Aetheral Space

Chapter 267:10.10: The Silent Sword and the Miracle Slash

The woman knelt by the fallen swordsman, her eyes wide, pulling his bleeding body up in a vain attempt at denial. Her own sword lay forgotten at her side.

"No, no no no," she whispered. "No, he’s dead, he can’t be, he isn’t, no, oh God --" There was blood on her hands. "-- no, no, please, it wasn’t… what… what did you do?!"

Those last words were screamed at the young man who was still standing, his green sword hanging limp in one hand. In the other, he held some kind of trigger mechanism, the device rattling as his grip shook. He was staring down at his fallen comrade, eyes wide.

"I didn’t…" he muttered, disbelieving. "No, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… is he…? He can’t be… there’s no way…"

Even as the young man whispered that, however, toxic veins were spreading out over the body of the victim -- the spawn of the green sword. The puddle of blood slowly spreading out, soaking into the woman’s dress, told its own story as well. If this was not a corpse, it soon would be.

"You tricked me," the woman hissed. "You tricked me!"

The young man took a step forward. "I didn’t. I didn’t!" he pleaded. "I didn’t mean for this! I just… I just wanted…"

The woman’s eyes narrowed. "You got what you fucking wanted. You scumbag. You son of a bitch."

"I…"

She looked down at the body in her arms. "He’s cold," she breathed, voice shaking. "Oh God no, he’s cold. No… no…"

Long seconds passed, the young man’s hand suspended in the air, as if he were perpetually about to reach out. The woman just stared down at the body, the spark of life in her eyes visibly dying away until that red gaze was as empty as crusted blood. A long, involuntary sigh trickled out of her throat.

And then, her eyes moved to her own sword.

The young man obviously realized what she was about to do before she did it. He stepped forward, shouting something indiscernible, but too late. Emotion had slowed his step, and had quickened hers. In a flash, she had the sword in her hands, holding it against her own chest by the hilt…

…and then, she plunged it in.

*

Muzazi winced as the headache abated. What in the world had that been? For a moment, it had felt like he’d been somewhere else, some time else, observing distant events as though they were a videograph. The face of the woman he’d seen… had that been Mariana?

No. He had no time to consider such things. It was coming for him, after all.

After losing her head, the corpse of Mariana pan Helios had abandoned all vestiges of grace and restraint. Muzazi had no choice but to retreat down the hallways as she pursued, an utter cyclone of sword-slashes. The false images on the walls of the corridors were shattered as she let loose, shards of glass falling and coating the floor.

Muzazi observed carefully as he propelled himself backwards with his thrusters, always staying just out of reach. His adversary was holding her sword in one hand as she pursued -- in the other, she held her severed head. Those red eyes were tinted with purple as they stared insistently at Muzazi, even as the head swayed back and forth from being gripped by the hair.

It was easy enough to work out what had happened. At some point, Mariana pan Helios had perished and underwent an Aether Awakening -- that Awakening had turned her reanimation ability back on her own corpse, allowing it to keep functioning for such a long time.

How long? Since before he’d gotten here, certainly -- he’d smelt that perfume on her, masking her decomposition, since the first time they’d met. But how long before that? How long had this corpse been walking around as one of the Seven Blades, any peculiarities explained as the product of grief?

There was no vow of silence, after all, was there? Just the hush of death.

Muzazi was not simply fleeing without a goal -- the route they were taking was headed for the arena. In a wide open space like that, he could fight freely. His reach was limited in cramped confines like these, and the swarms of flies that Mariana commanded could more easily reach him. Even now, he could feel them crawling under his clothes, biting at his exposed skin. The pain ran across his body like an electric current.

He gritted his teeth. How much longer? He hadn’t been on the Child Garden for long, but it was a good practice to be familiar with one’s base of operations. If his memory was accurate, they should be reaching it in three…

…two…

Mariana lunged forward, her sword stabbing at Muzazi’s throat.

…one!

The two of them made it out of the hallway, and Muzazi immediately made use of the available space, zooming upwards to avoid Mariana’s thrust. The instant he was finally out of her range, he threw his arms out -- thrusters sprouting all over his body to incinerate the insects covering him. For a split second, he was a silhouette of pure light -- and the next, he was back in a combat stance, ashes spilling out from beneath his charred clothes.

He kept close to the ceiling as he floated, making sure there was no possible way for Mariana to reach him with a display of acrobatics. Luckily, the ceiling of the arena was high, and he was able to keep firmly out of her range. The only thing he had to worry about was her throwing her sword, and from this distance he would easily be able to see it coming.

Mariana walked down the stands, the head in her hand angled to face in his direction. That all but confirmed his suspicions: she still used the eyes of the severed head to see -- probably hear, too. If he was able to destroy it, he’d be cutting off the enemy’s senses entirely.

If there was a more easily identifiable weak point, he didn’t know of it.

Still, as he looked at the corpse circling him from below, he couldn’t help but feel his hands shake. Why? He didn’t know. Was he frightened? It would be no surprise if he was -- a headless zombie was coming for him, after all. But no…

No… he knew fear. Back on Nocturnus, when he’d met the Abyssal Knight, he’d felt true terror. The kind of awful fear that scraped its nails over your bones and clawed at your brain, that stopped you from being the kind of person you’d convinced yourself you were. Real fear revealed.

This… this was different. But how?

Muzazi swallowed as he saw Mariana stop directly beneath him. Purple Aether was concentrating around her legs. No doubt she was about to try something, using whatever rudimentary intelligence still remained within her Aether.

Well, he wasn’t about to allow that.

Mariana pan Helios leapt up --

-- and Atoy Muzazi swooped down.

The horror lurched towards Aclima, squelching and squirming as it moved. Its flesh bubbled and oozed, unidentifiable liquid dripping from its nail-like teeth and steaming on the floor.

Aclima leapt to her feet, fear grasping her heart and quickening her step. She went to retreat backwards -- only for her back to thump against the metal shutter behind her. In this position, in this part of the room, she was trapped. Escaping would mean running right past the monstrosity before her, and she already knew it wouldn’t allow that.

Her hands shook. Her breath trembled. Her vision grew hazy. This thing was going to eat her. It was going to eat her. A childhood nightmare come to life.

No. No. She was the Supreme Heir. She was meant to be stronger than this. Fear was supposed to be as foreign to her as injury was to her father. That was the reason she had been born. That was what she was for.

A thing like this wasn’t supposed to survive being in her presence!

Aclima squeezed her eyes shut. Aether, she begged. Aether Aether Aether Aether. Please. She could hear it still, the enemy, inexorably slithering over the carpet, but she did her best to ignore it. It was like Atoy Muzazi had said. Aether was something inside yourself. A light of the mind. All she had to do was find it -- find the core that revealed that light to her. She could do it. She was the Supreme Heir. She was. That was all she had.

Aether! Aether Aether Aether! AETHER!

She

He hadn’t intended to stop. He’d intended to move into Gretchen Hail’s blind spot and strike her once and for all, but for some reason he’d stopped. Pain was spreading out through his body. Was that the reason he’d stopped? Why had he stopped?

Morgan Nacht looked down, and in that moment he understood.

The blade of the sword called Leviathan was protruding from his stomach. He’d been run through from behind. Stabbed in the back. A bitter chuckle rose to his lips. It seemed there weren’t limits to paranoia.

"I’d like to thank you for all your hard work," he heard Baltay say from behind him, sounding genuinely sorrowful. "Nigen appreciates that kind of diligence in the Seven Blades, too."

And then, before Morgan could reply, the blade was torn out of him.