Please. There is no Praetor I hold more respect for. You have done enough. Sacrificed enough. We are in a good age. Take your time to join me on this peak.
See you soon, friend."
- Letter from Legate Vicar to Praetor Vermillion one week before he entered his Ten-Year training.
Dante nodded to his friend through the barrier that gradually fell after Rejo’s Domain Collapse had finished its game. He had underestimated the man. And he admitted it to himself.
The human had been so absorbed in the battle, plots, and other crew members that he had forgotten the one who had saddled alongside him so many moons ago.
So many planets ago.
So many Sectors ago.
They had traveled trillions of miles across the stars, sharing stories, beers, and blood.
As such... Dante trusted his friend with the one job he would give to no one else. He recalled how they had first met. The damn Araki had been homeless after leaving his family and planet, unable to find a job or even collect a bounty.
No one would listen to him. They couldn’t understand him, even with their translators. But the human stopped outside that Starport. He had recently lost some crewmembers, leaving two others in total from a lousy assignment.
Dante saw through the disheveled man. He peered above the lines of starvation and the signs of dehydration. He raised a hand to pierce through the language barrier, for what he saw lay beyond the physical.
The eyes.
Here and now, Dante shifted his attention to Hana, for he saw those eyes again in his friend. The fervent, impossibly devoted, and endlessly determined pupils of red.
While Friday stood, stunned by the counterattack, Dante told his dearest friend, “Don’t let him get a fruit.”
A firm hum echoed as his sole reply, for the two immediately reentered their respective battles. Rejo dashed toward Friday while Dante ducked beneath a water bullet, sprinting to aid Eight in the fight. The teen had kept up with Hana fine on his lonesome, but they both wished to end her here.
As such, they worked together, inching closer to the Anathema between their combined assault. However, they remained alert, aware that she held a Domain Collapse up her sleeve.
Daggers of ice flew at her throat, only to be blown up by a fusillade of rounds from her floating weapons. In the shadow of Eight’s attack, Dante spewed a line of compressed water, pushing himself to his limits. Still, the woman deflected it with a shield of her own. All the while, she kept her distance, preferring to fight at a distance.
Nearby, Melody lost a single bout against Lucius in close combat and made the prompt decision to run from him. Her notes entered the air continuously, but they could not do more than injure the Martian. Such wounds merely made him more powerful.
Several rounds passed until more hands touched the top of the Inferose. At the sight of them, Melody and Hana grew more panicked. The former released her music at a higher, more rapid volume as Talander and Yue crested the Inferose.
Eight hollered at them the instant they arrived, and the third that climbed behind them all the way from the bottom, “Hey! Slowpokes! Get over here!”
Talander was the first to move, his lithe form practically slithering across the peak with a blade’s swiftness. As he did so, Hana cursed, forming twice as many weapons while her teeth grit in fury. She had long been touted as the strongest Anathema on this side of the galaxy, confident in killing any other in a duel or slaying any random Centurion.
Since she set upon stealing the Inferose’s inheritance under Geist’s mouth, she hadn’t once fought a single opponent. Dirge were solitary creatures, rarely in groups of more than one at the same maturity. Two alone were an abnormality.
The Seacursed were a little different, though. They would gather together in teams to fight those that they otherwise would stand no chance against. That typically wasn’t a problem either, solved with a single Domain Collapse.
But her eyes stayed on Dante. The last time they had fought, he was the reason she lost. If she used it too early, it would spell her death from the others like Friday, Melody, Astraeus, or that damned Judge.
So, she weighed her options, staring at them all.
Bullets soared at Talander, deflected by one of his three blades, while Yue dashed across the concave peak, firing off her guns. Steel met water in the air myriad times in a split second. This diverted Hana’s attention, allowing Eight to Dive right behind her.
His dagger sought her heart, but she caught it with a back-handed palm. A revolver of Hydro slid up her other hand, aiming for Eight’s eyes while she held on tight and said, “I know your trick. Can’t teleport if I hold onto you, huh?”
The Cryo’s smile vanished as panic spread across his face. He struggled against the grip while Hana completed her weapon and pulled the trigger. Her creation hurled into his vision, only to meet the endless sky.
“You think I can teleport? Girly, that’s just the tip,” Eight scoffed with a smile.
From the moment he had wasted her attention, Dante drew closer, and he threw a bag at Hana. The woman leaped to the side, forced to come into swords-length of Talander. Hana feared the bombs the human toted, and fighting his clone had replenished what he had lacked.
A sword slashed at her face with brutal alacrity. Talander and Hana entered a dance of Hydro and Cryo within a moment. Ice grew along his steel, enhancing his speed and power to match her weapons in such close quarters.
Furthermore, she still had to deal with Yue, Dante, and Eight. The four alone overwhelmed her. Then, a fifth joined.
Rosa dashed in between Talander’s swords, wielding her long bowie knives wrapped in thorns. Mist drifted from her pores, signaling her brand of Tide as three beat Hana down at once.
Between Eight’s icicles from the void, Talander’s unceasing blades, and Rosa’s calculated knives, Hana lost her advantage as she was thrown in each direction at once, barely staving off lethal wounds. The calculated bullets from Yue brought her over the edge and into desolation.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Dante crept along the edge, too tired to engage fully but too invested to back down. He still retained the energy for one to two moves. He was merely eyeing the Anathema, waiting for her hands to thrust together.
Finally, she leaped away, rolling with a trail of water leaking from the handful of wounds she had sustained. As a Dirge, no blood of theirs was simple. Hana’s opponents rushed at her, withstanding or evading a volley of teardrops from newly converged, larger ordinances.
One hit each of the pugilists, yet Talander and Eight diverted most of the damage with a swift formation of Cryo. Meanwhile, Rosa ignored the damage, letting her Miro heal it. After seeing them continue despite the bullets, her lips drew a thin line. It seemed as though she fought against some part of herself before she settled into madness.
“You bastards... Do you know what it’s like in that ocean? Alone? You people have never been alone... you and your hordes... I’m... I just... wanted... to be free. And you’re... stopping me. That means... I have to kill you. All of you,” Hana’s words seemed bizarre to everyone present, barring Dante. The woman was a Dirge, and she was far beyond the limit for the Lightsea to own her mind.
The human’s eyes narrowed as her hands came together. Eight teleported beside her, slashing in desperation while Talander chucked his right-handed sword. Even Rosa threw her knife with an underhanded move.
None of it mattered, however, as a wall of water protected her, birthed from her very words.
“Domain Collapse: Ship Of Morrow’s Wind.”
The Hydro curved and bent into the shape of a miniature, ancient ship around her, an idolatry of bygone eras. It started small, just large enough to encompass her body, but it rapidly ballooned in size.
Her expanding Tide washed away Eight, slamming the teen against Talander and sending the two across the peak. They rolled all the way to the edge, holding on just barely. The others steadied their feet as a giant structure formed before them.
Dante’s mind wracked, spinning through the possibilities. He stretched to find an answer, a way through this Domain Collapse as its aura eclipsed his body.
Either a Mystique, Fused, or Golden. With her regeneration from water Stigmata... I don’t think it’s a Fused. Or a Mystique. This seemed like a honed Golden. Right. Not all Domain Collapse with Hydro has to be a tsunami. Or rain. They can be a wide array of things, even within the same category.
He found his answer, but it didn’t bring him much closer to a solution. Astraeus wasn’t up here yet to counter her Domain Collapse, and without it, he and the others were sitting ducks.
Dante’s flesh shivered as the ship’s bow opened like a maw, jagged edges of roiling water revealing Hana. Her face showcased a boiled fury directed straight toward the human.
She took one step as cannons unfurled within, hissing with the Morrow’s Wind’s teeth. They primed to fire, the Hydro accumulating faster than anything Dante had ever witnessed other than from Praetor Sun herself.
However, a single tap of a footstep knocked the wind from Hana’s sails, and a sudden fist emerged from her chest, holding an azure, beating heart. Her face turned behind her in utter shock, but her eyes never bore witness to the figure.
A firm swipe removed her head, sending it splashing into the collapsing ship of water. In a mere moment, the once-indomitable Domain shattered. All that remained was the ankle-height water and Hana’s rolling head.
Dante’s eyes ignored the disbelief in the Anathema’s deceased gaze and, instead, stared at his loathed copy. Silence reigned, with even Friday and Rejo entering a ceasefire, deep panting emerging from both pairs of lungs.
The first to speak was the man himself, patting off the water and blood from his body as if it were simple dust, “Hello there, Dante. Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Judas laughed with a dry tone. His other hand then dropped another head, that of a Weren. “I brought you all a gift.”
************************
A groan echoed through the low mist, obscuring two near-dead figures. A lone pair of footsteps resounded, tapping incessantly upon the confines of the ruined battlefield.
Joan’s eyes peered around her. She took stock of the wartorn blossom and reconstructed the scene from before in her mind like an investigator. After all, she had once been a homicide detective.
A movie formed in her mind, that of a vast array of fog, constructed by a...
Her foot knocked into something and distracted her thoughts. With a glance downward, she saw two identical bodies, each ripped apart to the point that she let out a slight whistle.
But only one was missing her head. Joan knelt beside Sonna while her mind continued the reconstruction.
Two Sonnas created a field of disorienting and draining fog. She held off an insurmountable foe by running herself to the bone, saved by... someone.
A syringe slid into Sonna’s throat, injecting the duplicated yet essential medicine to help recover her dire wounds. If there were anyone else to arrive, she would have been doomed. However, the doctor she was blessed to have was the Harenlar, who specialized in keeping even those who wished to die alive.
Joan tapped Sonna’s mouth lightly, urging her to wake up as she walked toward where a trickle of water came from. The doctor stepped only a few dozen paces before she found Claudius Vermillion. And she gasped aloud, shocked by the Judge’s condition.
His eyes were hollow orbs of pure crimson, bulging from their sockets like overworked, inflamed muscles. Strips of flesh had been ripped out across his body, all the exact places that wouldn’t impair his movement or strength. The man lost at least fifteen pounds of fat and non-essential muscle.
Joan fell to his side, intrigued by how he had done such a thing. But Claudius stunned her once more by opening his mouth, “That man... is a monster. No matter what I did... I couldn’t beat him. Couldn’t even hurt him. All I could do was... slow him with Sonna’s help. And he was... playing with me. Demanding answers of the future... He will claim the Inferose. He will slaughter us all.”
Coughs of blood emerged from his throat, and the doctor immediately tended to him. One from afar would imagine Joan as a caring nurse with the way she tilted his body and wiped away the Tianshe’s blood. Medicine flowed into his flesh as she knew they needed the Judge alive. Judas had done this. Dante’s fears had come true. Only he could possess such power to utterly overwhelm Claudius.
“Did you see a way out?” Joan asked with suspicion. She didn’t believe in Seers or their ability to peer into fate, but Claudius was powerful. He had to have figured something out, even with his life at the doorsteps.
A low nod shook her hands as Claudius sputtered, “Yes. We need to give Eight the Fruit O’ Mirror,” his words paused for a second with a cough. His plan only brought more suspicion to Joan until he changed the tone from helping his Jury. “Then... we need to give Friday the Fruit O’ Flame. Only then can we hold off for the Inferose to collapse.”
Joan’s eyes narrowed, believing the Tide-Seer. She flicked her gaze over to the corpse and the breathing Sonna. Then, she opened her mouth, “Okay. I can let Dante know. What about her? Is the real one dead?”
A moment passed as Joan’s frozen heartbeat rose a degree higher than usual. However, it swiftly returned to normal as Claudius spoke with a drifting voice, “He killed the fake. I managed to trick him. Cost me one eye. The other... gave me that plan. Give it to Dante. He’ll... he’ll figure out the rest.”
“Oh, no, you fucking don’t,” Joan spat as she hauled Claudius to his feet. A vial of pitch-black serum flooded him while his body shook from her frustration. The Brute she had made with ramshackle tools with her clone brought the Judge the strength to stand on his own.
It was her only Brute. Even with the combined resources, that was all that remained. She stepped back toward her own crewmate while Claudius huffed in exhilaration. The man’s flesh regrew and the swelling of his eyes lessened.
The Brute serum had improved, though only to a minor degree, despite the death of the one she knew best.
Joan wrapped Sonna’s arms around the taller Harenlar’s shoulder before returning to Claudius. The doctor had left her blossom, not wanting to go directly to the top. Whatever was up there didn’t interest her in the slightest, and she knew Dante wouldn’t account for her due to the nature of the Third Trial.
But now, things were different. Joan had been delivered proof that Dante and the rest could not handle the coming calamity. Her eyes pierced through Claudius’ swollen, blind eyes just as they regained light.
“What’s the fastest way up?” she sighed, hating that she would have to fight instead of experiment.
Claudius pointed toward the sole ascending blossom, only a few hundred feet in the air, “That.”
Then, the Judge stumbled forward. His first two steps were drunken and hardly placed at all, but the third and fourth held a burgeoning strength. The fifth and sixth showcased stability. By the eighth, his back stood ramrod as one arm entered the sky above. For a faint moment, Joan saw the shadow of an older, more experienced man stand beside Claudius, a hand nearing the younger man's shoulder.
But in the next moment, that shadow vanished as it never existed.
Water coalesced around that shoulder, rising to his upper arm, then his forearm, onto his palm, and ultimately cresting upon his fingertips. Claudius’ mind recalled his grandfather's vision and the techniques left to him as a Hydro of the Vermillion House. As the last of House Vermillion.
He had tried to conjure his family’s hereditary techniques but consistently failed. There was no one to teach him. Praetor Sun didn’t know them, even as Gaius’ student. However, the brush with death had lent him a new perspective.
Time was life. Life was time. With time came power and importance.
Most Seafarers and Dirge, regardless of their strengths or affiliation, used their Tides without thought. They simply conjured their abilities and manipulated reality to their desire. Such was done in no time at all.
Therein lay the secret. Claudius, at long last, understood why Praetor Sun beat chanting into him. Why she constantly made sure he was using it. And why... she always said his grandfather would never stop talking.
He gave up time to chant. He gave up his life to chant. And that brought power. It wasn't something anyone could use, either. Only a being with the Lightsea's grace could bend the rules for power.
Claudius’ mouth opened as he stared at the ascending island of the Inferose’s flower.
“Draco qui volat aeternitatem tenet.”
Only Claudius knew what his words meant as the island flew higher and higher. However, he did not stop because of Joan’s inquisitive and accusatory gaze. Instead, his voice grew louder, more spirited with each syllable.
“Utinam cras videre vivam.”
Again, he spoke, with a rising anthem of Hydro across his body. The accumulating Tide was ready to burst but instead held at bay, exponentially growing in strength as it raged against its cage. Claudius. His following sentence, however, sealed the technique he had created at this moment, inspired by his grandfather’s actions to save countless lives.
“Si ego non vivam, tum mundus erit!”
In his own words, he proclaimed his purpose and his will, shedding away valuable time and imbuing his will, purpose, and soul into the Lightsea.
Little change would have come to another with a lesser bound or aptitude. The Lightsea shared only meager scraps with most of those who bore its might.
For one as blessed as the last Vermillion…
It responded. And it did so with the utmost sincerity. A coiling dragon emerged upon the Judge’s right arm with a watery, transparent substance before shooting off into the sky.
A second later, its jaws clamped against the blossom’s side hundreds of feet into the air. Claudius’ other arm grabbed onto Joan while the adrenaline of Brute gave him the strength to carry both women.
Then, the stream of the flowing dragon carried them into the sky.