damage… and if Tom hadn't reacted in time, there surely would have been more.

Gritting his teeth, he glared up at the interloper.

"So," he said. "I take it you're my new colleague?"

The bastard that was presumably Nebula Four looked down at them impassively, amber eyes empty as they scanned the group… before locking onto the face of Zephyr Pandershi. The dog had come for its master, clearly. He was fluttering in the air with what looked like insect wings of orange glass -- and in his hand, he held a massive blade of the same material. It seemed that was what he'd used to slice through the roof.

"Right on time," Pandershi chuckled.

But how…? Not cutting through the roof, any Aether-user of Nebula-tier could accomplish a feat like that, but how had he found them? They'd scanned Zephyr Pandershi for bugs and tracking devices inside and out. Those they'd found -- and they had found them -- had been removed before they'd even started dragging him out of the building. They'd been cloaking their Aether, too. There should have been no way for Nebula Four to track his employer's location, especially not in the chaos of battle.

So how…?

Nebula Four, Titan White, didn't give any answers. It seemed he wasn't much for speaking at all. Instead, he simply relaxed his grip on his weapon, allowing it to shatter and dissipate into potent orange Aether.

Then, he pointed that hand down towards their group -- and in it he suddenly held a shining orange jousting lance.

Tom Foolery smiled a rare, thin smile. A fight to the death. This he understood.

"Oh, man!" Victory said. "Smell that air!"

He spread his arms wide -- one fire, one flesh -- as he stepped out onto the landing pads of the Seat of Man, head angled up towards the sky. The day was young, and already the air was filled with the stink of blood and smoke. Shit was crazy!

There was already a fight going on by the time Victory landed, using his spear's flight capabilities to easily get down from the meeting room window. It seemed like one of those Tree of Might guys, the Branches or whatever, was crossing blades with one of the Landgrave of Brainen's royal guards.

The Branch noticed the new arrival first. Grinning with his tusk-like teeth, the massive man swung around to face who he clearly thought was Jamilu Aguta.

"Nebula Two!" he bellowed, raising a greatsword high. "I, Toto Lero, Fifth Branch of the Tree of Might, challenge you to --"

A swing of the spear turned his top half to mush.

"Nebula Two," the grave-guard nodded gratefully, resting on his club. "Thank you. I appreciate --"

A swing of the spear turned his bottom half to mush.

"Fuuuck me," Victory chuckled, stepping through the gore. "I get that battle is confusing and all, but can't you see the halo? I'm clearly a different guy."

Flesh-hand in his pocket, he hopped up onto the wreckage of the ship that had been waiting on the landing dock, using it as a vantage point for the city below.

"So, what's my next move, then?" he rubbed his chin with flames. "I could head back inside and pick off the other Nebulae one by one… or maybe head up to Imperator One's bigass ship and take on the Supreme? Wait, no, he's meant to be on the ground now too, isn't he? Decisions, decisions…"

Freedom was nice and all, but it could be a little overwhelming, too. If you were to put Victory in a room with two people, he'd have no problem deciding who to kill: one, then the other. Put him in a room with a thousand, hell, a million? Well, where was he supposed to start?

He shrugged.

"Might as well keep going with my diagnostics, I guess," he finally decided, balancing his spear on a fingertip.

And then…

"Compass: the nearest civilian."

Crack.

The spear shot off into the city -- and then, before Victory could blink, it returned floating to his side. The blade had grown even more slick with fresh blood.

"Hm…" Victory mulled it over. "Again."

Crack.

"Again."

Crack.

"Again."

This time, he caught the spear as it returned, slinging it over his shoulder with a wicked grin on his face. If he'd judged the direction and distance correctly, then he was looking at a speed of around two kilometers a second for his spear. Not bad, not bad at all. He was in fine form this century.

Plus, running his little test had given him a nice chill opportunity to think.

"My best best move," he declared to the air. "Would be to head up to the Sheshanaga and take control of it. The Supreme's down here, sure, but if I can get those big guns firing I'm sure I can make stuff more interesting. I'll be able to use the on-board lightpoint to start heading towards Inganci once I'm done, too. Yep, yep. That's definitely what I'd like to do. Only…"

His grin widened, nearly splitting the cheeks of his puppet body.

"...you're already here, aren't you, Number One?!"

Still grinning, eyes bulging out of their sockets from excitement, the demon named Victory spun on his heel…

…and the dragon named Fei Long looked down at him with distaste.

"That body doesn't belong to you," Nebula One said sternly.

Victory crossed his arms, leaning against the ship's hull. "Don't know about that one, chief. Ol' Aguta was pretty clear about it: he surrendered everything to me. Everything, right down to the fingernails." He waved his hand, nails already caked with blood. "Mind you, he didn't really pay attention to who he was talking to, but still… there was consent, you know? I'm a good guy."

Fei Long narrowed his eyes. "You tricked him."

"That's one way of looking at it, I guess." Victory shrugged, a gleam of glee in his wide eyes as he smirked.

"You had to trick him," Fei Long sneered, looking down his nose at the demon. "I know how you things work. You tried and tried for so long to overpower him… but in the end, this was the only way you could do it. In the end, you lost to him."

The smirk withered into a scowl. The glee decayed into malice.

"I never lose," Victory growled.

Fei Long flexed -- and the world responded.

Grass-green Aether erupted like a newborn star, engulfing the landing pad for a moment -- and stretching unhindered up into the sky as a pillar of light. Victory glared as his hair billowed from the air pressure. Fei Long glared right back, another wave of Aether flowing over his Armoured Chassis with a set of indecipherable glyphs that faded a moment later.

And then, it was over. The pillar shattered, filling the air with specks of green light like fireflies. Victory blew one away from his face, gaze still set murderously.

And Nebula One pulsed with power.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

There was light in the distance.

Morgan watched with a focused gaze as the two shining lights -- one green, one pink -- clashed against each other, like two stars warring for dominance. It was only thanks to that focus that the lightshow didn't spell a fatal distraction. Morgan took a deep breath…

…and then whirled around, slashing the golden arrow out of the air.

"Muzazi told me about this one," he said, voice low. "You should really change up your tactics… Gretchen."

The wielder of the bow stepped out of the shadows. Gretchen Hail -- former member of the Seven Blades of the Turning of the Heir, former member of the Eight Phases of the Turning of the Heir… and the killer of Ionir Yggdrassil. She'd changed her look since the last time Morgan had seen her -- she was wearing a stark-white poncho and what looked like a wreath of leaves around her head. New Aether Armaments, no doubt.

"Actually," she said, raising the bow. "This isn't the same weapon I used back then. There are some important differences when it comes to the tracking and firing conditions. They're not really a problem here, but in a chaotic battle situation I'd be hard-pressed to --"

"I don't give a shit," Morgan replied.

His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. Could he close the distance before her next trick? How far was it? One step, two steps, three? If he could cross the room fast enough, he could send her head flying before she had a chance to react.

Gretchen's smile dropped off her face. For some reason, she didn't seem nearly as smug as usual. "Where's Muzazi?" she asked.

"Why?" Morgan glared.

"Why do you think?" Gretchen glared back.

Morgan tensed his legs slightly. He'd start speaking, giving her some bullshit answer, and then strike halfway through. The surprise would give him the opening he needed. Even if he couldn't take her head, he'd still be able to deal a fatal wound.

"He's --" he began…

…but he was the one who got cut off.

"I wouldn't try it if I were you, Mr. Nacht."

Gretchen Hail hadn't come here alone. Morgan's gaze darted to the side as a thin figure emerged from the porch. Another familiar face. He was clad in a plain blue tracksuit, his thin grey hair dangling down to his shoulders. A withered old man.

Ash del Duran.

Morgan swallowed.

He's even older than the last time I saw him. If it comes down to it, I can get rid of Gretchen and then fight him off as I retreat… not easy by any means, but not impossible.

Then the third member of the squad stepped through the doorway as well. Dull, merciless eyes. Wild, unkempt hair. A muscular body tense with lethal intent. Purple Aether crackled around his waiting hands. This was a man Morgan had fought before. No, this was a man Morgan had barely survived before.

Mereloco.

Ah, Morgan thought. I'm fucked.