Aetheral Space-Chapter 427:14.1: Hors D’Oeuvres

03:12

The planet of Azum-Ha was alive with the buzzing of countless signals. At this point, the whispers far outnumbered the whisperers. A stone had been dropped in the pond, and the ripples had begun to spread out.

There was a new Supreme, the Shooting Star whose real name had already vanished into taboo. He had defeated his final opponent in the Dawn Contest, the dishonourable assassin Atoy Muzazi -- although the Supreme had used dishonourable means himself to achieve that victory. Not everybody was happy with that, but nobody yet dared to voice their unhappiness.

At any rate, with his final enemy brought low, that man had taken the throne of the Supreme -- the throne of the Shesha, which now hung low over Azum-Ha itself, its shadow stretching over the cityscape. That night, nearly every pair of eyes available drifted up to the gargantua in the sky, wondering, dreaming.

What was the new Supreme doing up there? What sort of tomorrow were they preparing in that throne room? Would it be one of sorrow, or one of joy?

Pointless questions -- and ones that were based on a faulty premise from the start. Right now, the Supreme wasn’t in the throne room at all. He wasn’t even on the Shesha itself.

Rather than watching over the world from the sky, the Shooting Star was now deep underground, in the bowels of old Azum-Ha. Tradition had demanded it of him. No matter what the Supreme now intended… he had to play along with tradition for the time being.

But that didn’t mean the Shesha was empty. Oh, not at all.

03:14

North drummed his fingers along the smooth arms of the chair, looking out at the room before him. Damn, this place was big. Damn, this chair was uncomfy.

He sure was glad he wasn’t Supreme.

North crossed his legs as the great doors to the Shesha’s throne room opened inwards. Of course, to anyone watching, he was Supreme -- or rather, he was Dragan Hadrien, sitting in his throne, looking upon his dominion with a smug smile on his lips.

Good old body double work. It was a classic.

The Shesha’s guests entered the throne room one by one, their appearances utterly unsuited to this oh-so-dignified venue. Ordinarily, scum like this wouldn’t be allowed on the Shesha at all -- but then again, what the hell? For these bastards, today was basically a public holiday.

North took in the familiar faces.

A man in a dusty tricorn and long coat, three growling hounds walking behind and alongside him, a tiny puppy perched atop his hat. He had different dogs since the last time North had seen him, but they looked as vicious as ever. Living Aether Armaments, designed to help this man hunt the most dangerous game. The Kennelmaster.

Top-Class Bounty Hunter

The Kennelmaster

"Let’s get this over with," he muttered, resting his hand on the head of a dog the size of a horse.

The guest that followed was much more dignified. A tall, lanky figure of indistinct biology -- right in between the mechanical and the insectoid -- its hands clasped behind its back. Artificial compound eyes met North’s gaze, and as the beings arms returned to its sides he couldn’t help but notice that one ended not with a hand, but a hissing plasma cannon. White feathered wings fluttered from its back, and knives of ice floated over its shoulders. Looking over the emissary, North could see the markers of at least five abilities. Praetorian-class, without a doubt.

Top-Class Bounty Hunter

The Hive of Malkuth

The emissary put a hand to his heart and bowed respectfully. "Her Majesty appreciates your gracious invitation, honoured Supreme," he said, with a voice formed from mingling synthesised tones.

Another legend of the underworld followed -- one that would not have been here at all, had this Dawn Contest ended even a day later. What this man truly looked like, North couldn’t say, for he entered the room in a hulking ocean-blue Armoured Chassis that concealed his entire body. Whirring and clanking filled the room as he stomped into it, countless weapons poking out from every gap in his armour’s defences. He looked like a fighter jet had achieved humanity. This was the man called Appointment.

Top-Class Bounty Hunter

Appointment

He said nothing, just crossing his bulky arms.

Others streamed in, survivors from the Crimson Carnival and no shortage of independents. One emaciated man just crawled meekly through the shadows, muttering about how hungry he was. Soon enough, a small crowd was gathered before the throne. They left quite a bit of space between each other, though, and that was only natural. These people were in the profession of murder. The careless didn’t last long enough to be recognised.

Finally, the doors shut behind the gathered masses. The darkness they were all accustomed to washed over the room.

"Well," North smiled, leaning forward. "Shall we get started?"

-

03:22

The one called the Supreme was granted all the freedom in the world. They had control over the galaxy’s mightiest armies, and authority over the galaxy’s deadliest weapons. Warriors without end would leap into the fire if the Supreme but commanded it. And yet…

…even they weren’t completely free.

Once you reached the top of the world, you found yourself surrounded by the invisible wall called tradition. It guided your path, made you walk in certain directions, made sure your actions followed a certain shape. As the strongest, you could choose to smash through that invisible wall, sure.

But it was the only thing holding you up.

Dragan Hadrien walked through the pitch-black caverns of Azum-Ha, white cloak hanging limp around his form. It had only been two hours since he’d officially won the Dawn Contest and become Supreme. Tomorrow, the coronation would take place -- but for now, there were still some last things to take care of.

There were some traditions that needed to be honoured. The Banquet was one of them.

Just because someone lost a Dawn Contest, that didn’t mean they disappeared from the galaxy. Just because a Supreme Heir didn’t ascend the throne, that didn’t mean they vanished. Those who had supported them could support them still. If a Supreme proved unpopular… there were no shortage of pretenders that could be propped up to replace them.

And thus, the Banquet.

It wouldn’t do for a shiny new Supreme to stain himself straight away. So, the hunters of the underworld would be gathered -- and they would be dispatched to eliminate any leftovers from the Contest. The bounties were enough to allow a decadent retirement overnight. Other contestants, their support teams, the previous Heir… all wiped out, if they were unfortunate enough to still be on the planet. Scum would deal with scum.

It wasn’t anything official, of course. Nobody made the new Supreme do this -- Kadmon hadn’t put in that effort, after all. But it was yet another invisible wall best acknowledged, yet another tradition that was best followed, yet another path best walked.

For the time being, Dragan had to keep walking along the edge. He’d made preparations on his side, but the Banquet would go ahead all the same. North would see to the rest.

And him?

Dragan stopped, his shining blue eyes illuminating the massive archway in front of him -- as big as the Arena of the Absolute all by itself, with pure darkness lingering behind it. The rocky walls of the cavern had transitioned into smooth stone, humanoid statues frozen mid-climb all across the archway’s surface. He took a deep breath…

…and marched into the Tomb of the Supreme.

This, too, was another tradition.

03:27

North grinned to himself as he leaned back in his throne, arms forming a cushion behind his head. He’d have to talk to Dragan about getting some better furniture for this place. The throne was cool and all, but it played havoc with his back.

The bounties had been set out, and the rats had scurried off to claim them. For the most part, he’d laid out the targets as Dragan had ordered: the surviving contestants that were still off-world, their close confidants, and the Supreme Heir Aclima. That last one was kind of a bummer. If he’d known Dragan would want her dead straight away, North would have just put a bullet in her head himself.

Of course… North had taken some liberties with the targets too. Atoy Muzazi was among the marked, and his ’support team’ was up to a little interpretation when you got down to it. Sure, there were the Eight Phases of the Turning of the Heir, but what about the guys who had rescued him from the Arena? Those people were definitely supporting him too, right?

And Muzazi wasn’t the only one they’d rescued. Ruth Blaine and the del Seds… when you thought about it… when you really really thought about it… didn’t it look like that whole group was working together?

The bounties he’d put on Ruth Blaine and the del Sed’s weren’t as high as the others, but North doubted that would matter. These hunters were penny-pinchers, and the targets were wounded. They’d go for an easy payday just like anyone else.

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It was for the best. Despite his best efforts, Dragan had a soft spot for those dumbasses. Best to iron that out before it went any further.

"So," chirped a voice from up high. "Where is the new Supreme?"

The smirk dropped from North’s face and his head snapped up -- towards the rafters, where the voice had come from. There, barely visible in the gloom, someone sat cross-legged. Gleaming golden eyes shone out from the darkness.

A bead of sweat trickled down North’s temple, even as he concealed it from sight with a hologram. There weren’t many people in the galaxy who could sneak up on him without him noticing. Generally, North did his best to make sure he wasn’t on the same planet as those people.

But that wasn’t an option right now.

He let Dragan’s easy smile conceal his caution. "He sits before you. Have you come to try your luck as my first assassin?"

The figure leaned forward, narrowing their golden eyes as they inspected North over the long distance. As they did, he got a better look at them. A young Pugnant woman in some kind of leotard, her hair streaked with pink and gold, her teeth sharpened to pinpoints. North might have thought she was cute -- objectively speaking -- if not for that look in her eyes.

After a good few seconds, the girl clicked her tongue.

"Nah," she giggled. "You’re not him. If you were him, I’d be trying to kill you right now, you know? I’d have to."

North blinked. "How so?"

She scratched a finger against her cheek, just a little too hard and too fast to be casual. "Because that guy met him, you know? It’d be a matter of principle -- no, that’s not it, survival? Still no. Oh, oh, it’s a matter of birth. A chicken can’t be born so long as it’s still inside the egg, right? It’s like that."

"Oh," said North. "Okay."

This chick seems a little crazy.

"So why are you here, then?" he asked.

The girl cocked her head as she stood up. "Hm? Hm, hm, hm? What do you mean? You invited me. It’s the Banquet, right? The day people like us dream of. Personally, I don’t care too much about money, but still -- it makes the world go around, right? Besides…"

She walked tip-toe across the rafter, stepping further into the light, and now North recognized her. Not from that face, or that hair, or those teeth. No… he recognised the stylized tattoo on the side of her bare thigh.

VI, it read.

Top-Class Bounty Hunter

The Sixth Dead

"Ah," she spun on her heel, grinning cheekily, her hair flapping around her. "I am really grateful though, whoever you are, I am. I mean it!"

"Oh?"

North tightened his grip on the arms of the throne. Despite only being around for a couple of years, the latest incarnation of the Aether-user known as the Dead had already made a reputation for herself. It was the kind of reputation you didn’t want to be alone in a room with.

"Mm-hmm!" the Sixth Dead nodded. "To think -- the perfect scenario, the perfect meeting, all laid out right before us! Ha, it really is a Banquet! That’s a great name for it!" She hugged her arms tight around herself, standing on the very edge of the rafter, her body swaying back and forth over oblivion. "Ah, Muzazi… Muzazi, Muzazi, Muzazi… he’s so close…!"

Oh, this chick is really crazy.

North raised an eyebrow. "Ya got a bone to pick with the Full Moon?" he asked in his normal voice, slouching over in the throne. If his disguise had been seen through anyway, there was no point sitting like he had a rod up his ass.

The Sixth Dead looked down at him -- and North noted with a shudder that a rosy blush was spreading across her cheeks.

"Yeah," she breathed. "That’s a nasty way to put it, but yeah, I do. He’s the one who made it so I could exist, you know? He cut off the head of that bastard and pulled me into the world. And now -- and now we’ve been brought together again, in another city, in another massacre! A heart pounding battle for survival! What can you call that if not fate?!"

As her mania reached a crescendo, she put a hand to her chest and took a deep breath, seemingly calming herself down. She closed her eyes for a moment -- and when she opened them again, there was a vacant and docile look to them. She spoke quietly: "It’s like… you know, if you met the doctor who delivered you as a baby, you’d have no choice but to marry them… right?"

North blinked. "Right."

That was so wrong he didn’t even know where to begin.

"Gratitude and passion! That’s what love is all about."

The Sixth Dead smiled sweetly, putting her hands behind her back as she hopped down to the ground. Purple Aether sparked across her legs to prevent them shattering as she landed before the throne. For a second, North thought she might lunge forward -- but no, she turned around, towards the doors.

"Just so we’re clear," she said, looking over her shoulder. "I know you were talking about bounties for all those other folks, but I’m only interested in Muzazi, okay? So I’m going after him straight away. Tell the other guys if they try and get him first, I’ll butcher them like pigs, ’kay?"

North opened his mouth to reply, but --

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"Or don’t -- I don’t care that much. Right now, all my attention is on our destined meeting. Haha, that’s so cheesy, I can’t even believe I said it! Ah, I wanna meet him right now, right now… ah, Muzazi… he’s so strong and cool… ah, I wanna cut him open and climb inside…"

Oh. She’s crazy crazy.

As she rambled to herself on her way out, purple Aether continued to spark -- manifesting a truly monstrous weapon. A crude, jagged scythe that looked like it had been welded together from starship debris. It dwarfed its wielder to such a degree that North would have doubted it could be effectively used… if not for the arms.

Countless spectral arms were stretching out from the Sixth Dead’s back, wrapping themselves around the hilt of the weapon, supporting their user to hold the scythe up high. As she reached the door, she turned back to North one last time, only her golden eyes and white grin visible through the mass of limbs.

"Well!" she said. "I’m off!"

03:29

It was over.

When Atoy Muzazi opened his eyes, that was the first thought that popped into his mind. He had failed. In every way imaginable, he had failed. For victory, he had dishonoured himself. For victory, he had disgraced those close to him. For victory, he had slain the virtuous.

And he had been defeated.

Everything he had done… all of it… all of it… had been nothing. His desperation had amounted to naught. The dream that had kept him going these last few years… the promise he had made to Marie… all of it had vanished in an instant.

I surrender.

With his own lips, he had ruined everything. The dark resolve he thought he’d mustered had been nothing but an illusion. He had been able to take Aclima’s betrayed eyes, but not her dead ones -- and he had only made that betrayal deeper. With his pathetic pleading, he had shown the entire galaxy the sort of man he really was.

A failure.

He thought back to Elysian Fields, to that burning forest… to the moment where he’d faced Zachariah Esmeralda.

Why didn’t you just kill me then? Atoy Muzazi beseeched of the past. If I could have died having comprehended my weakness… without deluding myself into thinking I could overcome it… wouldn’t that have been better?

Damnation.

Damnation.

Damnation.

He clenched his fist, and even that slight movement was enough to send spikes of pain ringing through his body. He had pushed this shell of his far beyond its limits during his battle with Dragan Hadrien. Another result of his wasted efforts.

Gritting his teeth, he brought his arm up to cover his eyes, ignoring the stabbing pains that accompanied the effort. He would do anything not to see the world right now. He did not care where he had woken up. He did not care what situation he was in.

At this moment, Atoy Muzazi could barely handle the world inside himself… anything exterior was out of the question. He was lying on a bed. There were walls. Somewhere outside this room, music was playing.

Too much, too much, too much. He…

"I see you’re awake," said the voice of Jamilu Aguta.

Muzazi squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to ignore Nebula Two. For some reason, the warrior seemed to take that as an invitation to continue.

"Me and Rufus saved you from the Supreme’s goons at the Arena. You’re in bad shape, but we need to get you up and moving as soon as possible. Right now, we’re making preparations to --"

"I don’t care," Muzazi replied, cutting Jamilu off. His voice was flat and dead. The dream had been scorched right out of it.

For a moment, Jamilu respected the silence… but only for a moment.

"Do you understand your position?" he asked. "There are already reports of a gathering at the Shesha. The new Supreme is enacting the Banquet, I guarantee it. They’ll track us to this hotel before long -- and if they find you, they’ll kill you."

"That’s fine."

Muzazi opened his eyes, finally turning to look at Jamilu. He was standing by the door, glaring at Muzazi, slowly shaking his head. For some reason, that too just felt like an additional weight on Muzazi’s spirit.

"Do as you like," the Nebula spat. "We’ll get ready to move you ourselves."

And with that, he turned and left, his spear chuckling darkly as he went. The wooden door was left ajar -- and Jamilu’s partner, the Pugnant called Rufus, was left standing outside. He looked at Muzazi, bemused.

"What’s up with you?" he asked -- his voice damnably casual.

Muzazi swallowed. "I lost," he said simply.

"Oh. Huh."

Oh. Huh.

That was right, wasn’t it? In the end, that was all that Atoy Muzazi’s dream had amounted to. A momentary distraction. A footnote in history. The kinder world he’d wanted to usher in… the lofty promises he’d made… all of it had amounted to --

"That’s fine, though, isn’t it?" Rufus said.

Muzazi blinked. "What?"

"Well…" Rufus scratched the back of his head. "I don’t really get how you Supremacy guys do things… but you’re still alive, right? So you just need to win next time."

Ba-dump.

It wasn’t hope.

The feeling in Muzazi’s heart was far too sickly and curdling to be called hope. But no matter how repulsively, his heart was beating, his blood was flowing. His hand was still on the ladder. Even if the pain threatened to smother him entirely, to send him falling into the abyss…

…he could still try to pull himself up one last time, couldn’t he?

03:30

Dragan’s footsteps echoed throughout the Tomb of the Supreme, bouncing against the massive stone coffins that lined either side of the grand central chamber. Many of these would be empty, he knew. There were many Supremes whose remains had been lost in their demise -- and many more whose corpses were more fit for a box than a sarcophagus.

This place was just yet another hall of tradition -- a building crafted from invisible walls. Not all of it was real. Especially not the part now standing before him.

Dragan Hadrien stopped walking, halfway down the chamber’s length.

"What’s wrong?" the person blocking his path asked. "You seem surprised."

Dragan said nothing. He just glared silently at the figure standing before him. It was strange. They were the same height, but Dragan knew that in truth this person dwarfed him -- after all, he had the world’s largest shadow.

A shadow called the Supremacy.

Azez the Absolute smiled. "Shall we talk for a bit, Dragan Hadrien?"