Aetheral Space

What did it mean to be bound by promises?

Did it mean to be bound by every promise, like a net to keep your entrails inside your body, or could there be a hierarchy? Could the chain of one promise be tighter than the other? Was that even better, or was that tightness a cruelty? Was the weak chain truly weak, or just kinder?

Ionir Yggdrassil was bound by promises, even if it was no longer sure what that meant. The promise of obeisance to one had been broken this night, for sake of obeisance towards another. If that truly was a sin, Ionir was not equipped to punish itself.

So, in this situation, it did the only thing it could.

Ionir moved.

In its current bodily configuration, Nidhogh, Ionir's sheer size and strength meant that it was more than a match for its two targets, even without any Aether infusion to speak of. Letting out a roar of grinding bark, it swept its vine-like tail across the rooftop, the appendage crushing everything it rushed over.

Aclima darted towards the incoming tail, no doubt thinking it was filled with Wisdom she could attack with her ability, but AnyaHapgrass saw through it immediately. She pushed in front of the Supreme Heir -- and planted one of her two flags into the rooftop before her, between the two women and the attack.

Ionir had never seen AnyaHapgrass fight before, but it was vaguely familiar with her abilities through the research MORGAN NACHT had presented it the night before. She wielded two flags: Bright Surrender and Dark Resistance. The two flags projected spherical fields around themselves when planted, their precise effects differing. Bright Surrender attracted weapons and attacks, while Dark Resistance repelled them.

In short, they were magnets for violence.

AnyaHapgrass had planted Dark Resistance this time -- and so, Ionir's tail came to a sudden halt as it reached the projected field. The speed with which it had been moving suddenly turned against it, and the backlash tore the tail in two, the severed end dropping off the edge of the roof.

Aclima took advantage of the sudden interruption in Ionir's attack, rushing towards its massive head as quickly as she could. One of her hands was open, grasping at empty air, ready to use Curse Hand -- while the other dragged her massive cleaver-sword behind her.

Ionir went to take flight again, to escape Aclima's range, but MORGAN NACHT was already taking action on its behalf.

The young man flipped off of Ionir's head, sword whistling through the air, and landed directly in front of Aclima. Their clash was immediate -- again and again and again, the black cleaver struck against the pale blade. Ionir went to snap down at Aclima before she could use Curse Hand, but --

Danger.

-- instead, it had no choice but to launch itself up into the air once more.

AnyaHapgrass had pulled a black spear out of thin air -- some kind of Armament, with fire blazing from the back like a rocket's thruster -- and hurled it towards Ionir. Now -- having missed -- it zoomed off into the night, a red dot slowly growing dim. Ionir knew not what that attack had been, but its well of instinct told it that allowing it to hit was not an option.

There was every possibility that AnyaHapgrass could launch another attack like that. Ionir could not allow that. The immediate target had changed.

Fight carefully, MORGAN NACHT, Ionir thought. I must do the same.

This was a disaster.

Everything had been set. They hadn't even needed to do anything, and Atoy Muzazi had been eliminated by that monster PALATINE. After Hadrien had defeated it, everything should have been in the bag. Gretchen should have won at that point.

All she had to do was get Aclima to the Arena, use her control over the girl to force a surrender, and reap the rewards. The favour of the new Supreme, and Baltay’s release from that prison. Atoy Muzazi shouldn't even have been a factor by that point.

But he'd turned everything around -- no, they had. No doubt this bastard Nacht had been part of planning this coup as well. Muzazi wasn't smart enough to conceive of such a plan on his own, nor unscrupulous enough to execute it. She hadn't made him that way.

Yes… this was a disaster, but not an unsalvageable one.

She'd already sent word to Hadrien of the situation with her Owl Glass. Given the circumstances, she hadn't been able to check for a reply, but it would give him a chance to prepare in case Muzazi showed up. In case. Ash del Duran was in pursuit of him, and he was no weakling.

There was every possibility that the Full Moon wouldn't reach that place alive.

In which case, her job right now was to protect Aclima and eliminate Muzazi's supporters. That she could gladly do.

Allowing a grin to spread across her lips, Gretchen pulled two items out of her Ragnarok Forge. A small burning dagger in one hand, and a crystalline sphere in the other. As the great wooden dragon flapped its mighty wings above, sending gusts of wind coursing across the rooftops, Gretchen narrowed her eyes at it.

She'd been hoping for an opportunity like this… an opportunity for vengeance against the one who had killed her.

It was time to launch her first attack.

There was guilt lurking inside Morgan Nacht’s heart, but he didn't have time for it right now. It would have to remain in the dark for the time being.

His sword danced through the air, clashing with Aclima's again and again and again, showers of sparks raining down with each impact. With each strike, he could tell that his blade was growing more fragile -- spiderweb cracks already forming across the pale metal. It wouldn't last much longer.

It couldn't be helped, though: that damage was a natural consequence of the measures he was taking to stay alive.

Aclima's ability, Curse Hand, allowed her to subvert any Aether she grabbed with her hand. The Aether became like a hostile virus, attacking the body of its user and rapidly debilitating them. Since she needed to touch her target's Aether to activate the ability, Morgan should have had little to fear from blocking her sword-swings.

However… that was how Curse Hand had worked two years ago. Ever since Elysian Fields, Aclima had been loath to demonstrate her abilities in front of Muzazi's faction. Who was to say she hadn't developed the ability further since then?

So, he'd decided to take a page out of Ash del Duran's book.

The principle was the opposite of pinpoint Aether. When he swung his sword, Morgan infused his body and his weapon as he normally would -- then, at the moment of impact, he removed the infusion entirely. His attacks retained the momentum his infused swings had given them, so speed and strength wasn't a problem… but durability was another story.

How many more times could he swing before his sword shattered? Hell, pain was already beginning to ooze up his arm -- how many strikes before that shattered?

As Morgan slowed down, Aclima sped up, her attacks growing more wild and ferocious as she advanced. It almost wasn't fair. She could enjoy the benefits of both infusion and Curse Hand simultaneously, while her opponent had to manage with fragile flesh and blood.

Morgan ducked under a swing that would have taken his head off. This tactic wasn't working, there wasn't a path to victory here. He could just barely defend with his anti-pinpoint Aether, but attacking was another option. Eventually, Aclima would wear him down.

He supposed he could try that… but no. If that didn't work, he'd be dead. Best to keep it as a last resort.

F! A!

Morgan pulled himself backwards with a daring rope made of Amplified Fog, dispelling it the instant it was no longer needed. Curse Hand wasn't just a threat to infusion: it meant that any Aether construct or effect Morgan tried to impose was just another avenue through which Aclima could attack. Launching projectiles like Block was out of the question, for example.

Panting for breath, Morgan ran a finger along his blade, feeling the damage. The weapon had three, maybe four clashes left in it. He'd have to make them count.

He was just about to charge back in --

Clang.

-- when a bright blue sphere of crystal landed at his feet.

He didn't know what it was. He didn't know who had thrown it. He didn't know what it did. But on a battlefield like this, there was no time to question such things. On a battlefield like this, that could be nothing but an attack.

He went to move, but too late…

“Little Pearl,” grinned Anya Hapgrass.

…as the light erupted forth and devoured Morgan Nacht.

A blue aurora flared across the rooftop, pulling in both MORGAN NACHT and Aclima, before suddenly receding. When it cleared, the two of them were gone.

Ionir looked around with the full extent of its awareness -- but no, it could not find where they had gone. Had they even gone somewhere, or had that attack annihilated them entirely? No. If the enemy was capable of that, this fight would never even have begun at all.

Yes… the enemy.

Ionir returned it's attention to the lone woman now standing on the roof below it -- AnyaHapgrass. She was looking up, hands on her hips, a broad grin on her face. Did she think she had a better chance of victory now that MORGAN NACHT was gone? If so, she was mistaken.

“You can talk if you want,” AnyaHapgrass called up cheerily, tapping her earring. “I've got a translator.”

A translator? Ionir didn't know such a thing existed. But still…

MORGAN NACHT and Aclima. Where have they gone?

AnyaHapgrass tapped her foot against the ground, her grin growing ever-wider. Something was off. Ever since Aclima had disappeared, this woman's body language had changed completely. Even if she hadn't yet tried to attack Ionir since the battle began, there was still a threat there -- Ionir could sense it.

“It's so cute how you're worried about him, you know,” she giggled. “Don't worry… Little Pearl just sends people away, so they're not vaporised or anything. Was that what you were worried about?”

Sent them away to where?

“I've got no reason to answer that,” AnyaHapgrass replied. “It's a place they can't get back to here from anytime soon, let's just say that.”

If that's the case… you've already failed your mission. If Aclima can't even return here, how will she reach the arena?

AnyaHapgrass pursed her lips. “She's resourceful. I've got complete faith.”

While Aclima fights MORGAN NACHT, you intend to fight me, Ionir surmised. I do not think that was a good idea for you, AnyaHapgrass.

“Don't worry,” she said. “It gets better.”

She stepped forward -- and as she did, she pulled a small weapon out from her sleeve. A dagger, it's curved blade glowing white-hot. Ionir kept its focus on the thing: if that was an Aether Armament that AnyaHapgrass had acquired, there was no telling what it's abilities could be.

“Fusion Tool,” AnyaHapgrass smiled, raising the knife up before her face. “Heimdall.”

The dagger erupted into flames.

In an instant, AnyaHapgrass’ body had been engulfed by the inferno -- and as it was engulfed, it changed. Skin and hair alike were burnt away, but from beneath them new hair and new skin quickly made itself known. Eyeballs were scorched by the flames, leaving golden ones in their place.

It was like seeing wallpaper be stripped away, revealing the true brickwork beneath.

AnyaHapgrass drank in the night air deeply as she spread her arms wide, head angled up towards the sky.

“Oh my god!” she groaned, cracking her neck. “That is actually so much better!’

No. That wasn't right. AnyaHapgrass didn't do that, and AnyaHapgrass didn't say that.

That hair. Those eyes. That voice.

GretchenHail narrowed her gaze as she looked back down at Ionir.

Her overalls had burnt away too, leaving a dress of simple red cloth -- but that dress was loaded down heavily. Bracelets and baubles, piercings and anklets, necklaces and brooches, accessories and attachments. Every inch of available space had been taken advantage of, to such a degree that the woman seemed to be glittering in the night-light.

GretchenHail was an expert on Aether Armaments, after all. It seemed she'd come equipped this time.

“Hiya, tree,” she growled. “It's been a while.”

It was a good thing, Morgan Nacht supposed, that he wasn't afraid of heights.

One second, he'd been fighting Aclima along the rooftops of Azum-Ha -- and in the next he was somewhere else entirely. A circular platform of blue crystal, around ten metres across, with Aclima standing on the other side. Where they were wasn't the issue, though.

The issue was where the platform was.

Azum-Ha was one of the biggest city-worlds in the galaxy, right next to the UAP’s Serendipity. The buildings stretched so high that there were many places that had to project an artificial sky, just to prevent neuroses in the populace. When you were on Azum-Ha, the urban jungle was inescapable.

If Morgan looked down right now… if Morgan squinted… he could just about make out that landscape.

How high up were they? Morgan couldn't put a number on it, but he didn't think the number would make him feel much better, anyway. If they weren't in the upper atmosphere, they were damn well close.

At any rate… this was the border between the sky and the stars.

That sphere had done this. Beyond that, Morgan didn't have the luxury of speculation. He had to focus on survival right now. He had to focus on victory.

He held his near-broken sword in both hands, ready against the girl opposite him. Aclima looked just as confused as he had for a moment, but then her face hardened, and her eyes turned cold. It seemed she'd reached the same conclusion he had.

Against an enemy like this…

With a battlefield like this…

In a situation like this…

…this might no longer be a fight that both of them could walk away from.