Atoy Muzazi snatched the sniper bullet out of the air, centimeters from his skull.

A punchpoint round, specialized for piercing armour and bone alike. Before Muzazi could consider it further, another bang sounded out -- the second shot shattering the rooftop behind him, sending wood and nails flying in every direction. Silver Aether flashed.

Judging from the direction of the shots, he could tell the source. A bell tower, high up above this district -- indeed, now that he looked, he could see the telltale white sheen of a scope reflecting the sunlight. Whoever this was, they didn't care about being seen. Presumably they had some sort of defensive measure already set up.

If so, then he'd already taken steps to bypass it.

Atoy Muzazi blasted off like a rocket, thrusters flaring beneath him as he zoomed straight for the bell tower. A third shot was avoided as he spun in the air, the bullet whizzing past his ear and off into the distance. The fourth was deflected by a slash from his Radiant.

With him using his full speed like this, a kilometer could be crossed in around four seconds. The sniper appeared in Muzazi's vision -- a white-haired woman with an eye patch over one eye and patchwork black armour. Even as Muzazi lunged at her, though, no anxiety appeared on her face.

It was looking more and more like he'd been right about that defensive ability…

…and indeed, as he slashed, that was confirmed.

The woman -- and the bell tower -- disappeared from in front of him. Teleportation? Of a sort. He understood it immediately. It wasn't that they had moved, but instead him. He'd been moved a kilometer back, where the first shot had struck, the bell tower tiny in his vision once more.

I see, he thought. It activated when I made contact with the first bullet? Whenever I get close to the shooter, I'm recorded and then manifested back here?

Recording an unwilling opponent was a difficult thing, especially when they were shielded by their own Aether. In order to overcome that barrier, it required quite the surplus of power -- as well as a few conditions to channel that Aether most appropriately. He doubted just touching a bullet would be enough for that. Most likely he'd fulfilled some other conditions without knowing. The environment they were fighting in, maybe? Or his method of approach?

No matter. Muzazi wouldn't let it deter him in the slightest.

Again, he blasted off, crossing that distance and deflecting bullets all the while. Atoy Muzazi became a shooting star. One second, two seconds, three seconds, four --

-- and again, centimeters from victory, he was sent back.

Muzazi did not stop. Retaining his previous speed, he flew at the tower again -- and again -- and again -- and again, without the slightest hesitation. The sniper's face twisted in amusement and disdain as she watched him approach once more.

"You simple or something?" she asked, lining up her next shot. "It don't work, dummy! You're just gonna keep --"

She didn't say anything else after that. The reason she didn't say anything else was very obvious. She had been killed.

Slowly, she collapsed, her corpse flipping off the edge of the bell tower and tumbling onto the rooftop below. The back of her body was covered in nails, piercing from her spine all the way up to her skull. Death would have been instant.

Muzazi had never intended to cut her down himself. When he'd avoided the second shot, he'd applied thrusters to the nails that had gone flying -- and while he had served as a distraction, flying at the enemy again and again, the nails had circled the bell tower the long way around. Once they were in position, it had just been a matter of flying them into her from behind.

That teleportation ability could only be used on one target at a time. Muzazi had gambled on that being another condition -- and it seemed that bet had paid off.

Not that he had time to celebrate that fact. Before he could even slow his flight down, the section of rooftops before him exploded upwards as a massive Pugnant tore his way free, yellow Aether sparking around him. The sections of rooftop he'd just annihilated fizzled away into that same Aether as well, strands of gold pulled back into his body.

"Hell yeah!" the Pugnant roared, his eyes and mouth blazing with golden light. "Free XP, bitch!"

Despite appearances, it seemed this wasn't an intentional ambush. Muzazi, still moving at an absurd speed, went to swing his Radiant at the Pugnant's head -- to end this battle before it could even begin.

If only it were that easy.

Right before Muzazi could strike the Pugnant, he was hit himself -- not by the massive man he'd been aiming for, but by an arm that had stretched over from all the way in the distance. As Muzazi went flying, struck right on the jaw by the stretchy fellow's fist, the arm snapped back to its owner.

The user of the stretching ability, an emaciated man wearing a white vest that hung off his form, cracked his neck. "Don't let your guard down, bro!" the skeletal man snarled. "That's the Full fuckin' Moon!"

As he landed roughly on the tiled roof, Muzazi transitioned into a roll, bringing himself into a ready position. It was a good thing he did, too -- a second later, several huge hornets zoomed at him from a broken window, fast as bullets. It took all he had to deflect them.

Two enemies on the roof itself. One had some kind of power to assimilate the destroyed environment, the other altered his own body to become stretchy. Another enemy in the building below -- they controlled some sort of hornet familiars. Three opponents in all -- no, four, five, six…

…he could see them. More and more, climbing onto the rooftops, leaping into the fray. Contestants drawn to this spot by the sound of battle, but more than that.

Drawn here by the chance to be the one who killed Atoy Muzazi.

"He really is an admirable sort, isn't he?" King said, dipping a biscuit into his tea. "Don't you agree, Horatio? He's in what one would generously call an unenviable position, and yet he just gets on with it. Good work ethic. Fine determination, too."

Of course, he'd seen a rather more extreme sort of determination in his own youth, but he supposed that was an unfair comparison.

King watched through binoculars -- infusing his eyes was unnecessary and a waste of resources -- as Atoy Muzazi faced off against the horde below. It wasn't nearly as bad as it seemed. Well, perhaps it was, but it wasn't as bad as it could be. The sheer number of people going against the Full Moon meant they were inevitably getting in each other's way, creating mini-brawls that relieved some of the pressure from their target.

Horatio tweeted.

"Really?" King frowned, crossing his legs as he sat down in the office chair. "I expected this sort of all-out war to take a while longer yet. I don't even think they've noticed yet, have they?"

Indeed. In contrast to the Outer Melees, which were essentially standard last-man-standing battles in a limited area, the Inner Melees came with special rules. Gimmicks, if one had to describe them honestly. Special conditions that would influence the battle, their exact nature hidden until the Melee had commenced.

King supposed it was no wonder he was the first one to notice it. He was the only one able to relax and observe, after all.

The city was slowly sinking.

Even after the incident ten years ago, when Pangloss had been overrun by hordes of ancient drones that had spilled from the Devil's corpse, the city had managed to remain afloat. The supports that stretched all the way down to the seabed had remained intact, and so the ruins of Pangloss had occupied the same location as its glory… if a tad flooded. But that state of affairs had come to an end.

At the moment the Inner Melee had begun, underwater charges had been detonated along those mighty supports, and the city had begun its descent. The backup systems meant it hadn't gone down immediately, but by now there was no stopping it. Slowly but surely, the waves were claiming Pangloss.

The city was divided into six districts -- five of which were arranged in a wheel surrounding the sixth, Zenith. Zenith towered over the rest of the city, a place for the ruling class to live -- and the Grand Cathedral at the center of Zenith towered over even the rest. The Inner Melee would end there, without a doubt, inside the massive skeleton that had once been considered one of the galaxy's most beautiful buildings.

"A shame, don't you think, Horatio?" King mused, his sad eyes fixed on the Cathedral's central spire. "All that history… all those memories… doomed to wash away, and for what? So these fools can play Supreme?"

Horatio cooed despondently.

King's voice was barely audible. "The only real Supreme died a long time ago anyway."

But that, just like this city, was ancient history. It didn't bear thinking about. King recovered himself, took a deep breath, and straightened his white tie. If nothing else, a true warrior had to look presentable.

He raised the binoculars to his eyes again. A wry smile tugged at his lips. The sight below was brutal, but not entirely unexpected.

This was Atoy Muzazi they were talking about, after all.

Pant… pant…

Muzazi struggled to regain his breath, his arms feeling like they were weighed down to their limits. Blood, not his own, coated his body. The only sound outside of his ragged breathing was the buzzing of countless flies.

Apart from him, they were the only winners of this battle.

The XP Pugnant took up half the rooftop, body engorged beyond recognition. Muzazi had pelted the man with debris until his heart could no longer handle the increase in strength the destruction had granted him.

The hornet-user lay in two pieces. One hanging off the edge of the roof, the other bobbing up and down in the water below.

The tiny Scurrant with butterfly wings, crushed against the wall. She'd been fast, but Muzazi had finally struck true with a lightning-fast elbow jab.

The two-headed Cogitant, decapitated twice. His heads had rolled away in separate directions.

The assassin with the thin needle-like sword. Muzazi had snatched it out of his hand and run it through him.

The foil-manipulator who'd tried to scorch him with refracted sunlight. Muzazi had wrapped him up in his own tinfoil sheet, and let suffocation do the rest.

The fighters.

The shooters.

The assassins.

The lost.

Dead, dead, dead, dead.

All around Atoy Muzazi were corpses, the remnants of his good work. Those that hadn't died here in this massacre had fled, choosing safer battlefields. The Full Moon had certainly shown why he shone so bright. If only it didn't feel so disgusting.

"Damnit…" the man with the extendable limbs said, slowly rising to his feet. "Damn… you…"

Muzazi turned to look at him. The emaciated man was covered in wounds -- so much that he already looked like a corpse -- but he continued to stagger towards Muzazi all the same. That Pugnant had been his brother, hadn't he? He'd said.

If so, then Atoy Muzazi understood.

He steadied his breathing, igniting Radiants from both his palms as he watched the man approach.

"If you come within my range," he said softly. "Then I will cut you down."

Perhaps the man could no longer even hear him. Perhaps all he could hear was his brother's last gasp of breath, or his collapse onto the rooftop, or maybe even his heart exploding in his chest. Perhaps the real world would never reach his ears again.

He did not stop.

Muzazi narrowed his eyes. "So be it," he muttered -- but as he raised his hand to slay the incoming enemy…

…he collapsed dead to the ground all by himself. An execution -- Muzazi understood it immediately, and he would have been a fool not to. There, buried in the back of the man's skull, was a silver kitchen knife.

"My apologies for my indiscretion," a calm voice echoed across the rooftops. "But I'm afraid the bounty only applies if I eliminate you myself."

Strength.

A tingle ran down Muzazi's spine as his body recognised something that could kill it. It was the strangest thing -- he only noticed that the man was there, clearly walking towards him, after he spoke. An old dandy in a black suit with a… was that a bird sitting on his head?

"Name yourself," Muzazi demanded, his Radiant extended.

The man regarded the blazing sword with mild interest as he pulled the knife free, squinting to protect his eyes from the light. "It's funny," he mused. "You'd think it's made of one thruster -- but to grant it proper rigidity, it's actually the output of several intertwining. Very clever."

His eyes flicked back to Muzazi's face.

"You may call me King, Mr. Muzazi, although it is not my name. My partner here is named Horatio. I'm afraid we've been asked to kill you."

As the tension spiked, as those fatal words were spoken, the bird took flight and fluttered away into the dense urban landscape. It, at least, possessed a functioning survival instinct.

"Alas, he's not too faithful," King sighed, watching his so-called partner abscond. "Such is the disloyalty of a bird, you see."

Muzazi adjusted his footing, Radiant still pointed right at the old man. This person clearly wasn't like the others Muzazi had just dispatched. There was something… more to him. Some greater presence.

"King, you say?" Muzazi asked, slowly beginning to circle the man. "You certainly have a high opinion of yourself."

King smiled thinly. "I'm afraid not. Although the King does have a vital role in the game, it's by far the weakest piece on the board."

"False modesty?"

"It's the only kind I have." King's eyes gleamed in the shadow of the bell tower.

"Well, false monarch…" Muzazi said, sliding one foot backwards and raising his Radiant high. "All things considered, I'd say you were better off attacking with the group."

King's smile widened, just a tad. "Who said I didn't?" Then -- before Muzazi could move to stop him -- the old man put a finger to his ear and spoke two more deadly words.

"Move in."

They had positioned themselves in the darkness, waiting, not too close but never too far. In old apartments and houses, decrepit corners of the world where nobody would look. Waiting for their order. Waiting for the chance to go wild.

Four lips spread into four grins, and four mouths spoke four words each.

"Fusion Tool: Perfect Manifest."

The apartment, already stripped bare by long-dead looters, exploded outwards -- and the being that had been using it as a hiding place floated out of the wreckage ominously. Whatever Bishop had looked like before activating his Fusion Tool was irrelevant. This was his true form. This was what his soul looked like.

A perfect, flawless sphere of black metal, the size of a car, hovering in the air menacingly. It's perfection was not just in the elegance of its appearance -- it truly was perfect. The geometry of the sphere was brought to an absolute in this form.

Yes, a perfect sphere -- one that would annihilate anything it touched. This so-called Full Moon was no exception.

"Fusion Tool: Blast Shadow."

A cloaked figure, who had joined up with a band of weaker contestants, spoke those words -- and the sudden burst of pressure was enough to smash his so-called comrades against the walls of the street they'd been running down.

Rook threw off his cloak as the transformation took hold, his Armament cannon fusing with his flesh. The metal spread -- until it became a massive biomechanical monstrosity, consuming the entire left side of his body and covering it in dark steel. Cannons bristled from his new shape, each dripping with acidic fluids, and the long barrel of a gun extended out from the bald man's eye-socket.

He sighed in ecstasy -- and took a step forward, crushing the skull of the corpse he walked upon.

"Fusion Tool: Mount Malaise."

Unlike most people who used a Fusion Tool, Pawn didn't experience so much of a change in shape as a change in size. His human body grew until he was the size of a skyscraper, laughing in glee as he watched the world shrink around him. He curled his gargantuan hand into a divine fist. He raised up his massive prosthetic foot, ready to bring it down into the churning waters.

His long black hair swished around as a gargantuan curtain as he took a thundering step towards the rooftop where King was fighting. Even the leader of this impromptu 'crew' looked tiny now. Oh, and Atoy Muzazi… even tinier. Even more worthless.

Finally, finally, finally! Every time he was able to use this power, he felt like he was on top of the world. After so long, blessed relief! After so long, sweet catharsis!

After all this time… bloody vengeance.

From his position down in the alleyway, Knight chuckled to himself as he watched the pillars of Aether stretching into the sky -- the telltale sign that his comrades had activated their Fusion Tools as well. Their transformations took so damn long, unlike his. He supposed that made sense, given his ability.

All traces of Knight's human identity had vanished with his new form. His limbs were as thin as sticks. His ribcage had warped until it was more like a hollow octagon, guarding the spot where his heart would have been. Even his face had been flattened away to nothing. It was like he was an insect twisted into a humanoid shape.

But that was fine. That was more than fine. All that stuff had been dead weight, anyway. The only things Knight needed in this world were this almighty speed…

He lowered his body to the ground --

…and the legs with which to use it.

-- and vanished.

Another kitchen knife slipped out of King's sleeve and fell into his waiting hand. He regarded Muzazi with those cold blue eyes, the pillars of Aether shining behind him and providing a divine backdrop. Slowly, as if cautious he would cut something, he raised that knife in Muzazi's direction.

The tip of the Radiant met the tip of King's blade, and sparks rained down from the contact.

"I hope you won't hold such tactics against me," King said softly. "I work to eat, after all."

Muzazi smiled, despite the drop of sweat trickling down his forehead. He drew his own blade back.

"Oh, not at all," he said. "I’m sure you need such tactics to survive, after all."

There was only time for the shortest snort of amusement from King --

-- before the battle began, and steel met light.