The body was dumped at Nael's feet.

Azrael's dead eyes stared up towards the ceiling of the warehouse. The Crimson Carnival had made their temporary base in an industrial sector of Azum-Ha, while their ship drifted in orbit as a decoy. It had been Azrael's idea. Probably one of his better ones. Better than volunteering to go after Atoy Muzazi, anyway.

Impaled from behind. Nael's frown deepened. Did that check out? He'd heard some stuff about Atoy Muzazi, and that didn't sound like the sort of thing he'd do.

But, then again… did it really matter?

“The rest?” Nael asked, his eyes flicking up to the taller of the Hellion Twins. One Hellion and Two Hellion, they said they were called, both with bristly orange hair, blazing gold eyes and gleaming white fangs. Pugants or whatever.

Two Hellion clicked his teeth together, stepping in front of his brother. “No successful kills on the contestants,” he said, saliva nearly overpowering his shrill, thin voice. “But that was expected, it was. All the footage and -- and biometrics they recorded made it back to us.”

One Hellion nodded stoically. “Tanya is going through it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Once she has combat profiles and has fought them a few times herself, we'll pass you the information.”

Tanya… which one was Tanya? The woman with the bright blue eyes, right? Blonde hair? Mechanical jaw?

Apparently, she had some kind of ability -- once she had a mental profile of someone, she could fight a simulated version of them as many times as she liked. Helped with strategy. No doubt she'd fought Nael quite a few times, already, in preparation for the betrayal.

It didn't take a genius to see that the Crimson Carnival was a gang of knives waiting for the promised back. They'd gathered around Nael for the unique power he could offer them -- and now that they had it, they were eager to get rid of him and take his place. The metal chair Nael sat in was a literal pain in the ass, but to these idiots it must have seemed a throne.

Azrael had wanted the throne. The Hellion Twins wanted the throne. Tanya wanted the throne.

Well, they were welcome to try. It didn't matter how many knives went for his back. They'd already been beaten to the punch.

Atoy Muzazi's eyes scanned the chart, the holographic display floating before his face. He was hunched over on the couch of his hotel room, brow knitted together deeply as he considered the future.

That was it, then. He'd be taking on Nael Manron in the first round. By the end of tomorrow, one of them would be a winner and one of them would be a loser. Most likely, one of them would be dead.

Muzazi clenched his clasped hands together. To be truthful, he'd been hoping for a less formidable opponent for round one. Then again, who in this tournament wasn't formidable?

But still… Nael Manron clearly had resources to leverage, and the boldness to do so. His attack on the other contestants last night hadn't been successful, but Muzazi had no doubt he'd managed to gather useful intelligence in the process. If all those resources were now pointed at Muzazi alone… matters could become difficult.

His eyes slid over the chart, to where Dragan Hadrien's name was written. He'd be taking on the First Branch of the Tree of Might for his first round, it seemed. Poor bastard. Muzazi didn't know how Dragan had developed since they'd last seen each other, but he didn't seem the type to go easy on a child.

A child.

Gregori's accusatory words came back to him from the night before. It wasn't as if they were true, at least not entirely -- Gregori didn't know the full picture -- but they stung all the same. When the time came… how would he make sure Aclima was safe?

They're mutually exclusive.

They were not. He would find a way. Even if Aclima didn't believe in him any longer, he wouldn't give up on her.

She was plotting something herself, though. That much was obvious. She and her two lackeys had finally returned to the hotel on their own last night, making the entire search pointless. As if that wasn't enough, Aclima had refused to explain anything about where she'd been or what she'd been doing.

“Why do you care?” she'd all but spat at him. “It's none of your business.”

Muzazi massaged his temples. The closer he got to the realization of his desire -- to ascension as Supreme -- the more the world itself seemed to resist him. The air grew sluggish. Pain grew brave. Everything that could stand in his way, as one, stood in his way.

“What would you tell me to do, Marie?” he muttered, looking out over a new day in Azum-Ha. “If you were here, what would you say?”

There came no answer. Just the cold silence of reality, and Atoy Muzazi’s quiet sigh.

The Angel Dove swooped through the streets of Azum-Ha, autopilot continuing its looping route through the grand metropolis. It was a compact ship, with long thin white wings tapering off behind it and a needle-shaped cockpit, but you wouldn't know that from looking at it. You wouldn't know anything from looking at it.

After all, North was doing his very best to hide the vessel.

The man himself lounged in the pilot's seat, feet up on the dash as the landscape of Azum-Ha blurred past. He'd had his doubts, but even he had to admit this was a pretty cushy setup. Dragan had been right: a stationary base was really way too vulnerable. If everything went to schedule, they'd only need to land this baby for refueling twice during the whole Dawn Contest.

If, though, if. North hadn't ever known a schedule that had gone exactly according to plan -- especially when he was a factor in it.

The doors to the back of the ship slid open as Dragan emerged, blue eyes glinting in the dim light. Most likely he'd been talking to those mushrooms of his. They did a lot of planning together, apparently, when nobody was around.

“Any news?” Dragan asked, stepping next to the cockpit, his arms crossed.

North shrugged. “None of the news is saying the Supreme Heir got mugged in an alley somewhere, so it's looking like she made it home safe. Warms your heart, doesn't it?”

“Safe,” Dragan snorted derisively. “She's already somebody else's puppet.”

“About that…” North's dark eyes flicked up to Dragan's bright ones. “Wanted to have a little conversation with ya.”

“We're having one right now, aren't we?”

North spoke seriously -- a rarity for him. “That chick Hapgrass.”

“What about her?” Dragan raised an eyebrow.

“She ain't the real deal.”

Dragan frowned. “What do you mean?”

It sounded crazy, but it was the only thing that made sense to North. He'd recognised that woman the second she'd walked out of the church. On its own, nothing suspicious. As they'd crossed paths, though…

“Anya Hapgrass and I had a run-in a little while back,” North explained. “We ended up getting into a, ah… disagreement of sorts.”

“Can't imagine why.”

“Anyway,” North waved a vague hand. “The way she left that place? She wasn't getting back up. Dead in all but the most, uh, literal sense of the word. You know? Permanent hospital stay, that kinda thing.”

“So what?” Dragan asked. “This is the Supremacy. They have crazy medical technology these days. You've seen what the AWL are up to.”

North turned in his seat, the levity draining from his face.

“Yeah, yeah…” he said quietly. “That ain't the thing that bothers me. What bothers me is that she didn't recognise me. The kind of brawl we had? You'd remember.”

Slowly, Dragan closed his eyes -- and took a deep breath.

“I see,” he muttered. “I’ll keep it in mind. For the time being, though, she's useful -- whoever she is. We'll just have to see if she delivers on the deal.”

The irreverent smirk returned to North's lips. He found it was never a good idea to stay too serious for too long. Bad for the soul.

“Anyway, forget about that broad,” he said. “Looks like you're gonna be the star of the show tonight, huh? You worried about Rain?”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Dragan turned and began to walk away, preparing for the moment the Angel Dove would touch down. He slipped his white jacket over his shoulders. A spark of electric-blue Aether crawled across his spine.

“Xander Rain?” he chuckled to himself. “No. I'm not worried at all.”

Bruno glared into the dark.

Somehow, Rae Ruditia had managed to snag an interview with one of the first fighters in this Dawn Contest -- Xander Rain. The one who'd be taking on Dragan in the first battle. The upper echelons of the Tree of Might had always been cagey about the media, but Ruditia had somehow managed to convince their new young leader to speak with her. The woman was convincing, if nothing else.

Dragan. Dragan. Dragan.

Bruno ground his teeth as he brooded in the dark shuttle. The Tree of Might hadn't wanted to reveal the location of their temporary headquarters, so Ruditia and her bodyguards were being transported there in a vessel with no view of the outside. He expected it'd be the same on the way back. That, or they'd try to kill them to maintain secrecy. The Tree of Might seemed like those kinds of idiots.

Dragan. Dragan. Dragan.

It was difficult inside the cargo hold, but if Bruno focused his Aether into his eyes he could just barely see the others. Rae Ruditia herself, politely sat down, awaiting their arrival. Rex, stood dutifully by the door, his arms crossed. Alice, sprawled out on the floor, looking like she was a second away from a nap. Ellis, his ear pressed against the wall -- no doubt listening for clues to their location.

And Ruth.

Dragan. Dragan. Dragan.

Bruno knew that she felt the same as he did. That bitter, sharp emotion that he couldn't quite name. Disappointment? It was more intense than that. Betrayal? No, he'd known betrayal, and this was different.

Dragan. Dragan. Dragan.

All he knew was that he'd gone to great lengths to see his friend again, and that his friend had gone to the same lengths to make sure that didn't happen.

Dragan… Bruno thought to himself. When I see you again, you're getting a punch from me too.

For a second, the thought brought a smile to his lips -- but it quickly vanished as a sudden piercing pain struck at his head. Bruno squeezed his eyes shut as the migraine raged through his skull, pulling nausea up from his throat and an itchiness from behind his eyes. For a terrible, terrible second, it felt like the sensation wouldn't end -- but as always, it did, stopping in an instant like it had never even happened at all.

Bruno? Serena asked. Are you okay?

“Yeah,” Bruno mumbled under his breath. “Always.”

The shuttle thudded to a stop -- and a second later, the lights flicked back on. Bruno squinted from the sudden shift in lighting, undoing his infusion to return his vision to its usual quality. He had no doubt this was on purpose: to throw them off guard. Again, the Tree of Might were those kinds of idiots.

Rae smiled as the doors slid open, revealing their escort.

Bruno had seen quite a few Scurrants in his life, but this one was still a spectacle. The woman was tall and muscular, to a terrifying degree, but wholly lacked facial features -- no ears, no eyes, no nose, no mouth. As if that wasn't enough, her body was completely clear -- like some kind of gel -- and her internal organs could be seen floating around inside like fish in an aquarium.

She'd said her name was Violence. Hopefully, that wasn't fitting.

“Out,” she said, her face vibrating to create her clear voice. “The First Branch will see you now.”

Despite the menace before them, Rae did not flinch as she stepped forward and hopped out of the shuttle. The rest followed after her. As Bruno passed Violence, he tensed up, ready for a sneak attack -- but none came.

They were in some kind of temple, that much was clear. Stone walls and floors, engraved with ancient heroes and battles, with lit fiery torches lining the perimeter of the room. Members of the Tree of Might, their faces barely illuminated by the flames, watched with grave expressions as the gathering was led past them.

Bruno had heard of the Tree of Might before, of course, but he'd never dealt with them directly. One of the old Contenders, Lho Rho, had apparently been a former member. They were some kind of ultraconservative organization -- focused on bringing back the ideal of some primordial, ‘pure’ Supremacy.

Sounded like a daydream to him.

The boy they'd come to see stood at the head of the chamber, arms crossed as he looked down on them from atop a long flight of steps. That was probably the only way he could look down on them, to be honest -- he was just a kid, and you could tell. The way he stood, the way he stared, it was all very imposing… but you could tell it was meant to be imposing. A child dressing up in their parents clothes.

“You wished to speak to me?” Xander said, brown eyes unblinking as he looked down at Rae.

Rae smiled sweetly, flicking her script out of her pocket as her automatic camera bobbed over her shoulder. “Rae Ruditia,” she introduced herself. “Silvereye Azum-Ha. We were hoping you'd be willing to answer some questions for our viewers at home.”

“Your viewers?” Xander scoffed, his eyes drifting to the camera. “The indolent masses, you mean. They disgust me. There's no reason in my speaking to them.”

“And yet you invited us here,” Rae said, that smile still on her face. “Doesn't that mean you have something you want to say?”

“There is a difference between accepting tribute and invitation,” Xander said imperiously. “And the Tree of Might does not speak. We are. The mere presence of our glory before your viewers will reveal to them -- the true among them -- that the true Supremacy is about to reassert himself. That the thrones of cowards and weaklings are about to be torn down! I, standing here, will show them this! Do not mistake yourself for an ear. You are an eye, fortunate enough not to be blinded.”

Faced with that borderline-unhinged tirade, Rae only blinked. “The true Supremacy?” she asked. “What's that, then?’

Xander thumped his glaive against the stone floor. “He is a Supremacy which does not neglect his traditions, his ancestry. A Supremacy which does not burn his past to propel himself towards the future. A Supremacy that remembers who he is.”

“How so?” Rae pressed. “What sort of traditions has the modern Supremacy forgotten… from your point of view?”

As a crack of brown Aether moved through Xander’s hair, his war-robe began to sway as if in an invisible wind. Bruno wondered if that was intentional. It certainly looked impressive.

The boy closed his eyes and said, as if imparting deep wisdom: “Life through battle.”

“Life through battle,” Rae echoed.

“Life through battle,” Xander said. “Our society has been brought low by a plague. The disease of false conflict, of false accomplishment. Fools who call themselves warriors because of their victory in intelligence, their victory in politics, their victory in finance…” He spoke each word as if it was an insect under his shoe. “Once the true Supremacy returns, such delusions will no longer be entertained.”

“I see, I see,” Rae said, her eyes twinkling pink with interest. “And what will the true Supremacy do? In terms of policy, I mean?”

Xander smirked. “Eyes that have been blinded will see clearly again. Our enemies, the falsely declared Unified Alliance of Planets, the pathetic Final Church… they will know the folly of their ways. The weakness they have cultivated will come to harvest.”

“So you'll go to war with them?” Rae stepped forward, her smile spreading wider, a sense of excitement tempering her tone.

“We will defeat them!” Xander declared, raising his glaive high. “We will show the entire galaxy that the true Supremacy is not to be meddled with, not to be denied, not to be opposed! Never opposed!”

All around the sides of the room, the gathered members of the Tree of Might raised their own weapons. Swords and spears, rifles and bows, daggers and batons -- all of them reached for the ceiling, and all their wielders spoke as one:

“NEVER OPPOSED!”

Rae Ruditia nodded along, her finger scrawling notes onto her script. “Alright, alright, never opposed,” she said. “I can dig it. So you'll defeat everyone. Then what?”

Xander paused. “What?”

“Once you've won all those wars,” Rae replied. “What happens next? What does the true Supremacy do?”

“Well…” Xander stepped back, frowning. “That is the ultimate mission. We will have proven our Supremacy over all. There's nothing else to be done.”

Rae’s smile dropped from her face, pink eyes dull against her blonde hair. “So that's it?”

For the first time, the teenager that was Xander Rain was clearly visible. His face was almost sheepish as his eyes flicked away. “I…”

He didn't get the chance to say anything else. Before he could, Rae sighed, slipping her script back into her jacket pocket.

“Well, thank you very much,” she said, disinterest clear in her gaze. “My people will send across the airing times if you want to watch it. Best of luck in your match tonight. Can we get a ride back?”

Xander's brow creased, and he stomped forward. “Hey! Halt! There is still far more to see!”

Rae raised an eyebrow. “There is?”

Xander's eyes flicked around again -- to the left, to the right, taking in the figures of all the other Tree of Might members. Right. Bruno got it: the First Branch couldn't let himself be shown up in front of the rank-and-file.

“You spoke of the match tonight,” he said, stoic look returning to his face. “You wished me luck. But you need not wish me luck in advance.”

“How's that?”

Suddenly, the building shook all around them. Bruno stumbled in place from the sudden movement, dust spilling from the ceiling and onto his head. The rest of the party got quick dust-showers as well. Before the dust could fall on Xander, though, it suddenly diverted and fell next to him, like it had hit an invisible umbrella.

“What is this?!” Ruth demanded, regaining her balance. Next to her, Rae just continued to look up at their host, steady on her feet.

Xander looked at Ruth for the first time. “This is Azum-Ha,” he said, as if the whole thing was obvious. “The city of floating buildings. This ancient temple is no exception. We have taken flight, my friend. And our destination…”

He smiled.

“...is the Dawn Contest! You will bear witness to its beginning.”