Aetheral Space-Chapter 530 - 17.2: Sword of the Supreme

DAY 1

"Haha," Niain chuckled. "That sure was surprising!"

What was left of Beckett del Brainen's Aether Awakening dissipated around them, the massive worm-shaped carcass taking a little while to fully disappear. Niain lowered his hands, allowing Angra Mainyu and Ahura Mazda to fade away too. After the Lovers had finished communicating them to Nehr Müt, they'd had to deal with Beckett del Brainen resuming his assault right away. With all the members of Darkstar together, they'd been able to deal with him quickly, but they'd had to do so once, twice, thrice.

Now, at last, it seemed his spite had burnt itself out.

Niain squatted down, looking the massive skull in the eye as it unravelled, string by Aetheral string. Human hatred truly was an astounding thing. It could even reach out from beyond the grave like this… even if it got beat up like ten times and died right afterwards, it was still quite the sight to see. You think so too, right?

Still, if a dying curse was itself going to die, Niain personally felt like it should be in a more dreary place than this. The Lovers' chamber on Nehr Müt was a massive circular room, with white floors and white walls, but more than that -- it was so bright. The light seemed to be coming from within the walls and floor themselves. Honestly! When Niain turned to look, he couldn't even see his own shadow.

"You know," he said, looking over at the closest of Zephyr Pandershi's Extensions. "Having it be this bright will probably damage people's eyes. Is that okay?"

The Extension threw her hair back, smirking. "Of course it is. This place is designed so that doesn't happen, you know?"

"Sorry, sorry, haha, my mistake," Niain rubbed the back of his head, clearly not sorry at all.

Despite the ferocity of the battle that had taken place here, the structure itself hadn't taken much damage at all. Niain supposed the material composing the building must have other esoteric properties than just emitting light. Still, it wasn't like they'd gotten out of this fight completely unscathed.

Blaine and Muzazi -- the ones who'd jumped into the Lovers' communication -- had managed to escape in the chaos. By now, Niain expected they'd have fought their way out of the fortress and into the wasteland beyond. A Nebula and a former Supreme Heir weren't to be taken lightly, after all.

This situation wasn't ideal. But then again, not much is, you know?

Niain turned his gaze to McCoy as she stepped off of del Brainen's disappearing carcass. In the end, she hadn't even used that replica of EIN SOF she'd conjured up. Niain frowned. The massive greatsword was falling apart in her grasp, too, becoming mere blood and guts that faded into nothing.

Niain flopped backwards, going from squatting to sitting cross-legged right in the middle of the ruined chamber. He held onto his feet as he leaned backwards, looking at the bandaged woman with all the innocence of a child. "Was it really a good idea to waste so many corpses like that, McCoy?"

With all those bandages covering her, it was hard to tell if McCoy was looking at him as she spoke, but he got the feeling she wasn't. "It's fine," she said, voice muffled. "Pandershi has the facilities to make more. With his cloning technology, I essentially have a limitless supply. Isn't that right?"

Pandershi answered through another Extension, the middle-aged man running a finger through his moustache. "Of course. Pumping out hundreds or thousands of dead bodies isn't really a big deal for someone like me. Although, I don't recall agreeing to become your corpse factory, October Jones."

McCoy bristled at the use of her old name, taking a step towards the Pandershi that had spoken, but Niain simply raised his hands to defuse the situation.

"Come on, let's not fight," he smiled. "This is a great day for us. Most of us made it home safe and sound, we struck a big blow against the UAP… and we got what we came for."

His smile becoming a sly smirk, he patted the cube containing Dragan Hadrien's severed head. He'd put it down on the floor next to him while he sat down, like a piece of luggage. Within the amber confines of Demiurge Territorium, Dragan Hadrien stared forward, frozen in the moment of decapitation.

"Can he see us?" McCoy asked curiously.

Pandershi answered through Extension A -- his public appearance, the one the galaxy knew him by, the handsome 'young' man with white-and-orange hair. "I doubt it," he waved a hand dismissively. "His perception of time should be too warped to comprehend anything that's happening right now. I caught him at a moment where he was basically uninfused, thanks to our friend over here."

He nodded to Gregori Hazzard, who'd been lurking at the back of the chamber, silent since they'd arrived.

"Speaking of which," Pandershi continued through the female Extension with the long hair, crossing her arms. "You mentioned there was something you wanted to discuss with me, didn't you? You've done good work for us," she smirked. "So I'd be willing to entertain a request."

Gregori's crimson eyes flicked throughout the room, looking at each Extension present in turn, searching their eyes for signs of betrayal or duplicity. He probably was well-versed in what those looked like, having seen them so many times in the mirror. Only after a few seconds did he look back at the female Pandershi.

"I want to become a Gene Tyrant," he said, oddly breathless. "Can you make that happen?"

Pandershi stared at Gregori for a moment, her eyes sliding up and down to inspect him from head-to-toe. Then, she just put a hand against her head and sighed exaggeratedly.

Gregori clenched his jaw. "You can't?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Of course I can," Pandershi replied, putting a hand on her hip. "You really think I wouldn't be capable of such a basic project? It's just… it's so pedestrian. The Gene Tyrants are a failed branch of evolution. I simply can't understand why you'd want to become something that's already been proven worthless."

"So you can do it?" Gregori rushed forward, planting his hands on Pandershi's shoulders, an intense gleam suddenly in his eyes.

"Were you not listening a second ago?" Pandershi rolled her eyes. "I said 'of course I can'. Just like that, with the emphasis on course. I'm already halfway there with some uninteresting projects I put down in the past -- I'm sure I could dust them off and put something together for you. By the way, could you not touch me, please?"

Unimpressed, Pandershi reached up and pushed Gregori's hands off of her shoulders. The white-clad traitor looked over at Niain.

"If I'm helping you out from now on," he said seriously. "I want proper compensation."

Niain smiled. "Of course. Zephyr, could you make that happen, please? I know you don't find the idea of becoming a Gene Tyrant particularly engaging, but we all have our own personalities and dreams, right? That's what makes people so wonderful. Won't you help Gregori with his dream for me?"

Pandershi twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Fine. Don't misunderstand -- I'm not putting myself out there or anything. It won't be difficult for me."

"I'd be very surprised if it was, haha!" Niain laughed. Standing up, he tucked Hadrien's head-cube under his arm. "Well, since that's squared away, shall we get the ritual --"

"Where's Noel?"

Niain's smile faded, turning into a frown. Now it was his turn to sigh. When he looked over his shoulder at the doors that had just opened, it was with the annoyed glare of someone reminded of a particularly boring chore they had to take care of.

"Sorry, what?" he asked.

The last missing member of their little band had found his way to the arrival chamber. Reyansh Patel stood in the doorway, looking this way and that, ignoring Niain. It was obvious what he was looking for -- for a moment, his eyes fixed hopefully onto the unconscious Aclima, slung over one of Pandershi's shoulders, and were quickly disappointed. When he finally cast his gaze back to Niain, he asked once again:

"Where's Noel?!"

Niain groaned. "It's a little late to be doing this, don't you think?"

"What are you --"

"You 'joined' Darkstar to keep Noel safe, right? You wanted to stay by her side and make sure nothing bad happened to her. I mean, that's what you tell yourself, but you've been running around with us for a good while now and I've never actually seen you do anything. Did you think standing there and looking grim would be enough?"

Reyansh's face turned a bright shade of red. "What did you do to her?!"

"Me?" Niain pointed up at his own face, mock-offended. "I didn't do anything. You didn't, either. She just got left behind on Serendipity, that's all."

Reyansh just stared at Niain, eyes widening with horror -- the kind of horror that tore its way into a man and emptied him out.

Niain continued: "It's a pretty likely outcome of these sorts of excursions, you know? If you didn't want this to happen, you should have gone with us, and not agreed to hold down the fort here. Actually, I take back that thing from before. If anything, you are the one who did something to her."

Reyansh clenched his fists, ground his teeth, and glared at Niain with the fury of an exploding star. The horror hadn't lasted long, Niain noticed. He'd smothered it with boring anger.

"Bastard…"

"Look, I don't want to be mean," Niain rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But it's kind of a drag that you even exist. Not once have you ever surprised me or interested me, and yet I still have to look at your face and hear your voice. Can't you try to see this from my perspective?"

Boom.

Clearly not.

Reyansh launched himself off the ground with an explosion, screaming in rage as he lunged at Niain, combat knife in hand. As expected. As utterly, utterly expected.

Pandershi, McCoy, and Hazzard made no move to assist. They knew there was no need to. It'd be embarrassing if you needed help to scrape poop off your shoe. Niain just raised a lazy hand in the direction of his incoming enemy…

Ahura Mazda.

…and let loose.

Jet-black tendrils burst out of the white sphere, lancing through the air like spider-legs, changing directions with new joints so it looked like they were ricocheting through the air. Within a few seconds, the room was full of them. Patel changed his course immediately, using another explosion to rise up into the air and try to escape the onslaught.

It was no use.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Niain watched, bored, as Patel leapt from tendril to tendril, doing his best to avoid and parry them as they came for him. If nothing else, he was agile enough that his defeat wasn't instant. His knife swung through the air -- and each time it made contact with a target, a small explosion would burst out from it, reinforcing Patel's strike.

It was obvious what Patel was doing. His nameless ability allowed him to turn anything he infused into a bomb. Right before he attacked, he was infusing just the tip of his knife, detonating it at the moment of impact. It was among the most mundane and pedestrian uses of such an ability. Just from seeing how this guy fought for his life, Niain was kind of embarrassed he'd let him hang around with them.

It didn't last long.

Patel screamed as he made the final kick off a tendril, throwing caution to the wind as he went right for Niain, glowing knife in hand. His strength and speed actually weren't bad. If his attack actually made contact, it stood a good chance of inflicting some pain.

If it made contact.

Ahura Mazda.

The face of Noel Edmunds bubbled into existence, right over Niain's hand. Patel stopped mid-swing, knife frozen in the air. His eyes widened. His face twisted. This face wasn't even a living thing -- it was basically a very realistic sock puppet -- but it had still been enough to stop this supposed mission of vengeance in its tracks.

What an idiot.

Niain calmly stepped forward and drove a tusk-like blade into Patel's gut. The combat knife slipped from the failure's grip and dropped to the floor, where it danced and popped like a firecracker. Still grimacing, Patel weakly tried to reach for his opponent's face -- but Niain simply tore the blade free and let Patel drop to the floor as well.

"See? Even at this point, you can't help but half-ass things," Niain looked down at him. "Obviously, it isn't her. This is why I just can't stand you. But don't worry…"

He raised the white sphere of Ahura Mazda, black liquid already pouring from its radiance.

"...I have a way to make even someone like you interesting. We have a job opening available."

Niain narrowed his eyes, and smiled his sickly smile. He held his hand up, black centipedes and maggots spilling from between his fingers.

"Darkstar could always do with an Abyssal Knight," he said with relish.

"I've got to say," Niain commented once all was said and done. "We could have done with a welcome wagon on our way in, there. Where were those Unseelie of yours? They could have stopped Blaine and Muzazi from getting away."

He was walking down another bright corridor of Auberan, Hadrien's cube tucked under his arm, Pandershi's public identity -- Extension A -- by his side. Through the windows that lined the hallway, he could see Nehr Müt in all of its… well, maybe glory wouldn't be the right word.

Actually, it looked pretty depressing. Bottle-shaped Wards clinging to the lifeless grey rock below, with this blinding fortress looking down on them and the pitch-black sky pressing down. No matter how brightly the city shone, it didn't make it daytime.

Pandershi snorted. "Those rats?"

"The Unseelie?" Niain blinked.

"No," Pandershi said defensively. "Blaine and Muzazi. I'm not concerned about those pests in the least. One is half-dead, the other exhausted. If we left them alone, they'd probably die on their own."

"But we're not going to leave them alone," Niain made clear.

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"Oh no, we're hunting them down like animals," Pandershi waved a casual hand. "Anyway, my Unseelie were busy keeping an eye on Zepan, making sure no unrest brewed. I couldn't have the city falling into chaos while the bulk of me was away, could I?"

Niain frowned. "Is that really the best use of resources?"

"Of course," Pandershi replied. "Everything I do, I do for the people of Nehr Müt. They are the only real humans in this world, as far as I'm concerned. They love me, and I love them. I couldn't have anything happen to them, ever."

Niain looked downcast at the floor. "So I don't even count as human to you…"

"There are better things to be," Pandershi chuckled. "If you wanted to meet my Unseelie, I'd be happy to make the introductions. I'm actually quite proud of my personal security, you know, I scouted them personally. There's more than one living legend among their ranks! And the others will be in the history books before long, I imagine, too. There's a splendid mixture of experience and potential in that group, but…" He trailed off, looking away, embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. "...but jeez, you're the one rushing us along here, you know."

Niain drummed his fingers along the cube as he walked. "The Supremacy and the UAP won't just sit around and wait for us. We need to get this show on the road."

Pandershi paused right as they reached their destination, lingering at the doorway as he stared at Niain's face. "Hm," he said quietly, sadly. "There really is a resemblance, isn't there?"

Niain cocked his head, but Pandershi didn't elaborate, turning around with a sweep of his white lab-coat and heading into the room beyond. The King of Darkstar followed a moment later with an easy shrug.

Oh, Nian thought, taking it all in. Now this is very nice.

Pandershi had been preparing for this Aether ritual even before the events on Serendipity -- and Niain had to admit, it was quite the sight to see.

He'd chosen a tall cylindrical room for the ceremony, so tall you had to crane your neck to see the ceiling, and from that ceiling he'd suspended a massive chandelier-like harness for the bodies required.

Pandershi had gone all out with his preparations. Eleven humans hung from hooks like slabs of meat all along the outside of the chandelier, their bodies hairless and androgynous, their eyes closed and their breathing shallow. Right now, these things were capable of nothing more than simply being alive.

Blank templates, to put it simply.

Pandershi had already been waiting for his Extension A to arrive with Niain, too, clearly. Eight more of his Extensions were stationed around the perimeter of the chamber. Young and old, male and female, identifiable as Pandershi only by their distinctive white-and-orange hair. Having more Extensions here didn't mean that Pandershi could produce more Aether or anything -- he was still only one mind with one light -- but it did mean that he could channel it from different directions simultaneously.

And then, in the centre of the room, the piece of history that this entire ritual was based around.

Per Mutation. The Sword of the Supreme. The blade that the woman called Helis-Audrey the Harsh had used to destroy and recreate herself.

The hilt was a sparkling gold, and the blade a substance like glass -- reflecting Niain's face clearly as he approached it. No, perhaps not so clearly, after all. As light danced across the blade buried in the floor, the reflection changed with it.

Niain with a smile.

Niain with a frown.

Niain wearing an eyepatch.

Niain on the verge of death.

Niain in the regalia of a Supreme.

Niain in an automatic body.

Niain with light in his eyes.

He frowned, stepping away at that creepy last one.

Per Mutation was one of the masterpieces of the Maker-Guild, designed and commissioned by Helis-Audrey herself. Niain didn't know how exactly Pandershi had gotten his hands on it, but he suspected there was a story there. Had he been preparing for something like this, even back then, or had it been another balm for his vanity?

Pandershi's Extension A held out a hand, and Niain passed over the head-cube.

"Well," Pandershi smirked, balancing the cube on a finger as he looked into the unseeing eyes of Dragan Hadrien. "We're not sure if you can hear us right now, Mr. Hadrien, but I feel I owe you an explanation of the manner in which you're going to cease existing."

He turned the cube around, so the head was facing the glimmering sword before it.

"Helis-Audrey the Harsh, the famed Supreme of Iron," Pandershi began. "Had an ability called Divine Hindsight. If you've ever been interested in the history of past Supremes, I'm sure you've heard of it. It allowed her to change the history of an object she infused with her Aether -- by adjusting the course it had taken in the past, she was able to change the destination it had reached in the present, and in doing so achieve an unparalleled level of alteration. It was all simulated, of course, the past didn't actually change -- but if the results are the same, what does that matter? She could turn enemies into allies, and weaklings into powerhouses. The most potent use of this ability, though, she reserved for herself."

He tucked Dragan's head under his arm, running an appreciative finger down the length of Per Mutation's reflective blade.

"Per Mutation," Pandershi purred. "While it has its uses in combat, its primary function is as a 'possibility engine'. When provided with a subject -- in this case, you -- it will analyze that subject's history and determine the points at which it could have diverged. Then, it will reconstruct those potential selves -- their personalities, their physical attributes, even their abilities -- and project them onto provided proxies."

He waved his arm wide, indicating the hanging bodies all around.

"Strictly speaking, Helis-Audrey used wooden puppets for that part, but I've spared no expense -- the prelude to my apotheosis shouldn't be cheap, after all. Very soon, these husks of meat will be you -- all your days that could have been. There's one in particular we're looking for, but the rest of the chaff will have to be manifested as well."

He tapped a button on his wrist, and there was a grinding sound as ports on the ceiling far above slid open, creating eleven holes exposed to the night sky above.

"Is it really necessary to scatter them like that?" Niain frowned, cocking his head.

Pandershi answered from another Extension rather than turning his head. "The range is hardcoded, I'm afraid," she said. "That's another reason I have the Unseelie out in the city -- just in case one of the proxies ends up somewhere inconvenient."

Extension A took Hadrien's head in both his hands, looking into those blank eyes again as he strolled towards Per Mutation, extending the cube.

"Helis-Audrey called this 'one-man survival-of-the-fittest'. She did it to herself twice, even. Your other selves will slaughter each other until only the one worthy to exist remains -- and that will be the end of you," Pandershi said softly. "Your flesh will become its flesh, your mind will become its mind. Existentially, I imagine that's pretty terrifying, but there's not much you can do about it as a head."

Amber Aether began to crackle from eight different bodies, strobing throughout the room.

Pandershi smiled. "So long, Dragan Hadrien. I'll see you again in your next life." He put the cube down, right atop the sword's hilt.

As one, the eight Extensions around the perimeter of the room blasted their Aether directly into Per Mutation, activating the ritual. A high-pitched shrieking rang out from the vibrating blade -- and the image reflected in it changed once more.

Now it wasn't showing Niain at all. Now it was showing Dragan Hadrien, his eyes wide in terror, a terrible understanding of his situation clear on his face. Niain waved at him cheerfully, but Hadrien didn't wave back. Instead, that reflection charged desperately forwards, as if to break out from the world of the mirror and somehow escape…

…but that just wasn't possible.

The light flashed one more time, the reflection flickered between eleven new visages… and the power of Per Mutation exploded outwards, engulfing everything. Thick bolts of Aether -- amber and cyan -- crawled up the harnesses above, coiling around the bodies that had been prepared. The shrieking of Per Mutation grew higher and higher until it wasn't even audible anymore.

Instead, all that could be heard…

Crack.

Crunch.

…were the sounds of new life.

The eleven lumps of meat screamed in agony as their bodies were rewritten from head to toe, Per Mutation adjusting them down to their cellular structure, imposing new identities upon them. Their limbs writhed and bent the wrong way, their ribs snapped, their eyes rolled back into their sockets… it really did seem terribly painful to be born into this world, Niain thought.

He giggled.

The beginnings of clothes began to manifest around the bodies, providing modesty just as they started to require it… but before that could even finish, it was already time to send the proxies on their way. One by one, with only seconds apart, they were recorded into the mingling amber-and-cyan Aether and fired out through the ceiling like shooting stars. The screams of eleven versions of Dragan Hadriens still echoed throughout the chamber, even after they were all gone.

And then, the light stopped. Per Mutation became inert once again, save for a slight fizzling of the air above it. The bloody hooks, abandoned by their cargo, swung limply above.

Pandershi grinned through all the mouths present, and looked at Niain with all the eyes present.

"So it begins," he said with nine different voices.

DAY 2

"If this chick isn't one of us," Dragan Hadrien mused, adjusting his hat. "Then what's she doing out here?"

"She might… s-still be one of us…" Dragan Hadrien mumbled, chewing on his thumb. "It could be a… d-disguise… or he possessed someone…"

"As I stated earlier," Dragan Hadrien said, his face blank as he floated in the sky. "I recognise that individual. That's Ruth Blaine."

Ruth watched in stunned silence, as above her, three different versions of Dragan Hadrien spoke. There was no mistaking it, they were all Dragan -- or at least they all looked like him. They all had the same face.

Squatting over her, Dragan Hadrien continued chewing on his thumb. His disheveled hair was a deep black and his staring eyes -- drifting in and out of clarity -- were a blood red, but there was no mistaking that face. There were heavy bags under his eyes, so heavy it looked like he hadn't slept for days, or maybe even weeks. He was wearing an unkempt dress shirt and pants, loose-fitting, and in the hand he wasn't chewing he held a penknife. Drops of oil dribbled down the blade -- clearly, this was the one that had disabled her leg.

"Hm…" he kept mumbling. "Ruth Blaine… hm…? Eh…? I don't know… that… what's that mean…?"

The second Dragan Hadrien, the one wearing a white suit and fedora, sighed in exasperation and put a hand to his forehead. This one was more like her Dragan -- his hair was silver and his eyes were blue, at least -- but there was a nasty gleam in those eyes that Ruth had never seen before. He too was holding something, but not a knife. Instead, he waved what looked like an old candlestick around as he spoke up towards his floating companion.

"I hate to be coming from the same place as that freak," He jerked his head towards the squatting Hadrien. "But you say that name like I'm supposed to know what it means. Ruth Blaine? Who the fuck?"

The third Dragan looked down on both of them -- it would've been hard not to, because he was floating in the sky. He was wearing a flowing white-and-blue kimono that made him look like some kind of pale ghost, his hands and feet concealed by the long sleeves and hem. Red marks were painted around his cold blue eyes -- eyes that were colder than usual, even. The kind of eyes that made Ruth think of a machine more than a human.

"Your deviation point is earlier than mine," the floating Dragan explained patiently down to the complaining one. "It's the same with him, also. It's only natural that there are individuals I recognise that you do not. Ruth Blaine is an associate of our mainline equivalent. Most likely, she would be his ally."

The Dragan with the hat raised his eyebrows at that, his blue gaze flicking down to meet Ruth's a second later.

"Is that so…?" he muttered, before a smile spread across his lips -- it didn't reach his eyes, though -- and he spoke directly to her for the first time: "Sorry about that! This must be a pretty crazy situation for you, huh? Don't worry, I'm kind to girls. Are you alright?"

Ruth pushed herself up into a sitting position, looking between the Hadriens warily. The damage to her leg was bad, but if it came down to it she was sure she could still make a run for it. The problem was that Reyansh Patel, still unconscious on the floor. Could she evade these three, collect him again, and escape?

No, actually, no, that wasn't the problem. The problem was the three Dragans looking down at her! What the hell was going on?! Had the Panacea gone crazy again and split him up into different people?!

"What's going on…?" she voiced the obvious question warily. "Who are you people?"

The black-haired Dragan ignored her, instead speaking to the empty air. "What about… that… guy on the ground…? Is he one of us…? His hair's… different… but my hair's different too… so it could -- ah!"

He yelped as the hat-wearing Dragan kicked him viciously, putting his hands over his head and cowering on the ground.

"Don't worry," the hat-wearing Dragan chuckled, full of faux-cheer. "I'm not messed up like this guy. My name's Dragan Hadrien, but I guess you already know that, huh? It's going to get a little confusing if we all go by the same name, but I've got some titles from back home you can use instead." He put his hat against his heart and bowed respectfully. "Don Hadrien or Boss Hadrien -- you can use whichever feels most comfortable, okay?"

Don Hadrien grinned down at her in a way that might have been charming, if Ruth didn't know just how ill-fitting such an expression was for Dragan's face. He pointed up at the floating Dragan.

"That's Nurarihyon," he said. "Much easier to remember, right? He's a little cold, but he really opens up once you get to know him. And this is…" His grin faded as he looked down at his dark-haired counterpart. "Hey, freak, what was your name again?"

"D-Dragoon…" he stammered, hands still covering his head… "D-Dragoon de F-Fleur…"

"He can't even talk properly," Don Hadrien sighed, throwing his hands up. "But we still look after him. That's what friends are for, after all. You're a friend of Dragan Hadrien's too, right?"

Ruth swallowed, shifting position in the dirt a little as she did her best to keep all three of them in her field of vision.

"You're all Dragan…?" she asked, throat dry.

"Exactly!" Don Hadrien snapped his fingers. "You've really got some brains up there too, huh? It's basically like this: someone's taken your good friend Dragan Hadrien and split him apart -- into eleven pieces specifically, some Aetheral business. Now, we don't know who the mastermind behind all of this is, but we know what we need to do. The only way for the original Dragan Hadrien to return… is for all of us variants save one to be destroyed."

Bullshit.

Ruth Blaine had known Dragan Hadrien for a long time. She'd spoken with him, she'd fought with him, she'd bled alongside him. So, she knew better than anyone else.

She knew what his face looked like when he was lying.

It's the same every time, huh?

Don Hadrien extended a hand down to her and winked, that kind false smile on his lips. "Won't you help your friend out, Ruth Blaine?"

Dragoon de Fleur stared. Nurarihyon did not blink.

And Ruth Blaine …did not take that hand. That wasn't the hand she wanted to seize hold of. It might have looked the same, but there was no human warmth there. She just looked at it, grimacing like she'd been presented with something filthy.

Slowly, Don Hadrien lowered his hand, the smile long since faded from his face.

"Argh…" he groaned, taking a step back and scratching his head. "Shit. Did I overdo it or what?"

Nurarihyon answered him from up in the sky. "Putting your acting skills aside, it's possible that the relationship between Dragan Hadrien and Ruth Blaine has changed since my point of deviation. At this point, it may even be adversarial."

Don Hadrien threw up a hand. "Seriously? What fuckin' good are you, then?!"

"However," Nurarihyon continued. "It may be the case that other Dragan Hadrien variants still see Ruth Blaine as a cherished companion."

Two jumps would do it. Dragoon de Fleur was busy chewing at the back of his hand, while Don Hadrien and Nurarihyon were occupied with their argument. Ruth would take one jump to grab Reyansh again, and then leap out of the courtyard with a second. Even with this injury, she was confident in her ability to escape if they weren't right next to her.

She shifted her footing, ready to leap to her feet…

"Oh! I get what you're saying!"

…and the barrel of a gun was pressed against the back of her head.

Ruth's eyes widened. She didn't know when -- she'd been looking at him the entire time -- but Don Hadrien had vanished. Just now, his voice had come from behind her. What the hell?! Had that been Gemini World just now?! No, it felt different. It hadn't been super-speed or some kind of illusion, either. This was completely different.

This guy has a different ability?

Slowly, Ruth turned her head. Just as she'd thought, there stood Don Hadrien. There stood Don Hadrien, pointing a revolver at her face. His free hand was in his pocket. His eyes were wide and hollow. Right now, he looked much less sane than the one he had called 'freak'.

"So if I just kill this bitch," he said emotionlessly. "The others might come after me for revenge, right?"

Try it, asshole.

Ruth readied her claws. No matter what abilities this guy had, she'd just have to deal with it. No matter what the two behind her did, she'd just have to deal with it. That was the way Ruth Blaine lived her life, from start to finish.

Don Hadrien's finger curled around the trigger…

Ding.

…and a grenade fell to the ground between them.

They both blinked. Don Hadrien's eyes flicked down to the canister -- and then widened to their utmost as they recognised the broken-spark symbol on its side. The universal symbol for…

"Neverwire!" he screamed, with far more terror than seemed necessary.

He leapt backwards right as the Neverwire grenade detonated, scattering smoke and sparkling red particles throughout the air. Crimson Aether buzzed all around Ruth's Skeletal Set -- this level of Neverwire was enough to make it react a little, but it certainly wasn't going anywhere. She swung her head around wildly, trying to find her bearings among the thick white smoke.

She needed to get hold of Reyansh and get out of here. She needed to --

Ruth turned her head, and saw that she was not alone amidst the smoke. A girl she didn't recognise was standing across from her, a girl with brown curly hair and pale golden eyes. She was wearing some kind of patchwork combat armour, welded and stitched together, and in her hand she held another Neverwire grenade.

This was her rescuer, then?

"Come with me," the girl said.