Muzazi rolled to avoid the incoming blow.

Mariana pan Helios' sword pierced the pillow he'd been resting on -- and in a flurry of movement, shredded it. As feathers rained down around them, Muzazi snatched his own sword off the bedside table and unsheathed it, pointing it at his fellow Blade. The veiled woman calmly walked around the bed, inexorably advancing upon him.

"Officer pan Helios!" Muzazi barked, his eyes fixed on her sword. There was dried blood on it. "What are you doing?!"

It was foolish to expect a response. Mariana pan Helios remained silent as ever as she entered Muzazi's range, and in that moment --

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Instinct led Muzazi to parry the first two strikes with Luminescence, but confusion softened his blocking of the third. The enhanced force of the blow sent him backwards, his back slamming hardily against the exit doors. They smoothly slid open in response.

Mariana pan Helios began walking forward again.

What was going on? Why was this woman attacking him? Morgan had spoken of a traitor in their midst, someone who had killed Gustavo Mordecai and had been attempting to kill Muzazi, but Morgan had believed that person to be Gretchen Hail. Had the younger man just been mistaken, or was Mariana working with her? Or was this something else entirely?

No matter. It didn't change what Muzazi had to do: survive.

"Officer pan Helios," Muzazi said firmly, voice hardening as he regained his focus. "I don't know why you are attacking me, but know this: if you continue to do so, I will have no choice but to respond in kind." He drew Luminescence back, a snake ready to lunge.

Mariana pan Helios did not stop. Her thin blade swayed at her side, and then…

They called Mariana pan Helios the Silent Sword, and in combat it was easy to see why. Discounting her verbal silence, her blade moved as quietly as the grave. There was no whooshing of the air as she struck, no brushing of the hilt against her hands. The only sound their clashes made came from his own sword, clumsy clangs making her own elegance stand out even more.

In terms of speed, they were about even, but the fact that Muzazi could rely on no sense but sight made his motions sluggish and uncertain. Her assault was relentless and untiring, and even as Muzazi parried and blocked he found himself being forced backwards.

The cramped confines of the infirmary were limiting his movements, and the hallway wouldn't be much better -- he needed to get himself into a more open space. Muzazi blazed a thruster on the front of his chest, blasting himself backwards…

…and collided with the hulking figure standing behind him.

He looked up, eyes wide, and a horror looked back down. A man with half his head missing, his jaw replaced with hanging gristle, his one remaining eye burning an unearthly purple. Edward Grace, dead -- and reanimated. Had Mariana gone after him as well?

Before Muzazi could move, Edward grabbed him by the head with his one arm -- and hurled him down the hallway with a roar.

Aclima's face hurt. That was the first thing she became aware of.

The second was that she must have been knocked unconscious, at least for a short while. There was a gap in her memory that couldn't be explained any other way. Rubbing her bruised face, she gingerly looked up.

The false Heir.

He was still standing there, in the spot where he'd first landed, staring wordlessly at her. Specks of her blood coated his clenched fist -- and as Aclima explored the damage with her hand, she felt blood gushing from her nose. She gulped.

If the false Heir had any intention of finishing her off, he didn't seem to be acting on it. He just continued to stare at her with those blank eyes -- not even blinking. The only sign that he hadn't died on his feet was the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Aclima moved her arm to pick herself up -- and the boy's head immediately snapped in the direction of the offending limb. His breathing stopped, and his pupils shrunk to such a degree that they were barely visible. The power of his glare was such that it was as if the movement had been an offense against life itself.

She remained as still as she could, and the boy's focus waned. Eventually, his pupils became visible again, and he turned back to look at her directly. Still, he did not speak. Apart from the angle of his head, he did not move.

"Hello?" Aclima squeaked.

There was no answer.

"Can you understand me?" she asked.

Again, no answer.

He's like an automatic, Aclima suddenly thought, looking at the boy. Like a doll made of meat. He just… does stuff. He only cares if I move, so… he wants to keep me here.

She couldn't just stay here, could she? If the boy wanted her to stay put, there could be no good result to it. Perhaps he had comrades on the way. But comrades wouldn't be required for an assassination. Was this a kidnapping, then? People looking to ransom her, maybe?

What could she do? She couldn't just lie here, could she? But surely someone must be on their way. Mr. Kojirough, or Mr. Grace, or someone…

She thought back to the last time someone had tried to kill her. A Scurrant with bones and organs so soft they could squeeze through a closed door, oozing into this room. They'd broken a vase and come at her with the shard. She'd thought she was going to die.

Back then, she had completely frozen. No matter what the Scurrant had wanted to do, she would have been helpless.

But before he could reach her, his head had vanished. Nigen Rush had cut it off in a movement so fast it had been invisible. The assassin had fallen, his hot blood splashing on her face like a burning hand. Sometimes, in her dreams, Aclima could still feel it.

"Never allow fear to control you," he had said back then, as calmly as ever, sheathing his golden sword. "Acknowledge it, yes -- but do not surrender to it. If you cannot fight, think. Think until you know your escape."

He'd never been the most tactful person -- the blood on her face hadn't even dried when he'd said that -- but Rush's words had stuck with her all the same. Think, she told herself. Think.

If the false Heir had been given orders to keep her here, that meant that whoever was giving the orders wanted her alive. That meant that the false Heir couldn't kill her, didn't it? He could move to incapacitate, but he couldn't actually end her life.

So long as she didn't move, then, couldn't she do as she liked?

Aclima took a deep breath. "HELP!" she screamed, at the top of her impressive lungs. "HELP!"

The false Heir said nothing. She didn't know if anyone outside would be able to hear her cries, but it certainly wouldn't hurt. Her eyes flicked back to the young boy.

"Who are you working for?" she asked.

From what she'd seen, there was no way this flesh machine was actually in charge of the operation. He was a figurehead that the Kingmakers had used, something dressed up to look like a child of the appropriate age. He was not here on his own initiative. No… this was something that had been created -- and someone capable of creating this had to be very powerful indeed.

Most likely he wouldn't answer, but --

"We await the return of our King," the boy said.

Aclima froze, her eyes widening to saucers. The very fact he'd answered was surprising, but it wasn't what had inspired such shock. No, what had done that was the boy's voice.

It was not the voice of a child. The deep tones of an older man poured emotionlessly out of the boy's mouth, utterly incongruous with his appearance. Even as the mouth moved, though, the rest of the false Heir's face remained utterly still. A shudder went down Aclima's spine.

"What?" she asked.

No answer.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

The boy did not blink. "We await the return of our King." The exact same words in the exact same tone. Not even a quaver of his too-deep voice was off from the last time he'd said it.

Just like a recording.

Muzazi focused his Aether on defense as he was thrown through the wall, crashing through into the dark maintenance tunnels beyond. Even with that precaution, though, cuts and bruises coated his body from the beating he'd already received. Aether could only do so much.

He flipped onto his feet immediately, glass crunching under his boots. He had no time to get his bearings. The monster after him would not take a moment, either.

The reanimated corpse of Edward Grace charged through the hole in the wall, an inhuman roar bellowing out of his throat. It was like a death-rattle amplified by a thousand, clicking interspersed with rushing breath. Grace now had many more injuries to join the ones that had killed him, but he showed no signs of slowing.

The deep cuts and slashes Muzazi had given his former comrade were no more than decorations.

These tunnels were dark, filled with piping and machinery, made uncomfortably hot by their hard work. Muzazi felt sweat trickle down his temples as the brute charged towards him -- if this was to work, he had to wait for the last possible moment. The last… possible… moment…

Now!

In the instant before Grace would have slammed into him, Muzazi used his thrusters to blast himself up towards the ceiling, and the zombie passed by beneath his feet. As they crossed paths, Muzazi deactivated the thrusters once again, allowing himself to fall -- and he drew Luminescence back, ready to strike at the back of Grace's exposed neck. If nothing else, then hopefully decapitation would do the trick. Even if it didn't kill the zombie, it would certainly hinder his ability to sense Muzazi.

Atoy Muzazi struck --

-- and was repelled as Mariana pan Helios leapt into the battle once more.

Muzazi gritted his teeth, using his thrusters to zoom down the tunnel and avoid Mariana's second slash. This woman was using a troublesome strategy.

Pain.

Muzazi glanced down at his hands as he landed, and his eyes widened in horror. There, coating his knuckles and fingers, were countless tiny insects, forming a dark mass. Purple Aether sparked around them as they scratched and bit at his hands.

Mariana pan Helios had the ability to reanimate and control the dead, but that wasn't necessarily limited to people. Presumably, she kept a supply of these dead flies on herself, ready to reanimate whenever the need arose. Muzazi squeezed Luminescence tighter, even as he felt tiny dead mouths nibbling at him. In this situation, he didn't have the time to get them off.

Grace charged again, tearing a pipe free from the wall with his one arm and brandishing it as a weapon. Mariana advanced, too, but slightly behind -- clearly ready to take advantage of the opening that Grace would create. He could see them there -- more flies, flitting around Mariana's sword, forming a hazy afterimage. When their blades clashed, they'd leap over to his body.

Atoy Muzazi took in a deep breath…

Wait. Why do I fear?

…and stopped running.

He'd faced worse than this. He'd faced an infamous knight wreathed in shadow. He'd faced a monster from the pits of hell. He'd faced a body crumbling to dust in his arms. He hadn't run from those, even when victory was impossible.

Why, then, was he running from this?

Muzazi charged forward, letting out a resounding warcry, Luminescence held high above his head. Neither Mariana nor her thrall hesitated at his sudden change of strategy, but Atoy Muzazi paid them no mind. He didn't know why he was being attacked like this, but there was only one kind of answer he could give.

It was easy to find a way out of this situation, once you abandoned panic. The corpse of Edward Grace was being granted strength and durability by Mariana's purple Aether, but it could not possibly be as consistent as Grace's own had been. There would be weak spots in that defense, angles of attack that could not be prepared for in advance. Muzazi would take advantage of that.

Grace swung his heavy arm, roaring his dry roar, and Muzazi threw himself down -- sliding across the floor until he was right in front of Grace's wounded chest. He plunged his hand into the massive cut, silver Aether coursing along the limb, and planted as many thrusters as he could -- inside Grace's body.

It was the work of a moment, but that was still nearly too long. Muzazi kicked off of Grace's chest as Mariana's sword came down, nearly cutting his arm off. If she'd realized what his strategy was, though, she showed no sign of it.

As he flew back down the hallway, Muzazi clenched his fist.

Thrusters -- activate!

Blazing light erupted from Grace's wound, and the sound of the thrusters overpowered what snarls made it out of the corpse's mouth. All the zombie could do was stand there, quivering for a moment, before --

Forgive me, old soldier.

-- it exploded into gore, each part of its body pushed in a different direction, showering the hallway in blood and entrails.

There was no time for disgust or horror at the sight. Muzazi blasted himself forward again, using the red mist as a smokescreen, and struck at the spot where he knew Mariana had been standing. Against an opponent like this, there could be no mercy. He went for the head.

He could not see the result, but he felt it. Luminescence bit into the meat of a throat -- and as Muzazi wrenched it through, he felt flesh give way to empty air, and heard something heavy thump wet onto the floor. Muzazi landed on one knee, blood falling from his sword.

The red mist passed, revealing and confirming it.

Mariana pan Helios' head had been severed from her shoulders. They lay there, separated, Mariana's veil parted by the way her head had fallen. Her pale face was utterly calm… no, not just calm, emotionless -- like a doll.

Why had this woman attacked him? Why had she killed Edward Grace? What was going on here?

He didn't have time to ponder these questions now. Whatever this emergency was, it was likely still ongoing. He needed to get back into contact with the other Blades -- if nothing else, they'd likely have the answers he sought. Muzazi rose to his feet, sheathing his sword as he turned back to the hole in the wall.

Only… he realized something.

The dead flies were still biting at his hands.

"Move," said Nigen Rush.

Muzazi rolled and turned in a single movement, dodging the slash that would have opened his back up. Luminescence was spat back out of its sheath in a flash of silver, and Muzazi wielded it defensively -- only to falter for a moment as he understood what he was seeing. His chest turned cold.

Mariana pan Helios was standing in front of him. Her robes were stained with her own fresh blood, the smell of it mingling with her perfume. In one hand, she held her sword, flies still buzzing around it.

In the other, she held her own severed head.

It was a strange time to realize it, but Muzazi couldn't help it. It just occurred to him. That intense perfume that always hung around Mariana pan Helios… in that moment, he realized… that it had always been covering up another scent.

The smell of rotting flesh.

The boy twitched.

It was the first movement he'd made in quite a while, so Aclima couldn't help but jump too. He didn't respond in any way to that. Even as she crawled backwards over the floor, instinct finally winning over caution, he just stared calmly at her -- as passionless as a doll.

And then… she noticed it.

No, that was the wrong word. She didn't notice it. There was no way she could have noticed it before, because 'it' had not yet existed. She saw it. Even as she doubted the evidence of her eyes, she saw it.

She saw a seam opening right in the center of the boy's face, all the way down the middle… and cutting all the way down his body. A seam that was slowly, slowly, widening.

The boy took a step forward, the seam on his body so thick it was like a long black line drawn by a marker. His mouth spread into an unnatural smile, as though his cheeks were being pulled up by invisible hands.

"Will you let me teach you, princess?" he said, in that far too old voice. "Will you let me be your skin?"

Before Aclima could even absorb those bizarre words, the boy opened.

It was an iron maiden of flesh and bone. The seam on the boy snapped open in an instant, the two halves of him separating like the unhinging of a treasure chest. Within, there was what seemed at first to be a dark void -- but no. Aclima wasn't looking at a void.

She was looking at meat.

Dark, writhing meat like intertwined eels, slithering and oozing and beating steadily -- and, and teeth, more teeth than Aclima could count, and more every second as the treasure chest opened wider and the meat squirmed louder and the boy continued to step forward. She was looking at a waking nightmare.

Aclima, understandably, screamed.