Aetheral Space

Dragan blinked as he watched the car above him quickly shrink, reaching out a grasping hand as if he could just seize hold of the now tiny shape and pull himself back up.

I'm going to die, he thought, before he realized that wasn't quite true. He'd already been killed the moment that man had thrown him off the car - everything from that point onwards was just a formality.

How long would he fall before becoming tomato sauce? He wasn't sure. They'd only been in a mid-level section of Taldan, but even so that was still absurdly high up. If he didn't hit an unkindly placed balcony or platform, he could be falling for quite a long time.

Hell, he'd probably die of boredom before hitting the bottom. A delirious chuckle tried to escape his throat, only to be swallowed by the rushing air.

Was there anything he could do? Unlikely. Maybe if he'd trained his Aether a little more, he could have come up with some ability that would come in handy here. Unfortunately, the most he could really do was infuse the stuff into his body or objects he was holding - and that wouldn't do him much good here.

He blinked tears of frustration away. This wasn't fair. Damnit, this wasn't fair!

For the first time, since … since ever, probably, he'd felt like he'd … well, he didn't really know how he'd felt, but it was good. He'd wanted it to keep going, even if he didn't have the words to describe it. Ruth, Bruno, Serena, even Skipper - okay, maybe not Skipper as much - had made him feel like … had made him feel like…

He didn't know. He didn't know, but he wanted to. He wanted that chance.

Unfortunately, gravity wasn't a force very sympathetic to impassioned speeches. Looked like he was dead. Too bad, so sad.

Again, he looked up at the black object in the sky longingly. If only he'd been a little quicker to react. If only he'd been sitting a little further from the window. If only, if only.

…

Come to think of it, he really shouldn't be able to see the car anymore, should he? He'd fallen way too far.

In that case, what was the shape that he was looking up at?

Clothes billowing around him from the wind, Dragan squinted, staring up with as much visual acuity as he could muster. The shape that was even now growing bigger definitely wasn't a car - the shape was all wrong. Rather than the brutal square of a vehicle, it instead looked…

...humanoid?

Oh, no fucking way.

Bruno del Sed was falling towards him, limbs splayed out like some kind of starfish while an expression of utmost concentration consumed his face. He'd thrown away that cloak he'd been wearing at some point, leaving only the purple shirt and black pants he'd been wearing beneath. Similarly purple Aether crackled around him.

What had happened? Had their attacker thrown Bruno out of the car after Dragan? No, no, that wasn't what Bruno's eyes were saying. There was a purpose there, a clear goal.

None of this was a surprise to him.

The sound was drowned out by the fact they were falling at horrific speeds through an urban hellscape, but Dragan saw Bruno's mouth move, saw him struggling to call out to him, saw the words those lips were forming.

Dragan! Bruno was saying silently.

Dragan could have slapped him if the laws of physics permitted it. What the hell was he thinking? If Bruno had really been stupid enough to jump out after him, all he'd managed to do was turn a murder into a murder-suicide.

Even if Bruno used his Aether to create a forcefield beneath Dragan, it wouldn't be the rescue the boy was clearly hoping for - all it would accomplish was turning his body into ketchup early.

Dragan opened his mouth to try and shout something back, but all he accomplished was getting his own hair in his mouth, reducing him to a spitting wreck for a few seconds. As he opened his eyes again, he once more saw Bruno's mouth move, only the slightest hint of anxiety present in those movements.

Hold on! Bruno 'said', clearly trusting that Dragan would be able to read his lips.

And then Bruno del Sed began to accelerate.

At first, Dragan couldn't believe his eyes as Bruno's fall clearly got faster, the boy growing in his vision second by second. What the hell was he hoping for - a mid-air collision?! More to the point, how was he doing it?

It only took another glance for Dragan to figure that out. The air behind Bruno was rippling wildly, like a more intense version of one of his forcefields, and over the roar of the hungry city he could hear something like the sound of smashing glass, over and over again.

The forcefields. He was creating forcefields right behind himself and then instantly destroying them, using the resultant force to increase his falling speed.

It was ingenious, Dragan had to admit, but still clearly suicidal.

Now close enough that Dragan could see the whites of his eyes, Bruno strained to bring his outstretched arms back together, as though trying to engulf Dragan in an unwelcome hug. Dragan hesitated. Bruno didn't look like someone about to die.

This time, Bruno's mouth didn't move, but his eyes got the message across just as easily.

Trust me.

Dragan blinked, reached out a hand.

If he was going to die either way, where was the harm in just believing for once?

-

Muzazi lunged forwards, plunging Luminescence in front of him in a clearly telegraphed attempt to stab Reyansh. The grey-haired man, as expected, deflected the blow with his knife - using the flat side of the blade to redirect the force and sent Muzazi stumbling forwards.

"As I said, fellow warrior," Reyansh intoned. "Calm yourself, and perhaps we can work as one in this matter."

Muzazi gritted his teeth. A bore who could do nothing but endlessly defend was no warrior, just a distraction. He was not using the power he obviously possessed to pursue his own desires - but simply to prevent Muzazi from attaining his. This man was useful only for standing in the way of others.

Unforgivable.

The car that had been carrying Hadrien was already out of sight - but if Muzazi could dispatch this annoyance and proceed, he knew that he could catch up. His window of opportunity was rapidly shrinking, though, and the anger with which he was operating only expedited that.

If he was to prevail here, he had to act calmly and decisively.

Marie's barrage hadn't sufficed to destroy these enemies, but it had done enough to ensure that any conflict would be between him and Reyansh alone. The bowman would be preoccupied blocking Marie's attacks, and that young girl Noel was nowhere to be seen.

The only person he had to blame for failure here would be himself. Muzazi lowered his body to the ground, assumed a ready stance.

He'd bet everything on a single strike, strong enough to snap that knife like the toy it was.

Reyansh seemed to realize what was about to happen, and he narrowed his eyes as he assumed a similarly ready stance. With one hand, he held his knife in front of him, the blade gently swaying from side to side. The other hand was clenched into a fist.

Muzazi prepared his strongest thrusters on the flat side of Luminescence. This would be the strongest, the fastest strike he was capable of. That meant that the initial approach would be reliant on his own body alone, of course, but Muzazi had confidence in his own abilities.

Reyansh took a deep breath, his golden eyes scanning Muzazi's every movement. There was a strange, glimmering light there - anticipation and caution mingling together. An unspoken plea for his opponent to show what they were worth.

Despite his distaste for the man's delaying tactics, Muzazi had to admit that this Reyansh was a warrior at heart too.

Reyansh cleared his throat. A drop of Muzazi's sweat hit the floor.

Muzazi launched himself forward, Luminescence held overhead, ready to strike down the moment Reyansh came into range. No shouts or screams escaped Muzazi's throat this time - there was only the cold silence of an intended kill.

But he had miscalculated.

The tiniest of smirks spread over the grey-haired man's face - and Reyansh's closed fist opened, revealing the small pebble held within.

It began to rattle. It began to glow.

Muzazi's eyes widened, and he -

-

The explosion was deafening at point-blank range, and if it wasn't for Reyansh's pre-deployed defenses, he was sure his eardrums would have burst from the sheer noise.

Still, looked at another way, that meant it was an effective stratagem. No sane opponent would expect him to set off an explosion so close to his own body. They would be accustomed to cowards who believed in heresies like exclusively ranged attacks.

"Your lack of imagination was your doom, brave warrior," Reyansh intoned, choosing each word as carefully as possible. He needed to express as much respect to the fallen as he could.

With one smooth motion, Reyansh swept his knife in front of him - his arm flooded with chaotic red Aether that shifted from dark red to light red and back. The sheer speed and force of the targetless attack swept away the smoke and debris that had crowded the air, revealing what should have been the corpse of Atoy Muzazi.

What should have been the corpse of Atoy Muzazi.

Reyansh blinked. There was no corpse of Atoy Muzazi in front of him. In fact, there was no corpse at all. That couldn't be right.

He looked around, eyebrows furrowed, as if he'd just missed Muzazi's body on initial inspection. There was rubble littered everywhere, concrete and plastic still reigning down, but no organic material.

Had … had he vaporised Muzazi? Surely he wasn't that strong … had some demonic power awakened within him?

There was a sound like that of roaring flame from above, and Reyansh snapped his head up to look at it. His eyes widened, and his jaw fell open.

Atoy Muzazi stood above, black hair billowing around him, all that was left of his shirt being black cinders that were even now falling away to reveal his bare chest, muscular body covered with countless scars. At first, Reyansh thought he was standing on the air itself, but at a second glance he saw it was much more extraordinary.

He was standing on the flat side of his sword as if the thing were a surfboard, thrusters flaring out from each side of it to control direction and his arms thrust out to adjust the angle of his movement.

Muzazi glanced down at him, grey eyes impassive. A huge flickering advertisement behind him bathed him in light, as though the gods of combat had granted him a halo for this feat.

For a moment, Reyansh thought about deploying more bombs to continue their bout, but his hands wouldn't move. His body simply couldn't accept the idea of destroying such a splendid image. It would be like taking a flamethrower to a fresh snowy field. Instead, his arms simply fell to his sides, and he nodded in respect.

Muzazi returned the nod, just slightly, and then his gaze returned to the direction the car had gone - and a second later, he too was gone, pursuing the vehicle.

Reyansh blinked, still staring at the spot where he'd seen that most beautiful image. It was as though something vital to his existence had revealed itself there, some great enigma he'd been tasked with solving. A long-held breath burst from his mouth.

Incredible.

-

This was only the second time Muzazi had used this technique, and he wasn't any more fond of it this time. Putting his filthy shoes on Luminescence's blade was like throwing his own child in mud, and he resolved to clean his poor sword as soon as possible.

He'd been unkind to it this night - dragging it along the ground when approaching Hadrien, and now this. His anger had driven him to unsightly behaviour. That was a disgraceful flaw, one he had to work on as much as he could.

With Luminescence as his steed, Muzazi weaved through the night traffic like a thread shooting through a thousand needles, ignoring the myriad honks of disapproval from the vehicles he passed. While it was unfortunate he had to break traffic laws, he had no other choice if he were to catch Hadrien. The coward had already had a few minutes headstart - he couldn't waste any more time.

He swerved around the corner, almost slipping off of Luminescence for one horrifying moment before regaining his balance with a split-second thruster deployed on his arm.

He didn't allow the panic to last long, though. His quarry was in front of him - the limousine, still some distance away but clearly visible all the same. The slight smile Muzazi allowed himself quickly turned into a puzzled frown.

A huge, hulking figure was standing atop the vehicle, locked in battle with Ruth Blaine - who was crawling around the exterior of the car like some kind of spidermonkey, occasionally lunging out to strike with those claws of hers. Every time she tried that, however, her new opponent blocked easily with the huge quarterstaff in his hands.

Muzazi couldn't see the man's face from here, but he could see the V glowing with orange Aether on his forehead. There was no mistaking that.

The Fifth Dead.

"Atoy," came Marie's voice over his earpiece. Somehow, that tiny piece of technology had survived Reyansh's explosion. "Is that you on the sword?"

He nodded, again forgetting that she couldn't see him. Well, actually, given her statement she probably could see him.

"Yes," he finally said, just to be sure.

"That's fucking awesome."

Even with the current situation, Muzazi couldn't help a giddy half-smile from crossing his face. "Yes," he said, doing his best to retain the dignity of his station. "I'm aware. What can I do for you, Officer Hazzard?"

"Well," she said. "I thought you'd want to know that Dragan Hadrien isn't in that car anymore."

Muzazi's heart dropped. "What?" he said, adjusting his angle slightly to stop a traffic drone from slamming into his face. "Where is he, then?"

"That big guy tossed him out of the window a few streets back."

"You mean the Fifth Dead?"

"Is that who he is? Anyway, that's what happened. He went flying down, then del Sed jumped out after him."

Muzazi bit his lip. An awful, cold feeling of failure settled over him like a heavy sheet. "Hadrien's dead, then…?" he said quietly, surprised at the disappointment in his own voice.

It was more than an anticlimax. It was like some opportunity had permanently passed Muzazi by. An opportunity for what, he wasn't sure, but it had slipped through his grasp all the same.

Then Marie spoke. "Not necessarily."

Muzazi slowed his pursuit slightly, the blazing light from his thrusters dimming just a tad. "What do you mean?"

"I had a glance, and del Sed seemed to be up to something. I'm shooting some coordinates - check them out, maybe?"

As the script in his pocket lit up, Muzazi faltered slightly, watching the vehicle shrink ahead of him. Hadrien was his target, true, and the opportunity to catch him had become possible once again … but the Fifth Dead was a legend.

Would the chance to fight him, or to fight alongside him, present itself again? It would be like doing battle with Baltay Kojirough or the legendary Nigen Rush, the one whose light had led Muzazi down this path. A chance to stand amongst titans.

Muzazi closed his eyes, shook his head. No. He'd made a promise to himself. And he never broke a promise once made.

He zoomed down, not giving the car a second glance.

-

Are you sure this is a good idea, Bruno? said Serena, sounding skeptical.

"Of course," Bruno squeezed through gritted teeth, holding Dragan close as they fell. "T-Trust me, okay?!"

Sure thing, Bruno!

Sudden guilt struck his heart like one of those pink arrows. If he messed this up, and they died here, he'd be killing Serena too. He hadn't even thought about that before jumping out of the car. Hell, he hadn't really thought about anything before jumping out of the car.

No. There was no time for guilt. The key to being alive was making decisions without hesitation. That was what Yakob had always said, and Bruno believed in Yakob's words more than anything else.

He'd already made the decision. All he had to do now was enact it.

His forcefields had been able to speed up his fall, so all they had to do now was slow it down. Bruno held his breath, focused his mind, tapped into some of the memories that Yakob had left behind.

Ignoring the splitting headache that felt like they would burst from his skull, Bruno rummaged through the mental corpse, the loose collection of memories, doing his best not to look at things that weren't his to intrude upon:

The Sed, that red dome standing alone amidst a snowstorm of fool's ice.

The acclimatization procedures, bizarre shapes shifting and stretching on the screens like long-lost sea creatures.

Cott's stupid smug face, his fingers twirling a lock of his red hair as they sat in the classroom.

Glowing red eyes, staring at him from out of the darkness of an interrogation room, tunneling into his mind like a drill.

And … finally … formless liquid flowing from Yakob's palms, ready to be sculpted into whatever shape was needed. Swords and shields both.

Yakob's ability had been Yakob's alone, and there was no way Bruno could use it straight up. But, if he could learn from it, incorporate the principles into his shields just slightly … then they could survive this.

Bruno squeezed his eyes shut and summoned a series of forcefields beneath them, making them just strong enough to technically exist but so weak that he and Dragan passed through them essentially unimpeded. Again, again, again, Bruno kept summoning more, each one rippling and breaking as they passed through it - and, and yes, they were slowing down as they fell. In the space of a few seconds, their speed had gone from lethal to near-lethal to injurious.

He opened his eyes, wide - this, he knew, was the best they were getting.

Bruno summoned one last forcefield at a slight angle, this one strong enough to make contact with, and destroyed it just before he and Dragan hit it - the propulsion sending them flying off in another direction.

In the direction of a huge window on the building next to them. Bruno closed his eyes again in preparation for impact.

Bruno and Dragan both infused their bodies with as much Aether as they could as they smashed through the glass, falling roughly on the floor beyond as they rolled to a halt. The sounds of a crowd around them trailed off, it's fading punctuated by a series of screams at their sudden entrance.

With a rough cough, Bruno opened his eyes, blinking blearily at the unexpected light around him. The building they'd landed in seemed to be some kind of casino, rows of slot machines operated by gamblers of every age and shape. Some of them hadn't even stopped to look at the sudden interruption, instead just continuing to roll the slots.

Looking around, Bruno couldn't help a laugh from escaping his lips. They'd survived that. They'd actually survived that. Serena, too, let out a mental cheer.

"You can let go of me now," mumbled Dragan, face buried in the carpet.

"Oh," said Bruno, pulling his arms back and staggering to his feet. "Um. Sorry."

Dragan rolled over into some approximation of a sitting position, leaning against a nearby pillar. "Don't … don't worry about it."

It seemed they'd landed in a fancier area of the casino, full of patolli tables populated by finely dressed men and women. The civilians around the spot they'd landed backed away as what looked like private security approached, aiming plasma pistols.

"Hands up!" one yelled, voice surprisingly squeaky for a man his size. "Hands in the air! Now!"

Bruno slowly put his hands up, surprised at the sheer fatigue plaguing his limbs. With the way this night had gone, being taken in by some rent-a-cops didn't even seem like the worst case scenario. In fact…

"Oh fuck me," muttered Dragan from behind him, all the life drained from his voice.

In front of Bruno, the security officers eyes widened to the size of saucers, and the tiny pistol slipped from his grip. A second later, he joined the rest of the nearest civilians in running for the nearest exit, occupation forgotten in the face of mortal terror.

Slowly, as if the thing behind him would only come to exist once he looked at it, Bruno turned around. Given Dragan's response, he already had some idea of what he'd see.

Atoy Muzazi was outside the broken window, standing on his floating, shining sword. It was as if he was walking on light itself. His cold grey eyes were fixed on Dragan - the gaze of an executioner.

"There you are," he said, the slightest satisfaction in his tone.