Aetheral Space

Many years ago…

"You lost. That's so sad."

Samson Rhodes opened his eyes.

He was lying in a sickbed in one of the Arena of the Absolute's preparation rooms, bandages wrapped around his sturdy form, a steady stream of stimulants being administered intravenously to accelerate his body's natural healing. That wouldn't be necessary now that he was awake. El Dorado would serve to deal with any lingering injuries.

The only thing he had to worry about now was this pest.

"Are you ignoring me? Haha, that actually hurts my feelings a little."

Samson glared up at the Supreme Heir, the boy named Niain.

He had never approved of the Supreme Henri, the one they were now calling the Glutton. His conduct had been unbecoming of a Supreme, far from the ideal model that Gael the Golden had provided. Samson had shaped himself into a warrior based on the example of Gael and the Heroes of Form -- he'd only returned to the lands of the Supremacy when he'd received news of Henri's death.

A pity, he'd thought at the time. He'd hoped to slay the beast himself.

But, he reflected, there was something different about the Supreme Heir, this smiling stain that seemed to infringe on the world around him. Henri had evoked disgust, to be sure, but with Niain came unease. The base instinct that the thing before you that looked like you was not like you at all.

"What do you want?" Samson asked, voice low. This was hardly the sort of thing he'd wanted to wake up to.

"Your fight with that child Kadmon was quite something, wasn't it?" Niain said, his voice full of thorned cheer. "Personally, I thought you were very cool and dynamic. It's just a shame you lost."

"You want to rub it in." Samson answered his own question.

Niain cocked his head innocently, as if the idea had never even occurred to him. "Not at all," he said pleasantly. "I just wanted to share my concerns for the future with you."

Samson snorted. "Is that so?"

"It is, haha," Niain replied. "That Kadmon… he can throw quite the punch, I'm sure you'd agree, but is that really all that's required for a good Supreme? To tell the truth, I was hoping that you'd emerge the victor."

"You wanted to take me on in the finals?" Samson asked, a humourless smirk twisting his lips.

"Well… between you and me, I might have just given you a throne, haha."

The smirk faded. "If you were to pull a stunt like that," Samson said, voice low. "I'd crush your head there and then. I'd wager that would finish off even a creature like you."

Samson didn't know the specifics of Niain's ability, but he knew it was among the highest echelons of manifestation. He could even create other living beings -- and using those beings, modify his own body. It was a safe bet that, at this point, the inside of Niain's form looked far from human. A vile practice far too reminiscent of a Gene Tyrant for Samson's liking.

His laugh was just as uncanny. "Haha! That's so scary!"

"Is that all? Get out."

"I'm being entirely serious, though?" Niain smiled. "I'm fairly empathetic, so I'm getting the sense you didn't like my earlier suggestion, but I really do think that you'd be a better choice for Supreme. Losing the battle once doesn't mean you'll necessarily lose it again. 'Live to fight another day', no? You need simply challenge Kadmon again and take the throne from him."

"You talk as if you've already lost to him."

"He's just way too strong," Niain sighed insincerely. "I'll get scared if I try to fight him. You seem like a brave person, though."

"To challenge the Supreme is the basis of our Supremacy," Samson glared, ignoring Niain's infuriating tone. "Do you really think I needed you to suggest that to me?"

Niain's lips parted just slightly, his little smile becoming a tiny grin.

"You know my ability, don't you?" he said softly. "My Ahura Mazda. There's all sorts of ways I can help people. There's all sorts of ways I could help you. I could grant you strength beyond what you have even now. I'd be happy to do it, haha. You're my big favourite, after all."

He leaned in, dark eyes like endless pits, until his words could reach nobody in the world but Samson.

"How about it?" the Supreme Heir whispered. "Do you want to become my friend?"

Samson stared into those eyes for a good few moments, searching for some glimmer of light, some marker of humanity. He found none. They were painted eyes. The eyes of a doll. Samson had heard the rumours about what had happened to the Glutton's other children. Were the last things Niain's siblings had seen those same soulless eyes?

"And why would you do this for me?" he finally asked slowly.

The predatory grin retreated back into a faux-cheerful smile. "I'm the sort of person who believes that real power in this world comes from friendship," Niain explained. "So I try to make friends wherever I go. I --"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Samson cut him off.

Niain blinked. "Not at all. Why would you think that?"

"I'm sure you think you're very clever," Samson growled, sitting up in his bed, towering over Niain just from that small effort. "You probably imagine yourself like some devil making me a deal I can't possibly refuse -- don't you, boy? I, the puppet, and you holding my strings? Perhaps a fool would accept your offer. Probably fools already have. But the thing is… anyone looking at you can tell you're not to be trusted. No, it's not even that. Why would I trust you? There's nothing to even trust. There's a void behind your eyes and behind your words. All that stands before me is a flimsy facade of low cunning, a thin skin covering absolutely nothing. So I ask you again. Why would I trust someone who doesn't even exist?"

Niain had stopped smiling.

"A sword is a pen to write the future with," Samson finished, his glare unbreaking. "Why would I sully mine with your ink?"

Niain blinked.

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"Whatever," he said quietly. "It was just a thought."

Samson watched the Supreme Heir go without a word, ignorant as to the pantomime he'd just participated in. There was no deal to be made, after all. There was no deal that needed to be made.

The Gilded Knight had already become Niain's friend.

The Gilded Knight had already become Niain's friend before he even woke up.

For Samson Rhodes, the long dream had only just begun.

Present Day…

Atoy Muzazi forced himself forward, one foot at a time. Breath struggled through a scorched throat. Vision wavered in and out of clarity. He'd pushed himself far beyond his limits in that battle. It was a wonder he was still conscious.

This place had become a frozen wasteland, great walls of ice surrounding Muzazi on all sides, frozen rubble fused together beneath his feet. The remnants of the last Almighty fell as specks of light like snow, reflecting off the newborn glaciers and making it seem as if they were glowing. The scene would almost look peaceful, a picturesque winter, if not for the battle that had created it.

A haze of half-formed thrusters was all that was keeping the incredible cold from finishing Muzazi off. With his last gambit, Mereloco had used the overload of the cold harvest reactor to finish off the Abyssal Knight -- all while protecting Muzazi from the explosion with a barrier. It was the last thing Muzazi would have expected from the man who he'd once fought for his life against in the Dawn Contest.

Mereloco…

Keep going. You're unchained.

He hadn't heard those words, but he had seen Mereloco's lips move in the final moment, and he had felt the dream pass into him. He etched the words into his heart. It was just as Mereloco had said. If Muzazi wanted to make this a kinder world, he had to keep going. There was no room for argument. There --

Crack.

Muzazi stopped, and slowly closed his eyes.

"Of course," he said softly. "Of course."

He opened them again, and turned to face his opponent.

The wall of ice behind him shattered, and the Abyssal Knight stepped forth.

Just like Muzazi, the Knight had seen better days. In the chaos of that final clash, his dark armour had been fully shattered, exposing his form to the world. They said that the Gilded Knight had been quite the striking figure… but for Muzazi, it was a wonder that what he was looking at was not already a corpse.

A body covered in marks and scars and holes, as if wasps had used his skin as a nest.

A single eye, shining purple, while the other's empty socket has stretched and distorted until it covered half his face.

A skeletal frame, so thin it seemed impossible there were even organs inside him, so spindly Muzazi didn't understand how he'd thought there were muscles there.

Even so, though… even with the patchy grey wisps of hair, even with the bleeding cheeks, even with the legs that could barely support his own weight… that pressure still exuded from the man before Atoy Muzazi. He got the distinct feeling that, even now, the Knight could crush his skull in one of those emaciated hands of his. That wouldn't be necessary, though.

After all, Void's Proof was still clutched in his hand.

"Atoy Muzazi," the Abyssal Knight murmured, his voice barely audible. "That's what you said your name was… wasn't it?"

Muzazi let out a frozen breath. "That's right."

"Samson Rhodes," the Knight declared, raising his executioner's blade. "Accept this name as a gift for one about to die."

For the time being, though, Muzazi didn't raise his own sword.

"What happened to you?" he asked, his voice tinged with a curious sorrow.

Rhodes smirked ruefully -- as much as his ravaged lips would allow, anyway -- at Muzazi's words. Clearly, he didn't need to look to know what Muzazi was talking about. "The children of Niain," he spat.

Niain.

The man from Azum-Ha -- the one who had tried to stop them from escaping at the last minute. Darkstar's supposed leader. Muzazi swallowed.

"It seems he's troubled you as well," Rhodes chuckled humorlessly. "You're not alone. He troubles the world with every breath he takes."

"And he… did something to you?"

Rhodes reached to his own arm and, digging with a fingernail, slowly pulled something free from his flesh. It was a long squirming insect, its body engorged on the meat it had been eating like a massive maggot. It chattered and screeched as it writhed in the air -- until Rhodes squeezed, and the disgusting thing popped into a mixture of blood and a black ink-like substance.

"Batteries and controllers both… enhancing my strength, and pouring Darkstar's will into my brain." Rhodes explained. In the wound he'd left in his arm, another worm could already be seen wriggling, eating away. "They leave their mark. I'm grateful to your friend… it seems my companions aren't fond of this level of cold."

"Then why must we fight?" Muzazi's hand hung hopelessly at his side, Radiant unlit. "What's the point?"

"These wretched insects will soon return to their seat of control…" Rhodes sighed, purple eye staring up towards the ceiling. His gaze softened. "I can feel them already, laying their eggs in what remains of me, replenishing their numbers. Their whispers… live, live… no. I will not return to the long dream, but even now they cannot allow me to end my own life."

That single eye flicked back down, and stared unblinking into Muzazi's.

"Therefore, Atoy Muzazi…" Rhodes said firmly. "...I challenge you to a duel. If you think of yourself as a knight even now, honour demands you acquiesce… isn't that so?"

Atoy Muzazi took a deep breath… and then silver light flashed over his face as he ignited his Radiant.

"It's as you say," he smiled through the exhaustion.

Muzazi charged at Rhodes.

Rhodes charged at Muzazi.

The time for abilities and techniques and strategies has passed. All reserves had been drained to the absolute. This final clash was simply two men on the edge of death, swinging their blades with lethal intent.

White light smashed against black shadow, Muzazi and Rhodes striking and blocking and striking and blocking. Sweat froze on Muzazi's face. Blood froze in Rhodes' wounds. The space was silent, save for their breathing and the clashing of their weapons.

Rhodes stabbed. Muzazi sidestepped it.

Muzazi slashed. Rhodes deflected it.

Again, and again.

Again… and again.

An exhausted dance on the border of oblivion.

If one were to look without knowledge, it would be difficult to tell that these two were trained swordsmen. They stumbled and tripped. They fumbled and lurched. It was almost like the swords were the ones actually fighting, and these two men were just being dragged along like puppets. Flimsy and clumsy as it was, though, it almost seemed the duel might last forever.

Until.

It could not be said whether the end came as a result of some slightly greater skill, or if it was just the result of good fortune. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that, as the blades clashed once more, the Radiant vanished from Muzazi's hand.

Rhodes stumbled forward, his footing turned uneven by the sudden lack of resistance… and in that same moment, Muzazi reignited the Radiant from his stump and drove it into his opponent's chest.

Samson Rhodes looked down at the blow that had defeated him… and let out a long sigh of relief.

"That man spoke true," he whispered. "Keep going, Atoy Muzazi."

Suddenly, he raised Void's Proof high -- and Muzazi braced himself for a mutual kill. Only, when the sword came back down, Rhodes just pressed the flat side of the blade gently down on one of Muzazi's shoulders, then the other. Void's Proof slipped from Rhodes' grip and clattered to the floor, fading into a lump of tired metal.

"Keep going," he breathed. "O Radiant Knight."

With those final words, the man before Muzazi collapsed to the floor -- and Samson Rhodes, the Gilded Knight, and the Abyssal Knight all departed this world.

Three people had entered this chamber, and only one was able to leave. For a moment, Muzazi almost allowed himself to collapse too, to let his tired body finally decide this was where it drew the line. But no. Never.

There was work to be done. Aclima still above, needing to be taken to a safe place. The battle against Forgiveness Irons that Muzazi had been snatched away from. And, of course, the world. There was still so much to be done.

Atoy Muzazi gathered himself, took one step forward -- and kept going.