Aetheral Space

Many Years Ago…

The world seemed to be in a haze as Pierrot stepped into his cabin.

The ship was already in motion, heading back to a place in the light, but the rumbling of the engines and the trembling of the metal seemed a million miles away to Pierrot. There was a war going on inside him, but not one person who looked at him would be able to tell. His stance was full of dignity, and his face full of tranquility… but all of that was put on, fixed, the result of great effort.

If he did not walk perfectly, he would have staggered.

If he did not speak without hesitation, he would have screamed.

As the doors slid shut behind him, Pierrot carefully lowered himself into his seat, keeping his breathing steady and even. What a pathetic display this was. On what basis was he even panicking? It wasn't as if any of this was truly a surprise. He'd known full well what they were doing here -- what he was doing here.

The Sed.

The project he had created -- at the subtle urging of the Prince -- to cultivate his ideal successor, the one who would hold the light of mankind after him. An ideal successor could not have a mind that worked the same as any normal human. It had to be broken apart and rearranged like a jigsaw, a space made for the Prince to reach through and fulfill the whole of its potential.

Yes, breaking minds, breaking people, breaking children. He had known that from the start. He had read through reports of their successes and failures with no more feeling than the evening news. The information… the data, it had rested in his head and burdened him none.

And yet… the girl.

Seeing her in person. Seeing all of this in person. It was different, so different -- the difference between reading a horror story and stepping inside it. That young girl… at Pierrot's behest, her identity had been scrubbed away until it was all but gone, until she was nothing but a vessel to be filled with the long dead.

That was what Pierrot had asked for. That was what Pierrot had made.

He put a hand to his mouth to suppress a sudden retch.

Peace and joy for all mankind.

The words bubbled unbidden to his mind -- the compass this cold and heartless journey followed. Pierrot had already done many things, many unforgivable things, in pursuit of this grand ideal. He had killed, he had betrayed… but still…

…there had to be a limit, didn't there? Even for the Prince, there had to be a limit.

At that moment, Jaime Pierrot determined that the Sed would exist for not another day longer.

And at that moment, the Prince determined something of its own.

Present Day…

The building shook, and the building shook, and the building shook.

The battle had begun. Members of the Tree of Might, brought here by their Supreme, clashing with the security forces within the Seat of Man. Explosions of force and fire peppered across the exterior of the building as the clash expanded, smoke pouring out where holes in the landmark were opened.

"Ha!" Victory cackled. "Looks like you're fucked, huh?"

"Silence," growled Jamilu Aguta, using the demon spear to vault over a pile of rubble as he rushed towards the source of the destruction.

Nebula Six had only been able to give a brief overview of the situation over the communicator as he fought, but Jamilu understood everything. The Supreme was here, now. The business with the Sheshanaga had been a magic trick to divert Nebula One while he executed his surprise attack.

But that also meant that the Supreme was now in reach of Jamilu's spear. Here and now, with a thrust of his blade, he could end this war before it even began. He could fulfill his duty and repay his debt.

"Go, Jamilu," the Oba had said, once news of the attack had come in. "Do what you must."

Once, Jamilu Aguta had been a homeless orphan on the streets of Inganci, without family or Principality. It was only when the Oba had assumed the throne, and housed the urchins of the city in his grand palace, that Jamilu had acquired personhood. He owed that man everything…

…and he would repay every last scrap of it.

"Oop."

Jamilu dug his heels into the ground as he entered the grand meeting chamber, leaving a trail in the floor behind him. He'd planned to cut through here as he made his way down towards the attack site… but someone had beat him to it. Someone had already come here, ready to cut off reinforcements.

Xander Rain, First Branch of the Tree of Might, grasped his bulky halberd as he rose to his feet. He'd been sitting cross-legged on the meeting table, perhaps in a state of meditation, his war-robes pooled out around him. Brown Aether crackled around Xander's brown eyes as he pointed the halberd at Jamilu.

"No further," he said.

Goddamnit!

Beckett sprouted another petal of bone from his arm to block the incoming blood-blade, the impact still sending him skidding back across the floor. The Tree of Might had spread out in every direction once they'd materialised -- but one asshole in particular had stuck around to make sure Beckett didn't follow the Supreme. Tendrils of blood hung carefully in the air, ready to strike the moment he approached…

…and their master lurked in the middle of the web, like a sanguine spider.

"Fino Onio," the smirking young man said, eyes fixed on his prey. "Second Branch of the Tree of Might."

"Who asked, dipshit?!"

Beckett met the Second Branch with an entire forest of his own, spears of white bone bursting out from his skin and surging towards his enemy. He had to hurry and get this asshole out of the way -- he was the only thing standing between Beckett and the Supreme, the only thing keeping him in this room. Beckett spared a glance to the man slumped against the wall behind him.

The Landgrave of Brainen, Karl, Beckett's shitty old man. He'd been injured in the attack, knocked unconscious -- not dead, he couldn't be dead. Beckett couldn't waste this chance.

He'd kill the asshole before him, and then the asshole who called himself Supreme, and then the old bastard would have no choice but to look at him with something more than scorn.

Beckett del Brainen pushed forward.

"Enemy! One second!"

Sam Set's warning was nearly too late -- but Alcera Nox had been waiting for it. In one smooth motion she reached over and wrapped her arms around him -- pulling him away from the incoming attack with desperate speed and strength.

It wasn't a blade, or a bullet, or a missile. It had only been the chop of a hand, aimed for the back of Sam's head -- but looking at the trail of lilac Aether that hand left in the air, Alcera knew it would have been more than deadly enough.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The Widow didn't even turn to look as Alcera and Sam came to a halt. She just kept running down the corridor, heading towards Pierrot's location. Her voice echoed down the ruined hallway as she vanished from sight.

"Stop him from following me!"

Alcera finally let go of Sam, and he staggered to the side, panting for breath. His electric-blue eyes didn't look at Alcera, and her blood-red eyes didn't look at Sam. They were fixed on the enemy before them.

The older gentleman bowed respectfully, his vertical row of three mustachios flopping as he did so. If not for the circumstances, it might have even been a little funny. Right now, though, all Alcera could focus on were the distant screams and the stink of blood.

This was the man who would kill them, if they let him.

"Godhet," the man stroked his crime against facial hair. "I was sure you had the keenest eyes, young man, so I went to kill you first. Godt… perhaps that was my error. Too keen, hm?"

He clenched his hand into a claw, his joints cracking like gunshots.

"Third Branch, Tyr Masterman. Perhaps I'll be luckier with the second strike, ja?"

"The Prince?" Pierrot asked, mouth dry. "What's that?"

The smile dropped from Dragan Hadrien's face. Behind him, back in the wreckage of the safe room, Pierrot could hear the sounds of blades colliding with bone, again and again and again. Nebula Six was fighting a member of the Tree of Might. If he could win that fight, then surely he would come out in pursuit of Hadrien.

Pierrot couldn't see the headstrong young man winning against a Supreme, but it could give Pierrot the opportunity he needed. Sweat coated the back of his neck. He needed time right now, more than anything.

Could he stall? For how long?

"Don't play dumb," Hadrien said coldly, standing over him, his eyes shining blue behind his bangs as his hair hung low. "Raise told me everything. Whatever you were stupid enough to tell him, you've basically told me."

No. That wasn't possible.

The evidence of Pierrot's eyes and ears said that Albert had betrayed him, yes, but that just couldn't be true. Even now, he could feel the Prince's trust in the Prime Minister, unwavering in the back of his mind. It simply couldn't be so terribly, disastrously wrong.

Hadrien squatted down, bringing himself face-to-face with the wounded old soldier.

"You've been betrayed," he whispered.

Slowly, Pierrot shook his head, ignoring just how heavy that head felt. His injuries were taking their toll. How long could he maintain consciousness?

"This is a trick," Pierrot spoke through pale lips. "You think I don't know about your man North? That's him back in there, posing as Raise, isn't it? Your plan isn't finished yet."

Dragan Hadrien raised his eyebrows, but it wasn't an expression of surprise. He wasn't shocked that he'd been seen through so easily. No -- the only thing written on his face….

…was pity.

"North is up in the Sheshanaga," Hadrien said calmly. "Distracting your Nebulas. Albert contacted me himself. He saw that the Lesser Chain was starting to lose out, and he saw that you were starting to falter. By the end of the day, the Great Chain will be an independent nation once again -- under the protection of the Supremacy, of course. And by the day, hell, within the next couple of minutes… you'll give me the Prince."

He blinked.

"I can't just take it from you, after all, can I?" the Supreme said softly. "The Prince must be surrendered willingly."

Damnit. There wasn't any point in denying the Prince anymore. Hadrien was lying -- he was clearly lying about Albert -- but he knew enough about the sovereign in Pierrot's head.

"Why do you want the Prince?" he spat.

Hadrien's smile returned. "Why do you think? Peace and joy for all mankind. I have my own plans underway, but the Prince will give me the assurance I need. I'll know for sure that I'm on the right path. It's as simple as that."

He beckoned with his outstretched hand, inviting Pierrot to die.

Only… perhaps that wasn't such a bad idea. Dragan Hadrien was in a position of great power, after all -- hell, he was one of the most powerful people in the galaxy. The Prince had never been a Supreme before. The possibilities -- the sorts of moves it could make -- would be unmatched, and all Jaime Pierrot had to do was --

Pierrot blinked.

Why exactly did he think that?

"It looks like you've realized," Hadrien said, his eyes drilling into Pierrot's skull. "I'll be honest… I do feel kind of bad for you."

"No."

"Yes," Hadrien nodded, his voice gentle, as if explaining something very simple to a child. "All of this that's happening right now, this attack… I didn't manage to sneak this plan by the Prince because I'm just so smart or anything. The Prince knew full well what would happen today. It just decided not to do anything about it. I wouldn't be surprised if it helped."

That was… that was impossible. There'd be no benefit in it. There was no way the Prince would just ignore a threat to itself. Only… this wasn't a threat to the Prince, was it?

This was only a threat to Jaime Pierrot.

"Albert Raise was its escape route," Hadrien explained. "A burgeoning traitor it tricked you into trusting. It steered your behaviour just a little off course, and cowardly old Albert went running into the arms of the enemy… as was his purpose."

"It… it wouldn't…" Pierrot lied.

"Of course it would. You know it would. It doesn't have loyalty, or attachment, or anything like that. It's a thing. You were just another tool it was using -- it just happened to be inside of you while it used you."

The building shook as there was another explosion from below. The battle against the Tree of Might was becoming more costly by the minute. Had Nebula One entered the building yet? Was he on his way?

Did it even matter at this point?

"So what…?" Pierrot growled, clutching his wounded side. "You've said all this… and you just expect me to hand the Prince over…?"

"I do."

Was that really such a bad idea, though?

The situation was not good for Jaime Pierrot in the short or the long term. He was grievously wounded. Surrounded by the enemy like this, his survival was far from guaranteed even if he managed to escape Dragan Hadrien.

There was also exposure to consider. Dragan Hadrien knew that Jaime Pierrot was the current host of the Prince. Who else had he told? If Jaime Pierrot escaped this current situation, there was every chance that Dragan Hadrien could leak his identity in retaliation. That was not acceptable.

Jaime Pierrot's options were limited right now. In such a situation, perhaps the best move to make would be --

"Shut up," said Pierrot.

Hadrien blinked. "I didn't say anything."

"I wasn't talking to you."

Pierrot didn't have much strength left -- but he had enough to kill a man. With speed practiced over a lifetime, he lashed his hand down into his holster, pulled his service pistol free…

…and planted the barrel against his own temple.

Hadrien's eyes widened. "What do you think you're doing?"

"If I pull this trigger," Pierrot said softly. "The Prince disappears from the galaxy -- for good. I know you can't let that happen, neither of you."

"Taking yourself hostage," Hadrien chuckled, standing up straight. "That's pretty good. Okay. What are your demands, then?"

What was he even doing? This was foolishness born from a frenzied despair, Jaime Pierrot knew. This was self-defeating. He should just stop.

"You get me out of here," Pierrot insisted, eyes bulging into empty space. "Or I pull the trigger and end everything. I'm sure it won't take you long to calculate the best move."

"It won't help you," Hadrien said, looking down at him.

"It will if it wants to keep existing!" Pierrot barked back.

"No," Hadrien shook his head. "It won't help you because it doesn't need to. There's no world in which you pull that trigger."

For a moment, Pierrot's finger twitched against that trigger -- a single instant of spite that almost destroyed everything. Dragan Hadrien's face didn't even twitch. His voice remained steady as he went on, inexorable as the tide.

"Like I said, Albert Raise has told me everything. You've done a lot of things for the Prince -- for the mission -- haven't you? Terrible things. Unforgivable."

Memories rushed through Pierrot's mind like a passing train. The UniteRegent, abandoned. That boy, shot in cold blood for the crime of integrity. The Sed, a boarding house of torment, all for him. And so many more. A life stained red with the blood of the innocent.

"You've performed necessary evils," Hadrien said. "They're necessary because they lead to the ending everyone wants: peace and joy for all mankind. But if you pull that trigger, if you destroy the Prince? Then they were all for nothing. All those people died for no reason at all."

He crouched down again, eyes locked onto Pierrot's.

"You'll have been nothing but evil, Jaime. All you'll have accomplished is making the world a worse place. Are you really alright with that?"

He outstretched his hand.

"Are you?"

Pierrot's finger twitched once more…

…and relaxed.