Aetheral Space-Chapter 531 - 17.3: The Unseelie Court
DAY 1
Jessica woke just as the sun was beginning to peek through the curtains of her bedroom. As her eyelids fluttered open, a soft smile spread across her lips. This was the best time to wake up. She knew this, and her house knew this too. That was why it made sure she stayed asleep until that time every single day.
Still, for some reason, she felt like she hadn't slept too well last night. Bad dreams? If so, she certainly couldn't remember them.
Even if she was still a little tired, she couldn't stay in bed long, though. Yana woke up at the same time as her, at the same time as everyone in Zepan. Jessica needed to make sure she was ready for the day. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞
Yana was still sleepy as Jessica dressed her, but maybe that was just another good thing about waking up at this time. It meant that Yana didn't yet have the energy to cause a ruckus, as all five-year-olds inevitably desired. If Director Pandershi had gone so far as to consider that, then he truly was a genius.
Jessica knew her daughter's docile mood wouldn't last long, though, and they had a tram to catch. Breakfast had been delivered through the courier-chute before they'd woken up -- two brightly-coloured pills, one for Jessica and one for Yana. While breakfast was the most important meal of the day, it also took up a good chunk of time, so Director Pandershi had decided to innovate on the eating experience.
As Jessica swallowed her breakfast pill, she reminisced fondly of the pancakes she had eaten. These pills had all the nutrition required to start the day -- but better than that, they had a pseudo-synesthesia effect, generating phantom memories of eating a full breakfast. They tasted fantastic, too. People said that, once you ate food from Nehr Müt, you belonged to it forever. Jessica didn't doubt that for a second.
She'd been born in Zepan, so she'd never known a time before she belonged to it, but Jessica knew she was fortunate to have been born into this golden era. Before Director Pandershi and his followers had overthrown the Foremen, this planet had been a miserable place where death and suffering had been constant companions. Now, Nehr Müt was where all needs were taken care of, and all happiness fulfilled.
As they finally went to leave through the front door, Jessica noticed the amber light atop the frame. She held back a sigh that she hadn't really wanted to let out anyway. They were in a hurry, true, but after all that Director Pandershi had done for them, she couldn't exactly balk at a simple gratitude lock.
She leaned in towards the door, and the monitor on it activated -- displaying an image of Director Pandershi in one of his many wonderful forms. A pleasant-looking young man with curly white-and-orange hair. He smiled at her. She smiled back, wide as always so the camera could see clearly.
"I love you!" she exclaimed, and the gratitude lock clicked green, the covenant fulfilled.
It wasn't every day that she had to use a gratitude lock to leave the house, of course, that would be ridiculous. At the start of each day, it was randomly determined which facilities in the Ward would require a gratitude lock to use. Tomorrow, it would be someone else's turn to thank the man who had saved them from everything.
The tram took Jessica and Yana down towards the health centre, where their wellness check had been booked. It was full that morning, all of the passengers in their assigned seats as the tram slid through the streets of Ward 3. Jessica sighed dreamily as she looked out of the window, taking in the vista of the Ward.
It was just her humble opinion, but Ward 3 surely had to be the most beautiful in Zepan.
Director Pandershi had seen fit to grant the citizens here a tropical paradise, all palm trees and blue skies and white sand and singing insects -- just the sounds, though, no actual insects, that would be gross. A long artificial beach stretched on as far as the eye could see, a crystal-clear tide ebbing and flowing.
If Jessica had to name this place, she surely would have called it Paradise. Ward 3 was a fine name, too, though. Director Pandershi had named it, after all -- it was better than any name that Jessica could have come up with.
Jessica had always been enamoured with Ward 3, ever since her family had been transferred here from Ward 6 when she was a child. That wasn't to say she hadn't liked Ward 6, though. Ward 6 was wonderful too, even if it couldn't be further in appearance from Ward 3. It was always winter there, but never cold.
But regardless of which Ward she lived in, Jessica was just grateful her daughter had been born on Nehr Müt -- that she was lucky enough to grow up in Zepan. Not everyone was so fortunate. The outside world was a living hell of greed and blood and famine.
News from outside was uncommon -- other governments were too primitive to have robust means of communication -- but when it did come in, it was invariably about the atrocities those depraved states exacted upon their own citizens. In Zepan, though, there was no such thing as money, there was no such thing as war, and there was no such thing as hunger. The Director gave everything, and took nothing away.
They truly were lucky to have been born into his care.
The tram finally came to a stop at the health centre. It was perched right on the coast, so that you could go right to your scheduled recreation on the beach after you'd had your wellness check. Director Pandershi was thinking of everyone's happiness even in these tiniest of ways.
"Love-love!"
Yana squealed excitedly and charged off as soon as they got off the tram -- and Jessica saw why immediately. Everyone's favourite mascot, Puck, was dancing and playing in the lobby!
"Love-love!" it's high-pitched, child-like voice rang out. "Love-love!"
Everybody loved Puck, just like everybody loved the Director, even if Jessica wasn't quite sure what Puck was meant to be. His huge head sort of looked like an onion, so was he a plant-man? It didn't matter. The children loved him -- a crowd was already bustling around him, shouting out questions and requests.
"Love-love!" it squeaked.
"Love-love!" the crowd echoed.
Jessica smiled ruefully as Yana joined that crowd, and took a step forward to follow her.
They were all ready for another peaceful day, just like every other peaceful day. That was just how things were in Ward 3. That was just how things were in Zepan.
But today was the day.
Today was the day that, for the first time in four years, blood flew through the air of a Ward.
The doors to the meeting room slowly opened.
Unlike the rest of the fortress Auberon, this chamber where the Unseelie gathered was pitch-black. No, to just say it was pitch-black would be to do it an injustice. It was a void. The walls and floors and ceiling were so dark they didn't seem to exist at all, making it look like the room just stretched on forever into the abyss.
A round table hung in the middle of that void, bright white and emitting light, surrounded by six chairs. It shone as a ray of hope in the infinite darkness. Save for the sixth, which had belonged to the former Nebula, these were the thrones of the Unseelie.
While the majority of Zepan's internal and external security was provided by Pandershi's specially-enhanced automatics, he still desired humans as his direct subordinates… but not just any humans would do. For positions within Auberon, Pandershi trained and recruited from the prestigious Ward One, but there were a limited set of skills that could develop within the confines of paradise.
For truly interesting people, one had to look outside.
The Unseelie were what Pandershi had found. They were his personal security, his enforcers, his bodyguards when required. To the people of Zepan, they were heroes. To Zephyr Pandershi, they were truly precious companions.
They entered the meeting room.
"Sooo," a girl's voice rang out as she strolled ahead of the pack, hands behind her head. "Any idea what this is about? We just got back from the city, and we've already gotta attend one of these meetings? It's a pain in the ass."
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0; text-align: center">UNSEELIE_FIST</span></p>
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Name: Sōngshǔ</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Age: 25</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Place of Birth: Jìnhuà</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Height: 4'9</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Weight: 252lbs</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 1em">Ability: Twin Fang Utter Destruction </span></span></p>
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Sōngshǔ was a slender young woman, wearing a short cheongsam and sandals, her black hair so chaotic and jagged that she'd clearly cut it herself -- without the use of a mirror. She rolled her crimson eyes as she pulled out a chair, sitting down first and putting her feet on the table with a heavy bang.
"Must thou be so discourteous?" the next one to sit down said, his voice gruff -- although it sort of seemed like he was making it gruff. "This is the crucible of our endeavour. Thy impropriety is a disgrace."
The young man, grey hair hanging low over his eyes even as it was tied back into a ponytail, put a warning hand on his blade.
Actually, perhaps it wouldn't be right to say he had a hand on his blade. After all, that blade was in a sheath, and that sheath was in a box, and that box was wrapped tight in chains. It hung from his hip all the same, though.
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0; text-align: center">UNSEELIE_SWORD</span></p>
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Name: Terada Takeo</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Age: 21</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Place of Birth: Loneon</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Height: 5'6</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Weight: 134lbs</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 1em">Ability: Jikininki (Aether Armament)</span></span></p>
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Terada wore a ragged dark cloak, although he hadn't owned the cloak long enough for it to become ragged naturally, and once he was done speaking he pulled an orange scarf up to cover his mouth. No matter how you looked at him, he was the archetypal wandering samurai. It had taken a lot of time, and probably a lot of referencing comic books, to perfect such an aesthetic.
Sōngshǔ didn't seem that impressed, though.
"Thy impropriety?" she giggled, putting a hand over her mouth. "Seriously, rookie, if my impropriety gets you that worked up, you can just go back to your room and jerk off, you know?"
Terada turned a bright red and slammed his fist against the table. "Silence, wench! My body is a temple! To imply that --"
"Wench!" Sōngshǔ cackled, throwing her head back. She turned as another woman sat next to her. "Hey, hey, babe, are you hearing this? He called me a --"
"I heard," the other woman said calmly, hands clasped on the table before her. "Can we begin?"
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0; text-align: center">UNSEELIE_AXE</span></p>
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Name: Oé Matisspator</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Age: 28</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Place of Birth: Monadere Refugee Fleet</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Height: 5'10</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Weight: 170lbs</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 1em">Ability: Les Fauves</span></span></p>
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The tall woman put her battle axe, Black Brush, down next to her chair with a mighty thunk. Oé's long-handled weapon truly was massive -- the gnarled blade alone was bigger than her girlfriend's entire body. Oé pulled her white fur cloak tight around her muscled form and adjusted her pale-blond hair -- tied into braids -- before looking out over the table.
"Where's the commander?" she asked. "If this meeting is so important, I'd have expected him to attend."
"Busy."
The word was growled, hell-deep, by the towering figure that stomped into the room last. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Every footfall seemed intended to do as much damage to the floor as possible. Nobody there would have been surprised if that was actually true.
This was a deeply angry man, after all.
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0; text-align: center">UNSEELIE_GUN</span></p>
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Name: Maxim</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Age: 201</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Place of Birth: World Walden</span></span></p>
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Height: 7'4</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Weight: 292lbs</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 1em">Ability: ███ ██████████</span></span></p>
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Maxim wore a wide-brimmed black hat and a severe black longcoat -- all to conceal as much of his body from sight. It wasn't hard to see why. The only part of his face visible between the rim of his hat and the collar of his coat was a perpetual grimace of razor-sharp teeth. Assimilation into the Hive of Malkuth generally wasn't pretty to look at.
Apart from the commander, Maxim was the one who had been part of the Unseelie for the longest -- and more than that, he was Pandershi's research partner. His speciality was in Anti-Aether measures. Some might have called it his obsession instead, though.
"The commander…" Maxim seethed. "...is dealing with a situation. We will proceed without him."
He sat down in a chair larger than the others and tapped a button under the table. Immediately, a hologram flared into life above them, displaying an image of a young man's face. It was a face the whole galaxy should have recognised.
The face of the Supreme.
"In the early hours of this morning," Maxim growled. "Director Pandershi, with the assistance of the Darkstar organization, successfully transferred the Supreme into our custody."
Sōngshǔ whistled. "Neat. Does that mean Zep's the Supreme now?"
"The position of Supreme is passed on by killing the predecessor, not just by defeating them," Oé answered, eyes closed and arms folded as she took in the information. "Besides, I don't think the Director has any ambitions in that direction. Or am I wrong, Lord Maxim?"
Maxim's eyes were not visible -- it wasn't certain whether he still had eyes -- but everyone present knew he would surely be glaring daggers. "Do not interrupt," he spat.
Sōngshǔ held her hands up. "My bad, big guy. Go on, tell us about the thing, don't hold back."
"Director Pandershi has used the Supreme as raw materials for the Per Mutation ritual," Maxim explained. "As such, eleven variants of the wretch have been scattered throughout the Zepan area. As defenders of this vile city --"
"Tell us how you really feel," Sōngshǔ muttered.
"-- it is our duty to capture or neutralize any of the filth that have appeared within the city itself. We've identified these already."
The image being projected over the table changed, cycling between a gallery of shots taken by cameras and drones.
A man in a white hat and suit, escaping Zepan through an exterior airlock. His eyes were cold, and smoke drifted from the barrel of his revolver.
Someone in a long red coat, his face covered in bandages, his silver hair long and wild. He was ducking into an alleyway in Ward Six.
High above the city-ring outside of Zepan, a pale specter floating in the sky. The shot was taken from a distance, with only a blur for a face.
In Ward Two's maintenance level, a multi-jointed arm reaching out of an air-vent. Its fingers ended with metallic claws -- whoever this was, they'd clearly received significant cybernetic augmentation.
"Neutralization would be preferable," Maxim hissed. "It befits vermin to be exterminated."
"Pardon, Lord Maxim," Oé spoke up, her cool blue eyes looking up at her senior. "But from what the Director informed me, there's a very particular variant that requires capturing, not neutralizing. The entire purpose of the Per Mutation ritual was to obtain it. Or am I mistaken?"
"You are not," Maxim replied. "Director Pandershi has activated the Per Mutation ritual in order to obtain a variant along the lines of… this."
The image changed one more time, now displaying a mockup rather than an actual photo. It was another version of Dragan Hadrien, of the Supreme, his eyes a bright and glowing red. He was covered in red, in fact -- not clothing, but some kind of growth sprouting from his skin. Extensions of the material even waved from his back like tentacles.
"Hm," Terada chuckled. "Panacea, huh? Fufufu… prithee, now things are getting interesting. Shall I hunt down this miscreant? Jikininki hungers… and who am I if not the abattoir? Hand me the axe, O chef."
"Silence."
Despite the fact that Maxim was the one that had requested Terada's recruitment to the Unseelie, he wasn't any more tolerant of the young man's nonsense than anyone else. Terada lived in a world of his own, where the things he said must have been far more impressive. Perhaps impressive wasn't the right word, though. More often, he seemed to be investing all of his efforts into making himself seem mysterious and enigmatic.
"This variant we have designated 'Saggitarius'," Maxim continued as if Terada had never even spoken. "Origin is the planet Panacea, where Dragan Hadrien first became involved with the Panacean consciousness. The consciousness had been split -- a malignant aspect called the Red Panacea was assuming control. In our history, Dragan Hadrien maintained his humanity and avoided being subsumed by the Red Panacea. The Sagittarius variant would be one that suffered the opposite fate -- one that became the core of the Red Panacea itself. In short, a perfect Repurposed. It would be nothing less than a walking natural disaster."
"Oh, cool," Sōngshǔ drummed her hands on the table. "Cool cool cool. And Zep's risking something like that appearing in the middle of the city why?"
"Sōngshǔ," Oé said sharply. "Show some respect."
Across from Sōngshǔ, Terada smirked at her being scolded, but Maxim was the one who answered.
"Just as you served as a blueprint, girl," Maxim said. "Sagittarius will be the same. You don't need to know more than that."
Sōngshǔ sucked in air through her teeth. "I feel like I kinda do, though?"
Oé put a gentle hand on her shoulder, leaning down and murmuring: "Squirrel. Have faith, alright?"
"Well…" Sōngshǔ scratched her cheek as it turned pink, before shrugging exaggeratedly. "Meh. It's not like I really give a shit anyways. Sure, let's give the horror monster the key to the city, why not?"
"We're not giving it the key to anything," Oé reassured her, hand still on her shoulder. "As soon as it's located, we'll capture and contain it."
"I already said I don't give a shit."
"Such language…" Terada ran a finger along his forehead, as if about to impart some great wisdom. "...is unsuited to a fair maiden."
"Oh, and you can fuck off. Such a tiny dick is unsuited to a f --"
"Lord Maxim," Oé said, raising her voice to be heard over the argument developing between Sōngshǔ and Terada. "My apologies for questioning our superiors, but the situation as you've just relayed it to us seems grave indeed. Surely the commander should be hearing about this as well? What could he be taking care of that is more important than this?"
Maxim let out a low breath. That familiar noise was the closest thing to laughter Oé had ever heard from him in her years growing up in Auberon.
"The commander is dealing with this."
There was blood on the sand, blood on the water. Not in, on. Haha! What a crazy place he'd ended up in.
This wasn't a real beach. He could tell that straight away. The water was far too clean. More than that, though, it was the way it pushed everything up. You had to make a real effort to be submerged, otherwise you'd just end up on top like it was solid. More like jello than water, he guessed. You couldn't drown even if you wanted to. Talk about overprotective!
The sky wasn't real, either. It was nice and blue and pretty and shit, but you could see it. Beyond the white clouds and beyond the blue sky, the faint curve of the ceiling. An artificial habitat, then. Where? Eh, who cared?
"I'm more interested in you, buddy boy," the man sitting atop the water grinned, looking down.
The man had short silver hair, just barely longer than a buzzcut, and jet-black eyes without pupils or sclera. A wide grin seemed fixed on his face, as though the entire world was exciting him at all times. His muscular body was covered in sharp and jagged tattoos, like someone had painted broken glass over his skin -- and that skin was quite visible, as the only things he was wearing were a bath-robe and a pair of boxers.
His name was Dragan Hadrien, but nobody dared say it to his face. Instead, they called him the Dragon. He was the strongest Contender, if you didn't count the other four.
He looked like he was here for a spa day rather than a murder. Murder? Yeah, murder was the right word. This couldn't be called a battle. His heartbeat was still at a steady rhythm.
"You probably can't hear me anymore," the Dragon said, looking down at the young man he was holding under the water. "But your energies are fucked, dude."
The variant of Dragan Hadrien that the Dragon had encountered here had probably been the unluckiest of them all. From the looks of it, he'd been a version that had never even unlocked Aether to begin with. He'd been clad in a yellow work jumpsuit and, through the open wounds that now covered his -- let's be honest -- corpse, the Dragon could see the wreckage of cybernetic implants. Cheap stuff, too, not like the cutting-edge artificial peepers the Dragon had.
Most likely this guy had ended up with their old man and become a spacer, then. The Dragon didn't know if that was unlucky or not, but it had certainly been bad luck to come into existence where the Dragon could smell him.
"That's enough of that," the Dragon muttered, releasing his grip on his alternate corpse.
The broken body was flung up onto the surface of the water immediately, sparks leaping from what was left of its face. The Dragon stood up over it, joints cracking as he stretched. Eh. Ehhh. No, that definitely hadn't been a battle, maybe not even a murder, nor a workout. At the very least, the Dragon would have liked a warmup.
He cast his gaze towards the beach. These guys would have to do, he guessed.
A crowd had gathered on the edge of the water, a wall of pale faces staring at him without even daring to blink. Men and women and children like statues. Most people would have picked either fight or flight in a situation like this, but it seemed like this lot had had that instinct coddled out of them.
Neither fight nor flight, but instead freeze. The Dragon chuckled to himself as he began to walk across the water towards them. He wondered if this was how it felt to work in a slaughterhouse.
"If I bully you guys for a little bit," he wondered aloud. "Will anyone interesting show up?"
Only one way to find out.
Killing Arts: Oxygen Palm.
Screams rang out from the crowd as the Dragon thrust his palm forward, projecting air pressure towards them like a runaway car. Some finally began to turn and run. Too late, too late, too bad, so sad. The Dragon grinned to himself as his invisible palm-print rushed forth to crush flesh and snap bone.
Only… it never reached its destination.
At the last moment, a figure leapt out of the sky and blocked the attack with a triangular shield. The clang of impact rang out, every piece of glass for miles around vibrating like their lives depended on it. The Dragon whistled appreciatively at the block.
"Nice, nice, very nice," he called out to the new arrival. "Don't think we've met before, pal. Unless you're the version that got plastic surgery, I don't think you're me, either. You local?"
His opponent lowered his shield.
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0; text-align: center">UNSEELIE_SHIELD</span></p>
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0; text-align: center">Supreme Commander of the Seelie Rangers</span></p>
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<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Name: One Star </span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Age: 129</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Place of Birth: ???</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Height: 6'3</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0">Weight: 192lbs</span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left">Ability: Nameless adhesion power</span></span></p>
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"I don't think I can call myself a local," the man replied. "But I am the protector of this place, yes."
One Star was the very image of a valiant knight. In one hand, he held the huge heater shield that had easily deflected the enemy's Oxygen Palm. In the other, he held a sword of pale silver, ready to be swung in defense of the people. Over his plate armour, he wore a cloak of deep blue that billowed in the wind behind him.
His orange hair was long and flowing, his face youthful despite his age -- for he had received the miracle anti-aging surgery that Zephyr Pandershi had pioneered. With the hands of time turned back, his face and his voice could be called nothing less than serene. That face, so relaxed that his eyes were closed even now, as if he were sleeping. That voice, deep and rich, without even the slightest trace of tension. He turned over his shoulder at the children behind him.
"Are you alright?" he asked kindly.
A loud cheer rang throughout the crowd. The fear that had intruded upon Zepan had vanished in an instant. Now that One Star had arrived, the people knew that fear no longer needed to exist.
To the people of Zepan, the Unseelie were heroes -- but their commander, One Star, was the Hero. For those ignorant of the outside world, he could be nothing but. The cheering of the crowd intensified with every step he took towards his foe.
"I don't suppose there's a way we can resolve this peacefully?" he asked.
Across from him, the variant of Dragan Hadrien just chuckled. He was framing One Star with his fingers as if preparing to take a photograph. His ability, perhaps.
"You've got some wild chakras there, man," the variant giggled, lowering his hands. "You're a real sick puppy, huh? I feel it, though. Bastards like you are usually pretty good at what you do."
"Your assessment saddens me," One Star replied, still smiling gently. "I take it you're the sort of person who won't be satisfied with anything less than violence?"
"Of course," the variant raised his fist, black eyes widening in frenzy. "What other point is there in being alive?!"
The enemy moved first, seizing hold of the corpse at his feet and hurling it towards One Star in a blast of bright blue Aether. Swinging his shield, One Star deflected the carcass, charging in himself and swinging the flat end of his sword right at the variant's head. Cackling, the variant blocked the blow with a high kick.
Fist met sword.
Foot met shield.
This battle would last nearly half an hour, but the people of Ward Three would feel no fear from it at all. What was there to fear, after all? This was the paradise of Zepan, and this was just another page in the legend of their One Star.
Puck's cry echoed, the purpose of the very city.
"Love-love!"
"Love-love!"
"Love-love!"
DAY 2
Atoy Muzazi clenched his fist, standing his ground as the incoming vehicle reached the site of the ruined convoy.
The bike slid to a halt, just a few meters away. Sitting astride it was a man with long orange hair, clad in a blue cloak and a suit of armour. A sword was strapped to his hip and a shield to his back, but he made no move to retrieve them as he dismounted the bike. His eyes closed, he smiled benevolently towards Muzazi.
"Good afternoon," he said. He waved a hand towards the destruction. "I take it this was your doing?"
Keep him talking for a time before breaking away to escape. You must give Miss Blaine her opportunity to create distance.
"That's right," Muzazi replied calmly.
"I see." The man rubbed his chin in consideration. "May I ask why?"
"Before I answer that question," Muzazi said. "May I ask one of my own?"
"Of course. Your words are your own."
"Am I right in saying you're in the employ of Zephyr Pandershi?" Muzazi asked.
"You are," the man nodded. "I would call that astute of you, but all people on this planet work for the Director… all save for the most recent arrivals."
"Myself and Miss Blaine."
"Among others," the man replied. "As a knight, I am compelled to ask your name before I engage, but I fear you've revealed it to me already. If you are the one that arrived alongside Ruth Blaine, then you must be Atoy Muzazi, no?"
"That's right," Muzazi nodded.
"That's a shame," the man sighed, drawing his sword. "I'd hoped to capture you non-lethally, but the Director's instructions on this matter were clear. I'm afraid I have no choice but to dispatch you here, good sir."
A Radiant ignited from Muzazi's palm, casting white light over the burnt side of his face. "It seems both of us are in difficult positions," he said gravely. "You know my name. Before we clash, may I ask yours?"
The man smiled.
"Of course. My name is One Star."
Atoy Muzazi's heart became a weight. His throat was scorched by his own hitch of breath. The Radiant he'd been holding steady, wavered just a little. A single thought went through Muzazi's mind, as it must have for hundreds of others, when he heard that name.
Can I kill myself before he gets me?
One Star.
That name was known to all who had journeyed through the mechanisms of the Supremacy. It was the name of a man who had lived in a time of absolute darkness. A creature that had butchered as part of the Kitchen that had terrorised the galaxy. A monster stained in blood and misery and cruelty.
If he spoke true… if he spoke true…
If he spoke true, then this knight in shining armour had once been the right-hand man of Henri the Glutton, the most depraved Supreme to ever stride across the stars.
