Aetheral Space-Chapter 533 - 17.5: Through A Mirror, Shattered

DAY 2

Aclima opened her eyes.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" said Niain cheerfully.

Immediately, Aclima screamed at the pale face that was filling her vision. She recoiled, her back thumping against the wall as she pushed herself right to the end of the bed. Niain, for his part, just smiled and kept looking down at her.

"Haha, you look like you didn't sleep too well," he chuckled. "Bad dreams?"

Aclima clutched her chest as she calmed herself down, steadying her breathing. Bad dreams? Was that what it was?

No, more than that -- where was she? The infirmary she'd woken up in was bright and white, and yet somehow not blinding. A porthole-shaped window on the far wall revealed only darkness beyond. Over in the corner, a cylindrical automatic of a model she didn't recognise stood in standby, black liquid metal crawling over its form.

Just as she was looking over at it, though, Niain leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: "He makes good use of Temperance, huh?"

Aclima yelped again, bumping her head against the wall as she tried to escape through solid… through whatever the wall was made out of. Niain just laughed again, straightening up and placing a hand over his heart. Clearly, he was enjoying her reactions here.

"What happened?" she asked, as things started to come back to her. "Serendipity… Muzazi…"

"Serendipity?" Niain cocked his head. "Oh, that's over. Yeah, we basically won."

No, that wasn't true. That wasn't true at all. Aclima looked up, eyes wide. "Noel --"

"Yes. I know she was captured by the enemy," Niain said somberly. "It's very sad."

Aclima shook her head. "No, that's not what happened. Pandershi, he showed up. He betrayed --"

Niain waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, I know. Pandershi knocked out Noel and left her there, right? I figured it was something like that. It would make sense for him."

"What do you mean?" Aclima asked quietly. Her eyes flicked around. "Is this… is this Nehr Müt? We're in his base right now? What's he planning?"

"Mm-hmm, this is Nehr Müt," Niain nodded, straightening up. "As for what he's planning by getting rid of Noel, that's pretty easy to guess, too. He wants us to be dependent on him."

Aclima just looked at him, uncomprehending, until the King of Darkstar deigned to explain.

"Noel had a rare level of talent. There aren't many people who could get through secure systems like she could -- and one of the few who could is Zephyr Pandershi. Since we don't have Noel anymore, we need to rely on him, right? Haha, it's so childish. It's the same for him making that big announcement claiming responsibility for Serendipity on our behalf. Everyone in the galaxy wants us dead ASAP, so we have no choice but to take the shelter he's providing. I think his endgame is to make us subordinate to him, or something along those lines."

Niain said it all as casually as if he were discussing the weather. Aclima just kept staring at him for a moment -- before looking over to the spherical surveillance camera in the middle of the ceiling. She had no doubt it had caught every word of that.

"Is it…" she gulped. "Is it safe to say all that out loud?"

Niain shrugged. "I don't see any harm. He already knows that I know, anyway. I don't feel like sneaking around if there's no need to, haha." His voice truly was carefree and, as he waved a finger through the air, there was no tension in his body language either. "More to the point, you really have been snoozing, you know? You've been asleep a whole day. Did fighting Atoy Muzazi really take that much out of you?"

Aclima's heart thumped.

Muzazi.

Aclima's heart fell.

"I lost," she whispered to herself. "He beat me. It was easy."

She looked down to her hands, her useless hands, as if seeing them for the first time. These hands had held a sword, but she knew they might as well have been empty. Atoy Muzazi had defeated her as if she were nothing more than a misbehaving child.

"He beat me," she whispered again.

The lights above buzzed, and for a good long moment that was the only sound in the room.

Then Niain spoke.

Now, however, his voice was neither friendly nor carefree. When he spoke, his voice was low and quiet. His words were filled with an amused kind of scorn.

"What is this girl even talking about?" Niain muttered to himself. "Of course you lost. How could you have won? You're basically nothing."

Slowly, Aclima looked up at him. His jet-black eyes held only a malformed kind of pity. It was the expression of someone looking at an insect trying to fly with a missing wing.

"What…?" she said. Her lips felt numb.

"Did you not hear me?" he cocked his head. "There's nothing within you that could surpass Atoy Muzazi. You lack substance. What, you think just because you got mad and picked up a sword, that suddenly made you strong?"

"Shut up…" Aclima mumbled.

"I'm not the sort of person who thinks only the strong have the right to change things in this world," Niain continued on, ignoring her. "But there's a limit, you know? When I look at you, I basically see a puppet. You know, just in terms of how much you actually exist as an individual."

"Shut up!" Aclima cried.

"First, you were dancing for Baltay Kojirough," Niain counted off his fingers. "Then, you were dancing for Atoy Muzazi. Let's be honest, you've been dancing for me for quite a while, and… oh. I guess you're trying to pull your own strings now? It looks like you got all tangled up, though. I'm surprised you haven't choked yourself to --"

"SHUT UP!" Aclima screamed.

Purple Aether crashed furiously throughout the room, bolstered by Aclima's Aether core of hatred. Niain shut his mouth -- even he didn't want to invite the wrath of Curse Hand -- but he kept smiling. When he spoke again, it was soft and almost gentle.

"It's like I said, though… getting mad doesn't change a thing. It doesn't matter how strong your power is if you're too weak to use it properly."

Aclima's anger broke, and she let out a shaky breath as Niain stepped back, still smiling.

"Anyway, I thought I should go over this with you as a friend," he said casually. "Just have a think about it, okay? Get well soon! I'll have Pandershi bring you a fruit basket or something."

With that, he turned on his heel and left the room, cloak swirling around him. Aclima glared as she watched him go. Her purple Aether crackled around her, growing more and more faint with every passing second. It was only once it had faded completely that Aclima realized she had been crying, hot tears of anger running down her cheeks. She roughly wiped them away with shaking hands.

Damnit. Goddamnit. What are you doing? Stop crying. You're not a baby.

Niain's words had filled Aclima's heart with rage… but had he really been wrong? Up until now, she'd behaved as if the only thing she needed to take revenge on Atoy Muzazi was wanting it. But the gap was too huge for anger alone to bridge. She was weak, and he was strong.

Slowly, she curled her shaking hands into steady fists.

So, then, she needed… resolve. The resolve to seize strength for herself. Anger wasn't enough. A sword wasn't enough. She had to become someone worthy of wielding them.

There was a way. She wouldn't wait for that fruit basket after all. Her heart thundering in her chest, Aclima forced herself out of the bed.

She had a deal to make with Zephyr Pandershi.

"I don't believe you," said Atoy Muzazi, when Brother Wyrm had finished speaking.

"Then why am I not dead?" replied the man with the face of Dragan Hadrien -- no, the man who was Dragan Hadrien.

Muzazi grit his teeth. "It's a trick. It's another one of your tricks. It's just like the Dawn Contest -- cheating is all you know how to do."

Brother Wyrm winced as he sat down in an old armchair across from Muzazi.

"It sounds like there's a story there," he said regretfully. "I'll admit I've not always been the most honest man in the world, but everything I've told you up until now is the truth. I am -- I was -- Dragan Hadrien, but not the one you know. I'm a possible version of him, simulated and actualised in a physical body by an Aether Armament called Per Mutation."

Muzazi took a deep breath, steadying himself against the wall with his hand. "I don't believe you," he said simply. "I don't believe you, but I will play along for just this moment. You said that you and all the other versions of Dragan Hadrien were scattered across Zepan as soon as you were created. How do you know so much about this process, then? Did someone tell you?"

"The purpose of Per Mutation is to facilitate one-man survival-of-the-fittest," Brother Wyrm said gravely. "It would go against that to just let us wander around in ignorance. We're provided information about the ritual upon actualisation, uploaded straight to our minds like a memory. I know that there are ten other versions of me, brought about by Per Mutation, and I have to be the last one standing to achieve a true existence of my own… but that's about it. Any further context, I have to investigate for myself. I didn't even realize this was Nehr Müt at first."

Muzazi closed his eyes. Details, details. This was certainly in-depth, but didn't they say that lies were full of details anyway? The truth was simple and singular, whereas lies were words upon words upon words.

And yet…

"Can you prove what you say is true?" he forced out through his teeth.

"I could show you my Aether ability," Brother Wyrm said. "I only developed it after joining the Final Church, so if the original version of me didn't do that, he probably has a different ability."

Muzazi shook his head, opening his eyes once more. "My Dragan Hadrien is skilled with Aether. It's not impossible that he'd create a new ability for the purposes of deception."

Brother Wyrm frowned. "What? Just to trick you?"

Muzazi nodded stiffly. He didn't feel he was exaggerating in the least. That man had posed as a fake Nebula not so long ago, after all.

"I see…" Brother Wyrm put a hand to his chin and crossed his legs, considering the conundrum. "It's just as well, I suppose. I used my ability already to save you from that guy." He lifted his other hand -- and Muzazi noticed with a shudder that his fingers and thumb were covered in dried blood. "I had to give up five fingernails to transport you to a safe location. You're welcome, by the way."

Again Muzazi nodded, and again Muzazi remained silent.

"It's actually pretty painful," Brother Wyrm said mildly, waving his fingers.

"Oh," Muzazi realized what Wyrm was waiting for. "Thank you."

"No problem!"

"However," Muzazi went on. "If you can't prove that your fanciful tale is true, I will have to take your head."

He ignited a Radiant from his hand again, the terrible white light washing over the room. Wyrm took in a deep breath as he looked at the weapon warily. Slowly, so as not to provoke Muzazi, he rose to his feet.

"I have a way to prove it to you," he said delicately. "Only… you probably won't like it much."

Muzazi raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"I'll just show you the other versions of myself." Wyrm turned his head up towards the ceiling, his face pale. "They're… hunting me, you see."

"Guardian Entity: Yatagarasu."

Don Hadrien's blue Aether shone around him like a flare, illuminating the lonely rooftop upon which he stood. When that light cleared, he was no longer alone. The 'pet' he'd been provided had appeared.

It was a small four-winged animal, covered in wiry black fur, like a cross between a bat and a bird. Its long proboscis -- its only facial feature -- twitched in the air as it fluttered in place. A Nehrcrow. Apparently, these were the only lifeforms that Nurarihyon had been able to get hold of on this shithole planet so far.

Gross.

Don Hadrien grimaced -- and then snatched the creature out of the air, holding it to his ear like a script.

"Is this thing working?" he asked.

Apparently, in whatever fucked-up alternate timeline Nurarihyon had come from, he'd ended up losing his humanity and becoming something called a 'Guardian Entity'. As a being altered by Aether, his function was to convert suitable lifeforms into other Guardian Entities, bestow abilities on them, and then assign the little weirdos to users. In this case, he'd turned these native animals into Guardian Entities and given them to Don Hadrien and the freak. Their ability wasn't applied yet, but at least they could talk over distances.

"The communication system is functional," Nurarihyon's creepy-ass monotone came in through the Entity. "I hear you clearly."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"I-I can… hear… too…" mumbled the freak.

Despite how gross it felt to stick a bat-bird right up to his ear, Don Hadrien had to admit this was pretty good. They hadn't been dropped off with scripts or anything, after all -- if they wanted to form teams, they needed a way to communicate and coordinate over distances.

Yeah, Nurarihyon sure was useful. That was the only reason he was still alive.

Old Man Fix had taught Don Hadrien well. Never throw something away until it's all used up. Don Hadrien's mother had sure been a real piece of work, dumping her kid on Old Man Fix and running off to enjoy the galaxy alone, but a small part of him was grateful. Thanks to her selfishness, he'd received an early education on how the world worked.

One he was only too happy to put into practice here.

For the time being, Don Hadrien would present a united front with his two other selves, hunting down and eliminating the other variants one by one. Then, when the time was right, he'd trigger the traps he'd been laying all the while -- and dispose of his so-called teammates, leaving him as the lone winner.

Leaving him as the lone Dragan Hadrien.

"I'll scout this way," he said casually into the Guardian Entity. "Call if you spot anything."

He released his Guardian Entity from his grip, letting it fly off and search the area. Seriously, where had this bastard priest gone?

They'd chased him all the way from right outside Zepan, for Y's sake. Don Hadrien was in a foul mood. Because of this asshole, he'd run into that Blaine bitch and gotten humiliated. Well, after the priest was taken care of, he'd get rid of Blaine right after.

Don Hadrien didn't forget insults.

"One thing," Brother Wyrm said as they carefully made their way through the dark streets of the city-ring. "I think it's important to say now."

"What?" Muzazi frowned.

The two of them were taking cover behind the skeleton of a car as they proceeded down one of the main streets. Needless to say, Brother Wyrm was leading the way. Muzazi was damned if he was going to expose his back to this man one more time.

Wyrm turned his head, looking at Muzazi seriously. "We're likely to encounter some other versions of me soon," he said. "They'll probably be the ones who chased me all the way out here. In other words, hostile."

"Don't worry," Muzazi snorted. "I'm well used to hostilities."

"I don't doubt it, but that's not what I'm trying to say," Brother Wyrm shook his head. "What I mean is… if it comes down to it, don't hesitate to use me as a human shield."

Muzazi frowned. "What?"

Brother Wyrm sighed -- it seemed like he'd been hoping to get away with not giving a proper explanation. "We variants are constructed personas," he said, putting a hand over his heart. "Neither Aether nor Per Mutation are capable of actually reaching into other timelines and plucking people out. We're just projections of what Dragan Hadrien might look like if certain events had gone differently."

"Even so…" Muzazi protested, despite himself.

"Let me finish," Wyrm persisted. "Our false memories are given to us by Per Mutation, just like everything else we have, but that's not the only reason I say this. We lack something, too… a certain spark of being. As consciousnesses go, we're fairly shallow. That's why I'm able to discuss my own nature so calmly with you right now. I imagine it's intentional on the ritual's part -- so we variants don't just collapse from existential despair instead of fighting. Really, all I'm saying is…"

He took a deep breath.

"In a very real sense, I am less of a person than you," Brother Wyrm said. "So don't feel too bad if I die."

Thump.

It was only when Muzazi saw Brother Wyrm on the ground, clutching his cheek, that he realized he'd just punched him in the face. In that moment, his breath was ragged, his heartbeat heavy, but no empowering Aether clung to his hand. It had been nothing more than an instinctive, human strike.

"Ow?" Wyrm cried, aghast.

"You mustn't say that," Muzazi whispered, his voice hoarse.

"What?"

"You mustn't say that!" Muzazi said. "You mustn't ever say that. You and I are the same. We're breathing, our hearts are beating, we're speaking to each other and understanding… so don't ever say you're less than human. You and I are… the same."

Yes… they were indeed the same.

Just like this variant of Dragan Hadrien, Atoy Muzazi himself had been something constructed by another. A flimsy personality cobbled together from false memories planted by Gretchen Hail. If Brother Wyrm was less than a person, then it was surely the same for him -- and Atoy Muzazi knew that couldn't be true.

It was funny. At that moment, Muzazi had forgotten his doubts entirely -- and, even if he hadn't, the coming circumstances would have wiped them out anyway.

"That's so sweet," called out a familiar voice from the other end of the street. "Are you gonna start making out now, or can I just get started?"

Muzazi whipped his head around. Wyrm leaped up off the ground behind him. They both looked on warily as a figure made its way down the street towards them.

It was just as Wyrm had said. Standing right there was another Dragan Hadrien. He was wearing a white suit and fedora instead of a priest's uniform, and he had both his eyes, but there was no doubt that this was the same person as Brother Wyrm, at least on a physical level.

The newcomer put a hand on his hip. His Cogitant-blue eyes, which had been fixed on Wyrm, slowly slid over to Muzazi. It was only then that Muzazi registered what this new Hadrien was holding, tucked under one arm like precious cargo.

It was… an unplugged microwave?

"I doubt it," the new variant said. "But you with the one arm -- are you Dragan Hadrien too? Your face is all fucked up, so I guess you could be."

Muzazi slowly shook his head. "What do you want?" he asked, voice low.

The variant's eyes widened. "Oh, he didn't explain it? Well, it's simple. I'm sure even a defective brain like yours can understand if I lay it all out for you." He pressed a finger against his temple. "I'm Dragan Hadrien -- well, Don Hadrien, people call me -- and he's Dragan Hadrien, and we can't have more than one Dragan Hadrien, right? Are you following? So all I'm gonna do is kill that guy and correct the situation. Did you understand all that, or do I need to go through it again for you?"

This man was perhaps even more irritating than the normal Dragan Hadrien.

"Whatever the circumstances of your creation," Muzazi said, igniting his Radiant. "This man behind me is a human being."

Don Hadrien furrowed his brow. "Uh… yeah. I'm aware. There's nothing that special about killing human beings, my guy. A lot of people do it."

What this Hadrien was saying wasn't exactly wrong. Atoy Muzazi would have been a hypocrite if he judged others for simply taking lives. And yet… this man truly was irritating.

"So," Don Hadrien smirked. "Who're you supposed to be? You with that bitch from before?"

Muzazi tensed up. "What did you say?"

Don Hadrien didn't answer him, though. Instead, when the next words came, they came from behind Muzazi. Behind and above.

"That individual is Atoy Muzazi," a calm voice said. "He's a Special Officer of the Supremacy. He's been our adversary on two major occasions. Caelus Breck and Taldan."

Muzazi looked over his shoulder. As he'd expected, floating there in the sky was another Dragan Hadrien, looking down on the street from above. This one was pale, almost spectral, wearing a long white kimono. He'd raised the flowing sleeve up to cover his mouth, so all Muzazi could really see of this variant's face were his glowing blue eyes and long silver hair.

"Special Officer, huh? That so?" Don Hadrien whistled appreciatively. "He strong?"

As the two new arrivals spoke, Brother Wyrm sidled up a bit closer to Muzazi. "I don't suppose I can persuade you to leave me?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Not a chance," Muzazi replied.

"In that case," Wyrm continued. "I don't know how much help I can be. I know basic self-defence, but my ability is based on supporting others more than anything. I can boost your strength if it comes down to it, but it'll leave me anemic."

Muzazi shook his head slightly. "That won't be necessary."

The kimono-wearing Hadrien's voice echoed down the street as he continued to explain Muzazi's parameters. "His ability is to create thrusters with which to move himself and objects. So long as you avoid flying vehicles and such, eliminating him should be relatively simple." Fortunately, given the distances involved, it didn't seem like either one of them had heard Muzazi and Wyrm's conversation -- and, more than that, neither of them saw the involuntary smirk that crossed Muzazi's lips.

Your information is outdated.

Don Hadrien grinned, whipping a revolver out of his holster. "Okay, Mr. Special Officer!" he laughed. "Let's see how you do against --"

Full Throttle.

Atoy Muzazi was upon Don Hadrien in a moment, his Radiant about to slice through his neck…

Scorpio Contract!

…only to instead pass through empty air.

"Fuckin' psycho!"

Don Hadrien's voice, made high-pitched by humiliation and mortal terror, now came from behind Muzazi. Without hesitation, the swordsman whirled around and -- bang bang bang -- deflected the three shots that had been aimed for him. Whatever else was different, it seemed all versions of Dragan Hadrien shared the back as their favourite target.

Still, this was a sight for sore eyes.

Don Hadrien's face was pale and covered in sweat as he aimed a shaking revolver at Muzazi. Somehow, he'd managed to get all the way to the other side of the street in the moment he'd avoided Muzazi's swing. Gemini World? No, this felt different. Even if it was fast, it took time for Gemini World to get Hadrien somewhere. This had seemed instantaneous.

"Hey! " Don Hadrien's voice was still on the verge of hysteria as he shouted up at his flying comrade. "What the fuck, Nurarihyon?! You didn't say he could do that! Are you trying to get me killed?!"

"My apologies," the flying Hadrien -- Nurarihyon, apparently -- said in a placid voice. "It seems his capabilities have improved since the last time I encountered him."

Muzazi narrowed his eyes as he looked at Don Hadrien. The microwave he'd been holding was gone. It wasn't on the ground where he'd disappeared, either. Was that part of his ability? It seemed awfully arbitrary, if so.

He pointed his Radiant straight at the Don. "I've no pressing need to kill either of you," Muzazi said seriously. "Grant us passage and I'll spare your lives."

Calming down a little after his near death experience, Don Hadrien raised his arms in apparent surrender. "Sure, sure," he sighed. "I can tell when I'm out of my depth. Neither me nor this guy will do anything against you."

Oh, you think you're so clever.

Thrusters blazed from Muzazi's body -- and he launched himself across the street just in time to block the attack that had been aimed for Brother Wyrm's back.

This version of Dragan Hadrien truly wasn't used to battle, it seemed. The whole time Muzazi had been engaging the other two variants, he hadn't done much more than stand there and watch, caught in crisis. As such, he'd failed to notice the third attacker.

That wasn't entirely his fault, though. The attack didn't come from an angle most people would pay attention to. Indeed, the shadow at Brother Wyrm's feet had begun to bubble like a liquid…

…and an arm clutching a knife had lunged out of it, aimed right for Wyrm's back.

Clang.

Muzazi deflected it just in time, the knife flying out of the hand's grip, clattering to the floor with a melted blade. The owner of the arm didn't take any chances. Instantly, it retracted back into the shadow, the surface of which rippled like a puddle.

Clearly, this variant -- Muzazi was assuming it was another Hadrien -- had the ability to quite literally attack from the shadows. How long could he hide in a shadow? If they made a run for it now, would they be ferrying one of their attacker's along with them?

They couldn't risk that. If the shadow was the problem, there was an obvious solution.

Radiant Ablaze!

Blades of light burst out of the ground all around Muzazi and Wyrm, their sheer brightness wiping their shadows out of existence. The moment the shadows were gone, Muzazi turned to his companion.

"Get on my back!" he said. "As I am now, I can't carry you."

Wyrm was clearly still overwhelmed by the chaos of battle, but he nodded hurriedly all the same. "R-Right!" he said, wrapping his arms around Muzazi's torso from behind.

"No," said a voice from above. "You won't escape."

Nurarihyon had flown over to launch an aerial attack. Lifting his hand, the Hadrien variant unleashed a barrage of blue lights that battered the ground below, kicking up clouds of smoke. Muzazi gritted his teeth as he deflected the projectiles. These were weaker than Gemini Railgun, to be sure, but they were more numerous -- and in concentrations like this, they could still be deadly.

In these cramped confines, Muzazi would make a mistake with his deflection before Nurarihyon stopped firing. Plus, the other two would be upon them again soon. He had to clear the path forward before anything else.

Radiant Lustrous!

Muzazi conjured a spear of light in his hand and hurled it at Nurarihyon. The variant, for his part, simply cocked his head and let the Radiant sail past. For the first time, a trace of emotion was visible on his face -- the smallest self-satisfied smirk.

Fantastic. This wouldn't be rewarding if Muzazi couldn't wipe a smirk off that face.

Quantum King!

The spear was suddenly the mid-air focal point for Muzazi's almighty push -- and Nurarihyon, struck unawares, was sent flying off.

A black-haired shade rose from the brief shadow Muzazi's arm had left. Don Hadrien, suddenly in a new position, aimed his revolver between the Radiant Ablaze.

Too late.

Full Throttle! Overdrive!

With a screech of force and heat, Atoy Muzazi launched himself and Wyrm up -- and out of the trio's range. They watched as the crackling silver trail of his Aether faded into the distance, swallowed by the city-ring. For a moment, there was silence.

But only for a moment.

"Fuuuck," said Don Hadrien.

Muzazi slowed his flight speed as they flew through the city-ring, their pursuers long since gone. Brother Wyrm was clinging onto his back for dear life, making squeaking sounds of terror every now and then, so it seemed only right to give him a break. With muscle memory that persisted even despite his injuries, Muzazi brought them down for a smooth landing on a long nearby backstreet.

The second they landed, Wyrm threw himself off of Muzazi's back and vomited into the gutter.

"You see?" Muzazi muttered awkwardly as he rose to his feet. "There's nothing more human than sickness."

Wyrm groaned as he wiped his mouth. It seemed he hadn't been exaggerating earlier. Unlike the other variants of Dragan Hadrien they had encountered, combat definitely wasn't Brother Wyrm's forte.

"They'll come after us again," he mumbled. "That version of me that can fly… I don't think there's a limit on it. They'll track us down before long, so long as we're out here."

Muzazi cracked his back. Personally, he'd done more than enough flying for one day, and he had no desire to keep doing so with a passenger.

"What would you suggest?" he grumbled.

Wyrm raised an eyebrow as he looked up at Muzazi. "The version of me with the hat… he asked if you were with a woman, and then you got angry. Were you with that person he was talking about? She's a comrade of yours?"

Muzazi clenched his fist. He'd nearly forgotten about that. The whole point of him remaining behind had been to prevent their pursuer -- One Star -- from going after Ruth and Patel. If they'd just run into another group of enemies by sheer coincidence after all that, it would be a bitter pill to swallow.

Slowly, he nodded. "I believe so. I don't know if you know her, but I've been operating here with a woman named Ruth Blaine --"

Crack.

Muzazi's eyes flicked down to Wyrm -- and then widened in horror. "What are you doing?!"

While Muzazi had been talking, Wyrm had taken his unbloodied hand and -- as casually as could be -- peeled the nail of his index finger right off. His face was twisted in pain, but Wyrm simply held the fingernail in the center of his palm as blood dripped from his finger. He only spoke again after a few deep breaths to smother the pain.

"Aquarius Covenant," he gasped, before bringing his other hand up in a praying posture. "Oh Y, all-encompassing and all-guiding, lay our path such that we feeble few are delivered through this dark terminal back to the light of our comrades. Amen."

Blue Aether sparked -- and a tiny illusory figure, like a dolphin swimming through an invisible ocean, leapt out of the sparks and dissolved into the detached fingernail. A second later, the nail hovered off of Wyrm's palm and spun around rapidly, before locking onto a direction to the east. For all the world, the display looked like a grotesque needle.

"It's fine," Wyrm said hoarsely. "It's just a fingernail."

Muzazi looked down at this man who treated his own body with such disregard. He couldn't say the original Dragan Hadrien was any different, but at least he had Panacea to regenerate with. With growing dread, Muzazi wondered just what had happened to Wyrm's eye such that he needed an eyepatch.

Still… if Wyrm's prayer was accurate, then this compass would lead them right to their comrades -- presumably, to Ruth Blaine.

Muzazi wished he wasn't afraid of what he would find.