Terry Maller was in hell.

He thought he'd seen hell already. He'd thought that the battlefields he'd marched across for the Supremacy had been hell. He'd thought that the quiet rooms where they'd put the dissidents for him had been hell. He'd thought that the guilt-driven nightmares, the ones that had driven him towards Regiment RED, had been hell. He'd been wrong.

This was hell.

There was no sunlight within the Forest of Sin. That was the first thing you noticed. The only source of light came from the bright red glow of the fruit and leaves all around -- and of the fireflies that covered the air in a haze. Cracks and creaks echoed in every direction as the trees of the Forest of Sin twisted incestuously around each other, their bark warped into screaming mouths and leering eyes.

He was in the belly of the beast. While they didn't know everything about the Forest of Sin, they'd been told enough that Terry knew he was in more danger than ever before in his life. If the Forest of Sin could see him, then Paradise Charon could see him. Right now, he could feel the gaze of a Contender upon him. The eyes of what was basically a demigod, drilling into his soul from every angle.

The thought of fighting her did not even occur. Even if Paradise Charon left him alone, the Forest of Sin would not. It had a reputation. The only hope that Terry had was getting out of the Forest before it took an interest in him.

Terry's hand shook as he clutched his plasma pistol, and he put an ear to his communicator, hoping for some voice -- any voice -- to provide reassurance, but he was met only by silence. Was the Forest of Sin somehow blocking the signal, or had the device just been damaged when they'd been overrun by the ability? Impossible to tell.

He couldn't waste time thinking about it. He didn't have time to waste.

His squad had been separated, swallowed by the forest as it had emerged -- but from what Terry had seen at the time, he was willing to bet that he was on the outskirts of the affected area. If he continued to head east, there was a chance that he could break free from this before it was too late.

Voices murmured indistinctly all around Terry as he ran through the woods, any military discipline abandoned as the animal drive for survival took hold.

The branches and the trunks seemed to draw closer the further he ran, like the forest was becoming a tunnel, like he was in the jaws of some great beast that didn't want to let him go. Sweat poured down his forehead. His pistol slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground -- he didn't go back for it.

They scratched at his face. They clawed at his arms and legs. Even so, though, even so, he could see salvation -- could see the glow of daylight in the distance.

He was almost --

"Papa?" said Ellen.

The arm that had been reaching for the light slowly dropped to Terry's side -- and he turned his head, dumbfounded. There, standing at his side, looking up at him with worried eyes, was his daughter. She looked just the same. She looked just the same as she had when she'd… the last time he'd seen her. She hadn't aged a day.

"Papa?" Ellen cocked her head. "Where are you going?"

Terry's eyelids fluttered, uncomprehending, his legs shaking beneath him. "I… I…"

She extended a tiny hand. "Papa… can you help me? I'm scared." Tears lingered at the edges of her eyes.

The wise thing to do would have been to keep running. Terry understood that immediately. He had absolutely no intention of reaching his hand out -- but by the time he'd thought that, his hand had already taken hers. He couldn't leave her behind again.

This place knew that.

"Silly man," giggled Ellen -- and then, in the voice of an old man: "Dead man."

That was not the hand of his daughter he was holding, Terry realized far too late. That was a vine wrapped around his hand. A vine with thorns.

Terry Maller opened his mouth to scream -- and before he could begin, he was pulled at blinding speeds into the undergrowth. A flood of blood and gore spewed forth from between the trees, like fruit stuck in a blender. Terry's scream rang out throughout the Forest of Sin, growing higher and higher-pitched until it was outside the range of a normal human voice. It was not alone.

By the time it was done, all that was left of him was his flayed and empty face, left to hang off a branch.

It giggled.

If not for these trees, Morgan Nacht knew that he'd have been killed a long time ago.

He weaved through them as cover while Ablos of the Azure rained down white light from above. Each time one of those energy balls struck a tree, it was instantly transformed into a sculpture of transparent crystal -- the art piece collapsing a moment later as ruthless laws of physics took hold.

The Cubed Man sent another massive cube flying at Ablos from behind, but that clearly wasn't going to work anymore. Ablos tensed his body, just slightly, and that same white light shone between his scales and exploded out of his body.

When the light cleared, the cube had become crystal as well, shattering upon the floor and sending shards flooding over the ground. The shards disappeared into the white fog that had begun to spill out into the woods.

Morgan flipped back to avoid a shot that would have turned his legs into glass too, seizing hold of a tree branch and pulling himself up. As the Cubed Man sent another flurry of smaller cubes flying up at Ablos, Morgan caught his breath.

Since assuming this form, Ablos' capabilities had obviously improved. His rate of fire had increased drastically, and he'd gained access to an area of effect attack surrounding his body. Getting in close was no longer an option.

I can help with ranged attacks, Ionir said. But it will hurt.

"How's that?" Morgan muttered.

Seeds fired out of veins and orifices. Very painful. Shall I do it? No lasting damage.

Morgan shook his head. "Only as a last resort," he replied. "For now, I'll --"

His eyes widened. White light -- one of the spheres -- was hurtling towards him, spinning in the air like a beachball. The Cubed Man's distraction hadn't worked for as long as Morgan had expected. No time to dodge. Blocking wasn't an option.

Morgan's body and Aether moved on instinct. Countless hours of training bore fruit.

C!

He swung his sword directly at the incoming projectile, the effects of Cut sharpening the weapon's edge to the utmost. The blade sliced down through the sphere vertically, severing it and --

-- sending both pieces flying, leaving Morgan unharmed.

For a moment, Morgan couldn't quite believe what he'd just done. Then, though, a drunk grin spread itself across his face. He could do this -- he could. He could get stronger. This wasn't the kind of situation where he had to run away, or dance across the ground while this dragon bastard fired down at him.

This was a situation he could cut through.

Ablos of the Azure had just turned eighteen when he'd decided he'd had enough of society. With that established, he had discarded his clothes and all his other belongings, and had gone to live in the woods. That was the end of the story.

There was no grand reason for him to become a hermit, no philosophical underpinning. It wasn't as if he was a misanthrope of anything, either. He just felt as if society had nothing left to offer him, so he gracefully parted ways to chase animals around the woods.

He lived like that for maybe a year or two before the news reached him. The news of how the capital had fallen, of how the world had opened up, of how the sky was so much bigger than he'd once thought. The news of how Lily Aubrisher had taken the power of a god.

It had just been a simple thought. Why not give existence as a human being another shot? It wasn't as if it could hurt -- and if it did, who cared?

Ablos of the Azure opened his mouth wide and spat down another hail of crystallization bullets, his ability painting the environment below him into glass. As he spat, he flew, tail winding behind him as he moved through the air with sheer force of will alone. Wild, carefree laughter spilled from his lips. This was how a human being should live.

Liberated from everything.

Ablos flipped through the air to avoid another incoming cube -- before swooping down at the Square-Headed Fellow who had fired it. His crystallization was powerful and all, but he'd learnt through experience that a direct hit on an Aether-user was no guarantee of victory. No, against someone like this… it was best to settle things with your own hands.

His claws were sharp enough to tear through steel -- and flesh, even Aether-infused flesh, was no match. In an instant, Ablos' considerable speed brought him right to the Square-Headed Fellow, the man's flattened features opening wide as he realized the danger he was in. A claw to the head, delivered at maximum speed, would be enough to pulp whatever brains he had.

Ablos grinned, pulling his arm back, and --

Danger.

Animal instincts only partially his own whispered in his head -- and, without understanding the reason, Ablos obeyed them. He lunged back just in time for a nearly-invisible slash to burst through the space he'd just been occupying, obliterating the tree behind him.

Ablos raised two sets of eyebrows as he looked at the annihilated foliage, whistling appreciatively. Two of his eyes remained fixed on the Square-Headed Fellow, who had backed up into the tree behind him, while another two flicked over to the source of the attack. The swordsman.

Steam born of movement was rising slowly from the blade of his cutlass as he breathed heavily, glaring right at Ablos. Curious. Ablos had assumed this guy was a melee fighter from the way he was trying to close the distance, but that attack he'd just unleashed had definitely been a ranged one -- and a powerful ranged attack, at that. Why hadn't he used it before?

Oh. Ablos' grin sharpened and widened. He didn't know he could do it before.

So… this guy was being liberated, too.

C! E! A!

Blood rushing through his veins, Morgan swung his sword at empty air. Cut sharpened it once more, honed it enough to slice through the air and send out a burst of pressure. Echo recreated that air pressure. Amplification boosted the blast -- turning it into a slash that could strike from range.

There was a noise that Morgan didn't recognise -- it took him a second to realize that he was laughing. This feeling of power, as the enemy was forced to weave and dodge around his attacks, forced to submit to his strength… it was intoxicating.

Ablos zoomed up into the sky, avoiding a flurry of slashes that reduced a tree to splinters -- and spat out another white sphere, this one bigger than the rest, the size of a car once it was freed from his throat. The projectile hurtled down towards Morgan, and Morgan reached out with a hand to meet it. There was no fear, no trepidation, no anxiety in his eyes. Just a wide, drunk certainty.

I bet I could do it now.

D.

The second the sphere made contact with Morgan's palm, it exploded into shards of light, utterly Destroyed. In an instant, Morgan's Aether had infiltrated the projectile, located its weaknesses -- and widened them into oblivion.

"You didn't let me finish before," Morgan found himself saying, voice quiet. "But I'm Morgan Nacht, Special Officer. The man who's going to kill you."

The grin on Ablos' face didn't fade -- if anything, it only grew more manic. Surely he wouldn't…

He would.

Rather than retreat, Ablos lunged forwards, flying right towards Morgan, excited laughter spilling from his lips. His scaled arms were spread wide, as if to embrace his adversary -- and as Morgan looked, he could see that same white light trickling under Ablos' skin. Shit. Shit.

The bastard was going to send out another pulse!

Morgan went to dodge backwards, but found himself unable. The quickest glance downwards revealed why -- one of the shards of the massive sphere had made contact with the grass beneath Morgan's feet, crystallizing and sealing it to his shoes. It took only the effort of a second to break free -- but that was a second Morgan did not have.

As the grass cracked and broke away, he was met with the white light descending upon him. Damn it -- he wouldn't go out without a fight! Morgan raised his sword high and screamed, voice hoarse, as he went to meet --

“Damnation.”

-- what was not his end.

A black pitchfork flew through the fog at blinding speeds, striking Ablos and impaling his arm on two of its spikes in an instant. Ablos quickly abandoned his attack, flying high up into the sky -- but two more pitchforks pursued him like homing missiles, curving upwards to match his trajectory. Sweat pouring down his face, Ablos fired off another barrage of energy spheres -- and that was enough to turn the incoming projectiles into crystal and destroy them.

As he tore the pitchfork out of his arm, Ablos frantically looked around for the source of the attack.

“So you can take flight?” chuckled a voice from above. “That’s quite amusing -- and brazen of you. So long as you keep your current position, though, I’ll allow it.”

Ablos whipped his head around. Morgan followed his gaze, too, swallowing nervously as he recognised the voice.

Standing in the sky, atop an upside-down pitchfork, stood the Baron Lunalette de Fleur. His red eyes looked down at Ablos like he was a speck of dirt. His red smirk held the promise of savagery. The man considered to be the most wicked Special Officer spread his arms wide, as if he were a magician presenting his trick.

“It’s only fitting, isn’t it?” Lunalette grinned down at Ablos. “That a person like you should remain below a person like me.”