Before we begin, let me tell you a little something about Regiment RED: they are killers.

Now let me tell you a little more about them.

The Supremacy has faced many enemies over its lifetime -- the Great Chain, the Final Church, the Unified Alliance of Planets, Darkstar -- but none have been quite as persistent or quite as irritating as Regiment RED. While the damage they are capable of inflicting may not match those of the other titans, it is not for lack of ferocity.

Their leader, Klaus El, was once a member of the Supreme Guard. Nobody knows the specific cause of his desertion -- or at least, nobody's telling -- but it's believed to be one of the reasons for the dissolution of the Guard in place of the Contender system. It's been nearly sixty years since then, and Klaus El has not stopped for a breath since.

They recruit from those smashed underfoot by the Supremacy machine -- that is to say, those that have a burning hatred for the Supremacy as a whole. Through grueling training, that hatred is tempered into a flame they hope can incinerate the object of their ire. Each member of Regiment RED, regardless of rank, is a honed warrior -- and in most cases, a capable Aether-user as well.

Assassinations.

Kidnappings.

Torture.

Chemical warfare.

Public bombings.

There is no tactic that Regiment RED will not adopt. In order to fight against the Supremacy, they have not hesitated to make monsters of themselves. It's said that Klaus El is the worst of them, willing to unleash the kinds of powers that reduce a battlefield to rot without hesitation.

A forest fire must annihilate indiscriminately -- that is their philosophy. It's the task of the rain that comes afterwards to clean up the damage.

Although they've been quiet for nearly a decade now, their infrequent raids on military bases for supplies make them a persistent thorn in the Supremacy's side. Klaus El himself has one of the highest bounties in the history of the system. That said, though…

…there are rumors among those that hunt Klaus, that he works with another, that he has a partner.

Who that partner might be, though, nobody can say.

-

The Slipstream AE set down on a landing pad right on the edge of the base, thrusters still red-hot after they deactivated. They'd pushed the ship to its limits getting here so fast: to be honest, Dragan was surprised that they'd made it.

As they descended the landing ramp, automatics had already gathered to begin repairing and refueling the vessel. Dragan looked past the bustling machines, to the landscape that spread out before them.

Green grass and blue skies, with a yellow sun hanging high above. Mountains dotted the horizon, and -- past the grassland they were on now -- Dragan could spy a forest of massive trees. He found himself reminded of how things had been on Yoslof, all that time ago.

The building before them didn't much help with those comparisons, either.

It was a massive pyramid, the size of a skyscraper, composed of metal made dull by time and covered in intricate and esoteric carvings. Gene Tyrant archeology if he'd ever seen it. Parts of the structure had seemed to collapse over the centuries, and had been repaired with box-like outcroppings that clashed heavily with the rest of the building’s style.

"So," Dragan muttered, as they reached the bottom of the ramp. "Elysian Fields, huh?"

Skipper paused next to him. His ruined arm was held in a sling, and they'd done all they could for his injuries, but his face was still pale. Whether that was from his wounds, or the situation in general, Dragan couldn't say.

"Yep," he said quietly, eyes flicking around. "Last stop on our galactic tour, yeah? Hell of a sight. One of the last battles of the Revolution happened here, you know."

"I remember," Dragan nodded.

Ruth cleared her throat, arms crossed as she glanced at Skipper nervously. "Hey… can we talk about that message you sent out?"

Skipper shrugged, once again lopsided but this time in the opposite direction. "What's there to talk about?"

She rubbed the back of her neck. "Well… we'd gotten away, hadn't we? Why'd you tell them where we were going? I don't… I don't get it."

Dragan understood it perfectly well. Just like Skipper had said -- this was the last stop. For his plan to work, he needed the Supreme to come to him. Just from looking at the older man, Dragan could tell. Skipper had no plans that came after this. This was the culmination of it all.

Skipper grinned, but there was no reassurance in it. "Trust me," he said, tapping his temple with a metal finger. "I've got some stuff going on up here."

Bruno finally descended the ramp as well, cracking his shoulders. Presumably, he'd been checking the ship's systems.

His face remained his own, but Serena spoke out of the mouth. "Some stuff?" she asked. "Like what stuff, Mr. Skipper? Bruno's kinda nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Bruno quickly cut in.

"He is. He is, Mr. Skipper, because it kind of seems like we're F-U-C-K-ed. You know?"

Skipper put his good hand to his hip. "I have a plan," he sighed.

"Then tell us," Dragan promoted.

"All in good time."

Dragan spread his arms wide. "We're on the fucking planet, Skipper! There isn't any more time! Are you seriously just winging this?!"

Skipper looked down at him, and the look in his eyes was dark. Not angry, not threatening… but there was something there, all the same.

"You misunderstand me, kid," he said quietly. "What I'm saying… is that I hate repeating myself. I want to tell everyone all at once."

His eyes flicked up, and Dragan followed his gaze -- to the small entourage making their way over.

Two men, flanked by soldiers wearing the signature scarlet balaclava of the Regiment RED.

The first was walking with the assistance of a cane, and -- to put it bluntly -- looked like he'd suffered every kind of injury possible at least once. One eye stared keenly at them, while the other was missing entirely, with no effort made to conceal the empty socket. It was open to the air.

The second, younger, had grey hair -- natural, it seemed, not caused by age -- tied back into a severe ponytail, and strange scars marking his lips. One of his arms -- a prosthetic, clearly -- was much bigger than the other, with the barrel of a rifle sticking out the end.

Dragan furrowed his brow as he looked at the older man. Something about him seemed familiar… but it took a moment for him to place the face.

Time and cruelty had taken their toll, but he had seen this man before -- when he was going through Skipper's memories back on the ELIZA. This man was Klaus, Skipper's old friend from the Supreme Guard. They'd never actually mentioned what had happened to him, so Dragan supposed it was no surprise he was still lurking about somewhere.

"You look like shit," Skipper called out as Klaus approached.

Klaus' walking cane thumped down onto the concrete of the landing pad. He didn't reply straight away -- instead, he silently observed the group. As his good eye settled on Dragan's face, he couldn't help but feel like he was under a searchlight.

"This is him?" Klaus said, voice tortured into a rasp on the way out of his throat. "Your Cogitant?"

"Ayup," Skipper replied.

Klaus' eye lazily moved over to Skipper. "And the rest?"

Skipper grinned. "Got some folks on their way. Plus, you should have already gotten the automatics we talked about. Everything up and running?"

"You didn't leave us much time," Klaus grumbled. "But yes -- the Hanged Man will be ready for whatever they throw at it. All we have to worry about is the pilot."

Dragan's eyes flicked from face to face -- the conversation was moving so quickly that he barely had a chance to interrupt. Eventually, though, his chance did come.

"Sorry," he said, right before Skipper could open his mouth again. "I don't want to be a dick, but… I just want to make sure I've got everything right here. We know the Supremacy's on their way here, right? We made them be on their way here. There is a plan beyond just waiting for them, isn't there?"

Skipper raised an eyebrow. "You never heard of a siege before, kid?"

Dragan glared. "Usually, there are walls involved in a siege. What's to stop the Supremacy from just bombarding us from orbit?"

For the first time in a good while, that old twinkle returned to Skipper's eye. "Let me show you."

The heart of the pyramid was the polar opposite of the sense of light and freedom outside. The place was dark and dim, corridors eerily small and short, requiring people to walk single file to move in a group. Rust crawled over the walls, hastily repaired with new material, and a chemical stench lingered in the air.

Eventually, though, they reached an elevator -- wide enough to house all of their group as it descended. Dragan glanced at the assembly out of the corner of his eye as long minutes passed.

Klaus El -- Dragan recognised him from Skipper's memories, but who was the Umbrant with him? A bodyguard, or someone higher-up in the organization? Dragan couldn't imagine he'd heard of him before and forgot. That scarred face was one that tended to stick in the mind.

Bruno, spotting the direction of Dragan's gaze, sidled up next to him. "I know that guy. That's Johan Blackbird," he whispered conspiratorially. "He's meant to be a simple bounty hunter, but people have always suspected ties to Regiment RED. Guess they were right."

Dragan frowned. "How come you're an encyclopedia all of a sudden?"

"We used to work for the UAP," Bruno shrugged. "We'd get briefings on all the major groups in the Supremacy -- including these guys."

Major? Dragan didn't know about that. Until Skipper had mentioned the name on their way in, he'd never even heard of these people. Apparently, they'd been dormant for quite some time, though. Waiting for Skipper's plan to come together, maybe?

"Your people are gossips, Esmeralda," Johan suddenly spoke up, his voice a harsh monotone. "These are the best you could get? Pathetic." Even as he talked, he continued to face forward, expression impassive.

"Hey!" Ruth barked, with surprising firmness. "Watch your mouth."

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," Skipper narrowed his eyes as he patted Ruth on the shoulder. "The name's Skipper, Blackbird, in case you forgot. I get what you're saying, though. It’s so damn loud. For some reason, people can't help but talk when they see your mug. It's crazy, huh?"

For the first time, Johan turned his head to face Skipper, growling angrily in that strange Umbrant double-voice. He took a step forward.

Fantastic. They were somehow going to start a fight before the Supremacy even got here. Dragan cleared his throat, voice echoing through the elevator shaft.

"So," he said. "Where exactly are we going?"

Klaus glanced at Johan -- and that was enough for the angry man to return to his original position. As he did so, though, his long coat swished through the air -- and Dragan got a better look at that rifle on his arm. It was strange-looking, more antique than mechanical, with a distinct silver shine to the tip of the barrel. An Aether Armament, maybe?

Before Dragan could look closer, however, he found that Klaus had turned towards him. The old man had the kind of gaze that made you want to stand at attention -- or perhaps drop into a hole in the ground.

"We're headed below," he croaked, thumping his cane against the floor. "Before the Gene Tyrant that occupied this planet was killed, it created a device. A device that wasn't enough to save it… but one that should give us the edge we need."

"Right," Dragan nodded. "The one you need Cogitants to activate, right?"

Johan snorted. "See? No sense of secrecy…" he said -- but quietly, so as to not get another glare from Klaus.

"He never told us what it is, though," Dragan pressed on. "He just said it's a device -- and, like you said, that it would give us an edge. What kind of device? What kind of edge?"

Klaus' eye flicked to Skipper. "You started telling them," he said plainly. "You might as well finish."

Skipper shuffled awkwardly on the spot before speaking. It seemed he hadn't quite expected Klaus to call upon him.

"Well…" he said. "When you get down to it, the device we're heading down to is a kind of, uh, a kind of… shield, I guess. One that can wrap around the entire planet."

"What," Dragan frowned. "Like an energy barrier?"

"Nah nah nah," Skipper shook his head. "This planet's got some funky stuff going on with the atmosphere. The device manipulates that, it creates these crystalline clouds sharp enough to slice through steel, all around the planet. Anything trying to get through the shield that meets the criteria… well, it gets obliterated."

"...and what's the criteria?" Dragan asked.

"It's a shield that rejects structures," Klaus took over. "Not structures as in physical objects, but the way things are organized. The way a warband moves, its hierarchy, its methods of attack… the shield gets a sense for these things, and strikes back at them instantly."

Things clicked. "So, what? You're going to make this shield reject the Supremacy?"

Skipper clicked his fingers. "Exactamundo."

As the elevator platform rattled a little, Ruth scratched her head. "Wait. I, uh… I don't get how that helps. Doesn't that just mean we'd be stuck here, with no way to get out, with the Supremacy army surrounding us? That sounds like a shit plan. Uh, no offense."

Over in the corner, Johan rolled his eyes again at the interruption. It went ignored.

Skipper plunged his hands into his pockets. "Ordinarily, that'd be true," he smiled. "But there's one way to get around the shield. It detects organizational structures, so if people go through the shield -- through the atmosphere -- one at a time, there's no problem."

He turned to look back at them, green eyes glimmering in the light.

"If the Supreme knows I'm down here, he won't be able to resist," he said. "That army's coming down single-file. I think that gives us a pretty big edge, don't you?"

The elevator cleared a threshold, and the tunnel of rock around them was suddenly replaced by a massive cavern. Not for the first time, Dragan’s eyes widened.

It didn’t take a genius to spot the device. It took up most of the cavern, after all -- a massive and perfect sphere with strange patterns of green and blue smoke drifting across its surface. A constant sound -- a buzzing -- emanated from it, loud and persistent enough that Dragan could feel it in his bones. No matter how hard he looked, Dragan couldn’t see any physical supports for the structure -- but he could see several bridges connecting to the sphere from the surrounding caves, presumably leading inside it.

The sensation of looking at it was difficult to describe… but if Dragan had to say, it was like he was looking at something plucked straight out of the imagination.

“We call it the Lotus,” Skipper said, blue and green light running over his face. “Taking on the Supremacy one guy at a time… I think that gives us a pretty good chance, yeah?”

“For the Lotus to work,” Klaus concluded, rubbing his scraggly chin. “We need to teach it what the Supremacy is, so that it might reject it. That is what we brought you Cogitants here for. From all over the Supremacy, from different stratums of the society, to map out the whole.”

“So…” Skipper grinned. “Ready to help us kill a god?”

When Atoy Muzazi had arrived on the Tartarus, the Ascendant-General’s personal cruiser, he’d expected something of a stern atmosphere. A known dissident had somehow managed to hijack all Supremacy communications, after all, if only briefly. If that wasn’t enough, Commissioner Caesar had sent out a general summons here to all Special Officers not currently on a mission. This was a serious matter.

He hadn’t expected this. Perhaps he should have.

“Wow!” said Winston Grace, circling Muzazi in the manner of a particularly intrusive shark. “I can’t believe how long it’s been, Atoy! How long has it been?”

He’d caught them in the main hangar minutes after they’d landed, before Muzazi could even sign in. The ship was massive, and more Special Officers were arriving all the time, so his absence wouldn’t be noted yet -- but still. It was the principle of the thing.

“Some months,” Muzazi said firmly, offering a sympathetic glance to Morgan, who was standing behind him. “It’s good to see you, Winston.”

He was telling the truth. It was good to see Winston. It pained his heart when he thought back to Nocturnus, to being with Marie there, but they’d worked well with Winston at the time. Without his help, it was doubtful they would have achieved any measure of success. At the end of all that, he’d hoped -- even just a little bit -- that Winston would have joined their crew, but things hadn’t turned out that way… and so soon after that, Marie had died. Apparently, he’d been part of the investigation into the battle on the Child Garden, but Muzazi hadn’t had the chance to meet with him then. That had been… somewhat saddening.

Yes, he was fairly fond of Winston Grace. Muzazi tried to tell himself that as Winston carefreely pushed past him, switching his focus instead to Morgan as he looked the man up and down.

“I’ve seen pictures of you before,” Winston said quickly, without so much as a ‘hello’. “Videographs too. But you look a little different from those right now. Paler? No, not just that.” Without warning, he reached out and grabbed Morgan’s hand, pulling it up and inspecting his wrist. “Slight greenish tinge to the veins, which intensified slightly as I noticed it. Intensified again as I made it known that I noticed. A sapient presence, then? I was wondering where Ionir Yggdrassil went -- they wouldn’t tell me. But why the integration?”

Morgan went to answer -- he didn’t notice Muzazi silently shaking his head. “Well --”

“Don’t tell me,” Winston snapped with surprising harshness. “In the reports, there was mention that you were attacked by Baltay Kojirough. His sword is made of muzhang, extremely toxic, treatment is difficult.”

“I --”

“Ionir Yggdrassil healed you -- no, is healing you, otherwise he would have left your body already. He’s constantly healing the damage inflicted by the toxin. Wow. That must be nerve wracking, huh?”

Morgan blinked. “What?”

“Having a constant war being fought inside you, I mean. I think I’d be stressed out a little, if that was me. But hey, everyone’s different, so --”

“Hey!” A female voice suddenly burst out from the other side of the hangar. “Winston! Don’t be fucking rude!”

Muzazi glanced towards the source of the sound, and quickly found that the source of the sound was storming towards them. It was a young woman, her pale blue hair tied back into twintails and electric-blue eyes glaring straight at Winston. Her clothes were somewhat unusual -- a kind of blue war-robe, similar to Muzazi's, only sleeveless and with a black sash wrapped around the waist. Around that sash, Muzazi could see numerous implements strapped down -- throwing knives and smoke bombs, from what he could identify. Was she some kind of stealth expert, then?

It made sense. He hadn’t noticed her presence until the very instant she’d called out.

"Ugh," Winston groaned, finally getting out of Morgan's face. "Sorry about this, guys. That's my little sister, Beatrice."

Beatrice Grace reached them just as Winston finished speaking. "What did you just call me?" she said, brow knitted together in anger, before turning to Muzazi and Morgan. "I apologize for Winston. My little brother doesn't get how to talk to people. We tried to teach him better, but he's a lost cause. Please understand."

"Don't listen to her," Winston said hurriedly. "She doesn't know what she's talking about." He turned to his sister, a very similar expression to hers spreading over his own face. "Could you not interrupt? These aren't random people, I know them -- I know him," he jabbed a finger towards Muzazi. "He's my colleague, actually. We're talking about serious matters."

Beatrice put her hands on her hips. "You're being a pain. Come on, let's go find Dad -- he'll want to see us."

"Pfft," Winston waved a dismissive hand. "He's not going anywhere. I'm just talking with my good friend Muzazi, so…"

As per usual, Winston's energy was such that one could just be washed away by it. Muzazi found himself speaking up for what felt like the first time in a while. "Well, we do actually have somewhere we should be," he said. "So…"

"No you don't," replied Winston -- automatically, it seemed, for a second later he frowned. "Oh, you actually do, don't you?" He shuffled awkwardly. "Sorry, I guess."

"Sorry's right," Beatrice grumbled, grabbing him by the ear and beginning to drag him away. "You can find them later, if they even want to talk to you."

Even as he was being dragged off, Winston just crossed his arms, face crunched into annoyance. "Ugh, don't be such a…"

"What did you just call me?!" He didn't even say it, but Beatrice's shout echoed throughout the hangar nonetheless. More than a few of the Special Officers passing through the room looked over at the sudden burst of noise.

It was followed by another voice -- from behind Muzazi and Morgan. That voice attracted very little attention.

"Um," said Aclima. "Hello…"

The girl was wearing her most formal war-robes for this occasion, a sword much too big for her small frame strapped to her back. Muzazi had already made it clear that she would not be fighting in this battle -- she still hadn't unlocked her Aether, after all -- but it was best that she be here. Anything else would only lower her ranking further in the eyes of others.

Just like with Beatrice, though, Muzazi had almost forgotten that Aclima was there. The reason for it was completely different, of course. Rather than concealing her presence like Beatrice did, it was just that Aclima… had very little presence to begin with.

She was easily overlooked. Not really something a Supreme Heir should be.

Beatrice released Winston’s ear, the boy dropping to the floor in an undignified heap. “My Heir,” she said politely, bowing slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

If nothing else, she clearly knows her etiquette, Muzazi thought.

“Hey, idiot!” she snapped down to Winston, kicking him. “Greet the Supreme Heir properly!”

Nevermind, Muzazi thought.

“Ow, ow ow ow,” Winston muttered, rubbing his behind as he picked himself up. “Yes, yes, of course, nice to meet you, my Heir, it’s such a --”

He looked up -- past Muzazi -- and stopped talking.

Beatrice went to admonish him, only to follow his gaze and fall silent too.

Morgan looked and immediately turned pale.

Muzazi furrowed his brow. “What?” he said. He went to turn around

His body shook violently. No voice would come from his throat. By reflex he thought he’d abandoned, he reached for a sword that was not at his side.

I’m dead.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, so scared that if he moved too fast he would provoke something, Muzazi looked behind him. He looked at the person with their hand on his shoulder. He looked at the thing that could kill him with no effort at all.

I’m dead.

A fortress of a man. Grotesquely muscular, with so little body fat it was almost inhuman. Light blonde hair, almost golden, cut short with rough hands. What had always been depicted as a wild beard, shaved down to a goatee. A wide grin that could have been either malice or glee. A presence that was so omnipotent as to go unnoticed.

I’m dead.

“Hey,” said the Supreme, his booming voice friendly as his massive hand squeezed Muzazi’s shoulder. He was looking past Muzazi, at the group as a whole. “You guys Special Officers? It’s hard to tell, since Caesar doesn’t give you any damn uniforms, heheh. Well, I guess not having any uniform could be your uniform, in a way? Anyway… nice to see you guys show up. You seem like good kids.”

I’m dead.

Nobody said anything. The closest thing to speech was a kind of choking sound that trickled out of Morgan’s mouth. Aclima shook violently, her shoes rattling against the floor.

I’m dead.

The Supreme frowned at the silence. He patted Muzazi’s shoulder slightly -- and for a single, horrible moment, Muzazi was certain that slight effort would be enough to crush him against the floor. In that instant, he could feel it, an illusion conjured by his mind -- his spine snapping, his guts forced out of his broken jaw, his skin flattened and stretched.

I’m dead.

“Man…” the Supreme sighed. He took his pinkie and stuck it in his ear, digging around idly there. “Looks like I went a little too hard there. Sorry, guys. Just wanted to say ‘hi’. Welp.” He glanced over to Aclima, and her rapid shuddering. “Aw man, you’re freaking out there. Real sorry. I’ll, uh… leave you to it, I guess.”

And with that, the Supreme let go of Muzazi’s shoulder, and began stomping away.

I’m… not dead?

Even with that hope, Muzazi did not dare move. The rest of the group didn’t dare move, either. None of the Special Officers or personnel in the hangar dared move. It was only when the Supreme had left the room and the doors had slammed shut behind him that Muzazi dared take a breath.

Immediately, he collapsed to his knees -- and then collapsed to his hands and knees.

That was the Supreme?! That was the person he hoped one day to replace?! On an intellectual level, he’d understood that the Supreme was the strongest. He’d understood that his power was above any other living creature. But there was a difference between understanding it and experiencing it. There was a difference between understanding it and having it slap a hand on your shoulder from behind.

It didn’t even feel like he’d escaped death. It felt like he’d died and come back to life. His lungs hurt when he breathed, and there was a soreness behind his eyeballs. All the danger signals a body could produce were blaring through his mind.

It was just a few words, spoken by Aclima, that pulled him back to sanity.

“He didn’t realize, did he?” she murmured, sad as all the world, looking at the closed metal doors. “He didn’t even realize who I am…”

Muzazi was in no state to speak, but if he was, he certainly would have agreed with her.

When the Supreme’s eyes had looked at Aclima… they’d been looking at a stranger.