“Your ability is nothing,” said Mereloco.

The enemy, that emaciated scarecrow, glared back from across the luxurious room. Well, it used to be luxurious. Now blood drained into the carpet, and flies nibbled at the corpses. Now it was realistic.

“Talk big however you like, asshooole,” the enemy sneered. “You still can't tooouch me, biiitch.”

Mereloco cocked his head. “Huh? Sure I can.”

With heavy strides, he crossed the room, his form silhouetted by the cityscape through the wall-length window. The enemy tensed up, clearly expecting to teleport any second… but he did not. He stayed right where he was, even as Mereloco stopped right in front of him. Even as Mereloco extended a finger.

Even as Mereloco poked him in the chest.

“See?” he said. “You talk too much. If it's not an attack, I can touch you however I like. I could jerk you off if I felt like it.”

The enemy had heard enough. His familiar lunged towards Mereloco, fur parting to reveal a mouth full of fangs. It, too, was nothing.

Unchained.

The gravity manipulation was aimed at himself, not his enemy, and so no teleportation was triggered. Mereloco simply adjusted the pull of gravity on his own body, shifting its orientation to the wall behind him and causing him to fall away from the attack. He kept the ability active only for a moment, and so his bare feet quickly thudded back down on the blood-soaked carpet.

“You wanted me to try and counter attack,” he observed. “That way you'd appear behind and be able to backstab me. That's nothing, too. So long as I don't attack you, there's nothing to worry about.”

The enemy snarled, throwing knives slipping out of his sleeves and into his grip. “Sooo? If you can't attack me, you're still screwed, morooon!”

Mereloco scowled. “Don’t yell,” he grunted, reaching over to the table next to him.

The idiots had laid out some refreshments as self-congratulations, like they'd actually accomplished something. Nibbles and drinks -- champagne, specifically. That would work.

He snatched the bottle up with one hand -- and with the other, he slapped away the hail of knives. They bounced off the skin of his palm like it was solid steel. Sparks leapt out from the points of contact.

“You're not strong enough to hurt me,” he yawned. “And if I don't attack you, you can't get cheap shots in.”

More knives slipped into the enemy's hands. “You'll slip up eventuaaally,” he giggled, licking the blade. “I have all the time in the wooorld.”

Mereloco crossed the room -- not walking towards the enemy, but instead towards the window. He stood so close to it that his nose was touching the cold glass. He could see it all -- Azum-Ha, spread out like a feast covered in insects.

It wasn't much.

His fist lashed out again, shattering the window in a single Aether-infused blow. Wind whipped through the penthouse -- the enemy raised his hands to shield himself, but Mereloco accepted the fresh air gratefully, spreading his arms wide. He took a deep breath in through his nose.

“Dooon’t think you can get away,” the enemy snarled. “We’re huuundreds of floors up!”

“Yeah,” Mereloco smirked, glancing back over his shoulder. “We are.”

He turned, on the spot, right on the edge of the window. A single step back and he would plummet to his doom. That was fine, though. He wouldn't take that step back, and it wasn't important anyway. What was important…

…was the fact that behind him, right now, was nothing but empty air.

The enemy paled. He'd realized it too. He took a step back as Mereloco raised the bottle of champagne, cork pointed towards the adversary's head.

That unsightly, vicious grin spread across Mereloco's face once more. “Your ability’s automatic, but I bet you can deactivate it. You're lucky. You get a choice.”

The curtains billowed in the gale.

“Wait,” the enemy murmured.

“You can die from the fall,” Mereloco said steadily.

“Wait!” the enemy screamed.

Mereloco's grip tightened around the neck of the bottle. “Or you can die from this going right through your skull.”

The enemy turned and desperately -- pathetically -- tried to flee, half-running half-crawling in the instant afforded to him.

“Waaait!” he screeched.

Pop.

Azrael didn't need to be told to run.

That Atoy Muzazi was too damn sharp, and the Sasquatch was too damn arrogant. Even if he'd tried to conceal some of his attacks, he'd had no reason to explain how his retaliation worked so thoroughly. Azrael knew it wasn't honour -- the things he'd seen the Sasquatch do so happily would not permit that -- so there was no explanation but cockiness.

Azrael didn't know where his Guardian Entity got that from. Certainly not from him. He knew when to cut and run.

Just as he was doing now.

Azrael made his way through the crowds in the grand foyer of the Arena of the Absolute, surrounded on all sides by the masses who had come to see the opening ceremony. The whole gathering had become a festival of confusion. News was coming in of the assassination attempts on the Dawn Contestants, broadcast on giant monitors above.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Had the fights begun early? Was this some kind of terrorist attack?

Nothing so grandiose. The Crimson Carnival had been dispatched to draw out the abilities of the other contestants -- giving Nael the intelligence he needed to devise strategies against them. Victory was not expected. They were to see what the enemy was capable of, then flee.

Most wouldn't do that, though. This profession attracted the crazies. But, even if they lost some people, that was fine. It couldn't be helped.

This was their biggest ever job, after all.

As Azrael wormed his way into the crowd, he did his best to conceal himself behind the walls of humanity. The Sasquatch’s essence would be here soon. He couldn't afford to be out in the open when it rejoined his Aether.

It was very difficult to kill a Guardian Entity. They could die, of course, but the death would have to be completely instantaneous. If they were near death, even centimeters near it, they were programmed to dissipate into Aether and return to their master. Taking damage like that would put most out of commission for a while, but they'd live to fight another day.

Usually, that would be an advantage, but in a situation like this…

Atoy Muzazi would be following the trail. It was the obvious course of action against an unseen enemy. He'd chase the Sasquatch all the way up here -- and once he'd confirmed Azrael as the user, he’d cut him down. Azrael didn't have the skills or the temperament needed to take on the Full Moon one-on-one.

Sweat ran down his forehead, and he quickly wiped it away. Atoy Muzazi would be here any second. The slightest anxiety could give him away. Still, he needed to think, he needed to think of something… even if he concealed his nervousness, it wouldn't matter if Muzazi saw the Sasquatch return to his Aether.

There was one thing.

He had no guarantee it would work, but according to the rules he'd been taught, according to the principles of a Guardian Entity… there was a shot. A shot in the dark, but a bullet fired all the same. It wasn't like he had anything to lose.

Purple Aether crawled from around the corner. A second later, Atoy Muzazi appeared in pursuit -- thrusters blazing from his heels so he looked like he was roller skating…

…and Azrael let loose an Aether ping.

The Sasquatch will automatically return to my Aether, he thought. But that Aether doesn't need to be attached to me.

Muzazi braced himself as a nearly invisible wave of Aether brushed past him, his own Aether sparking in response. The purple trail he'd been following suddenly vanished, as if it had been swallowed by the wave, completely gone. Damnation. Had he really lost them?

No. Not yet. That had been an Aether ping -- and one from very close by. Whoever had done that would still be here. He could still find them.

The crowd backed away nervously from Muzazi, forming a clearing in the sea of man. It was no surprise. He was still holding that ceremonial sword in his hand, after all -- chipped and battered as it was -- and he was a Dawn Contestant. This half-face had been on the news for quite a while now.

“Nobody move!” he barked, injecting Aether into his voice -- making it booming and resonant. “There is an assassin among us!”

Fearful murmurs ran through the crowd -- and some people ignored Muzazi's demand, breaking away and fleeing, but he ignored them. The assassin would not make themselves stand out from the crowd. If the majority were to remain here, so would they.

Muzazi let out an Aether ping of his own, but found no response. No surprises there. No doubt this assassin was adept at Aether cloaking.

But that could only do so much. An idea occurred to Muzazi: all Aether cloaking did was force one's Aether not to reveal itself. The Aether was still there. It was still infused into the body.

It would still reject outside influence.

White Aether ran out of Muzazi's legs and began to flow across the floor, surfing towards the crowd. He would attempt to create a thruster on each body his Aether made contact with -- not to cause harm, but merely to check if the user was protected. As soon as he was unable to create a thruster, he would know for sure, but --

“Hey, asshole!” roared the Sasquatch. “Don't you fucking move!”

-- but the enemy wouldn't just sit by and watch that happen.

Azrael's hands shook, so he steeled them as much as he could. He couldn't risk anything right now. He still had a chance, but barely. No more mistakes could be permitted.

He'd managed to bring out the Sasquatch again. With the damage it had sustained, he'd only been able to bring out the Guardian Entity's upper half, but that was fine. It protruded from the floor like a plant, immobile, but Azrael had chosen the spawn location well.

In one hand, it clutched the head of a child.

A little girl, maybe eight or nine, all pigtails and freckles. A perfect hostage. Even if Atoy Muzazi was the sort who'd accept that sacrifice to destroy his enemy, he wouldn't do so in front of so many people. His reputation would die with the kid.

“Deactivate your Aether!” the Sasquatch yelled, all civility forgotten as it jabbed a finger at Muzazi. “Right now, or I kill this brat!”

Slowly, Atoy Muzazi turned his head. His grey eye glinted with death.

“Hey!” the Sasquatch screamed, tightening its grip on the child just a tad. “Dig that wax out of your ears and listen up! I said --”

Muzazi interrupted.

“It's fortunate,” he murmured. “I thought your user might be a respectable sort of person, someone I would have second thoughts about. Your manners gave that impression, too. But no… you're just a piece of shit, aren't you?”

“I'm not kidding! She'll die!”

Muzazi took a step forward. The Sasquatch recoiled back.

“No, no no no! Get back! Get back right now! Or else I'll --”

Atoy Muzazi glared.

“Cease your bleating,” he said.

He had a plan, Azrael realized. Clearly, he had a plan, but it didn't matter. Even if Muzazi defeated the Sasquatch again and rescued that hostage, there'd still be panic and confusion -- panic and confusion Azrael could escape in. He could slip into the fleeing crowds. He could make a getaway. He could wait until another moment, a better moment, and make this bastard pay for --

“Compass,” Jamilu said solemnly. “The ability's user.”

The spear flew.

In the instant before Muzazi would have dispatched the Sasquatch himself, it suddenly shattered into Aether -- its final scream echoing through the atrium. The girl it had been holding up dropped down to the ground, quickly running back to her parents -- her cries of fear echoing just as much. It seemed someone had beaten him to the punch.

Muzazi let out a deep breath as he turned on his heel, towards the sound he'd heard -- the sound of a life ended.

The Sasquatch's user hovered dead in the air, chest impaled from behind by the blade of a floating red spear. As Muzazi watched, the master of the spear stepped forward and pulled it from the young man's carcass, letting him drop down to the ground. The warrior -- dark-skinned, dressed in a baggy green raincoat -- spun the weapon in his hand, letting specks of blood spray onto the white floor.

He looked Muzazi up and down.

“Atoy Muzazi,” he finally said, his gaze softening just a bit. “It looks like I misjudged you. We need to talk.”