Like... waves…?

Yes, think of them like waves.

Like currents that push and pull. Come and go on their own set timing. Their own routes. All of them ebbing and-

"DAMNIT!!!" *KRRAACKkkkk*

And holing the wall...

She got challenged and lost. Was made a fool of. Don't worry about her, focus on-

"Focus on me… No one el… You've stopped already."

"This is boring uncle."

"All the more reason to get through it. So you don't end up like her."

"I HEARD THAT YOU METAL JACKASS!!!"

"Like I said, so we can get to the actual using this power."

"hrrmmm"

"You need to be ready. You haven't had to delve too deep into what you can do. And what is ahead will no doubt test what you're capable of. Strain you to limits you don't want broken. And the best way to prevent that is to ensure you understand everything. Even the basics."

"Uncle, I know how to hold back. This isn't going to help me. And these guys aren't him. As much as they want to be. Nothing they try will stop me. Besides... Josh and his group got to take one of them on. Why did I have to wait till now...? When it'll all be over..."

"I wouldn't say they came out of that experience feeling anything you should be jealous of. They got beaten into the dirt for it. So you need to be better than them. Better than everyone. Calm, focused, able to handle when they drag out the worst in… I know you're still there Standard."

"Well you're still talking about me!"

"Well if you could enter a room like a normal person and not punch holes through innocent walls, you wouldn't be talked about as a cautionary tale."

"hrmph… At least I break things on purpose."

"grrrrrrr"

"What? Want a new muzzle or are those daddy droids not teaching you-"

"Enough!! The plan worked! Tlacaelel, Calidous, and Memezmer made it in! They can handle this new variable! But if you're still in this much of a mood about it after she told you this, then you're not beating the allegations! We have enough to factor in without you thinking your ego is worth more than that cult finally destroyed."

"hggrrrr! You and that damn reject…" *slam*

"… Don't let her get to you too. They're always just scared and handle it too poorly. And it will only get worse once you get called up. So this is the time to work on this. Counter it. Prove you're better."

"…"

"Now..."

Focus. Calm. Feel these words and how they are coming to you. How I'm saying them with mouth and no air.

"... It can't really get much worse."

"Yes… Yes it can."

Waves.

Reverberating tension and relaxation.

Bearing numeration and causation too dense to be deciphered.

The language of energy, of the kinetic and radio planes mixing together.

Transference and transubstantiation.

Scattershot miracles of overeager electrons.

Obliterating themselves upon the disparate matter flying haphazard in its freed state. Coursing through everything with no sense to slow down till it ran out of particles to impact.

Waves… that crash against a bastion of thorough control. Against a deep chasm that swallowed them whole. Against countering roils that crested them to their peaks. Against countervailing understandings. Against laws set in that crest breaking stone, subverted to sink in the density anathema.

Waves.

Against his shore.

Amid the shallow sea of existence beyond what was physical and known first hand. Only joined by spits and rocks of metal and wiring. Takers and receivers meant to be their end points in the planer roil of modern electromagnetism. And… one other spire... Looming just as juxtaposed. Taking in this sight. Spearing through to the heights it seemed placated amid. Far above the soot laden…

"*Gughrr*"

His calm nap in the sun slamming to a choking halt, fresh abstract dreaming interrupted by the unpleasant intrusion of production exhaust. Steel and iron aerosolized with caustic additives. Short lived smelting byproducts that shouldn't really be fuming into the air so easily. But the burn in Seth's nose said everything it needed to. He was flying through the industrial district, or at least some far flung corner. One choking under a blanket of smog that just did not fit the glittering mega city far off in the distance. But it certainly answered some far off questions. And some closer ones.

The van of cultists below him surely breathing far easier under this cloak of toxic obscura, their loot firmly in hand and their escape hidden away. Yet… tension stayed its place in spite of the victory.

A judging, and nose covering, electron highlighting focus staring jealously down on them. On the pieces of his suit that they had acquired. Sitting motionless and yet humming in unison there in the center of the compartment. The one on the passenger being pressed tight to their chest, but the rest left unattended. Coveted. The natural progression of a heist that went too well, except money was easier to split up. This was power plain and simple. And power begets power.

But something was off even with this. Because the tension stayed put the whole drive out. Not a word, not a joke, no easing attempt nor discussion to be had. No conniving, no swindling, no strong arming. Just quiet contemplation. And it was scaring Seth even more now.

Either their planning and organization were second to none, or this cult was stronger than human greed. Either they were so indoctrinated into its fold that the power meant nothing, or they had their own ideas of what to do with it all. Or… or he could just be overthinking it. He couldn't get great reads on mental states anymore, least of all through the civilian grade roof between them. It was just quiet. Too quiet.

Maybe they were just scared, still hurting. Maybe they valued each other too much or had something hung over their heads. Either way it was distressing. All the way up to whatever their destination was.

The smog growing thin like it was an allowing shield. Not a good enough disguise for those who could fly high enough, but a simple enough deterrent for anyone massed. The ridgeline that had once blocked out the edge of the district had been carved out and cleared wide ahead. Allowing the industrial sprawl to spill into the neighboring forest along the Terrace. And yet that sprawl was cold and left out to dry. The Terrace running clean while the parts of the district crumbled away slowly. Another rapid expansion left to molder, used to make and facilitate and then left to waste away as demand fell. But at least not inhabited because the rent was cheap.

Some factories were still active and spewing varying levels of burn into the air. Some too new to be burning unclean, some refurbished to better sustainability. But all avoiding a final obstacle at the far bend in the river. A rise in the concrete and metal masking it. So maybe Seth thought too soon. Some danger close habitation allowed in tenements sequestered away. Upriver of the expected pollution and upwind of the smog. If on a good day.

Though definitely not dissuaded from living it up. Walls of balconies on high storied buildings. Wide breadths forming the phalanx needing to be crossed before reaching the inner sanctum. Massed housing towering over the cost of expansion, yet still maintaining something. As an imperceptible buzz radiated and Seth narrowed down on the roof.

A tracking wave of directed, low frequency energy. Washing over the van from on low. A radar installation, and little doubt offered as to what it was guiding. He didn't get to experiment much with the stuff back at Untied Armors, because you don't just let civilians have anti air weaponry, but he knew what MANPADS were. And this environment was perfect for hiding a hell of a lot of them just by the old standards. Any new ones and advances only exacerbating the idea that every roof had a dude with a tube on it ready to blow them out of the sky.

So it was safe to say this deterrent had real teeth to it, but even that didn't seem enough. Not enough to say with certainty why they were still here and not cut out long ago. Flyers are a lot harder to lock onto. And you don't just let a private no fly zone camp out in your city limits, even if they had expanded.

Maybe the League couldn't spare the effort, lots of urban combat in an infrastructure nightmare. Let alone the property damage to key industrials once it all kicked off. Or the mission wasn't air tight enough to be worth it. A well-built forge has plenty of hidey holes and escape routes because a wave of molten metal is best not allowed to spill wide.

His suit was the main obsession obviously, at least from the few bits he'd seen so far. So the plan could be to let the cult do the hard work, gather all the scattered pieces while they mitigate the fallout when it went too far. And, once they'd found it all, swoop in and deal with the scourge all at once. Which meant this place wasn't just a personalized hell, it had a time limit too.

'Huugghh, great. More stuff to worry about. Though that kind of operation is bound to stir up some chaos. Heh, maybe I can steal the suit while they're both fighting over it. A little triple bamboozle. Hehe.'

At any rate, the calm was held. The storm of man portable air defense systems that may or may not be out there was kept at bay. And the van was slowing down for a landing just shy of the tenements. His time for his own plans was waning, but it seemed like his followers weren't done yet.

An easing swivel and deceleration pulled the van into a side alley parking spot, hiding it away from whatever this place even referred to as streets. Boarded up windows helped the suspicious action go unnoticed, and the general air of the area seemed rather disregarded. But still, Seth scrunched into the serious indent that he'd-

*bonk* "Huuugghhh!! I swear whoever assigned Miss Smashes-Through-Walls to guard the trophy depot is getting their first strike out replayed a few hundred times over!"

The silent tension that had subsumed the cabin was broken apart by exacerbating and… and quite a bit fewer voices than had gone in.

"Well, it had to be convincing. Otherwise this would have been a waste of time. And it's not like Standard Bearer not put on a show."

Two, among the at least six that had sprinted into the back, now acted like this whole ordeal was premeditated in the opposite direction. And Seth's worried about time limit was shrinking by the second.

"She followed us halfway to downtown! And don't even get me started on the fucking maneuvers that damn driver pulled! If my retinas detach I'm suing! *bang* You hear that Calidous? I'm suing!"

"I get it! I get it!! Fuck!! Ughhhh! Just take this damn thing already and get out of here. Meme can handle it from here. I'm gonna need a minute… or a fucking month."

A third voice, and the piece bearing passenger, languished in his seat. The suit piece passed back and being added to the rest. But not sitting long as the second voice moved to overlap them in his sight.

"You sure you're ready for this Tlaci? Just holding this stuff can-"

"If not me then who? I handle bad memories all the time. Besides, we only just started. Can't chicken out yet. Thank fuck these guys wanted to be proactive though. We can spread out the application through the night. After that…"

"Just don't get your head caved in too much. I hear the brain doesn't heal as well as everything else."

…

'Well if you're just gonna borrow power from a fucking battery, yeah it not going to remap all your fucking neurons for you! It wasn't meant to give you my power after all!'

It had become abundantly clear that Seth had stumbled and tagged along on a League infiltration mission. But their objective wasn't clear. Something happening tomorrow big enough to need an inside man and yet violent enough to require protection they didn't trust. Or it was their only ticket it. For all the organization assumed so far, it seemed like one hell of a rag tag operation if three supers could get in this far. It at least boded well his own half-assed plans. But it still worried him. Just what the hell did he step into?

The doors opening out the back of the van shut down his inward focus, tightening his low scrunch into the roof so he stayed unnoticed. The bag with all his suit pieces moving away from under him while footsteps rounded to the driver's seat. The first voice smoothing out as the door opened and a bit of dead weight shifted on the axil.

"Humph, what the hell did this guy juice himself with anyway?"

"I-I don't know. I calmed him down a little so he wouldn't blow the entrance but on our way out he just kept muttering that fucking Rage took the wheel. Fucking ghosts man, I thought we would never have to be afraid of that shit. All I can say for certain is I'm not flying home."

"Eh, agreed. Just go ahead and wheel these fools to the staging area in the morning. We'll take it from here."

"Thanks. Huuhhh… I don't want to see that fucking mask when I die so please bury these fuckers in a volcano when it's over."

"Nah, not hot enough. Shits getting shot straight to the sun."

"Good… good…"

'hmph… I'm not blaming you but come on. I'm not the devil.'

As Seth sat indignant to the existential fright he was being unjustly attributed to, the first voice dragged what was clearly the unconscious body of the driver out and into the back with the rest. How they managed it wasn't very clear, sounded like the passenger had some sort of mental power, but it made things easier. Less eyes and more outward focus. A few extra minutes of waiting for the new driver to leave and be anywhere but in the front seat of the thing that tried to turn him into scrambled eggs as well, and he was free and clear. But ill trusting of the normal route away.

The alley was a short dead end denting the profile of this tenement, and no doubt being watched by at least one of the three by now. So instead of leaving the usual way, it was up he had to go.

Rolling off the side and scanning up the cinder brick walls, it didn't take long to start up. If Para's rock climbing exercises mattered for something other than him gloating, it was in situations like this. And evenly spaced brick and mortar was child's play compared to the dust wall he'd put him through. Reaching the roof and peeking around showed no one around, but also showed more buildings deeper passed the first wall. Careful not to go sticking his head out and drawing attention to the only guy on a roof, he slunk down and ducked his way to the roof access.

A by now learned moment of caution drove him down and focused, mundanely. Listening out for any noise echoing through the stairwell in front of him. But all he received was a revelry echoing from beyond the next wall of tenements. Not quite rhythmic chanting, but considerable in its own right. And being led by one voice higher than the others. Nothing he could understand, but it was clear amid the cheers. Like an announcer at a sports stadium. Which meant too much on its own.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

The cult's numbers weren't as limited as a few scraggly vagrants, and they had someone running the show. But, in the end, that was a tomorrow worry. Today, or at least by the growing grey of the sky blanket above him, tonight he had to worry about where to hide out. And if this place was good enough for the infiltrators, than it was good enough for him.

A creeping slow trek downward found no excess sounds. Just distant echoes and a bit of central air. Power ran steady here at least, yet the lines seemed to skip several rooms all at once before snaking into dense alcoves. A pained chant mumbled from one such door, and Seth started to worry they were trying to get closer to him by wiring themselves to the power outlets. Deepening a cringe already rising, as the condition of the building became better known.

The halls were trashed, littered with detritus and just general unmaintained wear. Several walls were caved 'out' of their respective rooms, and he wasn't too sure about the stains on the walls. Thankfully there didn't seem to be any graffiti that would make him worry about his presence in the artistic zeitgeist, just the usual illegible shorthand trying to one up each other. Peeking through a massive hole at the next building over, his worry became jealousy. As much more mundane fixtures lit up just about all the apartments there. He'd found the down on their luck domiciles. Or just the sacrificial wall. But, well, how else would he hide out.

A loose door taken in his grip was refused its squeak, the room no better than a broken time capsule. Not as dusty and dilapidated, but not winning any sympathy from the elements. A window left open but not broken. A bit of water feeding some nice looking moss across its sill. All in all, he'd slept in worse places. The door at least stood up better, and a bit of threaded manipulation magnetized it nicely. No furniture, no amenities, just privacy and seclusion.

Leaning against the hard wall reminded him of some of the places he'd found walking out of the crisis. Not quite better memories, but at least quiet ones.

That first night past Brighton taking a subconsciously led forefront. One he could parse, but one he couldn't escape from. Seeing, feeling Tlatoani's shattered blade club. Its pull on his soul, his memories. Who he was and who he wanted to be.

Was it the shard of The Wall angrily scarred, or was it that guy's name? The first voice got called Tlaci. Seth didn't really go out of his way to learn Aztec, but it sounded too similar. And he said something else that made it seem like his powers were about memory…

It would just truly be his luck wouldn't it. To run smack dab into Tlatoani's grandkid as well. Seeing his name written like that was bad enough for his heart. For everything he had hoped to hold on to from before one life was ripped apart for the next.

He laid out his bag beside him and scooched back over it, a hard spiky pillow was a pillow at least. One he was feeling like he deserved. As he let the memories drag him to exhaustion, listening along to the home of his followers in name.

The chants and low power zaps from down the hall dimming with time. The whispers and strains from another corner offering a clue to the League's location. A small bustle from the window put a calm side to the congregation. Like they weren't all lunatics out for blood. Ideal musing to while away the long lived with trauma. It helped ease him to sleep though, which was good enough.

As good as it could be.

He'd definitely gone to sleep hungrier.

"Morning everyone. How's our window?"

The room, ostensibly outside of her authority for this moment, nodded and acknowledged the interruption as just accepted concern. Being the head of this little glowing corner of Kadia had to confer something after all. Like drawing Lyriqu's attention as always.

"All good ma'am. Cobale's teams just made it to the staging area unopposed and are terminal. Calidous is taking the long route home though."

Of course. After what he and his team went through, she could hardly blame him. But...

"His routes already cleared. Don't worry ma'am."

She was getting predictable. But that paid dividends as well. There was a reason she wasn't in charge for this op after all.

"Well, don't let me distract you. I just want to see it for myself."

Though who didn't really? This was all finally coming to an end. So much suffering. So much lost. So many scars...

Hers burned as thoughts tried to spiral. But she refused them. All of them. Like every time before. She was stronger than what had been taken from her. She had to be. For her sake.

"... Any intel on our new variable though? Standard's liable to break rank if I don't square all these reports."

"Nothing on finale check. The teams are too deep to report over long range, so if he's there they'll find before we do. But we have enough plans... ugh, backed up."

No luck. Those poor kids stole it all it seemed. She needed to make time to go check on Josh before things got too hectic. Even if he didn't want to see her. We all can't have it our way though. And she had an obligation to her son. And too...

"Let's just hope all holds. That we won't have to make that call. Let this truly be their end. An end to all of it."

The sun, an empty stomach, a heap of self-defeating bullshit. All things pulling Seth out of another dream. Rather helpfully. Though he had hoped his guilt was quelled, it seemed he still had more yet to suffer. Feelings twisted up and plucking at what had long scabbed over. Or this whole cult around him was making it seem like he was at fault yet again.

He gritted his teeth and refused that. Other people's choices, especially after he had literally died, were not his fault. But allowing them to run free with his power would be. That was why he was here. Why he was hungry and sour for sleeping without dinner on a bag of his destroyed suit parts. Parts he would need to guard carefully now that he was well and truly here.

Creaking up he winced at the much more barren sky out the window. The forges and factories not running into the night. Or there was no one manning them at all, as the sounds of massed crowds filled in the late morning air. And pulled even more worry up to the forefront. Looking out, the once dark ye olde brutalism was replaced with lively old brutalism. Like the community out here wasn't stymied by the fact their weather forecasts had a chance for industrial fallout. People flowing free and passing the tenements in tight groups as they walked out from places both behind and ahead. At least a hundred, if not in the thousands. All not quite jovial but certainly excited.

And every single one of them was bearing his face over theirs.

That same metal mask, eye holes bored out or cut into shape. Edges and welds trying to get the teeth just right. Jagged contours failing at finding a specific commonality. Each one unique by virtue of craftsmanship, yet all said the same thing. All claiming him as their own spiritual savior. Their object of obsession. Their moniker of belonging. Adding untold weight to the mask wrung in his hands. Because, despite this growing mountain of discomfort…

'It's time to join the masses.'

Strapping his pack hard against his back again and stepping out of his hide away, the atmosphere was a touch colder. In turn confirmed by a distinct lack of that stable alternating current. Even the door that once harbored that muttering penitent was left swinging and dead inside. A smell like ozone and charred flesh only making the assumptions made yesterday worse. All the power sucked away, or shifted to grander purpose.

The lower floors were dirtier but just as empty, yet the outside exits remained clear. Few leaving because few ever entered. A careful press to his burdened mask, a clutching at his weighed down pack, and a Hail Mary of a breath to keep back what was oncoming. He made his way outside, into the throngs come to see and behold.

Head down, mannerisms hollow. Non flashy jacket, no hope of avoiding the bumpkin moniker. Not weak, but close enough. Easily missed, just another who secluded themselves for the betterment of their soul. Guesstimations were all he had, but when the ritual was based on your life it was easy to get the basics. So, few eyes seemed to be drawn to him. At least from what he could see.

But what worried him wasn't what they couldn't see, it was what he couldn't feel. This many bodies, this many of his flagrant followers, and yet not a single piece among them. Not even his infiltrators, though them starting early was understandable. But this absence of the entire modus operandi was starting to worry him that this was just a regular Sunday morning without the… Well he didn't really know what day it was, not really looking at dates or calendars. Or having a phone anymore. But whatever, the thought that this was just standard practice flailed about as he stole glances through his apparently more proportional eye slits.

The tight groups that all headed deeper seemed to talk openly, disregard the implicitly violent nature of their surroundings, the aberrant intent to this ritual, acting like normal people out on the town. A few excited and hoping for something, some nervous and praying probably? There was a disturbing amount of children swaddled or clamoring amid the crowds, flimsy paper craft masks taking the place of heavy unwieldy metal. Even a few groups that seemed… off. Saying words without meaning or intent to them. Too casual a conversation and too tight in their groupings.

A small worry that no one here was a true believer, just all pretending so they could sneak in as close as possible. Almost raising a chuckle at the absurdity. Almost. Even so, they all still bore his face, and all still flowed forward to the deeper rungs of the actually livable tenements. Passed a small park space ringing with...

With food stands!

The irking hunger in Seth's senses became all he could think about as the gaggle of rolling carts serving skewers and wraps and handheld snacks came into view. A concern about what fucked up currency they'd take washed out as he remembered he still had that bugout cash. And you don't go buying possible military ordinance with your religiously minted denominations. The dollar can't have fallen that far.

So he stood in line squirming just a bit too much in hungry excitement, ignoring all the worry he'd built up from just seeing the first throngs of his claimed devotees. He even dared to think about forgiving them some if the smell of the meat skewer before him was true. It was even battered. A few singles, passed off change, and he was probably disturbing a few less zealous as he ripped into the fried meat. Not quite tempura, but spiced to make up for not having and sort of sauce. The beef holding up good, just shy of chicken fried steak so it was still pink. And so one hole in his stomach filled and a blanket pardon was on the table for the common man trying to win his godly favor. They knew him well enough to not skimp on the food offerings. Or the...

The architecture. As he contently munched with the flow of traffic toward what was looking to be the largest building in the entire district. That definitely wasn't in the original plans for this place. The one pulling Seth's attention out of his gnawing on the still battered skewer in his hand. The one that filled in those unfocused thoughts from yesterday.

A massive curved wall circling around and meeting back up with itself. Layers of sheet metal and repurposed cargo containers covering concrete blocks and heavy supports. A fucking colosseum of ramshackle make that would put the Dockers' fortifications to shame. Already it echoed out with an order to this event. Come and see and have a seat. You'll only need the edge, but the whole thing is free. Arches wreathing its bottom accepting throngs into its vast structure, the more fuller numbers ogled over again in disturbing pressure. But a break in the flow caught him before it did.

One archway accepting only those it deemed worthy. Only those shining in this sea of hopeful stars.

The pieces of his suit were here, and they were numerous. Adorning a choice few like jewelry and armor. Nervous figures bearing slivers and scraps walked amid titans bearing full on plates. Skeletal titanium bracketed tight to ribs and flanks. Servos jangling from wrists and ankles irrespective of their original placements. Talismans of his toes and talons and claws. One asshole had a horn welded to their mask like it belonged there. As various scrapes of Ark metal gleamed the sun away in their own siphonous shine. All this twisted power sucking away the warmth of its light in kind, and drove away his content comfort.

At least Seth knew where he was meant to go. He just had to hope sign ups were more to do with your bling than anything else unspoken.

Scurrying back from the crowds, he backed into a tenement's doorway that still trickled out his apparent flock. Some side eyeing him as he faux centered, dared them to linger, and produced his own treasured relics from his pack as they scurried away. Careful about leaving the confiscated ones stuffed in there, just in case someone had the wherewithal to catalog who had what.

Waiting till he was alone, he pulled free the servo that had sparked this whole crusade off. Broken chain and all. He'd need to add more charms to its links, but this chain was a bit weak. But he did have a skewer still in his hand. Some tight fiddling and deconstructing, some threading both mundane and electric, and he had a sweet new necklace. A hollow toe and finger along with a titanium rib joining that central servo. Just enough of what he reclaimed from the Diades to not seem overt. But not enough to say he had found too much power without being known already. And the repurposed metal said something else they'd probably like. Forging seemed inundated here.

A brave face to fool the throngs sucked in, while inside he knew what was next. As the last of his breakfast contentment mounted up to a stern focus from under all the metal scattered around and headed that way. Irking up to a seethe as he felt the maligned hums of the other bearers of these pieces pressing into his collar. Other wilders of his power. Thieves of his dying gift. Feeling the fragmented existence of the one at its head.

He tuned it out, let it pass over and waste away. But it was going to be there, strapped to his neck and sowing discord over his own weathered harmony. And that was just the internal strife. Because next came the external.

He struggled through the crowds as he advanced back toward this arena, fighting toward the barrier between haves and have-nots. Till a sudden awkward exposure slapped him in the face as he achieved his goal. As all the eyes watching on turned to him as the next in show. An almost thankful lack of that old sensory overload received no pity. A nervous hand creping to his chest pulled free his trinkets to bear his worth wide. No attention drawn to his mask for fear of some overt reaction. Full plate seemed a hard commodity, and had a connotation drawn toward it he did not have. Namely the sheer size of the zealots that bore them.

A slow certain walk to the archway started, dared by all looking to him. Yet was intercepted by the parting of the crowd. A man dressed less like a holy warrior and more like a heavy lifter making his own way through the sea. Glaring down from a full head higher on Seth's pitiful display of strength, from below a mask cast out from one solid slab of iron. And bearing his full shoulder plate assembly, from clavicle reticulates to the main pauldron, like they were a tolerated inconvenience. Because the muscle below could hardly say it was protected, near enough to bulging out between interlocks and around the main. But what was worse was how it stayed put, as Seth saw the thread inside suffuse into his skin like parasites wriggling. Feeding that glare down like some recursive roid rage.

Seth meet it and added on his own more justified, refusing to pause even a step under it. Refusing to be intimidated by another misuser of his power. The cast mask smirked back as his passive efforts failed, and as an unhealthy silence kept the peace. He walked alongside as more entered this juxtaposingly pacifistic fray.

A young man pulled free of the throngs with a single claw hung from his neck and barely a shirt on his back. Another pushed out with the bits of gauntlet that Seth was missing from his packed stash, wearing it like a fashion statement with both mask and arm buffed to a gleam like sanding down his armor was warranted?! Another pressed themselves free just behind, drawing the collecting eyes and soft awe as he wore a menagerie across his half-dressed and tanned form. Pieces seemingly placed where they belonged without care for connector or the apparent cauterization they caused. But the determination in his step said more than the familiar forms he wore.

'And there's the infiltrator.'

But this was only a slapdash few compared to the throngs awaiting. As the sun was denied them and the dim dark of the fighter pits greeted them. An atmosphere of pure hostility, cringe inducing testosterone excesses, and metaphysical frigid permeation. The pieces of his suit shined like stars against the void of space, irrespective to the drone of exertion. Some small praise for it in the lack of smell already trying to be made up for by his stupid brain. A sea of training, honing, demanding all know that they were powerful in their own rights. It was a gym and stock show rolled into one. And the true commodity was taken in by hungry eyes in every corner. Catching the abrasive shine of the pit's lights every time Seth refused to meet them.

The flow into this space stymied and turned delta, depositing those preparing to fight wherever they pleased. Seth tried to eye for an empty spot but the prospects failed to materialize. Benches were filled or claimed by weight and need. The grey cinder walls occupied wholesale, as were most of the retaining pillars. Standing room only ahead with milling throngs idly awaiting the grand calls to the stage, so he was stuck in the center of it at every leering eye line. And worse yet, he was appearing lost in the wrong place for it. A weakness pounced on by that smirking cast iron mask.

"Big eyes for such a small whelp."

His arms crossed like couldn't hold it still, armor wrenching at his shoulder like the threads were pulsing poison. As he leaned down to meet glares in inches rather than feet. Eliciting that buried seethe to come out like a growl.

"Small worth for such big talk."

'Say's the asshole who didn't measure before he poured.'

"Heh… at least your craft has honor."

His smirk reeled back high, eyes judging the mask more than the body. But still too full of themselves to see the real seethe bleeding off. As all this attempted reverence failed to see the power blazing against their aura.

"Just make sure it holds up. Be a shame if you were branded so early. Hehaha."

His smirk shined toothy as he turned away, content to put out fear rather than direct it. The rest of the eyes Seth could see only cementing the notion, this was just intimidation. Pregaming for what was ahead of them. The real fight. This was an arena after all. And it was calling all to its sand.

"Alright!! Times come!!"

A harsh voice and a metal tang beat against the drone. A heavy man, bearing little advantage other than weight over at least some of the fighters, roused them up and out toward the deeper recesses. Seth followed the flow before any more attention was drawn, regretting being proactive as bodies crowded up behind and ahead as they were corralled forward. So much sweat and body heat yet all of it chilling to the bone. Seeing closer the extent some had taken to keep their pieces for themselves.

Purpled flesh squeezed to the edges of too tightly bound plates. Allowing scrapes simply sown into place on their skin. The hint of blood impossible to miss as it oozed around the overzealous applications. But what was even worse than all these grotesque applications, was that there wasn't enough metal here to fully remake the suit.

Bits and pieces the common commodity. The plates on display only amounting to near half to his carried third. The rest was still sequestered away. And was bound to grow fatter by the end of whatever they were drawing nearer to.

The shuffle and curmudgeon of so many bodies moving together underscored by a rumble. Then overscored by a rhythmic thunder. The stone and metal supports rattling and carrying it for all to hear. The crowds above their heads were filling the seats and calling for their champions. Waving and wafting like a conducted symphony. Catching a few in the dark tunnel below in the festivities. Low and personal, but rising as more found their will.

Like a harsh breath from a beast, in and out too strong for the world's good. In and out to take all there was. Ebbing reality around them like that cold abusive siphon. Rising ever higher as the light finally filled this dark procession.

The door to that world inside rattled in chains and heavy weights, only to be drowned out by thousands gathered to see. All breathing as one under pure direction and mounting clarity. As a raking of static and surge lit brighter than the sun's attempt to intercede upon this tunnel. Sight alone witnessing the Faraday failure as it danced into the darkness. But only blared a slow even metronome across its chilled reaches. Someone here had power, real power, and drove all this discord to harmony.

Yet despite even this direction, order failed under the sight of all those gathered to show their strength. To show their sacred metal. An eruption rising that breathing beast higher as they strode and decompressed into the light. Some words even making it out of all the yelling, but failing to find an unfilled ear. Chosen fighters, friends and loved ones, lucky few and reviled upstarts. Jeers and cheers all mangled by the collective drive to see this day. Robes and standard clothes not uniform or cared for. Low heads penitent and clamoring joy risen, no one single voice yet all gathered and directed as one.

All drowned out of attention by the one massing that static.

Tendrils only the correctly powered could see, a flashing tree of electric questing being shot up into the hemmed in sky and sucked back with every beat and breath. All flowing from a stage set out opposite across a sea of heavy sand. A few figures gathering out from their own grand entrance, but predominantly honor guard. Bulked to near excess, bearing plates like shields before their leader very much their opposite.

A thin frame defiantly straight, old wrinkles hard to miss but denied their weakening embrace. The thunder of a bone white staff beating wood to char, free flowing electrons contorting around almost organic smooth metal until being blasted into the air to blare his power. And bearing the other horn to Seth's suit entwined within its head, like the symbol of the master of this faith.

The priest to this congregation. The real blasphemer to Seth's name. Beating stolen power into everyone's heads like his god had given it freely.

And hadn't just arrived to take it all away.

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