The floatship sailed over the green sea, and looking at the far horizon Edmund thought of the world of Hyperion, with its flaming forests, the Time Tombs and the Sea of Grass. With capital letters, that one. When Edmund built the planet, book in hand, he had decided that the sea was going to occupy a whole hemisphere of that planet, literary accuracy be damned. Here, it was a pale imitation of that sea, small enough that even through the miasma of mana that pervaded the atmosphere he could vaguely sense its end not too far away with his enhanced senses, and a small pulse of reality particles.

The wind was relatively calm, but a storm was brewing at the horizon. It would be here before nightfall, and along with rain and thunder it seemed to carry an unusual concentration of magic within its swirling currents. Enough to interfere with his powers, or at least their outside manifestation.

It was no problem, Edmund decided. Looking at the mast of the ship, rugged metal riddled with rust and flaked paint, his eyes followed it to the base until they studied the wood of the ship. It was a polymer, not real wood. He remembered coming up with the polymer back in the day. Tracing the edges of the railing with his fingers he went up the stairs, giving the stink eye for only a fleeting moment to the watchful armored man who was keeping him hostage, until he came to rest on the highest point of the bridge.

I can’t take this guy on one-on-one. He looked out in the distance. There was a small panel, the wires that ran across the ship gathering in one point to be sent down below through a steel pipe and into the engines. He had first felt them when he set foot on the ship, the feeling of advanced technology so nostalgic it almost awakened that still-asleep part of his mind. He wondered, did he want to go back, maybe?

Or begin anew. Because this question… he had avoided it so far, blaming lack of power. But soon he would have it, wouldn’t he?

He saw Montad shifting his weight, turning the pirate-style wheel to correct course a little.

However…

“Remote control established.”

As soon as the AI confirmed it, Edmund sprung to action. The floatship tilted, gravitational fields misbehaving under the new commander of the ship, and he jumped out and into the grassy sea below. Razor sharp stems of greenery parted before his feet as he landed, and behind him the barge flipped and turned, and the engine exploded sending shreds of wood, metal and circuit scraps flying in all directions.

Montad was flung along the ship and into the air, but was quick to regain his wits and was looking around in search of reference points to rebalance himself. Before he could do that, however, the metal pole that used to be the mast of the ship came flying at him. He dodged it by a hair’s breadth, using his aura to move himself out of the way.

Edmund grinned. The guy was still in the air, barely at the apex of his parabolic trajectory, while he was on stable ground. The metal pole was following his hands as he moved them around like in a dance, appearing unnaturally weightless and agile. He spun it around once, then twice, and flung it again at Montad who tried to dodge again, but this time the pole changed trajectory as if a hand was driving it rather than being propelled by a force. It shifted along its direction of motion and into a parallel trajectory, hitting Montad straight in the chest. Armor, flesh and bone were torn like wet paper, and the pole was again rotating around Edmund, smeared in blood, leaving behind a hole within the man, and corrugated and bent armor around it.

Montad landed with a thud, but it was with a silent gasp that Edmund saw that he was still standing. He licked his lips without even noticing, and the pole began to move erratically in and out of Montad’s range, clipping his armor, his sword and bashing at him. And he swung down viciously, relentlessly slamming the heavy metal rod down with extreme force. They were the huge swings of a giant, holding his oversized sword with invisible hands.

Montad in turn swatted away at the thing with his sword, and as time passed it was easier and easier for him to keep the flow of the battle, sword was glowing with intense magic. The pole was not ordinary metal, coming from an age of the world long gone, but soon it was nothing more than an oversized toothpick.

Edmund discarded it. Just as he shrugged it away with his hands, Montad saw the opening to strike and did so, the glowing sword descending cleanly above Edmund’s head. It stopped against a field of telekinetic force, and the two forces struggled against each other with the sword in the middle, vibrating with the intensity of the battle.

“You…” Montad’s face was a mask of rage, “how dare… you do this… to me… I’m destined… the hero!”

Montad grit his teeth and with a growl, pushed even harder. Edmund felt the struggle in his arms, and a torrent of nanites converged to them in order to strengthen them.

“They were… supposed to be my team. I… was supposed to save them from you!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Edmund asked, and his voice was composed as if there was no strain to his body; only the annoyance and irritation showed through.

He looked at Montad. He was holding both hands on the hilt of the sword. Edmund let go of one of his own hands from above his head, and while the sword slowly resumed its descent he pulled a punch with the free hand and punched the air so fast his hand blurred. Montad recoiled. The momentum from Edmund’s hand had transferred over, a thousandfold, and hit the man straight in the chest right above the still gaping hole. Seeing that the recoil made him lose grip on the sword slightly, Edmund kept punching, while he pushed back with his other hand. Montad let go of the sword, but it was too late. Edmund jumped back, half teleporting and half flying, to avoid any retaliation, and sent the sword flying away with a swat of his right arm. With his left he punched, and Montad’s face bled, then Edmund grabbed the air with both hands and forced them close.

Montad screamed in pain, clutching his head.

Edmund disappeared.

He reappeared behind Montad.

There was a spear of slick black metal coming out of the palm of his hand, it’s surface liquid like oil, and dark as night.

Nanites. He was ready to stab the C-ranker, and pump him full of tiny little robots until free will was erased and he became an unthinking puppet. Then, he would hook him up to the dream and enjoy a new source of Humes, a thousand despite him being mid-C rank, a shame but it would have to do. And on top of that, a new minion he could use inside the field of Axiom, along the other three C-rankers he had.

He got distracted too early. A mistake.

Montad spun around and slashed with his knife, clad in blue flames so hot that the grass below wilted and yellowed around the man’s shredded armor and bleeding legs. The knife slashed through Edmund’s chest, leaving a gaping wound that went all the way from his chest to his right hip.

An explosion of lightning and the two were once again separated. Another one and Edmund was gone.

“Shit,” he clasped his side, limping his way towards the main entrance of the Pylon.

“Sir! You are wounded!”

Praetor’s voice boomed inside Edmund’s skull, but he could find no strength to move anymore, and he was empty of Humes despite being full barely a moment ago. As his vision went black, he saw a scene from a nightmare. The members of Shiningstars, standing above him, smug and laughing. A woman’s face. Her face. He slept.

***

In the darkness of her confinement, Toora screamed. She clutched her chest, and a lone tear rolled down her left cheek.

***

When he came to, he was inside the tower, on a steel frame immersed in raw undiluted nanites. One leg after the other, he dragged himself out of the plexiglass tank, and ripples and waves of liquid darkness rolled out with him before coming to life in little spikes and being absorbed into his body.

The barge was still there, the smoking remains of the explosion illuminating the dark grass under the overcast night. Just a while away, amidst yellow dead grass, was Montad’s body. The hole in his chest was partially healed, a layer of pink sensitive skin covering the empty space inside. But the rest of the body hadn’t made it, the injuries too fatal to heal. Maybe it was the final, struggling, lightning of the teleport. Maybe the fatal damage had already been done.

Whatever it was, Montad was dead.

Edmund looked at his own scarred body. No matter how hard he tried, the nanites were unable to heal the slash wound on his chest, and now it marred his pearly white skin like a streak of milk. It didn’t hurt, nor was his body damaged in any way. It was just… there. A reminder.

With a slight motion of his hand, both barge and body were gone. Praetor would sort them for parts, and the body for… fertilizer, or whatever. Maybe put the armor and sword in a room with all the loot.

“And you called yourself a hero… just a low level villain.”

He disappeared, and but a moment later the walls of Torchback, those mighty yellowing stones were once again in view.

That teleport. It felt too sluggish.

“You were flooded with magic, sir.”

Yeah. Another weakness I need to keep in mind for the future. Maybe I need to rethink the current strategy, Praetor.

“Maybe nothing so drastic sir. You were just rusty.”

Yeah. But… remind me why I was only using teleportation and telekinesis.

“You plan on making them think…”

But why the fuck did I keep the façade up even though we were alone here?

“Maybe you were worried someone very powerful, like the S-ranker, could have been watching undetected.”

Nah… those people, you don’t fool them with tricks. I was just being stupid.