Once, there was a great kingdom, with borders and lands expansive and bountiful. The people were humble and hardworking, and the warriors stout and strong. Although so tis were hard, they made it through the winters through perseverance and pluck.
The king of these lands, however, found himself dissatisfied by this modest life. He feared that history would grant him no accolades, and that his na would fade long before the warmth of his cadaver. Soon, these thoughts kept him awake at night, and his days were spent shivering in fear of the inevitable darkness.
When these thoughts reached his peak, he saw a girl standing before the throne. She wore a dress like cobwebs and shadows hung over her face as a veil. The king squealed and retreated into his seat, staring at her.
"Who are you?!" he cried. "What is your na?!"
The girl smiled.
"Create a perfect kingdom to outdo ," she promised. "And I will show you who I am."
Book of Silencio, Heretical Text
Ruth gulped down her booze and slamd her glass down on the table, restraining her strength only enough not to smash either.
Downti didn’t agree with her. Even here, sitting in this bar, her blood was boiling -- pushing her to go out and do sothing. Logically, she understood that they needed to hide out, lay low… but even so, ti seed to stretch on into infinity. If she had any idea of how long she’d be hiding out, or what the objective of all this was, it might have been a different story -- but as things were now, the whole exercise just felt tedious.
The bar she was in, the Neon Demon, was a converted passenger cruiser now fully stocked with serving automatics and slot machines. People from all across the Final Church territories milled about the bar floor -- Humilists and Superbians sticking to their little cliques. Ruth herself had taken a little booth in the corner, where she had a good view of the entrance. Could never be too careful.
She swiped two of her fingers over a sensor on the table, reordering her drink. If there was nothing else for her to do, she might as well get wasted. It was what everyone else did, after all.
"Mind if I join you?"
Red Aether sparked around her, her heart skipping a beat in surprise. She wasn’t that drunk. She’d been keeping careful watch over her surroundings, listening to the babble bouncing through the bar…
…and yet, without her so much as noticing, soone had sat themselves down right across from her. A very unusual looking soone.
He was clad from head to toe in red and black -- a spandex suit covering his body, and a bulky helt covering his head. A white square right in the center of that helt was the closest thing to a visible face. He carefully poured his own drink into a slot on the side of that helt as he drumd his free fingers against the table, looking right at Ruth.
At least, she thought he was looking right at her -- it was hard to tell without visible eyes.
Ruth frowned, leaning over the table, palm flat over the rim of her spent glass. "Looks like you’ve already joined . What’s up?"
"Nothing much," the man said -- from the sound of his voice, he was relatively young. He sounded relaxed, too, the helt he was wearing not muffling his words in the least. "I just thought you seed like an interesting person. Places like this are really for eting people, right? In nature, all the different animals gather at the watering holes. It’s just like that."
Ruth raised a skeptical eyebrow. "If you say so, man. And what is it that seems so ’interesting’ about , then?" Was this guy hitting on her or sothing?
"Well," the young man leaned back in his seat. "For one, you obviously know what you’re doing. I was planning to sit here since I’d have a good view of all the entrances, but you’d already beat to it. Shows tactical awareness, right?"
A smirk spread across Ruth’s face, but she shrugged as if it were no big deal. "Isn’t difficult."
"You’d be surprised," the man said, twisting in his seat to look back at the main entrance. "See those rcs there, near the front? So guy from Shooting Stars Security Solutions."
Indeed, Ruth recognised their red armour from back on Taldan. Three n, laughing and drinking booze in a booth right next to the door. Two helts rested on the table between them.
Her eyes flicked back to the masked man. "Yeah? What about them?"
With a sigh, he planted sothing in front of him -- the third helt, which he’d been holding under the table. "They didn’t even notice grab this," he chuckled as he patted it. "Amateurs like that are only good for bragging about the things other people have ordered them to do. Just faceless corporations."
"Faceless?" Ruth scoffed. "You can’t really talk, can you?"
The masked man cocked his head. "What do you an?" He sounded genuinely confused.
"Uh…" Ruth pointed to his mask, her brow furrowed.
"Oh, this?" he replied, tapping the item in question. "This is just my own face. No choice but to keep it on, I’m afraid. Religious reasons."
Ruth crossed her arms. "I’ve never heard about anything like that in the Final Church."
"Ain’t from the Final Church. Yours truly is a legal citizen of Facade-Abra, one of the UAP’s big ten. We make our own faces. In a way…" he tapped the side of his mask. "This one’s better than what’s beneath. That’s just at and bone and stuff, whereas this is sothing I’ve made with my own hands. Don’t you think?"
Ruth blinked. "I guess."
"Plus, it’s convenient not to have all your emotions on display like with you faceless."
"If you say so," Ruth said, accepting her new drink as the serving automatic arrived. "You still haven’t told what you want, though."
"Believe it or not, I’m in the sa business as those bozos," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the S4 goons. "Only I prefer to work for myself. Small jobs, and I have to go where the work takes , but it lets pick and choose based on what I’m comfortable with. Like I said, you seem like you can handle yourself. You ever consider rcenary work?"
Oh, he wasn’t flirting at all -- this was recruitnt.
Ruth smirked ruefully. "Sorry. I got previous obligations." She could hardly juggle assassinating the Supre with guarding cargo shipnts, after all.
The man sighed. "Really? You’re sure? That Aether you showed off seed pretty potent, too. I’d hate to lose the opportunity for a good partnership."
Damnit. She’d let it spark for a second, just by reflex, when he’d made his presence known. The smirk dropped from Ruth’s face. "You know about Aether?"
He chuckled. "Of course I do. The days of Aether being so secret for the cherished few are long gone. Information leaks out over ti, cultures and individuals develop their own styles around it… the Supremacy can kid themselves into still thinking they’re special, but it’s just a delusion. Give it twenty-thirty years and I’ll bet anything it’ll be a matter of public record."
"Gotta say… you sound pretty confident in that."
He stood up from the table, cracking his neck. "Of course I am. Aether’s the great equaliser, right? We’re just sitting around waiting for everyone to realise it." He fished around in his pocket for a mont, pulling free a pale business card and tossing it down on the table. "Anyway, I won’t take up more of your ti. Look up if you change your mind any."
As the masked man sauntered away, stolen helt tucked under his arm, Ruth glanced down at the card.
Rex Restorossi
An Independent Military Operator
PL-9266-CD-8921
Maybe a na to rember.
Atoy Muzazi began his work.
As he smashed through the wooden door, he slamd his shoulder into the face of the officer beyond, charging him into the hallway wall. As the unfortunate man was slamd against the surface, Muzazi’s hand whipped out and snatched the pistol from his faltering hand. He flipped it around in his grip, holding it by the barrel as a lee weapon.
An attack from behind.
Even without Aether, his senses were sharpened to their utmost. Muzazi grasped the first officer by his collar and swung him around, using the man as a shield against the baton that had been aid at the back of his head.
The officer with the baton hesitated -- unwilling to strike his comrade -- and Muzazi took the opportunity. He kicked the unconscious man into the baton-wielder with all his strength, sending the two n falling to the floor. Then, before his enemy could rise, Muzazi kicked him in the side of the head, knocking him out cold too.
All of this took about six seconds. There were four more officers.
The officer near the back of the hallway fired his pistol, and Muzazi ducked to avoid it -- but too slow, as the plasmafire thudded into his left arm. The pistol slipped from his spasming grip, just as it had done with its original owner. However, Atoy Muzazi was not finished using it.
He kicked the weapon like a soccer ball, eyes fixed on his ranged assailant -- and it flew down the hallway, striking the man in the chin and sending him staggering back. A mont’s respite from the plasma shots, but not a break from combat altogether.
One of the officers charged Muzazi, tackling him to the ground and doing his best to get him into a headlock. It was a clumsy manoeuvre, born of panic -- they obviously hadn’t expected Muzazi to be this adept -- and so a vulnerability quickly exposed itself. As the officer was wrestling with Muzazi, their heads ca dangerously close together.
Right now, he wasn’t in the mood to overlook that.
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Muzazi lunged forward and bit down, gripping the officer’s ear in his teeth -- and then, before his enemy could even realise what had happened, he pulled back. The officer scread as his ear tore, and Muzazi tasted the copper of blood on his tongue. All grappling was forgotten as the man rushed to free himself from Muzazi’s jaws, and Muzazi took that opportunity as well. As he released the man’s ear, he smashed his head forward into the enemy’s, sending him into unconsciousness as well.
Before Muzazi could rise to his feet, however, two more of the officers were upon him -- battering his body with their batons. He felt a rib crack as one blow struck true, and for the first ti a groan of pain escaped his throat. He didn’t have the ti to indulge it, though. He had to keep fighting. He had to keep fighting.
The two batons ca down as one -- and Muzazi seized them in mid-air, stopping them from striking him. At the sa ti, he kicked out, catching the nearest officer right in the back of the knee. There was a satisfying crunch as the man crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony.
One baton was now free, and so Muzazi used it to deflect another incoming shot from the ranged officer. Steaming plasma dripped from the weapon, and Muzazi could feel it losing cohesion in his hand -- and so he hurled it at the face of the other baton-user, causing him to stumble backwards as the front of his uniform caught fire. Desperately, he patted down his burning clothes -- leaving him vulnerable to a punch right in the jaw. He went down too.
Only the pistol-user was still standing, and as Muzazi swung around to face him another shot brushed past the side of his head, singing his hair. There was no need for words. Muzazi charged silently, his mouth a flat line of concealed pain, and slamd right into the officer. Without much difficulty, he forced the unfortunate man into an armlock -- causing him to drop the gun -- and hissed into his ear from behind: "The prisoner. Where?"
The officer swallowed. "F-Forget it… I won’t…"
A twist was all it took to snap the man’s arm. "Where?!" Muzazi shouted.
"Third floor! Temporary holding cells, next to processing! Y, please!" This ti he was much more cooperative.
Muzazi pushed him forwards -- and then, with an elbow to the back of his head, put him to sleep as well. A kick to the one with the broken leg sufficed to subdue him too. Finally, Muzazi felt free to let out a breath.
A broken rib and a disabled left arm, not to ntion the injuries he no doubt hadn’t noticed yet. It had been a long ti since he’d last fought without Aether. It seed he’d beco more reckless with his body than he’d anticipated.
His body stiffened as he caught his breath. More footsteps approaching -- more than last ti. He’d expected this, but it seed that group hadn’t been the full security response.
Just those six had taken all he had. Fighting a larger group in his current condition wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. Muzazi winced as he cracked his neck -- and then he turned on his heel, running in the opposite direction from the incoming footsteps.
If nothing else, he’d lead them on a rry chase.
Aiden’s fingers drumd against the wooden desk as he watched the intruder on the security monitors, his heart dropping with each blow.
It was definitely the swordsman he’d seen on previous footage, even if he didn’t seem to be using a sword right now. Even with the Apexbishop’s talisman disabling his Aether, he’d brawled his way through six trained officers without any difficulty at all.
Sweat trickled down his forehead. No, no, things weren’t ant to be going like this… that had been his trump card. What was he supposed to do now? What the hell was Gresham doing, chasing that infiltrator through the halls like an idiot? Was he trying to make Aiden look bad or sothing?
He rummaged around in his pockets again, pulling free the other talisman Gertrude had given him -- the severed finger of Helga Malwarian, bound with a similar strip of Neverwire. Could this get him out of this unfair situation? Gertude had said… damn it, he’d forgotten her exact words, but she’d said it would help him, right?
Wait. No. He couldn’t use it. He’d already used the fingernail to nullify Aether in the building. Whatever this other talisman did, it wouldn’t work. Idiot. Idiot!
Whatever. This was still winnable. Gresham and his n would wear the enemy down over ti, no matter how many of them were taken out. It would take a little longer, but they’d still win. He’d still win. He’d show them what he was made of!
Aiden rose from his position hunched over the desk -- only to feel the barrel of a pistol press against the back of his head.
"Don’t move," said a quiet voice from behind him. "Move, and I’ll kill you right away. Say ’okay’ if you understand ."
Aiden’s voice was like cracking ice. "Okay."
His heart beat like a hamr in his chest, accompanied by a dull pain. It was taking nearly all his strength just to prevent himself from hyperventilating. The voice behind him… it sounded familiar, but with the panic racing through him, he couldn’t place it.
At any rate, it seed the voice couldn’t resist a little gloating. "You should have used that fingernail thing earlier. You would have killed , but I was already in the room." Yes, very familiar.
"What do you want?" Aiden whispered, keeping as still as he could. He didn’t want to agitate this person.
"Mila Green. Where is she?"
Aiden blinked. Of course. The swordsman wasn’t working alone: he was a distraction, while his partner snuck in to capture the enemy general. "Why do you want to know?"
"That’s one strike," the voice said, dripping danger. "You get three. Where is Mila Green?"
The words ca out fast and without dignity. "Next to the processing sector on the third floor -- temporary holding cells. That’s where we’ve put her."
"That’s more like it. If I break that fingernail thing, will the Aether co back?"
Aiden swallowed. "I don’t know."
"Pick it up and give it here. If you try anything, I’ll kill you."
Slowly, with trembling hands, Aiden reached down to the desk and plucked the fingernail free, holding it between two of his fingers. He turned, careful not to make any sudden moves, extending the nail out in offering -- and then he saw.
He saw the face of the person threatening him. Dragan Hadrien. The one who’d brought Samael Ambrazo Zakos to Yoslof, the one responsible for all the death and destruction there.
For a split second, Hadrien’s eyes flicked over to one of the security monitors -- to the figure of the swordsman running down the hallways.
"What?" he muttered. "He’s --"
Aiden charged.
There was no strategy or technique to it, just him slamming his body into the enemy -- but with the elent of surprise and the lack of Aether, that was enough. The two of them went crashing down to the floor, Hadrien’s gun sliding across the room. Aiden quickly stuffed the fingernail into his pocket before climbing up atop the Cogitant, raining down a storm of clumsy blows.
Hadrien raised his arms to protect his face, but the punches aid for his chest and stomach t their mark. Aiden reached for his own holstered pistol -- but when Hadrien saw the opening, he quickly pushed, attempting to reverse their positions. Roaring in fury, Aiden grappled with Hadrien, pushing his arms down as he did his best to prevent him from getting up.
"Fuck you," he snarled, as Hadrien’s hand struck his face. "Fuck you."
But Dragan Hadrien was like a cornered animal. As Aiden reached down to throttle his enemy, Hadrien turned his head and bit down on the incoming arm -- hard, hard enough to soak his teeth with blood. Aiden scread, doing his utmost to pull himself free, but Hadrien refused to let go. In the end, it took a swift kick to the Cogitant’s groin to force him to release Aiden from his jaws.
Aiden staggered up and backwards against the desk, nursing his bleeding arm -- but Hadrien was not done. With a movent like lightning, he kicked out with one leg, striking Aiden right in the hip. There was a resounding crack.
His face went pale.
That was not the crack of bone.
Nor had Hadrien been aiming for his hip.
That had been Aiden Blaith’s pocket, and that sound had been the crack of a fingernail.
Aether began to spark.
Aether began to spark.
Muzazi’s brow furrowed as his Aether returned, white light bathing the hallway around him. He didn’t know why his power had co back, but he wasn’t about to miss the opportunity. Imdiately, he turned on his heel, shoes squeaking against the polished floor as he faced his pursuers.
As he’d made his way through the building, he’d managed to take down one or two of the chasing officers in brief confrontations. Now, though, he could truly let loose.
Ten pursuers remained, their pistols and rifles aid right at him. Behind them was their commander, a scruffy-looking man with thick sideburns, brown Aether sparking around his hands. He’d be the one to watch out for.
Fingers pulled triggers, and Atoy Muzazi got to work.
Plasmafire sailed over his head as he dropped to the ground with Aether-infused speed, slapping his palm against the floor tile. With another spark of Aether he implanted his thrusters into the underside of the tile, causing it to tear itself free from the ground and zoom down the hallway as mobile cover.
Muzazi ran behind it, using his fists and feet to subdue any officers who were still conscious after the tile slamd into them. His cover made it around halfway down the hall before finally succumbing to the plasma and lting, leaving Muzazi only a few tres away from the commander.
Apart from him, two mundane officers were still standing. Muzazi caught a rifle being swung towards his head by one of them and -- with a burst of silver strength -- snapped the barrel straight off, smashing it against his assailant’s nose. The man’s scream echoed through the building.
As he fought, he kept careful watch on the man with the sideburns. Countless tiles -- like sothing from a board ga -- had manifested out of his Aether, floating in the air around him in a spherical formation. Each tile bore a letter, and the commander was carefully plucking the tiles one by one, using them to form a word that floated behind his head.
PARA, the word read -- clearly it wasn’t finished yet. Muzazi got the distinct sense that allowing it to complete would be bad for him.
He finished off the first officer with a kick to the stomach that sent him flying down the hallway. Then, he turned to the second, catching a plasma shot in his Aether-infused grip and hurling it at the officer’s feet, the pain causing him to crumple to the ground.
Another glance. The commander was making quick progress. PARALYZ, the word read.
Paralyzed? Was that the word being assembled? If it was completed, would this man’s ability cause it to happen? If that was the case, Muzazi couldn’t waste ti.
He leapt over the prone guard, thrusters atop his leg bringing down a devastating knee drop onto his torso. The man choked and spluttered, falling back as he was thoroughly taken out of the fight.
More thrusters imdiately sprung Muzazi back to his feet, and he began his final charge towards the commander. The older man was hastily looking through his floating tiles, searching for the final two tiles that would complete his attack. E and D -- or perhaps just E, if the word he was assembling was simply ’paralyze’. Muzazi might not have as much ti as he expected.
As he approached, the commander pulled his pistol free of its holster and fired a volley of rounds towards him. Muzazi dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding them -- and for a mont, his thrusters permitted him to sneer at gravity, allowing him to run along the surface of the wall. As he kicked off, he zood towards the enemy with thrusters blasting out of the soles of his feet.
He kicked, his leg crashing through the floating tiles and narrowly missing the enemy’s chin as he dodged back. Muzazi smirked: it was unfortunate that he’d missed, but the enemy had never been his true target.
Tiny thrusters erupted from the floating tiles his leg had made contact with, sending them flying in every direction -- the final letters now fully out of reach. Then, Muzazi charged forward again, split-second thrusters accelerating his movents. The pistol ca up one more ti, but a shining white fist was firm enough to shatter it -- and as the enemy’s terrified face grew large in his vision, Muzazi knew he’d won.
He kicked again -- this ti upwards, with all his strength and flexibility, striking the Aether-user in the chin and sending him flying into the ceiling. A second later he fell back down, still, save for his ragged breathing. He wouldn’t be moving any ti soon.
Atoy Muzazi let out another deep breath.
With his Aether returned to him, he could feel the pain of his injuries easing. He’d need better treatnt to heal them fully, but for the ti being he could move -- and he had to. He still had a job to do, after all.
Eliminate Mila Green.
Muzazi unsheathed his black blade.
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