Aetheral Space-Chapter 519 - 0.10: Mark of the Beast (Part 1)

but it was too late, and Roland's body shattered the great wall as the tail sent him flying. His Astral Skeleton protected him from most of the damage -- but it had been a long battle already, and the broken bones within his old body were making themselves known. With a burst of desperate energy, he won the struggle against his flight, smothering his momentum and coming to a halt in the air.

Below him, distantly below, the ground troops were clashing with a horde of Umbrant Hunters -- the brutal monsters designed to carry out the recall of the third great subspecies. He could see the light that was Bieshu del Mar, flowing through the crowd and taking every head she passed by. The Umbrants, it seemed, were getting their own back.

Above him, in the skies of Azum, the great firefight continued. The fleet of the Zeilan Morhan -- cobbled together from scraps and stealing and hope -- was blasting away at the defenses of the Gene Tyrants. A biological firing tower erupted into blood and gore as a plasma bombardment rained down upon it. A bio-ship latched onto one of their cruisers, stabbing into it again and again with a tail like a scorpion.

Speaking of tails…

Roland readied himself as his assailant stalked back into sight, perching atop what remained of the wall. Like a giant bat of bone, six eyes locked right onto Roland's face, spindly tail wrapped around a nearby tower. A killer bespoke for him, designed to eliminate him specifically -- or at least keep him busy, separated from his comrades.

Very well, Roland thought, readying his greatsword. You'll need more than this to kill me, though.

White Aether flashed -- and when it cleared, Roland's sword was six times its original size, now dwarfing its master. The blade had turned pitch-black, like it was a hole into space -- a hole through which stars and swirling galaxies could be seen. The bat screeched in response.

Roland lunged forward --

The bat lunged forward --

-- and both of them stopped as a pillar of fire illuminated the entire city.

Right now, there were countless battles taking place across the entire planet of Azum. Aether-users and Gene Tyrants clashing, killing, dying. Every way you looked, there was a new absurdity. The methods of murder had already become so abstract that they'd stopped attracting Roland's gaze.

But these flames were different. These flames were the endgame.

These flames were supreme.

AETHERAL SPACE 0.10

"Mark of the Beast (Part 1)"

The flames were useless.

When the smoke cleared, Azez Tazir was already downed in the middle of a massive crater, clutching his stomach, his posture making him look like a baby that had returned to the womb. Steam rose from his skin. Blood soaked through his clothes. The breathing that he was capable of was ragged and strained and exhausted.

A shadow fell over him from above.

"Get up," his opponent said, not unkindly. "I know that didn't kill you."

His Noble Singularity

OTRERA

The Pinnacle of Physical Strength

Origin Strain

There were things that were considered constants of this world. Water flowed, wind blew, stars shone. To those who had witnessed His Noble Singularity in action, though, there was another rule that they came to know as inviolable.

If it was a fight, then Otrera won. No matter the situation. No matter the opponent.

The form he had selected for this bout was nine feet tall, strong but lean, stripped of skin like some kind of anatomical diagram. He had forgone the use of a mouth, and instead the only facial feature he had on that flattened face of his were two golden eyes -- almost sad as they looked down at Azez.

Slowly, every cell in his body screaming at him not to, Azez picked himself up. The flames from his Lantern, clutched like a lifeline in his hand, whirled around his body and cauterized his open wounds. A gasp of pain escaped his lips.

"There you go," Otrera murmured, his voice deep and resonant. "You can do it."

For nearly three days now, Azez had been hurling himself against this brick wall of a Gene Tyrant -- and for nearly three days now, he'd been reenacting this scene. Being struck down, and struggling back to his feet. Azez was running on the fumes of fumes, and Otrera didn't even look like he'd started trying yet.

One breath, two breaths, three breaths. Each tasted of blood. They'd have to do.

Lantern of Truth!

Azez whirled around, thrusting his Lantern towards his opponent -- and the beam of heat that erupted forth from the Aether Item was more than twice that than what he'd used against Alexandra. Every drop of water for miles around evaporated. Azez's skin, even protected by his Aether, began to sizzle.

Otrera blocked it with a hand.

"Heat can be withstood," he said casually, even as the unimaginable radiance blazed against his palm. "I can absorb the radiation and recycle it, too… easy."

He swept his hand to fully deflect the beam -- and the entire section of the city besides where they were fighting was reduced to a molten wasteland in an instant. The horror caught in Azez's throat as he saw the dots of armies that had been clashing there vanish. His own allies, annihilated by his own power.

"The thing is…" Otrera cracked his neck as he advanced. "A magic bullet is worthless. A magic gun is just a tool. My interest is in the magician, Azez Tazir. You got any more tricks for me?"

Lantern of Truth!

Another blazing beam, another outstretched hand. Otrera clicked a tongue that might not even have existed.

"C'mon," he admonished.

Still blocking the beam, Otrera continued to stroll leisurely towards Azez. Thump, thump, thump. With each footstep, the building creaked beneath them. While Otrera wasn't as big as some of the other Gene Tyrants that Azez had fought, his body was incredibly dense. He had biomass to spare.

The first time Azez had actually landed a punch against that rock-solid body, he'd broken his hand in the process. He was still holding the lantern with that broken hand even now.

"You wanna know something?" Otrera asked as he drew closer, hand still raised to block the beam. "Why I don't have any estates, take any servants, make any monsters? It's because none of that stuff matters to me, man. All that matters is this, here. You and me, duking it out. It's the only thing in the world that means anything to me."

He loomed over Azez, and -- leaning down a little -- spoke softly.

"So don't you dare bore me, Azez Tazir."

He lightly tapped two of his fingers against Azez's chest.

The resultant impact sent the young man flying, limbs flapping as he was fired like a missile across the gulf between buildings. His body collided with a neighbouring skyscraper and tore through it like paper. Already, that building was collapsing, great clouds of smoke smothering the apocalyptic scene below.

"Ah," Otrera chuckled, Azez's yelp of pain still echoing. "Youth..."

He was back in pursuit before even another second had passed.

Granba squeezed an Aether Item in each of his four hands, his four eyes wide with fury, his teeth spread out into a grimace.

"How dare you," he growled.

He was looking at a garden of carnage.

Red spider lilies were blooming all down the length of the transport tunnel, pushing their way out through steel and stone and flesh. Granba's subordinates, caught in the attack, had been powerless to resist it. They were caught in the midst of the web of roots, their bodies suspended and turned into seedbeds for the flowers. The air was filled with the sounds of their moaning, their groaning, their misery.

These were men and women who had fought with Granba since the very start of the revolution. These were his people, as precious to him as his own flesh and blood.

"How dare you," he snarled again.

There were no other words.

A sharp but almost disinterested voice answered his curse.

"How dare I? You're rather cheeky for biomass, aren't you, my good man? Why, this is self-defense if there ever were such a thing, friend. These vermin were after my life and liberty. I simply had no choice but to turn them into compost."

Sharp and disinterested indeed… but with just the tiniest bit of distant amusement. This horror was just a farce to him. One day, it would become a fond memory. That thought made Granba's blood boil more than anything.

The speaker stepped into the dim light.

His Noble Turpitude

JEZEBEL

The Maven in Red

Origin Strain

The blood-red eyes that looked back at Granba did not belong to a man. Instead, Jezebel had the head of a rabbit, sleek and white as snow. In accordance with his title, the Maven had dressed himself primarily in crimson -- a bright waistcoat and buttoned-up smoking jacket -- but those weren't what drew the eye.

Draped across Jezebel's shoulders was a cloak of squirming red fetuses. Their tiny limbs grasped at the air and dragged along the floor. Their tiny faces warped and stretched in anguish. Recognising Granba's horror, the Maven in Red tilted his head slightly, letting one of the stubby hands grasp at his cheek.

"Do you like it?" Jezebel chuckled. "It's new."

Granba attacked.

Anemoi! Notus!

A gust of wind burst forth from the trident in Granba's third hand, thin and precise enough to pierce through flesh. Slamming through the confines of the tunnels like a raging serpent, it raced towards the Maven of Red, who simply watched with the mildest of curiosities. Gene Tyrant or not, though, this would surely draw blood.

If it hit.

Jezebel chuckled and reached out casually -- piercing through the head of one of the trapped soldiers like it was a bowling ball. Just like that, their flesh was joined -- and just like that, the soldier's body became an organic shield to block Granba's strike. The shriek of agony the soldier let out as he ceased being human twisted into something more like the whistle of a kettle.

It wasn't just an impromptu shield that the Maven had created, either. True to his reputation, Jezebel had put craft into it. It was like a buckler strapped to his arm, the soldier's face stretched out over its surface, sealed within a ring of his relocated teeth. Tears and blood mingled together from the vicious wound that Notus had inflicted on the surface of the armament.

Jezebel cooed in mock-sympathy. "Look. He's saddened. Why did you do that to your friend?"

Tossing the shield over his shoulder and into the darkness, he resumed his advance. As he walked, though, the Maven was still working. With each step, he came into contact with the flora on the ground -- tiny plants and moss. With each step, he twisted them as he pleased.

A parade of monstrous plants followed in the Maven's wake. Vines with thorns like spears, impaling and drinking from the trapped soldiers until they were dried-out husks. Fanged fly traps that barked like dogs and tore the victim's bodies apart into mulch. Jealous sticky leaves that fought over their prey, tearing them into bloody chunks.

The Maven twirled a leaf between his skeletal fingers -- and as he did so, it grew into a red spider lily. With another spin, like he was performing a magic trick, it bloomed again into a rose.

"People say that this world is beautiful," Jezebel said, projecting his voice like he was addressing a lecture hall. "People say that this world is cruel."

With his next step, he crushed a fallen warrior's head. The brain matter scattered into spiders of many colours.

"Both are right, and both are wrong. This world is cruel because it is beautiful. This world is beautiful because it is cruel."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The petals of the rose parted, and between them rested a single eyeball. It wept.

"Artists are the only creatures truly capable of being beautiful for beauty's sake," the Maven in Red opined. "Artists are the only creatures truly capable of being cruel for cruelty's sake. To create is to twist. To modify is to defile. How can we dip our hands into clay and not be stained a gorgeous red?"

With a flick of the Maven's wrist, petals and stem and eye all ceased to exist. Instead, Jezebel was now holding a thin dagger of bone between two fingers. The blade held a perfect sheen, and delicate engravings had been carved all across the surface of the hilt. Letters so tiny they were almost invisible -- a weapon with which to deliver a saga.

Beautiful, Granba thought, and that thought sickened him.

"Don't you agree…" said the Maven in Red. "...my fellow artist?"

"It's a pity," said Victoria, the Chitin Knight. "I was hoping to kill your brother first."

She looked down from atop a bridge, glaring at her enemy -- the blind man wallowing in the gutters below. She was flanked on either side by two Chitin Shells -- puppet-like detachments of her own form, controlled remotely via pheromones. As they weren't truly offspring, the production of these top-level soldiers wasn't forbidden by Eve's ancient edicts.

Just one of them would suffice to slice this man in two -- but Victoria intended to keep going until there was nothing left of the filth.

For Elizabeth.

"Sorry," Zarakhel Baras, the Blindman, grinned impertinently up at her. "My dumbass brother's got another appointment. I'll tear your guts out if you really can't wait for him to get back, though."

Victoria sniffed in distaste. What a vulgar creature. At the very least, her Vitoni had been far more endearing.

A chemical was released into the air.

Kill him.

The two Chitin Shells -- their bodies smooth and pale like porcelain -- vaulted over the bridge railing, leaping down to the gutter where Zarakhel waited. Neither they nor he waited a second after they landed. All of them in that gutter right now were killing machines, after all.

Blades clashed and black Aether crackled as Victoria watched calmly from above.

All things considered, Josephine had done quite well for them. Even though the Sapphire Star had somehow fled of its own accord during their attack on its location, the information she and the other defectors had provided the Nobility had been invaluable. They now had a full understanding of how this Aether power worked, just as the enemy army understood it. That girl would indeed receive the ultimate reward for her service.

For some reason, the Nobility themselves had proven unable to unlock it, but they had a few loyalists within their forces that now commanded the coloured sparks too. This battle wasn't uneven by any means. This wasn't the Zeilan Morhan's final push… it was their requiem.

Zarakhel was actually holding his own against the two Chitin Shells, Victoria noted. She'd believed the tales of the blind man's might and skill to be enemy propaganda, but it seemed he was actually a warrior of some worth. Shrugging, she peeled plates of carapace from her shoulders.

For good measure.

The plates grew into two additional Chitin Shells, which followed their fellows into the river below. Zarakhel was just about able to hold his own against two of these enemies, so four would be enough to overwhelm him. Legend or not, this was where the Blindman came to an end.

Four blades moved for four lethal blows…

…and Zarakhel Baras vanished.

"What?!" Victoria gasped.

A single black feather drifted down from the heavens, and Victoria snapped her head up to investigate.

There, in the sky, was Zarakhel Baras. His appearance had changed in the second he'd dodged those lethal blows. Black feathered wings had suddenly burst from his back, launching him up into the air and out of danger. Now, they slapped against the air, keeping him aloft as easily as if he'd been flying all his life.

He was like a human raven.

As one of the ones who had commissioned Trinity Blue, Victoria knew for a fact they didn't have those -- or even the potential for those -- in their design. That meant…

"Genetic modification!" she roared up at the soaring devil, silhouetted against the moon. "Hypocrite!"

Zarakhel cackled madly as he dived back down -- directly towards her, the Shells below forgotten. "Like I give a shit!"

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

"We didn't think you'd come," Josephine smirked, standing in the temple's amphitheatre, hands in her pockets. "You always were a cocky bastard, though. Welcome."

Tap.

Tap.

Edgar stopped as he came into the moonlight, his white cloak pulled tight around his body. The Temple of Last Lux was one of the oldest structures on Azum, buried by what countless generations of Gene Tyrants had built after, nearly forgotten. It was a miracle that the moonlight was able to shine through so many cracks and gaps to even reach this place. Edgar supposed it was a fitting venue for this occasion.

Even if Josephine seemed to have entirely different ideas about what that occasion was going to be.

"It's downstairs, isn't it?" Edgar asked pleasantly, looking past Josephine -- peering at the staircase that faded down into the darkness. "Would you mind moving?"

Josephine crossed her arms. Her smirk widened into a grin. Slowly, she shook her head.

"Nah," she said. "I don't think so. I had to deal with you a lot -- and you've always kinda pissed me off, to tell the truth. I'm gonna get some satisfaction out of you."

Edgar smiled back. "I wouldn't recommend it," he said softly.

Thump.

Josephine took a single step forward -- one that was much heavier than it should have been.

"I don't give a shit what you recommend," she growled.

Flesh shifted. Skin stretched. Bones snapped.

How strange. Edgar had always thought that he and Josephine had gotten along well, but it seemed that she hadn't liked him after all. Oh well. He took a step back as Josephine's shadow grew in size, spreading across the temple floor.

Black fur burst through her skin and wound around her limbs like armour. Her face elongated into a wolf-like snout, razor-sharp teeth protruding from her jaws. Her height increased -- doubled, tripled -- until she was towering over Edgar, her antlers and horns nearly scraping against the ceiling.

With a lupine grin, she licked her lips.

"You can't imagine…" she snarled with the voice of a wild beast. "...how good this feels."

Her Noble Redemption

JOSEPHINE

Star-Devouring Dog

Ennobled One 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Right now, there were countless Aether-users fighting all across the surface of this planet. Edgar could hear and feel them now, their clashes shaking even this distant bastion. There were more sparks on Azum than anywhere else before.

So, there was only one possible reply.

"Beast Crown."

Blue Aether shone.

Golden flames of annihilation launched Azez this way and that as he weaved through the skeletons of unfinished buildings, moving beyond speed in an effort to avoid death.

No matter how fast he went, though, his enemy was faster. If Azez enhanced his vision to its utmost, he could just barely make out Otrera's movements as he leapt from point to point -- but all that did was turn him into a faint blur rather than being entirely invisible. Matching that speed was still a fantasy.

Appearing on an overlooking balcony, Otrera pointed his hand down towards Azez, fingers tight together.

Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!

Even with all the speed he was capable of mustering, Azez only just barely managed to avoid the invisible projectiles as they whipped past him. A second volley drew blood as it grazed his skin. The third, he knew, would hit the mark and end his life.

Otrera really was a monster. It was hard to believe, but he was repeatedly dislocating and relocating the joints in his fingers, firing off blasts of air pressure like bullets from a machine gun. Azez wouldn't have even thought something like that was possible -- Otrera's mastery over his own body was terrifying to behold. When it came to physical prowess, he truly was the strongest living thing.

Azez changed direction -- blasting off into the burning chaos of the streets beyond, but even as he flew…

"Are you trying to get away?" Otrera's voice echoed through the war. "Yeah? You know full well I can kill every person on this planet all by myself. Even if you escaped, there'd be no point."

A shadow fell over Azez from above.

"This isn't the way, man," Otrera's voice was suddenly far too close. "You've gotta believe in yourself."

There was only an instant to see it. Only an instant for Azez's eyes to flick up and glimpse Otrera's engorged fist -- suddenly the size of a truck -- slam into him from above. Azez was spiked down into the ground like a cannonball, crashing right into the middle of an ongoing battle.

Azez gasped for breath among the clouds of dust -- but just as he rose to his feet again, he was suddenly aware that Otrera was standing right before him, already looking down at him with those golden eyes. Azez's own eyes -- the eyes of all Pugnants -- had come about as a tribute to this being. Were they really something he could surpass?

The soldiers who'd been fighting, their bodies shrouded in Aether of many colours, looked at the battle that had intersected their own with horror.

The one they'd been fighting, though, was much more excited.

His Noble Generosity

SUIKO

Duke of the Underfoot

Reboot of Genshō

The Gene Tyrant, his body like a mixture between a serpent and a centipede, launched himself at the dazed Azez with gleeful frenzy. His four eyes rolled back in anticipation. Within his mouth, rows of circular teeth spun like an organic drill.

"Lord Otrera!" Suiko squealed. "Don't concern yourself with this snivelling pest! I, Suiko, shall personally --"

"Sorry for the interruption," Otrera said to Azez. "As you can see, I've already killed him."

"-- AIEEE!"

Suiko's body suddenly exploded into a red mist, the punches that Otrera had delivered faster than sight making themselves known. A dreadful pressure had built up within Suiko's form after being struck by the firstborn of Eve, and the resultant explosion had utterly obliterated him. Azez stared in shock at the ease with which Otrera had executed his victim.

"Of course," Otrera continued. "To be fair, I'll need to get rid of your allies too."

Azez's eyes widened to their utmost, and he swung his head to warn the soldiers. "You guys!" he cried. "Get out of --"

Too late.

Azez realized it the second he looked at them. Their eyes were staring into space. Their limbs were frozen in place. Their necks, each and every one of their necks, hung at a grotesque and utterly wrong angle.

They'd died standing up.

As one, they collapsed to the ground, the street becoming a mass grave in an instant. Azez fell to his knees. Blood in the air, and bodies beneath him. This was hopeless.

"This battle is no place for inferior beings," Otrera intoned without a shred of pity. "Get up. I know there's still fight in you."

Azez clenched his fists, gathering up the dust in his hands. He grinded his teeth. A terrible heat felt like it was building up in his brain.

"Inferior…?" he hissed, staring down at the slick red concrete.

Otrera was frank. "Yes."

"Who decides that…?" Righteous fury shook in Azez's desperate voice. "Who decides we're so goddamn inferior?!"

Otrera narrowed his eyes. "We are deciding that right now."

Azez's head snapped up to look at the Gene Tyrant with eyes of golden rage. "What?!"

"There is only one metric for beings like us -- and that is victory," Otrera explained calmly, "Truth, justice, ideals… all of these things flow from the breast of the victor, and nowhere else."

Thump.

He took a heavy step towards Azez.

"There is a hierarchy to all things," Otrera continued. "That which is superior, and that which is inferior. The superior may do whatever they wish with those below them. They may kill. They may exploit. They may even protect, if the whim takes them -- for their whim is the only law that matters. When beings clash, no matter what excuses they make, no matter what cause they claim…"

Thump.

He took another step.

"...in truth, they fight to establish supremacy over another, and for no other reason!"

Thump.

Otrera's shadow fell over Azez, consumed Azez, for what felt like the thousandth time over the last three days.

"You're wrong," Azez whispered, his throat dry.

"If you find my words disagreeable," Otrera replied sharply. "Then strike me down and replace them with your own. But if you aren't willing to do so much as stand up…"

For the first time, true anger entered Otrera's tone -- and he raised his foot to bring it down upon Azez's head.

"...THEN YOU LACK EVEN THE RIGHT TO DISAGREE!"

The foot came down --

-- and the hands came up.

At the last instant, the flames of the Lantern of Truth had flowed out from their container -- and, instead of firing, had poured into the arms of their master. It was a close thing. It was a desperate, shaking thing -- an equilibrium that would break down at any moment.

But for a single vital second, Azez had brought his hands up and stopped Otrera's stomp.

The gaze of the first true Gene Tyrant softened, just a little.

"There you go," he said. "That's the way."

Edgar walked through the paste that had been Josephine.

The construct faded from his face as he passed a hand over it, breaking into something like glass and dissipating into bright blue Aether. As he'd expected, under circumstances like these, Beast Crown was truly a formidable ability. It was sad that he'd accidentally ruined the Temple of Last Lux in the process, but it couldn't be helped with a test run like this.

The three levels of the Temple above Edgar -- and the buildings above that -- had been annihilated, so the moon shone freely now as he descended the steps.

He didn't recognise the new light at first -- he thought it was just the moonlight. But the further down he went, and the more obvious it became that the moon could never reach down here, the more he realized what the white glow around him truly was. For the first time in Edgar's life, a strange tremor gripped his throat. He swallowed, even though he didn't really need to.

Edgar entered the room.

The place was massive, circular -- and filled with thin white structures that at first looked like cobwebs, but no. It only took a second of looking to realize that wasn't the case at all. Cobwebs didn't shine with such radiant light. Cobwebs didn't twitch as they transmitted cosmic intelligence.

This was a nervous system.

The nervous system of a god.

Lord Director Eve spoke, It's voice seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere.

"Heya."