Aetheral Space

The night was bright and wild.

Ruth Blaine walked through the crowds that filled the streets of Azum-Ha, her gaze fixed firmly ahead. Tonight, her eyes were tarnished blue and her hair a dull gold: Wu Ming had used one of his abilities to temporarily alter her appearance. It made sense. For a mission like this, a disguise was necessary.

She stopped as a gang of children came screeching past, chasing after each other in some game. They were wearing masks -- cheap, oversized raven masks, no doubt bought from one of the many stalls that lined the streets tonight. During her reign, Renée the Raven had killed so many people, disappeared her political opponents, filed down free speech until it barely existed… and now kids ran down the street playing as her.

It seemed the Supremacy always took the legacies back.

The stalls were selling more than masks, though. Pungent food and tacky souvenirs for the tourist masses who had made their way to Azum-Ha for the Dawn Contest. Figurines and portraits of the many contestants who had already dropped out. Ruth even saw a guy selling Dragan Hadrien t-shirts, the face of her friend inevitably stretched out to frog-like proportions.

Despite everything, that made her smile.

She looked up, towards her destination in the sky. The Arena of the Absolute: silhouetted against the moon, with countless shuttles flowing up into it like flies to a corpse. Somewhere in that arena, her target was getting ready to watch the end of the Dawn Contest.

Somewhere in that arena, the Shepherdess was waiting.

It was strange. She walked to the Arena with revenge in her heart, but if anything her fury now seemed to be cold. Ellis, Alice, Rex… their absence was still a wound, to be sure, but it was one that Ruth could learn to walk with.

Those piles of dust in her dreams… if she just imagined they were objects, not corpses, she could keep going as she needed to.

She glanced down again at the ticket Wu Ming had given her. First-class, giving her access to one of the more comfortable shuttles -- and, more importantly, the top level of the Arena, where the private booths were. Booth 31CA… if Wu Ming was right, that was where the Shepherdess would be.

What sort of face would that woman make, Ruth wondered? Would there be fury there? Definitely not fear, not fear that Ruth could see. A tiny part of her expected to see smug satisfaction on those lips.

That was fine, though. She was a big girl. She could handle a smirking corpse.

The night was dark and dead.

Ash del Duran lay face down in the wet grass of Unicorn Park, the shadows of the Apex Trees resting atop him.

He wasn't dead, at least. For fear of alienating Atoy Muzazi, his attackers had decided to take him down non-lethally -- and with the injuries he'd already sustained over the evening, Ash's ability to fight back had been limited. He still could have won, though. If he'd finally decided to cash in his life, he surely could have won.

But this was a dark and cold place, empty of witnesses and glory. What warrior would choose to gild their gravestone here?

So he had fought below his capacity, and he had not fought well enough. As Ash del Duran lay there, mind submerged in unconsciousness, he heard the words of the demon spear… over, and over, and over again.

“Weakling.”

“Weakling.”

“Weakling.”

Ruth crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat as the shuttle took off. This was one of the last craft heading for the Arena tonight -- and so it wasn't especially crowded. Apart from her, there were fifteen people at most sitting and talking in the small vessel.

The cityscape drifted by outside the window, growing smaller as the shuttle ascended, and Ruth found her eyes drawn to it. Were Bruno and Serena still down there, somewhere? No, not likely. They'd be up at the Arena already, if Bruno had their way, waiting for an opportunity to get to Dragan.

Faint regret tugged at her. She hadn't had a chance to meet back up with them, had she? Or had she had that chance, and decided not to do it? She couldn't recall a specific moment in which a decision was made.

Right now, everything outside of this mission seemed indistinct, incorporeal… vague as smoke. Only the steps she was taking were real. The corpse she was moving towards was the lynchpin of reality.

“Exciting, isn't it?” the person sitting next to her said.

Ruth turned to look. It was a young Cogitant woman, her hair white as snow, her electric-blue eyes behind a pair of spectacles. She smiled meekly at Ruth as their eyes met.

“Sorry, what?” Ruth mumbled, her own voice sounding alien to her ears.

“Exciting,” the Cogitant woman repeated. “The, um, the Dawn Contest, I mean. The finals, specifically. It's a historic occasion, you know?”

“Right. Yeah.”

“Did you know that if -- if Dragan Hadrien wins, he'll be the seventh Cogitant Supreme ever? Eighth if you count Doctor Marlyn. A lot of people don't count Doctor Marlyn.”

“Do you think Hadrien will win?” Ruth found herself asking.

“He's really strong!” the woman replied excitedly. “I think he's got a very good shot. I checked the betting sites before I came out and the odds look really good for him. I mean, that's all based on demonstrated performance, and nobody's seen much of what the Heir can do -- but still, you know, what else is there to go off of?”

“Huh.”

“Regardless of who wins,” the Cogitant said, fidgeting. “Regardless, um, the Banquet afterwards is going to be crazy this time. There’re already rumours that drones from the Hive of Malkuth have been lurking around -- and they say the Sixth Dead’s been spotted. One of my online friends -- they work at a spaceport -- says that someone was smuggling an Armoured Chassis on-world, too. And guess who it belonged to? Appoi --”

Outside, another shuttle -- small and silver -- zoomed past, overtaking the rest of the swarm as it flew to the Arena of the Absolute. The Cogitant woman's blue eyes tracked it excitedly as it went. The moment it was out of sight, she whipped her head back to Ruth.

“Did you see that?” she asked. “That's Ascendant-General Toll’s personal shuttle. He's probably in there, you know? Heading to watch the finals with his Honest Men. Those are his personal bodyguards. There used to be a different team of them, but most of them died at Elysian Fields -- except for Gregori Hazzard, but now he's a Special Officer with the Eight Phases. He'll probably be here too, though, defending the Heir. Maybe we'll see him!”

“Maybe,” Ruth mumbled.

The woman shifted in her seat, glancing over at Ruth a couple more times, before speaking up again. “Some people actually buy tickets to get to the Arena without having a seat there, you know.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, they just want to be there when history's happening, be in proximity to it, I guess.” She shuffled in her seat again. “You know, if you haven't got a seat, I actually happen to have --”

Telltale turbulence began to thrum through the shuttle -- they were coming in to land. Ruth immediately stood up. Her eyes were still fixed forward.

“Sorry,” she said. “I've got something going on.”

The night was cold and empty.

The two young men lay sprawled out on the rooftops of Azum-Ha.

They were wounded, drifting in and out of consciousness, but not quite dead. Gregori Hazzard was bleeding from thin cuts all over one side of his body, but these had not been inflicted by an attacker. It had been a sudden blow to the back of the head, undetectable, that had brought him down.

Morgan Nacht hadn't fared much better.

The exhaustion from his battle against Aclima had done half the work. A swift punch to the gut and a chop to the neck, neither seen, had taken care of the rest. His limp hand remained outstretched towards the burning effigy in the middle of the rooftop.

There was another body, of course, another unconscious form a short distance away -- Gretchen Hail. She groaned softly from the depths of oblivion, slowly but surely recovering from the blow to the head she'd received. Even now, orange Aether was beginning to crackle between the locks of her hair.

Yes, orange -- and if you looked closely… perhaps the shadow of something green.

Ruth Blaine walked through halls not meant for her.

This was a place for the rich and the vile. She could tell that immediately. Parades of servants shepherded their masters to their observation booths, celebrities and military officials and Ministers alike. Like the Cogitant woman had pointed out, the Ascendant-General was here, as well as the new Commissioner of the Special Officers. The titans of the Supremacy were gathering to see what their next terror was going to look like.

Ruth found vague thoughts bouncing through her head as she walked. What would Skipper have done if he was here? What would Skipper have done if he could see all this?

He'd have stopped it. She didn't know how, but he'd have stopped it. He'd have figured something out. He'd have brought Dragan home, and found Bruno and Serena, and saved Ruth's friends from that witch. She didn't know how, but he'd have done it.

Because he was a hero.

Ruth stopped walking, and looked up.

She'd made it. Booth 31CA, where the Shepherdess would be waiting for her. It was out of the way, so far down these halls that not a single other person now accompanied her as she looked up at it. That was no surprise: based on what Wu Ming had said, the Shepherdess would want to stay away from prying eyes.

A long stairway stretched up, lit dimly from below, making it look like a passage into the void. This was a place that ate people. This was a world that ate people.

Ellis, Alice, Rex.

Ruth climbed.

In the end, she knew, all of this was her fault. Bruno had suggested it, but she had been the one to push her team into coming to Azum-Ha. They'd acted as if it were no big deal, but she knew that wasn't truly the case. They must have died resenting her.

Ellis, Alice, Rex.

It was the same every time. She got people caught up in her own idiocy and dragged them down with her. It had happened back home. It had happened on Elysian Fields. It had happened again here. This was her sin -- a sin she had to make amends for.

Ellis, Alice, Rex.

She was strong, now, stronger even than she'd been before. She had the power she needed to make amends -- the power to dig her claws into the Shepherdess’ chest and rip out her heart. She pictured it, cold and limp in her hand, finally still after a thousand years of beating. The image didn't conjure much satisfaction.

Ellis, Alice, Rex.

She understood why, of course. Even if the Shepherdess had been the one to strike the final blows, it had been Ruth's actions, her stubbornness, that had killed her friends. It had been Ruth's actions, her weakness, that had torn the crew apart. It had been her actions, her failure to follow through, that had caused all of this.

Ellis, Alice, Rex.

The only real murderer here was her.

Just like last time.

A flayed corpse strapped to a post.

Ellis…

Alice…

…Rex.

She reached the top of the stairs, and the doors to the observation booth began to slide open. Not fast enough. Red Aether flared across Ruth's hands as she manifested the gauntlets of the Direwolf Set, digging her claws into the metal entrance and wrenching it open.

A growl already escaping from her throat, Ruth took the final step forward, ready for the fight --

-- but then stopped.

The Shepherdess wasn't there.

No.

The room's sole occupant turned to look at her and smiled softly. He was a young man in a ragged dark cloak. His skin was pale as snow, his pupils -- and his hair -- black as night. As Ruth looked at him, bemused, he narrowed his eyes in mild amusement.

“Who the hell are you?!” she snarled.

He put a finger to his lips.

“Hush, Ruth Blaine,” he said, voice as faint as an evening breeze. “There's no need to be so noisy.”

His thin smile widened.

“I'd just like to speak with you.”

ARC 13

END OF PART 4