“Levy Han’s bones remember their original owners. At night, they whisper their true names—and his screams drown them out.”

  - Report from a Glaniece defector, deemed “heretical”.

  The recognition within the beasts’ eyes shifted into a primal, almost feral spark between them. Lucius stepped forward, his every bone shifting and cracking to accommodate his new power. At the edge of the concave, Friday stared down at the man before finally pulling his hood down.

  Two Martians met the other’s gaze. Blue veins shined within their bloodshot eyes as their respiration picked up. Hands fell to weapons, one raising his hatchet and the unknown figure lifting his sickles.

  Other races would have been overjoyed to meet another of their kind. They would smile, wave, and seek an interaction with each other. Even the most prosperous Tianshes felt their emotions simmer upon a familiar face within a galaxy of countless species.

  But the Martians? Built upon the warframes of humanity and their violence?

  Only one thing could come from their meeting. Only one result would occur when two Martians met each other upon a mission.

  Once upon a time, they were the most feared and respected soldiers, bound by camaraderie and honor. They laughed, ate, fought, and bled amongst each other. They died consoling their kin. As the years passed by...

  Their numbers dwindled. And dwindled.

  Whether it was poaching, bounties, or their own dangerous predispositions for violence, too many died choking on blood. Eventually, only the battle-hardened remained. Lucius’ children were the first known Martians born in nearly a hundred years.

  Besides Zachariah and Hope, all Martians lived in bloodshed. His wife was no different, yet she had tamed herself. And then him.

  But at this moment, with those chains released and his body swelling with power, Lucius showed no signs of the man he had become with her guiding hand. He regressed, filling the air with a heartwrenching howl as he shattered the lotus beneath him into cracks from a single kick.

  He flew toward Friday across the Inferose, his hatchet screeching as it soared for the man’s head. However, a scythe caught it, twisting the weapon to the side. Another followed from Lucius’ left, covered by a growing layer of semi-liquid darkness.

  The soldier caught the curved blade with his hand. Azure burst into exploding flowers as his fingers wrapped around the weapon that penetrated into his palm.

  A maddened smile met Friday’s passionless facade. He spoke down at the bleeding figure while they momentarily struggled for power, “I see. A hound. You have lost yourself to the bloodlust. As kin... I shall end you rightly.”

  The next second, an impact shattered the insides of Lucius’ right side as he bounced across the Inferose’s top like a tossed blossom. He landed on his stomach, already feeling the truth of his injuries, but the blue overcame his sight.

  So, Lucius stood and clenched his fists as his body wobbled. Then, he righted himself and faced his opponent. The hand that had been stabbed was reknitting itself with interconnecting strips of vines, and Friday noticed the peculiarity.

  “You... already took one. I see. More reason to kill you,” he said with the same fondness as one may have for an empty water bottle. His boots met Lucius’ stampeding footsteps, and they clashed once again.

  Lucius swung his hatchet with a roar, the force of the blow creating a gust that scattered the swirling ash and embers across the Inferose’s peak. Friday moved fluidly, his twin sickles a blur of black arcs as they intercepted the attack. Sparks flew as a metal ground against metal, but Friday’s strength forced Lucius back, his boots skidding against the cracked surface.

  A sickle whipped toward Lucius’ midsection, aiming to cleave through his flesh, but the vines embedded within him acted reflexively. They coiled beneath his skin, forming a dense mesh that absorbed much of the impact. Even so, the blow staggered him, and the sharp edge still bit deep enough to spill blood.

  Worse, as he shuffled backward, the pitch that remained on his stomach and hand rumbled dangerously, just awaiting a spark.

  Despite the pain, Lucius growled, shoving forward with raw power. His hatchet found purchase on Friday’s shoulder, splitting through armor and flesh with trickling cerulean. But as Lucius pressed for another strike, Friday countered with brutal efficiency, driving a sickle into his ribcage. The curved blade sunk deep, puncturing one of his hearts and ripping straight through his body.

  Lucius grunted as his vision blurred. Despair wracked his body, but he refused to fall. The vines within him worked feverishly, stitching tissue together even as Friday twirled to return for the other heart.

  With a burst of energy, Lucius wrapped his free hand around Friday’s arm as he stabbed him and wrenched the sickle out of his chest. Blood sprayed, but the regeneration was already taking hold. Lucius smashed his forehead into Friday’s face, the impact cracking bone. The brief disorientation gave Lucius a chance to swing his hatchet again, aiming for the Martian’s throat.

  But before the hatchet could decapitate the man, a single finger tapped the growing darkness on Lucius’ body. After, a defining light emerged.

  Lucius’ eyes reopened as he found himself kneeling moments later, coughing and gasping for air from the explosion that had just torn apart his innards, which were visible for all to see. Both hearts hung from open flesh and shattered bones, suturing themselves back together with a frenetic intensity.

  “You cling to life like a weed, old man,” Friday spat, his tone calm yet tinged with disdain. He shifted his stance, his sickles glowing with that dark, pulsing Tide.

  “And you act like you’re above it,” Lucius countered, his voice guttural as he rose again. His body felt heavier with each step, the Inferose’s gift within him drawing more energy from the atmosphere to sustain his relentless regeneration. His movements were slower now, but his strength seemed only to grow.

  He was...

  Evolving.

  Friday noticed. His expression didn’t change, but his attacks became sharper, more precise. Every strike of his sickles targeted Lucius’ weak points—the joints, the neck, the vital organs, adding up on the sticky Tide for an ultimate strike. And though Lucius’ regeneration worked tirelessly to repair the damage, the sheer onslaught overwhelmed even his enhanced body.

  Lucius held the advantage in technique, speed, and power, but the other Martian wasn’t blinded by his emotions. Furthermore, he manipulated that bizarre Tide with seamless potential, turning defense into attack and attack into defense. Worse yet, the threat of the clumps of pitch on Lucius’ healing wounds and inside his body only grew with each moment.

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  Finally, as he blocked the hatchet just barely with a film of malleable darkness, Friday drove a knee into Lucius’ stomach, lifting him off the ground before slamming him down. One sickle slashed across his neck, almost decapitating him, while the other plunged into his thigh, pinning him to the ground. Lucius writhed, his vines struggling to pull him back together, but Friday didn’t relent. He twisted the sickle in Lucius’ leg, severing the plant fibers as they tried to mend the wound.

  “You are strong,” Friday admitted, his voice devoid of emotion. “But strength without control is meaningless. Your age has led to madness. Give me the fruit. Now.”

  Against the threat of death, the soldier didn’t bow. He growled, his bloodied hands reaching for Friday’s face. His fingers clawed at the man’s face, stabbing his digits towards his blue eyes in a desperate maneuver. However, the unknown individual held the reins of the battle.

  Without any further hesitation, Friday drove his sickle down toward Lucius’ skull, aiming to finish him.

  The soldier peered up at the descending blade of night, illuminated by the nearby fires of life. And like all Martians, time slowed before his gaze. His thoughts sped up, and he moved without thought.

  Anything for survival.

  With his arms still recovering and feeble, he moved his head. Not away from the blade but toward it. While tilting his skull, he let the sickle slice into his nose, mouth, and chin, ripping away half of his face.

  Vines erupted from the gaping hole in his head, but the soldier had already moved before a single drop of blood had fallen. With the remnants of his arm, he yanked Friday closer and slammed his head into the ground while twisting his entire body.

  Both Martians scrambled to their feet, bloodied and battered. Lucius was panting heavily now, his regeneration slowing under the strain of constant damage. But his eyes burned with an evergrowing madness.

  Opposite him, Friday twirled his sickles before sheathing them. Lucius stared at him in confusion for only a second before charging with a roar.

  The soldier swung high, aiming for Friday’s head, yet the mysterious figure ducked in response. With his crazed nature from the overflowing energy, Lucius didn’t have time to counter as Friday laid his palm against the man’s chest.

  A single, calm moment passed as they met each other’s eyes.

  Then, the hooded man said his farewell amidst a building heat, “Goodbye, old man. It has been many years since I met my match.”

  An impossible heat erupted around Lucius, flinging him backward and head-over-heels as his entire body shut down. Muscles locked, bones shattered, and his vision evaporated in the face of the luminosity. He couldn’t feel his hands. Or his legs. Not even his tongue.

  But his hearing remained.

  Footsteps echoed, reassured and tranquil as if this was just another Friday. The rage returned. And it brought with it the sound of snapping roots, twines, and vines as Lucius climbed to a kneel. His clothes had been decimated, revealing a single, lone cigar.

  And it was lit aflame.

  Like the dwindling life of a young body, Lucius’ vision returned to watch it ebb away. The ashes spilled as blood while the smoke drifted with screams.

  Finally, the anger and rage stopped his shakes. Instead of boiling power, amplifying his unbridled fury, it left his face serene. He found peace with the heat inside. The ripple-less face stared at his kin and spoke with Friday’s identical apathy, “Thanks for the light.”

  Friday spun around, a mere ten paces from the Fruit O’ Flame. His eyes widened in shock as Lucius stood, the cigar between his ruined fingers. The man reached into his coat to retrieve his cleaver, just for a noise to echo amongst their heightened hearing.

  A hand, battered and bloodied, gripped the edge of the Inferose.

  Someone was climbing up.

  They both turned, facing the cliff of the flower, and found a human surmounting the challenge. A ghostly apparition hovered around his shoulder, translucent yet intimidating. Still, they were not alone.

  While Dante had climbed ahead of his lotus, the second to finish his Third Trial also arrived. The cackling laughter of a red-skinned Araki rang out from the other side of the Inferose.

  The four exchanged glances and spoke with their eyes in a split second. However, before any words could enter the air, a fifth spoke with kicking legs from the side, “Look at all of us!? Gathered for a battle royale! Oh, how much fun. I’m awfully sorry, Lucius, but you must accompany me after this. The pretty, pretty Praetor wants every piece of this dimension. And I want that jail-free card.”

  All attention fell onto the young man humoring himself. Eight then shook his head and stared right at Dante.

  “Just kidding. For now, at least. Let’s kill this bomber,” Eight announced with the most serious tone he had ever possessed. Relief spread through Dante’s spine, yet he knew things were not so simple.

  Claudius’ mission was to wholly retrieve the Inferose’s inheritance. With a mere glance, one could see Lucius had stolen a third of it by the ripped flower bud and the roots spawning from his flesh.

  However, Dante didn’t back down. He only asked the soldier a single word as he walked forward, “Lucius?”

  “Captain?” he grunted out with a nod.

  The two syllables sealed the deal.

  Dante sprinted for Friday, spreading out his arms as water flowed long then. He had reset his Matchlock, though he wasn’t prepared for a prolonged bout. The fight against himself had drained him of too much blood and energy.

  He wasn’t alone, though. Eidolon rushed forward and expanded into a cloud of restricting fog that fed upon Friday. Furthermore, Eight and Lucius punched out together, the former teleporting a foot away holding an icy dagger and the latter erupting with untold power.

  Against the onslaught, Friday leaped away, deflecting the Cryo’s strike and grunting from Lucius’ fist into his back. A burst of compressed water surged for his face while the ghost wrapped around his limbs, slowing him so that Dante could kill him.

  But the man wasn’t so easily trapped. Friday’s hands clasped together, leaving the ring fingers hanging below the palms. With the short movement, all eyes widened, and bodies retreated as the air spoke Friday’s words.

  “Domain Collapse: Skeleton Of Cinders.”

  A film of darkness expanded from the man’s body as he was struck by Dante’s Flick. The water gouged out a massive chunk of flesh from the man’s head, but by the time he slammed into the ground, the damage had nearly vanished.

  “Reactive! It protects and heals him!” Dante shouted for the others, his knowledge of such things coming from Astraeus and Thanaris. However, as his mind reeled with the meaning of the power, he understood just how dangerous it was. “He won’t be afraid of his own explosions! Disperse!”

  A long smile formed along Friday’s lips as the three bodies retreated. Eidolon lingered, latched upon the Martian, for the Tide was confident in his survival.

  After the others had backed away, with the expanding veil of danger, Friday turned toward the Inferose. His arm reached for the Fruit O’ Flame, but another voice resounded with a fervent devotion.

  “Domain Collapse: Sailor’s Idle Prayer.“

  Another aura boomed, this time from behind Friday, as the Araki had, at long last, caught up to his captain. The enclosed boundary of his Domain left a mere three inside and kept the Martian from his goal.

  Rejo stared down Friday, with Eidolon siphoning away what he could from the man’s virulent life. A hand covered in pitch struck at the manifestation without care. The Tide recoiled, fluttering toward Dante’s first sailor.

  The two Domain-owners met each other’s gaze, and the world spoke from within the Domain Collapse as Rejo’s overwhelmed Friday’s due to the condensed nature of a Reactive-type against the unpredictable Mystique. What Rejo lacked in versatility, he made up for in spades of unpredictability.

  “A game of Kregchei commences. The forces of Dante Penance against the universe. Should Dante win, a Prayer will be granted. Should Dante lose, a Penance will be paid.“

  Those outside Sailor’s Idle Prayer could only watch as Rejo recklessly barreled toward his opponent. Friday stepped forward, dodging Rejo’s fist before retaliating with the sweep of his cleaver. Before the Araki received a dissection, Eidolon yanked him back. Not even a scratch fell upon his midsection.

  Dante stepped forward in an attempt to find a way inside the Domain, but the clambering of two women drew his attention. Hana and Melody. He gave Lucius the nod for the Miro while he and Eight faced the Hydro.

  However, even as they delved into battle, eyes remained on the Domain-clad battle. The clashing of their Lightseas gifts kept their already trim barrier even shorter, resulting in a battlefield scarcely thirty feet in diameter.

  Yet even in this close-quarters ring, Rejo survived leaps and bounds beyond what he should have with Eidolon’s aid. The remnants of Geist bore the explosions from Friday’s Tide with little issue, as he was made of mist, not flesh and bone.

  With the delay, the ticking game within the center of their fight, often used as cover by the duo, neared its end. After hearing the ramping noise of clicks, Friday lunged for Rejo, uncaring of whatever cards the Araki may hide.

  After all, he hadn’t used his Tide once. Such a thing was more than an abnormality. It meant he had to be hiding something.

  However, Rejo was the abnormality, not his actions. The cleaver sang for the Araki, and he could no longer dodge without Friday’s misgivings. He displayed the recklessness of a Reactive Domain, and steel swiftly met flesh.

  A long line of blood spurt from Rejo’s right shoulder to his left hip. The sight left Dante open for a moment and earned him a bullet in his leg. With a howl, he shot toward his ‘Vice,’ intending to break open the Domain Collapse by any means.

  Before he could arrive, Rejo’s body split apart. It fell into two halves as the man sputtered and gurgled, unable to breathe. He was dead. Maybe not this second, but no medicine could bring him back from this fatal wound.

  Tears bristled at Dante’s eyes and slammed away as he kicked the Domain. His futile efforts were greeted by Friday’s cold smile.

  Then, that damned grin flipped into a frown.

  “Victor: Dante Penance. Time: One Minute and eleven seconds. For the next two-hundred-and-twelve seconds, the Sailor’s Idle Prayer shall be heeded. Two Prayers available. The First Prayer has been selected. The Sailor shall be his King’s Vessel.”

  The wall held, and a verdict echoed. Friday found, behind him, an utterly pristine Araki with the dumbest, most gut-born laugh imaginable.

  “Hahahahaha! You should ‘ee your face!” Rejo’s words birthed the first show of rage from Friday as the man dashed toward the goofball, now aware he held no Tide or Stigmata that could harm him. And yet...

  He did. A burst of water rocketed into Friday’s chest from a stored Flick. The first true injury, beyond that of a flesh wound, befell the Martian.

  In the battle's chaos, Dante was the sole being who understood what Rejo had done. What he had become for the next three-and-a-half minutes.

  He had Matchlock.

  And he had Reset.