Aetheral Space

Dragan looked down at the wreckage of the automatics. Just like the ones outside the palace, these ones had been left in a heap, never having moved from the positions they'd been stationed at. There hadn't been much of a fight, then.

With the assistance of a cane, he'd managed to get himself moving. He was standing there, in the center of the encampment, inspecting the aftermath of the confrontation.

Both of the automatics had been dispatched with single blows to the head, the metal dented in there as far as it would go. Surprise attacks, to be sure - the automatics hadn't even had time to move.

From what Dragan had been told, it was the same with the automatics outside of the palace. Presumably, that had been the sound of smashing metal he'd heard just before falling unconscious.

Mila and Helga flanked him on either side - Mila to make sure that he didn't collapse from his injuries, and Helga to answer his questions about the present situation.

The boy with the mismatched eyes, Aiden, watched from a little distance away. He was standing near where Dian’s corpse had been before they'd finally buried him, quietly gritting his teeth. He shot Dragan a glare as he walked by. Dragan glanced at him, but said nothing.

Emotions would be running high without a doubt, and he didn’t want to spark any more fires.

"Tell me again how it happened," said Dragan quietly.

"We were all rounded up here in the middle of town," said Helga. "The Special Officer stomped off to the ruins, and after ten minutes or so there was this bright light, like a flashbang or something. When the light cleared, the automatics were like this."

Dragan bit his lip, nodded, and glanced at Mila.

"It was too fast to really tell what was happening," she said apologetically. "When I first saw that light, I thought they were opening fire, so I closed my eyes. Sorry."

Wincing, Dragan stooped down to a knee, turned one of the wrecked skulls over in his hands. A single blow to the back of the head, destroying the power source.

An attack like that wouldn't have been possible without Aether. As far as he knew, the only ones planetside able to use Aether were himself, Bruno, Serena and Zakos. As far as he knew.

Bruno and Serena had been unconscious, so they couldn't be the culprit. Zakos would have no reason to destroy his own automatics - plus he'd been far too busy getting his ass kicked. And Dragan knew he hadn't done that, unless he had some hypercompetent split personality he didn't know about.

There was a fifth individual, then. A fifth person on the planet with the ability to use Aether, and the inclination to conceal that fact.

Dragan glanced around cautiously, keeping an eye on the Humilists passing by, getting things repaired and ready for their departure. Truth be told, it could be any one of them.

Was this fifth individual necessarily an enemy, though? They'd saved everyone from the automatics.

But why hadn't they done it sooner? Why had they let Zakos run wild for so long, only interfering once he was taken out of action? Judging from the strength and speed it would require to take out all the automatics so quickly, they were without a doubt stronger than Dragan. They could have taken care of Zakos themself if they'd had a mind to.

So why hadn't they?

A thought occurred to Dragan, one that really should have made its appearance sooner: how had Zakos found him? Dragan had been caught up in the situation, not taking time to question things, but now the matter seemed to stick out like a sore thumb.

A mole. That was one explanation. Was it the only one, or was it just the evidence creating that bias?

He'd keep his mouth shut for now, though. Do some investigating before he took any action.

"We should wait for Skipper and Ruth to get back before doing anything,” Dragan lied. "How's our guest doing?"

-

Oh, this was a sight for sore eyes.

Samael Embarrassment Zakos was tied to a makeshift pillar with layers and layers of steel ropes, his Aether suppressed by a dose of homebrew Neverwire fuel that Mila had managed to cook up. His eyes were wide with rage and fear, but his restraints didn't budge in the slightest no matter how much he struggled.

A gag had been shoved in his mouth, so the only noises he could make were muffled barks and groans, but Dragan got the gist of it. I'll kill you, how dare you do this to me, I'm insecure, etcetera, etcetera.

The tent was dark - a residential one that had hastily been converted into a makeshift prison, most light sources removed to save power. The tent had most likely belonged to Dian previously, but Dragan had thought it would be tactless to ask.

Dragan crouched over, flicked Zakos' forehead while grinning. "Looking good, Special Officer," he said mockingly.

That inspired another round of furious thrashing and murderous muffled screams, but Dragan didn't much mind. Gloating was a bad habit, to be sure, but he didn't get many chances to indulge in it these days.

"So," he continued, cocking his head, looking right into the prisoner's eyes. "I have some questions for you, Mr. Zakos. Think you're smart enough to answer them? Hm?"

Zakos just glared at him. Well, that was fine. He wouldn't have been capable of saying anything, anyway.

"Don't worry - I don't need you to talk," said Dragan soothingly, as if comforting a child. "I just need to look into your eyes as I ask my questions. That doesn't sound so hard, does it?"

Just more glaring. How unsociable.

Tapping a finger against Zakos' forehead, Dragan spoke. "Number one," he said, drawing out the word. "How did you know to come here? Was there a mole?"

Zakos squeezed his eyes shut, and Dragan almost burst out laughing. By taking measures to conceal his eyes, he was as good as confirming that Dragan was right. There'd be no point in keeping the fact that there wasn't a mole secret.

"Close your eyes again," said Dragan softly. "And I'll break your other arm. It's rude to do that when we're having a conversation, you know?"

Normally, he'd feel bad about doing this to someone, but when it came to Samael Ambrazo Zakos he couldn't seem to find any sympathy at all.

Zakos opened his eyes again. Coward.

"Question two," continued Dragan, holding up another finger. "Do you know who said mole is?"

As instructed, Zakos kept his eyes open. Dragan peered into them, unblinking, trying to intimidate as much as perceive.

There was no recognition in his eyes - he truly didn't know. Likely the mole had been intending to get in contact with someone else, then, and Zakos had simply taken advantage of the situation. Like a flea.

"You don't know, do you?" said Dragan with a tone of faux-sympathy, and the momentary glance away Zakos gave him only served as further confirmation.

There was a mole, and Zakos didn't know who it was. Confirmed.

"Thanks for the info," said Dragan quietly, patting Zakos on the head like a dog. "I appreciate it."

Ignoring the rabid sounds the Special Officer was making behind him, Dragan strolled out of the tent, tapping his cane against the ground.

-

The man who was like God stood amid the ruins of a world, the cape he wore over his bare chest flowing in the wind. A dark red sun glowed in the sky, all but completely blocked by the legion of ships that infested the sky like locusts.

The boy and his fellows, an army in identical uniforms, stood dutifully behind their leader. Each held an identical plasma-musket up towards the sky, like a metal forest in miniature - or a city of skyscrapers stretching up to the stars.

The man who was like God lifted his last opponent up by the scruff of his collar, inspecting the body.

The opponent had been celebrated as a reincarnation of a mighty warrior, who had slain countless mighty beasts and annihilated all rivals as he led his tribe to domination of the planet they'd made their home.

The opponent's name no longer mattered, but there were likely only a hundred or so people in the galaxy that were capable of matching his strength.

"Disappointing," muttered the man who was like God, tossing the legend aside. The boy watched his power with awestruck eyes.

Skipper opened his tired eyes, waking with a jolt in his captain's seat. Then, he sighed, running his hands over his face to wipe away the sweat. He'd had that dream again.

With his next few seconds of consciousness, Skipper scanned the navigation console. He still wasn't fully used to the Veritas' systems, but it seemed the autopilot was still working A-OK.

"You okay?" said Ruth from the co-pilots seat, looking concerned. She'd been anxious ever since they'd set off, so it was no surprise she was looking for more things to worry about.

"Hey," grinned Skipper, banishing the dream's lingering horror from his mind. "I'm always okay. You know?"

She frowned, but nodded all the same, looking down at the box in her lap. Skipper couldn't help but smile: ever since they'd gotten hold of the Rospolox at the Stirim markets, Ruth hadn't let it out of her sight. She was so damn cute.

"Do you think we're too late?" she spoke up again, the worry already making its return.

She got like this a little too often - it was understandable, but that didn't mean it couldn't cause problems in the future.

"Nah," he said, waving a hand as casually as he could. "We've got plenty of time to spare. Hell, I heard there's a restaurant ship that sails these parts that serves killer steak. Think we could make a quick stop there?"

The glare that Ruth gave him for that was truly apocalyptic. Well, he deserved it.

He'd never had any intention of stopping, anyway. There were only a few people in the galaxy he was able to protect, but he would never let anything happen to them if he could help it.

Bruno, Serena, he thought, subtly increasing the speed of the autopilot above what was traditionally considered safe. Hang in there.

-

That night, Samael Ambrazo Zakos opened his eyes as he heard soft footsteps, preparing himself for another round of humiliation. Well, that Dragan Hadrien could laugh all he wanted - he'd be paid back with interest before long.

His eyes widened. The one standing before him, in that tiny tent, was not Dragan Hadrien.

He didn't know who it was. The figure was like a red shadow, clad in a crimson mantle that concealed everything about them. Even their face was a black void - no, no, they were wearing some kind of mask.

Friend or foe? Were they loyal to the Supremacy, come to assist a Special Officer? Or were they like Hadrien, here to gloat at a momentary humiliation?

Zakos went to say something, but all that he managed was muffled gasps against his gag. The red shadow didn't even flinch at the sudden noise - instead, it knelt down and plucked the gag from his mouth.

He took in a few deep, greedy breaths, grateful for the cool air inside his mouth.

"My thanks," he panted. "And who are you supposed to be - Little Red Rider Hood?"

The red shadow didn't move, didn't speak, barely even seemed to breathe. It just stared at him through eyes that weren't there.

Realization popped into Zakos' head, and a stained-black grin spread across his face, eyes narrowing in lines of ecstasy.

"You're the one, aren't you? My contact from the GID?"

At first, there was no response, just a slight angling of the head. Then, they spoke in a soft voice: "Not yours."

Zakos frowned. Well, yes, technically this person had been trying to get in contact with Atoy Muzazi, but they'd gotten a superior package, so where was the problem? It was all besides the point now, at any rate.

"It matters not," Zakos intoned, already regaining his dignity. "Get these restraints off me and we'll deal with Hadrien and del Sed. There's little time -"

There was a hollow click, and Zakos looked up from his restraints. His eyes widened, and a cold sensation spread through his body.

A gun was pointing right at his face, held by the red shadow. A jet-black, polished punchpoint pistol, aimed right between his eyes.

"W-Wait," he said quietly, lips dry. This couldn't happen. This wasn't how things could end for Samael Ambrazo Zakos! He was a Special Officer, damnit!

The red shadow flicked off the safety. "You've ruined everything," it hissed.

Samael Ambrazo Zakos writhed, struggled, tried to escape, but the restraints were too tight. He looked up at the red shadow desperately.

"Wait!" he screamed again, but the shadow did not wait.

The finger pulled the trigger, and Samael Ambrazo Zakos said nothing more.