Aetheral Space

Gretchen Hail did not consider the Fusion Tools to be her magnum opus.

In fact, she disliked the idea of a magnum opus in the first place. The concept of an ultimate creation was somewhat repugnant -- after all, once you'd accomplished that, what else was there to live for? A human life should never be completed. There should always be something new to strive for. Perfection was wonderful because it could never be attained.

So the Fusion Tools were not her ultimate masterpiece. However, she did consider them a very nice piece of work.

“Fusion Tool: Voracious!”

As she and the humanoid Ionir Yggdrassil charged at each other, she pulled the serrated knife from her Ragnarok Forge and activated it in one smooth movement.

She'd designed the Fusion Tools with two main goals in mind. First, to elevate the human body and allow it to tap into more power. Second, to grant Aether abilities to those without Aether. The second of those goals hadn't been achieved -- and with Aclima now being an Aether-user, was unnecessary -- but Gretchen was still proud of her success in the first regard.

White light coated Gretchen's body, and when it cleared she no longer looked entirely human.

She couldn't see herself in this situation, of course, but from testing she was quite familiar with her appearance in this form. Grey clammy skin like some sea-beast, beady black eyes that seemed to suck in the light -- and a long, serrated nose created from the blade of the original weapon.

Aether burns occurred when a person tried to channel more Aether through their body than it could withstand. To get around it, people slowly trained their body to tolerate more and more Aether, but that was a gradual process. She suspected that Dragan Hadrien had found a workaround for this, but that was still up in the air.

At any rate, the Fusion Tool was much more efficient. By combining the body of the user with that of a high-grade Aether Armament, a form designed specifically for holding and using Aether could be instantly achieved. No real skill in Aether-usage was even necessary: she'd confirmed that with the use of Preston Rikhail. With just a simple activation, a combatant could be elevated two or three levels.

Being skilled couldn't hurt, though.

She'd spiced things up, too, just a little bit. Because the Spine of Granba was currently embedded in her body, the Fusion Tool registered it as being part of her. As such, the form she'd now assumed was really a three-way fusion between her body, the Spine, and Voracious.

The sixteen arms, once spindly porcelain, were now unmistakably biological -- lined with pale muscle and covered in tiny spines. At the end of each protruded not a hand, but a vicious serrated blade like Voracious’ nose. Counting her original limbs, which too now ended in blades, Gretchen now had eighteen deadly weapons at her disposal.

So she put them to work.

Ionir Yggdrassil bobbed and weaved as eighteen blades stabbed at it again and again, but there was only so much it could do against such an onslaught. Bark rained down as the Fell Beast’s body was scraped and punctured -- and, in every spot where Yggdrassil took damage, Voracious' ability took hold. The gashes widened further, grew deeper, as if even more invisible blades were stabbing mechanically at the site of each wound.

Of course, Ionir Yggdrassil was hardly going to just stand there and take it.

The Fell Beast stomped down on the roof -- and as it did, emerald Aether ran down its leg and into the shattered stone. Immediately, Gretchen leapt back. She was familiar with what Yggdrassil could do Aether-wise: accelerating and controlling the growth of plant-life for both attack and defense. She'd seen it often enough to know it wasn't something to be taken head on.

In this case, though, she wasn't given much of a choice.

There was nothing Yggdrassil could grow into a tree in this urban jungle. Instead, a tidal wave of moss was belched forth from the rooftop, engulfing and wrapping itself around Gretchen's body in an instant. Trapped in mid-air, she writhed to escape -- but to no avail. Even the Spine of Granba was bound tight by the sudden prison.

Fine. She'd come prepared for this as well.

Fusion Tool: Gnomish All-Brawn!

There was a heavy risk when it came to using more than one Fusion Tool at once. If the transformations they provided were incompatible, they ran the risk of causing the user's body to collapse, resulting in a quick death. That was why Gretchen equipped all of her Fusion Tools with a certain safety feature -- if they detected the activation of another Fusion Tool, they immediately deactivated themselves to make space.

Which also meant that switching between Fusion Tools was an exceedingly fast process.

In an instant, Gretchen's body had changed once more. Grey and clammy skin had become rough and rocky, her eyes now hidden by a hanging visor like a turtle shell, her teeth bared with the uniformity of a brick wall. The sixteen arms of the Spine of Granba, now dense and burly with muscle, tore the moss apart with their dexterous hands.

She was free.

As Gretchen fell, Ionir fired off another volley of blade-leaves, but that was no problem. Just by raising her extra limbs, Gretchen created a nearly impenetrable barrier of forearms, the projectiles bouncing off their reinforced armour. Clearing through the deluge, Gretchen charged, thumping her hands against the ground like a furious gorilla.

She reached the tree and let loose once more.

Her endless punches were like shotgun blasts, each obliterating a portion of Yggdrassil's body as it struck true. The continuous damage had stopped when she'd deactivated Voracious, but the destructive force of Gnomish All-Brawn more than made up for it. If it did just stand there and take it, Gretchen was sure she could whittle the Fell Beast down to nothing before too long.

It wouldn't be that easy, but wouldn't that be nice?

Gretchen darted backwards as a pair of tendril-vines nearly hooked themselves under her visor. She couldn't allow herself to become complacent. Every Fusion Tool had its strengths, but they often introduced new weaknesses too. That visor was effectively her eye -- if she let Yggdrassil peel it off, she'd be blinded.

Best to switch things up.

Battle Bouquet!

The Aether Armament appeared in her hand -- an exquisitely engraved longsword, the hilt designed to appear like two intertwining bodies. It had belonged to the Lovers of Yalhoun, who had lived in the first era of the Supremacy, and had been forged by the Godsmith specifically for their use. They'd wielded it together in battle: for each person holding the weapon, its size and strength doubled.

The funny thing, though, was how the Armament determined how many people were holding the sword…

…it checked the number of hands.

Sixteen hands took hold of Battle Bouquet, and it hallucinated the joined hearts of eight people. Immediately, the sword ballooned in size, dwarfing Gretchen and Ionir alike. It took all the strength from all of the Spine's arms just to keep hold of the now-gargantuan weapon -- and an agonizing effort beyond that just to swing it downwards…

…right onto Ionir Yggdrassil's head.

The Fell Beast moved to dodge, but this was not an attack that could be dodged completely. The Battle Bouquet smashed through the left side of Ionir's body, severing his arm and whittling his leg down to a mere twig. As Gretchen dragged the sword back, it was now covered in golden sap like the tree's blood, the substance oozing down the surface of the blade.

Grimacing at the sight, Gretchen returned the Bouquet to her Ragnarok Forge. Testing out the loophole with the number of hands had been interesting, but the powered-up weapon was too cumbersome to use as anything but a surprise attack.

For the time being, these hands would be more than enough to --

Ionir Yggdrassil wrapped its body tight around itself, emerald Aether flaring.

The Bloodless Hour!

Well, the time being had ended surprisingly quickly. This was a move that Gretchen had been wary of since the beginning -- it had been one she'd witnessed in person, back during the days of the Seven Blades. Ionir was going to prompt the rapid growth of its own body, the eruption of new life like an explosion that would engulf all of its enemies.

The speed of the growth meant that All-Brawn could block but not strike back, and Voracious could strike but not block. Dodging wouldn't get her out of the area of effect, either. Could she destroy the floor and escape that way? Not in a second, no.

A bead of gravelly sweat trickled down Gretchen's temple.

The second the Bloodless Hour ended, the explosion of life would begin. Did she have any Armaments to hand that could counter that instantly? She didn't think so.

The Silversaint Prototypes could act as inhuman shields, maybe, but it wouldn't work long. Could she make another combined cannon? If she fired and it didn't do enough damage, she'd be overwhelmed a second later. The options were slim, and the odds of victory were thinning with them.

Nothing else for it, then. She'd have to get a little experimental.

If I've done my work right, they should be compatible.

The thing about safety features… was that they could be turned off.

Click.

Fusion Tool: Voracious plus Fusion Tool: Gnomish All-Brawn!

The two swords clashed once more, in that arena above the sky -- and as they did, Morgan's blade finally shattered.

Instinctively, he infused his face to protect it against the flying shards of metal -- and Aclima immediately lunged forward, hand grasping for the sparks of purple. He dropped down, rolling backwards over the gnarled crystal floor, feeling it dig and scrape against his skin. That wouldn't be enough, though. Aclima was still in pursuit.

Screw it!

F! A!

Morgan conjured another rope of Fog, using it to pull himself towards the edge of the arena and out of Aclima's reach. As he moved, his mind raced. He needed a way to attack. Now.

Hand-to-hand wasn't an option. Uninfused, his fists would be nothing but a nuisance, and if he injected them with Aether he'd practically be begging Aclima to use Curse Hand. Amplification and Cut had the same problem. Fog and Block were Aether constructs, too, so using them would be just as much of a mistake. Same with Jape.

Damnit, damnit, damnit…

If Anya Hapgrass was the one who'd sent them here, she'd chosen her move well. Even without infusion, Morgan was sure that Ionir could have handled Aclima. It was naturally far stronger than any human. Morgan, on the other hand, felt like an ant trying to take down a boot.

Still, the situation wasn't that bad…

Morgan hopped back to his feet, snapping two crystals from the floor and hurling them at Aclima. The former Heir just smashed them out of the air with her forearm, looking distinctly unimpressed.

Damn. Morgan had been hoping she'd try Curse Hand on them. He could tell they were an Aether construct -- and if so, there was a good chance that Aether belonged to Anya Hapgrass. If Aclima had taken the bait, she could have taken her own bodyguard out of commission and freed Ionir up to make his way here.

“You know you can't win, right?” Aclima said, glaring at him. “I've got Aether, and you haven't. That's all there is to it.”

“I dunno about that,” Morgan smiled thinly. “For you to win, you need to get to the Arena before Muzazi. For me to win, I just need to keep you here. Feel free to chase me around for as long as you like.”

Aclima's brow furrowed with frustration, but she said nothing. Morgan took the opportunity to continue.

“And I do have Aether,” he said. “I only need to worry about my infusion when you're right next to me -- and I've got a good idea of your speed now. I know I can turn my infusion off faster than you can close the distance. So maybe things aren't as cut and dry as you thought?”

Gloat. Heckle. Build up her frustration.

The situation wasn't nearly as stable as Morgan had implied. Even if he was faster, he was still only one mistake away from being hit with Curse Hand. If that ability made contact with his Aether, even for a second, he had no idea what kind of effect it would have on his body.

He needed Aclima to be acting out of anger. He needed her to be sloppy. He needed her to make mistakes of her own.

Only… he wasn't quite sure that was what he was getting.

The furrowing of the brow had stopped. As Morgan watched, wary, she took a deep calming breath. She closed her eyes, but he didn't dare take advantage.

When she opened them again, her gaze was cold.

“I didn't want to use this on you,” she said. “But you're right. There's no time to waste.”

Morgan tightened his grip on his broken sword. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you think I just sat on my ass the last two years?” Aclima smiled thinly. “Curse Cloud.”

Her purple Aether flared -- and as it did, dark smoke began to pour out from Aclima's body. It crawled across the ground and through the air like a miasma, tendrils curling around the crystals as it went. Just looking at it was eerie: the impressions of wailing human faces seemed to waver within the smoke. Within a few seconds, it had covered half of the arena. Within a few more, almost all of it.

If Morgan hesitated for a second longer, it would claim him too.

Nothing else for it, then. He didn't know what this ability did exactly, or if it was as dangerous as Curse Hand. But, so long as the risk that it was that dangerous existed, he couldn't let it touch him no matter what.

Morgan Nacht took a step back…

…and fell out of the sky.

“And with that…” Gretchen sighed, smoke pouring out from between her razor-sharp teeth. “...you're done.”

The combination Fusion Tool had done its work well.

Clammy skin and rocky hide had combined into shimmering scales, lined with protruding spikes like sharpened coral. The shell-visor hung over the top half of Gretchen's head once again, but now the bottom half was consumed entirely by a sharp toothy grin.

She shook her eighteen hands, bark and sawdust pouring down from the serrated claws on each. Indeed… it had done its work well.

Fusion Tools… deactivate.

Gretchen let out another breath as the Aether Armaments disengaged, returning her to her previous form. She was red in the face and covered in cold sweat -- the strain of wielding two Fusion Tools at the same time had almost been too much for her.

Even with Aether Bonds stabilizing the combination, there was a very real danger she could have gone beyond her capacity. She'd have to be more careful with her Aether going forward. Still, though…

…the sight before her had been worth it.

What was left of Ionir Yggdrassil rested on the shattered rooftop before her. The top half of a torso, a cracked-open head, and the twitching stump of a right arm. Everything else had been torn to shreds by Gretchen's own hands.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Gretchen advanced, reaching into her Ragnarok Forge for the final tool.

Unlike the others she had brought out, this weapon wasn't nearly as intricate. A pole of clear glass, with a tiny blade on one end -- and a crackling bar of white energy within. Gretchen flipped it in her hands, pointing the spear down at Ionir's body, like she was about to skewer a fish.

Ba-dump…

“Well…” she said.

Ba-dump…

“...see ya.”

Ba-dump.

But the finishing blow did not come. Instead, the spear slipped out of Gretchen's hands, clattering to the floor and rolling away. She watched it go with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

For a moment, her mouth moved silently, but she soon managed to force words out.

“What… what did you…”

Her arms were trembling. Her nose felt hot. She put a hand to it -- and when she pulled it away, it was covered in blood.

An Aether burn.

For the first time since the fight had begun, Ionir Yggdrassil spoke.

“I see you're having trouble understanding, GretchenHail.”

“What did you do…?” Gretchen hissed, staggering backwards.

“You should not have cut me with that sword, GretchenHail,” Ionir calmly continued, speaking from the ground. “And if that was not possible, you should not have returned the sword to your ability. That was what sealed your fate.”

Gretchen gasped, her breath painfully shallow. “You…!”

“Yes. I.” The vines inside of Ionir's body began to ooze, slowly returning it to a vaguely humanoid form. “When you returned that great sword to your Aether, you took some of my biomass with it, clinging to the blade. That was the moment I won. Your Ragnarok Forge is truly gargantuan, GretchenHail. But ‘gargantuan’ is not ‘endless’.”

Gretchen fell to her knees, clutching her throat. Her lips were red with her own blood, and her eyes were quickly turning a matching crimson.

“When you recorded my biomass, I had already commanded it to begin growing once a certain amount of time passed. Even now, it stretches the capacity of your Ragnarok Forge beyond what it can handle. I am not entirely familiar with the traitor parlance… but I believe this would be called an Aether burn?”

Gretchen glared up at the Fell Beast, thin tears of blood leaking from the corners of her eyes and dripping onto the floor below.

What it said was true. Gretchen could feel it -- the foreign presence inside her Ragnarok Forge, consuming all her storage space as it grew and grew. It was like something was trying to push its way out through her skin. If things continued that way, perhaps that would even be what her corpse would look like.

What was worse was the fact that this imaginary tree was constantly changing. Because of that, whenever she selected it in an attempt to eject it from her Forge, the selection was made invalid an instant later. She couldn't do anything.

She couldn't do anything.

As she fell forward, chin hitting the ground, Ionir Yggdrassil rose upwards -- a wooden bust carried by writhing vines. The square-face of the Fell Beast looked down at her with what might have been pity. Her blood boiled, and that might even have been literal.

“You seem to think otherwise,” Ionir said. “But no vendetta exists between us. I am sorry that you are unhappy with me. However… I feel this is no longer a situation that can be resolved via apology.”

It pulled back a pointed vine.

“I will make it painless.”

Thud.

The vine had not moved. Ionir Yggdrassil had not moved. In that burning raining night, only one thing had moved. A jet-black spear had zoomed in out of the darkness and skewered Ionir through the chest.

It looked down at it, the movement of its head painfully slow, as if something were trying to hold it in place. Its vines, too, had been frozen.

“You… threw this…”

It began to rain treasure.

Guns and swords, spears and shields. They fell out of Gretchen's Ragnarok Forge, pouring onto the rooftop and spilling over the sides. Ordinarily, Gretchen would be loath to risk losing her collection like that, but she was still far too close to death to be picky.

Not as close as she had been a moment ago, though. After all… that tree had now stopped growing.

“Yeah,” she agreed, slowly clambering to her feet, wiping some of the blood from her face. “I did throw that, didn't I?”

Gretchen looked at the weapon impaling Ionir -- the black spear itself and the flame blazing from the end, like a thruster from a rocket. The memories reemerged as she ran her eyes over it, as if she was blowing dust from the pages of a book. By the time she was fully standing, she had a complete recollection of her plan.

She smiled.

“Do you ever get insomnia?”

“...what…?”

“I used to get really bad insomnia,” Gretchen said. “Not so much anymore, but years ago it was awful. I’d stay awake for hours, thinking about all sorts of things. Most of it was useless, but this one night… I started thinking about how I’d take down a Gene Tyrant. If I had to, I mean.”

She wiped some more of the blood away with the back of her hand.

“The key to it was the element of surprise, the way I saw it. With a Gene Tyrant, if they see some wacky attack coming, they could just adapt to it before it even landed. Scary stuff, huh? So you gotta make sure to get them in the back. Usually, that would need two people, right? But it’s a one-person scenario. So the weapon you use has gotta be able to move on its own, hover around then swoop in while the user distracts the Tyrant.”

Crouching down, she plucked the glass spear from the floor and turned it over in her hands.

“But then you’ve got the problem of hiding the plan, don’t you? A Gene Tyrant’s mind is like a Cogitant times a hundred. They’d see that I was hiding something just from looking at me. Only -- what if I didn’t know I was hiding something? I took inspiration from that bastard Westmore’s ability. The moment I miss that first throw, all memory of the spear is wiped from both my mind and that of the enemy.”

She grinned with red teeth, taking a step forward.

“Then, the spear lies in wait…”

And another -- shadows dancing across the rooftop.

“...and once it sees the ideal moment…”

And another -- bringing the two of them face to face.

“...it moves in and uses its original ability. You see, despite the modifications I made to it, that spear inside you was originally an antique. Belonged to the Blind Man himself. You remember what his Spears of Stillness do, right?”

She narrowed her bloodshot eyes.

“They stop shape-changers like you in their tracks. So…”

She raised the glass spear in her hands and flicked a switch on the side. Immediately, a flame began to belch forth from the tip of the weapon. Unlike the thruster from the black spear, though, this was thin, white, controlled.

Like a blowtorch.

“...where were we?”