"I hope you won't hold such tactics against me," King said softly, knife waving through the air. "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. "You need such tactics to survive, after all."

King snorted in amusement.

Sixteen.

A second. It was enough time for a child to take a single breath. It was enough time for a songbird to let out the tiniest cry. It was enough time for a boot to crackle against gravel but once.

It was enough time for knife and sword to clash sixteen times.

An aurora of light and Aether swept across the rooftop as Muzazi and King clashed, twin tendrils of white crawling across their bodies. Muzazi swiped his Radiant at King's head -- who ducked underneath the blow, choosing not to counter but instead to plunge his kitchen knife into the surface of the roof itself.

Another Radiant ignited on Muzazi's free hand, ready to stab at the prone old man, but --

"Silver Ratio," King intoned.

-- at the very moment he would have thrust the blade forward, his footing was lost. The roof beneath Muzazi suddenly collapsed, all structure lost in an instant as it went from a construction of tiles and bricks to a simple collection of those same unconnected objects. Thrusters on Muzazi's feet enabled him to flip backwards -- evading a slash of King's knife -- but the destruction of the rooftop spread outwards, opening up a massive hole into the pitch-black building beneath.

There, floating in the air as he watched his enemy warily, Muzazi caught his breath for the first time in this bout.

He named his ability before the rooftop collapsed -- Silver Ratio. What does it do? After he stabbed the roof, all connection between its components was lost. Disassembly, then? Reducing the target to its base materials? If that's the case, I can't afford to let my body be hit even once. Is that an attack he needs that knife to use, though, or can he activate the ability from any point of contact?

I need to keep my distance.

King passed his knife from one hand to the other, regarding Muzazi with narrowed predatory eyes.

As expected, destroying the ground doesn't do much to throw him off balance -- but it'd be far too pessimistic to call it useless. Skilled as he may be, there'll be a definite difference in maneuverability when he doesn't have solid footing to rely on. If I keep him in the air, he has to divide his focus between flying and swordplay.

Keep him in the air until Knight arrives. And that should be right about…

…now.

The movement was so fast that it almost seemed like teleportation.

One second, Muzazi was alone in the air -- and the next, a stick-thin figure had appeared behind him, leg pulled up for a devastating kick. Mandibles clicked together as the newcomer cackled madly, leg coming down like a hammer…

…that never met its target.

F!

At the last second, a long thin tendril of purple fog lashed out from within the building and deflected the attack, protecting Muzazi from harm. Through it all, the Full Moon never broke eye contact with King, not even glancing over his shoulder at the thing that had nearly killed him.

"I'm sorry to say this," he said calmly, looking down at his adversary. "But you're not the only one who can play unfair."

The massive perfect sphere that was Bishop paused in the air, his journey towards Atoy Muzazi halted by the man in front of him.

Marcus Grace sat on the windowsill of an apartment, legs dangling over the river below, calmly polishing his pistol with a handkerchief. His electric-blue eyes glanced up towards Bishop, suspended in the air above the water.. There was nothing but professional dismissal in that gaze.

"Fair warning," he said calmly. "But if you move any closer, I'm gonna have to kill you."

Click. He flipped off the safety.

Rook paused mid-step, his boot crushing the skull of the man beneath him -- before whirling around. With military reflexes, he calmly aimed all of his cannons and barrels at the single man approaching him from down the alley. The single 'old' man.

"Who the hell're you?" he growled, acidic saliva dripping from his lips and sizzling upon the floor.

Ash del Duran, hands clasped behind him as he walked with a slight hunch, looked up with dull eyes. A shiver went down Rook's spine. He didn't know who this guy was, but he knew a killer when he saw one.

The cannon on his arm began to glow with an eerie green light. "Come on, then," Rook spat smoke.

Ash cracked his neck, raising his arms and assuming a flexible water stance.

"Let's make this quick," he croaked. "I don't have much time."

Pawn had intended to head straight for Atoy Muzazi, straight for his revenge… but the power he had in this form was simply intoxicating. He slammed a colossal fist against a nearby skyscraper, savoring the way the structure just gave under his pressure. Excess heat from his movements vented out from his prosthetic foot, his Fusion Tool, incinerating whatever unfortunates still remained below.

It didn't matter how much stronger Atoy Muzazi had become. It didn't matter how much more skilled he might have been. Against sheer overwhelming force like this, there was nothing anybody could do but die.

His eyes, each the size of a car, swiveled to face the far-off bell tower Atoy Muzazi was fighting at. No, no. He couldn't lose himself in the thrill of destruction just yet. He had to get over there and crush that worm before that asshole King beat him to it.

The earth shook as Pawn took another thundering step forward, and --

"Yo," said Gregori Hazzard, standing on a rooftop next to Pawn's head, hands plunged into the pockets of his white coat. "You're pretty big, huh?"

The only thing that stopped Pawn's eye from being sliced out then and there was the infusion he poured into his face at the last second. As a result, the wounds that marked his skin -- slowly oozing blood -- were shallow, painful but not life-threatening. All the same, the massive man staggered backwards, seizing hold of the building he'd just punched to keep himself upright.

Gregori raised an eyebrow at the unsightly display. "All I did was scratch you, dude."

One hand was out of his pocket now -- if it could still be called a hand. His entire arm had been warped and flattened into a long, sharp blade -- blood dripping from the end. Gregori shook it off onto the rooftop next to him.

Paper Moon, Gregori Hazzard's Aether ability, allowed him to flatten and fold anything as if it were made of paper. By utilizing a combination of that folding and his skill at infusion, he could transform various parts of his body into weapons. That was just the simplest application of his ability.

"Damn it…" Pawn seethed, the air rumbling from the mere force of his voice. He clumsily wiped the blood from his face with a hand. "Don't you make a fool of me…"

"But it's so easy."

Gregori hopped off the top of the roof onto a jutting-out length of rubble, strolling across it like a pirate walking the plank. He stopped at the end of the protrusion, at eye level with the hunched-over giant, blade-arm extended. Then, the slightest smirk tugged at his lips.

"I know how much punishment you can take now," he said. "Not very impressive. I hate doing tiring things, so I'm going to eliminate you quick, okay?"

Those gargantuan eyes narrowed further into a gargantuan glare.

"You won't stop me," he whispered. "You won't stop me from reaching Atoy Muzazi…"

Gregori raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Sounds like a real personal thing. Too bad you couldn't find someone who cared."

The tendril of purple fog looped around Knight's thin ankle, forming a gaseous shackle -- and then smashed him downwards, slamming his body against the rooftop. His yell of pain was nearly drowned out by the shattering of tiles, and the chunks of destroyed architecture slid off the roof and into the water below.

"You really need to watch your back more, Commander," Morgan Nacht said, hopping out of the hole in the building. The other end of that fog-rope was wrapped around his sword.

Muzazi didn't look at him, instead keeping his eyes fixed on King. "That's what I have you for, is it not?"

Morgan chuckled. "Oh, you're too kind."

The old man called King laughed in amusement, too, twirling his knife between two fingers as he took in the scene before him. Knight had been countered right before he could make his lightning-fast sneak attack, and the rest of his squad was stopped in their tracks as well. This really wasn't how things normally went -- or how he'd expected them to go in this case, for that matter.

"So you brought allies in with you?" King asked. "That's a surprise. I'd heard you were a bit more straight-laced than that."

Muzazi's frown deepened. Despite how successful this gambit had been, he still couldn't help but feel deep shame. One couldn't call this anything but cheating.

"Three thousand two hundred Outer Melees," he said softly. "It wasn't difficult to have my men enter and win under false names."

"And you somehow all got assigned this arena as a group?" King asked. "I find that difficult to believe."

"There's a procedure for a contestant to request a specific battlefield -- given they meet some conditions first," Muzazi said. "It's a long-forgotten piece of legislation, but my comrade here is adept with that sort of thing."

Morgan strolled across the roof towards his prone opponent, wrapping the fog tighter around his blade. He winked at King.

"Sorry," he said. "But I'm a little bit of a bastard like that."

Yes… Muzazi thought. These forgotten laws… disgraceful.

He couldn't help but think of the sin that was looming in his future. The one he wanted to avoid at all costs. The one more and more he feared he wouldn't be able to.

"Well, that's very interesting to know," King said, knife falling back into his firm grip. "To think you'd go to all that effort just to counter me and my men."

In actuality, while they'd expected someone to target Muzazi, this plan had been put together more than anything just to ensure his own victory. The Phases would work as a team to eliminate the rest of the contestants, and then they would all surrender bar Muzazi, making him the winner by default. Repulsive yet effective.

Something interesting, though… King hadn't known about that forgotten piece of ruling, so he hadn't used it to have himself and his men assigned here. Another method, then? Someone on the Organizational Committee had pulled the strings for him?

Don't concern yourself with that now.

Muzazi pulled his Radiant back.

You can find out all about it once you've defeated him.

"Knight," said King calmly. "Get the subordinate out of here."

Bang.

With a flash of red Aether, the one called Knight leapt up and kicked off the ground, setting off at an absurd speed into the distance. Morgan, connected to the fused warrior by the fog-rope, grimly kept hold of his sword as he was pulled along, his feet kicking up a torrent of shredded tiles where they skidded against the ground. Even as he was pulled away, though, his eyes flicked back to Muzazi and he called out:

“Don’t die until I get back!”

Muzazi glanced at the young man for the first time as he was dragged out of sight. “The same to you.”

King cocked his head, his knife gripped backhand, adjusting his footing as he prepared to resume his attack. Muzazi watched him intently -- in what form would the assault come? More attempts to stab, or something more indirect? Had he perhaps been preparing an attack through seemingly innocuous movements this entire time?

An Aether battle was a clash between opposing paranoias. The one who let their guard down first lost.

“Is that really alright?” King asked, jerking his head in the direction that Morgan had left. “I’ve only known this Knight for a short while, but he’s no slouch in combat. What will you do when your second-in-command is slaughtered?”

Muzazi smiled. “Morgan won’t lose,” he said -- more confident in that than his own victory. “It’s impossible for him to lose to some hired gun. He has desires to fight for greater than your petty wish to get paid.”

For the first time, that slight smile dropped from King’s lips, and he looked at Muzazi with a dull and merciless glare. White Aether crackled along the surface of his knife. With a voice closer to a growl than his previous dignified cadence, he spoke.

“That’s self-delusion,” he said coldly, as if Muzazi had insulted him personally. “Reason, ideals, dreams… all of them are meaningless. One person will get unlucky and die. That’s all there is. That’s all there’s ever been.”

A chill ran down Muzazi’s spine.

It was clear now that, until now, this man had just been playing with him. Testing him, gauging his strengths and weaknesses, preparing himself… but now that was over. That look in his eyes, that bottomless abyss of blue -- it told Muzazi only one thing, loud and clear. The moment this man got a chance…

…he would murder him.

Marcus aimed his pistol at the incoming perfect sphere, balancing on the windowsill. Bang bang bang -- three shots bounced harmlessly off the sphere’s chassis. He clicked his tongue as the enemy continued their inexorable approach.

“Looks like this might be tricky,” he said, his gaze steady and unyielding.

He allowed himself to fall backwards through the window into the building -- and continued his strategic retreat as the perfect sphere tore through the room behind him. He ran calmly, arms pumping, mind racing. First thing first -- he had to find this thing’s weakness. Its imperfection.

Ash charged down the hallway, weaving through the barrage of incoming acid shots, eyes closed as he allowed the air pressure to guide him. Each shot missed by mere centimeters, stray drops sizzling at his clothing, but never reaching his skin. In two seconds, Ash del Duran crossed the entire distance between himself and his enemy…

… and slammed his palm into their chest.

Black Timer.

This was not an Aether technique.

With a mighty roar, vomit-green Aether sparking around his teeth and tongue, Pawn threw his fist at the tiny pest before him -- and that tiny pest immediately vanished. Pawn’s face spread into a massive giddy grin. He’d done it! Had he done it? Had he sent the bastard flying?

Pain.

Pawn looked down at the hand he’d just struck the building with -- and saw that it could only generously be called a hand. Each finger, individually the size of a train carriage, had been cleanly severed at the knuckle, blood pouring copiously from the four wounds. The digits splashed into the rising water below.

“W-Wha…” Pawn gaped uncomprehendingly. “What?!”

The answer came quick.

“Like I said,” Gregori replied, standing on Pawn’s shoulder, speaking right into his ear. “You’re easy to kill.”

“Hahahaha!” Knight laughed cheerfully, his running form a blur as he sped across the rooftops, pulling Morgan along with him. “What’s wrong, what’s wrong, Morgan Naaacht? Can’t keep up? Can you not keep up, Mooorgan?”

Even as he flailed through the air, having long since lost his own footing, Morgan couldn’t help but let a wry smirk cross his lips. This bastard sure was running his mouth. It was like he was drunk on his own speed.

Well… Morgan didn’t mind fighting a drunkard. It made them stupid.

He planted his hand against the rooftop beneath him, ignoring the way the skin was scraped off his palm, and spoke one letter inside his mind.

I!

King clutched his knife in both hands and lowered his body to the ground, his glaring eyes fixed intensely on Muzazi. His pupils were pinpricks, his face set into the countenance of a murderer. White Aether ran between his lips as he spoke.

“Fusion Tool,” he declared. “Zarathustra.”

Muzazi watched intensely as the old man was consumed by a pillar of white Aether, readying himself for the attack that would surely come. He’d anticipated someone would try to eliminate him during the Inner Melee, but the weapons these people used meant it was the party he’d least wanted it to be. The creator of the Fusion Tools: Gretchen Hail.

The woman who’d certainly been killed, but was definitely still alive.

Very well, Muzazi thought, raising both Radiants up from his palms. Let’s have you tell me all about her… King!

And then, without waiting another moment, he swooped in and slashed at the glowing pillar.