I hope this message finds you well, Cloud. Before I begin, I feel like I should make clear that this is strictly in response to your recent proposal. Your other work on the project has been mostly acceptable.

However, your suggestion that we intentionally induce Aether Awakening in the final product of the Testament Project to increase its power is -- to put it simply -- idiotic. I must wonder if this was perhaps an ill-considered joke you were making? If so, please refrain from doing so in the future.

If it wasn’t, though, I feel I must remind you: the product of an Aether Awakening is not a human being, and it is not a power that can be maintained reliably. Aether is a product of human consciousness, and as we use it our own thoughts and memories ‘soak’ into it over time. This is the basis on which thought and memory reading techniques operate.

An Aether Awakening, then, is when the original user dies but their Aether lives on for a time, driven by the impressions soaked into it over the course of the user's life. In some cases, it may puppeteer the original body -- in others, it will form a physical shell for itself based on their former abilities. Its power may increase, abilities losing restrictions and limits. It may operate for brief moments or for years, but by nature they are transient beings. Once the personality traits that compose the Aether Core decompose, the Awakened being itself will disappear as well.

In essence, then, what you suggested is that we execute the being we have spent so much time and money on and replace it with a disintegrating zombie. I’m sure I don’t need to explain further why this is a bad idea.

If this is the extent of your thinking, I worry for your future in my lab.

Internal Message, Brinkmann Lab

Ruth and Bruno had to sweep the area first, but they found the two bodies before long.

"Shit," Ruth spat as she crouched down next to Isabelle Pi Testament. She still didn't understand what exactly they needed this woman for, but it was a pretty safe bet that her being alive was a requirement.

Bruno's eyes flicked between the two bodies -- between the pistol still clutched in Isabelle's hand and the holes in the other corpse. "Looks like she did him in," he grunted. "Are there any wounds on her?"

Ruth glanced at the other body, immediately recognising it as the Umbrant she, Bruno and Serena had fought previously, the one with all the ants. From the research Skipper had shown her afterwards, he'd been Pablo Wrae, one of the Apexbishop's closest confidants. His black eyes were still widened in fatal surprise. If he was dead, this was definitely a big deal.

"Ruth," Bruno repeated, louder. "The woman! Any injuries?"

"Right, right," Ruth turned back to the body, checking.

This was all moving too fast for her liking. First the thing with the GID, fighting Helga, and now all this business with the Superbians again. It got her blood pumping, sure, but there wasn't anything she could do with that rush.

A mystery wasn't something she could maul.

Ruth paused her search as she felt light breathing under her hands. "She isn't dead!" she called out. Bruno immediately rushed over.

It had been easy to make the mistake at first glance. Isabelle Pi Testament was staring blankly up at the ceiling, not blinking, not even responding when Bruno snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. The only sign of her being alive was that so-slight breathing, barely noticeable beneath her flowing robes.

"What happened?" Ruth wondered. "An Aether attack?"

Bruno clicked his tongue. "Hard to say. Either way, we need to get her back to the ship. We'll figure out what to do from there."

Without waiting any longer, he crouched down and scooped Isabelle up, throwing her over his shoulder. His cautious gaze flicked around the empty amphitheater one last time.

"There's no guarantee she was only fighting the one enemy," he muttered, voice low. "I'll do a ping to check things out. You keep me covered, okay?"

Ruth shook her head. "I'll do it." She was pretty good at recovering after a ping, after all. If someone launched a surprise attack, she'd be able to defend herself faster than Bruno. "Get behind me."

Bruno stepped behind her, and Ruth took a deep breath. There was a brief flicker of red as her Aether leapt out, the ping flooding through the surrounding area…

…and then her eyes widened.

There were threats all around them. There was a threat right above them. There was a threat coming down. Ruth shoved Bruno out of the way -- and a second later, the enemy landed in the spot he'd just been standing.

It was a massive ant, the size of a car, it's compound eyes reflecting and refracting Ruth's face a hundred times. It's legs were long and sharp enough that it could have impaled Bruno and Serena without a care, and it's mandibles twitched hungrily as they tasted the air.

Ruth had seen this sort of thing before. It was the dead man's ability. If it was still active, did that mean…?

It lunged at her.

Skeletal Set. Ruth flipped backwards, her armour materializing around her form as she avoided the ant’s bite. It stabbed at her with its front legs, but as she landed she parried the two blows with her claws, sparks and black blood flying out of the collision.

"Miss Ruth!" Serena cried, taking over from Bruno. Isabelle still slung over her shoulder, she began to run over.

She didn't get far.

Part of the floor exploded upwards as another ant, the size of a human torso, burrowed out of the ground. It lunged at Serena's stomach, its mandibles snapping in anticipation -- until Serena snatched it out of the air with one hand, grasping it by the throat. Its legs kicked wildly.

"Serena!" Ruth shouted, leaping over a swipe of her opponent's legs. "Don't touch it!"

She recognised it. She recognised that ant. It was the same as the one that had attacked them back in the chapel, that had teleported them away from Dragan and to Pablo Wrae.

Serena went to hurl the little beast away, but too late: there was a flash of yellow light, and when it cleared the two of them were gone. Teleported to who-knows-where.

Ruth gritted her teeth, looking down at her own massive opponent as she leapt through the air. It stared right back up at her with those massive eyes, diligently keeping watch.

And then, a muffled voice spoke.

"F-Farspy Ant. Common card. Allows player to teleport c-cards to and away from attack line. I remember it. You r-remember it too, don't you?"

The voice was unnaturally, joyously deepened, but Ruth recognised it all the same. It was the giddy voice of Pablo Wrae: the man lying dead on the floor. As the corpse lay still, looking at the ceiling with dead blank eyes, its voice still lingered in the world.

At first, Ruth thought the ant was the one speaking, but no -- the voice was coming from inside the ant's abdomen, muffled by the carapace around it. Ruth landed -- and at the same time, the ant's back exploded outwards, blood raining down.

A human torso, elongated and made wrong, writhed out of the ant's back, arms stretching up into the air. Ruth could do nothing but stare in horror as the nightmare made itself known to the world.

The thing was a parody of Pablo Wrae, his appearance similar in only the most basic of ways. His skin was a dull grey, like stone, and his fingers were dark and inhumanly long, tapering off into sheer points like the legs of an insect. As he smiled at her, his lips parted and tiny ants continuously crawled out of his mouth, up his cheeks, and into his ears -- forming a blackened grin. His grey hair had gone mad, long tufts sticking up into the air, forming a rudimentary mohawk.

Even after he'd burst out of it, the ant beneath Pablo remained alive, regaining its footing a moment later. Pablo's torso transitioned seamlessly into the smooth surface of the bug's carapace, the two of them one creature like a twisted centaur.

He pointed at her with a long, long finger, his painfully wide smile turning his face into little more than wrinkles.

She'd seen this before, on Taldan, when Chael had clawed his way back up from death. Aether Awakening.

"Ruth B-Blaine…" the Pablo-thing said, intelligence and malice dancing in his eyes. "Riiight?"

Muzazi's eyes were fixed on the rippling air that Lyons held in his hand, the collection of force that could certainly annihilate a human body with a glancing blow.

He'd managed to avoid the first attack, but it had required flying right up to the ceiling with the thrusters on his boots. Anything less would have meant his obliteration. He just had to look at the hangar to understand that.

The entire side of the room that Muzazi had been standing on was demolished, steel walls pulverized by sheer force, long open wounds leading into the maintenance tunnels beyond. In the distance, alarms were blaring: no matter the result of this bout, security would surely be here soon.

Lyons understood that too. Being seen here would be bad for him -- therefore, Muzazi had to make it happen. At the very least, it would prevent him from executing whatever vile plan he'd concocted.

Distraction and trickery weren't his preferred weapons, but if the need arose…

"I know that technique," Muzazi called down, still clinging to the ceiling. "That club you're using -- I've seen mention of it. It was used by the warrior Qillian Qillioph, a berserker who charged into battle for the sake of the Supremacy."

Lyons looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. He was pointing the club in Muzazi's direction like a cannon, but he'd be reluctant to use it at this angle. He wouldn't want to bring the roof down on himself, after all.

Muzazi continued: "Qillian perished in battle years ago -- or so history says. How long have you been going by the name Jean Lyons?"

Lyons' expression did not shift. If he was surprised at having his identity exposed, he did not show it. The rage he'd demonstrated earlier had been brought under control, as well.

"A warrior of the Supremacy, being given a new face and a new role?" the pale man said, strolling through the hangar -- clearly trying to find a better angle of attack. "You'd be surprised how often it happens, Atoy Muzazi." A strange smirk played across his lips, and Muzazi tensed up. Had he found the position he'd been looking for?

No. Alarm spiked through Muzazi's brain as he realized his miscalculation.

When his sword had been destroyed, the force of the detonation had come from within it. When Gertrude Hearth had died, she'd exploded from the inside. Lyons could put force into objects and release it at a time of his choosing, not just unleash blasts like he was doing now.

Muzazi was touching the ceiling.

Lyons was touching the floor.

Both of those things were connected by the wall.

Muzazi kicked off the ceiling --

Bang.

-- just in time to avoid the detonation, a blast like a landmine destroying the patch of roof that had been his shelter. If he'd still been there, it doubtlessly would have inflicted severe damage, perhaps even a mortal wound.

Not that he'd actually escaped danger.

As Muzazi flew down, Lyons kicked off the floor with a burst of force, zooming towards him in a blur of motion. Muzazi quickly created thrusters along the side of his body to move himself out of Lyons' path, but physical speed could only do so much against Aetheral mastery.

Lyons brought his club down like a hammer of god, the air screaming from the movement. Muzazi avoided the actual force of the attack by mere inches -- but the resultant air pressure got him all the same. His right arm popped and cracked as it received the brunt of the echoed blow, and his body went flying off across the room.

If he hit the wall, Lyons would take the opportunity and follow up on this attack. Muzazi wouldn't be able to dodge this time. Therefore, hitting the wall was simply not an option.

Full Throttle.

Countless thrusters, so small as to be nearly invisible, sprouted across Muzazi's form, giving him complete control over his own movements. He forced his body to a halt in mid-air, ignoring the pain from the forced maneuver, floating over the ground as he looked back at Lyons.

The game of patience had come to an end. Lyons landed on the floor and immediately pointed his club towards Muzazi. His brow was knitted in irritation.

"Five percent should leave this place intact," he muttered, adjusting his aim.

Lyons could only use so much of his power without bringing the hangar down upon himself. That would be Muzazi's path to victory. He'd dodge through Lyons' reduced attacks, find the vulnerability that surely must exist, and strike this bastard down.

For that, though…

His good hand grasped empty air.

…I'll need a sword.

This thought had been building under the surface for quite some time. Ever since the events on Panacea, there'd been a profound absence to his life -- holes from the things left behind. He'd been holding onto those holes as if they'd been the things themselves, as if allowing himself to heal would be an affront to them… but no more.

Jean Lyons was right about one thing. A swordsman without a sword was unsightly.

Radiance.

A thruster burst from Muzazi's palm, a spike of fire that began red, focused itself blue, and perfected itself into a single white line, as long as Muzazi's arm. As it developed, the noise of the thruster died down and silenced itself, evolving to a level behind the range of human hearing. A second, less prominent thruster sprouted on the back of Muzazi's hand, offsetting the propulsion from the first.

If he had no sword, then he'd use his Aether to make one.

This white saber of light was a Radiant -- and in this moment, Atoy Muzazi knew that it was the perfection of his ability. He waved it through the air, feeling it slash space with its very presence, before pointing it down at Lyons.

"Shall we dance, then?" he asked.

The two men moved.

Claws clashed in mid-air as Ruth pounced at Pablo, sparks flying as her metal spikes slammed into his blackened fingers.

No good. This thing's physical form was strong -- and much faster than his size would suggest. Ruth barely had time to kick off Pablo's abdomen and retreat before another claw-swipe would have cut her to ribbons. Pablo hissed at her animalistically as she landed back on the floor.

"Don't have time for this," he growled insistently. "D-Don't have time for this. I've been waiting years for this. Giovanni Sigma Testament. My Aether core is victory, you know? So I need to… So I absolutely need to get there. You're w-wasting my time. Get lost!"

He was much more lucid than Chael had been, but there was still something bizarre and artificial about the Pablo-thing's intelligence. It was like scraps of consciousness stitched together into the rough shape of a human mind, lingering impulses driving themselves forward.

A ransom note imitating a human being.

From what Ruth understood of Aether Awakening, it was when a person died but their Aether lived on, still intent on continuing their final drives. If that was the case, it would be bad to let this thing achieve his Aether core -- it could become Aether generating itself, self-perpetuating, and much more difficult to defeat.

Pablo licked his lips. He was muttering to himself. Ruth strained to hear.

"Ant HQ times t-two. Spawns one Recruant Token for each ant on my side of the f-field each turn. Mother B-Breed Ant times two. By devouring an ant on my side of the field, it s-spawns a Warrior Brave Ant. One Tyrant K-King Ant… grows stronger for every ant on the field. This move is banned in t-tournaments…"

Pablo grinned.

"...but not here, b-bitch."

The room exploded into skittering legs and compound eyes, ants of every shape and size leaping from every alcove to tear Ruth apart. She sighed, drawing her claws against each other, sparks raining down.

Seemed it was time for some extermination.

Dragan Hadrien was dying. If nothing else, that was obvious. He could feel the warm blood on his face turning cold.

He lay down there in the dark, among thick cables and busted machines, the only source of light being the weak flickering of his blue Aether. If not for that Aether, he knew he'd be dead already -- and it wasn't doing much. He was quickly losing blood from his missing arms and eye.

Getting up was impossible.

Moving was impossible.

Even breathing was becoming impossible.

Dragan stared up at the nothing above, cursing his own stupidity. He'd gotten arrogant. Since the whole thing that had happened with the Humilists, he'd started to believe that he'd gotten stronger, more proficient, more capable. Clearly that wasn't the case.

"Hey," said a voice. "You dead?"

A face suddenly appeared above him. The face of a young woman in miniature, wearing a sundress, hands on her hips as she stared condescendingly down at him. Her whole body, even her clothing, was purple -- like she was formed from some strange clay. Aether?

Dragan did not answer. The tiny girl looked up at something he could not see.

"I think he's dead," she said casually.

"He isn't dead," replied a calm male voice, drawing closer. "I can hear his heartbeat, and his eyes are following your movements. You need to pay attention to these things, Meli."

The little fairy rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

She zipped out of sight, becoming a ribbon of light for a moment. A second later, she was replaced by a new figure, a human-sized one looking down at Dragan.

It was the one with curly green hair, the one with the calm smile, the one Skipper had gone and met with. The man they called the Chorister. He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at Dragan's battered body.

"Do you want to live?" he asked.

There was no response.

"Do you want to kill?" he asked.

Dragan twitched. The Chorister smiled.