"You are men and women of God," said Samael Ambrazo Zakos, pacing in front of the assembled Humilists as he marched. "As such, I will explain the situation in terms that are most relevant to you."

He'd had his automatics drag the Humilists from their tents and thrown down in the clearing at the center of the encampment, where he'd had that insubordinate Dian Mace executed not so long ago. The majority of the Humilists stayed on their knees, teeth chattering, eyes wide with fear - but there were a few scant exceptions.

Helga Malwarian and the doctor woman standing next to her were the ones who stood out the most. They were standing, for one - even the others who looked at him with the shadow of defiance didn't dare to rise from their knees. He directed his words to those two, then.

"There is such a thing as objective sin," he intoned, hands clasped behind his back, as if he were communicating the wisdom of heaven. "And this need not be direct sin. No, objective sin can be sin through association, too, sin through apathy. Apathy is the worst of it, yes."

Zakos pointed a long finger at Helga as he continued. "And, and, you people are without a doubt guilty of that objective sin of apathy. Through conscious inaction, you have allowed evil forces to trample upon a man's pride. Punishment is necessary. Punishment is vital in cases such as this, or you people will never learn, and the wounds you have cut will never close."

Helga glared. "Haven't you done enough? You've already killed Dian."

"I have killed one insubordinate," acknowledged Zakos with a nod. "With the assumption that he was but a bad apple. It seems, however, that this is not the case. The rot runs deeper than I initially thought."

He was trying to portray the image of a harsh but fair commander, but he couldn't stop a grin coming to his face all the same.

"Collective punishment is the only thing that can save you now."

At once - as he had instructed them to previously - the automatics aimed their rifles at the crowd of Humilists. Screams rang out, people trying to go as low to the ground as they could, make themselves as small a target as possible.

The doctor woman dropped too, trying to pull Helga down with her, but the white-haired woman didn't move. She didn't even blink.

Oh, how splendid. Someone like her could properly appreciate the dignity of a Special Officer.

Zakos tapped a button on his wrist-script, activating the long-range communications on his ship. It would relay his voice, loud enough to reach for quite some distance. He put the script to his mouth.

"Hadrien, del Sed," he said, his voice echoed a moment later by his ship. "I speak directly to the two of you now.

The grass shuddered from the sheer volume of the sound coming from the ship's systems, bringing a smile to Zakos' face. Even the planet was responding to his will. This was true strength. This was supremacy.

"I would like to speak to the two of you," he continued. "But it seems like you don't want to speak to me. This saddens me. This insults me. You understand that action must be taken, yes? So that is what I shall do."

His gaze drifted over to the crowd again, his eyes locking onto those of Helga Malwarian. She glared at him, but he just kept smiling as he spoke.

"For each hour you do not present yourselves to me, I will have one of these Humilists shot. I hope you are a merciful sort."

An audible wave of despair went through the Humilist crowd, and Zakos drank it in, eyes wide. He had done this. He had made this difference to their minds.

In this moment, he was supreme.

An Aether ping struck him.

He stepped forward, winced, hesitated for a moment as if frightened that an attack would hit him. The instant he realized that was what he'd been doing, a roar of anger escaped his throat, fury at the fact that his enemies had tricked him into disgracing himself.

Unacceptable. Unacceptable! Where were they?!

The direction the Aether ping had come from made it obvious - whoever had sent out was hiding in the ruins. Another flare of anger hit Zakos, and he sucked a deep breath in through his nose. Had Dian Mace been telling the truth, then?

No. Impossible. A Special Officer of his rank could not make such amateurish mistakes. Hadrien and del Sed must have retreated to the ruins after seeing the strength of his forces - his strength.

This Aether ping was a simple sign of surrender, a consent to execution. He wouldn't get his show, but that was fine too, he supposed.

"Into the ruins," he muttered a little despondently into his wrist-script, commanding his automatics. "Locate targets and dispatch, full lethal."

The automatics began to march as one in the direction of the ruins, plasma rifles pointed in front of them - when another Aether ping hit Zakos.

Again, he flinched, and had to take a deep breath in through his nose to suppress it. They were taunting him now? How unsightly. They were clearly already suicidal, but now it seemed they were masochistic too, intent on a death most painful.

The Humilists were looking around, confused at his sudden change in demeanor. From their perspective, their captor had concocted a brilliant plan and instantly abandoned it. He must look disgraceful in their eyes.

He was losing their fear. He was losing their respect.

He balled his huge hands into fists, let a growl escape his throat as more Aether pings hit him, one after another, weakly but insistently.

They were trying to infuriate him. They must be. But it wouldn't work!

...he wondered if his automatics had enough firepower to blow those damn ruins up.

Slowly, as more Aether pings struck him, Zakos came to a realization. These pings were not a random assault upon his dignity. They were specifically timed, down to the second. They were a message.

Hart code, used by intelligence operatives across the galaxy to encode messages. Language converted into a series of timed beats.

Those Aether pings were Hart code.

C-O-W-A-R-D.

Zakos' arms dropped to flop at his sides, hands balled into such fists that blood was dripping from his fingernails. He took in one deep breath through his nose, then another, then another.

"All automatics stop," mumbled Zakos, but the machines kept moving. His voice had been too soft for them to pick up.

That was fine. That was splendid. Another deep breath. Another deep breath, another deep breath, another -

"All automatics stop!" Zakos screamed, with such force that the air around him seemed to shiver. Even the previously unflappable Helga flinched at the sudden burst of feral sound.

As one, the automatics stopped in their tracks, arms falling to their side in echo of their master. They stared straight ahead, emotionless - they felt none of the humiliation that Zakos did.

Coward? Coward? They had called him a coward? The word was like acid burning through his mind. Coherent thought shattered in the face of such humiliation.

Unacceptable. Totally unacceptable. Completely unacceptable. Lethally unacceptable. They wouldn't get away with that. No self-respecting Special Officer could allow them to get away with that.

Which one was it? Whose neck must he crush between his hands? From what he'd read, del Sed had been an intelligence operative for the UAP. They must be the guilty party.

His gaze turned up to the ruins, to that colossus that now represented an intolerable insult. They were in there. He could feel them still - feel the remnants of that detestable Aether contaminating the air.

"All automatics save two follow me," growled Zakos. "Remaining units guard these people and make sure none of them leave this area. Authority for lethal fire granted."

And with that, he began ascending up the hill, fingers carving long angry trails in the soil behind him. Coward, was he? The disrespect was astounding, the stupendous stupidity required to make such an accusation clear. He'd educate them, then.

He'd tear them to pieces until they wept and begged for forgiveness that would never come. Oh, that would be sweet, yes. Intoxicating. Coward, was he? He'd see if they had the courage to call him a coward when he was holding their nerves between his fingers, their eyes between his teeth.

His line of seven automatics behind him, he reached the entrance to the ruins. The gaping entrance was pitch-black, like the mouth of hell. Well, he'd show those fools that, for them, he was the master of that place.

"Wait out here," Zakos commanded his automatics, voice low. "Be ready to enter and switch to bodyguard configuration if I give the order."

He'd give them a fair chance at a confrontation, of course - he was no coward - but there was no way he would risk himself on such an insignificant matter.

With another deep breath through his nose, Samael Ambrazo Zakos embarked on his retribution.

-

In the darkness of the ruin's main hall, Dragan Hadrien looked up. He was clad in a hastily-made cloak made from one of the scraps of black fabric they'd taken from the medical tent, big enough to cover the supplies he'd brought for his plan.

The sound of footsteps approached.

Quickly, Dragan took one last look at the hall's layout. A huge, rectangular room - with four gargantuan pillars, one in each corner, and the wreckage of a great stone table in the center. Dragan was standing at the head of the room, between the two top pillars, while the entrance that he was watching was opposite.

He took a mental snapshot of that, placed it carefully inside his Archive.

Everything was in position. Dragan took a deep breath, adjusted his cloak to make sure that it was covering everything except his face. He did his best not to look at the pillar to his left: he couldn't give the game away too quickly.

The sound of footsteps got louder - and a moment later, a hulking silhouette appeared in the entrance, freakishly long arms swaying from side to side.

Samael Whatever Zakos strode into the room, looking as dignified as a shit on the side of the road.

"Hey there," Dragan said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Even with how pathetic the Special Officer was, he was still capable of killing Dragan without much effort. He had to play things carefully.

"Dragan Hadrien?" said Zakos, his voice a low growl. He cracked his fingers, clearly already itching to have his hands around Dragan's throat.

"That's right," said Dragan, tensing his body, ready to start moving at a moment's notice. "Samael Zakos, right? I've been meaning to meet you."

Zakos glared at him, as Dragan had expected. "Samael Ambrazo Zakos. I've come to carry out your execution."

"Oh?" laughed Dragan mockingly, arching an eyebrow at the angle he'd decided upon earlier. "That's a pretty big job. Are you sure you're up for it? Shouldn't they have sent someone more, uh, experienced?"

The Special Officer stared at him, face impassive for a moment, before taking a deep, sharp breath through his nose. "If you come here promptly," he said, teeth clenched. "And respectfully, I'll ensure your death is quick and painless."

Clear lie, judging from his facial expression. It wasn't a very enticing offer either way, to be honest.

It did give Dragan the opportunity he'd been looking for, either way.

"No thanks," he smirked, giving Zakos the most dismissive look he could muster, one hand on his hip. "You're not that intimidating. This room's huge, anyway - by the time you get over here, I'll be long gone."

Not the most subtle of provocations, but Samael Ambrazo Zakos didn't seem like the most subtle man.

Zakos took the bait. With a sigh, he raised his palm in Dragan's direction, piss-yellow Aether already charging around his arm.

There. With a flare of his own bright blue Aether, Dragan leapt to the left, behind the cover of the pillar waiting there.

-

Hadrien jumped to the left side, behind the pillar there, as if a flimsy construction like that could stop a Special Officer. Delay him, maybe - at most for a few seconds. It was more amusing than anything.

Chuckling, Zakos strolled towards the pillar, palm still extended. His Plunder Reach had already locked onto Hadrien's size and shape, after all. The second a target with those specifications entered his field of vision, they'd be pulled towards him.

Zakos licked his lips. No matter how far Hadrien ran, he'd always be within his reach.

"It's pointless to flee, Mr. Hadrien," he gloated - an indulgence, yes, but not an undeserved one. "You were dead the second you betrayed the Supremacy. I'm simply making the matter official."

He could play with this brat's emotions like a puppet with its strings. Fear was a fire that was easy to stoke. Before long, it would devour the Hadrien brat.

Hadrien jumped out from behind the pillar again as Zakos began to walk around it.

There.

Cloak pulled around him, Hadrien was charging straight for the exit behind him. A foolish plan. Zakos had already told Hadrien that he was always in his reach, hadn't he? For a Cogitant, he really was stupid.

Hadrien's escape came to an unceremonious end as Plunder Reach took firm hold of him - and a second later, the brat was instead flying straight for Zakos’ open palm. He'd crush him. The second the brat made contact with him, he'd crush that disrespectful skull in his fist.

Zakos grinned. I've won.

As he turned over in the air, Hadrien's cloak went flying off, hanging in the air like an obsidian flag. Zakos' eyes widened. Hadrien was not Hadrien. When he'd dived behind the pillar, he'd switched places with someone else.

The person flying towards him was del Sed, violet Aether flaring around them like a star. Zakos closed his hand, cancelling Plunder Reach, but it was too late - momentum was already carrying del Sed over to him.

As they flew, del Sed's Aether trailed along the stone ground beneath them - and fragments of the floor began to tear themselves out, following after del Sed like a trail of shooting stars.

Zakos roared, flaring his own yellow Aether around himself for defense. He could withstand a blow from this scum. He could withstand a thousand blows from scum like this.

But … what he was witnessing was…

Due to del Sed's fast movement, the momentary flare of Aether along the ground had covered a very large area - and so the collection of rocks following after them, collecting into an object in their hands, was truly gargantuan.

Zakos' eyes widened as the construction in del Sed's hands completed itself.

A huge stone sword - likely four or five times the size of del Sed. Violet Aether coated both the weapon and del Sed's arms, giving them the strength to wield a weapon that would have shattered bones just from the effort otherwise.

As del Sed flew through the air towards Zakos, a wild grin on their face, they raised the weapon over their head. Zakos raised his own arms to block.

Still, he could withstand that. He could withstand that.

Couldn't he?

The sword came down, exploding from the force of the blow in a shower of rubble and violet Aether. Zakos stood his ground for a moment - but before long, he was sent flying backwards, one arm audibly cracking and falling limp as he rolled to a stop near the entrance he'd first walked in through.

For what it was worth, del Sed didn't fare much better. The second after they'd brought the sword down, they'd collapsed too. A combination of the exertion needed for that attack and a pre-existing condition, judging from that deathly pallor.

There was only a short distance between them.

Forcing himself to his feet, ignoring the pain from his broken arm, Zakos roared with anger. He had never been so humiliated in his life. With his good hand, he scratched his own cheek, hissing, until his fingernails drew blood.

He wouldn't accept it. No. The thing that had just happened hadn't happened. He would kill all witnesses and erase it from history.

His eyes snapped to look at his wrist-script, to summon his automatics to burn this place to a crisp - but the device was smashed to scrap, destroyed by the attack, a few stray sparks spitting out of the shattered screen.

Unacceptable.

Zakos strode forwards, Aether writhing chaotically around him, each furious step creating cracks in the stone beneath his feet. The only thing that existed in the world was del Sed, lying there on the ground. The only thing that mattered in the world was crushing their head into a fine paste.

"Del Sed!" Zakos screamed, spittle flying from his mouth without restraint, his eyes almost bulging out of his skull.

A bolt of plasma struck him in the chest - weakened by his Aether as it was, it felt like nothing more than a minor warmth, but it still caught his notice. Face still fixed into a mask of utmost wrath, Zakos looked up to the source of the attack.

Dragan Hadrien stood there, next to the pillar, holding the pillaged arm of an automatic in his hand. Despite the clear difference in their stature, there was the unmistakable sense that he was looking down on the Special Officer. His eyes glowed in the dark like blue stars.

"You can ignore them," Hadrien said. "I'm the one who's going to finish beating you to a pulp."