Aetheral Space

Chapter 258:10.1: The Seven Blades of the Turning of the Heir

Twenty-Two Days Before Avaman’s Attack…

This is how the heroes come.

Padrax Minor is, as the name suggests, a minor planet located within the Esther Cloud in Supremacy space. A wasteland of craggy rocks and unstable footing, with only small patches of fertile land allowing the inhabitants limited self-sufficiency. High in the sky hangs Padrax Major, the planet’s older brother -- and the root cause of the current disturbance.

Once upon a time, Padrax Minor was something of a mining hub in the area. The planet possessed large deposits of hadronite, an efficient starship fuel, and so settlers came from nearby city-worlds to take advantage of the bounty and achieve a simpler life. For nearly eighty years, the colonists enjoyed the fruits of their labour, the population growing with migration and years.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end. The hadronite ran dry.

They managed for a time. A great surveying era began, huge machines scanning the interior of the planet for whatever remnants of hadronite could be found. The traces were scraped away and sold piecemeal, with empty promises made for secondary shipments to buy time. When even the traces ran dry, those shipments were fulfilled with cheap disguised substitutes, imported from even less fortunate and less scrupulous areas.

This did not go unnoticed for long. The adept inspectors of the Body, the Supremacy’s civilian government, soon discovered the deception -- and, as the military was one of the aggrieved parties, they responded to it harshly. Many members of the colony’s administration were given lengthy sentences in prison, in such conditions that most did not survive. For the Lord Mayor himself, the middleman was cut out entirely, and he was shot in the back of the head.

Padrax Minor was plunged into even greater despair -- until a final sliver of hope exposed itself.

A final scan -- not of Padrax Minor itself, but of it’s sibling in the sky -- revealed plentiful deposits of hadronite, enough to support the dying colony for centuries. They immediately petitioned the Body for permission to mine the planet, presenting a detailed and multi-step redemption plan for efficiently taking advantage of the resources and paying off their debts. For two months, the people of Padrax Minor prayed each night for success, for God to finally take pity on them.

That petition was denied.

The weakness of their prior conduct was such that the ’proper authorities’ looked down on them with contempt. The contracts to Padrax Major were instead auctioned off to Halcyon Interstellar, a conglomerate that had earned the Body’s gratitude for their contributions to border defense. To them, the entire situation amounted to nothing more than numbers on a spreadsheet.

As children starved in the streets of Padrax Minor, Halcyon Interstellar mined Padrax Major to such a degree that the bounty of eight-hundred years would be drained away in just ten. The people looked up with empty eyes as the lights of Halcyon spread over the planet above, devouring everything it had to offer. Hope faded into nothing…

…and desperation gave birth to extremism.

Laird Hadaran, the son of the executed Lord Mayor, brought together those in the colony with the greatest rage against the Supremacy. They formed a secret militia, hoarding weapons and resources for the day they knew would soon come, drawing together a final plan to save the colony. The people of Padrax Minor had already gone to the depths of hell in an effort to save their way of life: they had no qualms about going deeper.

Every ten years, the Minister of the Esther Cloud underwent a tour of his territories, a propaganda routine allowing him to win the favour of those he ruled. A selection of photo-ops in factories and mines, showing that he recognised the concerns of the common man. Prewritten, prefabricated speeches and sentiments, piped straight to his mouth from an earpiece.

Minister Gladly, and his family, would be coming to Padrax Minor for a day. Just enough time to make a little speech and head off to somewhere more important.

What happened next goes without saying. The rats came out of hiding, eliminating Gladly’s security detail and taking the visitors hostage. The Opportunity Tower, an installation at the center of the colony, was taken over by the extremists and used to hold the hostages. Twelve stories with a flat roof, from which satellites could get a clear image of the people the terrorists had taken.

Gladly himself, his wife, their four children, and the Minister’s brother-in-law, all bound and terrified. The brother-in-law was the least important, and so the least fortunate. He was thrown off the roof first to show that they were serious. The satellites got a clear view of the mess he made, along with the demands the terrorists had scrawled onto the roof.

Immediate transfer of Padrax Major mining rights from Halcyon Interstellar to the Padrax Minor government. For every day these demands were not fulfilled, they would throw another hostage off the roof.

Despite the audacity of their request, there was a good chance the demands would be granted. Ultratraditionalists within the Supremacy, such as the Tree of Might, felt that the extremists actions were a splendid show of strength -- one that redeemed their earlier cowardly tactics. Even Ascendant-General Toll, who was sympathetic to the traditionalist cause, may have argued in their favour.

The results of that will never be known, however, for fortune was not on Padrax Minor’s side. By sheer coincidence, on the day they executed their plan, a certain ship was passing through the system. A ship like a great silver wheel, metal spokes converging on a central point.

It was called the Child Garden, and it was where the Supreme Heir -- the only daughter of the head of state -- resided. More relevantly, though, it was where her elite bodyguards and tutors -- the Seven Blades of the Turning of the Heir, or just the Seven Blades -- called their home. They took stock of the situation.

A hostage rescue against an entrenched force. A breaking of a siege. A battle.

A learning opportunity.

This is how the heroes come.

The sentries spot the landing pods first -- three shooting stars rapidly coming down, aimed at different locations within the colony. The civilians have been sealed into their homes, so there’s little risk of them becoming involved, but Laird Hadaran understands the situation perfectly well.

They are being tested.

He takes stock of the situation from the monitor room, shaggy blonde hair hanging over his face. He’s worked in starship manufacture, and so he has some idea of what he’s looking at while the others look on in confusion. These landing pods are small and cheap, meant for individual troop landings -- when pushed, they can hold a maximum of two people. So they’re dealing with six enemies at the most.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out these won’t be normal combatants. Special Officers, definitely, wielding their mysterious powers. They’ll have orders to kill every single one of the extremists -- and they’ll be touching down on Padrax Minor before the minute is out.

At this point, Laird Hadaran is presented with a choice.

Dispatching these Special Officers clearly means that the Supremacy is not willing to cede to Hadaran’s demands. By all rights, he should now execute the hostages he has taken, to display the consequences of such a decision. But is that really the best way to proceed?

The sentries haven’t spotted it yet, but these pods have clearly been fired off by a mothership in orbit. He has no doubt a ship dispatched for a purpose like those would be sufficiently armed for an orbital bombardment. The only reason Opportunity Tower hasn’t been blasted off the surface of the planet is because of the hostages being held inside.

If he kills the hostages, he will doom his cause. If he doesn’t kill the hostages, it will be an unacceptable show of weakness, which will damage any support their cause has in the Supremacy. Sweat trickles down his forehead.

There’s only one way forward with a chance of victory. He’ll move the hostages to a more secure location, and engage the incoming Special Officers. Killing them will be a show of strength to offset the loss of face from sparing the hostages.

"We’ll take them down to the mines," he barks to a subordinate. "Deep as we can. Bring the Reprimand with us."

As Laird and his team begin moving down into the mines below the colony, the other squads move to the projected landing sites. They are armed to the teeth -- some with plasma and punchpoint firearms, others with whatever modified mining equipment they could scrounge together. The sounds of hurried footsteps echo down the empty streets.

The first pod comes down like an egg from space.

It strikes a small church, lodging in the belltower and sending a resounding dong throughout the settlement. Brickwork rains down on the surrounding insurgents, but none of them make a move to flee. Running away is an option they’ve relinquished a long time ago.

They fire.

The pod is buffeted by plasma and bullets, dents forming in its metal surface and holes quickly opening up. One insurgent, clad in bulky armour to protect himself from friendly fire, charges up to the doors of the pod. He plants a heavy mining drill against them, attaching it to the pod with firm clamps and beginning the drilling sequence with a wrench of the handle.

Sparks kick up for just a second as the drill begins eating away at the doors -- right before they explode outwards.

The armoured insurgent flies backwards through the air, but he never reaches the ground. Instead, at the height of his flight, he is impaled by a thin wooden branch, his heart speared right through. He’s killed instantly.

More branches and roots crawl out of the open pod at astounding speeds, spreading over and crushing the gathered insurgents before they can react. The tree that grows out of the pod dwarfs the church that it crashed into by nearly ten times, forming a wooden structure long and thick enough to serve as a bridge right to the Opportunity Tower.

Wood creaks and wood snaps as the first of the Seven Blades steps out of the pod, wooden feet landing on wooden bark.

Many years ago, Gene Tyrant bunkers all over Supremacy territory burst open, releasing some of their final spiteful creations. Those botanical lifeforms -- sentient and vicious trees -- were called the Fell Beasts, and they waged a campaign of indiscriminate slaughter. The timely intervention of the Supreme stopped their rampage, however, wiping out all the Fell Beasts before they could cause more havoc.

Wiping them all out… save one.

Ionir Yggdrasil, the Last Fell Beast, steps out of the pod and onto the bridge that is an extension of his own body.

His form is a thing of intertwining branches, spiraling out from his head and knitting together into exaggerated wooden muscles. He is a giant of a thing, nine feet tall, a single swing of one of his massive arms clearly being sufficient to reduce a man to pulp. A ’mane’ of leaves hangs around his cranium, but the closest thing he has to a face is a shallow square-shaped indentation in the center of his head.

The thin branch connecting him to the bridge snaps, and the great tree that was just an extension of him becomes its own independent lifeform. In the present environment, a massive tree like that will not survive long, but if that fact bothers Ionir he does not show it.

Ionir’s mane of leaves twitches as he inspects the area with inhuman senses -- and, detecting further enemies, he lets loose a bellow like the sounding of a great horn. Just like the concept of clothing, human language is something beyond him. In his hand of sharpened bark-fingers, he holds a halberd of solid steel. It is the only thing he has on him that is not made of wood.

The surviving insurgents begin to crawl out from between the massive roots -- but they are given no time to catch their breath. Ionir Yggdrasil is upon them in a moment, crushing their bodies with mighty blows from his fists and weapon. The sound of screaming is barely audible between the crunches and snaps of spine and skull.

Some of the survivors manage to get shots off before their inevitable deaths, however, and Ionir uses his halberd to block the burning plasma from striking his vulnerable wooden body. By the time he’s dispatched the last of the unfortunate enemies, the metal weapon is melting in his grip.

He throws the weapon onto the floor, turning back to the pod and emitting a more high-pitched roar.

There are no words, but the meaning is surely understood. His companion steps out of the pod, reaching into empty space and retrieving an identical metal halberd. She tosses it to him, and he catches it in one hand.

The young woman who emerged from the pod looks around the scene of devastation with great interest, an innocent smile on her lips as she slips out onto the wooden bridge. Her golden Pugnant eyes are framed by red hair tied back into black-ribboned pigtails. Her red war-robes are covered by a black flameproof apron, the traditional uniform of her craft -- a blacksmith.

Her name is Gretchen Hail, and she is one of the foremost creators of Aether Armaments in the galaxy.

She raises an eyebrow as she spies a final insurgent on the edge of the crater, making a run for it. Narrowing her eyes, she reaches a hand into her orange Aether and, with luxurious ease, pulls out a white cutlass with a blade formed from hexagonal segments. It takes her just a moment to think of a name for her new weapon: this is her favourite part of the process.

"Friday Faraday," she finally decides, taking a swing at empty air.

The insurgent’s head falls from his shoulders, and his carcass drops to the ground. This new Armament, Friday Faraday, is one that transmits a cutting edge directly to the location of the target. If an enemy manages to make physical contact with the blade, however, all the attacks previously transmitted are inflicted directly on the wielder.

That kind of downside is the price she pays for such a powerful effect -- and it’s one that makes it unsuited for sustained use.

Gretchen tosses the cutlass over her shoulder, and it is reabsorbed into her Ragnarok Forge, recycled in a moment for its constituent materials. The principle of the weapon is sound: perhaps she’ll iterate on it in a future creation.

She glances down at Ionir, who is growing his roots into the piled-up corpses, draining them of fluids entirely.

"Yggdrasil!" she shouts. "Afterwards."

Almost reluctantly, Ionir retracts his roots, joining Gretchen as she runs across the surface of the bridge -- the two of them making their way directly towards the Opportunity Tower.

Elsewhere in the colony, similar battles have ensued around the other two landing pods. The second pod landed right in the middle of the town square, its inhabitants leaping out and beginning their attack before the insurgents could even try and break into the vessel. Bodies are littering the ground, but the fight is far from over.

A black cape waves in the wind as its owner engages in combat against an insurgent wielding a mining saw. The device was meant to break up large boulders into easily transported chunks, but it will kill a human being easily enough. The insurgent swings it right at his opponents head -- but the Special Officer is agile, leaping right over the blow and stabbing his sword right down through his enemy’s skull.

Death, needless to say, is instant.

The owner of the sword is a young man with short purple hair and golden eyes. He adjusts the black cape that hangs off his dark purple war-robe. A smirk tugs at his lips, satisfaction at a well-won victory.

His name is Morgan Nacht, the newest of the Seven Blades. Despite his short tenure, his skill has already been recognised -- he is the apprentice of a certain Contender, after all.

Morgan spares a glance to his companion, who is just finishing his own fight. Where his own clothing is dark, the other Special Officer is bright -- white robes flowing as he moves, short white hair rustling in the wind. He’s locked in combat with another pair of insurgents, dodging blows from their electrified batons.

Slash. Slash. An adjustment of his glasses. Slash.

Gustavo Mordecai is not a talented man, but he is a skilled one. Each of the elementary attacks has been practiced thousands of times to achieve this level of speed and precision. A scholar and a swordsman both, he has re

It wasn’t difficult to work out what was concealed behind that cloth, given the shape.

"We noticed you didn’t have a sword," Baltay said, striding up next to Gretchen. "It’s hard to be a Blade if you don’t… well, have a blade, isn’t it?"

Muzazi smiled. "I… appreciate it. I truly do."

"Open it," Baltay urged.

Smiling nervously, Muzazi reached out to pull the cloth from the concealed weapon -- and then stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened, and his heart nearly skipped a beat. He gulped down dry air.

Right before him, standing between Gretchen and Baltay, was the bleeding spectre of Nigen Rush. The golden light that had previously shone from his visor was gone, replaced with an oozing waterfall of blood. As Muzazi watched, transfixed for a moment, the vision slowly, slowly shook it’s head.

No, Muzazi decided. No. You do not rule me.

He steeled himself, ignoring the phantom, and whipped the cloth off the extended weapon. Instantly, all traces of fear left him. His eyes widened again, but for another reason entirely. Rush vanished as if he’d never been there, and an involuntary grin rose to Muzazi’s face.

He could see the stars again.

Resting on Gretchen’s palms, held out towards him, was without a doubt his Luminescence.