Ah, man…
As the green star descended upon the Supre, he raised his massive hand and spoke. This ti, he didn’t smile.
"Excel Surge -- Black Saturn."
That was stupid, Esrelda, rushing in like that, but that’s what happens when you convince yourself of bullshit. You get all pissed off when soone calls you out on it. Believe … I know, man. I get it.
So it’s up to to teach you a lesson.
Black Saturn was an ability that the Supre didn’t like to bring out much. It had been the ability of his ntor, a man he didn’t care to give too much thought to. He had to admit, though… it was a damn good ability.
Esrelda, right on the verge of attacking, seed to realize his mistake -- and tried to change course, blasting himself backwards. Too late. Montum and fate had already betrayed him. The obsidian sphere of Black Saturn, like a three-dinsional shadow, had already appeared in his inevitable path.
Black Saturn was a simple ability, even once it was enhanced by Excel Surge. It appeared, targeted the area directly in front of itself, pulled in space…
…and obliterated it.
Hope you like it, Esrelda. It’s a gift from to you.
As Black Saturn activated, dragging in dirt, stone and man, there was no sound. No bang, no boom, no scream. As far as the Supre knew, not even sound could escape Yoden’s ability. The whole world had no choice but to put a finger to its lips.
This better not kill you, the Supre grimly thought, as Black Saturn drew breath. Don’t you dare die.
And for a mont, as light was dragged forth, everything went dark.
He’d been stupid.
Skipper had understood that the mont he’d launched off. He’d told himself a thousand tis in this fight that getting close to the Supre without a plan would be a fatal mistake. He’d lost his backup, he’d lost his distractions, and as if that wasn’t enough he’d jumped into the lion’s jaws by his own volition.
And why? Because of a few careless words from the man he was here to kill. What a joke.
Standing before him, standing before the Supre, Skipper felt just as he did back then. A stupid kid, hoping that shining giant was sothing more. Hoping that the ideals he’d been told so much about were more than just fantasies.
Endlessly, endlessly disappointed.
Well, he’d learnt his lesson. He’d managed to blast himself away and avoid being killed by that attack, but still he’d learnt his lesson. The teaching had been forced upon him.
After all, his left leg had been vaporized from the knee down.
The funny thing was that it didn’t even hurt. The stump itself was burning hot, but that was more because of the blood spilling out than anything else. There wasn’t even a phantom pain; it was like the world had just forgotten he’d ever had a leg in the first place. The erasure was that total.
Skipper flew up into the sky, erald wings propelling him, infusing his injury with Aether to slow the bleeding… and still he knew that wouldn’t be nearly enough.
The Supre had said, after all, hadn’t he? That he was pissed off. The leisurely carefree battle the Supre had marched into had co to an end. Now he would be here for real.
Skipper had seen sloth… and now it was ti for wrath.
Even as a dot down on the ground -- far, far below -- Skipper could see those lips moving. He could see those fatal words being ford.
"Excel Surge -- Sevenfold Serpent: Tsunami."
The earth shook as seven massive serpents -- each the size of a skyscraper -- exploded out of the Supre’s elbow, lashing up into the sky as they pursued Skipper. Each was composed entirely of water, with teeth and quills of ice providing only the most basic illusion of structure. Even without those icicle-teeth, though, just being slamd into by water infused to that degree would surely be fatal.
Skipper pointed his wings at the first two of the incoming heads. "Heartbeat Shotgun!"
An ordinary Heartbeat Shotgun wouldn’t be enough to deal with familiars like this, but luckily Heartbeat Freedom was giving Skipper the edge he needed. As the heads of the two serpents popped like bubbles, Skipper launched himself down into the midst of the broiling necks. The two he’d destroyed would no doubt regenerate, so his best course of action would be to force the Supre to switch to another ability.
Avoiding the snaps and massive bites of the remaining serpents, Skipper reached the point where their aquatic necks converged…
…and found the wreckage of an Executioner there instead, posed like a mannequin, arm raised up in the air.
Skipper’s heart sank. This was the trick he’d just used against the Supre a few minutes ago -- attaching his ability to an automatic so he could use it as a decoy. Was that how much the Supre’s comnts had rattled him? Enough that he could be fooled so easily?
Mistakes after mistakes, and none of them he could afford.
Skipper knew the attack would co before it even happened, but it was far too late to do anything about it. With a mighty splash, the Supre burst out of the body of one of the serpents -- where he’d been wading, concealed -- and slamd into Skipper, seizing him in a vicious hold and pulling him close. They were face to face, only inches apart, and Skipper could feel the Supre’s volcanic breath. His face was stretched into a grin without mirth, rage boiling in his eyes… and Skipper was sure the Supre could see exactly the sa.
"Admit it," the Supre snarled. "You’re just like . You’re here for the thrill of it. There’s nothing else."
"Fuck you," Skipper hissed. "We’re nothing alike."
As the two of them fell through the sky, locked in each other’s grip, the Supre laughed. "Oh yeah?" he demanded, thrusting his palm towards Skipper’s face. "Heartbeat --"
"-- Shotgun!" Skipper finished.
The attack struck at the Supre’s face, but Skipper had chosen his angle well. The Shotgun blasted right past the stump of Skipper’s leg as it was fired, sending the blood gushing from it right into the Supre’s eyes and blinding him. The Supre’s chant was cut off, and the fist he swung instead went wide, barely missing Skipper’s face.
This wasn’t over. He still had a chance. So long as he was alive, he still had a chance!
Still held tight in the Supre’s grip, Skipper lunged forward as his enemy opened his mouth to speak -- and ramd his chanical hand into that mouth. Steel claws forced their way down the Supre’s throat, even as he choked on them, even as the blood evaporated from his eyes, revealing his furious gaze once more. The mont those eyes could see again, Skipper offered them a cocky grin.
Heartbeat Shotgun! Heartbeat Shotgun! Heartbeat Shotgun! Heartbeat Shotgun!
It didn’t matter how strong you were. If soone set off a missile inside your throat, you were going to damn well feel it. The Supre wheezed as the blasts fired directly into his body one after another -- bang, bang, bang, bang -- blood oozing up out of his throat and coating Skipper’s fingers. The Supre’s hand lashed out, seizing Skipper’s forearm and slowly pulling it out of his mouth.
To hell with that. He could do this. He could! Skipper scread in exertion as he poured his Aether into his prosthetic, overpowering the Supre for a single mont as he forced his hand in further.
The Supre wasn’t using that Earthsculpt ability right now -- he was still controlling the serpents, but their size made them unable to strike at them so far below. If he could silence the Supre again, it would be permanent. He still had a chance.
"Un…" the Supre choked out incoherently. "...ur…"
Skipper’s eyes widened. Those weren’t just noises.
The massive club Un-Ur appeared in the Supre’s free hand in a flash of golden Aether -- and without hesitation, he slamd it into Skipper’s midsection, sending him flying off. The hand of Skipper’s prosthetic snapped off in the process, and the Supre spat it out -- along with a copious amount of blood -- as he watched Skipper’s body crash through the water wall of one of the collapsing serpents and vanish from sight. As the Supre had switched ability, the serpents were losing their form… but the water they were made from wasn’t going anywhere.
Unsteady on his feet for the first ti in decades, the Supre spread his arms wide… and let a brand new ocean smash over him.
Six Years Ago…
The throne room was in ruins. Strings stretched from corner to corner like massive, multicolored spiderwebs. Miniature tornadoes spun wildly around the borders of the conflict, tearing apart anything they ca in contact with. The only thing truly intact was the throne itself…
…and, of course, the man sitting in it.
Avaman panted for breath, glaring at the intruder who’d forced his way onto the Shesha. The shattered remains of his mask lay at his feet. So distant instinct told him to cover his face, to hide his sha, but he ignored it.
With death lingering in the air like this, dividing his attention would be fatal.
His opponent didn’t look much better. The man who’d called himself Wu Ming was covered in cuts and gashes -- and those he’d stitched shut were slowly dribbling blood. Even with his horrific injuries, though, that sly grin on his face went unchanged. Irritating. Truly irritating.
Soone would die soon. That much was certain. They had reached the climax of this confrontation.
Avaman took a step forward -- and the unthinkable happened.
"Stop…" said God.
His voice -- unused for years -- was soft, so soft it was tempting for Avaman to think he had imagined it. It could have been overpowered by the slightest breeze… and yet, it commanded the world. Avaman looked up at his master.
"My Supre?" he whispered, uncomprehending. Surely he had misunderstood. Surely he had misheard. "This man is an intruder and an assassin, unworthy of your ti and attention. Surely you don’t an to…"
God’s gaze slid over to Avaman -- and in those dull blue pupils, he saw the slightest glimr of disdain. Avaman could have killed himself there and then.
"He’s… interesting…"
God needed no more reason than that, and Avaman instantly dropped into a bow of supplication. Wu Ming, across from him, just scratched at the back of his head, laughing -- with that idiotic and arrogant grin on his face. God had just personally shown him rcy, and he was acting like he was entitled to it. Disgusting. Disreputable.
Even as he bowed, Avaman glared at his new colleague. Sohow, soday, he’d tear that grin away.
Wu Ming grinned.
He stood up in the air, atop that floating ball of yarn, with further lengths of string dangling from the tips of his fingers. Rainbow Aether crackled around him as he waggled his eyebrows, looking directly at Avaman. Even now, the mockery.
Avaman sneered up at his adversary, keeping tight hold of his two prisoners -- del Sed in his hand and Blaine under his foot.
"I always knew you were scum," he declared. "How long have you been on their side, Wu Ming? Since the beginning?"
Yes, that would make sense. He’d infiltrated the Contenders for the purpose of this battle now -- betraying the Supremacy at the perfect mont to throw their forces into chaos. If nothing else, he’d chosen his opportunity well.
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For a few seconds, there was no reply.
Avaman frowned. That is it, right?
As if considering the question for the very first ti, Wu Ming put a finger to his chin. "Well…" he dragged out the word, eyes cast up to the sky. "I guess I betrayed you guys around seven minutes ago? That was when I got bored of being on the winning side."
Anger spiked through Avaman’s brain, and his grip on del Sed’s voice tightened. "You betrayed the Supremacy…" he hissed. "...on a whim?"
"Well, I beca a Contender on a whim…" Wu Ming grinned cheekily. "So, yeah, I guess."
Avaman blinked.
…
…
…
"I see."
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Avaman fired attacks from every inch of his body, each of them spearing into the sky as they pursued Ming with a vengeance. He lost hold of del Sed in the process, of course, and Blaine shot out from under his boot -- but that was fine. They were no longer relevant. The only thing that mattered was that these hundred shots hit their single target.
Right now, every last bit of Avaman’s being was focused on killing this clown.
In the mont before his streaking stars could strike Ming, however, sothing absurd occurred. Of course it did.
The strings that surrounded Wu Ming’s body converged upon him, wrapping him up in a kaleidoscopic cocoon in the instant before the Crossbows struck. As the attacks buffeted against the cocoon, Avaman heard muffled words from within it -- so inane ability na, most likely -- and then, a mont later, it exploded outwards again.
Wu Ming had changed appearance. Pink butterfly wings fluttered from his back, twinkling scales drifting down from them, and a pair of tiny black eyes blinked beneath his ordinary ones. On a whim, he had utterly changed his biology, turning into a Scurrant. Then again, he’d said, hadn’t he? He lived his life based on whims. He’d die from one too.
Ming waggled his eyebrows as Avaman glared up at him. "DNA strings, right?"
Avaman did not reply. He would not entertain such nonsense. With a burst of wind, he launched himself up off the ground and floated across from Wu Ming, the two of them circling each other in the sky.
He’d have preferred not to invest too much of himself in a battle before he’d even found God, but… Avaman had to admit this was not an opponent he could take lightly.
Calmly, he extended his hand -- as if to grip sothing invisible -- and spoke: "Maelstrom Job."
The weapon appeared in a flash of Aether like lightning.
He didn’t often bring out this Aether Armant. It was nearly nine feet long in total, dwarfing its master, a thin spear bolstered into sothing more like a jousting lance by the restrained tornado that raged around it. With a single thrust of Maelstrom Job, a thousand microcurrents would systematically tear apart whatever they ca in contact with.
Wu Ming whistled as his eyes scanned the lance. "Ooh," he said. "You’re bringing out that old thing?"
"Your face is so repulsive," Avaman explained. "I have to be sure to destroy every last bit of it."
Despite the insult and the threat, Wu Ming just licked his lips. "Oh, you know just what to say." His twin gazes blinked out of sequence.
Avaman narrowed his eyes. "Deviant."
"Tease," Wu Ming grinned.
With a roar of fury -- not exertion, for the weapon was light as a feather -- Avaman thrust Maelstrom Job toward Wu Ming. The blast of air that ca forth was trendous, the size and speed of an incoming train -- and where it collided with the ground, it looked as though a massive beast had dragged its claw along the earth.
Wu Ming was not pulverised, though. As the dust cleared, Avaman saw that Ming was still in his original location. He’d woven his strings into a thick blanket that he’d held out in front of him as a shield. The sheet was frayed and battered, but it had still held.
A half-assed ability, made on a whim, had blocked Maelstrom Job. Avaman’s blood boiled.
"He’s… interesting…"
On a whim. On a whim. On a whim on a whim on a whim on a whim on a whim. Avaman had spent his entire existence struggling for glory and accolades, and all Wu Ming and Skipper had to do was want them?! It didn’t make sense! It wasn’t fair!
Wu Ming poked his head out from behind the curtain, still grinning despite the countless tiny scratches covering his face. "Like it?" he said. "I call it Whirlwind Greatshie --"
"Don’t call it that!" Avaman scread.
This ti, Avaman slamd his weapon down onto Ming directly… and that was enough to spike him down into the ground.
Waves crashed as the water that had previously ford the Sevenfold Serpents surged across the ground. The pit the battle had gradually produced was well on its way to becoming a lake.
The Supre broke through the surface of the water with a gasp, floating in place as he kept his head up. Blood dribbled out of his mouth as he choked out the words: "Excel Surge… Seal of Fortune… Shangri-la…"
As the healing field began to form, there was a trendous crash -- and Esrelda launched himself out of one of the falling geysers, heading straight for the Supre.
It made sense. He’d managed to inflict substantial damage on the Supre by attacking the inside of his body. If the Supre healed once more, he’d be right back at square one.
So this was his last chance.
His speed was incredible, enough to make a bullet blush. He’d reach the Supre before he could finish healing -- and, at this distance, there was no ti to switch to a different ability. He didn’t have the freedom for a single stray syllable.
Focused into a beam, this ability had been able to turn dust into a mass of flesh. He’d have to trust that principle would hold.
As the Supre swung around to et the incoming Esrelda, he crushed the Seal into a space a centitre tall and a centitre wide, and set the healing point to follow his index finger. Esrelda had changed in the few seconds he’d been out of sight -- he’d reallocated most of his feathers to attach to the stump of his leg and the ruins of his arm, effectively serving as rudintary prosthetics.
It was good thinking… which made this whole thing so much more aggravating. How could he not see that was what he was here for?!
As Esrelda ca into range -- hands extended for a pair of Heartbeat Shotguns -- the Supre swung his finger at him like a sword, Shangri-la trailing after it.
They hit each other at the sa ti.
As the pair of Shotguns slamd into the Supre’s shoulder, he heard a dull crunch, and felt his right arm go limp. Broken, no doubt, and needing to be healed. The Supre’s face twisted in pain, but he made no sound. Pain was an old friend, one he hadn’t t with in a long ti -- he was glad of the reunion.
The result of the Supre’s attack was much more interesting to look at.
Where the Seal had scraped past Esralda, a massive growth of flesh had erupted, covered in incoherent eyes and tears and teeth as it took up most of the man’s shoulder. It was like he’d tried to grow a second head, face stretched out to fit a shape not suited to it. Zachariah wobbled in the air as he fired a Shotgun to retreat, his centre of gravity thrown off by the new addition.
That wasn’t a blunder the Supre could permit. He kicked his feet in the water to launch himself towards Esrelda, raising his finger for another attack --
-- when Esrelda popped his mouth open. There, resting on his tongue -- quill pointing directly at the Supre -- was a single erald feather.
Heartbeat Bayonet.
The screech of the attack was loud, but the Supre was more surprised by the effect. This attack had been planned in advance, surely, otherwise Esralda wouldn’t have known to aim for that finger. The Supre’s grin widened as he watched his own severed finger plop down into the water, blood painting the liquid around it.
Nice move.
Still, it didn’t stop the Supre’s advance. He seized Esrelda by his remaining arm before he could blast off again, his uproarious laughter sending ripples through the ocean below them.
"That’s good! That’s real damn good, Esrelda! Now you’re getting it!" he roared, spittle flying from his lips. "Don’t tell you’re not like when you’re having so much fun, man!"
Esrelda opened his mouth to lie to them both once more, but the Supre just hurled him towards the mountain with a swing of his hand. As a reward for that wonderful attack, he’d hold off on healing for the mont, but that didn’t an he wanted to listen to bullshit.
He’d read Esrelda’s file, shortly after he’d learnt the man had a file. Taldan, the Cradle, the Trueet… everywhere this man went, the world exploded around him. Everywhere this man went, battle followed.
These were not the actions of a man who disliked conflict. These were not the actions of a man focused on high-and-mighty ideals. These were the glories of a fighter! Just like him!
The Supre grinned. He’d show him sothing cool.
"Excel Surge -- Earthsculpt Uriel."
As Esrelda flew end-over-end towards the side of the mountain, the Supre erected a wall around himself, draining out the water in his imdiate vicinity. Then, he got to work.
The way he’d gotten out of the tongue dilemma had inspired him. What mattered to his ability wasn’t that he spoke the words, but that he expressed them into the world. Using an instrunt that produced the necessary sounds had been just fine. Maybe even writing them down would work, but he wouldn’t test that right now.
An expansion of his previous concept. A tube of stone he could put into his mouth -- a tube that split into ten branches, each terminating into another replica of his own head, the only difference between them being the minor variations of their innards.
As Esrelda slamd into the side of the mountain, sending rocks cascading down, the Supre granted his structure air…
…and the heads spoke, incoherent as they talked over each other.
"Excel Surge -- Sevenfold Serpent: Inferno!
"Excel Surge -- Helios’ Stone!"
"Excel Surge -- Cloud Ten!"
"Excel Surge -- Blick Winkel!"
"Excel Surge -- DROWNED World!"
"Excel Surge -- Quantum King!"
"Excel Surge -- Nascent Blade!"
"Excel Surge -- Earthsculpt Uriel!"
"Excel Surge -- Black Saturn!
"Excel Surge -- Aetheral Links!"
The Supre had originally believed that Aetheral Links -- the ability of the original Commissioner, Feign -- wasn’t a good match for his Badge of Honour. It pulled together the products of different Aether abilities into a single attack, allowing for powerful team techniques. Given that he fought alone, and that he could only use two abilities at a ti anyway, the Supre had thought it unsuited to him.
These last few minutes had taught him otherwise.
When he switched abilities, it took about a second for the effects of the ability to dissipate back into his Aether. Normally, that wouldn’t be long enough to take advantage of. But, if he tid his secondary mouths carefully with Earthsculpt Uriel, he could have abilities activate and deactivate so close in succession that they were practically simultaneous.
Ten abilities brought themselves into the world, and began to get pulled back, in far less than one second.
Fire and mist. Water and crystal. Earth and void. The Supre held these opposing forces up above his head as a massive sphere, as big as a starship, the very air vibrating around his newfound apocalypse. He had no doubt that, if left alone, the thing he’d created would eventually just collapse. It wouldn’t have ti for that.
Over many kilotres, the Supre locked eyes with Zachariah Esralda.
"This will kill you if it hits, you know," he grinned… and hurled the sphere.
Esrelda wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t slow. With his Heartbeat Shotgun, he launched himself up into the sky long before the sphere reached him. That was fine, though. The Supre hadn’t been aiming for him in the first place.
The sphere smashed unburdened through the side of the mountain, passing through the stone like a knife through butter. As the Supre watched, giggling in anticipation, that sphere dug deeper and deeper -- until the mark it had left was nothing more than a pitch-black hole.
It took only a second for the rumbling to start, and it only lasted a second.
Boom.
Like a soft drink shook for too long, the top of the mountain exploded into a shower of fire and magma. The Supre laughed uproariously as he watched the calamity, the inferno spilling down onto the earth below. That volcano, long dormant, had been awoken by nothing more than his own power. He’d done that!
The Supre welcod it all, arms wide once more. He’d tasted water. Now for the flas!
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