Life in the North: An Apocalyptic LitRPG

“Again, I don’t comment on politics,” Jing Yi says firmly.

My eyes narrow slightly as I consider what a man with this much power could be concerned about. Yet I somehow don’t sense concern, just caution. I wonder if it’s a holdover from before the System, a desire to keep his head down. After all, the curse “May you be recognized by those in high places” might be apocryphal, but it sure as hell exemplifies Chinese views of the government. The last thing the common man wants to do is deal with them.

“I see,” I say and fall silent while I consider how to push him. The old man is smart and stubborn, so I doubt a straightforward approach will work. However, I have to admit, I hadn’t actually thought through my plans for this meeting.

“Ah, good. The food has arrived. Eat, eat!” Jing Yi proclaims, pushing the plate toward me.

I take his prompts with alacrity, mulling over and discarding various iterations of the same question. It’s only when a truly unfamiliar dish plops down that my concentration is broken.

“Roasted and seasoned Junaar Beast,” Jing Yi says and points at the small, anteater-like creature that sits on the table. Except its skin is crispy like a roasted duck and the set of six feet are certainly not common. The chef has even used the head and its oversized eye sockets to place dipping sauces. “Quite the treat. They started appearing a year into the apocalypse and have spread all across China.”

“Oh?” I serve him a chopped piece of the meat before picking one up myself, savoring the chewy and surprisingly boneless dish. Its meaty taste is a cross between flavorful young lamb and crispy, crunchy, fatty pig. In other words, delicious. “It’s good!”

“Very much so. It’s a pity they’re so hard to catch.” At my polite hum of interest, the Grandmaster continues. “The beast actually is interesting. It raises small creatures—Junaar Mice—and sends them out in front of it. The mice act as bait and distractions for the Beast itself. A very pragmatic approach to life. Don’t you think?”

I pause while chewing on the latest morsel, staring at the smiling old man. I look at the alien creature then the man, before chuckling softly. “Yes. Very practical. Here, have another piece!”

It’s only when I walk back out of the teahouse, after stuffing myself full of good food and trading more war stories, that Ali pops back into existence. The Spirit sniffs, floating alongside me as we fast-walk back to the teleportation pad.

“Not the subtlest of analogies,” Ali says.

“But it works.”

So. Bipasha is the mouse and the Chinese consider themselves the owner. Well, I can live with that, so long as they vote. And after having one attack set on me, their strategy might not be the worse one I’ve seen. Keep your name hidden, keep your head down, and let others attract the attention. Until you need to strike. Not a bad strategy, but not for me.

“Mr. Lee.” Rob smiles, offering me a hand as he stands.

We meet once more at his faux-Oval Office, though this time a half-dozen Secret Service members are standing around. I’m amused, somewhat, by the increase in security.

“Didn’t think me nearly getting killed was that big a deal.”

“Gods, your head is big. You do recall that Ikael got killed while speaking with you, right?”

“You mean, they’re here to protect him against me?” I send the thought back, almost scandalized. Then, realizing there’re a half dozen Advanced Class bodyguards in here, a significant portion of any settlement’s fighting force, I decide that maybe it’s a nice compliment. Of sorts.

“President Markey,” I greet the man and take the offered seat. I’m a little amused that the chair is nice and plushy and still not as comfortable as the Galactic nanoweave chairs I have in my office. But tradition dictates that these chairs look this way, and so here we are. The moment I take my seat, I throw up Society’s Web and begin the sorting process.

“Your decision caught many of us by surprise,” Rob says. “I’m glad to hear that it was voluntary.”

“It was, and it made sense,” I say with a half-smile. “Lana was doing the job anyway. And this leaves me more time to talk with people about the Vote.”

“I thought you might be here for that.” Rob opens his hand. “I’m sorry to say, but if you wish our support, you’ll only receive part of it. Our representatives will all be conducting a conscience vote.”

“Huh. Your free media really does put the Shop to shame. Seems like they had a house—senate?—vote and they forced Rob to agree to that. Good news is that they picked up most of southern Texas by agreeing to that though.”

“Ah…” I lean backward. “Any ideas of the numbers?”

“If they were to vote for Ms. Chowdury? Maybe half,” Rob says.

That means we’d lose two percent of the vote. Not huge, but still significant since that’s about ten percent of what we can afford to lose. It doesn’t help that so much of North America is already taken by the Truinnar and their allies, forcing Rob’s half-formed government to work around it.

“What do you want if you do throw your backing at her anyway?” I say softly, doing the math in my head. It’s still not enough, not by far. Not without the Truinnar and more of the independents. Which probably dictates my next trip.

“Nothing major. We’ve already spoken somewhat about this. But I can sell a further portion of my people on supporting her if she would commit to lending her support on an expedition.”

“You mean war,” I say, cutting through the bullshit. “Where?”

Rob doesn’t say a word, gesturing and flicking a map to me, highlighting the state of Oklahoma. I don’t ask why that state—I’m sure there’re good reasons. What I’m more concerned about is who owns the settlements there. Sadly, I’m once again right. He’s looking to clear the Truinnar from Oklahoma, which would put us in direct conflict with people whose vote we probably need.

“That’s not going to work,” I say, my eyes tight. “Or I don’t think it will.”

“I understand.”

I sigh, standing and offering my hand to Rob. He seems a nice man, but with the state the country is in, the wars he must fight, I’m not sure why I came now. Perhaps I’m intrinsically biased to think of the Americans as a major power, but in this new world, they’re too scattered. When Rob stands, there’s a little of the same understanding in his eyes. A tiredness and a resignation that I never noticed before.

“Thank you. And good luck.”

“You too, Mr. Lee.”

East. The Portal to Whitehorse drops me off in the lobby of the City Center, startling more than a few Adventurers. A part of me wonders what it means when I’ve got full access to Portal anywhere I want within Roxley’s settlements. Not just Whitehorse, but even all the way up to Alaska. Well, theoretically at least, since I don’t have any waypoints in Alaska yet. Another, more cowardly, portion decides, as always, questions like this about my relationship with the Truinnar should be set aside for a more appropriate time. Like never.

“John,” Roxley greets me with a smile at the elevator after I ascend. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking you’d tell me when you’re ready, but tick-tock, man.”

“Tick-tock?”

“The sound a clock makes…” I shake my head. “No distractions. I need an answer. Are we going to make the vote this time, or am I going to have to plan for another six months of politicking?”

“And settlement conquest?” Roxley asks, an enigmatic smile on his lips.

“If necessary.”

“Very well,” Roxley says. “I’m glad that I read you right. The Duchess has agreed to backing your efforts, with certain caveats. Firstly, we’d like Earth to officially join the—”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Didn’t need to.” I place my hands on my hips. “You didn’t spend all this time to make an offer you knew I would turn down immediately.”

“I did not. But I had to try,” Roxley says, giving me a belly-flopping, stomach churning smile.

Damn it. I check my notification logs but don’t see a damn note, so either his Charisma and other Skills worked or it’s all just me.

“It’s just you,” Ali sends to me, obviously having seen me open my notification logs.

“Get lost,” I send to Ali then fix Roxley with a look, pushing my other thoughts and feelings aside. “So?”

“We will require you to vote with us for certain bills. Ten such times, we will compel your votes—and those will not be negotiable,” Roxley says. “In addition, we will want you to levy additional duties and taxes against the Movana and their allies. Truinnar are to be exempt from entry charges, while—”

“You want us to double or triple the charges for the Movana and their allies.” I wave. “If those are the biggest sticking points, it doesn’t sound horrible if we can get all of you on board. We’ll want to adjust them a bit, like making sure those bills don’t directly impact us too badly and maybe set a time limit on those duties and taxes, but it’s something for Lana and Katherine to handle.” I hesitate but add, “And Bipasha.”

“You have made your decision then?”

“I’m actually more interested in what took you so long,” I say, tapping my foot. “You obviously have been considering this for a while.”

“The delay has been for your benefit. Our meetings have been of particular interest to our enemies. Confirming the agreement before this would have placed you and your efforts in greater danger.”

“But now we’ve got less than two weeks to get the rest of your people to agree, then they’re going to have to argue about what we’ve decided.”

“The agreement you make with me will be sufficient,” Roxley states confidently.

“How…?”

“Can I be confident of the matter? It has already been agreed on.”

“You’ve been talking to them already? But if you were, won’t our enemies know?”

Roxley looks slightly miffed. “Please, John. My compatriots and I have been politicking under the System all our lives. This is a minor matter.”

I pause, then shut my mouth. Fine. They know how to game the System and their opponents. And I’m the blunt idiot who was kept in the dark for his own good. I grit my teeth, drawing a deep breath and exhaling slowly, forcing calm on myself. When Roxley puts a hand on my arm, squeezing my bicep for comfort, I growl and shrug him off, stalking away to stare out a viewscreen which acts as a window.

“John…?”

“One second,” I say, holding up a finger.

I force myself to breathe, to run through the emotions and slowly, slowly push down the anger. Because in the end, they were right. I just hated being handled.

When I have better control of my emotions, I say, “Why are we having this talk now?”

“The assassination attempt on you has escalated matters. It is obvious our stall tactics have been seen through.”

“By the Movana.” I say without inflection, curious to see what Roxley thinks. I turn back to the Truinnar and open my Skill. Threads appear, dozens, hundreds. I avoid the obvious one, the thread which leads to me, and instead focus on the others.

“Most likely,” Roxley acknowledges. “Of the factions present, it is only theirs which would be threatened by Earth. Facing the Fist directly and winning their respect has blunted the danger from their faction. So long as you allow them access to Earth and its dungeons, they should not act against you. In fact, they might support humanity’s growth. After all, you and Ms. Sato are prime candidates for recruitment.”

“What? A battle maniac and a cheat?”

“Yes. But to return to the point, the Artisans do not care enough to act against you. And well, you have a deal with us.”

“Which leaves the Movana,” I say. “Or other humans who don’t believe I don’t want the seat for myself. Or any independent Galactic group who’s willing to blow enough Credits to hire a Master Class assassin.”

“Which are few.”

I hate to say it, but the logic is impeccable. In fact, outside of Bipasha and perhaps Rob, I can’t think of any group who might want me dead that badly. Among other things, while I’m important to this movement, I’m not the only mover and shaker. After all our efforts, it’d take a lot of assassinations and Credits to stop this train.

“I will speak with Ms. Pearson about the details of what we require and the number of seats I can guarantee. It is, of course, not everyone,” Roxley says.

I nod in acceptance of his warning. No surprise there. As much influence as the Duchess might have, as charming as Roxley might be, and as much as the species is going to vote for its betterment as a whole, there will still be those who disagree. But most is good. Most is better than none.

“Thank you,” I say, flashing him a grateful smile.

With the Truinnar votes and the ones from the Fist, we should be close. At some point, I need to push Cheng Shao again, just to make sure what I heard from Bipasha is true, but if so, we might have this. Or close enough. But still, I see the message in my notifications, the request from Wynn for a meeting. And I find myself wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“You’re welcome, John.” Roxley visibly hesitates, looking uncertain for once.

I wait, knowing he has something to say. I wonder what kind of bomb he’s about to drop.

“Would you care to join me for dinner?”

“Nah, I’ll just grab a bite in Kamloops—”

“John.” Roxley’s voice grows slightly heated. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

“You just…” I stutter to a stop at the way he said it, the hesitation and uncertainty and yes, the slight blush. Oh. Oh… “Ummm… right. Got to go…”

You Are Quantum Locked

“What!?!”

“No running away,” Roxley says, crossing the distance to me and staring at me heatedly. “I want an answer. A real one.”

“And if I don’t give one, you’ll keep me trapped?” I growl. “Very Misery of you.”

“Wha…? No. You will not divert me from this. I know of your plans. If you succeed, you intend to leave Earth. I have responsibilities which will not allow me to go. We have danced around this matter for years. I wish—no—I require a resolution.”

“Roxley…” I shake my head. “I’m leaving. Gone. Stars away. And what happens next, I have a feeling it’ll be worse than taunting a dragon. There’s no point to this. To us.”

“No point?” Roxley says softly, almost gently. “No point in joy? In happiness? Are you so fixated on the future you will avoid the present? What is your Taoism then, your pursuit and acceptance of the now?”

“Not fair,” I mutter. “You aren’t supposed to use our conversations against me. And joy isn’t the goal…”

“No? Well, perhaps you could educate me further. Over dinner.”

Roxley is right next to me now, so close I could touch him with the barest motion. But he doesn’t move to cross those final few inches and neither do I. With his last sentence, Roxley lets the silence take over, giving me time to think.

I hate this. Hate contemplating this giant ball of emotions, the fear, the worry, the desire. The immediate, chemical reaction to the man—the alien!—before me. But… what is, is. Isn’t that what I’ve tried to embrace? Sometimes, the right choice isn’t what I think or what I believe. Sometimes, to see the whole, you need to step outside of the boundaries of your own views.

And hell, I haven’t been laid in four years.

I don’t make it out of Whitehorse till the next morning. Late morning. But when I leave, it’s with a smile and a secret from Roxley. Because for all the logic, all the clear and indisputable circumstantial evidence pointing to the Movana’s guilt, I can’t believe it. The teleportation portal to Paris rips me apart and dumps me out in the City of Lights, in the square right outside the Notre Dame de Paris. It’s not exactly how I ever expected to revisit the city, but at least I managed to come back.

Paris is beautiful. There’s something about the city which gives it a certain charm, the grey block buildings, the picturesque centuries-old architecture, the giant bestial mounts. It’s a city which demands attention, even after the ravages of the System’s arrival.

“Wynn.” I greet the Guild Leader with a smile.

In the corner of my eyes, I note the multiple Quantum Lock symbols, denoting the numerous teleportation barriers in place. Over the entire city, a Settlement Shield is in place, lightly flickering as the occasional low Level monster flies into it. Numerous flying mounts glide and flap above me while flying cars float among the hovering beacons, taking their passengers through the large metropolitan. Hundreds of Galactics and humans move around me on their feet, ducking between gigantic beasts of burden and larger humanoid feet, treading to jobs, schools, or Quests. It’s an amazing show of prosperity, though a part of me knows it’s a false front too. Paris is the center of the Movana’s push. Outlying settlements are not nearly as busy.

“Redeemer,” Wynn says with a smile, offering me his hand. “I’m glad you accepted my invitation.”

“Color me intrigued. I hadn’t expected to be invited to Paris of all places.” After all, the guild master’s guild is based in Vancouver.

“It was considered a better option,” Wynn replies and waves me toward a waiting hover car. “If you will, we have only a brief window.”

We take off, giving me a view of the sprawling city. Like Dahar, I notice how many neighborhoods have retained their older, human architecture. Of course, not all of Paris is made of heritage-worthy architecture, nor do all Galactics care. And so, the city is dotted with the occasional incongruently placed building, like the floating oval, the hexadecimal-structured building, and one I swear was made by Dali himself. Strangely enough, it suits the city.

“A beautiful city,” Wynn says, waving below. “We were able to restore much of it after the initiation. It seemed to satisfy many of the locals. As well as our adoption of their language. I am told it is linguistically similar to our native tongue, though with less gender definitions.”

I open my mouth then shut it, declining to comment. While I took French in school like any good Canadian, I have to admit, mine is beyond rusty. Add the fact that Canadian French is not really considered “real” French by the French themselves, and well, I’m not one to comment. Come to think of it, I’m finding myself holding my tongue more and more. I wonder if it’s a sign of maturity or cowardice?

“How many?”

“Pardon?”

“How many humans are left?” I ask, looking below. “I know the Movana purchased the settlements a little after the apocalypse. And even took a few Cores by force. So. How many?”

“For the region? Just under a million. But we’ve had significant immigration from outlying areas,” Wynn says without sugar-coating the truth.

I shut my eyes for a second, pushing away the wave of emotion. It’s too complex, too dense for me to pick apart right now. Though the aching grief over all the loss is still there. Still. A million. That’s a lot.

“Chatter on the local boards indicates they’re relatively happy. And Wynn isn’t telling the whole story—there’s been a constant level of immigration from the city too. They’re using more and more of the locals as go-betweens in other cities to help mollify the local populace.”

“How’s it going?” I’m trying to imagine the conversation between a Frenchman and German, then I decide perhaps I shouldn’t be basing my imagination on bad Hollywood movies. After all, they are neighbors and were in the EU together for ages. Surely it isn’t as much of a farce as Hollywood would have me believe.

“Insufficient data to provide a statistically relevant conclusion, as bits would say. It’s not as if the local boards go into exhaustive detail over something like this.”

I send a mental affirmation back to Ali. Since I’m here anyway, I open my new favorite Skill, staring at the numerous threads that criss-cross the city. Rather than give myself a migraine trying to actually understand the information before me, I just watch the shift and twist and let it seep in. Hopefully my subconscious mind will be able to make use of it. Or not.

“I am somewhat surprised you agreed to come,” Wynn says, breaking the silence.

I turn back to the guild master, staring at the halo of threads around him, and do a brief check on the thread which leads to me. It’s not particularly thick. The obligations we initially shared as settlement owner and guild leader have disappeared, leaving just our normal interactions. While there were traces of friendly, even respectful interactions, it’s mostly a business relationship.

“Why? Because it’s rumored the Movana are the ones who set the assassin on me?” I say bluntly.

“Yes.”

“I figured if you really want to kill me, I’d make it easier. Rather get stabbed in the front than the back.”

Wynn bursts out laughing. “Oh, you definitely are an Erethran Paladin.”

“You’ve met one before?”

“Once. A long time ago, when I was still a child,” Wynn says.

Damn. Our legends are right—these elves live for centuries at least, considering what I know of the Paladins.

“It was on a space station above Linx 4. He had been chasing a crew of space pirates and finally found their ship docked at the station. The pirates had switched out the transponder beacon on their ship and fled to Movana space. But the Paladin refused to let it go. He took on the entire station’s security forces and the pirates by himself.”

My mentor had spoken about a few of my predecessors, told stories and discussed what was expected. But she’d never mentioned anything like this—just major battles and sometimes a few illustrative events. So was a fight with an entire space station’s security team and a gang of pirates considered a day in the life for a Paladin?

“Did he win?” I ask.

“Depends on your definition. He tore up the space station, killed all the pirates, and destroyed their ship,” Wynn says. “But he also hurt relations between Linx and the Erethrans for a century and forced the Empire to pay repatriations higher than the damage the pirates could have done in a decade of raids.”

“A blunt instrument,” I say, letting the Skill drop and allowing my Mana to regenerate.

Yet I detect a hint of admiration in Wynn’s voice. A fond recollection of the unnamed Paladin. For the rest of the flight, I ponder the contrast between the pragmatic and the emotional, the needs of the now and the future.

No towering, hollow trees greet me when we finally arrive. Instead, the building is what I call Galactic-norm, a stylized grey rectangle thrust into the sky without care for physics or decorum. I absently note even more quantum locks in place once I enter the building, shutting down any chances of me porting in or out of this area. I’m not surprised.

You have entered Paris City Center

Facilities available:

City Core

Shop

Meeting rooms (+18% experience increase in administrative skills)

Training rooms (+8% experience increase in skills trained)

We’re led into one of those meetings room, a large board room which hosts four different Movana. Three men, one woman. Like Wynn, the leader and the female look like Lord of the Rings extras, thin and slim and perfectly coiffed. One of the extra males is, interestingly enough, portly and unkempt with a mohawk for a hairstyle and nose piercings which gleam in the diffuse light. As for the last man, he looks like an elf given steroids, sporting a sleeveless tunic to show off his arms.

“Redeemer. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Bhale a Bhode, the leader of the group, says as he stands and offers his hand to shake.

I take it while activating Social Web and watch as the thread between us grows. Within seconds, I’m introduced to the rest, whose names I forget almost immediately in exchange for an interesting insight into the interpersonal politics among the group. For example, Mohawk’s jealous of everyone in this group as he’s the only non-Combat Classer and non-Master Class. He’s also slightly afraid of Musclehead, who in turn has an extremely thick, twisted thread to the female elf. It’s filled with numerous dealings over a long course of years, with familial and personal feelings messed up in it. I’m scanning through it all, gathering as much information as I can, while we do the small talk thing.

“Once again, we have to thank you for being willing to meet with us directly,” Bhale says, waving around the meeting room. “It shows a degree of open-mindedness which is refreshing.”

“You’re being too generous,” I say.

Wynn coughs slightly, hiding his movement behind a sip on the blue juice we’re drinking. Quite tasty actually.

“But I do think we should talk about why I’m here,” I say.

“The Planetary Vote,” Bhale says. “We are willing to provide you the votes you require. All our votes.”

Surprise obviously shows on my face because Bhale smiles and continues. “We understand the position you are in. And ours. So we do not ask for much.”

I find myself leaning forward, listening to Bhale as he lists their demands. In the end, they come down to a series of small concessions, none of them much greater than what we’ve provided to other independent and smaller kingdoms thus far. At least, none are much greater individually, but as a whole, it’s a significant package of concessions. Still very reasonable considering they’re offering nearly nine percent of the votes. More interesting is the way they’re asking for it. Most of those we’ve spoken to have requested immediate benefits —economic and military concessions which take effect immediately, Credits and materials sent over. Here though, the Movana are basing their concessions on a future where we win the Vote. A show of confidence perhaps—or of good faith.

“It’s relatively reasonable,” I say once he’s done. Smiles cross all their faces, but I hold up my hand. “Details can be argued by those under us. But the problem is, your votes aren’t enough.”

“It is all we have,” Bhale says. He doesn’t look surprised by my words at all.

“Aye, and the Truinnar want you out,” I say, opening my hands. “You see the position I’m in?”

“We do. It’s why we’re willing to compromise on what we will accept. And I’m sure the Truinnar have requested significantly more,” Bhale says. “I can offer nothing more.”

“Nothing…?” I say.

Bhale meets my gaze calmly, refusing to back down from his words, and I let out a low huff of exasperation.

“Yah gots enough. Yah want our baybies next?” Musclehead speaks up, his arms crossed as he flexes the large biceps and leans forward. “I told y’all it ain’t worth speaking to the damn monkeys.”

“He got a speech impediment or something?”

“I think it’s an accent. An affected one.” Ali is looking at Musclehead a little incredulously, and I admit, I’m embarrassed for the Movana too.

I close my mouth and run the numbers, using the Neural Link to aid in the calculations and the voting scenarios. With the Truinnar, and assuming Bipasha is telling the truth, we’ve got roughly seventy-five percent of the seats. With the Movana, the number drops by nearly eight percent, putting us at sixty-six percent. We could, with a little elbow grease, eke out another percent of space by taking some of the unclaimed spots. I might even be able to get a percent or two from the independents, but in both cases, I’ll still fall short. With the Movana, it’d just be a little shorter.

“Thank you for the offer,” I say softly. “But it’s not just my decision. I’ll pass it on.”

Musclehead frowns, but Bhale raises a hand, quieting the other man before he can say anything. He, however, leans forward and fixes me with those turquoise eyes of his. “Redeemer, we are not your enemies. No matter what the Truinnar have told you, our actions were not personal.”

“I’m imagining a giant but here,” I say.

“But if you persist in declining our overtures of friendship, we will have to take action.”

“And the blades come out,” I say, smiling at the quartet who sits opposite me. Wynn shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his presence a footnote here. Bhale doesn’t back down, not that I expected him to. “We’ll let you know.”

On those foreboding notes, I’m allowed to leave. Wynn is quiet when he sees me out and back to the teleportation pad. I don’t bother using their pad though, triggering my own Portal once I’m inside the exclusion zone. As I nod goodbye to the troubled-looking guild master, I can’t help but feel somewhat satisfied with what I’ve learned.

Unless the Movana are really playing a deep game, they aren’t the ones who set the assassin on me.

Chapter 18

“You’re going to have to explain that again for us,” Lana says while handing me the basket of bannock.

I take two pieces and reach for a third before my hand gets slapped and the basket stolen by Carlos.

“What are you doing here?” I grumble at the man. “You weren’t exactly invited.”

“Bannock,” Carlos replies and puts a piece on his plate before the bready, doughy goodness is taken by Mikito.

“You don’t think the Movana are the ones who set you up. Because you didn’t see anything connecting them to you in an aggressive way?” Ingrid says slowly as she waves a pair of long wooden chopsticks while standing over the pot full of oil. “Am I right?”

“Sort of,” I say. “It’s also because they were willing to work with us. Even if they know they can’t get the vote.”

“Could be a ruse,” Lana says, waving a drumstick to punctuate her point. “You know, make you think they’re your friends while sending assassins to kill you.”

“See, that’s the other thing. Killing me won’t stop the vote. We’ve done enough groundwork, you guys could finish the job,” I say. “I’m not that important.”

“Then who sent the assassin?”

I shrug, not having an answer. I could put together a million and one conspiracy theories, but in the end, I just don’t know.

“I don’t think it matters,” Ingrid says while we all sit there, considering matters. “There’s not been another attempt as yet. And no one’s reported an attempt on them.”

“Good. Just one problem,” I say. “If we confirm with the Truinnar, the Movana have pretty much guaranteed they’re going to try to stop us.”

“Did they indicate how?” Mikito asks, concern in her voice. “If they intend to go after the local human settlements, I’ll need to inform Hugo and the other champions.”

“No.” I shrug. “But you might want to do it anyway.”

Mikito nods, and we fall silent for a little while as we dig in.

It’s Carlos who breaks the silence. “Are we actually going to succeed at the Vote?”

“Not yet,” I say. “We’re still short.”

“Then…” Carlos frowns as he sees the slight smiles among the team. “What am I missing?”

“There’s always a but with John,” Lana explains with a smile.

“But with the Truinnar, we’re close enough we might be able to get the other independents who have been on the fence.”

“If we choose Bipasha and the Truinnar,” Lana states firmly while holding up a finger. “Is that what I’m hearing, John?”

I nod reluctantly. I don’t trust Bipasha. Something about the outwardly friendly, internally cold woman worries me. Perhaps it’s because she reminds me a little of my own father—a man who learned to “fake” the appearance of an extrovert while still being entirely reserved inside. I understood why he did it, and it had been effective at letting him climb the corporate ladder, but still, the dichotomy had made for an unpleasant childhood.

“Damn. Here I was hoping to pick up more work,” Ingrid says, sitting down beside me. “But once we’ve chosen, you know there’s going to be a bit of a mess. The Movana will act, as will any other group that thinks you’re going to shut them out.”

That means all the Movana and their allies, as well as a few independent species we’d gotten on the bad side of—or who we’d visibly disapproved of their practices. The entire Serfdom thing still grates against the vast majority of humanity’s morals, and the species who twist the rules to make it slavery in all but name know we’ll be targeting them. And then there are the species who aren’t much better than the monsters out there, killing, eating, and smashing their way through life. Who, even in “normal” Galactic society, are relegated to the edges. Like Dungeon Worlds.

“What do you think they’ll do?” I ask the group in general.

“Settlement attacks,” Mikito says.

“Assassinations on vulnerable settlement owners. Or where the second-in-command is weak,” Ingrid adds.

“Political and economic pressure.” Lana raises a finger. “Don’t forget many of the Galactics have interests outside of Earth.”

“Bribes?” Carlos says, shrugging. “No reason they can’t try to entice the others away.”

Everyone proceeds to throw out ideas of what might happen, but it mostly boils down to variations of the initially stated ideas. Once we exhaust the brainstorm, we shift the conversation to what we can do. In the end, our plan of action is limited not only by the number of personnel we have and can trust but also our timeframe.

When we finally clear the multiple plates and pots of food, I sum up our conversation. “Right. For the most part, we’re going to have stay on the defensive. We target settlements owned by enemy independents with military strikes. That’ll be Mikito, the champions, and my job. We use Ingrid and any of her friends—I assume you have friends in the business—to target some of the other groups if we think it’ll work. Or at the least, it’ll keep them busy and looking over their shoulder. Kim and Lana can provide the necessary list to you, as well as the budget.”

Ingrid grins at the offer.

“And as for the rest, Lana, Bipasha, and Katherine will work on reinforcing our contracts and working on the edge cases among the indies,” I say.

“What should I do?” Carlos asks after I fall silent.

The rest of us share a look then chorus, “The dishes!”

Of course, we don’t just delegate kitchen duties to Carlos. Carlos is designated our spokesperson with the Artisan’s group and a few other non-aligned Artisan settlement owners. While pigeon-holing the man as a non-Combat Classer isn’t really nice, he is likely to have more luck chatting with them than we would. If nothing else, developing a relationship could be beneficial for future trade.

Once we make up our minds, we get to work. And we definitely have a ton of work to do. I find myself bouncing from city to city, settlement to settlement, talking and occasionally fighting while my friends scramble to get their own tasks done.

I find myself portaling back from Kisangani after another fruitful discussion days later. The African city has many similarities to Whitehorse, including the presence of a Galactic owner, a location in a high Level zone, and a major river flowing beside it. Of course, it’s located in a temperate forest, had more than fifty times our population prior to the apocalypse, and has an all-round moderate climate. But, you know, outside of those things, it is very similar to my old home.

Amusingly, the Galactic owner is another Kudaya, though it is closer to a giant, stork-like reptile than a hippo. The creature uses a series of thin legs to stand and move about and is not a fighter at all. For a Mid-Level Administrator though, the creature has a clear grasp of the realities of combat, with our major negotiation including a deadline to clear a half dozen of their dungeons each quarter. Luckily, we don’t need to commit our own forces to this directly, so the moment I step through the Portal, I issue a series of Quests for Kim to pin to the Adventurer’s Board. I even include an all-expenses paid Portal to the location.

When I’m done, I flash a grin at the trio of grumpy occupants in my office. They’re all seated in their respective seats, their System screens floating visibly in front of them.

“Sorry. Forgot I gave up this office,” I say, nodding to Lana, who lets out a theatrical sigh.

Katherine sniffs slightly, making her displeasure quite clear. As for the last participant, I’m surprised to see him here actually.

Peter Steele (Level 38 Planetary Diplomat)

HP: 980/980

MP: 1780/1780

Conditions: Aura of Temperance, Scale Balancer, Diplomat’s Shield

“Peter,” I greet the Diplomat with a grin, shaking the trim African American’s hand. The man has a great smile which shows all his pearly white teeth while enveloping you in a comforting warmth. In the corner of my eyes, I see the ping of a resisted Mental Influence, his Charisma breaking against my mental resistances. “It’s been ages.”

“I know,” Peter says with a smile. “I was thinking you were avoiding me.”

“Just busy,” I say, shaking my head. Not as though we’re major friends, but we met and talked in my capacity as settlement leader and before, when he negotiated the agreements in San Francisco.

“Of course,” Peter says, glancing back toward the ladies who are already chatting on their own calls, dealing with recalcitrant settlement owners.

One of the side benefits of the office is its ability to seal off external visual and audible distractions while on a vidcall, allowing us to speak freely. Even as we speak, Peter is busy eyeing the smaller notification screens for the two young ladies.

“I won’t bother you guys. You seem busy,” I say graciously.

“No, I have a few minutes. My last call finished faster than I expected,” Peter says.

“It went well, I hope?” I say.

“Nope,” Ali chimes in as he picks at the snack table the trio have set up in one corner. “I just got their name added to the Ingrid list.”

Peter nods amiably at Ali’s words, his face perfectly serene. “They were particularly upset we would even consider speaking with them after our recent moves in Brazil. It seems we missed the fact that the Iwik Corporation which owned Lucas do Rio Verde is actually owned by the second brood mate of the Third Head. Taking the settlement was considered a breach of the peace.”

“I wonder how we missed that.” My voice drips with sarcasm.

“Diplomacy is a matter of knowledge and understanding. A proper diplomatic mission should take many factors into account. Your—our—recent actions have been extremely rushed,” Peter says with a grimace.

“You’ve had four years.”

“And hundreds of Galactic parties to investigate,” Peter counters. “It is already a miracle we’ve managed to do as well as we did. Thankfully, greed and arrogance are still universal traits.”

I chuckle, a reaction which is obviously to his liking.

“Helps when you and the girls are all Charisma junkies,” Ali adds with a wry grin. “And your Skill, the Greater Good, has worked wonders. I never realized the upgrade of the Skill was so powerful.”

“It is,” Peter says, smirking.

I shake my head slightly, impressed the man was willing to dedicate so many of his Class Skill points to a single Skill. While I know, theoretically, Skills upgrade once you dump ten points into them, I just never had the ability to do so. It takes a certain single-mindedness to be willing to choose one path and stick to it like Peter.

“John, hi. Now, bye. Peter, I want your take on these guys…” Lana interrupts before we can chit-chat more.

I chuckle and deposit bars of chocolate in front of everyone before I head out of the room to the sniff—and crinkling of plastic wrap—from Katherine.

I find the Assassin in a room a short distance from my office, in a comfortable chaise lounger, tight pants showcasing her legs, and an ice cream sandwich in her mouth. When I step in, she starts slightly before she relaxes, continuing to chew on the sandwich.

After swallowing, she says, “Want one?”

“I’m good,” I say, popping out a chocolate bar of my own and finding a chair to sit on. “You called?”

“Yup. Got the list,” Ingrid says and waves.

A moment later, I’ve got the notification with the list of names for the targets and, most importantly, the cost. My eyes bulge out slightly as I spot the final line item. “Are you serious?”

“I know right? I got a great deal,” Ingrid says.

“This is a deal?” I whisper with horrible fascination as I go over the names and Credits. The cheapest bugger to take down is just over two million Credits. I could buy a small spaceship for that much! Of course, it’d be a single-man spaceship which would barely putter around the solar system, but spaceship!

“Yes. What? You think it’s easy going after a settlement owner? Most of the Galactics have banked on their positions to purchase a large number of enchanted objects and Skills via loans. Some of the most in-debt fellows have bank-designated bodyguards,” Ingrid says. “If killing settlement owners was easy, you wouldn’t get a nifty Title for doing it.”

“You have a title?”

“Oh, right! I have mine hidden,” Ingrid says with a smile then gestures again.

Settlement Killer

Murderer, killer, assassin! Where the title holder goes, other owners will fear. The Settlement Killer is the bane of good order in well-run settlements and the hope of the downtrodden in despotic settlements. In the end, killer and savior are but two sides of the same coin.

Effect: Title owner gains a 5% increase in damage done to settlement owners

“How come I never got one?” I frown. I’ve killed a few myself.

“Wars and combat don’t count. Sort of.” Ingrid shrugs. “I got mine after five kills. The number is higher if you receive your kills in a different way. It also depends on the settlement importance and the owners’ Levels, as I understand it.”

“I could look into it if you want, boy-o. I’m sure there’s a ‘completion rate’ somewhere.”

“Never mind. It’s not that important.”

I turn my attention back to the list and shake my head, closing it out. “I can offer a little bit to the cause, but I don’t have the settlement funds anymore. Bipasha might be a better option…”

“Oh, I got the girls and Roxley to cough up the funds for eighty percent of them,” Ingrid says with a smirk. “We just want your feedback on the list itself.”

I nod slowly, taking a closer look. If we have to cut a bunch of those, we’ll want to find those who might be intimidated or backed off sufficiently. It’d help as well to have the settlements near others which might be hesitating. Maybe we could trade one settlement to another…

Thoughts spinning, I balance the numbers, names, and political affiliations with their geographic distance and cost. It’s only when nearly a half hour has passed and I’ve crossed out a bunch of names on the list that I realize Ingrid is still lounging on the chair, eyes half closed.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I say.

“What makes you think I’m not doing it?” Ingrid smirks. “Ninety percent of assassination is about planning.”

I take the rebuke, having forgotten she could easily be staring at her notifications. In fact, it’s probably what she was doing. I consider prodding further but decide against it. Instead, I ask a more personal question. “Are you okay with this?”

“With what?”

“All the killing,” I say. “I know you’ve been doing it for a while, but…”

“But you never asked?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s what I can do,” Ingrid says softly. “It’s all I have left. They took everything else away.” I wince slightly, the movement hidden almost as soon as it started. But it’s enough for Ingrid to spot. “Are you pitying me?”

“No!”

“Good,” Ingrid says and continues to stare.

Eventually, I look away, my discomfort with the emotional outburst breaking through my self-control. Or perhaps, I let it break. Because among friends, you can be more yourself.

“Because I wouldn’t want pity from someone that easily fooled.”

“Easily…” My eyes narrow, and the First Nation’s woman returns my stare with a slight smile. I wonder if she’s telling the truth, if what she said was the truth or a lie after the fact to cover a moment of honesty. “Funny.”

“Now, shoo. You’re a bit too big and distracting for me,” Ingrid says and shoos me out of the room.

I leave, shaking my head. I swear, it feels as if everyone keeps kicking me out of rooms, cities, and countries.

Dealing with the settlement owners is mostly a job for the others, whether or not my advice was requested. My task list, as usual, mostly deals with Portaling individuals around, planning, and conducting raids with Mikito. Since things have progressed to this point, the pair of us are doing our best to project force to the various settlement owners and clear up any obligations we can. While it sounds simple enough, not everything is going our way.

“What do you mean the champions aren’t going to help us?” I ask Mikito as we stroll through the destroyed town.

We’ve been porting around so much lately, I can’t even recall exactly where we are—some Baltic country with rolling hills and cobbled streets. The destroyed, small stone buildings and the empty streets offer few clues, especially since I don’t read the local language. The fact that this is an ex-settlement is even more tragic, the city key sold off at some point in the last few years. Now, it’s just a ghost town, a reminder of better days.

“As an organization. Individually, some will back us up. Rae, Jessica, and Jamal are working the Caribbean. But Jessica has to tread carefully,” Mikito says, shaking her head. “Local politics. Cheng Shao is saying she has training of her own to do and is refusing to take part except for official business. Hugo is busy getting the settlements ready in Europe for the Movana. And he hates your guts even more.”

“Because I set up his people to take the brunt of the Movana’s retaliation?” Sadly, since Hugo and his people are literally next to the Movana, their settlements are pretty much guaranteed to get hit.

Mikito nods, and I sigh. We fall silent for a bit as a group of half-owl, half-deer creatures charge out of a cross street, forcing us to focus. When we’re done, I make sure to open a Portal for the group of enthusiastic Butchers waiting to collect the bodies.

The small Town on the savannah on the other end of the Portal is probably one of the most pitiful settlements I’ve come across. Somehow, they’ve managed to be surrounded by a large number of monsters who are all inedible, a rather impressive feat considering the System makes most meat edible. They’d been surviving off a dungeon that had produced a series of mutated wild boars until a year ago, when a passing team of Galactic Adventurers “helpfully” cleared the dungeon. Since then, they’ve been purchasing food directly from the Shop. Katherine had contacted them to get their vote and struck a deal to help finance a long-range teleportation pad in the medium term and to supply them with food in the short term.

Which is how I came to be out here with Mikito, dealing with two birds. Killing monsters to cover our side of a security deal for a nearby settlement and providing food for another. It still surprises me sometimes how there are portions of humanity, of human settlements, which have yet to progress to dealing with Level 50-plus monsters. Even with the experience boost in the first year, many struggled to progress not because they couldn’t, but they wouldn’t.

Fear keeps them down, keeps them from pushing themselves. And it’s in those locations which the Galactics come with their Levels and Skills, Adventurers who have chosen to grow strong. Unfortunately, their presence, their overwhelming courage is a mental blow some humans cannot stand. When every single Galactic you meet is strong, powerful, and confident, willing to risk life and limb, and you’re struggling to survive another day, well… it’s hard to accept. Even if, logically, you understand you’re seeing a small, selective sample.

And so, settlements stagnate. People grow weary, focused on going back to living their “normal” lives. They farm out jobs to others in Quests, giving up experience and loot for safety, sacrificing future strength for current comfort. And so, here we are. People like Mikito and me walk the hills while other Adventurers and the gear we’ve brought releases a multi-kilometer taunt. It’s a bit more effective than us running around and hoping to find something to kill.

“Sensors are reporting we’ve got another horde coming in from the south,” Ali reports to us, flicking the updated map to our notifications.

Without a word, we switch directions and jog toward the attack zone. It’s nice to hang out with Mikito, even if it’s not the best use of our resources at this moment. But with only a few days left before the vote, getting involved in anything too elaborate is probably a bad idea.

The horde of monsters is another weird owl-creature combination. There’s an owl-bear, owl-deer, and even an owl-skunk that we have to fight. It looks like Dr. Moreau was working through his owl fixation and left the door to his lab open.

I duck, throwing a series of Mana Darts into a beaked face, watching as the blue projectiles blind the creature. I step in, launching a series of short punches which throws the monster backward before I conjure my sword and cut, ripping a hole through its body and its friend behind it.

A screech resounds, my sense of balance shaking briefly before my resistances and the helmet’s defenses kick in, cutting off the noise. Beside me, Mikito is staggering and swinging her polearm. Unlike me, she seems to be going with it, using the induced vertigo and the long reach of her weapon to create an unpredictable vortex of destruction. Anything that gets hit by the blade of her naginata is dismembered and left to flop uselessly on the ground.

An owl-skunk bends over and sprays, sending a visible cloud of fast-moving gas toward us. I hop backward while casting a fireball spell. I let it explode right in front of my hand, the overpressure from the spell battling against the smell. Of course, I get caught in the back-blast of my own spell, but it’s a decent trade. Normal skunks are bad enough—a System-enhanced one features in my northern nightmares.

The entire fight takes less than five minutes to finish. It’s a scary thought, but fights have become so routine, so simplistic even when we aren’t over-Leveled against the monsters we face, the entire damn thing is boring. It’s rare now for fights to actually force me to concentrate. I know, having chatted with a few “real” soldiers from before the System, arrogance like this is a good way to get killed. But I wonder if that piece of wisdom is true anymore.

Back then, a misstep meant a bomb going off in your face, a bullet to the chest. Make a mistake and even if you came out alive, you were in for days, years, of permanent pain and reconstruction. Now, ten minutes later, you’re good to go. And with the way HP works, what would be a deadly attack for a Level 10 is nothing more than a scratch for me. So where’s the line between the wisdom of the past and the reality of the present? I’m not entirely sure, and it worries me.

“John, head east. Mikito, southwest. We have other teams dealing with the smaller incursions.”

Ali’s tone of command breaks my musings, bringing my attention back to the present. Whatever my thoughts, they aren’t pertinent to our current excursion.

Hours later, Mikito and I meet again in the center of town. Teams of scavengers have gone to pull the many corpses back to the town center, where we’ll loot then dispose of the corpses through my intermittently opened Portal. In the meantime, Mikito’s showing me a few new forms to play with. When the notification finally pops up, I find the slight tension in my shoulders relaxing.

“And it’s on. Mikito, Peshawar. John, Kuala Lumpur,” Ali orders once he’s assessed the information transferred.

“Damn it.” I don’t have access to Kuala Lumpur. It wasn’t exactly on the list of places for me to visit. Which I guess is why the Movana chose to attack it. Either way, it won’t stop me. I can pop down to one of the nearby cities with a long-range teleportation pad and get sent to the city within seconds. It’ll just take a little longer. I’m already forming a Portal for Mikito.

“Good luck,” Mikito says to me as she ducks through the dark oval.

I hope that wherever I’m sending her, it’s safe. Not being able to tell what’s on the other side has caused more than one problem for the Erethrans before. It’s why, even though I’ve tried to visit as many new locations as possible to set down waypoints, I’ve also had to do more than just pop in. Moving around the city and its surroundings enough to lay down sufficient waypoints means that an ambush is much harder to set.

It’s only when the Samurai is gone that I realize I forgot to wish the woman well too.

Oops.

I’m sure she’ll be fine.

Chapter 19

Sometimes, when you bitch, the world answers. I’m once again reminded of that fact as I—amusingly enough—crouch on top of Malaysia’s famous twin towers, the night sky twinkling behind me. No haze today—or any day recently with the decline of gasoline-powered vehicles. I’m crouched right between the two towers actually, on the skywalk they’d created. I chose this spot for a few reasons, including the fact that I didn’t expect anyone would think I’d be dumb enough to pop into being hundreds of feet in the air on a gently swaying platform when there’re more comfortable, indoor locations.

Good news is, there wasn’t an ambush awaiting me. Bad news—the forces the Movana sent to take over the city consist of six peak Advanced Classers, twelve mid-range Advanced Classers, and one brutish Master Class. The biggest problem is, one of the peak Advanced Classers was actually a Mercenary Commander whose Skills boost the entire mercenary company’s stats. That left me with the dual problem of locating either of those priority targets and ending them. And deciding who to go for first. I can’t let them take the city or we’ll lose our vote, but as Mercs, I’d rather keep the body count down if possible.

“Ali. Anything?” I call, hoping his answer might give a clue which way fate wants me to go.

“Still updating. Lots of interference, but data’s coming in,” Ali says, floating above the drop. When I look at him, I feel my stomach lurch a little, but his body doesn’t even move under the winds which buffet us up here.

Take out the man who is boosting everyone or the blade driving straight for the heart of the settlement. Normally, it’d be an easy choice—take the Commander because his increase is wide-ranging. But I’ll bet they’ve got a few Advanced Classes protecting the Commander. So not attacking him actually pins down and makes useless a bunch of their men.

As I ponder, the data flashes again and details on the Master Class updates. He’s headed straight for the City Core. If he takes it, he can transfer the city’s numerous defenses over to the attackers, making the battle even harder. Even if we take it back, this fight is as much about morale and showing that we can protect our friends as much as it is winning. We don’t just have to win; we have to win with style.

“Okay, these dots are probably the command group. Lots of data flowing in and out from them, and the comm boys are intercepting a bunch of encrypted traffic flowing towards them. They’re trying to shut it down, but well, they’re under-Leveled,” Ali says.

I judge distances and angles, manipulate my map for a second, and watch as it updates as I plot where to go and how. Without any major waypoints in the city, I need to start setting some down while I traverse the area. At the rate the Master Class is going, I figure I have about eight to ten minutes before he hits the City Core. Maybe more if the resistance he faces is significant enough.

“Can you plot the fastest way in to the command group?” I send over the link while I spend a few moments pulling up the details of the Malaysian defenses to add to the map. Better to have two heads rather than one.

Interestingly enough, unlike the rest of us, the Kuala Lumpur’s settlement owner invested incredibly heavily on fixed defenses. Not only is there the usual slew of beam turrets, mobile sentry robots, and settlements shields, there are also explosive wards, lightning, fire and ice orbs located in self-contained and self-managed turrets. The entire city seems to have been restructured to create a slowly shrinking ring of traffic around the City Core. Multiple layers of shields and walls have popped up since the attack, forcing attackers to either follow the route or blast their way through a settlement shield. It takes me a moment to realize what it looks like—a tower defense given life.

Of course, any attacker can punch their way directly through—and the Master Classer is—but the shields regenerate so fast taking them down requires a ton of Mana and firepower. Rather than waste their Mana on fixed, regenerating defenses, the majority of the mercenary corp has elected to run the ring.

“Done. But I don’t think they’re going to be able to hold against that Juggernaut.”

“Then we need to be fast.” I share my own plot with the Spirit who does the same with me. Within seconds, we’ve adjusted the plots to come to a common consensus of where and how we should go.

“Ready when you are.”

I don’t answer the Spirit, instead bunching up my feet beneath me and throwing myself forward, taking through the air. At the apex of my jump, I Blink Step. I hit the roof with one bounding step, bouncing forwards across the gravel top and push off for the next roof even as Ali zips along behind me. Two more Blink Steps, one right over a dagger-close firefight in a crowded back alleyway, and I’m nearly on them, my speed fully built up.

Momentum and one last Blink Step takes me into the middle of the command group, a human wrecking ball covered in Shields and blades, tossing aside the outer ring of mercenaries. Even at the speed I’m moving, I’ve got enough time to scan the group for their Classes. In the middle of battle, Ali’s simplified them all to say Guardian, Warrior, Paladin, Soldier, Mage, or Mercenary Commander—a guide to what I can expect rather than an unusual Class and title I have to spend precious seconds understanding.

“Now!”

The Mercenary Commander roars the command as the Guardian and Soldier next to him brace and take my charge, absorbing my momentum with their mass and Skills. Even as I come to a stop, the mercs are reacting, some picking themselves off the ground while others are training weapons and Skills at me.

You are Quantum Locked. Teleportation and dimensional shifting is restricted.

It’s a trap. Of course it’s a trap. I duck low as spells impact, and I drop the grenade from my hand. The obfuscation grenade throws up smoke, metal particles, and chaos Mana in equal order to disrupt senses. A moment later, the chaos grenades I dropped on my way in explode.

Luck. It’s on my side this time. A howl echoes through the battleground as a tornado of sound and wind appears where one grenade dropped, incapacitating the nearest merc and driving all of us to the ground. Even through my resistances, the pain is enough to shake me for a few precious seconds. Extremely dangerous as the second chaos grenade had formed a ball of chaos energy. It constantly spits out a stream of random energy and material. I see a single shot tear apart a Fighter’s arm like wet paper while a second blast completely heals another Mage. Another merc gets hit with a stream of what looks like soda water while the ground turns into Jell-O around another energy burst.

Fortunately, I don’t get hit. In the few seconds of peace I’ve been given, I begin the next steps, calling down the Beacon of Angels while my other hand forms my sword, trailing weapons appearing behind it. I step forward and lunge at the defensive shields the Mercenary Commander’s bodyguards have put up.

“You’re trapped, Redeemer. Give up or else we’ll tear this city down, brick by brick,” the Mercenary Commander says, having recovered nearly as well as I have. I can’t even tell what sex it is—if it has a sex—as it uses a voice synthesizer and, like anyone with a pair of brain cells to rub together, it has a full-face helmet with visor. It looks roughly human, even if its arms have webbed wings beneath them.

“I haven’t even started,” I say, watching as the recovering mercs target me. My swords have punched through the portable shield the Soldier was using, but the Guardian has switched places with the Soldier with a weird push-pull swap Skill. It’s not quite teleportation, but it’s so smooth it might as well be. That’s okay, because the attack was mostly a distraction.

“Say hello to the rain, baby!” Ali crows, making himself visible as he punctuates his words with a thump of a drum.

Those who look up get a chance to see the incoming beam, but everyone else just gets hit. Power pours onto us, my Soul Shield absorbing and displacing the damage before it cracks and breaks. My Hardened and Elastic Skin Skills provide little benefit right now, the damage being direct Mana damage; they only protect me from secondary effects. But Shields and skills are insufficient, especially since I call a second Beacon immediately. A portion of my mind splits enough to toss up a Soul Shield while I stab a Minor Healing Potion into my thigh, recovering my health.

The Beacon is pure Mana, a rip in the plane of existence itself. It overloads the environment’s ability to handle the Mana within seconds, setting fire to the air and searing the earth, the asphalt melting beneath our feet and the earth itself smoking. Buildings which have lasted through the apocalypse itself and the battle for settlements become naught but torn ruins, brick and cement vaporizing or shattering under the force of the winds.

Once the Beacon falls—and my Shield along with it—I throw out another Spell—Firestorm. The flames from the attack erupt around me, eating into flesh and bones, searing skin and crisping hair. Choked off screams ring all around me as throats are burned raw, lungs robbed of oxygen.

When I’m done, only the Advanced Classers are left. Almost all the Basic Classers are but crispy corpses, their health insufficient to handle the damage I have laid out. But there’s a price for a flashy attack like this— between the Skills, my Blink Steps, and my buffs, my Mana is down by half. At least my health is mostly there, the small amount taken from my own spell recovering.

“They were good men…” the Mercenary Commander snarls as he levers himself upward. The helmet is shattered, the armor cooked away, the skin-wings under his arms gone. For all his talking, I notice the Commander’s hands moving at his belt, probably throwing out commands and Skills. A second later, the helmet drops off his neck entirely, separating and revealing a double-snouted face with tiny beady eyes, a face that is busy consuming a weird red globule. A health potion variant for sure, since the Commander’s skin heals right before my eyes.

“Shouldn’t have messed with the best,” Ali crows from above.

The Spirit twists away as a surviving Soldier opens up with a beam rifle hooked up directly into its arm, sending a spray of electric darts even as the Spirit accesses my storage. Within seconds, more obfuscating grenades are tossed out as the Spirit flies around, dueling the Soldier. I don’t have time focus on him as I call back my swords and tear into the pair of bodyguards who are still standing.

The three of us dance, my superior Skills chipping away at their armor and weapons. Unfortunately, both of them are actually more skilled than I am—decades of experience fighting humanoids compared to my half-decade of fighting anything that moves. The two of them are able to dodge a good chunk of my attacks while chipping away at my own health.

The Commander is relaxing a little, seeing as they seem to be on the winning end after my initial display. At which point, I decide to pull the rug out from under him, having sucked my Mana Bracer dry while dueling the pair.

Vanguard of the Apocalypse kicks in with an exertion of will as I throw a sweeping cut boosted with Cleave. The explosion in attribute and speed catches the Guardian by surprise, his hasty block pushed aside and my blade disemboweling him. Another exertion of will and mental energy and a Mud Walls forms behind the pair, pushing them toward me. The Soldier doesn’t budge an inch as his Skill Hold your Ground counteracts my spell. The Guardian, on the other hand, isn’t as lucky and is pushed forward, right into the Thousand Blades which are still moving.

“Suppressive Fire,” the Soldier snarls, triggering a new Skill.

I end up throwing myself sideways, feeling beams burn my calf and ankles as I move a touch too slow. Truth be told, the additional wounds are nothing—our flesh is already cooked from the melted asphalt. I’m just grateful the Soldier feels the need to scream his Skill usage.

As I recover from my roll, pain held at bay by discipline and my resistances, I find my beam pistol in my hand. I’ve already dropped the Vanguard Skill, the momentary boost having done its job. Instead, I rely on the beam pistol as I move in the obscuring smoke and dust, firing at the Soldier and the Mercenary Commander who has pulled out his own bulky assault weapon. With my last sword passing through the corpse of the Guardian, I dismiss them rather than wasting further Mana, flicking my Soul Shield back on. It’s going to be a long fight and these guys are just the appetizers.

The attack comes from nowhere. I sense the movement a fraction of a second before the blades are about to plunge into me. Insufficient time to dodge, insufficient time to block. I try anyway.

Rather than searing pain and repeated notifications of poisoning, my senses process the distinctive ring of blades. Twisting to the side as I move backward, I spot the Master Class assassin in desperate battle with Ingrid even as the bait disappears further into the obscuring smoke.

“About time,” I gasp in relief and drop behind a crumpled corpse.

I’d shoot the damn assassin, but the pair are fighting so close and fast I’m as likely to hit my friend. Still, I have to grin as our trap finally worked. I’m even happier to see that the assassin is bleeding and fighting with only a single arm remaining. Part of the reason we spent so much time plotting my route and taking a couple of detours was to ensure our assassin could get in place in time.

“Incoming,” Ali snaps, and I stare at the minimap. It’s fuzzy and jumpy but slowly getting better as the interference from the massive Mana dumps and the chaos energy disperse. Thankfully, since those are our grenades, we’ve got their Mana signature stored, giving us a slight advantage in clearing our screens.

I cast the Improved Invisibility spell and scramble upward, putting away the beam pistol. I stalk the Soldier as he comes across Ingrid and the assassin, visibly hesitating to take a shot like I did. The hesitation costs him, for I take his arm then his head with my swords.

“Need help?” I send to Ali.

He sends a mental confirmation, then almost immediately updates me with a new minimap. I growl, realizing the Mercenary Commander has decided to run for it. I do the math and realize I won’t reach him before he hits the reinforcements.

“Ingrid, reinforcements soon,” I growl and turn back to the dueling pair. Or at least, where they were. I frown, realizing they’ve disappeared. “Damn it!”

Without any other target, I run toward Ali while trying to figure out my next steps. I needed the quantum lock down, but with the Commander still around and free, it doesn’t seem as though it’s going to happen. Killing him and his reinforcements should be possible, unless he runs again. The problem is, doing so will drain more of my Mana and the time I’ve allocated to this.

When I get to Ali, the Spirit is looking much the worse for wear. He’s got a floating electric shield around him, which is taking the repeated blasts from the Soldier attacking him, but cracks show up all around. Still, I manage to make my way close enough to shove all four of my swords into the Soldier’s back then twist them out, dropping him.

“Feel like an assassin,” I growl.

“Kind of the point.” Since he isn’t in need of his full size, the Spirit is back to his foot and a half sizing. Unfortunately, this particular quantum lock type disallows the Spirit from fading back into the dimension he normally resides within to interact with me. For now, he’s as real as I am.

As we speak, reinforcements stream in and blindly fire into the fog. Rather than risk getting shot, we run toward the nearest settlement shield. It drops long enough to allow us in, chased by beam weaponry. A low whoop of happiness appears behind us, one which is cut off as the replacement shield flickers back online.

“Can’t do that too often, John. The original shield is now on recharge and refresh, so each section we take down is weakened.”

“I know. We just need to get away from the lock,” I answer the Spirit as we sprint forward. Hopefully they’ll drop the quantum lock once they realize I’m deep enough in the spiral they won’t ever catch up. Or perhaps I’ll get far enough away I can shatter it with my Class Skill.

Habit has me running in a zig-zag pattern as I attempt to get to the next shield as fast as I can. It’s all that saves me when a trio of spells lands where I would have been if I hadn’t zigged. Ice erupts from the ground, creating crystalline towers as the temperature drops and lightning discharges futilely.

“Out of the fire…” I growl, ducking into a nearby building to buy myself more time as I realize one flaw with my newest escape plan. I’m now right in the middle of the mercenary company’s vanguard.

“Mr. Lee! Where are you? The Master Class is nearly at our core.” The shrill, panicked voice of the Austronesian man rings out in my helmet as his priority message gets through. A small video image also pops up in the corner of my eyes, briefly obscuring the more important health and Mana bars.

“I’m quantum locked. The Mercenary Commander got away,” I say, gritting my teeth. “He had a lot more life-saving Skills and equipment than expected. We did take out four of the peak Advanced Classers though.”

“The Master Class is the issue! When will you be here?” the settlement owner snarls, almost panting with desperation. I see the fear in his wide eyes and I briefly wonder how the hell someone who panics so easily could have gotten and held the settlement. But…

“I’ll be there as soon as I can get out of the field,” I say then kill the connection. Thousand hells. “We’re going to have to run.”

“Yay. More running,” Ali says dryly. A flicker later, his entire clothing choice has changed to a familiar red-and-gold suit with lightning bolts along the side.

“Made it,” I say as I use Ali’s viewpoint to Blink Step into a peaceful scene. The guard room leading to the City Core is still in one piece, which is perfect, especially considering it took me nearly four minutes to break the quantum lock and get here. I’d been forced to use some of the Mana I’d regained to port to the nearest rooftop and then more precious time waiting for Ali to get in position, which means I’m cutting it too close for comfort. As it stands, my regeneration has only recovered me to sixty percent of my health and forty percent of my Mana.

“Finally!” the Malay man snarls from a monitor set up high on the wall.

He’s hunkered down in the room behind us, the last, last line of defense, with a giant beam cannon pointed at the doorway. Even from here, I can tell the weapon is meant more for taking out vehicles than people. Which might make it just about powerful enough to annoy the Juggernaut.

“Ali?” I call. I absently note the heads of the guards behind me turn toward each other, probably trading glances, but I don’t explain why I’m talking into thin air. We don’t have time. “Open the doors and let me out.”

The guards comply, the doors sliding upward to let me out. The moment the doors open, the noise of battle washes in. Screams, the tearing sounds of walls breaking, and the hiss of beams echo through the hallway before me. I duck out even as the settlement leader screams at them to shut it.

Gods, but I hate politics.

My thoughts are cut short as the wall ahead of me explodes, a fist emerging from it. As the clouds disperse, I’m forced to ask, “What is it with me and big creatures lately?”

I stare at the giant who walks in. The creature could best be described as a mixture of an ape crossed with a crocodile and given a pair of sparkling pink horns. Crouched low on all four of its limbs, its scaly Galactic shoulders still brush against the ceiling every time it moves, its horns tearing channels in the ceiling.

Ooi Eea, Contracted Son, The Great Sinner (Juggernaut Level 29)

HP: 16894/17210

MP: 279/750

Conditions: Contracted, Health Drip, Greater Mana Regeneration, Spatial Lock

“Before you ask. It’s a sort of summoning Skill, except it shoves the summon inside his body. It’s partly why his health is so damn ridiculous. Good news, it only lasts as long as he can sustain the Mana cost. Bad news, he knows it,” Ali says. “You fight him direct. I’m going to disrupt the bond as much as I can, increase the cost.”

I can’t help but let out a low groan at the Spirit’s words, but Ooi has obviously done enough looking. Naked as it might be, the creature rushes me, barrelling down the long corridor. My hands move, pulling and tossing portable shield generators, remotely activating them the moment they land. Within seconds, I have four generators right in front of me. Even then, I add a Soul Shield to myself as the living wrecking ball picks up speed and grows purple with literal flames erupting from his body.

“Oh hell,” I breathe as the first three shields shatter while barely slowing down the Juggernaut.

In fact, as it breaches the third, the damn thing actually picks up speed as it triggers its titular Skill. Time slows as I run through my options and decide on the stupidest one as usual. I form my floating swords in front of me and hunker down low, bracing the original weapon against my body and the floor and casting Harden on myself.

Then, there’s no more time. The impact throws me backward, my Strength insufficient to hold it back, even with my new skill in manipulating it. I’m pancaked against the reinforced blast doors, my Soul Shield having shattered all around me. I feel a tiny trickle of health return from the damage as Elastic Skin activates even as the Juggernaut peels its body away from me, low grunts of pain erupting from its mouth. As Ooi moves away, I get a glimpse of the torn-up floor between where I made my stand and here.

Before Ooi can recover, I hitch my legs up, while supported by the blast doors, and kick forward, sending the surprised Juggernaut staggering backward. I push away from the doors the next moment, dropping lightly to the floor. Pain finally catches up, the cracked bones in my legs refusing to cooperate anymore.

“Fuck.”

“Master Class. Weak,” Ooi says then pauses to spit to the side. The stream of greenish blood is disturbing to see, as are the numerous broken blades jutting out from the Galactic’s body. With a thought, I dismiss them all, allowing the wounds to bleed freely. Anything for a little advantage. “Tricks are fools.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be glad I didn’t drop you from the sky,” I growl back.

“Try,” Ooi says with a laugh.

“No can do, boy-o. The Spatial Lock Condition? That’s him locking himself down. A lot cheaper than locking down the entire area like you do.”

“Fine. Bluff called.” I stand as I regain control of my body. Each second lets my Skill and Greater Regeneration tick my health up, so I stall. “But tell me something, how much are you guys paid to lose?”

“Don’t care. Fight.” Ooi lurches forward, covering the ground in a single step and following it with a well-executed and fast jab. Ooi’s body is wreathed with lightning which flows from his horns, his body erupting with power and savagery.

If you’ve ever had to try to dodge a jab the size of a microwave, you realize how difficult it is. I get most of the way away before the jab hammers the edge of my shoulder. The jab carries with it a charge, frying flesh and seizing muscles slightly. But I’m not just standing around, my sword coming upward to cut at the joints at the elbow. One thing spending four years in a hell planet has taught me—if it’s got joints, it’s got tendons. Cut those, and you buy yourself time.

His arm droops slightly, but he’s already pulling it back as his other arm arcs toward me. And stops as reason overcomes instinct. My floating blades are following the motion of my initial attack, blocking his retaliation. He could push through, bash the swords aside, but he’d risk cutting himself apart. Even so, his retracted arm gets sliced up as it gets caught on the first of the attacking blades.

I don’t stop, but neither does he. He launches a low kick strong enough to shatter bones. I step sideways into the attack, feeling the edge of his foot brush against my thigh and leaving what will be a humongous bruise. Even as I step away, my arm is swinging down, the conjured blade falling right into my grip as I cut the exposed foot. It skitters along his scales, biting into the muscle and bone underneath and shaving off a few scales. Ignoring the futile cut, I snatch one of the falling blades with my other hand and swing it to disembowel him. My strike is battered aside by an elbow, a precursor to a rising uppercut.

We dance in the cramped corridor, the Juggernaut and I. The Juggernaut blocks, kicks, and punches, using its tough scaly hide and an occasional burst of lightning from its horns to damage and distract. I swing, cut, and thrust with my blades, using my soulbound and conjured weapon to bleed the monster. The blades flow, lunge, and twist around us in patterns of preordained movement, cutting off lines of attack and movement.

Ooi is stronger than me, faster, and with significantly more health. But the style of fighting I use, the blades which never stop moving, which restrict lines of attack and open at my command, is new to him. Numerous times, the Juggernaut has to abort instinct-driven combos. Numerous times, I see him visibly hesitate as he does the shish-kebab math.

In a close quarters fight like this, at the speeds and strength we use, hesitation is a loss. A loss of one punch, one kick, one cut. But the ones keep adding up. Blows land on tendons and ligaments, shredding scales and tearing muscle. Each attack, each movement, drains the Juggernaut’s massive health pool, whittling down the Galactic.

But it’s not all one-sided. Even through the focus and resistances, the pain from my accumulating injuries piles up. The creature is too big to dodge fully. The Juggernaut isn’t the only one restricted in his movements, and I’m forced often to discard a promising line of attack or defense, to dismiss my swords as I spin and twist away. But fists, elbows, and feet brush past me, chipping away at my health, adding bruises and light shocks with each attack. Each attack replaces a touch of Mana, is reduced by my Class Skills. But only partially.

A hook comes, cutting through the air and leaving a hiss of ozone behind as I’m forced to jump backward. The charge releases as it brushes against my stomach, throwing me backward even further, and I’m brought up short by the gates again. They creak and groan as I bounce off them to fall on my knees. Blood dribbles from my mouth as I’m seized by a coughing fit, the sweet smell of blood and the acrid burn of raw ozone filling my lungs.

“Not weak,” the Juggernaut says, held back by the still-spinning blades. The Galactic is bleeding from numerous cuts and on one knee, its opposite hand hanging useless by his side. Tiny eyes glow with power, lightning wreathing its only arm as it punches forward to smash away my blades.

The two of us stare at one another over the distance of only five feet, unhindered.

“No. No, I’m not.” I cough.

It’s now a question of regeneration. Once its leg is healed, the Juggernaut will rush me. If my Mana recovers, I can recall my blades, cast a Spell. Blink Step to get away. But the low warning thrum through my nerves tells me I’m nearly drained, the pain in my head from Mana loss mixed with that of an abused body. A glance upwards tells me I’m in the low hundreds now, enough for a single spell.

“It’s over.” Ali floats down, making his body appear. In his hands, a glowing ball of plasma is contained, one which I can see the Spirit compacting further and further with his affinity as he faces off against the Juggernaut. “You’re nearly out of Mana.”

I blink, then stare at the Juggernaut, at the Juggernaut’s Mana pool. Forty-three. Forty-two. The Juggernaut snorts, anger in its eyes as it forces itself to stand, sending fresh blood bursting from its wounds. Ali raises his hands, the glowing plasma ball a clear threat.

“Move and I throw this at your feet. You’ll get real stumped then if you don’t block with a Skill. Use it, and your Spatial Lock and Contract ends. And boy-o will make you swim the Pacific Ocean,” Ali bluffs while my own Mana ticks upwards, nearly ready to make true his words. Nearly.

“Cheating.” The Juggernaut sways slightly, but Ali just smirks.

“Tell your Mercenary Commander he’s either going to lose his Master Class or he pulls back,” I say softly and push myself up. The injuries I carry—the broken ribs, the dislocated shoulder, the bruised and bleeding internal organs—are numerous, but none of them are crippling. Not yet. It hurts, but I’ve done pain so much, it’s just another day in the apocalypse. I turn on my Aura, the beat of power filling the room. I had it off, since I was fighting alone, but now, I use it to make a point.

The Juggernaut growls at me but doesn’t move. And every second he waits, his Mana drains and mine rises. “Done.”

“Wait for it… all right. Confirmed. We’re seeing a slow pullback.”

“Good,” I say. “Drop the Spatial Lock and the Contract. Once we’ve confirmed they’ve pulled back, we’ll let you go.”

“No,” a voice roars over hidden speakers, the settlement owner screaming in rage. “He stays. We’ll try him and strip him down, behead him!”

“Ali, shut him up,” I say while raising a hand at the Juggernaut, hoping the Master Class understands that this is not my position. I see the Juggernaut tense but not move.

“What do you think I am, a brainless series of bits? I got nothing here,” Ali says.

“Fine,” I say. “Drop the Spatial Lock.”

“Why…?” the Juggernaut manages to ask.

“Or do you want stupid to get you?”

Behind me, I hear the blast doors twist and groan, straining as they attempt to open. But the damage done to them from my body pancaking against them repeatedly must have shorted out something.

“I’m commanding you to stop!” the Malaysian settlement owner’s voice grows shriller and higher.

After a brief consideration, the Juggernaut drops its Spatial Lock and I open a Portal underneath our feet, dropping us right through it.

The loud thump and creak of the walkways puts all our teeth on edge. The Juggernaut growls, sitting down heavily as the glass roof—thankfully System-reinforced—creaks again. Together, we stare at the small park and open spaces splayed out before us, the city slowly smoking from the war it just experienced.

“Chocolate?” I offer to the Juggernaut, a hand held out as I continue to stand. Stupid spine—I’m pretty sure I cracked something in my coccyx. But at least no one else has to die.

“Why’d you let him go?” Ali asks me thirty minutes later. I’d have kept the Juggernaut longer, since the pullback isn’t over, but the increasing calls for aid from other settlements under attack forced my hand. Better to get rid of this hot potato.

“Killing him wasn’t a guarantee. Better to get the agreement and pullback now. Even if asshole isn’t letting it go,” I say, rubbing my temple.

Thankfully, whoever was actually in charge of the defense was smart enough to let the mercs run when they wanted to. It didn’t stop the owner from bitching, but I at least had him on mute and feeding into a virtual avatar of myself run through my Neural Link. It wouldn’t fool anyone rational, but stupid isn’t rational right now.

“It almost sounds logical,” Ali says with a snort. “You sure you’re feeling well, John?”

“Any word from Ingrid?” I say softly.

When Ali shakes his head, I grit my teeth. Damn it, Starling, you better be okay.

“Isfahan’s calling again, requesting ETA. Latest update shows they’re really getting hammered.”

I mentally call up the latest map update, overlay it with my waypoints, and grunt. “Then let’s get to work.”

I jump off the building, letting myself build up some speed before opening the Portal right beneath me. Time to bring some hell.

Too late. Days later, I know I’m too late even as the transition into Prague tears at my health, the molecules which make up who I am coming apart before snapping back into place. My body burns as I transition fully, the world snapping into focus while the quantum lock symbol appears before my eyes.

“You are too late.” Musclehead’s voice.

I turn, spotting the Movana, his legs spread and a pair of short blades held lightly in his arms. He’s gloating slightly, challenging me. All around me and on my minimap, enemies populate as my Skill and Ali stabilize and do their jobs. Dozens, then hundreds. I look sideways, seeing the snipers who have me bracketed in the city square I chose.

Sishin Narato (Level 6 Legionnaire)

HP: 1890/1890

MP: 1080/1080

Conditions: Buff, Rallying Presence, Impeccable Taste

“How’d you get me here?” I ask, refreshing my Soul Shield while I calculate trajectories and plot an escape route. No Blink Step. Portaling would be expensive and I’m not entirely sure how…

“A simple redirection,” Sishin says with a smirk. “Your Skill is well-known. A simple matter to find a counter.”

“Working on it, boy-o. Stall them.”

“I take it you’ve taken the City Core,” I say.

Seven snipers above. Just over two dozen soldiers on the ground, ringed around me and blocking any exits. They’re smart enough to space themselves such that they can cut off any route I choose if I do a direct rush. Musclehead is the most dangerous by far, the only Master Class here. But most of those here are at least low Level Advanced Classers. Good enough to slow me down. Good enough to kill me if I stick around to fight.

“Yes. Order your men to stand down. There is no reason for additional deaths,” Sishin says, the swords swinging by his side easily.

“Not my men. I’m just a helper,” I say.

“Rubbish. They’ll listen to you. If you pull them back, we’ll let them leave.”

“Okay, Skill is called Spatial Twist. It’s an area effect Skill, but it triggers whenever a spatial or dimensional rip occurs. It diverts the ‘tunnel,’ if you will, into a specific location. Bad news—it only costs a little Mana to keep active. Good news—when it actually diverts, it’s a huge cost.”

“So what? Multiple Blink Steps and hope they run out of Mana before I run out health?”

“Why let them go?” I say out loud. The unasked implication is why he isn’t shooting at us already.

“Orders. We are not your enemies, Mr. Lee,” Sishin says, the slight grim smile still on his face.

“Pretty sure the word doesn’t mean what you think it does.” I look around pointedly at the damaged buildings, the guns pointed at me, and the corpses which still line the street.

“This is just necessity,” Sishin says. “If your combatants leave, overall damage will be lower. You will lose less, we will lose less. You know you cannot win at this point.”

I grunt, but he’s right. With them owning the City Core, I’m locked down from bouncing around. We can’t even shift people in, not without them getting killed due to their Spatial Twist Skill. Never mind the fact that getting out is a little tricky right now. “Why not end me now?”

“You make it sound like you’d make it easy,” Sishin replies, eyes narrowing slightly. “No matter how inflated your reputation might be, you are a Master Class. And any battle with you would prolong the battle in this city.”

“Not worried I’d go help somewhere else?” I say.

Sishin shrugs.

“Most likely different factions within the Movana themselves. He probably is hoping you’ll hit them and weaken his allies.”

“That’s idiotic.”

“But effective.”

My lips thin for a moment before I give the order to Ali. Within seconds, we’re connected to the local communication grid and authenticating a pullout. As usual, not everyone agrees with the decision, but when I stress that I’m leaving, it deflates quite a few of the hotheads. Even so, I spend a good fifteen minutes arguing with my people while under the guns of the Movana, a most uncomfortable situation. But when it’s done, Sishin offers me a slight nod.

I still dislike the preening Musclehead, but I have to admit, they’ve allowed us to cut our losses significantly. It’s honorable and maybe a little kind. I wish… well, I wish things were different. I could work with them, I think. But I don’t have time to think about it, not before Ali pushes another urgent request for help even as I’m “escorted” to the city limits.

“What are you doing here?” I cough and drain the water bottle before spitting some of the residual dust from my mouth.

“All hands on deck, remember?” Lana says with a smile.

I snort but look around the short brownstone buildings which surround us in Harlem, just south of 125th street in New York. “Didn’t think they’d drag you in too.”

“No one dragged me. I volunteered to come,” Lana says, her lips curling up slightly. “I always wanted to visit New York. And when the mermen attacked, I couldn’t let it stand.”

I laugh, wondering if she was imagining bad silver age comics. Her griffin drops down from the sky, depositing the carcass of a mutated narwhal on the street and tearing into it with its beak. Roland slinks out from the shadows, yowling in communication with the hissing griffin as they vie over the carcass.

“Puppies?”

“I left Shadow with Katherine,” Lana says. “Howard’s organizing the strays to deal with stragglers.”

“Pardon?” I blink at Lana, who chuckles.

“Howard has gained the ability to lead other canines,” Lana explains. “It seems it’s a side effect of his greater intelligence.”

“Huh.”

I take a moment to stare at the blinking dots on my minimap but see nothing too concerning. The attack was sudden, but the mermen were more enthusiastic and populous than actually effective. We still needed a large number of bodies to deal with them, but on land, their swarm tactics had not ended well.

“Well then…” I say awkwardly when I realize I have no idea what more to say to my ex.

“John, don’t. Not yet.” Lana places a hand on my arm. I stare at her hand and she takes it back with a wry smile. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. We’re still friends,” I say automatically then scratch my head. “Sorry. Just awkward. I mean, I’m good with you and him. Just… you know.”

“Are you really? Okay with us not being together?”

I grimace at the conversation we’re having now, of all times. But if not now, when? When the next crisis hits? We’ve got a moment.

“I am,” I say truthfully. “We had something good. Perhaps it could have been great. But I think we both knew I was always going to leave. Somehow. Some when. The Erethrans just sped up the process.”

For a second, violet eyes stare into mine. Then she snorts. “Are you sure you’re John Lee? Not a doppelgänger from the Forbidden Zone?”

I laugh but shrug. “I learned a few things about myself. People change. I think it’s about the only thing that saves us from the ghosts of the past.”

“Good. I’m glad. You know…”

Before we can continue our discussion, another notification appears, along with an image.

“Are you kidding me? Thousand hells!” I swear, staring at the giant kraken which has emerged from the sea, slithering its bulk towards the shore. Best part—this damn monster seems to have legs!

“That. Was. Disgusting,” I say, kicking the dead monster corpse. It managed to crawl a dozen blocks into downtown Manhattan. In the distance, I hear continued explosions as the defenders push the mermen incursion back into the water.

“You could have given me another minute!” Lana complains as she prods the body, moving down to its lower body.

“What are you looking for?”

“Eggs.”

I stare at the Beast Master and shudder slightly.

“Got you covered, Red!” Ali chirps, swooping down and depositing the loot in her hands.

I shake my head, wondering how the Spirit got around the war loot option. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t ask. Some things it’s better to be ignorant about.

Kraken Egg

May be raised by particularly insane Beast Masters. See Beast Tamer manual for Level, skill, and habitat requirements.

Effect: It hatches. Maybe.

Oh hell.

“No time to waste, boy-o. Got another call!”

For once, I’m grateful for the call to action in another besieged settlement. As I leave, I watch the redhead settlement owner literally cooing over the slimy egg in her hand.

Days later, we’re all seated around the boardroom in the public library in Vancouver. Glowing next to us is a projection of the world, the numerous settlements displayed in differing colors denoting their alliances. I stare at the slowly spinning globe, too tired to really see it. Even with a high Constitution and Willpower, the sheer amount of fighting we’ve dealt with—and the amount of high Level fighting too—has been draining. I haven’t slept in days, and I know Mikito has only managed to catch an hour at my insistence. But…

“How’d we do?” I ask, the slow blinking red of some settlements showing where continued fighting still occurs. Of course, they’ve requested help, but considering the forces arrayed against them, we’ve declined to get personally involved. One danger is getting stuck—forced to fight till we release a quantum lock, during which another settlement is attacked while we’re helpless to provide assistance. It’s happened once before, after all.

“We’re currently up four,” says Lana. “We lost a half dozen settlements to the Movana, but the Truinnar used the distraction to take a few locations themselves. The champions managed to win a few others. The Chinese were particularly effective at re-establishing in Mongolia as well.”

I grunt, staring at the estimated votes we’ll get. Eighty-two percent. If everything goes well, if everyone follows through and we don’t magically lose anyone else. Four successful assassinations, ten more failed ones. Enough fear to make us lose a couple votes. Still, even with our troubles, we’re up. Many of the independents and humans who had been on the fence finally agreed to back us, deciding to grab whatever benefits they could get rather than be forced to stand aside and watch others reap it all as we’re coming up to the finish line. We might even see a few more defectors. Or so we can hope.

“Well done,” I congratulate the group.

Still, our success is not without some cost. There’s been no word from Ingrid. We spent a decent chunk of Credits to confirm she’s alive, but her Skills make it very, very expensive to learn more. All we can do is hope.

Now there’s just one last thing. The actual vote.

Chapter 20

“Incredible,” Lana whispers, and I have to agree.

We’re standing on the viewing platform of the International Space Station, watching as Earth spins below us in all its blue-and-white glory. Amazingly, the station itself has survived the entire apocalypse and come out the other end bigger and better than before.

“I never get tired of looking at it.” The speaker is clad in a simple blue jumpsuit, no armored plates or weapons on him at all, and approaches from my left. The salt-and-pepper-mustached astronaut offers us a smile when he notices he has our attention. “Though the view has changed from the first time I saw it.”

“Commander,” I say, slightly breathless and wide-eyed. I offer him my hand with a jerk. “Thank you. For letting us on.”

Phil Katz, Overwatch, Space Commander, Star-born (Space Commander Level 8)

HP: 980/980

MP: 3780/3780

Conditions: Spatial Awareness, Domain, Gravity Shield

Lana and Mikito cock their heads at me. I ignore their incredulous looks while Commander Phil Katz shakes my hand. After I shake it a little too vigorously for a little too long, he peels his hand away and flexes it discreetly.

“You’ve done an incredible job on the station. It’s a Fort, right? How’d you get the Credits to get it fixed up?” I say as I wave my hand around.

The ISS is no longer the modular, creaky science and exploratory habitat it was before. Now it’s a fully functioning, five-kilometer-long space station with multiple docks for spaceships, remote-controlled arms, a greenhouse, and yes, artificial gravity.

“Now that’s cool.” Ali’s thoughts break through my excitement, along with a notification.

Title: Star-born

A unique title available only to those who are born in the stars (or it looks like, were in space when the System came into play - Ali), the title holder gains an intuitive understanding of space. Of course, the Star-born are hampered when on a planetary object, facing greater difficulties than the landlocked.

Effects: +10% increase in all attributes, Skills, and spells while not on a planetary object. Receive a 10% decrease in all attributes, Skills, and spells when on a planetary object.

The Commander smiles, obviously used to answering impertinent visitors, and humbly but concisely regales us with his and the crew’s adventures. Very soon, the Commander has a small audience as other humans drift over to listen to his story. It’s no surprise. The man is both naturally charismatic and pre-apocalypse famous. But like all good things, it has to end.

“Now that we have more people here,” Phil says before he looks around and waves.

A notification blooms in front of us, one titled “Rules of the ISS.”

“I’m sure you’ve all seen this,” he says. “But I’d like to remind everyone the gathering held in my station is at your request. There will be no violence during the event. Furthermore, there are specific restricted locations. Individuals found breaking the rules will be ejected from the station immediately. There are additional rules for emergency evacuation as well, which I recommend all of you read and comprehend.”

There are nods all around. One of the few advantages of using this location is that up here, the chances of an assassin showing up are extremely low. After all, entry and exit from this station is extremely closely watched. It makes the station a perfect location for the last few hours before the vote. In addition, a number of the settlement owners, including Lana, want to speak with Phil about expanding the station to improve Earth’s ability to trade with the wider galaxy.

As a newly developing Dungeon World, we have a strong draw as a trade hub due to all the rare loot and materials which come from the various imported monsters. Add the mutations of our own terrestrial species and well, we’ve got a lot of trade material. However, the fact stands that not all spaceships are designed to enter atmosphere, so it makes more sense to develop the station to receive incoming freighters and transfer goods back and forth using dedicated transport shuttles. Of course, the upgraded Fort needs a significant influx of Credits to become a fully functioning trade station.

With his pronouncement made, the various other humans dispersed into their own groups.

“Well, nice to meet a group of Canadians, but I’ve got other guests to see to,” the Commander says, flicking his eyes to the clustered groups of Galactics who hang around the large viewing platform.

“Of course, of course,” I say, smiling widely.

Once he’s moved away from us, Phil gets mobbed by the other settlement owners. I admire the man, the way his easy smile never leaves his face even as he answers a million and one questions.

As I stare at his departing figure, I find my thoughts interrupted by giggling. “What?”

“Nothing. Commander.” Lana’s lips twitch while Mikito does her best to keep a straight face.

“Never seen you be so respectful,” Katherine adds.

“That’s Phil Katz,” I hiss and wave. “These guys, all of them, they’re astronauts. The best of the best at… well, anything. And they built this. Of course I’m respectful.”

“I do believe it’s a little case of hero worship,” Ali crows. “Who’d have thought boy-o had a heart?”

“Not me,” a silken smooth voice answers, one which makes me tense and straighten.

Lana’s gaze darts to where the tall Truinnar is then back again to me, her eyes narrowing with suspicion and summation. I ignore it while silently cursing my forgetfulness. Why wouldn’t the damn man be here?

“Roxley,” I say and incline my head.

Roxley raises an eyebrow while Vir meets the inquiring gazes sent his way by Lana and Mikito with his usual imperturbable face.

“Redeemer,” Roxley says with a light smile on his face. But I can tell he’s a bit annoyed at me.

I draw a deep breath, excuses flashing through my mind. I’ve been busy. I forgot to call. I didn’t think we had that kind of relationship. Then I shut down the line of thinking with an exhalation. Later. We’ve got bigger things to fry.

“Are we ready?” I say, my gaze flicking around us as an indication of what I’m speaking of.

It’s strange. Even though theoretically the vast majority of those here are on our side, I still feel as though we’re besieged. Perhaps I just really, really want tomorrow’s vote to go through. Even though we’ll get another chance in another six months, the fragile alliances we’ve managed to weave could easily shatter by then.

“I have acquired the votes and agreements,” Roxley says. “There will not be any surprises on my end.”

“Good.” I relax slightly, though I chide myself after a moment. Of course Roxley’s got his side handled. As long as I’ve known him, he’s handled his affairs well. Well, except for the Duchess, but we were somewhat out-classed then. If it weren’t for my willingness to destroy the entire town to get our way, we probably wouldn’t have won.

Sometimes, I still get nightmares from that day. There are times when I wonder exactly how far I would have gone. And other times, I know. I’m not entirely sure which is worse.

We try a few more polite sentences of conversation, but the tension between Roxley and me is so high the group breaks up soon after. Lana moves over to speak with Katherine to check on who’s wavering and to press hands. Mikito heads over to the Combat Classers to do much the same, in a more direct manner. Me, I head toward Bipasha to confirm we’re good to go.

As I close in on the Bangladeshi woman, I see her in the midst of a discussion with the Chinese representatives. My lips thin slightly, especially as I realize my lip-reading won’t be of much use here. Obviously their choice to use Teochew rather than Mandarin is specifically to avoid people like me lip-reading them. It’s particularly annoying since I actually went and bought the language package from the Shop.

“Mr. Lee.”

“Redeemer.”

“Sir.”

Various other greetings flow from the settlement owners, Bipasha, and their aides. I return the greetings politely enough, smiling and nodding, but it doesn’t take me long to note one particularly young fellow, with a great head of hair and a slight curl to his lips, paying particular attention to me. A quick perusal of his Status offers nothing suspicious.

Fang Lei, Bridge of the Two Rivers (Chosen One Level 38)

HP: 1280/1280

MP: 980/980

Conditions: Shielded, Poison Resistance, Fate’s Kiss

“Interesting Class,” I say to Fang Lei.

The man’s smile grows wider, though smile is a bit generous. Smirk would be a better description. “It’s a prestige Class. Much like yours. Paladin. What a… Western… Class.”

“Galactic actually,” I say with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “And I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the term prestige Class before.”

“I would not expect you to have. It is a term coined only recently, to describe Classes which are rarer and have more stringent requirements. Those which are prestigious.”

“Fang Lei is the only one in China to have received the Class,” an older man says with a smile, patting the younger man’s shoulder almost paternalistically. “We are extremely lucky to have him.”

“And Cheng Shao,” I add, just to see to their reaction. It’s everything I expected—a slight flinch here, a tightening in the eyes there. It’s clear the champion, while internationally loved, is less favored locally. If not for her skill, I have a feeling they’d sideline her even further.

Bipasha, consummate politician that she is, cuts in. “The champion is a gift to all of us, as is Mr. Fang.”

No one contradicts her of course—it’d be impolite, no matter what they might think. I’m still curious about the presence of the kid in the station. It’s not as if he’s a settlement owner. If he was, I’d know, having spent some time memorizing the faces of everyone involved.

“Any idea about the kid?”

“You do realize he’s not much younger than you?” Ali retorts. “I got nothing. Probably wanted to go on a holiday.”

“It sure is pretty up here.” I acknowledge Ali’s point, but I don’t agree. There’s no way his presence up here is innocent.

After the stilted introductions, we switch topics to the recent attacks. Interestingly enough, China—or what we’re calling China anyway, since its borders have changed drastically post-apocalypse—only had to deal with a single attack in the last few days. Still, the recent widespread attacks and the desperate battles after years of relative quiet is a topic of interest for everyone.

It’s only when the conversation lags again that I bring up my reason for coming over.

“I just wanted to check we are settled for the upcoming vote?” I say to Bipasha. I wish I had a better, less blunt way of segueing into this, but… well, I don’t.

Bipasha winces ever so slightly, the movement more of a twitch of the eyes, but I ignore it. Lei visibly smirks, but the various settlement owners are quick to voice their support. I can’t help but feel a little nervous about them. Unlike many others, we don’t have a Contract or any official agreement with the Chinese. Just a guarantee from Bipasha. It’s a tad late to be worrying about it, but things have been hectic. I console myself with the knowledge her deal is similar to Roxley’s.

“Our votes are with Ms. Chowdury,” the Chinese settlement owners reassure me.

Even Bipasha brightens slightly, happy to reassure me she has gotten guarantees from her side of the table. I restrain from asking her to list everyone, mostly because it’d be rude and counterproductive.

Eventually, I take my leave and find a corner near the buffet table. In some ways, I’d prefer to be down there fighting than doing all this. But my new Skills are for more than just show. And so, I open my eyes and let Society’s Web appear.

Most, if not all, the threads are what I expect. In time, with more usage, I’ve learned to discard and filter out the tiny threads which detail the shallowest of connections between individuals. If I didn’t, in a room filled with settlement owners, I wouldn’t be able to see anything at all. Even now, it’s a staggering maze of threads which cluster around the various settlement owners to others of their kind or those below. It’s one reason I haven’t been using it much within this room and only resorted to it now when I have a quiet moment.

So.

It’s as I guessed—Fang Lei is more than a treasured student or someone on a vacation. The threads between him and the other Chinese settlement owners are heavy and almost exclusively one-sided. There’s an even heavier thread from Fang Lei downward, one which implies a more powerful hidden benefactor on Earth. Whoever it is, the hidden power is neither a settlement owner nor present. Someone else who does not like the limelight.

There’s another heavy thread, one which looks similar to Fang Lei’s, which emerges from Bipasha and heads in the same direction. It’s significantly thicker than any thread between Bipasha and the other settlement owners, though the thread connecting Bipasha and Fang Lei is interesting. I spend a little time touching each of the threads, finding heavy threads of obligation, duty, and contracts within, as well as a rather interesting amount of disdain. Mostly from Fang Lei toward everyone else.

I purse my lips in thought then turn away, staring at Roxley. Once again, I purposely ignore the heavy thread that runs between the two of us and instead concentrate of the ones surrounding the Truinnar. Nothing seems untoward there. Most of the threads speak of deep contracts and obligations between the Truinnar and others. There’s a particularly thick thread which shoots off into space which I linger over, “tasting” the emotions and depth, noting the respect, vigilance, pensiveness, and apprehension surrounding the thread.

I let the thread go and move on, scanning individuals, “tasting” their threads and the webs which form between them and others before moving on. Once again, I feel somewhat stifled by the lack of detailed information, but it is what it is.

“Mr. Lee.” Bhale, with his entourage, appears before me.

There’s no trace of the friendliness and openness the Movana showed when we first met. Instead it has been replaced with a layer of coldness and professionalism. By his side, Sishin is much more direct as he glowers at me. We met once more after Prague, this time with Sishin receiving the shorter end of the stick. I’d managed to kick his and his team’s ass—with the help of a local Advanced Combat team—before the Movana pulled out. That Sishin left a half dozen corpses behind was just one of the vagaries of war. Somehow, I don’t think the thought is comforting for the elf.

I quickly do an assessment of the threads leading from them to me and find they are no larger or brighter than before. Other than a layer of hostility in most, there’s little change—besides the one from Sishin, and his is no surprise. It’s not as if we’ve had a lot of direct contact.

“Gentlemen,” I say with an inclination of my head.

“Your men did very well. I must admit, we were surprised at the effectiveness of the defense and their combat prowess,” Bhale says.

“It happens when you try to kick people out of their homes after an apocalypse,” I say softly. “What you’re facing now are the survivors.”

“Yes. Still, you must know we have expanded our holdings,” Bhale says.

I snort. Yes. Mostly by taking our cities and one allied independent city. Which reminds me… “Why not just hit the Truinnar? If you had managed to reduce their votes and increase yours, you’d have narrowed the gap.”

Sishin snorts and I look at the sleeveless Movana. Since Bhale hesitates to answer me, Sishin decides to do so. “And start a Galactic war? While this might be a Dungeon World, an attack on the bond-breakers would be a direct provocation. Even if we didn’t start a war, we’d have to pay significant reparations.”

I grunt, crossing my arms. Great. The Truinnar and Movana are like the US and Russia with us poor humans and any non-allied settlements the countries they’re happy to wage proxy wars in. But it is a good reminder that as much as Roxley might be friendly, the Galactics are neither good nor bad—just nations looking out for their best interests.

“We are here to ask you, once again, to reconsider your stance,” Bhale says. “You ally your Earth with forces you do not comprehend. You meddle in affairs even Legends fear to casually involve themselves in. You are children running alongside the adults during a dance, deluding yourself into thinking you are dancing but are actually stumbling along, making a fool of yourself.”

“Whoa. Way to be subtle there,” Ali says with a snort.

“Subtle has not worked,” Bhale says with a sniff. “You rush matters too much. In a few years, you might achieve what you seek without allying with those you should not.”

“Really?” I say, stepping closer. The others tense up, but I ignore them as I lower my voice. “Because the way I run the math, the longer we wait, the less chance we have. People like you and the Galactics, the corporations and the Fist, are all going to chip away at our settlements. Divvying it up. Seems like the longer we wait, the more chance more of your Master Classers arrive.”

“It is a possibility. But better to lose your chance than commit your world to politics you do not understand. The Pegasus which flies too high will burn its wings off,” Bhale says.

“That’s not…” I shake my head. Actually, maybe it is how the story goes for them. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a little too late for us to change.”

Bhale’s lips thin, but he inclines his head then walks off. Sishin glares at me for a second more before walking off. I find myself letting out a breath, shaking my head slightly, as tension drains. In some ways, the Movana seem to be nice enough people. It’s a pity we’ve been forced onto opposite sides. But…

But like with Roxley, all I’m seeing is a single facet, a single set of individuals. What they are, who they are, means nothing under the aegis of their respective empires policies and desires. In the end, under the wheels of politics, humanity will be ground away unless we can establish ourselves.

Which is the point of today, after all.

Finding a time to speak with Bipasha alone is more difficult than I imagined. It takes nearly the whole night and waiting for her to make her way to the ladies’ room. Thankfully, the modified ISS has artificial gravity because while I might admire the astronauts, I’m not inclined to fully experience certain things in zero g.

“Mr. Lee,” Bipasha says to me when I catch her in the corridor on her way there.

“Are we really good?” I say, cutting right to the chase.

The woman smiles, her tight, tailored armored jumpsuit shifting as she steps closer to me. “Do you not trust my assurances?”

Her hand lands on my chest. She’s so close I can see how flawless the chocolate skin on her face is, smell the exotic scent which wreathes her, sense the swell of her body. In the corner of my eyes, I note how my Mental Resistances have kicked in even as my hormones rise slightly, but not untowardly. Just enough to remind me that yes, I do like women too.

“Cut it out,” I say, glaring at her. “This isn’t the time for this.”

“Oh, Mr. Lee, I’m sure it’s not. But it’s what makes it so fun.” Humor dances in her eyes as she steps back, the arch in her back relaxing slightly. “In any case, I understand even my charms might be insufficient to take you away from your most recent conquest’s side.”

“Roxley has nothing to do with this,” I say and point at her. “For one thing, we don’t have that kind of relationship. And for another, I know you’re not really interested.”

“Really?” Bipasha says with a sniff. “Thank you for telling me my mind, Mr. Lee.” There’s a slight pause before Bipasha shrugs. “And perhaps I seek to enjoy what I can, when I can. After tomorrow, many things will change.”

“So we’re good?” I repeat stubbornly, attempting to drag the conversation back.

“We are good,” the Weaver says with a sigh. “All of my contacts have signed and affirmed their Contracts. If there are any concerns, they will not come from my people.”

“Great.” For a moment, I stare at the woman, sensing something in her. I try to figure out what it is my intuition is telling me, but it eludes me.

“If you are done, I was going somewhere?” Bipasha says waspishly.

I grunt and wave her on, discarding the thought. It doesn’t matter. I trust her to be true to her word. After all, we were voting her in.

Chapter 21

Trouble comes eleven hours away from the vote. I’m resting in my room, drained from the constant politicking, socializing, and hand-holding. Rather than snap at another settlement owner, I retire to my room. Having paced, fretted, and attempted to read, I finally gave up and collapsed on my bed to journey to the blessed lands of sleep.

“Wake, Redeemer. The flags of betrayal have flown!”

I jerk awake, sword appearing in my hand as I roll out of bed and scan for threats. The quickly cut-off chuckle from a familiar voice is sufficient for me to relax, though I find myself glaring at the tired-looking First Nation’s lady. She’s seated on the only chair, head propped on her hands with a smile on her lips.

“Ingrid,” I say frostily. I briefly wonder how she could be here and then realize the answer is real simple—

we never did take her off the entourage list for Lana.

“No joking. Wake up, John. We’ve got problems.”

My eyes widen as I stand, dismissing my sword. I almost call it back when the door slides open, but I stop as Lana, Mikito, and Roxley tramp in.

“I really would like to know what is going on. I left Katherine to hold down the fort, but all of us disappearing is not a good idea,” Lana says.

“Betrayal!” Ingrid says, adding a little timbre to her voice. Seeing no reaction, she pouts before continuing. “So, good news. I’ve managed to kill the assassin. Bad news, when I went checking the boards for more work, I found a lot. Not much work which actually pays what I’m worth, but you know, it’s kind of the way it’s always been, right? You struggle and work hard, but does the rockman ever give you credit? No. Never. It’s always, what have you killed today?”

I stare at Ingrid for a second then materialize a carafe of coffee. When I get a few pointed looks, I hand out cups of it, including one to a very grateful assassin.

When she’s done sipping it, she gets back on topic. “So I started looking into the jobs. Some of those jobs, they’d been around before, right? And then there are the low-end bids on everyone and their dog. Quite literally. I mean, who hates dogs that much? But there was this whole new set which are serious and have deadlines of, like, ten hours from now. Their targets are all clustered, but they aren’t exactly high-profile fellows. Definitely not worth what is being offered,” Ingrid says. “I did some digging, and well, looks like the Fist might not be playing straight. Cost a pretty penny, but the contract on you isn’t the only one they took out.”

I blink, staring at Ingrid, putting the pieces together. One of the facets of the Shop is the need to know the right questions to ask. But once you do, the answers you can get are astounding—if you’re willing to pay. Obviously, the information Ingrid collated was sufficient to make her risk asking and paying for the answer.

“Why?” Mikito says with a frown, small hands tightening into fists.

“Politics,” Roxley says, a foot tapping rapidly on the ground for a brief moment. It’s a surprising amount of loss of control for the normally cool Truinnar. Then again, he’s rarely so wrong. “The Fist consider the Dungeon Worlds theirs. Their fears of what you intend to do when you gain a seat—or perhaps of what the other Dungeon Worlds might do with your example—must have overridden their Contract with you.

“It’s possible your attack and their betrayal, might have originated from outside Earth as well.”

“I thought they’d just stab us in the front…” I muttered. But really, just because they were fight maniacs didn’t mean they couldn’t scheme like everyone else.

“What do we do now? We can’t just let them attack our people,” Lana says, frowning. “And why would the Fist risk multiple assassinations? There’s no guarantee those settlements will fall the way they want. If they succeed.”

“Distraction and disruption,” Roxley answers promptly. “I would wager they have forces ready to launch an actual attack to take advantage of any attempted assassination.”

I nod slowly. I can see how having someone try to kill you could be distracting. Depending on the targets chosen, it could make a huge difference. With all the settlement owners—or at least their proxies—up here, taking out the second-in-command or whoever is in charge of the defenses could make a huge difference. Especially since most settlement owners are the highest Level residents in any city. I have to admit, it’s a decent plan, especially if they intend to betray us. But…

“Why now? Why not wait till the actual vote?”

“Numbers,” Ali says. “That was probably their initial plan, but our defense was likely better than what they expected. Even if they walk away, so long as Ares doesn’t, we’re good.”

“Ares is unlikely to break a System contract. Breach of contract for a corporation is a much more significant matter,” Roxley adds. “The impact on their rating and reputation would have a much wider impact on their business. No one wants to buy from a weapons corporation which refuses to fulfill their contracts. It is why I believe their change of mind is more recent.”

There are nods all around while everyone looks somewhat more unsettled. What was a comfortable margin in case of defection and betrayal has become significantly smaller and tighter. In fact, it’s low enough that losing even a couple more settlements would be dangerous.

“Mikito, we need you on Earth. You and the champions,” Lana says, the redhead’s mind obviously working quickly. “Ingrid, can you liaise with Mikito and the settlement owners who might be affected?”

“About that…” Ingrid hesitates.

“What?”

“I believe Ms. Starling is concerned about letting the source of information be known. I assume the access to such information is often restricted and tracked,” Roxley says.

Ingrid swiftly acknowledges Roxley’s conjecture then sits in pensive silence, leaving Lana floundering as she rethinks her plans.

“Right, well, the diplomatic group up here will focus on double-checking all our votes again. Hopefully there aren’t any additional surprises, but we need to be sure.” Lana turns to me. “John…”

“Yes?” I say.

“I’ll do it.” Ingrid looks at Lana and nods firmly, lips pressed tight. “If we can, I’d like us to hide where the information came from, but worst-case scenario, I lose access. But I’ll make sure everyone gets word.”

Lana flashes Ingrid a smile filled with gratitude and relief. In it, I can see hints of shared recollection of all the struggles we’ve faced together. Or perhaps it’s just me.

I watch the pair of them for a second before I speak up. “What am I going to do? Should I join Mikito?”

“Ali, how many Master Classes are in play?” Lana says.

“Right now? I got nothing. They’ve got a bunch, but they’re all sitting in their settlements. Probably deterrence to stop us from sending our own forces in,” Ali replies.

“Until they commit those forces, sending you down would be foolish,” Lana says. “Once you’re in play, yanking you out will be difficult. It’s unlikely you would be able to finish any fight quickly.”

I grimace but nod. True enough. Sometimes, not committing me to a fight is as good a deterrence as sending me down. With the other champions in play, it’s not as if we don’t have our own powerhouses. But none of them have the ease of mobility that I do. At the end of the day, while I’m a single Master Class and can’t be everywhere on the battlefield, the threat of adding a second Master Class to a fight can be an extremely powerful deterrent. “So what do I do?”

Lana and Roxley share a look before Lana asks the Truinnar, “Hardball?”

“Not yet. Let’s test their resolve first,” Roxley states.

“If it’s weak?”

“Then we’ll use John,” Roxley says, to which Lana offers a nod.

“Hey! I’m right here,” I say with my arms crossed.

“We know. We’ll send you a list of those you should speak to,” Lana says. “If we can reinforce the impression…”

“Viable. But a practical example might be required.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” I say.

The smiles the pair give me offer little hope.

Hours crawl by as I scramble to complete all the conversations I’m allocated. Between the high Constitutions among the populace up here which reduces or eliminates the need for sleep, the settlement owners from all over the globe, and the myriad rest habits of the Galactics, there’s always someone to talk to. Or threaten. Or cajole. Hours of walking, talking, sipping, and drinking. Of playing the social butterfly.

In time, everyone realizes something is going on, though what exactly might not be known. When Lana finally comes up to me during a break, I find myself grateful.

“Any news?” I mutter softly.

“Three attempts. So far, we lost one settlement and are in the midst of fighting for two more. The Movana have continued their push too and even increased their attacks, which have kept the champions busy,” Lana says. “We’re going to need you to speak with the Fist.”

“About this?” I say with a frown.

“Five minutes. In the observatory,” Lana says.

“Exactly what do you want me to do?”

“Just be yourself. Convince them, if you can, to keep their word.”

I can’t help frowning at her words, but Lana gives me a mysterious smile before she walks off.

When I make my way to the observatory, I’m somewhat surprised to note the crowd. Then again, perhaps I shouldn’t be—with so few hours left till the vote, most people would be up. Drawing a deep breath, I let it out slowly to calm my nerves before I make my way to the Fist. Interestingly enough, or perhaps tellingly, it’s only Asgauver and Emven up here today.

“Asgauver. Emven,” I say, trying to remember to stay polite. At this point, the attacks have made it pretty clear they’ve betrayed us, but we’re in polite company. For now, being polite will provide a better image than acting like a screaming, ranting hillbilly.

“Duelist,” Asgauver says, feet spreading slightly. “Are you here to confirm our support?”

“No. It’d be a waste of air,” I say, the placid, almost insultingly blasé reaction from the pair immediately making me break from Lana’s instructions. “I was surprised you chose to outright break your word and Contract rather than turn us down directly. Not the bold and honorable image of the Fist I had been led to believe.”

“What do you know of the Fist, Duelist?” A spark of anger rises in Asgauver’s voice at my insult. “You might have lucked into a few Perks and fought a few wars, but we at the Fist are true warriors. And there are no rules in war but the most important—a blade must always be sharpened. You and your dreams for Earth would block our people from testing ourselves on your planet, in some misguided attempt to better everyone.”

“And you think we shouldn’t?” I say softly, my eyes narrowing.

“You cannot Level those who refuse to fight. You need only look at the average Levels to realize the Artisans’ way of growth via production is a lie,” Asgauver says. “The Artisans bleat about how important they are, but in the end, they rely on us, hide behind us. Without the Fist, without our trips to the Forbidden Zone, without us clearing dungeons for them, their precious cities would be overrun. The Fist is what holds the Galactic Council together!”

“And so to hell with us on Earth and our hopes of not being dragged into your cycle of war and death,” I say. “Keep the doors open, give you guys everything you want, and vote to send even more worlds to hell.”

“Yes,” Asgauver says. “Because if not, we all die.”

“Ah, of course,” I say. “Even if you could have designated another world, like Mars or Neptune, as the new Dungeon World. It’s too damn hard, isn’t it, to build up a non-populated world? So rather than do that, you’ll sacrifice billions for some imagined future. The tyranny of the future justifies the sacrifice of the present in your eyes. Well, pardon me if I’m not going to lie down and take it.”

Asgauver snorts, shaking his head. “I knew you were useless. You Paladins, you champions and Guardians, you all think you’re better than us. Doesn’t matter what species. You refuse to accept your place in our System.”

“Our System?” I scoff, scorn filling my voice. “This System forces us into a world where the few grow at the expense of the many. Master Classers lording it over Advanced Classers who lord it over Basics who do the same to Artisans. Settlement owners who own and gain experience and Credits and power over those under them, dictating taxes and lives without recourse.

“The System is broken from the beginning, meant to provide only for those on the top. You think because you’ve struggled to the top, it justifies it all? You think, because a few can progress and climb to the peak it’s sufficient proof the System works? Garbage. On the way, you’ve crushed and killed, taken and discarded hundreds, thousands of others. We’re all victims of this damn System. But you’d rather bend to it than make it bend to you.”

My hands clench as I stare at the giant Kudaya, the hippo’s nostrils flaring at my challenge.

“You speak as if this is new. As if what the System offers is somehow wrong. But it is what it is.”

For a moment, I falter as my own words, my own thoughts reflect back at me. But there’s a lie in those words too.

“What is, is. There is no justice, no mercy inherent in this world. Entropy takes. Without recourse or consultation, it devours our hopes and ignores our despair. All true, all correct,” I say then look at the Kudaya. “But what is, is not what may be. It lies with us to build the world that we desire, to shore up the sand castles of our beliefs against the tide of necessity.

“So yeah, I’ll stand right here and tell you and your Fist to get back on board and keep your word. Because if not, if we lose this vote, the first damn thing I’m going to do is open a Portal and take all your settlements.”

“Threats are useless without the force to back it up. And I would crush you,” Asgauver snarls and leans forward, his giant snout inches from my face as he speaks.

“Pretty sure the score’s 1-0, ugly.”

Asgauver snarls and shoves, a giant meaty arm hammering my body. I’m forced to step back, unable to soak up the full force, a low throb in my chest as my ribs creak. Before I can even draw a breath, Phil is there, between us.

“Enough,” Phil Katz says, his voice filling the room. “You know the rules. There is no fighting here!”

“Of course you would side with your human,” Asgauver says with a snort.

Phil’s eyes narrow as he looks over the Kudaya, then he speaks, his voice still calm. “I am siding with no one. You were informed of the rules when you arrived, as was Mr. Lee.”

I consider pointing out it was Asgauver who hit me, but decide against it. Something about the way Phil holds himself tells me he would be less than happy with my meddling.

“I agreed to allow the station to be a center point for such events under guarantees from all parties that such altercations would not become violent. If that has changed, then your presence on this station is unwanted,” Phil says.

“Please, Commander Katz. It is a small argument. We will all hold to the agreement.” Katherine slides in with a smile, gesturing to the others. “No one else has taken any action, and even Mr. Heindra has stopped his actions.”

“I’ll allow it. As Mr. Lee was provoking the incident to begin with,” Phil says then raises a single finger. “But no more. You leave your fights down there.”

I grunt and my agreement is echoed by everyone else. At Phil’s insistent wave, I move aside to find Roxley and Lana standing side by side, speaking softly.

“Was that what you were looking for?” I growl.

“Almost exactly,” Roxley says with a smile. “It would have worked better if you were able to fight, but your surprising eloquence will do. I take it you’ve been considering the matter?”

“Had four years to think about it,” I say.

“Interesting. We’ll have to speak about that, but for now, we need to capitalize on your little display.” Lana steps aside swiftly, disappearing into the crowd. Leaving me and Roxley alone.

For a time, we stand in awkward silence before I finally muster enough courage to deal with this. “Look, Roxley. About us. It wasn’t a mistake, but it wasn’t smart. There’s…” I hesitate before pushing on. “Something there. It might be more, but after this… if this works…”

“You intend to leave. And my duties require me to stay.” His lips twist slightly as he sighs. “Oh, John. Did you ever, perhaps, look into Truinnar relationship norms?”

“No…”

“Oooh… I do think tall, dark, and elfy is talking about paired bonds.”

“Then be assured that I understand the context. For us, there is a distinct different between those who are chosen from duty and those from desire. Neither holds greater value, but they do differ significantly in what is expected of one another.”

“Desire?” I cough.

Roxley snorts. “You really are adorable at times. But we can speak of this later. Dinner, after the vote?”

“Uh…” I pause, realizing numerous eyes are fixed on us. I glower at the others before deciding to ignore them all. As difficult as I find our relationship, with all its political, social, and personal implications, it’s none of their business. “If I don’t have to Portal down and take a few cities, sure.”

Roxley laughs lightly and walks off to tackle another figure while I find myself standing alone for a few seconds. I turn when I feel a glare behind my back and find myself smiling at Asgauver as the werehippo glares at me.

Three hours to the vote.

Rob finds me soon after, a slight smile on his face. The ex-Secretary of State looks relaxed, in his element out here. As much as he might act as if he’s not a seasoned politician, the man knows how to maneuver among the throng with ease. It’s something I’ve had to learn, mostly by watching people who are better than me, but it’ll never be something I’m comfortable with. I sometimes wonder if I’m holding myself back and that’s why I’m not improving as much—or as fast—as I should.

“Evening,” I greet the man.

“Is it, really?” Rob says, looking out into the pitch blackness.

“Pretty sure it is somewhere,” I say.

Rob chuckles and tilts his head toward the robot server that comes over, carrying a pair of glasses. He picks them up and hands one to me. “Well then, if that’s the case. Cheers!”

I snort but down the drink. It’s something a little bitter, a little strong that burns going down the throat and burns even hotter when it hits my stomach. My eyes widen slightly even as I’m notified that I’ve resisted a poisoning effect. Bah! Once again, my innate resistances make a mess of things including blocking alcohol’s effects on me.

“Nice. I’ll have to keep this in mind,” I say while looking around for Ali.

I spot the damn Spirit a short distance away with a glass in hand, regaling a group of Galactics with a story. I decide not to lip-read or listen in. It’s rather embarrassing listening to the damn Spirit talk about our adventures, especially since he seems to feel that our “regular” adventures are nowhere near exciting enough and thus carefully shapes the truth.

“So we never talked afterward. But are you okay with this?” I say, gesturing toward Bipasha.

“Couldn’t really ask for more. We’re not what we were,” Rob says. “Vice-chair is more than sufficient. Surprised the Chinese let it go actually.”

“As am I,” I say. “But Bipasha says they’d rather have their tenterhooks directly in her.”

Rob can only shrug before he points at where Asgauver stands. “Heard what you said. I have to admit, I was impressed. Reminded me a little of a little piece of paper dear to my heart. All men being equal and all.”

I nod, deciding not to comment. The ideals his country was built upon, which were consciously chosen, are hard to argue against. Yet those ideals, those beliefs—like so many other things—are easy to betray in application.

“We do what we can,” I say.

Rob flashes me a half smile before offering me a salute with his glass as he wanders off. Once again, I think it’s a pity the man doesn’t have the votes to win this. But needs must.

Chapter 22

For all the drama leading up to it, for all the nail-biting tension and the last-minute discussions in political realities, the vote itself is entirely banal. When the time comes, even those who have chosen not to come up to the station may cast their vote from the safety of their cities. Our presence on the station is a matter of convenience and preference, a desire to meet and mingle, rather than need. Even the proxies here are mostly proxies for networking, not voting.

During the vote, Lana’s eyes defocus as she reads through the notification, then they slightly tighten as she makes her decision. It happens quickly. By the time I look at Roxley and the Truinnar, most of them are done too. It’s mostly the humans who take their time, reading through the notification in detail. Perhaps it’s our concerns about things like predatory contracts and terms and conditions or just a general distrust of the System. In either case, results show up on the simple bar charts and globe Phil has taken the time to set up.

“Looks like the Fist really did betray us,” I say softly. Damn them. They’d managed to take a couple more close-by settlements in the interim.

“They’re not pulling back either, boy-o. I’ll keep an ear out, but I don’t see them backing down. You might have to miss your dinner.”

I’m amused to see that Asgauver, for a brief moment, actually has the highest number of votes—before the votes for Bipasha arrive. Immediately, her bar eclipses Asgauver’s and even the Movana’s.

“Do we have enough?” I ask, turning to regard the globe as lights shift and turn on. “And any variations?”

“Nothing yet,” Lana says as she tilts her head. I’m not surprised to see her doing so, probably listening to her AI and getting an update.

Another jump as a slew of others finish their voting and Bipasha’s numbers push past fifty percent.

“Come on…”

I shift from foot to foot as the bars creep upward. I’m just grateful the vote is done by the System. Even then, seconds seem like hours as I wait. Around us, whispered conversations of Galactics and humans dominate, while the low hiss of the ventilation system underlines every word. In one corner, Bipasha stands, her lips slightly parted, anticipation radiating from every inch of her body. Beside her, the Chinese settlement owners wait, a sardonic, imperious look on Fang Lei’s face. I blink and realize the deeper shadows in one corner of the room contains a friendly assassin.

I draw a deep breath, and by the time I exhale, the numbers update.

“That’s it?” Katherine says beside me.

I understand her feelings. Where’s the swell of music from the orchestra, the drum roll? The crash of thunder or the cheers? Instead, there’s just a floating bar chart and a single notification.

Congratulations to Earth (Planet XVI.1928813) for voting Bipasha Chowdury as your representative to the Galactic Council.

Your representative (or a designated representative) has 94 Standard Days to arrive and take her seat.

Additional details and benefits will be provided when you have successfully completed this mandatory quest.

“That’s it,” I say. Eighty point one percent. Thousand hells the vote had been close.

I look around, spotting the few who voted against Bipasha. The Movana look unhappy and are moving toward Phil as a group with haste, shoulders hunched and eyes gliding over the groups as they looked to leave. The Fist are standing in their own corner, focused on perusing notifications of their own. Probably from the on-going fight below. A part of me wants to head down there immediately. Now that things have played out, Ali is already feeding me notifications about the state of affairs on Earth. How the Movana have pulled back their forces while requesting a cease-fire and how the Fist are still fighting. Since I’m not the only Master Class in play, I should be able to go down, right?

“Just wait a little bit,” Ali says, obviously reading my mind. “I’m pretty sure Bipasha would be annoyed if you left during her victory lap.”

I find myself grunting in acknowledgement. The Bangladeshi woman is radiant, all smiles and glowing with the light of victory as other settlement owners gather to offer their congratulations and suck up a little. I find it amusing—until Rob lets loose an exclamation of surprise and stomps over.

“What the hell is this?” Rob is waving one balled fist as he stalks nearer to the crowd.

Fang Lei moves to block him off, his smirk growing.

“Boy-o…”

Your Planetary Governor: Bipasha Chowdury

Your Planetary Deputy Governor: Fang Lei

Your Planetary Vice-Deputy Governor: Rob Markey

…

“That’s not…” I exhale, understanding why Rob is angry.

It’s not what we agreed on. Not what she told us she had agreed on. And I get why Fang Lei has been smirking, so confident. The threads make sense now, the choices they made. In the corner of my eye, new notifications appear as Bipasha’s reputation takes a hit. Contracts set up between us flicker warning signs as her reputation plunges.

“Why?” Rob snarls over Fang Lei’s shoulder.

“Because you people are unworthy dogs,” Fang Lei says.

My eyes narrow at something in his voice… I look toward Bipasha, but I’m too slow. Phil, sensing something is wrong, is turning too, but he’s too slow as well.

The first attack comes from a hand that lands ever so lightly on her arm. It bypasses her inactive shield because Bipasha doesn’t expect the attack. The twist and rip warps her skin and the bone in her arm before it detaches, removing her rings of protection. Behind her, the other Chinese settlement owners attack.

Daggers appear in hands and dart toward Bipasha’s body, wreathed in flame and lightning, the blue glow of Mana, and the twisting winds of compressed air. They impact against her secondary defenses, the other enchantments they didn’t manage to strip out, the weaves of her jumpsuit as they harden. It’s not enough. Her defenses fall one after the other even as spells and Skills trigger. Blades plunge into her lithe body, which is attempting to escape, tearing holes in her clothing and flesh. From the daggers, energy flows, green darkness spreading from her wounds.

I see her choke as another attack, this one from a newly generated metal gauntlet, smashes into her face, crushing her cheek and unleashing pure energy into her skull. Even as these attacks pile on, the crowd reacts. Bodyguards moving to protect her are outnumbered and blocked by other members of the Chinese congregation, Bipasha’s men falling under the surprise attacks. Phil takes a more direct route, tapping into his control of the station and banishing settlement owners. But it takes time to locate and target individuals, and each moment sees another attack. The Soul Shield I throw up and my Two are One Skills do little to slow the damage, even as a quantum lock hinders Phil’s ability to remove the assailants.

The Indian woman falls, poison, chaos magic, weaponized nanites, and more spreading through her body. By the time I Blink Step to her, a Major Healing spell already forming, it’s too late. The pain from the shared Skill is gone, Two are One deactivating as its target disappears. Healing magic cast on her body flashes and disappears as it finds nothing to grasp. Her brain is fried, her nerves torn apart, her body poisoned.

At first silence dominates the room—no screams—then there’s more than a little cursing. And laughter from the Fist. Death comes in a blink and it staggers us survivors. The Chinese bodyguards fall backward, but Bipasha’s don’t. The lock disappears. With a heavy sigh, Phil banishes the remainder of the guards. When he reaches Fang Lei and his pair of bodyguards, he frowns.

“It’s done,” Fang Lei says, raising his voice to project. There’s a timbre to it, a commanding presence that actually makes people listen. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but we didn’t want her to change her mind.”

“You bastard…” Rob snarls, his fist clenching.

“Now, now. You’ve got what you wanted. Deputy Governor,” Fang Lei says with that irritating smirk.

“You double-dealing scumbag,” Rob says. “If you think…”

I step up and clap my hand on Rob’s shoulder. The American halts, meeting my eyes and seeing the warning in them. He growls again, but I ignore it as I turn to Fang Lei.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” I say softly. “In five years, you are up for re-election. And you just lost all of the Indian continent’s votes at the very least.”

“Five years is a very long time,” Fang Lei says. “Much can change in that time. Much can be changed. Those who stand against us will learn better.”

My eyes widen at the implications. At what he is suggesting he is willing to do. For the first time, a pit of cold fear opens up in my stomach as I realize who I’ve inadvertently gotten into bed with. I step forward, my hands clenching, but a look from Phil makes me stop, the warning clear. As much as I might dislike Fang Lei, Phil has already warned me once. I doubt he’ll warn me again. Before I can say anything else, a blinding light flashes out from around Fang Lei. My eyes slam shut too late as our sight is overloaded on purpose.

“You dare!” Fang Lei’s voice rises in a shout. Dull clinks and clanks resound, the noise all too familiar, as is the low hiss of smoke being released from an obfuscation grenade. “Commander, do your job!”

“I can’t see,” Phil growls, his voice fading slightly as I sense him backing off. Mana flows erupt from around his body as he piles on defensive measures.

All around me, people are reacting to being blinded. My Mana Sense is flaring like crazy as people trigger even more Shielding Skills to protect themselves from a potential attack. But from what I can hear, what I sense, the attacks are all concentrated on one location. My sight comes back relatively fast, but the smoke that permeates the room obscures most everything.

Most. I see Phil pushed back by Emven, who has launched himself at the Commander. I try to Blink Step to Phil’s aid and feel my body lurch forward only a few feet as a Skill degrades mine. I jerk in surprise, turning in time to see a fist come flying toward my face. The fist is as large as my body, and as it impacts, I’m thrown backward. I groan, pushing myself up as my head swims slightly.

You are Dazed!

6 Seconds Remaining

“Why…?” I ask, not understanding why the Fist would act now. This doesn’t have anything to do with them…

“For many reasons,” Asgauver says as he throws a hook that I barely weave under. Another punch and another as I duck, the hippo refusing to stop talking as he does so. “The new Governor seems to be quite open to negotiation. But mostly because you threatened us.”

Spells and Skills flare as I call forth my sword and the other blades. A new notification tells me that Asgauver has learned his lesson, locking me in place with a Skill. Frustration pushes at the edges of my self-control when I see that notice. I’m still not sure who is fighting Fang Lei, how Phil is doing, or where the rest of my team is. I don’t have time for this, but I’m not exactly given a choice.

Blade against fist. But I’m eating more punches this time, unable to move as smoothly as I’d like, as the hippo hems me in on the observatory. I snarl, watching as the integrity of my Soul Shield and the Shield from the ring drops, smashed away by the overpowered bruiser. His attacks are simplistic, focused on adding to the damage quotient. But damn is it effective.

Another punch, this one shattering my Shields and throwing me into a pile of screaming Galactics. Their soft bodies soak up my painful landing, though I get shocked by a few reflexive Skill uses. I roll aside before the giant table that Asgauver throws hits, using the smoke, dust, and confusion to buy myself a few precious seconds.

I can’t win this. Not like this. But the good news is, I don’t need to.

“Point into Penetration. Another into Vanguard,” I snarl.

Then, remembering where I am, I trigger the Eye of the Storm. I have no idea where my friends are or who they’re fighting—if they’re fighting—but if they are, I’d best make their lives easier. At the same time, I let my Aura loose, going all in as my body shudders slightly from the Class Skill changes taking effect.

“There you are!” Asgauver says as he stalks forward. His hands glow again, built up charge filling those meaty bulldozers.

“Yes. Here I am.”

Idiot takes the time to talk and let me speak, so I take the time to cast Haste then trigger Vanguard. Everything slows down even further as the spell and Skill boosts my attributes and speed. Then I move.

I’m beside Asgauver before he realizes it, my sword cutting upward into the gap between his arm and chest, right into his armpit. The four other swords follow, spongey flesh that is inordinately hardened by Skills tearing apart under the assault. But I’m moving, not stopping as I pile cuts and slashes across his body. The hippo howls, slamming his hands together and sending a shockwave that pushes me, the smoke, and everyone else back.

I slide backward, panting, as I see the entire room has erupted into battle. Katherine is cowering with other non-combatants in one corner, a series of portable shields safeguarding them. I spot Peter—the Planetary Diplomat—with them, standing at the forefront, ready to trigger his ultimate skill if necessary. Diplomatic Immunity will give him, and hopefully everyone behind him, temporary immunity from all damage. Roxley, Vir, and the rest of the Truinnar are caught in a skirmish with the Movana and their allies, though it seems to be a stalling action rather than a predatory one. Phil, in the small gap provided to him, has actually gained the upper hand on Emven and is literally beating him into the floor with a pipe wrench. And surprisingly, Ali is dealing with both of Fang Lei’s bodyguards while Ingrid stands over Fang Lei’s prone form, her dagger slowly inching its way toward his brain.

“Ingrid…?” I say in surprise.

The First Nation’s woman is bleeding, one side of her body fileted, the bone and a few organs visible. Her foot is half-removed and she’s squinting through a haze of blood, but there’s grim determination on Ingrid’s face. Even as Fang Lei uses his hand, straightened and sharpened with Mana, to slice and stab into her body to throw her off, she attacks.

I raise a hand, ready to trigger Two are One even as I drop out of Haste, but I’m interrupted. Asgauver gets in the way with his bulk, throwing a roundhouse kick so strong it could bring down a building. I do the lambada, dropping beneath the kick and popping back up to stab my sword into the hippo’s body. I snarl, shoving forward as I conjure my other blades, twisting and cutting to get around my opponent and cast my Skill at Ingrid. But even though I’m boosted with Vanguard, the damn hippo is too big and wide and the few glimpses I get of her are insufficient, especially as the smoke rolls back in.

“Can’t hold on much longer, boy-o.”

“Damn it.” I snarl and give up, focusing on finishing this fight.

The werehippo’s massive health pool and passive regeneration is a problem, as is his ability to lock down my Portaling abilities. A punch comes in and I hop upward, landing on a blade that still sticks out of the Kudaya’s body. I cut with one sword into his shoulder to give me even more of a lift before I thrust the sword in my hand. The attack plunges into his eye, blinding Asgauver. As he staggers back, Asgauver unleashes another scream, the sonic attack throwing me into the ceiling.

The ceiling crumples under my body, steel and more exotic metals warping. Phil is distracted for a second, taking a blow from Emven.

As he struggles to his feet, another voice echoes, “We got the station, Commander. Kick his ass!”

Reinforcements pour in, the remainder of the ISS’s crew appearing. Like Phil, they’ve got the Levels and Skills to make a difference, and the moment they arrive, my Skill boosts their attributes. A purple light bathes Asgauver, and I note his Mana bar shrinking visibly under its effects. As the air scrubbers kick into overdrive with a whine, clearing the smoke, the werehippo focuses in on me.

“You will not win!” Asgauver howls.

I release myself from the crumpled metal and get my feet bunched up behind me. I propel myself past the Kudaya, aiming for where I last saw Ingrid. A part of me is swearing, wishing I had her on my party info. But it never occurred to me, not during what should have been a peaceful, even joyous occasion.

“Ingrid!” I slam into the floor next to their prone bodies.

Fang Lei has a dagger stuck in his eye, the victim of a fatal dose of metal poisoning. And real poison too, if I know anything about Ingrid. But it’s the First Nation’s woman I’m concerned about.

I push against her still form. “No!”

I hear movement behind me and my body reacts, reaching backward and conjuring my sword to block the blow. It smashes into my angled sword and keeps coming, the floor beneath my feet buckling as my hand collapses. But even as the blow lands on my body, I hold myself up and away from the charred, flayed, and still corpse.

“You idiot. You should have run…” I swear at the corpse, tears filling my eyes.

Another blow, the physical pain a dull reminder that a fight is going on around me. But it’s distant, a minor ache compared to the loss of another friend. A stupid, senseless loss. She could have survived if she had run. She could have tried again. I don’t even know why she acted, what prompted her to kill Fang Lei. We could have…

Another blow, this one so hard it cracks a few ribs. My head throbs, muscles groan, and I touch her body, dumping it into my Altered Space. As another attack comes, I twist and dodge, rising to my feet. My hand conjures a plunger of Mana Potion that goes into a torn, exposed section of armor.

“Face me, you coward. I’ll show you why the Fist are not to be angered!” Asgauver swings again, his hand burning with power.

“Ali, have everyone leave.”

Then I let it loose, the anger that sits in my soul. The pain I keep hidden. He took my friend away. If he hadn’t blocked me, I could have saved her. He cost me a friend. So I’m going to take his life. And his friend’s life. And his city.

The world turns red as Asgauver learns what it means to deal with the fury of a Paladin.

Frenzy. It’s an old Skill, one I rarely use because while it reduces the pain I feel and the amount of damage I can deal, along with increasing my Stamina regeneration, my Mana regeneration drops. With the huge drain on Mana most of my Skills have, Frenzy isn’t as suited for me as it would be for like someone like Asgauver. But there’s a much more important reason to keep it off—the damn Skill doesn’t let me retreat or back off until all my enemies are slain.

Interestingly enough, the first time I activate Frenzy after my Master Class upgrade, I realize I’m actually able to think. Previous usages of the Skill reduced my conscious decision-making ability significantly. Luckily, for one reason or another, I have a little skill at fighting and so much of my unconscious decision-making is correct. But against a Master like Asgauver, reacting rather than thinking might be deadly.

All of these thoughts flash through my rage-filled mind in the time it takes to slip his punch. I’m inside his guard, my sword cutting sideways and moving. Because now, I’m no longer fighting him alone. A half dozen others are here, individuals who are part of the Fist or chose to act when they did. The Chinese bodyguards are my first target, a Blade Strike catching one high while I dash toward the next.

Vanguard of the Apocalypse thrums through my body even as my Aura of Chivalry works on them all. I can feel the attention that is drawn to me, the anger and focus targeted at me, and I find myself grinning. Grinning wide.

A cut, a punch, then I grab and toss the other Chinese guard at Asgauver. The giant hippo bats the man away, his body flying into the windows and causing a spider-web of cracks. The hiss and hum of over-worked ventilators surround us, as does the acrid smell of urine and spilt blood. I open fire at other fighters with a newly conjured beam pistol, using the attack to disrupt formations rather than for pure damage. A shot takes Emven in the back of the head, giving Phil the opening he needs to put his fist through his opponent’s chest.

Ali is cajoling, pulling, and at times throwing people out of the room. Lana is guiding out Katherine and the other non-Combatants, Shadow and Roland somehow having made their way up here. I’m curious how that happened, but only in an abstract, clinical way. I’m too busy with kiting Asgauver and annoying everyone else, jumping, sprinting, and sliding across the giant room, blades cutting and pistol firing.

Blood flows and Mana drops, my body feeling the strain of my actions even as I push as hard as I can to stay ahead of Asgauver. I don’t always succeed, the hippo being larger as well as fast and smart enough to know when to use his ranged attacks. And as I attract more and more attention, the attacks pile on. I bleed health points and suffer actual damage. But the cracked ribs, the dislocated shoulder, the torn hamstring are nothing compared to the anger in my soul and the pain in my heart.

“We’re out! Phil is closing down the observatory. You’ve got until he’s done with Emven out here.”

So. Emven’s still alive. Surprising. But that’s more than enough time.

I skid to a stop and turn, holding both swords I conjure in front of me. Muscles creak and my hands tremble as I cross the weapons to soak up the most recent series of attacks, my legs buckling and tearing up the floor beneath me. A pause, a fraction of a second to clear my mind. Time enough to conjure a Skill.

Light explodes from nowhere, filling the room via the windows before the Beacon tears through the ceiling. Metal vaporizes and bathes all of us in the raging inferno of the Beacon’s attack. The Advanced Classers in the room die, pain ripping through their bodies as the Mana-based attack ignores their defenses. Air rushes out, picking up and throwing debris into the endless void, while the thumps of blast doors through the soles of my feet inform me the station is taking steps to protect itself.

Asgauver shoulders his way through the pain, grabbing me and lifting me to slam my body into the floor. A part of me is thankful for his actions, for I call another Beacon down on us. I’m sheltered from the direct effects of my own attack by the hippo’s leaning body, close enough to see his eyes widen as skin flays and burns away, exposing bone.

When the Beacon dies off, Asgauver has one hand held over me, the other pinning me. He’s bleeding, skin burned away, flesh cut and muscles chopped apart from our repeated clashes. The Kudaya is in pain, conscious through a sheer exertion of will. But I’m not much better. I drop all my other Mana-intensive Skills, staring at the bar of my Mana pool. Not enough. But that’s okay.

“Any last words to pass on to your friends when I bring your corpse out?” Asgauver taunts, slamming me back into the floor when I twitch.

I cough, feeling something snap in my back. “Yeah. Army of One,” I whisper and activate the Skill, watching my health plummet as the Skill takes from my body what it cannot from Mana. Another ‘gift’ from my time away, an understanding of how the world, the System works.

Blades appear around my prone body even as I conjure the original in my hand and stab upward. Blades, glowing with ethereal power, launch into Asgauver’s body with such force he is ripped from my body. I stagger upward, staring as the giant Master Class is pushed outside of the range of the artificial gravity that holds us to the station.

My head throbs with a pain that would probably cripple me if I wasn’t in my Frenzy state. I stare at the helpless Asgauver floating in space, his blood frosting over as the giant hippo twitches. Even the Master Class’s monstrous health pool and his numerous damage-soaking Skills aren’t enough.

“Should have taken their advice,” I whisper then gesture, pulling a beam rifle into my hand. I open fire, just in case.

Chapter 23

When I’m finally done, I find myself standing in the silence of space. Ali is darting back from Asgauver’s corpse, having flown over and stripped the giant hippo of his gear. A part of me is surprised to note the Spirit’s already done the same for the various other corpses, but I shake off the thought as my senses return to me slowly with no additional threats around me.

There’s no hiss of escaping air any longer, just the throb of warning sirens beneath my feet and strobing red warning lights which indicate the room has been depressurized. My lungs ache from the lack of oxygen, eyeballs burning and frosting over under the cracked helmet. My body aches with the lack of oxygen, my lungs clawing for much-needed sustenance as my Skill flickers off and pain returns.

I look upward, seeing the gaping hole I created when I called forth the Beacon of Angels, melting armor and damaging the Galactics within. If not for the floor being reinforced by the Commander and an unconscious flexing of my own Skill, it might have torn through the floor too. For a moment, the silence of the vacuum consumes me, the unhindered view of the stars and Earth below bringing with it its own sense of peace.

“Eh, boy-o. I can keep throwing Heals on you, but you’re running out of health here either way.”

“Sorry.” I tap the helmet and toss it back into my storage then pull out another one and clip it on. It’s not as good, but for a spare, it does its job perfectly.

A second later, it covers my face, the warmth from my body heating up the tiny sealed space. Oxygen, stored in a small reservoir within the helmet, pumps in, filling the emptiness in my lungs. It’s barely enough for a minute of normal use and my body consumes it hungrily.

“Not even the sense to put on a helmet in vacuum.” Ali’s mental grumbling is comforting in my numb state. A familiar refrain.

With a shake of my head, I walk toward the exit. At the door, I frown, realizing I have no idea how to get in without depressurizing the rest of the station.

“One second.” The Spirit darts through the door, phasing right through it before his vision is impressed on me.

A moment later, I Blink Step into the warm, oxygenated corridor. The sudden shift in temperature is comfortable at first then painful, as dead nerves regenerate and cold flesh warms. I grunt through the pain while Phil stands in front of me, blocking my friends.

“Mr. Lee,” Phil says. “Take a moment to gather yourself. Say goodbye to your friends. Then I expect you to leave.”

“You’re banishing him?” Lana says, her eyes wide.

“He continued fighting after he was ordered to stop. He caused significant damage to the station. Be grateful I’m only banishing him for a period and not permanently,” Phil says.

When Lana opens her mouth to argue, I shake my head. It’s more than fair. And I’ve got better things to do on Earth anyway.

“Where’s Rob?” I ask.

“He’s back on Earth, under serious guard,” Lana says. “I dispatched Roland and Shadow to join them too. He should be safe enough.”

I nod. I know his security detail, and while they might not be Master Classes yet, they’re not that far away. If it weren’t for their need to constantly guard their charges, with the talent and dedication those men—and women—have, they’d be much higher Leveled. “Roxley?”

Lana shakes her head. “He had to leave. The Truinnar are busy reorganizing and discussing the fallout and keeping an eye on the Movana. There’s a lot of fighting going on on Earth now, with the Indian and Chinese settlements mobilizing and the Galactics getting ready to pick off anyone still left standing.”

I grunt, closing my eyes, then open them. My voice, when it comes out, is cold and aloof, the emotions shoved aside for now. “Ingrid’s dead.”

“I know.” Lana’s voice is laced with pain but carefully controlled.

“Katherine, can you liaise with Phil? Let’s see what we can do to help him fix up the station. And make sure this never happens again,” I say, and the older woman gives a short nod. I turn to Lana, my voice growing colder as my mind turns. “Get an occupation force ready.”

“John…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid. But they’re down a Master Class and are stretched thin. I’m going to take back those cities,” I say firmly. “And then, I’m going to take one of theirs.”

Lana’s brows furrow, but she nods as I knew she would. I turn to Phil, giving him a grateful nod. He didn’t need to give me the few minutes.

A second later, Phil engages the station’s teleportation matrix and I’m gone to another blood-soaked battlefield. War may be an extension of diplomacy, but it’s also what happens when greed overcomes diplomacy.

Days later, we’re gathered once more, up north. Not Whitehorse, because she didn’t come from the city. No, we went further. It took us hours to fight our way up, hours of dealing with creatures that once were a deadly threat and now are nothing but an excuse to vent.

We find ourselves at the remnants of the old cemetery a few kilometers upriver of the settlement. The cemetery is part of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in’s gathering place, a cultural center that is now barren and desolate, the few buildings shattered and grown over. The cemetery itself is on the top of the hill, overlooking the frozen Yukon River, older headstones and the white picket fence hidden beneath the snow. It takes a little time to clear the snow off the ground and form the grave. Afterward, we deposit her body within.

In minutes, I have a Portal open and friends stream in. People whose lives that quiet, sarcastic, and jaded woman touched. Jason and Sarah, Andrea and Mike, Vir and Capstan. A few of the champions. General Miller. More. People that I don’t know but who have requested an opportunity to say goodbye. And so, I open Portals and people stream in. Some who weren’t able to reach the waypoints I have available port in.

I have no words, no way to speak of the loss of another damn friend. But luckily, I have friends and they know what to say, what to do. And so, when the grave is closed, people speak.

Some of fond social times. Others, so many others, of times when Ingrid appeared in battle to save them. And some, a select few, of the woman behind the mask. Of the times when Ingrid let her guard down and laughed, when she smiled. When she forgot about the loss of her people, of all her friends and family. And then it’s my turn.

“I’ll miss her bannock,” I say, feeling the weight of the crowd’s attention on me. But I ignore them, staring at the small mound of earth that holds my friend. Such a small amount of space for a woman who had been larger than life. “I’ll miss her ribbing me, her attempts at keeping me grounded. I’ll miss her practical approach to problems…

“I’ll miss my friend. But I know, I believe, she died doing what she wanted. I believe she died because sometimes, some things can’t be accepted. She died giving us a chance to make Earth better.”

There’s silence before someone else speaks. I listen half-heartedly while staring at the grave. It’s strange. I’m not exactly sure why her death has hit me so hard. Perhaps it’s because after coming back after so long away, seeing my friends became more important than I thought. Perhaps it’s because I was stuck in hell for so long, and till now, I’ve not yet had time to relax. Or perhaps, perhaps, I miss what could have been.

Time passes and people slowly leave. I Portal nearly everyone away, leaving only a few of us standing in the cemetery. In the corner of my eyes, I see the blips inching their way in, monsters growing slowly bolder as the gathering disperses. Scavengers and opportunistic predators, hoping for the weak or distracted. I briefly consider showing them how wrong they are.

“President Markey called and asked if I would accept the position of Deputy Governor,” Roxley says, his voice cutting through the ashen haze that fills my mind.

“Pardon?”

“President Markey called—”

“I heard you the first time,” I cut Roxley off and wave. “Why?”

“I believe he’s looking for assurance and backing. With the splintering of your other human factions, humanity’s position has grown more precarious. We spoke of acting against the groups of Independents within North America, as well as ceding certain territories to regain his United States,” Roxley says.

“He asked me for help too,” Lana confirms, a slight twist in her lips. I wonder what it means, but don’t find the motivation in me to pursue the matter.

“India and China?” I ask softly.

“Already fighting at the borders.” Mikito sighs, rubbing her temple. “The champions have their hands full trying to keep the dungeons and Galactics at bay. Cheng Shao is doing her best to slow down China, but there’s no equivalent in the Indian sub-continent. They’re all—”

“Fighting. Trying to become the top dog. If it wasn’t for the internal strife, they’d be in all-out war,” Lana says. I have to admit, I’m grateful for human idiocy.

“Can Rob get the votes?” I ask, and looks are traded around. In five years, we’re going to have to do this all again. With the current state of affairs, we might get less than fifty percent of the vote if we’re lucky.

“Five years is a very long time…” Mikito voices the only hope we have.

Though I took back every settlement taken by the Fist and one of theirs, it’s not enough. Not by far. I know more and more of their people are pouring in, an aggressive stance they’ve taken which hasn’t broken into outright war. Yet. Even the additional taxes and entry fees Rob has thrown up are doing little to slow the Fist.

“President Markey also asked if I had a recommendation for the envoy,” Roxley adds, and I twitch. “It is just a term, not a designation.”

“Heh. Just don’t want them returning the favor,” I say.

“No. We have rules,” Roxley says then smiles grimly. “Though the fact President Markey hails from the same country as the perpetrator has less than desirable optics.”

“No shit.” I scratch my head, thinking about Roxley’s question.

I look at the two ladies, and Mikito gives me a shrug. Yeah, fair enough—the lady is an even worse choice than I am. Most of Mikito’s contacts would be less than suitable. Lana on the other hand…

“Stop looking at me like that,” Lana says, her eyes narrowing.

I offer her a light shrug and look away. Fine. Maybe I do put a lot of hopes and burdens on the lady. On the other hand, I do note how in the months I’ve been back, I have yet to actually meet her boyfriend. I’m not exactly sure what it says about what she thinks of me, that even now she refuses to introduce us.

“It’s not as if I have a list of people who should go,” Lana adds. “It was supposed to be Rob… but…”

“But he’s Governor now.” I grimace. “And there was no guarantee he’d go. Doesn’t he have anyone on his staff he can tap?”

“Probably busy,” Lana says with a shrug. “Anyone good enough to go would be good enough to run a settlement. And we’re a little pressed on that front.”

I can’t help but agree. The need for good, competent, trustworthy individuals is not small. In some cases, I know we’ve had to compromise and go for two out of three. And once in place, not many settlement owners are willing to give up their spots.

“What about Peter?” I say, recalling the Diplomat. After all, we’re literally talking about a diplomatic mission. And his work has been good.

“He’s on the team, but Rob has suggested we find someone else if possible,” Roxley says. “I agree. It would be best to find a Diplomat who is not tied directly to the Governor. This is meant to be a mission for the entire planet.”

Fair enough, though I’m not entirely sure asking us is much better, considering we’re from Canada. If half the world before the apocalypse couldn’t tell the difference between the two countries, I’m not sure it’d be any different now. Still, perhaps we could find a settlement owner with a competent assistant like I had. Of course, people like Katherine…

“Oh. Duh.”

“You thought of something, John?” Roxley says.

“Katherine.”

Everyone pauses, their brains working on overdrive before there’re a few curses for forgetting such a simple answer.

“Exemplary suggestion. I shall endeavor to inform President Markey and allow him to extend the invitation,” Roxley says.

“And I’ll inform Katherine beforehand so that it’s not a complete surprise,” Lana adds.

I nod. With that major issue dealt with, Roxley asks for a Portal back to Whitehorse. Lana departs next, leaving me with Mikito and Ali as the monsters close in. The Samurai tilts her head, looking at me.

“So. What now?” Mikito asks.

I consider her words. There are still settlements in doubt, dungeons close to overflowing, a space station commander who needs to be repaid. People to say goodbye to, arrangements to be made. But glancing at the grave, I find a sardonic smile crossing my face as a wave of exhaustion runs through me.

“What do you think of bannock?”

A few days later, after Katherine had—politely—bitched about being tossed into the deep end, the Erethrans find me in the middle of clearing a dungeon by myself. With the champions stretched thin by the various conflicts and my reputation for killing settlement owners and taking settlements, I’ve been banished from dealing with the politics. It doesn’t help that my Reputation took a bit of a ding when I wasn’t able to completely cover all the deals I’d made. The agreements I’d had with Bipasha were voided after her death, and while Rob was thankful for our help, he was also less willing to play ball. Sadly, the man is smart enough to realize I can’t and won’t do anything to him, so he’s gone ahead and screwed me over a bit to get what he wants. I can’t complain too much—it’s not as if I didn’t sacrifice him earlier to the altar of expedience.

I admit, I’m still surprised to see the Erethrans. The champion looks around the Level 80 dungeon with a sniff and waves at the team of Erethrans, who rush forward at her command. Within seconds, we’re left alone except for her usual shadows.

“Champion,” I greet Ayuri before I nod at Unilo and Mayaya. “Shadows.”

I get a slight smile from Unilo, but Mayaya just stares at me with his blank expression. I roll my eyes theatrically before Ayuri coughs into her hand, drawing my attention back to her.

“I wanted to meet with you before you left,” Ayuri says.

“Calling in your favor?” I say.

“It’s Unilo’s. And no. I wanted to inform you that we’ll be leaving soon,” Ayuri says. “Matters at home have progressed. It’s possible we might need you to return to Erethra at some point soon. Try not to get yourself killed.”

I chuckle but sober up when Ayuri doesn’t even crack a smile. She’s surprisingly serious—for a woman who doesn’t seem to take much seriously.

“You crossed the Fist. And while Asgauver and his cronies were not particularly strong, they were connected,” Ayuri says. “Your actions have made your position in Erethra even more tenuous. We are, technically, part of their faction.”

“You are?” I exclaim.

“Of course. We’re a warrior-based society. The Army by itself has nearly twenty-four percent of our population under arms, and that doesn’t include independent Adventurers,” Ayuri says. “The only way we are able to keep those numbers viable is via Dungeon Worlds like yours.”

I feel truly conflicted now. I always knew the Erethrans focused more on quantity than quality for their defenses, though the Honor Guard is obviously the cream of the crop. Still, the realization hits hard. The Erethran’s, the group I’ve somewhat allied myself with are part of the Fist, a group that elected to cause our apocalypse. With a slight shake of my head, I push it aside for later consideration.

“So you figure I’m going to be forced to deal with hardliners if I ever come to Erethra,” I say with a slight twitch of my lips. Well, damn.

“When you come, I expect you’ll anger many of the traditionalists and Fist adherents,” Ayuri agrees. “I would also consider distancing yourself from your people once you arrive in Irvina. It is highly likely you will be targeted.”

“More assassinations?” I sigh loudly.

“Among other things. Be careful. Irvina is a hotbed of politics, and you, Mr. Lee, are as subtle as an orbital strike.”

The statement gets a chuckle from Unilo. Warning given, I’m actually shooed away as the Erethrans proceed to hog the dungeon. Left with no monsters to kill, I walk out of the dungeon and Port back home, heading for the Shop. I need to pick up a few things before we leave in a few days and deal with all the loot I picked up from Fang Lei’s, Asgauver’s, and their cronies’ bodies. Bipasha’s I’ve returned to her settlement. There’s something about looting your allies that seems wrong, no matter the kind of advantage it might give you. But still, whatever else I had to say about Fang Lei and the hippo, they had good stuff. I’ll need to rework some of it to be more suitable for me, but I figure it’ll be ready for when I get to Irvina.

As I walk toward the Shop, I pull up my Status Screen, looking at the progress I’ve made since I came back from the Forbidden Zone. It’s been a crazy half year.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Paladin

Race

Human (Male)

Level

23

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead, Duelist, Explorer

Health

3470

Stamina

3470

Mana

3220

Mana Regeneration

272 (+5) / minute

Attributes

Strength

227

Agility

307

Constitution

347

Perception

172

Intelligence

322

Willpower

352

Charisma

110

Luck

68

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

3*

Blade Strike*

3

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand Blades*

3

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal*

5

Army of One

2

Sanctum

2

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footsteps*

1

Tech Link*

2

Penetration

3

Aura of Chivalry

1

Eyes of Insight

1

Analyze*

2

Harden*

2

Quantum Lock*

3

Elastic Skin*

3

Beacon of the Angels

1

Eye of the Storm

1

Vanguard of the Apocalypse

2

Society’s Web

1

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (IV)

Greater Regeneration (II)

Greater Healing (II)

Mana Drip (II)

Improved Mana Missile (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike (III)

Firestorm

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Improved Inferno Strike (II)

Mud Walls

Ice Blast

Icestorm

Improved Invisibility

Improved Mana Cage

Improved Flight

Haste

Epilogue

The world spins slowly beneath us, showcasing an endless vista of blue. The Atlantic Ocean is covered in spinning white clouds that earmark the start of another massive hurricane, the islands which make up the Caribbean hidden at this angle. A part of me winces at how bad things will get for my friends below. Ever since the apocalypse, hurricanes have included Elementals and Spirits galore, creatures of fickle disposition and violent nature. Still, the violence which is about to erupt is only in my mind. In my vision before me is only a peaceful blue globe.

“Taking one last look?” Katherine asks as she stands beside me, her hand resting lightly on the railing of the ship’s observatory.

I don’t blame Phil for putting us on the passenger ship as soon as possible, rather than keeping us on the station. Well, not much.

“Yeah. Trying to imprint it on my mind.” Not as though it’s particularly hard, not with the Intelligence I have. Some things, like an almost photographic memory, come naturally to me now. Just another damn change.

“You make it sound like you don’t expect to see it again.” The words are uttered like a statement, as if Katherine knows the answer.

And so rather than answer her, I fall silent. As usual, Katherine doesn’t push, for which I’m grateful.

“Eh, I’ve seen prettier planets,” Ali says, standing beside us and sipping on a drink.

“Not all of us live in the elemental plane of stupidity,” I reply to Ali.

“Hey!”

“Well, it seems both Ms. Pearson and Lord Roxley would regret it if you did not return,” Katherine says.

I grunt, turning sideways to spot Mikito seated on a comfortable chair, staring at a broadcast arena match. The Spear of Humanity just showed up at the teleportation pad this morning, as if her presence was perfectly reasonable. When I inquired about what she was doing there, she simply said “Baka,” and walked away.

“Perhaps. But it’ll be a lot of years…” I finally say.

“Five. Not much longer than when you were gone,” Katherine says. “Did I ever tell you thank you?”

“What for?”

“Hiring me.”

I snort. “Pretty sure that’s my line.”

“No, it’s mine. I was lost. In this world, I was nothing. I only survived because others, braver others, sacrificed themselves to save me. I had no purpose, and so when you and your mismanagement happened, I jumped at the chance. I was so scared you would turn me down,” Katherine says, looking at me.

I refuse to meet her gaze, focusing on Earth beneath us, the slowly diminishing planet. “I’d have been a fool to do so.”

“True.” Katherine half smiles. “I never did ask why.”

My lips twist slightly, amusement at the sudden change in temperament. Then again, we are leaving Earth—for the first time in Katherine’s case. A certain level of sappiness is to be expected. “You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you. A lot to learn. It’s a completely different ball game, and we’re minnows in a great big, blue sea. And, Katherine, when we arrive…”

“Yes?”

“Ali and I will be separating from the group. While we have to use you to get into the capital, you need to distance yourself—and Earth—from us as soon as possible.”

“What are you planning?”

I straighten, Earth already no larger than a particularly large yoga ball in the viewport. It’s strange we don’t even feel a touch of the acceleration. Then again, there’s artificial gravity too. So hey, what’s a little inertia dampening?

I flash Katherine a comforting smile before I turn away. “Remember. Distance yourself.”

We have nearly two months to get there on this cruiser. Two months to train, to study, to prepare. And then… well. Then we’ll finally be able to start answering the question that’s been plaguing me since the beginning.

What the hell is the System?

###

THE END

For now.

John and Ali will be back in a new Galactic arc in book 7!

Author’s Note

Well, that’s it. That’s the second arc of the System Apocalypse series. The next arc takes John and Ali into the Galactic arena, with the pair of them having to face a whole new world. John’s grown a lot, both in Class and as a person, but the challenges he’ll face next will be galactic in scope.

I also wanted to discuss why John’s Master Quest was not in this book, but instead we skipped four years ahead. This wasn’t an easy decision and one that I struggled with through the entire end of book five, as I contemplated the next book..

As many of you have noticed, John didn’t rise in Level at all during his stay in the Forbidden Zone. The entirety of his Master Quest can be considered a very long training montage. And while I enjoy writing fight scenes, an entire book of endless fights without any Level gains might be extremely boring and certainly not very LitRPG. Rather than subject readers to that, I time-skipped the process. In addition, while the effect of the Master Quest was important, the actual process itself is not important to the story.

I will, at some point, write book 5.5—the training montage—for those curious, but due to the way the book / quest / world is structured, it will veer much more toward “normal” fantasy. No Level Ups, no Stat Screens, etc. This way, those who are still curious can read it, while those who are more interested in the overall story can continue to enjoy the series.

Hopefully, that gives everyone some context.

If you enjoyed reading the book, please do leave a review and rating. Not only is it a big ego boost, it also helps sales and convinces me to write more in the series!

In addition, please check out my other series, the Adventures on Brad (a more traditional LitRPG fantasy) and the Hidden Wishes (an urban fantasy GameLit series). Book one of each series follow:

A Healer’s Gift (Book 1 of the Adventures on Brad)A Healer’s Gift (Book 1 of the Adventures on Brad)(https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071KD1X35)

A Gamer’s Wish (Book 1 of the Hidden Wishes series)A Gamer’s Wish (Book 1 of the Hidden Wishes series)(https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BV7PY1G)

For more great information about LitRPG series, check out the Facebook groups:

GameLit SocietyGameLit Society(https://www.facebook.com/groups/LitRPGsociety/)

LitRPG BooksLitRPG Books(https://www.facebook.com/groups/LitRPG.books/)

About the Author

Tao Wong is an avid fantasy and sci-fi reader who spends his time working and writing in the North of Canada. He’s spent way too many years doing martial arts of many forms, and having broken himself too often, he now spends his time writing about fantasy worlds.

For updates on the series and my other books (and special one-shot stories), please visit my website: http://www.mylifemytao.comhttp://www.mylifemytao.com(http://www.mylifemytao.com)

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Or support me on Patreon direct at: https://www.patreon.com/taowonghttps://www.patreon.com/taowong(https://www.patreon.com/taowong)

Glossary

Erethran Honor Guard Skill Tree

Mana Imbue

Two are One

Thousand Steps

Blade Strike

The Body’s

Resolve

Greater

Detection

Altered Space

A Thousand

Blades

Shield Transference

Soul Shield

Blink Step

Army of One

Sanctum

Body Swap

Portal

John’s Erethran Honor Guard Skills

Mana Imbue (Level 3)

Soulbound weapon now permanently imbued with mana to deal more damage on each hit. +20 Base Damage (Mana). Will ignore armor and resistances. Mana regeneration reduced by 15 Mana per minute permanently.

Blade Strike (Level 3)

By projecting additional Mana and stamina into a strike, the Erethran Honor Guard’s Soulbound weapon may project a strike up to 30 feet away.

Cost: 30 Stamina + 30 Mana

Thousand Steps (Level 1)

Movement speed for the Honor Guard and allies are increased by 5% while skill is active. This ability is stackable with other movement-related skills.

Cost: 20 Stamina + 20 Mana per minute

Altered Space (Level 2)

The Honor Guard now has access to an extra-dimensional storage location of 30 cubic feet. Items stored must be touched to be willed in and may not include living creatures or items currently affected by auras that are not the Honor Guard’s. Mana regeneration reduced by 10 Mana per minute permanently.

Two are One (Level 1)

Effect: Transfer 10% of all damage from Target to Self

Cost: 5 Mana per second

The Body’s Resolve (Level 3)

Effect: Increase natural health regeneration by 35%. On-going health status effects reduced by 33%. Honor Guard may now regenerate lost limbs. Mana regeneration reduced by 15 Mana per minute permanently.

Greater Detection (Level 1)

Effect: User may now detect System creatures up to 1 kilometer away. General information about strength level is provided on detection. Stealth skills, Class skills, and ambient mana density will influence the effectiveness of this skill. Mana regeneration reduced by 5 Mana per minute permanently.

A Thousand Blades (Level 3)

Creates four duplicate copies of the user’s designated weapon. Duplicate copies deal base damage of copied items. May be combined with Mana Imbue and Shield Transference. Mana Cost: 3 Mana per second

Soul Shield (Level 2)

Effect: Creates a manipulable shield to cover the caster’s or target’s body. Shield has 1,000 Hit Points.

Cost: 250 Mana

Blink Step (Level 2)

Effect: Instantaneous teleportation via line-of-sight. May include Spirit’s line of sight. Maximum range—500 meters.

Cost: 100 Mana

Portal (Level 5)

Effect: Creates a 5-meter by 5-meter portal which can connect to a previously traveled location by user. May be used by others. Maximum distance range of portals is 10,000 kilometers.

Cost: 250 Mana + 100 Mana per minute (minimum cost 350 Mana)

Army of One (Level 2)

The Honor Guard’s feared penultimate combat ability, Army of One builds upon previous Skills, allowing the user to unleash an awe-inspiring attack to deal with their enemies. Attack may now be guided around minor obstacles.