Six Months Ago…

Snow drifted down from what was now the Hexkay sky, settling atop the houses and streets of the capital. Vex Terna paid it no mind.

From where she was standing, there was no way to tell whether her shivering was coming from the cold or from fear. Her hands gripped the freezing railing behind her as though her life depended on it -- and, to be truthful, it did. She looked down, and felt her head swim at the dizzying distance between herself and the ground.

She swallowed.

It was strange. She thought she'd already been resolved, when she'd come in to work today. She'd joined the other members of her crew -- hired to help with the reconstruction of the Regulatory -- and made her way up the roof as planned. Yes, as planned. Everything had gone as planned. So why was she still standing here?

Just let go, she urged herself, whispering to that vice-like grip. It'll only be scary for a second. Then, it'll be nothing. Don't worry.

For months now, ever since the battle of the capitol, Vex had felt as if the world was crushing her. When the monsters had run rampant through the streets, devouring and destroying everything in their path, she had been the only survivor of her family -- saved by happenstance more than anything else.

She'd been faced with the prospect of a life lived alone -- and then found out she was more alone than she'd even imagined.

Ships sailing through the sky. People from other worlds. A whole galaxy of civilization, hopelessly more advanced than their own. The second she'd learned those things, her own insignificance had become stark and undeniable. All her dreams, when she cared to remember them, seemed to just trail off into… nothing.

From that moment, her path up to this roof had been set.

So why couldn't she just jump?

Perhaps the gods had plans for her. No, the gods were lies. Ancient aliens. They had learned that too. Their traditions, their legends, their very way of life was just something to be laughed at by those who knew better. Their world a cargo cult.

Then jump, she urged herself. You're alone. The universe is indifferent. It won't get any better than this.

The words felt true, but she still couldn't do it. The more she looked down, the further the distance to the ground -- to the streets below -- seemed. Perhaps she'd never hit the ground, and just keep falling forever. The thought sent a whole new shiver down her spine.

Do it, do it, do it, do it…

Her foot hovered over the void -- and the sheer absence there was enough to change her mind. Driven by a sudden animal panic, she turned and went to clamber back over the railing, but…

…it was winter.

…it was cold.

…it was slippery.

Vex's foot did not find the purchase it had expected, and with a muted horror she felt herself falling backwards. Her hands, having finally released the railing, grasped uselessly at empty air. Vex only realized in the moment before she fell.

I don't want to die.

Boom.

White light washed over Vex's face as she heard the lightning -- and before she could fall any further, she felt a hand seize her wrist. She'd been forced to close her eyes against the sudden violent light, but as she opened them again she recognised the face before her. How could she not?

This was the woman who'd opened up the world, after all.

Lily Aubrisher.

"Gods," Aubrisher said, pulling Vex up. "Are you okay?!"

Lightning flashed, and people died.

Lily Aubrisher's speed was such that the hallways and rooms she rushed through were little more than blurs -- but even so, she made certain that all her enemies fell. She'd gotten used to killing a long time ago.

As a streak of white-hot electricity, she leapt over the swing of a claymore and sent a surge of power into the open mouth of the man who'd swung it. He fell back onto the floor, still, smoke rising from his burnt-open sockets.

Another soldier tore his prosthetic arm off and the discarded limb transformed into a massive fly, buzzing after Lily as it pursued her. One shock was enough to incinerate it, and the second -- aimed at the soldier -- was enough to make his heart pop in his chest. He died without a visible wound.

She moved and she moved, she killed and she killed.

A kick was enough to sever a limb, a punch enough to crush a skull. The resistance that Lily Aubrisher met as she made her way through the Tartarus would have been enough to kill most people several times over, but she had not been hit once. Her power was Raiju's, and Raiju's power was absolute.

As Lily made her way through the ship, crossing a distance in seconds that would have taken many minutes for an ordinary human, she did her best to stay focused on the task at hand. It had been a massacre back on Elysian Fields -- she'd seen that. If she could take out the coordinator and lessen the load on her comrades even a little, then she'd devote everything she had to that task.

But Vex… would she really do alright, going after the Heir on her own?

Lily dispelled the thought. Vex was not weak, by any means. As the first of the Cardinal Beasts, she was the closest to achieving the 100% fusion with her Guardian Entity that Lily possessed. If there was anyone that Lily could trust with such a task, it was Vex.

She had to tell herself that. Decisions had already been made. Predetermined paths had already been laid out before them.

All they could do was reap what they'd sown.

"Which idiot activated the lockdown?" Ascendant-General Toll muttered under his breath as he rounded the corner to the tram station. Heavy shutters had lowered down to block the path, just as they had done in the last few hallways.

The captain of the Tartarus, Gladstone, adjusted his tie as he walked after Toll. "You indicated there were intruders aboard the ship. I merely proceeded appropriately. Procedure is quite clear in such cases, sir."

Toll gritted his teeth. "Procedure is to lockdown the immediate area surrounding the intruder, not the entire ship."

Gladstone scratched his ear. "Well, this did become apparent shortly after the order was given, but at that point --"

"At that point the power went down," Toll finished. "And the damage was done."

A nod. "Quite so."

Alexandrius Toll could have wept. What had the world come to? This whole operation was an utter disaster.

They had an 'army' of maniacs down on the planet below, thrown there with no orders, killing each other just as much as they killed the enemy. The actual army was up here in the ship twiddling their thumbs -- and because the Supreme had wanted to commence the attack as soon as possible, the Tartarus was the only cruiser stationed here, leaving them with no backup to protect their strategy center. If all that wasn't enough, the captain of the Tartarus was the kind of idiot who blamed procedure and happenstance for his own idiocy.

At his last checkup, Toll's doctor had told him to avoid this sort of stress -- that it would lead him to an early grave. It seemed the world was keen on inflicting it all the same.

He glanced at the technician trying to override the door controls. "Progress?"

The young man turned his head, pale and apologetic. He shook his head and opened his mouth to say something -- but Toll had no need to hear it.

"Move aside," the Ascendant-General commanded, and the technician quickly obeyed.

Toll took a deep breath, extending his arm, and periwinkle Aether began to crawl along the length of his limb. He closed his eyes for just a moment to focus himself, to banish all distraction -- and when he opened them again, they were burning with angry white light.

"Sevenfold Serpent!" he roared. "Tsunami!"

As the name suggested, seven massive serpents exploded forth from Toll's arm, their intertwined tails engulfing his shoulder. They were composed entirely of water, with eyes and teeth of seafoam, like miracle structures -- and, as one, they lunged for the sealed door. It was the work of a moment for them to sink their teeth into the metal and wrench it open. Through the jagged gap they'd opened, the empty tramway could be seen.

Gladstone gaped at the damage. "With -- with all respect, sir, this is my ship, you can't just --"

Toll's eyes slid over to him. In the Supremacy, a captain was king of his own ship, but what kind of king was this?

Jason Gladstone, 43 years old. Planet of origin was Mallerna Heights. Enlisted in the military directly through combat school, switched to the naval track two years later, but lingered in mediocrity because he was -- to be frank -- a mediocre man. The only reason he now had command of this ship was because he had made himself a pawn of the Body, gladly obeying the orders of the Three Wise Men at their head. Another symptom of the disease destroying the Supremacy.

No great loss.

Toll took his shotgun from his holster, pointed it at Gladstone's face, and fired. Needless to say, he was killed instantly -- his headless corpse falling to the floor like a pile of discarded clothing. The splatter of skull and brains that painted the wall behind him could easily be cleaned up.

"Under my authority as Ascendant-General of the Supremacy, I am assuming direct command of this vessel," Toll declared, returning his smoking shotgun to its holster. "Any objections?"

There were none. Not surprising -- incompetents like Gladstone were never popular with the men they led.

Toll's nose wrinkled as he looked down at the corpse. "Hazzard," he called over his shoulder. "Get rid of this."

Ascendant-General Toll never went anywhere without his personal guard. Even in private meetings, they were never far -- even if they couldn't be seen. People called these six elites the Honest Men, and Toll had come to appreciate their quiet competence over the years.

Gregori Hazzard stepped out of the shadows, his blonde hair hanging over his face, revealing only a single crimson eye and a nose so twisted it must have been badly broken a long time ago. He wore a white military cap and jacket over a black bodysuit, and -- as he kneeled over the bleeding corpse of Gladstone -- he seemed utterly devoid of passion. This was what Toll looked for in his subordinates.

"Paper Moon," Gregori muttered, chalk-white Aether dancing between his fingers.

It took him only a few seconds. He folded Gladstone's body over itself again and again and again, each fold accompanied by a sickening crack, until the former captain's body was a flat object roughly the size of a fingernail. Then, without further ceremony, he tossed it into a nearby waste receptacle.

Gregori did not ask how they would proceed. He didn't make comments about the situation, or offer unwanted advice. He just silently looked to Toll and awaited his next orders.

Ideal.

"Honest Men," Toll declared. "You six shall accompany me to intercept the intruders. Gregori and Phillips will guard our strategy center -- the rest of us will go after the Heir. Understood?"

They said nothing, but they did not need to. Their compliance was a matter of course.

He flexed his bicep, and the seven serpents detached, all bar one individually slithering over to the Honest Men. Toll plunged his arm into the side of the water-serpent that had stayed with him, submerging it up to the elbow, and each of his elite subordinates did the same with their own snake.

Then, as one, they allowed their new steeds to pull them along -- down the empty tramway, and towards the fight.

The winged woman kicked off the ground with a burst of flame, surging down the hallway towards Ash and the Heir.

Ash del Duran did not waste a moment. In one smooth movement, he hurled the bicycle in his hand up into the air, kicked it towards the enemy at blinding speeds, and launched off the ground himself to pursue it. Before the bicycle could strike the woman, she smashed it out of the way with her crimson wings -- but that only created an opening for Ash himself to attack.

The woman thrust her fist forward towards Ash's chest, but he slinked out of the way -- and, as the two crossed paths, he held out his pinkie finger and weaved an indistinct movement against the opponent's exposed arm.

Aether brought forth for just 0.2 seconds, concentrated in the very corner of the nail of his pinkie finger. When it came to precise usage, Ash was unmatched. For good measure, he delivered two lightning-fast jabs to her wings.

As Ash stepped behind the woman, she swiped at him once again -- but he merely jumped up and kicked off of it, flipping down the hallway. A second later, the wound he'd inflicted made itself known: a series of thin bloody cuts all up the length of the woman's forearm, concentrated around the wrist.

The bleeding would be tremendous. This was the first of Ash's experiments.

Guardian Entity: Suzaku -- 11%.

It was the work of a moment. Red feathers spread over the woman's arm, covering the gashes for a split-second…

Guardian Entity: Suzaku -- 10%.

…and when the feathers retreated, the wounds had vanished.

"I see," Ash said calmly, taking a step back to increase the distance between them. "You have a transformation ability, correct? By transforming just a tad and then reversing it, you temporarily boost your regeneration. Very clever."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "You're not. You're not a smart guy, huh."

Ash held his combat stance, open palm extended. "Oh?" he said, still so quiet. "How is that?"

The woman's voice remained that dull monotone. "It's obvious, guy. I can't believe you haven't figured it out. You're seriously dumb as rocks. You suck. When you were standing with that Heir girl, I couldn't attack you right without hitting her."

The red feathers of her wings began to flare.

"But now you're all on your own. That's why you suck." For the first time, a barely perceptible smile crossed the girl's lips.

Ash reacted before the attack fired, and that was what saved him.

Accompanied by a blaze of flame, thirteen feathers -- Ash counted them -- fired themselves out of the woman's wings and towards her opponent. Because he'd been ready, Ash was just able to match their speed -- his hands lashing out as blurs and plucking the projectiles out of the air, holding them between two fingers.

He stood amidst a blizzard, his clothes discarded, his form open to the world.

The frown on the girl's face wasn't because she'd had her attack blocked -- Ash recognised that -- but because she'd had her greater plan thwarted.

"These are terribly hot, aren't they?" Ash said, holding up the feathers as they glowed red in his grip. Steam rose from his fingers as sweat evaporated, but no burn marred Ash's flesh. "You hoped I'd injure myself by catching them, but unfortunately that's not the case. Attacks of this temperature are useless against my body imaging."

The winged woman's eyes narrowed as she clearly decided to play along. "Your what," she asked.

"Body imaging," Ash smiled. "It's not an Aether ability, if that's what you're wondering. You know how when you think about biting into a popsicle, you feel cold?"

The woman furrowed her brow. "What."

"You know how when you think about biting into a popsicle, you feel cold?" Ash clarified.

"What the hell's a popsicle. I don't get it."

"Ah," Ash nodded. "A cultural barrier. A popsicle is a cold and tasty treat. At any rate, when you think about biting into something cold, you feel cold, don't you? You might even find yourself shivering from the imaginary freeze. Body imaging takes that principle to its utmost. Just through mental exercises, I can will my body to adjust its temperature however I like. A perfect countermeasure to these feathers of yours." To illustrate his point, he dropped the feathers, allowing them to fall to the floor and combust. "Although I have to be careful not to get frostbite."

The woman just blinked at that explanation -- her expression suggesting she didn't quite get it -- before cracking her neck and advancing. "Whatever. I don't care. You're a weird guy. Completely strange. So all I want to do right now is --"

Her body jerked forward as there were two resounding pops -- and at the same time, the parts of her wings that Ash had jabbed earlier exploded outwards. Blood spattered across the hallway floor, and two jagged holes were opened up in her wingspan. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't quite stop the cry of pain from escaping her throat.

"Slothful Fist," Ash continued, not having moved an inch. "Through precise strikes, I caused considerable pressure to begin building up inside your body. This, too, is not an Aether ability. My name is Ash del Duran. Now you can name yourself."

Her face was painted with pain as she looked up from the bloodstained floor, and the holes in her wings were slowly and gruesomely closing, but the woman answered all the same.

"Vex Terna…" she grunted.

"Good," Ash said, looking down at her. "Now we are acquainted. And so… we can kill each other properly."

Then, and only then, did Ash del Duran truly attack.