Aetheral Space-Chapter 520 - 0.11: Mark of the Beast (Part 2)

"Spear of Stillness!"

Zarakhel's crazed voice rang through the night as he dived down towards Victoria, black spear manifesting in his grip.

In response, she simply sneered through her skull.

"Pathetic."

This was not the grand debut of the Spear of Stillness -- many a Gene Noble had already tasted the final bite of the weapon and its siblings. Victoria had had ample opportunities to observe its effects and devise countermeasures. She was nothing if not a prudent warrior.

In the end, though, the simplest response was the best.

The Spear was thrust towards her chest…

…and the flesh there parted to grant it passage.

When the Spear of Stillness made contact with the body of a Gene Noble, it disabled their ability to shapeshift, locking them into whatever form they were currently assuming. If the weapon never actually made contact, then there was no problem. Ironically, the shapeshifting the Spear was designed to attack was in itself the perfect counter to it.

Snarling, Zarakhel went to swipe the Spear through Victoria's insides, to hit the edge of the hole she'd created -- but her side simply yawned open like a hungry mouth, letting the weapon sail free.

"Tricks and traps," Victoria growled. "They mean nothing against a true warrior. Nothing."

She raised her foot, the shape changing to become flat and blunt -- and with it, she unleashed a devastating kick at Zarakhel's chest. The Blindman raised his arms to block, but even then he was sent flying, back slamming into the building behind him.

The four Chitin Shells, which had been clambering back up the side of the bridge at Victoria's behest, finally vaulted over the railing. Turning her two arms into four, she seized the Shells by their shoulders, amending their existence. The bodies of the puppet soldiers stretched and morphed like putty, becoming greatswords in each of Victoria's hands.

Zarakhel pulled himself out of the crater in the building, his abyssal wings keeping him aloft. The Spear of Stillness was still in his hand. Victoria eyed it warily; despite everything, these Zeilan Morhan were tricky things. She couldn't afford to let her guard down.

That was why she'd turned her soldiers into swords -- it was another way to avoid stillness. If she'd turned her own hands into blades, simply deflecting Zarakhel's strikes would have locked her into shape. So long as she created weapons from technically external organisms, that wasn't a concern.

"I knew Olga, you know," Victoria said, her voice a deadly quiet. "The Noble that you murdered."

Zarakhel's toothy grin spread wide. "Good," he breathed.

"Not well," she conceded. "But well enough to avenge. I'm told you listened to her screams as she flew into that star. I'll have you provide me the same entertainment, Zarakhel Baras."

She squeezed her swords tighter, digging her fingers into the hilts, and their shapes were modified a little further in response. Tiny fangs sprouted all across the edges of the blades, rotating across the weapon rapidly, making them less like swords and more like chainsaws. These were tools with which to enact brutality.

Victoria let her bottom two arms press the chainsaws against the ground, kicking up showers of sparks. She readied the upper two -- one in a defensive position, the other pointed directly towards Zarakhel's chest. Not the heart, though. Instant death could not be permitted.

Even as he saw the gruesome fate that awaited him, though, Zarakhel just kept grinning. He let the Spear fall from his grip, and it dissipated into black Aether before it hit the ground. Victoria narrowed her eyes in trepidation.

"Hm…?"

In that moment, Zarakhel -- unarmed -- launched himself towards Victoria once again, cackling. The beast had clearly lost its mind. Resolving herself to end this engagement with dignity, Victoria swung all four of her blades to swat the pest out of the air, but just as she did so --

"Swords of Stillness!"

-- black Aether flashed once again.

The Maven of Red was playing with clay.

As Granba launched attack after attack, using the most powerful Aether Items he'd been able to create so far, Jezebel responded -- using Granba's own trapped subordinates as raw materials.

Barriers of blood and brain exploded out of skulls to catch Granba's strikes.

Lungs slithered out of throats to become biological turrets, firing bullets of air.

Cardiovascular systems exploded from beneath skin, forming nets to seize projectiles.

The tunnel had become an abattoir -- and even as he attacked with all he had, tears streaming from all four eyes, Granba was being forced to retreat. The Maven in Red was still advancing, after all. With his hands behind his back, he was out for an evening stroll -- and with each step he took, the entourage of monstrous vegetation around him grew larger.

"I've been interested in you for some time, biomass," Jezebel said conversationally as he continued his approach, framed by writhing vines. "Quite a few among the Nobility have declared themselves my students. Can you believe that? They do little more than imitate my aesthetics, and they think that makes us worth speaking about in the same sentence. There's already a Maven in Red, we don't need another. Why not one in blue, or green, or white?" He sighed. "Do you get what I'm saying?"

As casually as anything, he tapped one of the plants following him -- and a branch-spear launched out of the organism's stem, aimed right for Granba's face.

Fly-Perex!

The defensive Aether Item, a clockwork insect, leapt out of Granba's collar and intercepted the blow -- turning both itself and the plant-monster into solid immobile steel in a flash of Aether.

The Maven in Red continued without missing a beat. "This, though!" he exclaimed flamboyantly, running a finger along the solid steel statue now beside him. "This enchants me. It's a new type of clay entirely. Not a vulgar physical thing, but something capable of reaching behind the veil of order and twisting it from the inside out. Yes… I really like it, this 'Aether'. That's why I'm so saddened."

Cold Front!

A wave of frost poured from the iron ball in Granba's bottom-left hand -- and, in response, Jezebel tore free the head of one of the trapped soldiers. The body heat of the head rapidly increased until it was a lump of boiling meat, hot enough to counteract the incoming cold. It was like a sick parody of the lantern Granba had created for Azez.

"You've taken it very far," Jezebel noted. "All those lovely creations with all those lovely abilities. The thrill of creation -- yes, I know it. The ideas flow forth without an end in sight, don't they? I'd love to join you in that heaven, I really would. Only…"

The head popped in Jezebel's hand, splattering hissing blood everywhere. A tongue sprouted from the Maven's foot, quickly licking it all up before retracting. Jezebel, for his part, simply checked his nails for damage.

"...only, only, only… it really is so sad. For some reason, that 'Aether' eludes us Gene Nobles. There's biomass among our armies that can use it, did you know that? Some of them I've opened up to try and find the secret… but no luck. There is no secret key within the brain. This Aether is something external to be engaged with, and for whatever reason it simply will not engage with me -- or any member of the Nobility."

The rabbit cocked its head, crimson gaze locked onto Granba.

"Won't you tell me how?" he asked.

Granba said nothing. He just glared, whipping out a revolver with a free hand and preparing the aquatic rounds for it with another. Jezebel chuckled.

"My personal theory," he went on, unconcerned. "Is that it has to do with the power recognising the potential user. With you rigid biomass, even if your brain changes as you grow, there's still a very strong sense of continuity, isn't there? The power can tell that it's the same person calling to it."

Jezebel planted a woeful hand against his chest. A tendril lashed out from his back and reconfigured a dying soldier into an organic gramophone, playing a tragic ballad.

"With us blessed members of the Nobility, however? Ah, wicked luck. Unlike you, we think with our entire bodies -- and our bodies are so changeable, our personalities dependent on our whims. As far as the power is concerned, we are not one person, but a thousand in sequence every minute. The key for us to unlock the power, too, is thus everchanging and thus perpetually out of reach. But that's just my theory."

He wiped a non-existent tear from his crimson eye.

"If we take it as true, though, then if a Gene Noble were to forgo the privilege of shapeshifting, I suppose acquiring Aether might become possible… oh, but who could discard such a thrill?"

He raised his hand -- once again holding a dagger of bone -- and the tiny mouth of the rabbit engorged into a huge toothy grin.

"Not I," he hissed, pointing his blade at Granba.

"So you've caught my foot," Otrera noted with mild interest. "But you're still in a dire situation, Azez Tazir. Grievously wounded, and about to die. Adrenaline will only take you so far."

Azez could feel his flames within his own arms, boosting his strength, scorching his bones. The pain was beyond recognition. When he opened his mouth to gasp for breath, smoke poured out instead.

It was all he could do to hold back Otrera's foot -- to stop it from applying that tiny bit of extra pressure and smashing his body apart.

"Stand proud," Otrera looked down at Azez with those golden eyes. "Even if you do die now… this was still the most entertaining three days I've had in a long time."

The gold narrowed as if in somber acceptance of something.

"Okay," Otrera said. "You can die now."

The flesh of the first true Gene Tyrant rippled -- and the foot Azez was holding back became a hand. There was no possibility of dodging. The second that hand came into existence, it curled its massive fingers around Azez's arms, holding him tight.

Oh.

Before he could even register what had happened, Azez was already flying through the air -- hurled at absurd speeds down the length of the highway. Even using the flames to slow himself down, he hit the ground hard, the tarmac scraping away at his skin. The thousandth scream for the last three days ripped its way out of Azez's throat.

But he couldn't just lie there, he knew. He had to get up. He had to get up and keep --

"How will you do that without legs?" Otrera asked.

Azez blinked. Slowly, he looked down at his body. Just as Otrera had said, both of Azez's legs were broken beyond ambiguity, twisting around until they were facing the wrong way entirely.

When did he…?

No. There was no point in questioning it. As a living thing, the being that had done this exceeded Azez in every category. That he'd be able to do something like this was no surprise.

"You can no longer escape," distant Otrera said, slowly walking down the length of the street. "Those flames you use are damaging to your own body, too -- I saw it. Even if you use them, you won't get far."

He paused briefly…

"This is your grave," he said with finality. "Please acclimatize yourself to it."

…and night became day.

"Congratulations. You're the only person alive to have seen this form of mine."

It was like Otrera had seen Azez absorb the flames and become determined to outdo him. In an instant, Otrera's flesh ignited, producing an inferno like a wall of flames, turning Otrera's form into little more than a blackened skeleton within. It was so bright it hurt to even look at -- Azez was forced to raise a hand before his eyes or be blinded then and there.

And the heat.

The heat was beyond reason. The very idea that a living organism could survive in such an environment -- let alone be the source of it -- was absurd. All around them, the metal skeletons of buildings were softening and sliding apart. The city was melting, just from proximity to this force. If not for his Aether, Azez had no doubt he'd have been reduced to ash instantly.

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"Your body will shut down once I get within thirty paces of you," Otrera said matter-of-factly, his voice reverberating down the long highway. "Usually, it would be much faster than that, but I've adjusted my estimate with your Aether stuff in mind. I'm just going to walk, so it'll take me around two minutes. A lot of people like to try and find some kind of peace before they die, but you do you."

The sun raised a foot…

"Here I come. I'm not gonna talk anymore."

…and brought it down.

Even just that tiny advance was enough to make the heat buffeting at Azez's body feel twice as intense. Even with his Aether, he could hear the sound of his hair sizzling. His sweat was rising off of his body as steam.

Otrera had sounded confident, but Azez suspected he might have been overestimated. He would die long before thirty paces.

Only… that second step didn't come straight away.

"Oh," said Otrera. "I said I wasn't going to talk again, but I actually wasn't expecting this. Who're you supposed to be?"

Azez looked up, moving his hand just enough to make out the silhouette standing before him. The man who'd positioned himself between his fallen leader and the strongest being in the galaxy. The man whose insect-like wings, even now, were blasting forth a wave of concentrated sound to slow down the enemy if only for a second.

The man called Hellywood.

He spoke not to Otrera, but to Azez.

"Get up," he forced out through gritted teeth, pushing at Otrera with all the force his wings could muster, purple Aether crackling. "Get up. Don't give up! Don't you dare give up!"

His wings were beating so hard they were becoming ragged, tiny tears opening in them. Hellywood didn't stop, though. He didn't even slow down.

"You're everybody's hope," he gasped through the exertion. "Your victory is everyone's victory. This thing is nothing. As far as we're all concerned…"

"Foolishness," mumbled Otrera, pointing a lazy burning finger in Hellywood's direction. The difference in strength was absolute. A single air bullet would be enough to end Hellywood's life.

But still, Hellywood didn't retreat. He didn't even look at his own impending death. Instead, as his wings reduced themselves to tatters, he looked down at Azez directly, tears streaming from behind his organic visor.

"As far as we're all concerned…" he forced out. "...you're already supreme!"

Bang!

Bang!

The side of the tunnel exploded inwards as it was broken through. As dust flew through the length of the tunnel, Granba took the opportunity to leap backwards, out of Jezebel's range. The Maven in Red, for his part, just frowned and turned to look at the source of the disturbance.

Granba already knew, of course. That wall hadn't been smashed in with brute force alone. It had simply become old enough that barely any force was required to break it in the first place. It didn't take a genius to figure out the ability that had brought that miracle about.

Chronodissonance.

As Ruri leapt into the tunnel, she was fast enough to avoid the first swipe of Jezebel's blade -- but as the Gene Tyrant refined his reaction time and struck again, Ruri narrowly avoided having her ear cut off by the second slash. By the time she leapt away, now positioned on the opposite side of their enemy to Granba, a cruel cut wept blood down the length of her cheek.

"Oh," Jezebel noted with mild interest as Ruri skidded to a halt. "Alexandra's mirror! Why, that's quite the coincidence."

"My name's Ruri," she growled back, body low on all fours -- a predator ready to pounce.

"Oh, I'm sure," Jezebel waved her assertion off with a hand. "Still, this is quite the dire situation for me. A lone Noble, alone and afraid, against two godkillers. Ah, but then again…"

He raised his hands -- and the menagerie of monstrous plants he'd cultivated around himself reared up in response. Tooth and claw, branch and vine… all ready to tear through flesh for the sake of their master. The Maven in Red's eyes narrowed fractionally.

"Show me how long you can last, my Zeilan Morhan."

The tunnel finally turned against them completely, plants rushing through every inch of available space, Jezebel himself disappearing among the rabid foliage in an instant.

Escort Fielder!

Heavy boots appeared on two of Granba's four feet, producing a repulsion field that pushed away the weakest of the incoming monster-plants. Those that weren't affected by that met Granba's fists instead. This body of his had quite literally been made for manual labour. Even without his tools, that fact combined with his Aether made him quite the formidable foe. The four fists that lashed out again and again, bursting through his enemies with single blows, were a testament to that.

Still, even as he fought against the writhing river, Granba's thoughts were not on himself. Instead, his attention was on the girl that had vanished at the same time as Jezebel -- Ruri. He knew she wasn't helpless, but even with her speed -- even with Chronodissonance -- he couldn't see her weaving through all these plants without a single mistake.

In the end, though, she didn't have to.

The green curtains parted, revealing that the Maven in Red had something far more terrible planned. Ruri had been seized -- all four of her limbs constricted tightly by slithering vines -- and held spread-eagle in the air, face contorted with pain. Jezebel looked up at her fondly -- one of his hands had twisted and engorged grotesquely, fingers now tipped with claws that looked like eager needles.

"I try not to hold too much affection for my students," he explained. "Most of them are worthless, after all -- but Alexandra could actually be quite entertaining at times. I miss her dearly. So, here's what we're going to do, biomass. Listen up, okay?"

His rabbit head opened up like a flower, flesh peeling apart, and a five-eyed tongue slithered out of the hole to leer at Ruri.

"Brain modification is a delicate art," he hissed. "But I'm more than capable of making delicate hands. We'll rearrange things so your personality is approximate to Alexandra's… then I'll take you over to Eve for the ultimate reward. Alexandra is reincarnated, and you get to fulfil your purpose. Everyone's happy."

Ruri grit her teeth as she struggled against the vines.

"There's only…" she gasped. "...one problem with that…"

All five eyes rolled. "And what's that, little biomass?"

"You won't have any hands at all."

Pink Aether roared -- and the vines holding Ruri in place collapsed into dust as they were drowned in the sands of time. The instant she was free, Ruri leapt forward, weaving through the blades and bites the other plants sent her way…

…and she seized hold of Jezebel's extended tongue.

"CHRONODISSONANCE!" she screamed -- and Jezebel screamed with her.

Granba raised an arm to shield his eyes as the pink radiance flowed down the length of the tunnel, reducing Ruri and her target to mere silhouettes in the center of the aurora.

Ruri's plan was not complicated. She was doing to Jezebel the same as she'd done to the vines -- aging him away into nothing. Already, Granba could see the effects taking hold, parts of Jezebel's body that had seemed like sculpted perfection beginning to soften and droop and rot. Other parts of him were even breaking off and collapsing into dust. His scream echoed through the tunnel, pitch shifting as even his vocal cords aged.

But.

Gradually, Jezebel's scream trailed off…

…and became a laugh.

"Just kidding~" he giggled.

That which had softened was pulled back into perfection. That which had crumbled was regenerated. Still chuckling, Jezebel reached out and seized Ruri by the throat with a hand, even as the pink Aether continued to wrap around his form.

It was like nothing had even happened. It was like nothing was even happening.

"A nice attempt," Jezebel said, tongue twisting in the air. "But it's based on a faulty premise. We of the Nobility are timeless creatures. I myself have lived for thousands of years. No matter how heavily it flows, time will never be a danger to us. It's no big deal for me to rejuvenate and regenerate my cells faster than you can destroy them."

Ruri's face twitched in what might have been anger, what might have been fear -- and Jezebel, smelling blood in the water, lifted her up even higher.

"But I speak of more than just myself, than just my flesh, biomass," he hissed. "The Gene Nobility itself is eternal. The culmination of evolution and existence, the inevitable conclusion of all human ambition. Even if Azum were to fall today, it would be meaningless. We would come back. The second you insects looked away, we would just come back. Given time, given human nature, we would simply happen… again."

Jezebel squeezed.

"Time is our ally, little girl," he breathed. "Not yours. Never --"

Ruri kicked his chest.

It wasn't the desperate move of someone about to die. Not at all. Her legs were steady. Her face had fallen into cold neutrality. Her pink Aether had all flowed into her feet without a spark out of place. This was planned. Ruri had been waiting for this exact opportunity, this exact positioning, and now it had come.

Ruri had never been at Jezebel's mercy. Quite the opposite.

"Watchmaker's Inner World," intoned Granba.

As Ruri launched herself out of Jezebel's grip, the Gene Tyrant that had been called the Maven in Red whirled around to face Granba -- but the sparks of pink were still buzzing around his form. It was true that aging a Gene Tyrant, especially one as proficient as an Origin Strain, was useless… but fast-forwarding wasn't all that Chronodissonance could do.

All of Jezebel's eyes -- even the hidden ones -- widened, but the movement was as slow as molasses. Words oozed out of him, but they were stretched out into oblivion. Chronodissonance had slowed him down to such a degree that it was only one step above stopping the flow of time entirely.

All around them -- Jezebel, Ruri, and Granba -- the world faded to black. The rabid plants vanished from sight. They had not been invited into Granba's workshop.

Granba the Maker let out a tense breath. That… had been difficult to sit through. He'd understood what Ruri had been intending, but still. She was older, but he thought of her the same way he thought of his orphans -- a child to be protected. Watching her put herself in harm's way went entirely against his nature.

Well, he would take his pound of flesh for it.

"All In," he said, staring into the eyes of the immobilized Jezebel.

All around the three of them, objects began to appear, floating in mid-air -- Aether Items of every shape and size. Weapons and tools, armour and armaments, simple and complex. At Granba's command, they began to change -- began to disassemble themselves, reducing themselves to individual components which steadily floated over towards Granba's waiting hands.

Jezebel's arms exploded into four bladed tendrils each, the limbs crawling through the air towards his enemy. It was a testament to his sheer speed that the agonizingly slow movement was even visible.

The components from a hundred different Aether Items began to reassemble themselves in the space above Granba, combining into one almighty vessel. Those Aether Items that were not useful in construction instead melted down into glowing orange fuel, which poured into the grand receptacle even as it constructed itself.

Jezebel's ribs burst open and a hail of biological bullets flew forth. These were faster than the tendrils, but still far too slow. By the time those sculpted shards of bone reached their target, his work would be long done.

The great weapon that Granba had constructed was cylindrical, the size of a log -- and heavy enough that he had to carry it over one shoulder and support its weight with three arms. Even then, it was a struggle. The golden sheen of the intricately engraved weapon reflected the pink light of Ruri's Aether, mingling with Granba's own green and producing an unearthly tricolour aura.

Jezebel's entire body bubbled. No doubt, he had some form in mind that could withstand what was coming. Perhaps it would even have worked… if he'd been able to take it fast enough.

This was over.

"Divine Instrument," Granba declared. "Pashupatastra."

It spat godlight.

The golden ray fired from the tip of Pashupatastra with a sound like the world cracking apart, but it did not 'slam' into Jezebel. To say that it slammed into him would imply some level of successful resistance on his part. It passed through him like a knife through butter, turning his flesh to liquid and the liquid to smoke, leaving only his final word echoing throughout the tunnel.

"Beautiful…"

The attack didn't stop there.

The entire reason Granba's team had been attacking this place had been to disable the enemy base at the heart of this disused transport network. The blast continued on down the length of the tunnel, into that enemy camp, incinerating everything it came into contact with. Soldiers were flung apart. Vehicles burst into huge fireballs. The structure of the complex collapsed, the roof caving in. Within a few seconds, the entire enemy base was no more.

But that still wasn't the end.

Pashupatastra's blaze continued, burning through the side of the mountain and emerging into the night of war beyond. Only then did the strength of the attack begin to weaken, to diffuse -- but even then, that only meant that one blast branched out into six, into twelve, twenty-four, fourty-eight, again and again. The bioships that had been massing beside the enemy territory were helpless before the onslaught. Not one survived, impaled by holy light.

But even then, it wasn't over.

Burning blood rained onto the distant ground from the slaughtered bioships, boiling those beneath alive. The carcasses of the great vessels plummeted to the earth, crushing anyone unfortunate enough to be beneath them. A wave of fuel-derived poison poured forth from punctured gigalungs -- and anyone who did so much as sniff it died choking on their own vomit.

Only then did it finally come to an end… and by the time it did, that one attack had taken 77,632 enemy lives.

"Oh…?" Otrera narrowed his eyes.

Azez had moved.

He had blocked Otrera's attack with a broken hand. He stood proud on broken legs. He took smooth breaths through broken ribs and punctured lungs. He stared resolute through a broken gaze.

He understood now. He understood it all.

Unlike the other members of the Zeilan Morhan, Azez had not designed his ability with a specific purpose in mind. His golden flames had been available to him since the moment he'd unlocked his Aether, a quirk of the power that Edgar hadn't quite been able to explain. He'd learnt how to burn his enemies with nuclear fire at the same time as he'd learnt the basic principles… but all this time, that power had seemed a double-edged sword.

Destroying Alexandra had nearly permanently ruined his arm. Flying through the sky left vicious burns that kept him awake at night. Even with the Lantern to contain his power, his fights caused him debilitating pain.

But right now, he didn't feel any pain at all. That was because his flames now suffused everything.

The uneven distribution had been the problem, he realized. He'd been dipping his toe into boiling water, again and again -- but now that he was submerged fully, it felt nice and cool. If there was an explanation, Azez didn't know it. Maybe it was just because the parts of him that would have been damaged were now just as strong as those doing the damaging.

Whatever the case, he stepped forward. Golden light was blazing from his eyes and his mouth. His grey hair had become a stark white, waving strangely up in the air like he was underwater. He lowered his body, raising his fists at the distant enemy.

But when he spoke, it was not to Otrera. Instead, his voice reached the man collapsed behind him -- the soldier named Hellywood.

"Go wherever you want," Azez said, his voice echoing and resonant. "I won't tell you to get behind me anymore. It doesn't matter."

His divine gaze drifted to the fallen soldiers, those whose bodies were already turning to ash from the sheer heat.

"I won't let anyone die anymore," he said softly, before that resolution returned to his voice. "It's like you said. From here on in…"

He took a step forward. The force of that simple movement was enough to cause the implacable Otrera to assume a defensive stance. Azez smirked.

"...I am Supreme," he finished.