“Your sandwich,” Damian said quietly, almost sullenly, holding out the food to Mereloco.

It was nothing to speak of. Bread, butter and cheese, arranged in the proper shapes and ratios, balanced atop a porcelain plate. Mereloco reached out and took the food from Damian's hands.

“Thanks,” the barbarian grunted -- and immediately, he took a massive bite.

Crunch.

He bit not only into the sandwich, but into the plate as well, shards of porcelain protruding from between his teeth as he chewed. Even knowing Mereloco surely had Aether protection, Damian couldn't help but wince. The man from the past, however, just chewed. He chewed and chewed and chewed, devouring food and plate alike until not a trace remained. He ate his fill.

And the entire time, his eyes remained fixed on the CEO of Halcyon Interstellar.

Damian Wenderhold Halcyon scowled to himself as he looked down at the training chamber, a glass of whiskey clutched in his hand. The heat of rage trickled over his skin.

Memories of humiliation were worse than the real thing. The stories changed in the telling, even when you were telling yourself. The surprise of onlookers became cruel amusement. The slightest intimidation became a pathetic and repulsive display of weakness. Each time he recalled the incident, it became more and more disgraceful.

But recollection was all he would allow himself. His grandfather had tutored him well in the art of business: emotions were to remain on the inside of the body, the inside of the mind. The outside was the realm of numbers. A man who sought to avenge himself would never hold an empire.

Damian's grip tightened on the glass as he watched from his observation chamber. If nothing else, Mereloco was a sight to behold.

The barbarian charged forward, launching himself with a burst of repulsive gravity -- and avoiding a beam from his opponent that surely would have vaporized a lesser man. He threw himself down to the ground, nearly doing the splits in the process, allowing a flurry of spinning blades to slice just over his head. He spun, transitioning into a vicious kick, repelling a flexile tendril that had been aiming to slit his throat.

His enemy was no slouch, either.

The Tower, one of the fabled Arcana Automatics. It had cost the lives of many salvagers to recover the machine from its resting place. A costly endeavour, but one that was worth it. Even so, it wasn't much to look at. The Tower was about the size of a man, silver and cylindrical, like some kind of mobile trash-can sliding across the floor. Tiny diamond structures were half-embedded all across its surface, and a blue ring around the top of the machine served as its ‘eye’.

As Damian watched, a hatch on the Tower's front snapped open and the barrel of a flamethrower poked out, spraying an inferno across the room. Even if Mereloco was strong enough to overcome that attack, the Tower really had zero concept of overkill. Then again, that wasn't surprising.

The auto-brain that controlled the Tower was different from most, in that it was capable of genuine feelings. Some people said that the Tower was the first automatic to truly develop emotion. A shame that emotion was hatred.

“Obliterate! Annihilate! Destroy!” the Tower screamed, voice distorted by sheer volume.

Nobody knew if it had been intentional on the part of Death, the creator unit of the Arcana Automatics, or some kind of spontaneous malfunction… but the Tower hated.

“Kill! Excise! Eliminate!”

It hated every organism it encountered. It hated every place it found itself in. It hated every nanoangstrom of space, every nanosecond of time. And that hatred drove it. That auto-brain ran ceaselessly, calculating countless ways to destroy everything it saw.

“Exterminate! Kill! KILL!”

It was creative about it, too. Crushing, blades, gunfire, poison gas, bombs… it would never use the same method twice. Unlike the Hanged Man, it wasn't capable of fully changing shape, but it could reconfigure its internals in a massive number of combinations. The number of methods it could concoct to kill a person was so close to infinite that the distinction was irrelevant.

And the man called Mereloco was playing with it like a toy.

The scowl on Damian's face was slowly replaced by a trickling smile. He had chosen the right horse to back. His personality was atrocious, but Mereloco had what it took to become Supreme. Hell, he'd nearly become Supreme in his own time -- but Damon the Devilish had narrowly survived the attempt on his life. Then, for some reason, he'd had Mereloco frozen instead of executing him.

What a blessing that was.

After all, it didn't matter how bad Mereloco's personality was. All that mattered was his strength. Once that strength had served its purpose…

…the will behind it would become like clay.

One hour before Mereloco was made to bleed. He would have to do better in the future. If he didn't, Damon would laugh at him.

To think a terror like the Tower had been brought to heel. This was a twisted age he'd found himself in. The strength of man had wilted away, and the money-ticks they'd once fought against now ran things entirely. If he had met that CEO man in his first life, he would have ended him where he stood. What a sick game this world was.

As he emerged from the training module, sweat dripping from his clumped-together hair, he noticed that woman standing in the hallway. She'd been there when he'd woken up. A handler? Irritating.

“Woman,” he commanded. “Leave me be.”

“As I said to you before,” the woman said calmly. “My name is Alicia Jane Marsden. I've been asked to keep you safe.”

Mereloco glared. “You've been asked to spy on me.”

“Yes,” the woman nodded.

“Stop doing that.”

“I cannot.”

Unchained.

An ordinary person would have been smashed against the wall by the suddenly reconfigured and superpowered gravity. The woman, on the other hand, managed to resist Unchained -- yellow Aether sparking around her as she fought off the infusion. She was not bad.

“If you intend to get rid of me,” she said, voice strained, hands straightening her tie. “You will have to kill me.”

“If you want me gone so badly, Mere… why don't you just kill me?”

An old and unwelcome memory.

Mereloco's glare narrowed. “Do as you will,” he grunted, turning on his heel and marching towards the exit. “I will see the shape of this new world.”

The sun was far too bright.

Atoy Muzazi considered his options.

Upon arrival on Azum-Ha, he'd had the Eight Phases stationed on Floor 212 of the Lost Heaven Hotel in Upper-District Cleanse. It was a fairly upscale establishment, usually used by traveling businessmen and the like, but not so extravagant that it would draw attention. Morgan had booked the rooms under false names and false pretenses, at any rate.

An entire floor, just for them. Atoy Muzazi, the Eight Phases, and the Heir. Morgan had purchased rooms in numerous other hotels as well, decoys to draw away the attention of those keen to start the Dawn Contest early. This was the first tournament of this kind in many years, but you always heard stories.

Security systems tampered with to loop footage. The Heir brought here in disguise. Ionir Yggdrassil still in orbit, still in starship-form, creating the illusion that they could still all be up there as well. Atoy Muzazi had gone to lengths.

So why did his heart still feel so heavy? Why did it feel like a rat was trying to eat its way free of him?

Murderer.

Atoy Muzazi sighed. He stood in one of the floor's luxury suites, the wall-length window revealing the city before him. It was one-way glass -- he'd made sure of that -- but through it, he could see the megacity that was Azum-Ha. He could see the heart of the Supremacy.

The past and the future, mingling, birthing something new. State of the art buildings flying over ancient temples. Colossal statues of past Supremes surrounded by floating pods, carrying tourists for photo opportunities. The dismembered Body, looming over it all, luxuriating in the flux.

Muzazi's gaze went further up, to the floating Stadium of the Absolute, nearly blotting out the sun. It seemed so tiny from down here, but that tiny thing could very well be the place in which he'd die. He swallowed.

No. Brave heart, Muzazi. That is your first weapon.

“Stator for your thoughts?” asked Morgan, sauntering into the room.

Muzazi glanced over his shoulder at his second-in-command. “Is this your first time here as well? On the capitol?”

“Nah,” Morgan replied, stopping next to Muzazi -- and before the window. “My dad took business trips. Sometimes I got dragged along. Why?”

“It's…”

Muzazi's voice trailed off, and he began to drum his fingers along the empty sheath at his side instead.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “...not what you expected?”

“I don't know what I expected,” Muzazi admitted, looking at the countless fluttering flags below. “But I've been in megacities before. I suppose… I thought there'd be something more to Azum-Ha. Something that distinguishes it. But, apart from the superficial…”

“It feels the same?”

Muzazi nodded.

“Well,” Morgan considered, hand on his chin. “When you get down to it, people are the same everywhere -- deep down, I mean. Way I see it, it's the same with the places they build. The only thing really setting them apart is the decoration.”

Muzazi glanced at him. “And it's the same with people?”

“Yup,” Morgan said. “Pretty ribbons to cover the animals underneath.”

“I see.”

They stood there for a moment, in a silence interrupted only by the muffled traffic outside. The city was slowly but surely grinding to a halt as more and more people arrived for the Dawn Contest. Very soon, travel would become very inconvenient.

Which was why they'd made preparations.

“We'll split into two parties for the opening ceremony,” Muzazi announced. “You, Hapgrass and Silversaint will accompany the Heir. The rest will stay with me. I'll be acting as a lure for anyone who might be targeting Aclima.”

Morgan gave him a skeptical look. “... right. And you want me to…?”

“I want you to protect the Heir,” Muzazi reiterated. “You're the one I trust the most. I have faith in you.”

Indeed, it was perhaps just as Morgan said. Atoy Muzazi had covered himself in ribbons of honour and valor, resplendent decorations…

…to cover the liar underneath.

“This must be very strange for you,” Rae Ruditia giggled nervously, holding out her microphone. “I mean, I know you had news stations in your time, but it wasn't nearly so standardized, at least from what I remember, so… anyway, um, how are you finding life?”

The only reply she got was a glare.

Ruth clasped her hands tightly in front of her. Even with everything she'd experienced… being in the presence of a man like this still made her sweat. The former second-in-command of Damon the Devilish, the Mad Supreme. The Contender of his age. The man who'd come back from the dead.

Mereloco.

A makeshift interview room had been set up in a disused office building, with lighting automatics floating around the seating setup and making it presentable. A camera hovered over Rae's shoulder, red iris focused intently on Mereloco's impassive face. Ruth and Rex, clad in suits, stood behind her chair too… just in case.

Ruth had to hand it to Rae Ruditia: she'd thought the young woman was something of a ditz, but once she'd heard Mereloco was willing to see her, she'd gotten this place set up with a single brief call. If nothing else, she was resourceful.

But had that effort been worth it? As the long seconds dragged on, Mereloco just continued to stare in silence. It wasn't even clear if he had heard the question.

Rae heroically pushed on. “History says the previous Dawn Contests were pretty extravagant!” she said excitedly, pink eyes twinkling. “How would you say this one measures up -- so far, I mean?”

Mereloco said nothing. His face did not so much as twitch. The woman standing beside his seat, his apparent handler, glanced down at him -- but she said nothing either.

Rae bit her lip. “Uh… jeez, I know you guys had language back then… anyone else in the Dawn Contest seem like they'll be a good fight? Who do you have your eyes on?”

For the first time since he sat down, Mereloco moved. His eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, and his finger pointed lazily towards Rae.

“Whore,” he said.

The reporter blinked. “Eh?”

Mereloco did not respond to that. He simply stood up from his seat, cracked his neck, and stomped out of the room. He was so casual about it that you'd think he was the only person here. The group -- Rae, Ruth and Rex -- silently watched him go. A second later, his handler dutifully followed after him.

Rae clicked her tongue, her microphone already collapsing into a shape that could fit in her pocket. “Hm… do I write that down or what? I mean, he did say it, but…”

“Well,” Ruth glared at the door. “There's one guy I really hope doesn't become Supreme.”

Rae looked up at Ruth over her shoulder. “How's that?” she said, voice still sparkling as if she hadn't just been insulted.

“That stuff he just said,” Ruth replied, waving a vague hand. “He had no right.”

“Huh, you think so?” Rae cocked her head. “If he was some rando on the street, maybe, but did you see his Inner Melee? He's strong. I think he's at least got the right to say what he wants.”

Ruth hesitated to speak, her mouth stuck half-open. To tell the truth, she'd considered Rae Ruditia to be a pretty normal -- if positive -- person. Someone, on some level, she could relate to. But she'd forgotten, hadn't she? This was the heart of the Supremacy. This was the heart of the Supremacy's philosophy.

This was a world of might-makes-right -- a world of insanity.

“Miss Blaine?” Rae queried, pink eyes intent, as Ruth just stood there with her mouth open.

Rex softly nudged her with his elbow, snapping her out of the vague reverie.

“Uh,” Ruth muttered. “Yeah, I guess you're right. Good point. Wasn't thinking.”

Bite your tongue, Ruth, she warned herself. At least until tonight, bite your tongue.

All they needed to do was make it to the opening ceremony. All the Dawn Contestants would be gathered for the first time -- including Dragan. Rae Ruditia was their ticket there.

Just one more day, and she'd finally meet Dragan again.

“I won’t be going to the opening ceremony tonight,” Dragan said casually. “North, take my place.”

He was sitting on the couch of the dingy apartment they'd made their base. Brutally speaking, the place looked as if it had survived at least one hurricane, and had already been a shit hole before that. But it was cheap, and it was out of the way -- buried deep in the slums of Azum-Ha.

Nobody would be looking for them here.

North looked over from the videograph, raising a grey eyebrow. “How come?” he asked. “You got some place better to be?”

Dragan took the script he'd been looking at and put it back in his pocket. The Serpent of Pesh, his insider in the Dawn Contest Organizational Committee, had just sent over the finished draft of the tournament brackets. That had decided his first move.

“Halcyon Interstellar is sponsoring that Mereloco guy,” Dragan explained, standing up from the couch. “Sheltering him, giving him resources, weapons. They're putting all their weight behind him.”

“Yeah,” North said. “So?”

Every second in this Dawn Contest would be vital. Even now, before it had begun, they were surrounded by wolves. If he had the opportunity to declaw one of those beasts… how could he pass it up?

Dragan's blue eyes flicked over to look at his ally.

“I'm going to go kill Damian Halcyon,” he said casually. “Don't wait up.”