Alisson awoke with a daunting day ahead of him. He told Celis of what had happened to Ashlynde over breakfast, which had been served to their room.

  “…I figured as much.”

  Celis said grimly, poking at her food. It didn’t seem she was heartbroken or anything, but she was certainly remorseful.

  “I guess we both have the same record for our first apprentice now at least, hehe…”

  She giggled grimly to herself. Alisson didn’t know how to console her, even having been through her same pain as a teacher, so he kept quiet.

  Alisson was taken away soon after for the ceremony. Celis was made to wait.

  He entered an inner chamber that was filled with mists and scents rolling through the air. In the middle of the room was a slab, above which was a mechanical cradle of many sharp objects. Surrounding the center were concentric rings of Angels on their knees, covered head to toe in robes, whispering liturgies together, their hands interlocked in prayer.

  The clerics at his backside urged him to lay down on the stone slab, and he moved forward to the center of the room. On command, he disrobed his top again, exposing his scarred backside, the flay marks still visible.

  When he rest his stomach over the cold stone, the cradle of scalpels and needles descended over him, locking him in place. He eyed the sharp contraptions warily.

  The voices singing around him temporarily joined for a few clauses, “…The sons of this age marry and are given in marriage, but those who are considered worthy to attain to that age and to the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage, for they cannot die anymore, because they are equal to angels and are sons of God, being sons of the resurrection…”

  They continued on with their cryptic messages as the needles and scalpels neared. He saw a glow forming around him, most likely some kind of incantation resultant of all the Angels around him. He shut his eyes and prepared himself.

  The contraption plucked the veins on his arms and his back, and he felt something cool stream into him, but it certainly stung. He cringed his face, but held back the pain.

  …

  After the process was complete, Alisson was whisked away back to the arena where he had fought those Angel drones of the day prior. He was to test his newfound divinity.

  “Are the augmentations taking well, Alisson? Your Nekomata blood may fight back against our herbal mixes.” An old friend, Seralus, was there to show Alisson the ropes.

  Alisson clenched and unclenched his hand. “I don’t feel any different.”

  Celis looked on, pouting. “How come I don’t get any cool slimes or angel powers?”

  “You must be divine on your own right, dear Celistine.”

  “If that means killing people while holding a cross in one hand and a gospel under the other, then sure, I’ll be divine.”

  Seralus’s smile faded. “It is not such a simple thing, but aspirations are always good…” He brought his gaze back to Alisson, “Because of your Nekomata blood, and because this procedure was done so late in your life, the aspects that manifest physically can only be called upon in short bursts, you will most likely be drained of your strength, especially if you are flying quickly, so remember to pace yourself. However, the shell that now surrounds you is active constantly, it is a passive effect that you must learn how to control.”

  It didn’t feel like he had any such shell around his body. He had Firo disengage from his body, and she melted from his skin, becoming a pool of blue on the floor before sifting away to Celis’s feet. Both Seralus and Celis watched with trepidation, unused to Firo.

  Alisson stared at his hands, firstly trying to grasp this new shell of his. Celis took his side, and together, with Seralus’s guidance, they attempted to use their shells.

  Celis, because of the special property her shell was given, would no longer be able to cast magic, or reimbue her weapons with explosives – But it was a necessary sacrifice. In lieu of this, she needed to become proficient with the shell. From the explanations Alisson could gather, an Angel’s shell was effectively a worse slime – It wasn’t autonomous, didn’t move with him, and had none of the covert uses that Firo had. It acted as a layer of protection around ones entire body. With proper control, you could thicken or thin the shell depending on the need. Celis had already done this subconsciously when she was eating, or when she was breathing. Indeed, as Alisson ran his hand along his arm, he could feel something thin, like he was touching a porcelain pot.

  It was only possible to feel with his gloves off. With practice however, he soon thickened a portion of the shell. He tapped it with his knuckles, feeling a satisfying hardness.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The concept of speeding yourself up with a shell was some combination of this thickening and thinning principle, and Alisson soon got the hang of it, though the effects were lackluster, nothing compared to Firo. But, he supposed any boon helped. He had Firo recombine with him, to see if she could at all interact with the shell. As Alisson had hoped, she could – Perhaps because she was in some essence, him, the shell responded to her will.

  He decided then that he would slave control of the shell to Firo, she would manage the protection. It meant less thinking for him, too.

  Celis and him quickly sparred with their fists. The speed of their fists was close to intangible. When either one of them landed a hit on the other, a hard surface could be felt, like he had hit solid plate metal.

  It was a wall, that did not bend. Firo offered better protection because she was a large shock-absorber, bending back with blows and providing cushioning to slow impacts. If a strike was strong enough, the shell could certainly shatter. Once one part was broken, the whole matrix would fall apart. Hence, Angels needed to make frequent stops back to friendly lines to repair. This meant that he had to keep Celis away from dangerous opponents, lest a lucky blow destroy her shell and open her up to attack from Sidonia’s Influence.

  Seralus informed them however, that if an Angel was fast enough, they could repair their own shell with mana before the entire thing collapsed, though obviously, one would need to be in a safe place.

  Thus ended Celis’s portion of the training, and began Alisson’s stint of showing off his new wings. Seralus talked him through what Alisson should do to activate his manifestation, and soon enough, a transparent halo was on his head, and angular wedges had sprouted at his back.

  “You’ve flown before when we branded temporary wings on you, it’s the same concept.” Seralus informed him, “Your halo will help you draw more energy into your body, to keep your wings flying and to power your divinations.”

  By ‘energy’, he most likely meant mana, but Alisson didn’t want to get theocratic, so he nodded without saying anything.

  “We’ll have an instructor teach you some basics of aerial combat later. You never know if you’ll find yourself against aerial mages. Before that though, try releasing the energy drawn in by your halo into your blade. We normally don’t carry weapons, but instead focus our power to make blades when we need to fight. That sword Micahela gave you is built to withstand being surrounded with intense divinating power. Everyone has their own unique color that resembles their true nature.”

  Alisson gave it a try, familiar with blade-enhancement magics, and it worked more or less the same way. With a flare of his blade, a red, burning aura consumed it, looking like something between an inferno and a bolt of lightning.

  “Red…The color of bloodshed.” Alisson spat, bitter.

  “But more importantly, the color of love.” Seralus smiled.

  Alisson smirked, touched by Seralus’s words.

  Celis meanwhile was sitting on a bench, her chin on her palms, pouting.

  “It’s okay.” Alisson tried to console her. “One day we’ll get you this boon as well.”

  “One last thing before you tire yourself out. Try manifesting your, er, cat ears…and tails.”

  Alisson nodded. “My Opensen, yes. Let’s see if I can stack both powers.”

  Indeed, with a flash of light, his ears rested on his head, and his tails swayed circles around each other at his back.

  Seralus nodded, satisfied. “We’ve obviously never had a Nekomata take our blessing before, so we were unsure of what would happen.”

  Alisson was asked if he needed to return to the war effort, because all tasks the Angels had brought him here for were accomplished. He probably could spare a couple days, so said as much, and the Angels thus spent the next few days teaching him aerial combat. In between bouts of flying around AB-0, he sparred with Celis, breaking in their new shells.

  Soon however, it was time to leave. Alisson needed to return to the 7th, and get his head back in the game.

  An Angel transport landed in one of the hangars of AB-0 with his name on it.

  Alisson walked down to the hangar, adjusting his new half-cape. He had his prior garments incinerated, and the Angels had provided him some tailoring services. He figured those dark, overbearing clothing would give off the wrong impressions to his men. Celis and Firo both agreed that this was a better look.

  Constantius was there to greet him, and to escort him back to the 7th. Alisson’s army had apparently wiped out the rest of the 87th stragglers south of the Na’baath mountains, and were now moving to the Na’baath passage for his return before they continued their advance. Alisson didn’t want to keep them waiting.

  “I’m pleased to see you’re in high spirits, Brother Alisson.”

  Alisson returned Constantius’s pleasantries, and boarded the craft alongside Celis. The ride to Na’baath was uneventful, but Constantius threw an offhanded question at him,

  “I have been thinking about your situation, Alisson, I have found myself wondering why nobody has ever spoken of assassinating the Lady Sidonia. Surely by removing this head of the snake, her Influence over Celistine will waver?”

  Constantius was asking this question now, because he was out of earshot of any other Nekomata.

  Alisson hadn’t ever considered it. It was so automatic, so obvious, he had never felt the need to consciously think about it.

  “Sidonia is immortal.” Alisson explained. “But not in a biological sense. Her body can be killed, yes, but the second she is, her spirit moves to that of a random young Nekomata girl.” It’s a hassle to determine which one is her, and it would momentarily paralyze our society, yes, but in the long term, killing her would do nothing. I don’t think there’s any way to be rid of her for good until every last little Nekomata female is killed, and even then, it might not be permanent; what if she just goes into a boy’s body, or a human’s body? We scarcely know anything about her.”

  Alisson thought aloud. In essence, killing Sidonia herself just meant killing some innocent girl. It was something that was believed to be an honor for Nekomata, that Sidonia would choose their bodies to dwell in, but now that Alisson was thinking about it again, it was a despicable thing.

  However, he was certain that no such technical immortality existed for his sister. She was a Nekomata, like him, not whatever Sidonia was.

  Their transport arrived shortly thereafter in Na’baath. Alisson stood up off his seat and put his hands behind his back, waiting for the ramp to lower as the craft began to settle down; prepared to greet his men with a new spirit.

  ***

  End Movement 6