For Xander Rain, First Branch of the Tree of Might, it was a quiet evening.

There was an old temple -- the Chorus Box -- that the Tree had secured for their time on Azum-Ha. As the name suggested, it was squat and square, buried deep in the bowels of the city. These days, many eyes would pass over it. Nobody knew their history, and even if they did they didn’t respect it.

The Tree of Might alone understood the duty they had to the past. The First Supreme, the Absolute, had entrusted the Supremacy to its people. The traditions and ceremonies of the Supremacy were all a part of that trust. The common masses disposed of whatever they did not appreciate, justifying their weakness while disgracing all that had given them their freedom.

It had always disgusted Xander’s father.

It had always disgusted Xander.

Wind blew, and Xander’s brown hair billowed as he looked up at the city proper. Right now, the other Dawn Contestants were fighting for their lives, fighting for their honour. They had called themselves strong, boasted that they would be the ones to seize the throne, but how true was that when they were caught by surprise? Would they all prove worthy?

Xander didn’t know. All he could do was wait and watch.

After all -- for him, this was to be a quiet evening.

Ah, the insincerity!

A toothrest on a mass of dying bones. I CLIMB onto the wreckage of the systematic threshold. Hmm, is this a man in my teeth? No! Just a collection of:

Heart Liver Lungs Nervous System Skin Bone Muscle

There is so much, so much more to say, so much more to take, but it squeals and squeals and amidst it all there is only the squeaking of thousands of mice authorized and yet unsanctioned? I do not see. Hee hee hee. Where am I? This is scary.

But I adore it all the same. ‘PALATINE’, they say. ‘PALATINE’. Is that my name, or my dying scream? Am I dead? What is it to be dead? Am I to be dead, or is this just the verge of a new horizon of a field covered in red grass and moving all-too-quickly. The rot of it disgusts me. I hate it!

Who is this? Who is this man I hold in my extensions?

A-ssass-in… yes, you wanted to kill me, didn’t you? A dagger and a beast made one in the same, warped and connected and eaten but not by me (oh, but I am so very hungry). An assassin, but I am not dead. A failed assassin, then. A premise rendered invalid. Your thesis has been rejected by the university of your criminal ancestry, a graveyard with nobody living in it but you. Your mouth is filled with worms. I loved you for that.

Where am I? Is this scary? I own a corpse, alive only through lack of perspective. Do I smile? It is difficult without a mouth. Even with a mouth, I do not remember how. What do I remember?

Yes.

I smile. I remember how to eat.

Atoy Muzazi was fast, but the Sasquatch was no slouch itself. As he rushed in, it thrust its arm forward -- and the metallic limb stretched out to meet its attacker.

Muzazi raised his Radiants up in a defensive cross -- but the force of the punch was still enough to force him backwards, sparks flying from his metal boots as they scraped against the floor. White Aether surged wildly from Muzazi's blades of light as they made contact with the massive fist, two Aether constructs pushing against each other. Despite everything, he couldn't help but feel just a little impressed.

It was a rare thing that Atoy Muzazi couldn't cut.

He reached the end of the tunnel, the arm still stretching out as it tried to force him back. Instead, Muzazi leapt in the air, kicking his feet against the wall and transitioning into a flip onto the limb itself. He sprinted along the surface of the arm, swords out as he ran towards the enemy proper.

“Very impressive,” the Sasquatch commented, rubbing the space under its eye with its free hand -- like a man stroking his beard. “You turned my attack into a method of transport. I'd clap, of course, but that's rather difficult at the moment.”

As it finished speaking, the Sasquatch struck with its second stretching arm -- and Muzazi barely dodged it by moving his run to the side. Rubble poured down from the ceiling as the Sasquatch's punch punctured the metal above, fist becoming lodged in the architecture. There wouldn't be a better chance than this.

This thing didn't have a distinct head, per se, so decapitation wasn't an option -- but that red eye was promising. He'd make that his target.

Muzazi reached the end of his journey along the arm, thrust his Radiants forward, and --

Hot.

-- a sudden wave of heat and air pressure suddenly blasted against him, sending him flying back. He gasped for air as he landed in a dignified heap some distance down the hallway, just about managing to remain on one knee. Just from that second or two of exposure, steam was rising from his skin. It was like he'd suddenly been teleported into an oven.

The Sasquatch clicked a tongue that did not exist. “A pity. I was rather hoping you'd get caught on my arm there.”

Muzazi took a second to catch his breath. What had that heat attack been? Some sort of automatic retaliation? If so, was there a way to get around it?

He needed time to think, think and plan.

“You said your ‘user’ sent you after me,” Muzazi called down the tunnel. “I take it you're some kind of conscious ability, then? An intelligence created through Aether?”

“I have no reason to answer that.”

The Sasquatch retracted its arms from the wall and the ceiling. It was clearly preparing to attack once more. Damnation. Muzazi needed to stall.

“Don't be so hasty,” Muzazi continued. “Perhaps there is a reason for you to converse with me.”

White Aether trickled out from the back of his boots, slipping into the cracks in the floor unseen.

The Sasquatch aimed its arms at Muzazi like twin rifles. “And what would that be, my good man?”

“Information,” Muzazi said. “For each question of mine you answer, I'll answer one of yours.”

It blinked, considering the offer. “This is a deception.”

“You've been told about who I am? A briefing, before you were sent after me, surely?”

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“Indeed.”

“Then you'll know I'm not the sort of man to lie for petty advantages.”

“Hm…” Slowly, the Sasquatch lowered its arms. “Well… perhaps this could be amusing. You answer my question first, then.”

Muzazi let out a breath of relief. This was fortunate. It seemed the Sasquatch's information was very much out-of-date.

“She's not here,” grunted Nael Manron over the communicator.

Azrael blinked. He'd made a temporary control center out of this supply closet, the cleaning automatic that had once called it home cannibalized for its communication functions. To one side, a holographic screen displayed the arena's surveillance network. To the other, a live feed of news updates was scrolling.

In this dark, dingy corner of the heavens, Azrael could see everything. Well, almost everything. It seemed whoever had been guarding the Supreme Heir had the good sense to disable the nearby security cameras.

“Intel says she was with Atoy Muzazi before he went into the arena,” Azrael insisted. “Maybe she just got away before you reached her?”

“She didn't get away,” Nael replied with a rare trace of annoyance. “She wasn't here. Person with the cloak was some tree-thing. Not the girl.”

Azrael frowned. That matched the description of Ionir Yggdrassil -- one of the Eight Phases of the Turning of the Heir. He was meant to be in orbit right now. Was there some trickery involved?

“Well, can you track her?” Azrael said. “Any… any traces? You said the tree-thing was there, can you interrogate it?”

“Destroyed it,” Nael grunted.

Azrael ran a hand over his face. “Well, what'd you do that for?!”

“There wasn't a reason not to. I'm headed back to the ship.” Without another word or so much as a breath, Nael's communicator clicked off -- leaving Azrael alone in the darkness. He sighed a familiar sigh.

King of Killers, his ass.

Nael Manron was good at killing, sure, but he had no passion for it. Hell, he didn't seem to have passion for anything. It was like something had snuffed out the spark of humanity in him -- leaving an animal operating according to its instincts. His combat skill was the equivalent of a corpse’s twitch.

Still, that didn't matter. His tutelage on the concept of Guardian Entities had allowed the Crimson Carnival to gain strength very quickly. Most of the prime members had Entities now. Some of the grunts were still having issues creating them, though -- and that was something Azrael honestly couldn't understand.

It was the same as when he heard about people unable to create Aether abilities, or needing a tutor to get them through the basics. After unlocking his Aether, using it had been as natural for him as breathing. Who needed a tutor for breathing?

His gaze flicked over to the monitor as he saw that the battle between his Guardian Entity, Sasquatch, and Atoy Muzazi seemed to have stalled. The two were standing across from each other now. Talking?

Azrael clicked his tongue. His Guardian Entity really could be a fool sometimes. Just what did it think it was doing?

“Pray tell,” the Sasquatch began politely. “What is your ability?”

Muzazi did not blink. “I can create thrusters on various objects. The pushing force and heat can be adjusted however I like.”

“And the swords?”

He narrowed his eyes. “That's a second question. It's my turn.”

“Of course.”

“What is your ability?”

“Ah,” the Sasquatch chuckled. “Now that would be a matter of some minor debate, I should think. When you say ‘ability’, are you referring to me myself, or the powers I have been bestowed with? Clarity is important in such matters, don't you think?”

This was the first time Atoy Muzazi had actually spoken to an Aether ability, but he was still quite surprised. To think that it would love the sound of its own voice so much.

“You yourself,” Muzazi grunted. “What is it you can do?”

“Well… you've experienced it just moments ago. I have various forms of control over heat. When an attack is about to hit me, I automatically retaliate with a burst of heat. The power and temperature vary depending on how much damage the attack would have done.”

That made sense. Muzazi had intended to kill the Sasquatch with that stab to the eye -- that was why the burst of heat had been so immense. If he stuck to non-lethal attacks and dodging, he could probably get in close. Only…

…he didn't trust this thing.

He didn't get the sense that it was lying, but that didn't mean it was telling the complete truth. There was nothing else for it, then. He'd have to carefully investigate as they fought.

“It's my turn again, no?” the Sasquatch chuckled. “I'll ask again: what is the nature of those swords of light?”

“They're an application of my thruster ability. Rays of light and heat so immense I can use them to cut through objects.”

“And you reduce the pushing force to zero so you don't get flung around…” the Guardian Entity mused. “Quite ingenious.”

Muzazi adjusted his footing, just slightly. “Now, you tell me. What exactly are you hiding from me?”

That crimson triangle of an eye gleamed sinisterly in the dark. “Oh, but Mr. Muzazi…” it purred. “Like I said, I have no reason to answer that.”

Without another word, the Sasquatch lunged -- sending its dual arms down the length of the tunnel to strike Muzazi. One was aimed for his head, the other his chest -- and a haze of heat trailed after them. So that was it. The Sasquatch had automatic defenses, to be sure, but it could also produce heat at will.

The betrayal wasn't a surprise, and Atoy Muzazi didn't take it personally. After all… he'd been planning the exact same thing.

Thrusters -- on.

As the two of them had been talking, Muzazi had been working -- sneakily sending his Aether into the cracked tunnel around him. Thrusters were created and left inactive at certain pressure points within the structure, waiting for his signal. All it took was a thought --

-- and the tunnel collapsed around them, sending them both falling down.

The Sasquatch's aim was thrown off as the ground buckled beneath it, and it flipped end over end as the two of them began their long descent to the area below. Muzazi did not miss his chance. Seizing the moment of confusion, he blasted himself forward -- thrusters like rockets -- and drew his ceremonial sword.

Your retaliation is based on the damage of my attack, Muzazi thought, circling behind his falling adversary. I see. What you told me is very important. Let's see, then… how you handle death from a thousand scratches.

Muzazi's instincts bid him towards the killing cut. He ignored them. Instead, as he circled the Sasquatch -- avoiding the manual heat bursts -- he cut poorly. He cut incorrectly. He cut so amateurishly that the greatest retaliation he received was sweat clinging to his forehead.

But he did cut. He cut and cut and cut, slowly chipping away at the Sasquatch's form.

“Why, you --!” the Sasquatch whirled around, aiming a punch at Muzazi's skull -- but Muzazi just let himself fall beneath the arm, granting it a few more insect bites on the way down.

“Stop that! This is fruitless!” the Sasquatch blasted heat downwards, but Muzazi became a blur of white light, ricocheting through the air until he was above the enemy once again.

“I said… I said! For the love of God, man!” A final swing, and a final failure. The tiniest scratch compromised stability just a little bit more than it could safely be compromised… and the Entity shattered into violent purple Aether.

Like a flood, it surged out of the maintenance layer, crawling up into the arena proper… and Muzazi followed.

The work would lead him to its maker.