Bone Heaven

Desert Planet

Supremacy Space

Dragan Hadrien walked.

One foot in front of the other. Steady forward movement. It was simple enough. Even if his mind was swimming in fog, he could still walk. Even if it felt like he was about to disintegrate, he could still walk.

He could also rest. That was an idea.

The boarding tube for his nameless ship was long and dark -- and most importantly, it was empty. There were no prying eyes to see an inconvenient moment of weakness. Dragan slumped against the wall and slid down it, panting for breath.

“You went too hard, dead boy,” Pan frowned, squatting down next to him. “Did you forget? I can replace, but I can't fix. And it still hurts.”

“It's fine,” Dragan insisted. “Pain is just an alarm system for the body. So long as I know it's a false alarm, it's nothing to worry about. I can power through.”

Pan's frown deepened, but she said nothing else. She knew that Dragan was more than used to pain by now.

He'd had two years to grow stronger -- strong enough to take on any challenger. Normal training wouldn't have been sufficient. He needed to be overwhelming, not just skilled. To achieve something like that, you had to enter the realm of insanity.

Pan had helped.

First, he'd Aether burned until he was right at the point of no return. Then, he'd recorded and dispelt the damaged parts of his body, allowing Pan to replace them. Then he'd Aether burned again, and again, and again, raising his maximum tolerance each time…

…until now, he could fire off a volley of what had previously been his strongest attack with but a wave of his hand.

Dragan closed his eyes for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Hey,” said an ownerless voice. “You look like shit, bossman.”

Dragan opened an annoyed eye. Couldn't a person ever get some privacy in this galaxy?

The speaker flickered into existence, leaning against the wall. North smirked, his arms crossed as he looked down at Dragan. He wore a leather jacket and a pair of thick blue jeans -- not suited to the climate in the least, although this time he hadn't had to leave the ship. Not a bead of sweat was present on his tan skin or slicked-back grey hair. Nice for some.

“This is what happens to people who work hard, North,” Dragan sighed, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

“Yeah, yeah,” North waved a dismissive hand. “I gotcha. So how's it looking? Got all your bits back where they should be?”

Dragan cracked his neck. Once again, he was undergoing that torturous process -- dispelling damaged parts from the inside of his body so that Pan could replace them. Probably best not to move around during that, so for the time being he stayed on the floor.

“Just give me a minute or two,” Dragan grunted, pain lingering behind his teeth. “You run into any trouble?”

“Nah,” North blinked his black eyes -- dark as night, save for the red pupils at their center. “Like you said, nobody came looking for you. I was checking out everyone who went through the port, so I'm sure. The Serpent did good work.”

Dragan's brow creased. “After what he pulled, he'd better have.”

North fished a chocolate bar out of his pocket, biting into it with the corner of his mouth as he shrugged. “Whatever you say, bossman. Want me to kill him?’

Dragan shook his head. “No… not yet. There's no need. Unless he does something really stupid, I want to keep him around until the end of the Dawn Contest at least.”

“Whatever you say,” North repeated, smirking.

For the last two years, North had been Dragan's shadow. He'd helped find things that needed to be found, steal things that needed to be stolen… kill people who needed to be killed. Even with the grisly nature of the job, however, Dragan found North surprisingly pleasant to work with. He supposed he was certainly being paid enough.

Any news on Winston Grace? Dragan almost asked, but no -- no point.

He shifted against the wall, joints cracking into place. Once he was settled, his eyes narrowed, and his voice turned serious. “And… how are we looking?”

North spun his script on his finger. “Footage got out fine. Everything up to you finishing off the weird lizard. It looks good -- I got an eye for cinematography, you know?”

“And the response?”

North’s red eyes seemed to shine in the darkness. “You sure gave ‘em something to think about. Word's still spreading, but for now? You're everyone's big favourite.”

Dragan smiled softly, closing his eyes and letting the back of his head tap against the wall.

As per usual, everything was going according to plan.

Ionir Yggdrassil

Eight Phases of the Turning of the Heir Headquarters

Supremacy Space

The image lingered on the screen of the script. Atoy Muzazi, his face bruised and bloodied, leaving as the victor of his Inner Melee. Below the image, the Silvereye article listed off his history and achievements, stretching on and on…

He was well-liked, it seemed. A return to a more honorable age of the Supremacy. A shadow of Gael the Golden, some said. A good man who would make a good Supreme.

Aclima’s hands shook as she looked at the image.

Murderer.

She hurled the script across the room and it smashed against the wall. As a cleaning automatic hurried over to clean up the mess, she brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly. Aclima sat right in the middle of her massive bed, as if afraid something would crawl out from underneath it if she exposed herself.

It wasn't out of the question, on a ship like this.

“What's he doing?” she asked softly, face pale, eyes glancing up at the other two in the room. “Since he got back, I mean? Has he done anything?”

The two Special Officers glanced at each other. Endo Silversaint, the gallant knight. Anya Hapgrass, the wild performance artist. Aclima had brought them in of her own free will. They were the only ones she could trust. They were the only ones allowed to get this close to her -- to set foot in her private quarters. She couldn't risk letting anyone else.

“Well,” Anya shrugged. “He's mostly been sleeping, more than anything. Morgan keeps watch over him most of the day, so if he's said something to anyone else, I haven't heard about it.”

“His injuries were grievous,” Endo said, his helmet rattling as he nodded. “Stimulants and micro-Panacea are doing their work, however. He should be back on his feet by the time of --”

“By the time of the Dawn Contest,” Aclima finished, her gaze distant, hugging her legs tighter. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

This was like a nightmare.

She'd hoped that, facing so many powerful people in the Inner Melee, Atoy Muzazi would have been forced to drop out. That would have been the end of it. But no, no. He wouldn't stop. He'd squeaked through somehow. He was going to kill her. Oh God, he was going to kill her. Just like he'd let her father die. She was next.

Would he even wait for the Dawn Contest? He had no reason to. She was outnumbered here. The Phases were all on his side.

She looked up at Endo and Anya.

“Don't leave me alone tonight,” she said, almost begging. “One of you -- one of you has to stay in here, the other one stands guard outside. Now that he's in the Dawn Contest for sure, he might try to finish me off. He won't wait long.”

Endo rested a stoic hand on the hilt of his greatsword. “Fear not, my heir,” he said. “Until the light leaves my eyes, I shall keep you safe.”

Aclima nodded quickly, relieved, before turning to Anya. “You'll… you'll stay too, right?”

If she could trust Endo Silversaint, then she could certainly trust Anya Hapgrass. The woman had been like an older sister to her these last couple of years, keeping her safe and steady. But still… she needed to know, she needed to know for sure… she'd been burnt before, after all.

Anya smiled softly. “I'll be outside,” she said. “All night.”

Aclima let out a shaky breath, bringing her pillow to her mouth to stifle it.

“Promise?” she squeaked.

“I promise.”

Aclima closed her eyes. “Thank you…”

“You stay in there with her for now,” ‘Anya Hapgrass’ said to ‘Endo Silversaint’, lingering outside the bedroom door. “We'll switch places a few hours in.”

He nodded. “You'll be guarding the entrance, I take it, my lady?”

Anya grinned mischievously, thumbs hooking the suspenders of her overalls and pulling them. “Eventually.”

Endo’s face would have been concealed by his helmet, but she could hear the frown in his voice all the same. “Are you certain? You told the Heir you'd remain outside.”

“Don't worry so much,” Anya said, casually sauntering off. “Even if I'm not standing here, I'm still keeping her safe. I'm gonna go see what ol' Atoy Muzazi is up to. Reconnaissance, ya know?”

“I see…”

The Silversaint didn't seem quite convinced. Anya stopped walking, sighed, and spun around on the spot, facing her fellow Special Officer. Her golden eyes were cold and flat.

“Endo,” she said seriously. “Don't tell the Supreme Heir that I'm gone.”

Endo nodded as if the request was the most natural thing in the world. “Of course.”

Now with that dealt with, Anya turned back around and continued her evening walk. She didn't go to Atoy Muzazi, though -- that had been a teensy lie -- but to the bathroom. She just needed a second. It had been such a long day, after all. Such a long fucking day.

She hummed happily to herself.

Anya skipped through the metal hallways. This part of the ship, the core, remained separate from Ionir Yggdrassil’s body -- separate from his roving branches and always-watching eyes. Aclima preferred it that way. She never felt safe, surrounded by a titan she was convinced would prefer her dead. If it was up to Anya, she'd have burnt that tree down ages ago.

She hummed happily to herself.

At any rate, the Heir had become a truly repulsive brat. It was good for Anya's purposes, but still. The innocent anxiety that was cute and endearing for a child had mutated into an edge of ugly paranoia, and Anya had to play host to it constantly. If she weren't a genius, she would have long since gone insane. Endo was only safe because he was at the opposite end of the intelligence spectrum.

She hummed happily to herself, slipping into the bathroom and looking at her adorable face in the mirror. A smile spread from dimple to dimple.

So Atoy Muzazi had made it to the Dawn Contest, had he? Wow, that sure was something. He was real strong, huh? There were so many powerful enemies on Ocean Hate, and he'd managed to beat them all, so he really deserved the win. Lots of people had their eyes on him now. Lots of people were thinking he'd make a good Supreme. Good for him! He was getting recognition for his efforts! People really liked Atoy Muzazi! They thought he was the best! How wonderful!

Anya Hapgrass began to hum happily…

…and Gretchen Hail stopped, her face contorting with rage as she slammed her fist into the mirror again and again and again. By the time she was done, both the shattered glass and her hand were coated in blood.

Goddamnit. Goddamnit! Why was everyone else in this galaxy so useless?!

As the cleaning automatics scurried to contain the remnants of Gretchen's outburst, she took a step back, fiery orange Aether crackling around her knuckles. King was supposed to have been one of the best in the business, and yet he'd failed all the same. Even with her providing him a Fusion Tool, he'd failed miserably. How hard was it to kill one person?!

She knew now that hiring King was a mistake -- the man had obviously been far past his prime -- but who else could she have gotten? The Hive of Malkuth couldn't get their numbers into an Inner Melee, Appointment was definitely a non starter, and the less said about the Sixth Dead, the better… even approaching that lunatic was suicidal.

So she had gone for King, and he had failed her -- along with all the other pieces she'd given him. It was becoming a distressingly common sensation.

Gretchen rubbed her temples. She'd gotten so far, but that last hurdle continued to elude her. She'd acquired the body of Anya Hapgrass, a respected Special Officer, she'd wormed her way back into the good graces of the Supreme Heir… all she needed was to kill Atoy Muzazi and make sure Aclima became Supreme. Then, it would be easy to manipulate the girl into having Baltay released.

But now that the Inner Melees were over, how could she get rid of Atoy Muzazi? With the Dawn Contest underway, it would be harder than ever to get her pieces close to the Full Moon. She was running out of chances. Goddamnit.

Buzz.

Gretchen glanced down. It seemed that, in her fury, she hadn't even noticed her script fall out of her pocket and hit the floor. She clicked her tongue: the screen was cracked. Another thing to worry about.

She bent down to retrieve it -- only to pause as she saw the distorted image on the screen. The final Inner Melee had concluded, it seemed, and a news alert had come in about it. Apparently, it had been quite the spectacle.

But she recognised that face on the screen.

She'd seen it before, when she was looking into the past of Atoy Muzazi. That was the Cogitant that had shot him in the back -- the one he'd chased into the UAP for revenge. Those cold eyes belonged to Dragan Hadrien.

Her lips spread out into a toothy grin.

That was her chance.

Azum-Ha

Supremacy Capitol

Supremacy Space

Ruth gulped.

She'd seen footage of this place online and in videographs and the like… but that didn't quite prepare you. As fellow megacities, she thought it would have been pretty similar to Taldan, but that hadn't been quite right either. There was something about Azum-Ha. Something that drilled down into your bones.

A weight to the place.

As the ship descended down through the atmosphere, the landscape of the Supremacy capitol spread out before them. Ruth crossed her arms in the cockpit, taking it in, standing behind the pilot seat. She blinked.

Azum-Ha was a world of two layers -- the old and the new. Atop the planet, forming the face of the Supremacy, was a modern urban jungle, glass spires jutting upwards and reaching towards the sky. The countless bright lights of one of the most advanced planets in the galaxy twinkled below, like a twin to the stars.

Below that, though, was the world of the ancients. Temples and ruins built during the first years of the Supremacy, their purpose now lost to time and advancement. Moving through the old city, you could find yourself very lost very quickly. There were stories of people going down to explore, vanishing and never being seen again…

…swallowed by the past.

Countless other ships -- no doubt drawn by the Contest as well -- were heading down into the city in great streams, blotting out chunks of the sky. Ruth's eyes flicked between them, before quickly being drawn to the structure at the center of the city. It was quite the sight.

The Body.

It wasn't just a name. The complex in which the Ministers made their galactic edicts was shaped like an upright and gargantuan human torso, stretching up, lacking arms and a head. Where those things would have been, perfectly smooth stumps reflected the light. It was like someone had placed an exquisitely dismembered corpse at the very core of the world.

Ruth's eyes drifted further up.

Many buildings floated through the atmosphere on Azum-Ha. Ground space was rare and expensive, after all, while there was always more sky to go around. An entire third layer of the city rarely touched the rest, only docking below to pick up and drop off passengers. But Ruth's gaze was fixed even higher than the sky-city.

The Stadium of the Absolute shone on high, golden hull reflecting the sunlight. It was said that the first Supreme, Azez the Absolute, had been crowned there -- and the entire structure had turned to gold in sympathy. Obviously not true, but looking at the glorious thing… you could almost believe it.

Bruno stalked into the cockpit, his serious eyes locked onto the Stadium as well.

“He's here,” he muttered. “Or he'll be here soon. Right?”

Ruth nodded, resolute. “And this time we'll bring him home.”

From deep within the bowels of Azum-Ha, a great drum began to sound, shaking the earth and shuddering the skies. All across the planet, from their houses to the streets to balconies overlooking the void, the people cheered. Even if their lives would not improve, even if the future would bring nothing but suffering, they celebrated.

After all… the Dawn Contest had begun.

Boom.

Ruth Blaine swallowed.

Boom.

Bruno del Sed took in a shuddering breath.

Boom.

Serena del Sed let it back out.

Boom.

Atoy Muzazi scowled.

Boom.

Dragan Hadrien smirked.

Boom.

And, without mercy, the hands of history ticked on.

END OF ARC 12