Aetheral Space

Morgan Nacht landed on the next floor down with a heavy thump.

"Two."

"Fuck you…" Morgan groaned at himself, still lying on his side. Even getting up was risky at this point. It'd take at least another step to get back to his feet, and that was a step he couldn't afford to waste.

Good thing he'd come prepared.

P.

Get up.

It was an unsettling sensation, using the Puppet ability. It felt like you were locked inside your own body, watching helplessly as someone else moved you around. Morgan could see everything, feel everything as his body mechanically followed his command… but those sensations still felt strangely alien to him.

As soon as Puppet ended -- leaving him upright -- Morgan sucked in a deep breath, as if he'd just been freed from a noose. Face resolute, he looked up towards the hole in the ceiling. This wasn't over yet.

Gretchen Hail. Ionir was inside her body right now, messing with her, stopping her from fighting properly. He'd responded to his name, driving Gretchen into that frenzy. That was the only reason Morgan had survived so long with such an absurdly unfair handicap.

That was what was going on. That had to be what was going on. Right…?

But this didn't seem familiar. Morgan had hosted Ionir inside his body for a good length of time, and it hadn't been like this at all. They'd been able to communicate without words, sure, but Ionir hadn't been able to mess with Morgan's mind or anything like that. Not like what was happening to Gretchen now.

It had been a case of Ionir interconnecting with Morgan's body, not his consciousness -- not really. Hell, his body had sprouted branches back then, when Ionir had been getting him to safety back on Elysian Fields. He hadn't seen anything like that from Gretchen yet.

Was this something else, then? Was he wrong?

Was Ionir really…?

No.

Morgan tightened his grip on his Fog-sword, steeling himself. He didn't have time for doubt right now. He had a job to do. First, he had to deal with Gretchen Hail. Then, he had to warn Muzazi that Ash and Mereloco were coming for him -- catching up to them wasn't an option, what with Black Timer and all.

Come on down, Gretchen, Morgan thought, looking up into the darkness. I'll cut you open and drag my friend out of you.

GRETCHEN HAIL felt sick.

But that was fine. She didn't have time to worry about it. Discomfort was a fact of life. She'd been a sickly sapling, a sickly kid. She'd found her fascination with Armaments because of those days of illness. So, even if her sap was foul, she wouldn't hesitate.

She'd kill him. MorganNacht… morgan nacht… MORGAN NACHT…

…He'd done something to her. That had to be it. There was no other explanation. 'P'. Psychic. He'd used that. Got inside her head. Filled it full of stuff.

It had to get rid of him.

Ragnarok Forge -- Spine of Granba.

GRETCHEN HAIL slowly rose off the ground as the Armament manifested in a shower of orange Wisdom, holding it aloft with its long and spindly arms. Whatever morgan nacht had done to her mind, it was clearly having an impact on her body's equilibrium. The best way to move around now was with assistance like this.

Her branches twitched -- her fingers -- and the Spine obeyed.

Like a drunken spider, it maneuvered her through the hole in the floor she'd created, slamming its many arms into the woodwork to keep her steady as she went. Her legs flapped beneath her like they were broken. Her leaves hung low over her face.

She couldn't see it, but the one green eye shone through the dark, an augur of her arrival. She was ready.

Shotgun, in its hands, it had a name, didn't matter. It reloaded it. The sound was satisfying. Guns… they had never been its favourite weapons in an aesthetic sense, but GRETCHEN HAIL couldn't deny their efficacy.

As it slowly lowered into view, GRETCHEN HAIL pointed the gun directly at morgan nacht. He was already on the other side of the room, weapons readied, having taken advantage of its slow descent. He'd moved a lot for someone under Black Timer. That was weird.

That was so weird!

GRETCHEN HAIL opened its mouth to speak, but all that came out was a low groan:

There you are there you are kill you end you morgan nacht don't need you anymore don't need atoy muzazi anymore get rid of you eyesore eyesore get lost.

"Eyesore?" morgan nacht frowned. "Aw, Ionir, you're going to hurt my feelings."

GRETCHEN HAIL hissed:

NOT IONIR

"Then why are you speaking his language?" morgan nacht said seriously. "Those noises you're making… those sounds… that's how the Fell Beasts communicate. You're talking with his words."

Enough!

Nonsense words provoking anger-response in GRETCHEN HAIL -- catharsis required for emotional stability. Saliva dripping down mouth: ignore, not sap. Ready arms, have the blood spray. Ready fists, have the bones crunch. Ready branches, have the guts be pulled.

It fired the weapon -- no room for name or shape -- each shot blasting the room apart, each shot accompanied by a swarm of pink shards that sliced the air to shred afterwards. GRETCHEN HAIL opened its mouth wide as it fired, intending to cackle, instead only shrieking. Its eyes bulged out of its sockets. Its heart burned in its chest.

Feel sick, feel sick, feel sick, feel sick.

The sickness is him.

Get rid. GET RID!

One shot --

P.

Roll to the left, dart under couch.

-- dodged.

Two shots --

P.

Leap upwards, kick off ceiling, land behind Gretchen.

-- dodged.

morgan nacht landed behind GRETCHEN HAIL with a thump. No delusional heartbeat. No exploding organ. The enemy had found a countermeasure to the old man's technique. morgan nacht's movements were mechanical but fluid. Mechanical? Yes.

Mechanical mechanical mechanical mechanical.

There are steps that can be taken.

Ragnarok Forge -- Silversaint Prototypes!

It took a moment to think of their names, but GRETCHEN HAIL's tin soldiers spilled out of her Wisdom, arms outstretched at morgan nacht's face as they oozed out of the air. More enemies, more enemies, more enemies. Overwhelm the human with numbers and watch him fall. It had worked before. Those who rebelled against the Gene Nobles knew this same pain.

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Now GRETCHEN HAIL laughed.

Even…

P.

Slash, slash, slash, slash, slash!

… as the Prototypes were sliced apart mid-manifestation, warped and inhuman laughter echoing throughout the room. Metal clanged against the floor, weaker than wood, severed gauntlets and helmets like so much trash. GRETCHEN HAIL whirled around, striking with all sixteen arms -- branches -- arms -- branches -- but…

P.

Flip over her and pull out the Spine of Granba.

…with the ease of someone plucking a grape from the vine, morgan nacht won.

There was only the slightest sensation of discomfort as he pulled the base of the Spine of Granba from GRETCHEN HAIL's back, but the effect was immediate. The sixteen artificial limbs it had been using immediately dissipated into Wisdom, and GRETCHEN HAIL fell hard to the floor. Before it could get up, before it could do anything more than writhe, it was rolled onto its back -- and a blade was raised directly over its heart.

morgan nacht panted for breath, sabre ready to come down and finish the fight, one knee on GRETCHEN HAIL's stomach to keep it in place. His golden eyes stared down at it, wide, recording every detail as if starving for them.

"Both green now," he breathed, looking into GRETCHEN HAIL's eyes. "Ionir?'

A crackling hiss trickled from GRETCHEN HAIL's mouth.

Not Ionir NOT IONIR GRETCHEN HAIL YOU KNOW THIS YOU KNOW THIS YOU KNOW THIS

morgan nacht mouth open says

"Ionir"

NOT IONIR NOT IONIR GRETCHEN GRETCHENGRETCHENGRETCHEN SHUT UP

morgan nacht mouth noise

"ionir"

SHUT UP SHUT UP HURTSHURTSHURTS

morgan nacht:

ionir

I I I I I WE WE WE WE WE WE I I I I IIIIIIIIIIIIII

"Ionir!" said Morgan Nacht, one more time, tears in his eyes -- that single word packed with all his grief, all his regret, all his desire for reunion.

Beckoning him forth, beckoning him forth.

And…

Water is memory, and memory is water.

But water is not the tree it feeds.

…a sharp pain struck.

Morgan gasped -- and as he did, he tasted blood in his mouth. He looked down, and he understood. He looked down, and he saw the twisted dagger Gretchen Hail was holding -- the twisted dagger that she'd shoved right into his stomach.

"Oh," Gretchen said, her green eyes calm and sedate. "Look at that. I guess I win."

"I-Ioni --"

"Oh, right," she raised an eyebrow. "You thought I was your friend come back to life, didn't you? I'm afraid not."

She twisted the knife, and Morgan screamed as it tore through his flesh. Taking advantage of his pain, Gretchen flipped the two of them over -- so that she was now the one on top, straddling her opponent, while Morgan's back struck the floor hard.

"One."

"You've misunderstood the situation, I think," Gretchen said quietly, her breath tickling Morgan's nose as she leaned in. "Ionir Yggdrassil is dead. I killed it at that rooftop on Azum-Ha. That's not up for debate."

She was pushing back, but Morgan just had to say it again -- just had to call his friend again…

"Ionir…"

"It's not listening," Gretchen said flatly. "Or rather, it isn't here to listen. The Fell Beast didn't infest my body -- that's what you were hoping happened, isn't it?"

"Liar…" Morgan seethed through the pain.

"I'm not lying. You remember Ionir Yggdrassil's Wisdom ability, right? Absorption of memories -- or, more accurately, memory transferrence."

Morgan's eyes widened.

"It looks like you're starting to understand. That's right. Ionir Yggdrassil had been carrying the memories of its fallen race along with it. Once it understood it was dying, it knew it couldn't allow those memories to just disappear too. But the only suitable receptacle for those memories in the vicinity…" Gretchen slowly tapped a finger against her chest. "...was yours truly."

"But all of that… before… he was taking over…"

"No," Gretchen shook her head. "Those downloaded memories were dormant -- I won't deny that you activated them and there was some confusion with my sense of self, but that's over now. They've properly integrated."

The knife slowly turned, and slowly turned, and slowly turned. Morgan screamed in pain as an agony threshold was crossed. Gretchen did not blink.

"It's just information," she said. "It took a while to process… but that's basically it."

P!

Punch her in the head, roll to the side and stop in a kneeling position, apply pressure to the wound.

Gretchen saw the desperate maneuver coming. She jumped up and off Morgan to avoid the punch, landing a short distance away and staring him down as he rolled onto one knee, panting for breath. The knife dripped blood in her hand. The wound wept blood in Morgan's side.

"That's some puppeteering power," Gretchen observed, wiping the blood from the knife with her poncho. "Knowing you, I bet it's actually 'P' for 'Puppet', isn't it? That'd be funny. Did you skip some letters to get there, or do you have options I don't know about?"

Morgan wheezed for breath, still clutching his burning wound.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he gasped.

H. A.

Pain nearly sent him down to the ground, expending his last step --

F! A!

-- but a makeshift limb of Fog held him up, saving him. His face dripping with sweat, Morgan stared his enemy down while his wound slowly and painfully sealed itself shut.

"No," Gretchen murmured. "You don't have options. Do you? You don't have any options left at all. But I…"

She spread her arms wide.

"...have nothing but. Ragnarok Forge."

This was the end.

Morgan braced himself for it. He knew that Gretchen kept countless Armaments of every shape and size recorded in that Aether of hers. She'd have no shortage of tools that could put down a wounded enemy from a distance.

With this wound, and this handicap, and this rotten day… there was nothing else Morgan Nacht could do.

This was the end.

This was the end.

Morgan closed his eyes…

…and nothing happened.

He opened them again.

Nothing had changed. Gretchen Hail was still standing there, her arms still spread wide, as if the moment of her victory had been put on pause -- save for one essential difference. The look on her face reflected none of the quiet confidence she'd exuded just a moment before.

Now it held nothing but uncomprehending shock.

"Ragnarok Forge!" she repeated, her voice hoarse.

Nothing happened.

"Ragnarok Forge! Ragnarok Forge!"

Still nothing, no matter how many times Gretchen cried out those words. The wound finally closed on Morgan's stomach, the hot pain replaced by a cold dull ache. He barely noticed. His attention was focused on one thing -- the other essential difference he'd just noticed.

"Ragnarok Forge! Ragnarok Forge! Ragnarok Forge!"

Gretchen continued to shout, her green eyes wide with panic. Slowly, Morgan raised a trembling finger. He wasn't pointing at her, though. He was pointing at what was around her.

He was pointing at the olive Aether crackling around her body like an aurora.

Her gaze followed his, and the panic in her eyes settled into an existential horror. The Aether. Olive, not orange. This wasn't her Aether. No, scratch that. This wasn't Gretchen Hail's Aether.

And this wasn't Gretchen Hail anymore.

"You… you did something…" 'Gretchen Hail' murmured, the words sounding doubtful even as she spoke them. "It's a trick…"

"I don't have any tricks like that," Morgan whispered. "You know I don't."

They say a person is the sum of their memories. If that was the case, Morgan wondered, then what happened when the memories of two people were mixed up inside one head? It was just like paint. When red and blue swirled together, you couldn't call the result red or blue anymore.

This was a new person standing in front of him. A mixture of Gretchen Hail and the memories Ionir Yggdrassil had hidden inside her head. A brand new human being.

It was strange. It was still Gretchen's face. It was still Gretchen's voice. But, when Morgan Nacht looked at her right now…

…he couldn't muster up much hatred.

The newborn reached into a pocket, face stricken with terror, clearly searching for something. An Aether Armament she'd hidden on her person, not stored inside her now inaccessible Ragnarok Forge. Morgan raised a hand to stop her.

"Wait!" he said.

She did not wait. Flight had conquered fight. With desperate fumbling speed, she pulled a small silver key out of her pocket -- but in the moment before she squeezed it tight, she did at least look up at Morgan.

Green stared into gold.

"Homeward Bound!" she shouted.

And, in a flash of light, she was gone.

And, in a wave of despair, he was alone.

And, in a battle's wake, the world was silent.