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The Astral Express is quiet when Asat Pramad steps on board. The surroundings in Planarcadia are anything but. Distant explosions fill the air as one part of him battles his daughter, another part keeps the Xianzhou general and two other Nameless busy, and the last taunts the former leader of the Galaxy Rangers.
The board is his to control. And there’s two more pieces on the Express for him to handle.
As he enters the main car, he can’t help but admire the work his daughter has done. In some ways, it was very different from his time on the Express, but in others, it was virtually the same. The lights may be dimmer, and the infinite ice cream machine gone (a shame, that was what he had missed most when leaving), but the atmosphere is the same. Comfortable chairs on all sides, inviting everyone to lounge. A deck of cards, sloppily shuffled, sits on a coffee table. Besides it is a sticky note, with 'Buy a new plant for Pom-Pom to replace the one I killed' scrawled in messy handwriting.
Footsteps sound as a still sleepy passenger leaves his room. Asat hears them stop as the passenger presumably stares in horror at the destruction outside.
Today really was going to be a fun day.
Unlike his coworkers, Asat keeps up with interstellar gossip. He finds the mundane trivialities to be entertaining, the lives of ants that believe themselves to be important.
He knows that the newest member of the Nameless was Penacony’s former Family head. He knows Sunday tried to protect all of Penacony in a sweet dream, and had nearly ascended to Aeonhood. And he watched as Sunday had made the brave, foolish decision that only a Nameless would make in Planarcadia: using his mind to thought tune 200,000 infected civilians, placing his sanity on the line for others.
(Once upon a time, Asat would’ve made the same choice without a second thought. Now, he neither cares about other’s lives, nor sees the purpose in salvation. Every planet saved by the Trailblaze will fall in the Elations corrupting, decadent influence and tear itself apart regardless.)
Through these actions, Asat has gleaned a few things. Sunday will always want to shoulder the responsibilities of others. He does not hold his own rest and wellbeing in importance. And if something catastrophic were to happen during one of the few times he was resting…
Well that’s a fun hypothesis he can test right now.
He casually appears behind the Halovian. “Looks like the little birdie’s awake.”
Sunday whirls around, eyes blown wide and wings beating like he can actually fly.
“Your comrades are in quite a bit of trouble right now.” Asat continues, nodding towards the window. “Did you have fun napping while they fought for their lives?”
A sharp intake of breath tells Asat he said exactly the right choice of words.
“Asat Pramad.” Sunday manages to find his voice.
He tips his fedora. “Glad to be recognized.”
“What did you do to them?”
How sweet. A Lord Ravager standing less than two meters away and his first question is directed towards his friend’s wellbeing.
“Most of them are still alive, at least for now.” Technically, Himeko’s been dead for 15 years, but Asat sees no reason in telling Sunday yet. Not when leaving out information nets him a much more entertaining reaction.
Mechanical puppets and golden thorns come rushing at him. Asat merely leans to the side, letting them rush past.
Halovians really weren’t built for combat, were they? He didn’t even need to choose a favorable outcome to win this fight.
Sunday also tries to move past him, in an admirable attempt to get to his friends. Asat Pramad just ducks under more thorns, and grabs Sunday’s throat with one hand, slamming him back against the Express’s wall before letting go. He thinks he hears a rib crack, but ignores it. The Nameless were never one to let a small injury keep them down.
“Most? Who did you kill?” Sunday rasps, looking horrified. He’s so pale it almost looks ashy.
He scoffs. “Does it even matter? Those feeble attacks show you couldn’t have saved them anyways.”
Sunday freezes. Asat’s words struck something at his core. Sensing blood, the Lord Ravager ruthlessly carries on.
“Thought tuning does nothing on a Lord Ravager.” Asat continues, twisting the knife on the wound. “How could you possibly hope to protect them? Didn’t you learn when your sister got grazed by a bullet? That you could never save anyone? Did you really think getting a mask would change anything?”
There was an enjoyment in being cruel. In destroying with words instead of physical blows. Right now, Sunday looked like Asat had run him through with a knife and impaled him against the walls.
Asat could’ve done that from the start, but then where would the fun be?
As he’s deliberating on what to do next, a familiar voice, one that hadn’t changed since the time when Aeons last rose and fell, carries across the room. “Passenger Sunday? Is everything alright?”
Its owner stops dead as they take in the sights. “Lord Ravager Asat Pramad?”
Looks like the second piece has arrived on the board.
Asat Pramad sends a small burst of concentrated Destruction energy at Sunday with as much effort as one uses to swat a fly. A new puppet is summoned to block the projectile, but part of the attack deflects and hits Sunday in the shoulder. He gasps in pain and collapses on the floor.
“Good thing you blocked it.” Asat murmured, looking down at his limp form. “Could’ve been lethal for someone like you.” With Sunday out of the picture, he turns and faces his former friend.
“Conductor. A pleasure to see you again.”
Much like the express, Pom-Pom remains the same as he always did. The only difference was that instead of fondness, the bunny-like creature gazed at him with nothing but anger. Probably because he strolled uninvited and proceeded to harm a Nameless.
Please. As if Pom-Pom hadn’t watched him send other Nameless on suicide missions when Akivili fell.
He lifted his fedora and gave a mock bow. An enlarged version of the die Isee had spun during his time on the Express sat where his head should be.
The conductor said he loved all his passengers. He was curious if Pom-Pom could recognize the monster his former navigator had become after a dozen Amber Eras. To be quite honest, it would be disappointing if he couldn’t. A perfect joke gone to waste.
“It’s been quite a while. Do you recognize me?”
Pom-Pom stiffens, eyes boring a hole at him. Despite his looks as a walking cuddly plush animal, Pom-Pom’s smart enough to make some connections. Asat watches with mild pleasure as Pom-Pom comes up with a realization he so desperately doesn’t want to believe. Even after all this time, the conductor still wants to believe the best about his passengers.
When Pom-Pom speaks, his usual loud and confident voice is gone. It’s quiet, shaky, uncertain, asking a question he hopes will be answered with a resounding ‘No’.
“N-Navigator Isee?”
“In the flesh,” Asat says, amusement laced in every word. “I’m honored you still remember me.”
Behind him, Sunday makes a faint choking sound. He’s still conscious, albeit too injured to properly move. Asat ignores him. He has a conductor to take care of.
“Why?” Pom-Pom asks, voice still colored in disbelief.
“Why what?” Asat responds. “Why did I leave the Express? Why did I become a Lord Ravager? Why am I back here on the train?”
“All of those questions. What happened to you, Isee?”
Asat Pramad has always enjoyed deception. Half-truths that imply one thing but mean another, flat out lies that have him acting as a father while he waits for the perfect moment to drop the punchline… it’s incredible what can be done with a few choice words. But here, confronting the old conductor, he sees nothing more strategic than saying the truth.
“Have a seat Pom-Pom.” He says while sliding next to one of the coffee tables.
Pom-Pom lets out a gasp. Asat had been in front of Sunday, inadvertently hiding the damage done. Now that he’s opted to sit, Sunday’s condition is in clear view. The Halovian lies collapsed on the floor, face pale, his usually pristine clothes soaked in blood. His wings flutter uselessly against his face.
Asat sends another bolt of energy in between Sunday and Pom-Pom as the latter tries to rush to the former’s side.
“He won’t die of blood loss for another 12 system hours.” Asat comments dismissively. “In the meantime, Pom-Pom, I’ll humor your questions, so sit down.”
Pom-Pom begrudgingly sits, eyes still focused on his injured passenger.
Asat reaches for a cup of tea. If it weren’t for the dying passenger on board, he could almost pretend it was a regular conversation between Pom-Pom and a Nameless. But then again, he knows the casual normalness of his actions unsettles Pom-Pom almost as much as his prior identity.
“The tea is much better than the coffee here.” He says after taking a sip. “I presume Himeko isn’t putting ‘Heldorin butterfly scales and fish from a gas giant’ in here?”
A weak voice sounds from his right. “That’s what she…” Sunday trails off, coughing blood.
He nods. “That’s what Shush told me when she made me drink a giant batch.” He shudders. “I pity you if you’ve ever drunk it. One of the worst things I’ve ever tasted.”
“Don’t talk ill of the current Navigator.” Pom-Pom snaps. Then, the rest of what he implied catches up. Pom-Pom narrows his eyes. “When did you drink her coffee?”
“A couple system hours ago, when I last boarded the Express for a brief visit.”
Pom-Pom freezes, no doubt trying to figure out how he missed a Lord Ravager walking in the first time.
Asat Pramad laughs. “I told you, I always go where I’m not welcome.” A line he’s said countless times as both Enroute and Isee. If Pom-Pom needs any more proof that he’s the former navigator, the familiar quote places the nail in the coffin.
Akivili above, this day might be the most fun he’s had in an entire Amber Era. Seeing La Mancha’s face when he realized who gave him Voracity’s shadow, showing Graphia the reality of her situation, getting to fight the Nameless and Xianzhou general, revealing the truth to Himeko after years of playing as a father, saying Sunday’s worst internal thoughts aloud, and now this. Watching as Pom-Pom matches the friendly, jovial Navigator of his memory with the ruthless monster that doesn’t bat an eye at millions of casualties. Who has the blood of a Nameless on his hands and no concern on whenever he lives or dies.
“Now, where to start… Do you know why I joined the Express in the first place?”
Pom-Pom hesitates, still visibly unsettled and frightened. “You said it’s because you go where you’re not welcome, but Pom-Pom never believed that. You needed guidance, somewhere to go, a purpose in life, and the silver rail provided you with that.”
A boring, trailblazer-esque answer, but not entirely wrong. “I wanted to go beyond the world’s end.” Asat responds.”And I thought the best way was through the Trailblaze.”
He laughed bitterly. “But I saw the worlds we saved fall into corruption and decadence as time went by. Even if we rescued them from the Swarm or the Mechanical Emperor’s war, the civilizations would find a way to tear themselves apart regardless.”
Pom-Pom started to speak. “That’s not-”
Asat held up a hand to stop him, then continued his story. “When Akivili THEMSELVES fell, I realized what a joke this path was. All along, and even THEY didn’t know the answers to what lay beyond.”
“The Trailblaze isn’t the Erudition.” Pom-Pom snapped. “Explore, understand, establish, and connect. That is the motto of the Trailblaze. Akivili and the nameless journeyed to find their answers. Of course they never knew from the start. They didn’t extrapolate countless possibilities to find answers, they explored the universe in hopes of finding it naturally.”
“Of course you would think that.” Asat said. “But carrying on, after I became Navigator, the Nameless would continue to prove my point. For a group of people that were supposed to connect with the universe, they didn’t exactly connect with themselves did they? Infighting, murders, you remember as well as I do. It wasn’t exactly pleasant.”
“That’s when you started sending them on these ‘random missions’.”
“Precisely.” Asat leans back and lounges on the sofa, ignoring Pom-Pom’s glare and Sunday’s labored breathing. “It did wonders with stopping the infighting. But at that point, I had become disillusioned with the Trailblaze. When I saw Nanook ascend on Adlivun, I realized the best way to find the end was to kill the Elation.”
“You were…there?” Sunday asked weakly.
Asat glanced down at him. “Yes Sunday, I am in fact older than my boss. And no, I unfortunately do not get any senior perks like free healthcare. Although Akivili never gave any healthcare either, so it could just be that all Aeons are stingy.”
Sunday probably would’ve laughed, if not for the gravity of his situation. What a shame.
“Did Nanook turn you into this?” Pom-Pom gestures at him.
“Are you asking about my new form? Side effect of reforging.”
“No, I mean this… cruelty. Sunday’s bleeding out on the floor, Planarcadia is getting destroyed, and you’re sitting here like it’s an average Sunday morning.”
“That’s not very nice of you, Pom-Pom. But no, this wasn’t from Nanook.” Asat spun his dice head in the air, catching it again with his hand. He didn’t miss the way both Pom-Pom and Sunday tensed at the sudden movement. “ When you watched ‘Isee’ determine the fate of his comrades with a die, killing those who refused or failed, do you think he felt any sort of empathy?”
Pom-Pom remained silent.
“I must admit, having little regard for life has made my new job a lot easier.” Asat says lightly, as if he’s discussing breakfast options instead of admitting that taking a life is barely an afterthought on his mind.
Pom-Pom shakes his head. Beneath the fear in his eyes, Asat can see a sorrow lingering as the conductor bites his lip. “You’ve really lost yourself, Passenger Isee.”
Passenger Isee? It’s been 10 Amber Eras since he left the foolish path of the trailblaze behind. 10 Amber Eras since dark hair and kind eyes were replaced by a purple hand and a 20 sided die. 10 Amber Eras since he started commanding the antimatter legion and started performing jokes with a punchline of a world dying.
All of his actions today were done in deliberaete contrast to Isee, and Pom-Pom still saw him as a passenger?
He aims a light kick at Sunday’s barely conscious body, just to be petty. To show Pom-Pom once again that Isee is gone, and there’s only the Lord Ravager called Asat Pramad.
“After everything, and the conductor still thinks of me as one of his own. How foolish.”
“Seeing one of my former passengers go down this route makes me sad.” Pom-Pom replies mournfully.
Asat doesn’t feel like it, but he gives a laugh and stands up. “As much as I’d love to carry on this conversation, I’m afraid I will leave you two there.” He can sense the Trailblazer and the two Stellaron Hunters making their way out of the world on canvas.
He looks at the two remaining Nameless. Sunday lies gutted, both figuratively from his words, and literally. Pom-Pom still seems like he’s in a state of shock, while simultaneously looking like he’s about to cry. He’s successfully dealt with these two pieces, and now needs to turn his attention to other matters.
“Take care, you two.” He says with mock concern, tipping his fedora and leaving.
As soon as he leaves the Express, Asat lets out a sigh. Pom-Pom still mourns for him? Still sees him as Isee?
Good riddance. Let him sit with that sorrow. Asat will sort through his own feelings on the matter later. For now, he has an Arcadia to destroy.