"You're not fooling anyone," Milton scoffed as Ortega floated before him. "You're not going to escape. You simply aren't strong enough to get past me."

Ortega had slumped forward while he floated in the air, both hands closed around a silver orb he clutched tightly. Milton didn't understand why Ortega wouldn't just give up. His curse was powerful, but it was below the level of a commander such as himself. Ortega could easily take on a captain with his current curse, but he lacked the fundamentals in aether control to do real harm.

He couldn't even walk on air.

Bzzt.

Ortega didn't respond. However, at that moment, an arc of blue lightning flashed off his shoulder, arcing into the semi-transparent ball encompassing him. The flash of light faded, but Milton wasn't impressed. Ortega wasn't any different than any other cursed outlaw. He had power but no control.

"Boy." Milton sighed. "You're not intimidating me. You're playing checkers while I'm playing chess. Why don't you surrender and make this easier for yourself?"

Bzzt. Crackle.

A second arc lanced out into the ball. This time, it didn't stop. The arc continued between Ortega and the ball, arcing back and forth and forming a zigzagging line of electricity. Milton narrowed his eyes. The flow of aether around Ortega had changed. It was building as the electricity zapped back and forth.

Bzzt.

"Junk Body."

Ortega looked up with those words. The blue light crackling around him burst into a bright flash. Milton raised his hands to shield his eyes. In the shadow of his outstretched hand, Ortega changed. Disparate metal pieces formed around his body, cladding him in jagged armor from head to toe. A helm formed around his head with a pointed visage, only a slit for his eyes remaining open to the world outside. Long metal arms formed around his own, wrapping even around the silver orb in his right hand.

Bzzt.

The light faded away, and Milton lowered his hand. Other than the armor and focus of aether around his form, he could detect no real difference with Ortega's body. Milton smirked. He could still salvage this entire fiasco. WPN One was gone, and while Tartarus was damaged, it could be rebuilt with time. It could even be made to serve an actual tactical purpose instead of as a cage for a failed experiment.

He just needed to put down Ortega.

"Alright, if you won't listen to reason, there's only one gambit left."

Milton stepped back with his right foot, holding his fist clenched tight as he focused on the flow of aether around him. He was a student of two paths and a master of one. Might and Step were his weakest, while Will was the one he had to master to attain his rank. He took in a deep breath and brought aether flowing into his muscles all along his arm. They tensed under the strength, coiling like a readied spring as he looked into the flow of aether around Ortega.

A smattering of images stretched out from Ortega's body as Milton peered into the future. They were superimposed on the world around Ortega in blue and white. In one, he came from above, a massive pole appearing in his hands as he struck down on Milton. In another, his arm doubled in size in a strong right hook right for Milton's jaw.

While the Path of Will was powerful in its own right, these images formed the core of its power. The Path of Will allowed its master to see what would happen moments before it happened. It gave the user a sense of the possible paths. That was why, to be a commander, one had to master the Path of Will.

"Might."

Milton jumped through the images, throwing his fist at where he saw Ortega would be in moments. He needed no plan for failure because he saw the possible paths before him. He only needed to knock Ortega off balance and take advantage of that to take the outlaw down in two easy punches.

Bzzt. Thump.

Pain rocketed through Milton's arm as his fist hit a flat metal surface. Ortega held up his metal arm, clawed fingers outstretched. Those claws clamped down a moment after, cutting into Milton's arm as Ortega grabbed hold of him. Milton clenched his teeth as sharp spikes of pain dug into him. He pulled back on the arm, which only allowed the sharp claws to dig deeper.

"This—" Milton grunted. "This isn't possible."

Ortega was no master of the Path of Will. He shouldn't have been able to see into the future as Milton had. Milton had seen what Ortega would do and reacted appropriately. The only way to counter the Path of Will was mastery of it. There were no records that he could even use the path.

He poured more aether into his arm, pulling back on it as he raised his second hand for leverage. Claws pierced bone, but he didn't feel that beyond a dull sensation. He pulled back harder, his muscles bulging as he pushed more aether into his arms and legs.

"This is just the start," Ortega's voice echoed through his jagged helm. "Simple as that."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Errn.

Ortega raised his free hand, stretching with it as he balled it into a fist. Milton struggled against his grip, but it was impossible to get free. No matter how hard he pulled against Ortega's grip, he couldn't get out of the hold. It was like he was trapped in a vice grip. Ortega's mechanical strength couldn't be overcome by human muscle alone.

"Now, here's some payback, with interest."

Thud. Crack.

The fist impacted Milton's jaw, and his head shook under the strength. His vision wobbled as he fell to the side, nearly losing his focus on the aether keeping him aloft. Milton caught himself on one foot, drawing back with his free fist. If Ortega could play this game, so could he. He would trade blows with the outlaw, and Ortega would find out precisely how strong a commander was.

"Might."

Thud.

He threw his punch, striking into the metal armor without hesitation. Might strengthened his arm's durability, so he didn't have to worry about his knuckles breaking, and he came away with a sizeable dent on Ortega's helmet. Ortega didn't back down, though.

Thud.

A strike slammed into Milton's gut. Milton wheezed out a breath, and his vision blurred. His mind raced to keep himself awake. Black stretched across the edges of his vision, but he clenched his teeth and pushed Ortega's metal fist aside. He was a commander. He would not go down to some outlaw.

Crack.

Metal bent underneath his boot as his leg shot up. His free hand touched the air, aether hardening under his fingertips to give him purchase to force the kick up hard. He didn't call on the Path of Might in the strike, but that wouldn't matter. Ortega's chin shot up under the force of his kick, the metal helmet knocking back with a solid crack.

Milton smiled as Ortega sagged. The fight was over. No one could survive having their brain rattled around that fast. Ortega would be lucky if he could string two words together when Milton brought him in.

"I hope you know I didn't want to do that," Milton said as he lowered his leg and stood. "I don't like to be brutal, but sometimes you must cut off the king's head to win the game."

Ortega didn't respond, falling from where Milton held him toward the water. It was unfortunate that the outlaw had to try him. He would have much rather given Ortega a cell to rot in to pay for his crimes. Milton raised his freed hand to massage his mustache—until Ortega's falling body pulled him down with it.

"Grah."

Milton pulled back on his arm as the claws scraped across his skin, leaving trails of blood down his arm. Ortega had a death grip on him, but that wasn't what caught his attention. The metal suit of armor still wrapped around Ortega. That was wrong.

Most curses' effects disappeared when the user was incapacitated or killed. Yet, Ortega's armor remained. Either he was one of the few exceptions, or—

Ortega flipped up on him, his body moving impossibly quickly to balance on the one hand holding Milton's arm. Milton tried to fight back against the pull, but Ortega wasn't just pulling with his muscles. Milton felt the flow of aether in the air around him. Ortega was pulling with the weight of the base, magnetically raising them both toward the remains of the dome.

"If you're not going to hold back, neither am I."

Ortega's soft voice echoed inside his helmet. It wasn't angry or scared—it was cold and robotic. There was no human in those words—only a machine following its function.

A scattering of blue images lit up the area around Ortega, solidifying into one possible future that Milton couldn't escape.

Bzzt.

Blue lights flowed down Ortega's outstretched leg, changing the form of the metal armor to a long and sharp blade. It was as long as Ortega was tall and balanced directly above Milton's head. Milton clenched his teeth as he raised his arm, funneling aether into it. He had to block the blow.

"Might!"

Swoosh. Squelch. Splash.

Milton closed his eyes as he hit the water. He could no longer concentrate on maintaining his platform in the air. He couldn't even keep his thoughts trained together as the air bubbles followed him into the depths of Tartarus. The water turned dark around him as he sunk until he finally closed his eyes.

Alex floated, his magnetism keeping his body aloft as he looked out over Tartarus. The base was in ruins. The dome was covered in long cracks where metal plates had been ripped from the walls. Smoke rose out from the few hallways that remained. The air docks were gone, and only a single tower and the water docks below remained somewhat intact.

"Help!"

The voices were still there, though. Since he had opened himself up to the second level of his curse, he had heard them: the cries of trapped people across Tartarus as they fought to escape, the soldiers who might die. He knew there were others working on rescue, and many would survive.

But not all of them.

He didn't like it, but it wasn't his part to play. He was an outlaw, and if he didn't get out soon, he couldn't leave the base. The orb embedded in the right hand of his armor was sputtering now. It didn't return the same charge between his gate and hand. The constant electric strum was now just a minor tingle.

The voices faded with it. He couldn't hear the suffering any longer.

"Is it enough now, Arci?"

Arci didn't respond as the water crashed below. Shuttles whirred through the sky between the docks and the island where she was still trapped. When the orb's power finally faded, she would speak no more. It was the last tether of her life to the world, spent to grant her some payback for the years trapped underneath Tartarus.

"I thought it would help," Arci whispered in his mind. "I thought I would feel better if it was all torn down. If they knew the suffering I had felt all these years."

In the distance, Alex spotted a ship coming through the torn gates of Tartarus. The Nighthawk came in low, skimming the water's surface. A shuttle was going toward it, and Alex sensed that his crew had found their way out.

They would be waiting for him.

"It never does," Alex said. "Back on August, I didn't feel better after burning down the lab. It didn't matter that the people who had done horrible things to me were dead."

"Would you do it again?"

"Hah. I just did it again." Alex smirked, even as a pit opened in his stomach.

"What about the people who didn't know? There are cooks who serve the soldiers. People whose job is to clean up the offices. They didn't do anything to me."

"That's the problem." Alex sighed, looking out over the shuttles. "If you do nothing, the system keeps grinding away. If you break the system, people will get hurt."

"Then why did you get involved here? You could have killed me and snuck away. I was hoping you would do that."

"I don't know," Alex said. "Was it because I saw you and couldn't ignore it? Was it because the power was there to use? Maybe I'll find the answer on the way to Hortus Magnus."

Bzzt.

The electric charge weakened further, and Alex looked out to the ship.

"We don't have much longer," Arci's voice crackled with static. "Goodbye, Alex."

"Goodbye," Alex said. "Rest well, Arci."

He dropped the commander's arm and pulled himself toward the approaching ship. He could worry about the moral problem of what he did later. Now, he needed to get his crew out of Tartarus before the base could rally a response.

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