Life in the North: An Apocalyptic LitRPG

“Of course. You’ve got quite a following on Earth too, you know,” Katherine says, making Mikito blush. She hangs her head, while Katherine lets her go and smiles. “You’ve done well.”

Mikito steps back, shifting back to her impenetrable mien. To everyone but me, it’d be easy to miss the flush of happiness she is doing her best to hide.

“And you’ve made trouble,” Katherine says, her voice growing colder as she faces me.

“I… didn’t mean to this time?” I say, offering as explanation.

Katherine snorts, taking the couple of steps needed to close in on me and give me a hug. “Whatever, you idiot.”

I hug her back, but I don’t take my eyes off the fourth person in the room. Not that the hug is as long or as personal as the one she gave Mikito. Unlike Lana and Mikito, I barely spent any time with Katherine before I was thrown into the Forbidden Zone.

It’s a good thing the hug’s over quickly, since our silent watcher is hanging back and looking grumpy. Hiding in the shadows, as if he could hide. Considering he’s neither human nor expected, the Grazish Heir is like a six-foot-tall man in a children’s ballet class.

Like the picture I saw, he’s dressed in a mixed-robe and ribbon outfit, with tails that float behind him, wings and ribbons twisting in a non-existent wind. The colors of his clothes and ribbons are myriad, shifting through the colors of the rainbow and yet coordinating with one another. Still, the warthog humanoid is distinctly inhuman as dark eyes stare at me, its pupils almost lost in the shadows of its overhanging eyebrows.

Reqm Harsem, Thirty-Eighth Heir of the Grazish Clan, Warden of the Eleventh Ward of Esuma, Lasard Mo-ki of the Rawce Clan, Corporate Raider, … (Grazish Heir Level 19) (M)

HP: 2380/2380

MP: 2210/2210

Conditions: Linked Health, Second Chance: Rise, Shielded, Aura of Wealth

“You okay?” I say as I detach from her.

“Better, now that you’re here. And you can relax, Reqm is on our side.” Katherine beckons and Reqm walks forward, offering us a weird snapping salute with his left hand in greeting.

“You sure?” I say.

“You can rest assured, I would not betray my Gasjen,” Reqm says.

“Gasjen?A gas generator?”

“Funny. No. Uhh…” Ali falls silent, accessing information while I watch as Katherine steps away from me and returns to Reqm’s side. Closer now, they twine fingers together. “Oh, wow. Yeah, that’s…”

“Girlfriend?” I supply.

“Betrothed. First among his betrothed.”

“Wait.” I hold up a hand and stare at Ali before looking at Katherine. “You guys are an item?”

“Yes,” Katherine answers.

“Of course,” Reqm says.

“It’s not just a cover?”

“Why would I do that?” Reqm looks honestly puzzled. “Do humans do that… oh wait. Yes. Of course. She is not my beard.”

“That’s not…” I splutter.

Katherine whisper something into Reqm’s ear while he continues to regard me.

When he replies to her, his voice isn’t as low. “He’s not really that impressive. Are you sure it’s him they want?”

“Oy. Pumbaa. Enough for now. This is a private talk,” I say. “While this place might be private, I’m not sure I’d call it discreet. Or safe.”

Katherine gives me a half-smile and holds up a single finger. A moment later, a notification appears before me.

Diplomatic Silence (Level 4)

Every form of government requires a way to keep secrets and negotiate in private. Using this Skill, the Diplomat ensures that what is said within the radius of the discussion is safeguarded. This Skill works in tandem with the government System-purchased buff National Secrets for additional effects. Mana regeneration reduced by 20 permanently.

Effect: Increases cost of information and other surveillance Skills by a factor of 4. Receives an additional 54% of National Secrets government buff.

“Fine,” I grumble good-naturedly. “And I assume that’s running all the time?”

“Of course,” Katherine says. “Reqm has a similar Skill. His grandfather also has a constant counter-espionage Skill running on his family, as does Earth.”

“Wait, counter-espionage Skill?” I say.

“It informs us if someone is purchasing information or attempting surveillance,” Reqm says.

“Ah…” I nod. That makes sense. Still… “It’s the Lady of Shadows…”

Katherine shakes her head. “There’s a lot of misinformation about her. She’s not infallible. She’s just a Legendary.”

“Just.”

Ali snorts, but he nods at Katherine. “She’s not wrong. Even a Legendary’s power is limited.”

“Do we even know what the limits might be?” Mikito asks.

“Her Skill details are hidden. But others?” Ali shakes his head. “If we took John’s Class to the max, he’d have three choices from his Skill Tree. Each of which would be a penultimate for the Grand Master Paladin. Following the theme, they’d be able to boost any of the Paladins they command or even raise an individual to the Class or a tier, temporarily or permanently; he’d be able to use the Weight of Duty to shatter a planet; and the Skill the Might of Justice allows him to borrow any Skill, any System-recorded memory, any piece of currently owned equipment from those he served.”

“Served?”

Ali nods and I pause. I recall that the Empress had a couple of Heroic-level pieces of equipment. Maybe even some Legendary ones.

“Actual borrow, as in teleportation or…?”

Ali shrugs. “Uncertain. I could verify at a Shop but…”

“It doesn’t mater,” Mikito butts in. “You’re saying that a Legendary Skill can influence things on a planet or across an Empire, but with some degree of restrictions.”

There are nods, and I frown, remembering what happened at Prax. The Lady of Shadows had taken steps to hide the movement of the fleet coming for us, making it so that we never knew it was arriving until it was too late. Hiding things at that level was powerful, but if you considered that she probably had to look at influencing multiple individuals at a time, instead of altering actual reality, it wasn’t impossible. Or she might have just adjusted information flow for everything coming in and out of the space station.

“So we’re looking at a limited number of individuals she can affect,” I say.

Katherine nods. “And we know for certain that her Skills have been in use in a variety of other locations, including the current trade war between the Stadin and Maties Groups.”

Req’m adds, “Ares has also requested her aid in dealing with a Mana outbreak along the Restricted Zone nearby the Fraskee Borders. There’s a flood of Behemoth Crawlers and a living planet that has pushed outward, carrying with it a flood of Mana.”

“Fraskee?”

“Nautical creatures. Sort of like your mermaids, but not exactly,” Ali supplies.

“Why would they care?” Mikito asks.

“Because one of the lies the Council tells is that the growth of the Forbidden and Restricted Zones are regular and controlled. Not contained, but controlled,” Reqm says, his lips twisting in a snarl, his tiny tusks glowing with his displeasure. “They lie to us about the deaths that occur, the planets that are destroyed. And when they fail, they make sure no one knows.”

“If no one knows, how do you?” Mikito says.

“Because the Galactic System is old, and no secret is truly secret,” Reqm says.

I could beg to differ, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t know him, no matter how much Katherine trusts him.

“And such secrets are whispered among those of us in power,” Reqm says. “It is only those without power who know not the lies they are told. Though many think they do.”

I frown. “Yet you’ve got a whole planet experiencing things right now. What happens to them? Are they killed?”

“Or moved to another location. Their minds wiped, their memories altered, their histories changed,” Reqm says. “If they fail. If they succeed in containing it, the incident is covered up, lies are woven such that no one knows better. Information is edited for many years, using individual Spies and Propagandists. The very nature of the attack is made a lie. Until the truth is no longer understandable.”

“They do this so that more people stay. Wait. Holding still in their doomed planets because they think they’re safe. Or at least, as safe as living in a Restricted Zone can be.” I think over what I know of Restricted and Forbidden Zones and come to the final conclusion. “They need people to stay, don’t they? Because without sapients, the borders would grow faster. Without individuals serving the Adventurers who move in to gain what resources they can, monsters won’t be killed. Mana won’t be churned.”

“Yes.”

Vicious but effective. It’s not something I would do, not something I can even condone doing. But it’s effective and it keeps things stable, which I am realizing, for most governments, is more important than what is good or right or moral. Practicality over morality.

Mikito drags the conversation back on topic, to the reason we’re here, as she clears her throat. “We’re safe from being spotted, at least we hope so. Unless she turns her attention on us, because we’re a lot smaller than a planet—”

“Though you have your planet and my merchant empire backing you up.”

Mikito continues, ignoring the interruption. “But we still shouldn’t take too long. What can we do to help you, Katherine? You and Earth.”

Katherine pauses, visibly recalling what she needs to say, then launches into what must be a rehearsed speech.

***

We leave the art gallery an hour later, with a lot less enthusiasm than we arrived. It’s no real surprise, not with the information related to us. We’re weighed down by the knowledge we’ve gained and what we must do. Being the organized woman she is, Katherine had much of the information ready to go in an information pack, so what we spoke about were the high-level aspects. The rest we’ll read later.

As suspected, Katherine has been building alliances over the last four plus years she has been in Irvina. Even so, it has been difficult for the lady to build any true alliances due to concerns about longevity. While groups like the Erethrans or the Truinnar might want a Dungeon World under their control, making it happen is much more difficult than just wishing.

Like Earth when I returned years ago, many groups have formed their own enclaves, their areas of control. And unlike Earth, many such places in established Dungeon Worlds have significant resources poured into them. Even the lowest Level Dungeon World would still require a couple of Master Classes to conquer a lightly defended settlement. In higher Leveled, more established Dungeon Worlds, you’d require a full armed assault to have a hope of winning.

On top of that, you’ve got internal politics—who gets control of the Dungeon World? Which faction is in charge? What kinds of benefits would each faction gain? After all, if they won’t get any benefits from those in charge, would it not be better to make a deal with those on the Dungeon Worlds already and get something from them for opposing the Dungeon World sole-government?

As I said, it’s complicated. Even when Katherine made headway, managing to get a few allies on our side—various governments, races, merchant groups and guilds—the direct opposition by the Council has driven many of them away. Suddenly, the benefits no longer outweigh the cost.

When we suggested my plan of physically dissuading voting groups, Katherine was quite adamant that it’s a horrible idea. Reqm threw his weight behind her, pointing out that any action we take on the vote will reflect badly on Earth.

The only good news Katherine had to offer is that to make a major change in the Galactic Constitution requires a significant Mana flow. It’s the equivalent of 80% of the Mana generated by the System-planets in a month, making it a big ask.

Because of the cost involved, Katherine’s actually found a number of people who are willing to vote against or abstain entirely. In some cases, only for a single vote. But a single vote of abstinence from each party is what we need now. Which is where the list and information she gave us comes into play.

As for future votes, we’ll have to get past this one before worrying about it.

In truth, the Galactic Council have tried to take away Earth’s seat before—by contesting its legitimacy in courts, its standing in the Council as a Dungeon World, and even the legitimacy of the actual vote. In the end, all of that failed, leaving the Galactic Council with this final maneuver—striking off all rights of Dungeon Worlds to hold a seat on the Council and marking them as contested territories for now and forevermore.

The stakes have never been higher, and the problem is more insurmountable than ever, it seems. Thankfully, we’ve got a few options. And once we return to our residence and emplace our defenses, we go over those options, combining the knowledge Katherine has provided us with our own research.

“This is a very long list,” Harry says. The reporter managed to make his way back halfway through the next day, adding his own findings to what we were given.

We’ve been mostly reading, taking in details of political games that we have no idea about. Even as fast as we consume information, we can only take in an overview, since there are so many players involved.

Still, the information we garner is enough for us to do our job and, when things go south, hopefully not mess it up too much by improvising.

“Katherine’s highlighted one hundred sixteen different groups that might be open to convincing,” I say in confirmation. “We’ve got less than a month to convince as many of them as we can. Maybe as little as two weeks, if Katherine can’t stall the vote further.”

“One hundred eight,” Ali corrects, flicking over the new list. “I just finished the info dump Harry brought back. If he’s right, those eight are no-gos.”

I grunt and accept the correction. One hundred sixteen or one hundred eight, it’s too many for me to tackle anyway.

“Either way, too many. We have to split this up if we have any hope of doing any good,” Mikito says.

“Just like before, triage.”

I poke the information, sorting it out by number of seats. At the same time, the spreadsheet keeps the details of what kind of needs they have pre-sorted. At least, what they’ve told Katherine what they need. Reading over the list, I can’t help but shake my head.

Title: Master Duelist (Beat a Heroic Class in a formal duel)

Title: Galactic Gourmet (Consume 2,500 different kinds of monster meat within a year)

Class: Breaker of Chains (Advanced Prestige. Must break a Master Class Binding Skill)

Class: Paen of Pain (Advanced Prestige. Receive over 1,000,000 points of damage)

Class: Inheritor of Secrets (Master Class. Be given a dozen Tier I secrets)

…

“What happened to sex, power, and money?” I mutter. “Isn’t that what most people want?”

“You want the sex ones?” Ali says, raising an eyebrow. His fingers flick and my jaw drops as he sorts the information.

“Not doing that. Or that. Maybe that…” My gaze moves down the list, making Mikito pause and look at me.

“There are some of those you’d do?” she says, sounding surprised.

“It’s just sex.” I pause. “Well, that one was just sex. If I have to, I’ll put a bag over their head.” As the group stares at me, I face their incredulous gazes and open my hands wide. “It’s my fault, people. Taking one—okay, six—for the team isn’t that bad.

“Though I might need a bath or two.” I scratch my chin and add, “Also, have you noticed how, if you’ve not had sex for a bit, it’s fine. You can deal with it. But once you get used to being… ummm… regular, then the next few months or so is rather difficult?”

Mikito blushes slightly, muttering curses under her breath at me. I grin at her, though I must admit, I’m blathering on a little to cover up my own embarrassment. Sometimes, the only way through it is to head in deep.

Harry snorts, the Brit—who, come to think of it, I know indulges with his fans and other races regularly—ignoring my segue. “Perhaps we should consider selling your body last. Many of the more carnal desires are more tentative, as Katherine has noted. People in the positions of power like that often have access to such…”

“Conveniences?” I offer.

“Dalliances?” Ali says.

“Fetishes?” Mikito supplies.

“Opportunities,” Harry says with finality. “It’s more a case of finding the right timing for them.”

“So what you’re saying is that they might not be willing to offer their vote for boy-o’s sweet, sweet body,” Ali says.

“Exactly. Whereas providing access to Titles and Classes…” Harry shrugs. “Those can be more difficult. Especially these…”

Class: Jesuit Priest

Class: Hair Metal Drummer

Class: Babalawo

Class: Micro-Expression Interrogator

Title: Neither Rain nor Shine

Title: Virtual Killer

Title: Triad Leader

…

“Restricted Classes and Titles,” I say, sighing. “I guess that’s a form of power, isn’t it?”

“Especially when it’s unexpected,” Ali says. “The System might not like to balance each Class against another, but with the variety out there, there’s always a balance to be found against another. Or an exploit.”

I nod. While most types of Skills come down to the System-equivalent of punching someone in the head until they fall, when it comes to non-Combat Classes, there’s a lot more variety. And sometimes, certain Classes and Skills just slip under the radar of other Skills.

Being the new kids on the block, we’ve got a bunch of new Classes waiting for exploits. Add in interesting Titles that might provide either prestige or stackable bonuses, and I can see these Titles being desired. Still, there’s no way to know for sure without actually gaining a Class or Title and testing it to see if they can be exploited. I’m sure the vast majority of them won’t be anything particularly new or interesting, but as any good fighter knows—it only takes one lucky shot to end a fight.

Except that’s not really true with the System. Health Points give us an unnatural level of resilience, such that even a cheap shot or one that lands perfectly cleanly won’t necessarily take out someone with high health. The tyranny of Levels can keep those below chained to the bottom.

Or it would, if not for the fact that Mana and health regeneration is finite. That’s where the System’s ability to provide information is a leveler. Knowing how much you need to hammer someone means that, if necessary, you can work out what you need to do to end them. And in a few cases, the best revenge hasn’t even been direct attacks but the wide release of an individual’s build. For those at the highest Levels, most have gotten where they are by stepping on a few necks along the way.

A borrowed knife slits a throat just as cleanly.

“I’m assuming Credits aren’t high on the list because we don’t have enough?” I say.

One of the interesting aspects of Katherine’s list is the focus on the individual rather than the government. She’s got that covered. What she wants us to exploit are the people who do the actual voting—the man on the ground, if you will.

“Actually, it’s mostly because the people on the list are paid an extremely high salary to ensure they aren’t bribable.” Harry says. “At least with Credits, that is.”

I chuckle a bit. It’s the Singapore method of public service. If you pay your government servants the same as any CEO, not only do you get good government servants, but the need for bribery decreases. Not that the high salaries get rid of bribery entirely—as we’re going to exploit—but it does reduce it.

“Well, at least there aren’t any white elephants,” I say.

“Elephants?” Harry asks.

“Just something I read about. How some gifts are white elephants that stroke the ego more than anything else,” I say.

“Oh, like these?” Ali says.

A moment later, I’m reading a rather long list of materials, none of which I’ve heard about and most of which I have trouble even pronouncing.

“Gah!” I throw up my hands. “What would you need the marrow of a twelve-headed hydra for?”

“Alchemical compound. Useful for a variety of regenerative effects,” Ali replies.

“So, a health potion?”

“Affliction removal. Or regeneration from old age in particular.”

“Right.”

When he mentions the one thing the System will not remove, even if it slows it, I eye the materials with renewed interest. Once I poke at the details, what seems like a bewildering array of gifts become a series of weird, specific Master or Heroic crafted items and a bunch of materials for longevity potions.

“Great. So how are we doing this?” I prod the sheet. As fascinating as all this might be, it doesn’t solve the problem of how we’re dividing the work.

“I can do the gifts,” Harry says. “Between my contacts and whatever Dornalor might dig up, I might be able to locate some of these things.”

Unspoken is the added caveat of locate and acquire. One of the issues with much of the material is that even when their location is known, they aren’t being sold. Dornalor might not be here, but his contacts could be useful—not to forget any criminal contacts Harry might have made on Prax.

“Classes and Titles for us,” Mikito says, pointing between her and me. “We can teach or train them. Some might be more difficult. And there are the obvious ones John has to do.”

“Like the Heroic requirement kind.” I nod. Annoying, but those who require specific kinds of Skills can be dealt with. So long as they’re willing to subject themselves to the abuse, which requires trust. Which is often the sticking point.

“You also have one other thing to do…” warns Mikito.

I sigh. Truth. For all this, we still need to figure out what to do about the inner Council. And…

“The Duchess.”

I make a face again as the pair of humans voice their agreement. If there’s one person who can aid us in all this, it’d be her. The question is, of course, what she wants.

Time to find out what’s taking her so long to contact me.

Chapter 11

Of course, like most of my existence these last few months, it isn’t as easy as asking Roxley what the hell is going on. He didn’t even deign to meet with me, instead sending back a note that the Duchess will see me when she’s ready to do so.

That issue resolved, the team splits up to begin the process of getting votes. Luckily, the vast majority of the time, we have easy methods of contacting our targets, supplied to us by Katherine.

One of the things about working in such a big, political city is that those in the know all set up multiple methods of communication. Not just the official channels and the unofficial official channels, but unofficial secret channels and secret secret channels of communication. All of it is broken out into multiple levels, given out to various acquaintances and allies and even enemies as needed, depending on what you think is required.

After all, you might not want the government to know what you’re saying. Or you might not want to officially be speaking to certain people, even if unofficially, your government agrees with your action. And so on, so forth.

What we were given are the semi-public secret channels, with the requisite notations on how to let them know their information isn’t burned, just passed along properly. Which is a whole different level of secrecy.

“And why does Katherine have all this?” I mutter, staring at the Galactic equivalent of a burner phone. “Isn’t there a spy head or something?”

“Contingency planning of course. Also, pretty sure Earth’s spy head is dead,” Ali sends back.

“How’d you know that?” I reply.

I let my gaze roam over the park we’re waiting in, mentally grumbling about the idiocy of having a secret meeting in public. But since this is the initial contact, they didn’t want to be in a hidden place, so here we are.

This park isn’t that big, just over a few hundred meters, but with multiple dips and rises so that direct lines of sight are cut off. This is aided by the local fauna, many of which grow to twice or thrice the height of the sapients ambling along. Other than the occasional giant, of course—a pair of which ducked behind a convenient wall of shrubbery and masonry to canoodle.

“Do they really think they’re hidden?” I send to Ali, watching the trembling foliage.

“Sometimes, it’s more the illusion of privacy than the reality, boy-o.”

“Fine. But the spy master?”

I keep scanning while we wait, searching for our contact. I hope he isn’t too late. I’ve booked another meeting in another public location—a bullet train transit station—in an hour. And then another after that. And the burner phone is for the next set of calls I need to make, while I’m scrambling from one location to the next.

Even peering around, I see nothing. There are flying creatures, insects, winged angels, half-beast or monster equivalents, even a few elemental-bodied fellows. And on the ground, you get the usual plethora of humanoids walking, rolling, and jumping along. But not my next meet.

“Mikito actually told me about it. According to her, he was targeted during the attack,” Ali explains. When I send back a wordless grunt, he shrugs. “We’ve been digging a little into the actual attack. She knew who he was before because she’d been in contact with Katherine and Lana. And we reviewed the attack, just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“They use the same teams.”

Before I can ask for details, a voice speaks up behind me. I don’t start, even if I want to. Because whoever it is has taken the seat on the opposite side of the park bench, facing away from me on the circular bench-cum-table-cum-elevated rise, without me knowing.

“You’re not human.”

“No. But I can get you the individual.”

“Really? Because we’ve yet to get one to agree to leave Earth,” the creature says.

I glance over, spotting the creature as it inhales. It’s a short, stubby alien whose grey skin and flat features are dominated by the trio of large nostrils situated around its body. Small flaps open and close, allowing the creature to block off potential smells and attacks, while even more fleshy flaps and strings of flesh deeper within strain out other gaseous particles.

“I can. My word on it,” I say. “But you know what we want in return.”

“Expensive.”

“But for your Clan, this would be quite the win, would it not? After all, bringing a new scent-based Class to the Kinanti…”

“We’ll need a serf contract for seven years. System-registered.”

“No,” I flat-out refuse. “Work contract for five years. System-registered, based off you fulfilling your bargain. In turn, we’ll provide a System-registered proof of Class.”

“Ten years.”

“Agreed.”

“Transport costs?” the Kinanti asks, its voice low and husky.

I note it snuffling more, as if trying to ascertain my identity via smell. Good luck with that. I have a spell and an enchantment both killing my scent for just this reason.

“We can handle it,” I say. “But you’ll pay going rates for their work. And take care of their accommodations and safety. Along with their family.”

“Of course. Standard contract for Artisans. But this is an Advanced, yes?”

“Yes. By the time the vote is completed, you’ll get your Advanced Class Perfumer.”

The creature lets out a trill, a snort, then stands. “Don’t contact me again until the documents are ready.”

I don’t look at him as he stalks off, but I do borrow Ali’s field of vision to note his bouncing step. It’s only when he’s gone, when I’ve finished reading the threads from Society’s Web and the changes in his demeanor, that I speak.

“What do you think?”

“He’ll do it. Now, come on. Next!”

I groan but stand, heading out. We’ll have to contact Lana to get this done, but thankfully, we know a Basic Classer who will jump at the chance. All we have to do is boost him through his Levels, which means VIP access to our dungeons and a Leveling team.

A small price to pay for an abstentation.

Now, if only the rest of our deals are this easy.

***

Underground. This is the galactic equivalent of a sewer line, but it’s a lot cleaner and less smelly since everything is actually contained within sealed effluent lines. The maintenance room we stand in is in a confluence of such maintenance shafts, giving us more room to work within. Even if it is big, the presence of a half dozen bodyguards crowds out the room. Especially when a pair of them are sapient trolls.

“Explain again this Skill of yours,” the older Movana standing before me mutters.

He’s not the target, of course. It’s the young Movana girl behind him, all of twenty-three. She’s already two-thirds of the way through her Basic Class thanks to her banked experience and being dragged through dungeons. But that won’t get her a good Class, especially since she lacks any good Titles.

Thus, this meeting.

“I can layer the Skill multiple times, depending on wording and intent,” I say. I know this to be true, in a way that even knowledge and use of the Skill wouldn’t have offered without significantly more experimenting, thanks to my new Class. “But it’ll do damage.”

“How much?”

I grunt, running the math in my head and inform him.

He winces and shakes his head. “Very high.”

“Yes. But that also means it’ll increase her chance of getting the Prestige Class, right? The harder it is to break, the more damage she takes, the better the Class.”

“Expensive to get them the right enchantments,” her overseer says, crossing his arms. “And you still haven’t mentioned the name of the Skill. We need to ascertain it doesn’t overlap with others.”

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

I point over the girl’s head while she ducks her head and pouts. There’s a sullenness to her actions, to the way she stands that makes my heart ache. I understand her standing, her importance to the family is guiding the actions here. Favors for favors. She has no choice in this, in the oaths and the bindings and, yes, the pain required to break those bindings.

But as much as I want to help her, I know I can’t. Because I can’t fix every problem I come across, and because she has the tools to fix it herself. All she has to do is walk away. From a life of comfort and security.

This isn’t my fight. And my help would probably be less than desired.

“Conditions. I can see them. Nothing special,” I say. “And no conflicts. You barely have a half dozen running on her right now, and only one other Master Class.”

“I broke the rest,” she snaps, crossing her arms. “And I can break yours. I’ve done worst. It’s just damage.” Her voice drips with derision.

I make note to perhaps find something particularly inventive as my binding. “Now, about our payment…”

The overseer smiles, turning to me as I brightly begin the negotiations.

***

“Trap?”

“Trap,” Ali confirms.

I almost sigh and give away the game as we follow the man into the courtyard. The building is reinforced, the sky a false projection—even if it does go up at least five stories. The entire courtyard in a building thing is very Irvina, what with the need for space and yet the illusion of control. When one has money, alterations to the internal portions of a building are simple enough. And our current guest has money. The courtyard is another example of them showing it off.

It also creates a good killing ground, but we don’t talk about such things.

“I’m surprised you contacted us. Our interactions with Ambassador Ward and Earth have been less than pleasant before,” the speaker says, furry hands crossed behind his back. The Zarrie—gnoll-like creatures—smiles widely. “In fact, there are a number of blood promises bound around some of your people’s heroes.”

“Representatives,” I say. “And not my people. The humans.”

“Of course, of course,” the Zarrie says, bobbing his head. “I’m grateful you were willing to meet us here. Few would be so trusting.”

“It’s hard to be, when betrayal seems to be a common coin in the realm,” I say. “But I’ve always felt it better to give trust when you can.”

“Oh, for certain. It’s a very honorable viewpoint,” the speaker says. He turns around now, having put us in the middle of the courtyard.

In my minimap, Ali floods the information screen with dots. Lots of dots, many of them Advanced Classers. I don’t see many Master Classers, though I’m not surprised. Not only are Master Classers rarer, they’re also expensive to hire and not something you expect to throw together in a few hours.

“I’ve always felt that. And when someone does betray you, you just have to make sure they don’t do it again.” I wonder if the warning will help, but I doubt it.

“There is no true betrayal though, when one is enemies already,” the speaker replies, smiling wide. “Don’t you think so, Redeemer?”

I keep smiling even as he uses my Title. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of.”

“That enchantment you’re using is very good. We can’t pierce it, not at all. But there is no one else we can think of who would dare contact us. Not so blatantly, not so soon. And with such an obvious companion.” He nods to where Ali hangs over my shoulder.

Ali’s shifted his form again, looking like a floating tree trunk, and is supposed to be invisible since he’s only partially dimensionally shifted in.

I raise an eyebrow, still trying to play it cool. But I sense the Mana fluctuations above me as the ambushers buff themselves and charge up their attacks. “Again, no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ali flies upward and to the side, tiny hands shifting as he gets ready to layer Skills and his ability to protect me. A quick flash of information over our communication channel indicates that he’s being tracked by a couple of our ambushers, putting to rest the question of the viability of his invisibility. They definitely can track him.

“Now, I came here with an offer. You wanted some Titles that weren’t available otherwise, all human-centric. I know how to get them for you.” I open my hands sideways, smiling. “But it’ll cost you.”

“Yes. A vote…” The Zarrie shakes his head. “We are not interested. What was taken, we will have back. And the blood debt will be repaid.”

His final words are the signal and his friends open fire. I throw myself forward—not at him, but sideways past him, then change directions again, putting myself behind the speaker’s back. The movement isn’t fast enough to dodge all the shots of course, but Soul Shield provides enough protection when combined with Ali’s twisting of their attacks.

Even as I move, I trigger Judgment of All. One good thing about working for the Erethrans is they’ve been blocking purchases of their Class Skills since forever. And while the Zarrie’s main government probably has details, this is but a branch of a branch. Their budget has nothing on what the Erethrans have paid to keep Skills like Judgment for All hidden.

And while they might be able to buy my Status Sheet, if they even bothered, it wouldn’t necessarily tell them what the Skill does. Not until I use it. Like now.

Light flares as Ali and I spin around in opposite circles. We use my Skill, both of us, pouring damage onto our attackers. With Penetration’s ability in play, they don’t stand a chance.

I watch damage pile on, the support Classers falling first. One of them has a retributive Aura Skill, reflecting a portion of their attacks onto me. Another attacker drops a cloying plasma attack that refuses to stop burning. A series of beacon darts dig into my body and draw fire from other attacks while overlapping fields of debuffs slow me down and drain Mana.

There’s more, a lot more.

The very air around me burns. The poor Speaker’s ability to avoid the attacks—similar to Harry’s—is subverted by the sheer volume of fire. He dies as collateral damage, rather than my Skill, which he manages to avoid triggering.

My dodging works at shedding some of the damage, but my attackers shift to area effect attacks that combine with the defenses implanted in the building. Then things get a lot more difficult to avoid. I leave my sword uncalled, instead smashing apart the emplaced weaponry with spells and well-placed body slams, my Soul Shield replenished continuously by Ali.

A short and hectic minute later, as Judgment of All finishes its job, the Spirit is buzzing through open windows, looting bodies and dumping them in my Altered Space. I do the same with the Speaker’s body, both of us more than cognizant that we have to be gone within minutes.

“Up here. Teleport circle. It’s locked to the users here but…”

“Got it.” I bounce upward, using my hoverboots to slide through the balcony and into the room. A hand on the console and I’m accessing the System-controlled lock-outs.

System Edit flashes, and I feel another tiny tick of experience slide into the Administrator Class as I adjust the settings. I slip in a small program that’ll delete my access, the logs, and itself after a set amount of time after I finish editing access levels, then we get on the platform.

The encompassing Dimension Lock disappears as I stand on the teleport circle and grin. Then we’re gone, leaving behind nothing but a burnt and shattered building.

Moments later, the gravity bomb I left in the center of the building implodes, taking the building and what evidence there might be with it.

***

I push against the bottom of the pool, shooting out of the water and breaking into fresh air. My breathing is slightly ragged, more than it should be considering how little I truly need oxygen these days, but following the selkie through the water has been quite the workout. I swim until we reach the small island in the middle of the giant water playground—large enough to be a lake—they consider a swimming pool and rest against the warm sand.

The selkie shivers and twists, bones popping and cracking as it transforms before it climbs onto the sandy beach. It turns around, the smooth, slightly dimpled nature of its lower body a weird sight even as the transformation completes, hiding its fur… somewhere.

“Satisfied?” I say.

The selkie tilts its head from side to side, the whiskers of its seal body one of the features not having disappeared. They twitch in the breeze as it spies on its own people, before it turns back to me. “Yes.”

“Good. So do we have a deal?” I say.

“No.”

I frown, but the selkie doesn’t elaborate, forcing me to ask why.

“Details,” it says.

“Well, yes. I guess.” I bite my lip, remembering what I’ve been warned about. “Details are required. But we can work that out in someplace drier, no?”

“Sample.”

“You want a sample? A demonstration?” I consider. “That can be arranged.”

“Good.” Then the selkie walks away, leaving me slack-jawed.

“What the hell?”

“They don’t like talking much to dry-landers,” Ali supplies. “By the way, make sure that sample is sufficiently sized.”

“Sufficient for what?”

“Both of you to consume.”

“Both of us!?!” I frown and sense Ali’s amusement. “Why?”

“Don’t you guys have a food culture too? It’s the same thing. You can’t trust people you don’t eat beside. It’s why Rob hasn’t managed to make a deal.”

“But Katherine’s here. As was her trade representative.”

“Politics. They only work with those with sufficient influence. And that’s Rob. Or, well, you.”

I frown, triggering my Flight spell as I head back to dry land now that I’m certain the Selkie won’t speak further.

“Don’t send that disapproval. You wouldn’t even count if you hadn’t gotten your Heroic Class. It’s why I had you alter that for him.”

I shake my head, shedding water as I fly and getting a few shouted imprecations from those below my flight path. I ignore them as I land at the entrance, already conjuring a Cleansing spell.

There’s more work to do and even more people to meet. Thus far, we’ve been tackling the easy jobs. It’s just going to get harder as we go down the list.

I expect I’ll trigger Extra Hands after today. I’d have done it today, but I wanted an idea of the kind of thing we were going to be dealing with, the kind of people and problems. I won’t send them—myself—into this blind.

But as I’m finding out, the more people we contact, the more we meet, the higher the chance there is that we’ll be located. The fight with the Zarrie was bad enough, but at least they’re assholes who have a long, long list of enemies. Eventually though, we’ll be found out.

Which is another reason to consider how to contact the damn Galactic Council before things go to hell in a handcart.

Chapter 12

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ali says.

He hovers over my outstretched hand, making me pause as I reach for the Shop orb. We’re not in Irvina anymore, having made the trip in the early hours of the morning to a sleepy holiday town to use their Shop orb. The population is high enough they’ve got multiple such orbs in play, each linked to the main settlement orb but rarely used. Especially at this time of the night.

“No. But we don’t seem to be getting anywhere, do we?” I say.

Ali gives me a half-hearted shrug, the pair of us alone in the sealed-off room that offers the orb and its users privacy.

We’ve been running around for the last week and a half, doing the best we can to get votes against or abstentations. At first, it was easy. Or it seemed that way at least.

But soon enough, the low-hanging fruit of votes are gone, leaving us to deal with people who want things that are harder to source, harder to convince we can fulfill when no one else can.

I’ve been beaten black and blue three times, and still the System has yet to register the Heroic “duel win.” The kid who does it to me packs one heck of a wallop, since they’ve geared his entire build to single-hit knockouts, and still, the System doesn’t consider it a win. We’ve tried multiple ways now—from direct fights to a registered dueling ring—and nothing. I keep holding back too much, such that the poor fellow can’t convince the System he’s winning properly.

We’ve run into other problems, like the Babalawo Class, which requires us to not only find living practitioners of Santeira on Earth, but also to convince them to transfer a number of their prayers, loa, and their blessings to an individual they’ve never met. Lana and Rob are finding that impossible. As far as the practitioners are concerned, what we’re asking them to do is the worst kind of cultural appropriation. I don’t blame them, but it doesn’t help our case.

The Virtual Killer title should be simple to acquire, but there’s a piece missing no matter how many games of Doom, COD, and tower defense battles the Title Hunter plays. I’ve promised to dig into it further, and Rob’s looking into the backgrounds of everyone on Earth with the Title, but no luck thus far. I might have to dig into it myself, with my Skill. But we’re beginning to wonder if it’s a pre-System-only Title.

There are a bunch of Titles like that, things that are only available for people who weren’t in the System when they started it.

There’s also the negotiation for an exclusive on coffee production from Brazil that the Fifteen Spire Guild is demanding. Specifically, a certain enhanced bean and the individuals producing it. We have to play go-between, even arranging for a strike team from Erethra to drop in to destroy a bunch of dungeons to even make the producers consider the offer. If we get the coffee for the Guild, they’ll use their influence to get us a couple of votes.

And there’s more. So much more. Assassination requests that we either have to undertake ourselves or contract out. Of course, there are no guarantees in those cases, just nicely worded assurances that don’t read as anything more than platitudes since both sides don’t want to say what they want outright, leaving themselves a certain level of deniability.

I’ll admit, in a few cases where the attacks are close enough to make it worthwhile and the individuals morally bankrupt enough that it doesn’t impact my twisted morality, I’ve agreed to it. And then promptly arranged for one of my Extra Hands to deal with it.

Amazing what a doppelganger with no care about his life is able to do. That’s the problem when you’re playing security—if the other person really doesn’t care about surviving, their options open up vastly.

Of course, I’m also very careful about how often I send my Extra Hands on assassinations. Too many sudden deaths would be another sign we’re around. So the targets are people who are obvious, who make sense. And I do my best to ensure, when I can, that the deaths aren’t traceable to me.

It doesn’t always work, but that’s fine.

Artifact retrievals and dungeon clearings, both of which would take more time than we can afford. We make promises, guarantees of retrievals and clearing backed by the System, but there’s reluctance. From Earth, to commit to travel—or Portal cost—and from those who might benefit. If Mikito and I could leave Irvina entirely, it’d be easy. But we neither have the ability to run off and return without alerting others nor the time to clear or do retrievals.

We’re stymied by the time frame, by the needs of our targets. And even if we do manage to make the current vote go our way, it doesn’t solve the other issue. It doesn’t deal with the Council.

At some point, I need to talk to them, to ascertain what they want. After numerous attempts at cudgeling my brain for a way, I’ve come up with this idea. It’s borne from my constant testing of the System, the gentle prod of my System Edit Skill.

“All right, but if the Mana floods…” Ali says warningly.

“You told me so.” I punctuate my sentence by placing my hand on the Shop orb.

As it prompts me to see if I want to teleport to my usual Shop, I delve right into the information flow with my System Edit Skill, bypassing the main interface to access the admin section.

The Shop itself is both one of the most complicated pieces of programming in the System and incredibly simple. At its base, the Shop is just a listing of information, each piece of information drawing from a database. But considering the sheer volume of information required, there are numerous subroutines and programs set up to reduce the load whenever an individual accesses the Shop.

Among some of the most prominent are the personalization routines that are hooked directly into an individual’s Status. In this way, certain options are automatically suppressed while others are brought forward. While it looks—and in some ways, acts—like a method of helping users optimize their development, it also benefits the System.

As the most basic example, there’s no need for humans to buy “oxygen breathing” Skills, genetic alterations, or enchantments. It’s pretty much guaranteed humanity can breathe oxygen. Same with regrowth options for limbs—unless you’ve recently lost one. At which point, the System would likely move those options up on the display.

There are numerous little formulas and subroutines running, each of them balancing out one another and the use of the System just so that the Shop itself can be more efficiently managed. Add the fact that some truly complex programs are linked to the Shop—teleportation, Credit-Mana cost-benefit analysis, and the time distortion windows, among others—and you get a System that should be monitored pretty closely.

And when there’s a System that’s monitored closely, there’s development notes and bug reports.

As I swim through the data fields of Mana—because that’s what the System codes in, Mana—I grasp at tiny bits of information, staring at runic configurations that alter in meaning as I stare at them before discarding the programs for more. I feel myself burning up as I struggle to cope with the flood of information, the processing of raw Mana until I locate what I need.

Then I go deeper.

Because I don’t want the specific directory for this Shop location, but the generic administrative notes and bug reports for the entire Shop subroutine. Once I get there, I take the time to verify that administrative notes are logged by individual but not location and grin.

Gotcha.

As I get ready to do what I need to next, I feel my body jar, bones creaking and my neck whiplashing around. My hand, clutching the Shop orb, breaks free and I stagger to the side. Purely by instinct, my sword appears in my hand and swings. It bites into skin and flesh, and a portion of my attacker flops away.

“Aaaaargh! You goddamn Gremlin-feces-loving son-of-the-abyss!” Ali shouts, dodging backward even as he reforms his leg.

“What the hell!”

“Teaches me to save your ass!” Ali snarls, his wound sealed, the stub of his leg reforming. As a creature of thought and energy more than actual mass, damage to Ali is more conceptual than biological.

“What do you… mean.”

I take into account my body and health. I feel wretched—much more than getting body-slammed by the rapidly shrinking Spirit would entail. As the pain finally makes itself known, I find myself sagging to my knees as every single nerve, muscle, and cell within my body screams.

Mana Sense is tingling, overloaded by the sheer amount of System Mana my body contains now. I’m overclocked on Mana itself and my body is doing its best to purge itself of the excess amount. For a moment, I try to trigger a spell, a simple Light spell to help bleed off the excess Mana.

I only do it for a second before curling up on the floor, choking off screams as betrayed nerves inform me that attempting to cast or utilize Skills at this moment is the worst idea I could have.

Long minutes, maybe hours, pass as my body washes the System Mana from my body. When I finally stagger back to my feet, I find Ali hovering beside me, biting his lip in anxiousness.

“Well, that was new,” Ali says sardonically, the trace of concern disappearing under his usual nonchalant expression.

I can only offer him a half-smile before I push my way to the exit. As much as I want to finish what I started, we need to leave before someone finds us hogging the Shop sphere.

It’s only pure luck and some planning that has allowed us to get this far.

***

Waves lap at my feet as I sit beside the water, small carnivorous fish and cephalopods attempting to rip through my reinforced skin. They fail, their Levels too low to breach my innate defenses. I ignore them, for they’re too low-Leveled to bother killing either.

Not when I have bigger—metaphorical—fish to fry. In my mind’s eye, deep within, I exist in a painless void that lets me tap into the only Skill I have available right now—System Edit. And using that Skill, I review my body, the data stream of my Status Screen and log files to find out what happened.

Beside me, spinning in slow circles, Ali watches the world pass by. He’s in a diamond-shaped Spirit form, invisible to most eyes and keeping track of potential dangers while I work.

Long minutes pass before I finally surface, more knowledgeable than ever of my own Skills and the System. If no wiser.

“So?”

I look around and wonder if it’s smart to discuss it here. But there’s no one watching, and once again, our best defense is anonymity. Pushing aside the never-ending paranoia that living in the System engenders, I answer my friend. “In summary—I was overloaded with Mana.”

“No shit, Gremlin-breath. What I want to know is why now?”

“That’s more interesting. I’ve always been flooded with System Mana when I access the information. The first time I got burnt was when I got the Class, but we just thought it was a case of the Class change. It’s not. It’s a… feature, not a bug of the Class.”

“Why?”

“The System itself is coded in Mana. System Mana, to be specific. So when I access it, I’m actually drawing in System Mana. The more I do, the more I drain. However, as a Heroic Class, I also churn through the Mana much faster, so it’s never been a major thing. But the Shop has a lot more that I can deal with, and…”

“You got burnt.”

“Exactly.” I fall silent for a bit, rubbing my chin. “I wonder if people do stumble onto this Class earlier. But the moment they try to access the System in any way, they burn out. I mean, I’m tougher than your usual Heroic Class in many ways. Certainly more than any Artisan Heroic. The sheer amount of Mana being sent when accessing even a small program would likely kill a Basic Classer.”

“So you think that’s why you don’t hear of the Class, because they die too fast?” Ali sends back.

“That, and the Council probably covers it up. But if a Heroic Class can barely handle poking at the basic information structures—”

“The Shop isn’t that basic.”

I ignore the mental interruption. “—of the System, even accessing low level information would probably kill a Basic Class. Heck, it’d probably damage an Advanced pretty fast, and a Master Class might only be able to handle it in very controlled doses.”

“But why would the Council set it up in such a way? It seems like a bad idea for your Junior Administrators to form from such a small pool.”

I chew on my lip a little while I think over Ali’s question before I offer the only answer that makes sense to me. “Maybe they didn’t choose to do so.” I turn over the idea in my mind further. “What if the current Council is just, I don’t know, interlopers? Or the third or fourth iteration of the programmers? And they’re stuck with whatever the idiots who first created it did. The gods know, I’ve had to clean up messy programming before.”

“You know, not everyone is as sloppy at finishing their work as you, boy-o.”

“Maybe they didn’t have a choice. The Shop, Classes, Spells, and Skills. They’re both super simple and super complicated at the same time. Anything and everything’s written in Mana. So anytime you want to edit, code anything, it’s a huge burden. It’s all part of the System after all.”

“Right, but why even bother with Classes, Skills, Levels? We know the System’s churning unaspected Mana into itself, through living things, but why make it so complicated? Why not just… I don’t know, force you meatbags into becoming giant slug things that grow, die, and consume Mana?”

“Take away free will and options?” I rub my chin. That would make sense in a sense. Though… “We consume more Mana the more we Level. And our choices to build Levels are predicated—generally—upon who we are. But there’s no reason it might not make more sense to make us just Leveling machines, or the equivalent.”

The library brings to mind images of planets warped by the System into giant, living blobs of flesh or greenery, growing without end and merging to become a living mass that just consumes Mana, and I shudder. Even the Forbidden Planets aren’t as insane as that, though monsters might run rampant and behemoths walk the land.

Yet Classes, Skills, and Leveling seem like an inefficient manner of using Mana. Unless…

“Does Mana need to be used? Not just to grow but used for… things. The System, us.” I wave at the lake, the greenery, and the marine life that continues to try to eat me. “Maybe it needs sapient life to give Mana form, otherwise it…”

I shrug. I’m not sure what it does. Grow unceasingly? Destroy life?

Knowledge, once more from the library. This time, ancillary reports from Technocrats who stay on the edge of System space, testing and learning the limits of this world.

Old recordings of worlds caught up in the Mana expansion. Worlds without the guidance of the System, or with only the barest. Mutations, change. Warped cultures, dimensional rifts. Creatures with powers that defy reasoning, ruling over worlds until they abruptly lose their powers or die to its overuse.

Skills and Classes, without form, run rampant. Monsters the size of a fingernail that destroy entire continents and titans that grow so big they are unable to move anymore.

Mana, without the constraints of the System, gives life. Gives magic, but without constraints or logic. Like a kindergarten classroom given a pile of paint and let loose. Free to make or do anything they want. With all the resulting sense and chaos.

“John?” Ali asks softly, bringing me back.

“I get it,” I say softly, wondering if I should speak the words. “I get why the System needs form. Because Mana needs structure. Without it, it’s chaos. Untamed possibility.The System rebuilds Mana into a structure, forces it to form and flow in constraints. It’s why Spells are so much more flexible, because they tap into Mana direct. But they’re also more prone to destruction, to blowing up. And are weaker…”

“Because we have to control all aspects of it at the same time, including the actual Mana flow.” Ali nods.

That’s not new spell theory. It’s spellcasting 101 really—at least for spell researchers like Aiden. People like me, who buy their spells from the Store, kind of skip the theory and just use the spells like plug-and-play rituals, no different than Skills.

But just because I use magic that way doesn’t mean I don’t understand that it can be used much more flexibly. I just never had the time or desire to learn. And, as mentioned, for the equivalent Mana cost, your spells are weaker and slower.

I’m not even surprised when the System Quest updates. This time it’s a full 1%. That puts me at 90% now. Just under the trigger point for when they went after Feh’ral.

And a part of me—a reckless, insane part that cares not for the current troubles we are in, that demands I find out—wonders what it would take to trigger that last 0.1%

***

The very next day, after running around and trying to sort out Titles and Classes and committing grand larceny in one case, we found another small Shop to complete the plan. This time around, I knew exactly where I needed to go.

While waiting and transiting between our meetings, I spent the hours in-between creating the System Mana equivalent of pre-packaged viruses and code. It was a strange thing to build such code in twists of System Mana that’s connected to me and my personal Status Sheet. Each program I formed and stored was loaded into a separate location on my sheet, hidden from normal viewing and access and yet, there in my new Skill Edit sense.

Just as interestingly, the act of creation and storage of such programs gave me experience in my Class. Not a lot, not nearly as much as actually processing and interacting with the System outside of myself did—not like the flood of experience I gained from touching the Shop for example—but it did give experience.

And in so doing, made me wonder if I was wrong. If that was the way you’d Level the Class. By creating programs and viruses in one own’s Status Sheet, not exploring anything beyond that.

Except of course, the flood of System Mana was still significant. Perhaps not enough to bother me as a Heroic, but for a Basic? Certainly too much. But perhaps a Master Class.

I’m not certain, like so many other things, so I can only prepare myself. Prepare such that when I access the Shop, I breach the defenses, clear the logs, and slide in to deposit my note, it happens in one continuous surge of energy and concentration.

And then, I exit, long before the Mana accumulation is sufficient to injure me. It helps that this particular program-cum-note is simple. Left in the administrative section of the Shop’s interface, where a cursory check would find it.

A simple program with an eye-catching title—”Hey Assholes!”—where a single program repeatedly forms a single sentence and appends it into the end of the note. A single sentence repeated over and over. Taking up more and more resources, the way a virus would. A single, direct sentence.

Let’s talk.

Chapter 13

They find me as we travel through the air. Rather than deal with the delays and waits while using public transportation, I’ve rented an aircar. Being able to head straight for the location I want is so much more convenient, even if you have to provide your route beforehand.

In this case, we’re headed out of the city again. It’s late at night, which doesn’t mean as much as you’d think with people with high Constitutions, an overcrowded metropolis, and nocturnal inhabitants. But it is quieter, and since I’m looking for another Shop access to check on my messages, I’m moving through less savory parts.

What that translates to in terms of the environment are shorter buildings—only twenty stories tall or so—with a lot less air traffic. And what air traffic there is, it’s in vehicles like mine. Solo flying permits are just too expensive for those here.

My first clue is Ali, who is watching a reality TV show about hot men and women vying for attention on a deserted island. I’m not sure which one it is, and really, I don’t care. I do care when he stops spinning in place and stills, head tilting.

“We have multiple Class Skill lock-ons.” Even as Ali speaks, he’s drawing upon my Skills and tossing a Soul Shield on me.

I trigger a secondary shield option on one of the rings I wear, a cheap ablative Shield meant for an Advanced Classer.

Not a moment too soon, as the aircar shatters around me. A glowing comet slams into the body of the car, the glow from the dropping orbital cutting through the thick, durasteel armoring of the aircar moments before the impact arrives. Durasteel melts and tears apart, whereupon the heat and illumination of the comet fills the inside of the car. Overheated air expands, tearing the car apart as kinetic energy imparts through the still falling attack.

I am smashed aside by the approaching shockwave, then burnt from the contact heat. Leather seats smolder and crisp, my shields fall, and even a hasty addition to my Soul Shield barely lasts as I’m thrown aside.

On instinct, I conjure my sword and throw out a Blade Strike, realizing only too late what I’ve done. My attack tears at the comet as it begins its return journey, turning about in space at an unnatural angle. For a moment, the glow around the comet parts and I get to see within. As flames disperse, I see the wide-eyed visage of a golden-haired, masked female with ram horns before the flames close again and the cut I’ve made is sealed by heat and flame.

As I tumble through the air, the second attack arrives soon after the first. This time around, it’s a giant green hand that swats me out of the sky, the green energy clinging to me as I spin through the air in another trajectory. In a corner of my eyes, a notification flashes as I attempt to locate my attackers.

Lantern of Decay Resisted

“Got him. Keep being a good punching bag, will you? I’ll find the others soon,” Ali sends to me, highlighting my second attacker.

I tumble through the air, dealing with the now multifarious green hands that bat me away from the edges of buildings and keep me in the center of the open space I’ve been forced into. I get to casting, ignoring the burning, cloying green energy of decay that wraps around my shields, around me.

First comes Fates Thread, anchoring the comet to me. Then I toss Toothy Knives, a couple embedded with Cleave. The melee attack slams into the poor bastard, distracting her from me reeling her in. Which means she’s striking the green flames too, burning up with the energy of decay.

Instinct has me block the next attack, the crossbow bolt deflecting off my sword. It doesn’t help though, as the bolt implodes. Instead of falling, I’m drawn into the miniature gravity well. My hand, holding the sword, reaches it first and I feel bones twist and warp as skin and tendons are crushed and shrunk. My sword actually lasts longer than my flesh and bone, but not much.

Another crossbow bolt, targeted at my foot, is dodged but implodes as well. I’m suddenly drawn in two different directions as gravitic wells tear me apart. My chest and groin strain, and I fight back with the full Strength of the System.

“And got him too!” Ali crows.

Another light blinks on my minimap as my body goes through intense pain. Health regenerates at the same time as tendons and muscles tear.

The green hands, no longer needing to keep me busy, wrap my body in their flaming fingers while Cometgirl hovers close by, peppering me with flame-imbued Mana attacks that tear off her flame body to crash against me.

Blood pours as constrained flesh and bone rip open and holes appear in my body as the concentrated flames punch through strained flesh. My shields are gone and I’m wide open to attack, which means my health is dropping. Pain tugs at my consciousness as the decay energy finally latches on, breaching my resistances. Surprisingly, it doesn’t damage me directly, but instead retards my regeneration.

Normally, I’d Blink Step away, but with multiple Dimension Locks in place, options like Blink Step are much less viable. I’ve not had time to switch to my Hod either, so I’m hampered in terms of other options. Never mind how distinctive the Master Class work is.

“That way!” Ali gestures to the side, and I see them. They’ve split into three compass points, each at nearly a 90-degree angle to the other. Which means…

“One more?”

“Probably waiting.”

Unable to get away and hoping against hope that my presence is still hidden, I stop playing punching bag and get to work. A mental yank pulls on Fates Thread. It drags the comet closer, and she blazes higher in an attempt to burn me away.

I’m not done though. The paired gravitic imploders hold me still, forcing me to be passive in this fight. I turn within, to the Strength within my body and Status Sheet, and flex. This time, with my System Edit Skill, I can see how that changes, how the shift works and the aid that the System provides.

Rather than let it just happen via will and a slight sense of the past, I guide the shift in my Strength attribute via the System Edit Skill. Instead of a forty or fifty percent shift, I crank it all the way up to eighty.

I scream as my hand, closest to the actual gravity well, comes apart. I leave bone and skin behind as I physically yank my arm away. Then, using the freed stump, I punch Cometgirl in her face even as I fall, my body pulled toward the other gravity well. Skin sears closed, blood boils away even as blood vessels curl up from the flame. Bones crunch, her nose shatters, and she flies backward.

Then, shifting Fates Thread, I yank on her again, spinning the thread around my arm so that she twists like an oversized yo-yo. Into my gravity well near my feet.

She screams, twisting and trying to fly away. But there’s nowhere to fly, and the actual well is so powerful that I had to leave my own hand behind to escape it. I’m still trapped, my foot caught, my body curling in toward the second gravity well, held aloft only by the flames and the other well’s effects, but I figure…

“Thanks!” I shout when they do what I expect.

It takes a certain kind of person to leave your friends to die in your own attacks. And everything I’ve seen—the way the attacks coordinate, the way even now the decayed hands try to block my sight, try to stop my movement, the way more bolts fly toward me, intent on tearing me apart—shows that they’re a good team. A long-standing one.

“Not this time!” Ali flies in the direction of the bolts. He twists his hands sideways, and I feel him pulling and twisting at the air via electromagnetic force. The air flow turns erratic and the bolts are thrown off course, some veering to strike nearby buildings.

Unwary and slow flying vehicles get caught in Ali’s manipulation of reality, some of them crashing into the buildings and falling. Security systems kick in, many buildings closing down, others forming sanctuary shields to protect themselves. Bolts are buffeted, some missing only by inches as they’re diverted by the flowing air. But a little is all that’s needed when you’re shooting from kilometers away. And this time, he isn’t using gravity bolts.

It’s a smart play, leaving only a single player close on hand to keep me trapped. And if Cometgirl had been able to keep her distance, been able to keep flying back and forth to attack me, it would have worked.

Now that I’m freed, I can see her properly. I stare at her Status Screen, drinking in the details, grabbing at what’s important. Grateful that Ali has dropped the Titles.

Cometgirl (Level 13 Enervating Orbital) (M)

HP: 1421/3413*

MP: 843/1818*

Conditions: Lantern of Decay*, Mana Fount, Orbital Flames, Atmospheric Conditions, Anchored Trust, Birth of the Stars

As the gravity wells disappear, as we fall together, I can’t help but smirk. I’ve fought speedsters before, and Fates Thread is perfect for dealing with speedy asses like her. It keeps her close and that’s more than enough, for I’ve realized that they don’t have a friend-and-foe option for their own attacks. That’s the thing about fighting in teams, of being friends like these guys.

It can make you weak, if your enemy knows how to exploit it.

Sia La (Level 4 Lantern of Third Square) (M)

HP: 1230/1230

MP: 2753/4210

Conditions: Sworn to NML, Lord of Decay, Times to Twist, Flame Heart, Mana Manipulation, Reforms

Crossbowperson (Level 11 Weight of One) (M)

HP: 1743/2380

MP: 1347/2530

Conditions: Elemental Affinity: Gravity, Delayed Choice, Focused Point, One Point to Return, Till the Last.

We drop, the gravity well gone, and normal gravity reasserts itself. I pull Cometgirl close with Fates Thread, plunging my undamaged hand into her chest. I squeeze, crushing skin and organ—including a rather weird pulpy thing that twists and throbs like a heart. It might even be her heart, but alien. It might be her stomach for all I know.

“Master Class team?” I’m surprised, I admit. I’ve fought Master Classers before, been ambushed by them, once a long time ago. And knowing that, I don’t understand why they sent such low-powered Master Classes if they truly know who I am.

“Unless the Heroic’s hidden.” Ali sounds busy, his hands weaving together as he dodges the grasping flames, his presence now spotted. He’s channeling a light-based spell, using focused energy attacks to hammer at the spot where the Lantern is hanging out.

Holding onto Cometgirl, her flames eating at my skin even as I twist Soul Shield to protect me, I pull her around to take more of the attacks from the grasping green flames. She twitches and screams as she burns, the decay decreasing her regeneration, her total health and Mana. I feel it too, tearing at me, but my own Skills, my own Classes protect me at a greater level than Cometgirl’s. I wait, picking my time.

“You picked these other guys out easily enough,” I send back, snarling. I’m still holding back, worried about the last member of their team. “Can’t you find him?”

“If it’s a Heroic, no. I’ve got the Levels to deal with Master Classers now but not Heroics.” Ali is technically a Master Class, as far as the System is concerned. “If there’s a fourth, they’re hiding too well.”

My health hits half, Mana still high. I throw a Healing Spell, casting it so that it stays channeled even as I wrap the stump of my hand in the Frozen Blade spell and punch Cometgirl.

I’m pushing the team, pushing to see how far they’re willing to let me beat on their friends. Our fall has halted, Cometgirl’s powers keeping us aloft. For the most part. Each time I punch her, each time I coat her with my spell and slow her down further, we fall.

Meters from the ground, our speed arrested, I sense the threat before Ali speaks. The pair of long-range attackers have focused their attacks, forcing him to pay extra attention to help alleviate some of the incoming damage. Some, since Bolt Boy has shifted tactics and is using more energized light bolts that are less affected by Ali’s trick with air.

“Let my bondmate go!” She slams into me with a spike shoulder, tearing my arm out of Cometgirl’s chest. Along the way, I take the organ too.

I skip across the ground and off the nearby building shields, bouncing around with so much energy that I feel as if I’m playing Pong with my body. I dig in my feet, tearing up the ground, shifting my Strength to stabilize the ground and bleed off energy. As she clutches her coughing, heavily injured bondmate, I snarl at the tiny, two-foot-tall furry rabbitlike creature.

Cunwoz (Obliterating Vector Level 34) (M)

HP: 4478/4480

MP: 3210/3210

Condition: Hasted, Blurred Lines, Two Step, Between the Raindrops, Physics—what physics?

“Enough!” I snarl as I recall Ali closer. I throw up another Soul Shield, feeling my body fight the energy of decay pushing at me. “If you keep pushing, I’m going to stop playing nice.”

Cunwoz’s eyes narrow, then she tilts her head up. Long ears, which I realize have multiple eyes on them, twist about, staring around. Taking in the damage we’ve done—the flames that eat into residential shields, the blood that has rained upon the ground, the twisted wreckage of flying vehicles that smoke. The air is filled with the stink of death and decay, the flames somehow throwing off that smell even further, causing those too poor or too unlucky to choke on the poison.

And then Cunwoz stares at Ali and me. She takes in my health, the flames that still lick at my body and my missing hand where red blood drips to the ground. I watch it do the math, debating if it can win. A part of me worries that I might not. But only a small part.

I give it a grin, and the little rabbit tilts its head. “Enough.”

Silence greets the rabbit as it picks up its friend. Tiny hands expand, gripping the woman, and it takes a careful step back. I watch as blood—slower now—pumps out of Cometgirl’s body, spilling to the ground. But the green flames around her wounded body have died, peeling off to surround me. The rabbit takes another step back, still watching.

And I speak. “Wait.” Tension ratchets up, the flames stilling before bursting into further, angry motion. I can almost sense the targeting carats of the archer, but I keep talking. “We’re going to talk first. Before you leave. All of us.”

“And if we refuse?”

“Then she dies.” I nod toward the one in her arms. The tiny rabbit vibrates, but I keep talking. “Then you do. And I’ve got a lock on the other two. Maybe they can run, but they certainly can’t hide.”

“You think you can finish us.”

“I think you think I can.” I nod at the twitching Cometgirl. “And I’m certain you know she won’t live.”

Silence.

Cunwoz’s ears twitch, shifting. The body in its arms glows as healing spells layer over the heavily injured body, trying to fix the damage done by the flames. A pair of flaming hands detach from the swarm, landing on Cometgirl, changing color to yellow and flowing up and down the body.

“They’re chatting. Lousy op-sec. I could break in if you want.”

I’m curious, but I decline Ali’s offer. I split part of my attention, shifting my own Constitution around, adjusting the way I handle damage. The damage from the decay attack stops accumulating and starts dispersing as the System aids me. Of course, I help it along with a tiny Edit, but mostly, I watch.

Eventually, Cunwoz looks up, long lashes on overly large eyes meeting mine. “We talk. But not here.”

I can’t help but grin, waving her to lead the way. She moves and I follow, running to catch up. Luckily, the rabbit’s burdened by her friend, so she’s a little slower than normal.

Now, time to find out who the hell set them on me.

***

I watch with interest as we run for our lives. The team is smart, and once Cometgirl recovers, she drops behind us a series of tech and magical tools to make things difficult for our trackers. They range from the mundane, like gaseous cannisters of mixed smells, to high-tech nanite cleaners and magical Mana burst devices to destroy our Mana signatures. On top of that, a trio of localized chaos mines are added to the mix, leaking the raw energies of the chaos dimension into normal reality. It’s the most thorough cleansing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve participated in more than my fair share.

“What about the security cameras?” I say as we run.

We’ve ducked underground by this point, running through the maintenance tunnels that link the vast majority of the city, allowing easy access for droids and automated robots to ensure the city ticks over as normal.

“Diverted and turned off,” Cunwoz says, bouncing beside me. She’s eyeing me warily, but considering I’ve never let her or Cometgirl out of my sight, she’s playing it nice for now. The way she looks at me makes me think she’s getting the idea that my threat to end them all was no idle pronouncement.

And it wasn’t. The Skills I’ve gained as a Heroic have given me the ability to end them. Heck, if I got them right, Judgment of All would end things by itself, especially if I went all out with my other Skills.

That’s the difference between a Heroic and a low-level Master Class. Those final Skills as a Master Class adds another level of insanity. But violence isn’t going to win the war, even if I might win the battle here.

“Good. How long now?” I ask.

Ali, floating beside me and invisible once more, has been tracking the other two Master Classers, straining to stay focused on them and no one else.

In the meantime, I keep an eye out for trouble with my Greater Detection, low level as it is. Then again, I’m not expecting the local security forces to arrive under cover but large and loud, cocksure in their certainty of righteousness.

“Soon.”

She’s true enough to her word. We pass through a series of glowing, enchanted walls that strip us of any contaminants and also help block any scrying. When we get to the secure room, it’s hidden behind a non-descript maintenance office. Within, the break room has a small table suitable for eating or doing notes, a wall full of decontamination suits, and a map of the surrounding tunnels.

The place has a mild antiseptic smell that combines with the taint of rusted metal and stuffy clothing and makes me wrinkle my nose. More interestingly, a light hum in the air makes the hair on my skin stand up. My overworked Mana Sense tells me it’s a badly tuned active enchantment, one that covers up the other, subtler enchantments beneath its ostensible air purification. A mental pull at my Status Conditions shows a wide series of anti-scrying, anti-viewing spells in play.

Along with the furniture, I catch sight of my other attackers. Sia La and the Crossbowperson aren’t exactly what I expected. Sia La is a four-foot-tall, six-legged salamander-like creature that uses its flames to move around. And the Crossbowperson is a weird snail-monster hybrid whose back actually houses the crossbow. I realize that part of the musty, stuffed clothing smell is originating from the Crossbowperson itself.

“Well, we’re here,” I say, taking control of the meeting.

“Cunwoz, he’s yours.” I tilt my head as Cometgirl walks right over to the fridge as she speaks, yanks it open, and scoops out armfuls of food. Even as she walks, the individual containers turn on and heat up their foodstuff.

Cunwoz glares at me, then hops up on the table so that she’s closer to my eye-level. “What do you want? Assurance we’ve given up the job?”

“The name of your employer.”

“No,” Cunwoz, Crossbow, and Sia La say at the same time.

“You know, I can find out pretty easily,” I say.

“Our cutouts, certainly.” Cunwoz’s ears twitch. “But not our real employer.”

“True. But you do know who that is,” I say softly.

“I didn’t say that!” Cunwoz says while Crossbow curses in realization.

I smirk. “You guys aren’t used to intrigue, are you?”

“We aren’t used to talking to our targets!” Cometgirl snaps at me as she continues to stuff her face. She’s got half of the containers open, dipping the Galactic equivalent of a spork into the dishes and spooning-cum-spearing the food out. “They’re normally dead.”

“Well, obviously that didn’t happen.”

“Because our information on you was wrong,” Sia La says, his flames burning brighter with agitation. “You’re no Master Class. No matter what your Status says.”

I grin, opening my hands. “Sure, but I want to know who it was who set the kill order on me. I mean, you can understand my curiosity, right?”

“Understand, but it’s not our problem,” Cunwoz says. “If that’s it…”

“Don’t push it, boy-o. Merc honor and all that,” Ali sends.

I hesitate, wanting to push the matter. Learning who sent them after me is important. I need to know if my cover is blown. Then again, the fact that they were going after a Master Class is clue enough, perhaps.

I wonder if our fight was too much. Maybe… but I did hold off on using any Heroic Class Skills.

I shake my head, dismissing those thoughts as the group grows impatient and Cometgirl finishes another container. “One other thing. You’ve seen some of what I can do. So I’m going to want to make sure you don’t discuss that.”

My words raise the tension in the room, with Sia La’s flames concentrating and brightening while the Crossbowperson shifts so that the bolt it carries in its frame is pointed directly at me. Even Cometgirl stops eating for a second before going back to shoveling food.

“What is it with her?”

“Regeneration Skill. She’s rebuilding overhealth reserves. It’s the reason she didn’t die when you tore out her heart and she kept losing health and blood.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Cunwoz says.

“A Skill. It’ll force you to not disclose anything about our fight or allow you to attack me or my allies again.”

“Your allies?”

“You know who I’m speaking about.”

“Earth,” Cometgirl interrupts, food falling out of her mouth. Still now, the flames from her Class Skill are gone. “If we disagree?”

I meet her gaze flatly. She returns my stare for a bit before she turns away and goes back to eating. I turn to each of the others slowly, facing them down. Sia La growls, his flames flashing and intensifying but eventually, dimming. The Crossbowperson I fail at staring down, what with it lacking eyes that are easy to spot, but I get a squishy, squirmy bob. And last but not least is Cunwoz.

“Get it over with.”

So I do. Of course, after my first cast of the Shackles of Eternity on Cunwoz, she can’t help but speak up.

“You’re really him, aren’t you? The one they warned us about.”

“They had a warning?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“A half dozen individuals, moving around to help Earth. One of them could be the Redeemer of the Dead, the Grand Paladin himself. A Heroic Class opponent.”

Cunwoz hesitates, and in the gap, Sia La interjects with his high-pitched voice. “You’re on a non-contact, inform-once-sighted list. Someone wants you found. And they’re paying a lot.”

“That’s nice,” I say, watching my Mana climb. I left enough to trigger Judgment of All if necessary. In this crowded area, I have the advantage over this ranged attack team. I’d prefer not to kill them, but you never know. “You wouldn’t be trying to contact them, would you?”

Cunwoz makes a little trilling sound that is so high-pitched, my ears hurt. “No. But you’ve got some major enemies. There’s not just a flat bounty on you Earthers. There’s a Galactic bounty on you specifically. Hush-hush, but it’s there.”

“Why not public?” I send to Ali, curious about that discrepancy.

“No idea. Maybe they don’t trust your average citizen not to try for somethingmore?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know who’s after me, would you?” At their silence, I sigh.

“But we got the contact information for the bounty. We could give it to you,” Sia La speaks up, buzzing closer to me. “For a price.”

“How about I not kill you? That work as a price?”

“You won’t be able to kill me before I get word out. And I’m pretty sure you don’t want that to happen. Because all you’ve been doing is to stay hidden, isn’t it?” Sia La says.

I consider taking him up on the offer. Ending him. He doesn’t know all that I can do, including Grand Cross. But… “What do you want?”

“Credits. You cost us a job. Figure you should pay for it.”

My lips twist into a snarl. “Fine. Escrow account. We’ll get you paid.”

“Get?”

“Don’t push it.” I let a little of the rage that I keep contained, that is part of me, leak. I don’t bother with an Aura. I just do it with body language and my eyes. The simple, clear knowledge that if he pushes me, I’ll end him, his friends, and then watch the rest of the city burn down.

“Fine… escrow,” Sai La says.

I offer him a tight smile. “Good. So, to summarize. You won’t tell me who hired you, you want me to pay you for the contact information on the bounty on my head and the failed hit, and we just need to finish chaining you all. That about right?”

The susurration of resigned acceptance makes me half-smile. It’s not the best option there is, but what is, is.

Chapter 14

Meeting up with the team and informing them of my recent altercation happened hours later. I verified I was safe before I made my way over, but it was clear, anonymity was no longer a guarantee. Relating the fight took only a few minutes, but the conversation itself required more time.

“I don’t get it,” Mikito says, shaking her head. “You could have finished them off. Why meet? And bind them all?”

“Information,” I say.

“But they didn’t tell you anything.”

“Actually, they did,” Harry corrects Mikito, rubbing his chin. “And I have to say, John, you’ve gotten quite sly.”

I sketch a bow. “Thank you.”

“What am I missing?” Mikito says.

“Subtlety, obviously,” Ali teases. When Mikito hefts Hitoshi in warning, Ali ducks away with a laugh. “We know whoever hired them suspects John is here but isn’t certain. If they knew, they’d never have used a bunch of Master Classers as a first strike. So it’s not the Council.”

“Exactly,” I say. “They probably think we’re hired guns, people that maybe I contacted.”

“And not ourselves.” Mikito shakes her head, short hair twisting in the motion. She runs a hand through her hair, eyeing the red in it, the thicker, almost dread-like nature the spells and enchantments made of it. “But why would the Council not be watching for us? Why are they not the ones acting?”

“Ah, that’d be Feh’ral and the Corrupted Librarians’ fault.” I open my hand sideways. “One of the reasons I met with him was to get his help, and theirs. They’re used to hiding—and making a mess when they need to. Having them slide lies about our location into the System is actually easy enough, with the right Skills.”

“And that’s enough to deal with the Lady?” Harry says. “Or are you counting on her lack of attention?”

“A little of both,” I say. “Feh’ral might also be making himself a little bit of a target.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t cost him much,” I say. “And because I might have a chance of learning something he could use for the Quest.”

Both of my friends roll their eyes. The fact that it’s the truth, that the possibility of solving the Quest is what drives us Questors, well, that’s just what we are. Fanatics perhaps, but reliable fanatics.

It’s also how we got the rest of the Corrupted Questors on our side, risking their lives. A promise of knowledge, of an answer is enough to drive them to action. At least, in a limited fashion.

We’re still waiting for the final verdict, for the testing to be done on the knowledge I’ve passed on to them. Until that happens, they’re willing to extend some help, but not all that they can offer.

“Fine. So they have guesses on why we’ve not come to Earth’s help directly. Which is why you delayed us going in, because running straight in would leave us trapped.” Mikito ticks off on her fingers as she speaks. “You’ve got the Questors creating distractions as us. You’ve got Feh’ral being a distraction. And you snuck us in with the Lord’s help.

“But that still leaves us being attacked by people who don’t want Earth to keep its seat. And they’re still looking for us—or what they think are us. The more fights we get into, the more likelihood our cover will be blown.”

I nod. “Aye. Good news is that we’ve only got to survive a few more days.”

There are quite a few relieved nods at that, and I grin slightly.

I pause, my head snapping to the side. Something happens in the far distance, in the fifth ring, outside of the scope of my immediate awareness. I feel a connection snap, a portion of me disappear, and I blink. “Oh.”

Mikito tenses, seeing my face, then her eyes glaze over a little as she scans for trouble around us. But there’s no immediate danger, as Ali informs them.

“We just lost one of John’s doppelgangers.”

I’m silent as data streams in. I pull at the memories, System-formed and provided to me in a block. It’s kind of like the library, the way the data is parsed. Strange, since it’s not really my memories.

“What happened?” Harry says, his voice filled with concern.

“Not sure yet. I’m still trying to understand what happened. I just know he’s dead now.” I cock my head, giving Ali a look.

The Spirit rolls his eyes, but his fingers twitch as he looks into public broadcasts.

“And your other one?” Harry says.

“Doing his job,” I say. When Harry raises an eyebrow, I shrug. “He’s disposable, and we need to keep moving. He’s on-planet right now anyway.”

“That’s… not very nice,” Mikito points out.

“Mana construct.”

“You know, that sounds a lot like slavery,” Harry says. “And sacrificing what we don’t like.”

“Except he’s not real. No soul. Just a program. A very, very complex program, but a program.” I shake my head. “Trust me, I know.”

“How?” Mikito asks.

“My Skill,” I say.

It had been rather fascinating, using the Skill while triggering Extra Hands. I’d been able to view the process the System used to create my Mana doppelganger, watched how his body was formed. Even his physical body was, for all intents and purposes, non-existent, a replica constructed of Mana itself. That Mana could duplicate the entire process of life so easily was fascinating, especially since it almost seemed as if it hungered to do so. The body was biologically sound, as far as I knew—though how far that went, I wasn’t certain.

The memories I get, they’re edited. Portions. Not real. More like bullet points or flashes of insight.

“We’re getting off track here. We can discuss John’s lack of ethics with regard to his doppelgangers later,” Harry says. “I’m more curious about what we’re going to do about the information we’ve acquired.”

“That’s why we’re here to discuss it, no?” I open my hands. “It seems they’ve got multiple attack units out. Some high-Level Advanced Class teams, some Master Class teams too I’d bet. And whatever it was that took out my doppelganger.”

“Not whatever. Who,” Ali speaks up.

We turn to the Spirit, who is looking troubled. He shifts his hands and security footage blooms. The video comes from multiple angles, providing full details.

It’s a good thing too, since the fight itself is over in seconds. My doppelganger is moving down the street, Soul Shield active, Greater Detection in play. It doesn’t matter though, because his assailant doesn’t try to hide. Instead, he walks right out into the middle of the street, throwing his cloak back and striking a wide-legged pose. Gold edging on his armor glints and sparkles in the streetlamps, showing off his pink skin and small tusks.

Memory stirs, a flash of emotion from the doppelganger’s memory. Arrogance. Towering arrogance.

“Halt! In the name of the Galactic Council, you are ordered to stop your activities and come back with me,” Kasva, the Champion of the Council, says.

Irvina residents are scrambling, leaving as fast as they can as a sixth sense tells them to get the hell out. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to be around when a pair of Heroics fight either.

“Yeah, no. Why don’t you just fuck off?” my doppelganger snaps.

“Well, I tried.” Kasva shrugs.

And then he moves. One second, Kasva’s hundreds of meters away from my Hand. The next, he’s right next to him and swinging. Kasva calls forth a double-bladed sword, one with blades jutting out from both sides and each blade as thick as a good-sized tree. It’s what I’d call an anime weapon—too large and weighty to be practical for anyone who didn’t have the boosted stats of a Combat Classer in the Advanced stages.

My doppelganger brings out his own weapon, a simple sword that’s unenchanted but of good make. Standard wear for your average Erethran soldier when they don’t have a Soulbound weapon. It doesn’t even last a second as Kasva’s blade cuts right through the weapon, the Soul Shield, then halfway down my Hand’s body. A savage yank rips out the blade, detaching my Hand’s arm in the process.

A part of me wanders about all the lost limbs I keep getting. Involuntarily, I look at my regrown hand and flex it, a phantom pain briefly making an appearance before the System and my higher stats push them aside.

Of course, my Hand is like me. Pain isn’t something that stops us—not after all this time, not with the sheer number of defenses the System has built into our minds against it. The remaining hand pushes forward, a Chaos mine aiming to attach itself to Kasva’s body.

It fails, because Kasva isn’t there. He’s moving fast, faster than almost any other fighter I’ve dealt with that isn’t a pure Speedster. He’s also smart, having already started shifting the moment his attack was finished.

Another cut, another dodge that misses. The mine goes off, raw Chaos energy spilling into the environment and tearing at the pair of bodies. It forms into ropes of intestines that sizzle upon contact with ground and flesh. It doesn’t kill, it damages, but it doesn’t end there. Another sword is conjured by my doppelganger, cutting at Kasva, but again, it’s dodged.

And another cut, this one bisecting my Hand’s head. It flops to the ground, rolling away. The body stays for a second before it disperses, bloody bits breaking up as Mana is taken back by the System.

“Disappointing. But at least we learned something new.” Then Kasva looks up, right at where one of the security cameras is recording. He’s smiling but there’s a blankness to his eyes, a cold finality that reminds me of large predators, the kind that lie waiting rather than stalking you. “You’re going to have to do better if you want to beat me. You’ll need to stop holding back, Redeemer.”

Then the recording cuts off, leaving us in silence.

“Welp, I don’t need to change my pants. Not at all,” Harry says into the silence. “Now, if you’ll just excuse me for a second…”

***

Harry returns to us discussing what we saw of Kasva and his abilities. Perhaps most prominent of all was one simple fact.

“He wasn’t using any major Skills.” Mikito frowns. “You sure that’s all you have on his Skill use?” That question is to Ali, who nods. “Then I’m leaning toward a passive build.”

“Like Bolo?” I say.

“Yes. With maybe a couple of Heroic Class Skills held as trumps.”

“Can we find out what they might be?” I ask.

“Already tried, boy-o. Not possible. The Council clamped down on that real hard.”

I’m not particularly surprised. What we’ve seen of his Skills speak to a lot of passives. Not just in terms of damage dealt or speed, but also in high attributes. Higher than normal for certain—or else he’s learned to adjust the flow and guidance of his attributes to just speed. Which might be possible, but I consider it unlikely. After all, we still have to leave some level of control to the System to stabilize the physical world around us. Or else we’d burst into flame, shatter the ground, or heck, slip and fall on our faces.

“There’s something strange about the way he moves,” Mikito says softly, shifting the fight again. She replays the part where I—my Hand—tried to clamp the Chaos Mine onto Kasva’s body and lets it repeat.

“He’s smart enough to know to not be there when I’m going to attack.” I shrug. “Means he’s trained.”

“No.” Mikito shakes his head. “Look at his momentum, the way he shifts. If he really thought you’d attack that line, he wouldn’t have put all his weight down. He actually has to force himself into a new line to dodge…” Mikito looks at me, a half-smile forming. “You’ve actually gotten pretty good at that.”

“That?”

“Anticipating movements and momentum,” Mikito says. “See how he shifts there? It’s like he suddenly realizes what you’re going to do and shifts to adjust. Rather than planning for the shift beforehand.”

“You can plan for that?” I say.

“I can,” Mikito replies confidently. “I do.” She lets the rest of the short fight play out. “He doesn’t. I think he’s got a future forecasting Skill.”

I frown. “You sure? That doesn’t look like his kind of build…”

“Bought. Or maybe it’s part of the Council Champion. Might make thematic sense,” Ali points out.

“I thought those Skills aren’t very useful?” Harry cuts into the conversation. “At least, that’s what most fighters tell me.”

“They aren’t,” I say. “Normally.”

“It’s the problem of attributes. You need both a high Perception ability to ‘see’ properly and a high Intelligence attribute to understand what you’re seeing without going insane,” Ali says. “In normal circumstances, people like the Oracles and the like either get cryptic prophecies that are provided to them as a whole, or they see the prophecies as visions and end up trying to explain them as either bad poetry or too straightforward words. Since they can’t ‘see’ fully, often those kinds of prophecies are hard to understand. Or trust. On top of that, of course, it’s all a matter of guesstimation off current known events. It’s not ‘true’ future seeing.”

“I know that,” Harry says. “But if you’re seeing only a few seconds ahead, isn’t that easier?”

“Is it easier to see the cells on a leaf or the tree itself?” Mikito says. “Stare too close, and potential actions explode in number.”

“Too far into the future though and you can’t even see the tree anymore,” I add.

“So seeing into the future isn’t possible because there are too many options to judge normally? And requires too many attributes?” Harry says to confirm.

“Exactly. But he’s moving like a bullet and dodging ahead of time. And that Strength…” I shake my head, pointing at the attacks. “It’s not a momentum-based Skill that adds to damage either. It’s raw Strength.”

“So how is he doing this?” Harry says.

I share a look with Mikito and Ali before the three of us give Harry a shrug. Without more to go on, we can only guess. And we’d already offered that—a series of Passive Skill builds. Whatever the answer is, it’s certain that he’s a very dangerous opponent.

“Do we continue then?” Mikito says, making another window appear.

I look at the numbers Mikito shows, frowning. Even our best estimates show that we’ve convinced only two-thirds of the people we need to get a null vote.

“Do we have a choice?” Harry says unhappily.

“Can we even make it?” I say softly, tapping the screen and tossing out another screen. This one has a list of those we still have to contact. “We’ve got what, sixty-four still on the list? And of those, the majority were in our ‘well, maybe it’d work’ list or we suspect they’re stringing us along?”

There are nods from the group, and I flick my hand, pulling up another list. The pair peer at it, having never seen this list before. It doesn’t take them long to realize what it is.

“This is a kill list.” Harry sounds disapproving.

“Yes,” I say. “Everyone whose asked us to end someone else for their votes which I haven’t accepted or who we think might be worthwhile ending anyway.”

“And you want to agree to it?” Harry shakes his head. “You’re good, John, but some of these guys have Master Class bodyguards. And without the ability to teleport from location to location…”

“Or verify security procedures, backup plans, doppelgangers, Skills, or set-up times,” Mikito says. “Never mind automatic reprisal plans. This is a bad idea.”

“I know.” I shake my head. “There’s no way for us to finish all of this. Not even with my Extra Hands.”

“Then?”

I nod to Harry, smiling widely. “We just need to screw up the votes, right? And there’s never any guarantee that they’d vote for us. So let’s overturn the apple cart.”

“You want me to publicize this list?”

“And the recordings of the requests we have,” I say, confirming his guess.

“I…” Harry shakes his head. “This isn’t a good idea. Many of these might be our friends, or at least are moderately inclined to help us.”

“Inclined but not going to. We’re already fucked, so we might as well finish this,” I say, lowering my voice as I try to wheedle him into doing what I want.

“I…” Harry straightens himself and shakes his head. “No. I won’t do this. Not without speaking with Katherine.”

“That’s—”

“Not a good idea?” Harry crosses his arms. “Because she’s going to say no?” He harumphs. “Exactly. And you’re not going to do it either, not without getting Earth’s agreement.”

I raise an eyebrow at his tone, the way he’s so certain I’ll agree. He glares at me and I return his gaze, the pair of us facing one another down. Seeing who will break first.

Into the silent contest of wills, Mikito arrives with a smack on the back of my head.

“Owww!” I say, looking at her. I touch my head where the bloody wound is already healing. “That hurt.”

“Of course it did, you baka tank!” Mikito says. “You think I could get your attention with a love tap?” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not Roxley.”

“Or Lana,” Ali says.

“Lana would step between him and Harry and lean forward,” Mikito says.

“True. She had great… ass-ets,” Ali finishes with a waggle of his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes. “We were in the middle of something here.”

“A measuring contest. Yes, we know.” She points at Ali. “He’s the biggest, because he isn’t human. Get over it.” She glares at me. “You’re asking Earth’s permission before you burn all their bridges.” When I open my mouth to protest, Mikito steps closer and drops her voice. “It’s not your life you’re gambling with here. And you don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

I shake my head. As if I didn’t know it isn’t just my life. Does she think I take these kinds of risks, accept this kind of insanity when it comes to just my life? This is a new level of chaos. If we had any other choice…

But I can’t think of one.

“Fine,” I say, throwing up my hands. “We’ll ask them. We’ll see what other ideas, what else Katherine has chosen to do.”

“And if she says no?” Harry says.

“Then…” I’m uncertain of what else to say.

In the end, I shrug. We have only a few days left, and I’m out of ideas. Perhaps I’ll think of something at the last minute, but what it is, I have no idea. We need to make sure that vote doesn’t pass.

***

Meeting up with Katherine is no easy matter. We have to be careful about how we contact her. And even more careful of when and where we set up the meet. In the end, it’s two days later, two long days where we lay low and send out my Extra Hands to do what they can and we—quietly—remeet with some of our failed targets.

The only good news we receive is that the vote has been delayed again. There’s a big flare-up of trouble as a dungeon outbreak occurs between the border of the Truinnar and Movana empires. It’s quickly revealed that the Movana set off the outbreak, which then devolves into a giant squabble between the parties.

Emergency resolutions after emergency resolutions are thrown around, with no end in sight. The entire thing might resolve tomorrow or a month later, according to Harry.

Now that we’re finally able to meet up with Katherine, that’s, of course, when I get the message. It’s a simple text message, but it’s one I can’t turn down.

14:45pm at the System Helix Shrine.

— Duchess Kangana

“Thousand hells,” I swear. “I got to do this.”

“Perfect timing…” Mikito mutters, making a face. She stares at the notification for a long time before she nods to me. “Go.”

“You guys…”

“Will be fine. Just go.”

I nod and accept her word. I switch directions, heading for a bullet train that’ll get me to the second ring and in the direction of the Shrine rather than into the fifth ring like the team. Hopefully their meeting goes well, but I’ll have to get briefed later. I’ve been waiting to speak with the Duchess forever.

The ride to the second ring is quiet, if a little tense. The security procedures in the third ring are much tighter than anywhere else, but the Shrine is one of the few places anyone can travel to—if they can afford the cost. There are even special conveyances that go directly to the Shrine and nowhere else.

Of course, calling the multi-hectare, fifty-story tall structure a Shrine is kind of like calling the Hagia Sophia a little roadside chapel. The entire Shrine is made of crystallized Mana, solidified Mana in which data, knowledge, is embedded. Each person who pays a visit to the Shrine of the System leaves a small Mana crystal at each visit, a gift of their best knowledge, their best craft. Something that may be gifted outward to another, as the priests and bishops of the System deem fit.

Over the centuries, the Shrine has grown from a small, single-room building into this towering edifice. Often, the Shrine is the last chance for an individual to make a difference as they beg for a new Class, a new Skill, knowledge on how to gain a Title that will change their life.

And all too often, they fail. But we don’t talk about that part.

Thousands of supplicants walk into the building, streaming through the numerous doors to journey within. I step to the side, watching as sapients walk, hop, glide, and lope forward. Some walk with confidence. Others shrink and slide within, scared of their own shadows. But the glowing blue building swallows them all without hesitation, accepting their worship without judgment.

“First time?” The voice catches me by surprise. Not by the speaker’s presence but that they chose to speak to me at all.

“Yes.” I turn to the speaker, blinking a little at the masked, android-like face. I stare, realizing a bit late that he breathes like a living organism. Whoever, whatever it was, it’s now more machine than organic.

“I see you’re one of the blessed.” It inclines its head toward Ali in his glowing, crystal form.

“You can see him?” I raise an eyebrow. An unusual ability, but not uncommon.

“The System has gifted me such sight.” A spark, a flood of Mana that does nothing as the creature speaks. “But I’m rude. I am Ote, the Six Hundred Eighteenth version of its line.”

I want to ask but suppress my curiosity. I have other things to do. “Nice to meet you, Ote.”

If Ote seems perturbed by my lack of introduction, it doesn’t show it. “It is a small thing, to ask the System for its guidance. Just walk the halls. When you feel it is right, offer your gift. And if you think it appropriate, you may ask it for guidance. If the System wills it, it will answer.”

“How long a walk?” I’m wondering how I’m going to find the Duchess in the building, because she sure as hell hasn’t told me.

Ali’s busy looking for her, but with the sheer amount of Mana the Shrine represents, both of our abilities to scan the surroundings have fallen to meters.

“That is a matter of contention.” Ote opens his arms. “Some walk the halls for decades, making their plea. Others say that the System is all-knowing, all-giving when it wants. And as such, a single brief sojourn is all that is needed.”

“And the bigger the Gift, the better chance you’ll get an answer?” I say wryly, even as I tell Ali to keep looking.

“Not at all. The System does not care for what you gift. It is, after all, already known to it. It is the act itself, rather than the contents, that matter.” Ote drops his buzzy voice and leans in. “Or so the priests say. Me, I try to give the best I can.”

I snort but watch as Ote wanders off. Practical and religious. “Interesting guy.”

“More than you know.” Ali updates my minimap with a map of the entire building. Along with it, there’s a pathway that’s marked out and an x with a timer on it. “A little gift.”

“Sneaky.” I eye the time and distance, then the crowd. I sigh and walk. Not much time if I want to make it there as scheduled.

We walk through the crystal hallways in silence, the air within chilly, lower than human comfortable. Occasionally it’s warmed by a passing sapient creature, one burning with the flames of its own body like the salamander-man or a living lava ball. Each passing sapient Systemer adds to the mixed aroma of the building, creating a unique stench that has me breathing through my mouth while I attempt to forget about the stink. It’s the least pleasant parts of a skunk’s tail, an uncared for barnyard, and a compost pile mixed together and amplified.

Most penitents move in silence, which makes the few who chant, sing, or orate all the more stark in appearance. Passages of Systemer-creed are spoken, sung, or otherwise announced, while others beg for salvation and help from the crystal walls. Occasionally, stifled sobs break the silence, only to be ignored by the uncaring public.

As I turn the umpteenth passageway, Ali breaks our internal silence. “I’m a little surprised how few of you humans have taken up the Systemer creed.”

“Why?” I send back.

“Just seems like you humans liked your religion.”

“We’re rather a stubborn bunch.” I briefly wonder what it’s like for those who still hold onto the old religions. But it’s not something I’ve ever bothered to look into.

Having edged his way into the conversation, Ali drops his next statement. “Surprised you didn’t take it up either.”

“Was never religious.”

“Why?”

My answering silence is met by a rather impatient hmmm across the mental network. When Ali continues to send the same hmmm, I give in. If nothing else, it’ll cover the rather boring walk.

“I don’t trust people. Not really. And all those religions, they’re touched by humanity. Religious text copied over and over again by self-serving, short-sighted, careless, and dumb humans. I’ve seen code a year old messed up beyond all recognition. How am I supposed to trust books hundreds of years old?”

“So you don’t believe in god? A higher power?” Ali asks.

“Didn’t say that. Just that I’m not sure that anyone has ever gotten it right. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Why not?”

“If there’s a god worthy of following, then he’s worth following if I believe in him or not. And to paraphrase a wise man, if he isn’t, then to hell with him.”

The look Ali gives me makes it hard to keep my face straight. While I’m not lying, I’ve never really thought much about gods before the System. And afterward, for a long time, I was too busy trying to stay alive to worry about what came after. Even now, with all the evidence of the System being something artificial, I haven’t been convinced either way. The problem with religion is it requires a leap of faith. To ignore the logic of science and good sense, the contradictions that arise, and just believe. I’ve never been able to do that.

As for the Systemers themselves, in many ways, they’re the complete opposite of Questors like me. They take the System to be a god, to be something all-powerful. And I admit, by factual evidence and effect on everyday life, the System has meddled much more than any remote god. But Questors like me believe there’s a reason, a truth to what the System really is. And Systemers just believe.

At least for the main religion. There are obviously offshoots, heresies, and individuals who combine the insanity and the obstinance of both parties, focused on both worshiping and understanding the System itself. Many of those have become Corrupt Questors, known for their unbending pursuit of the truth without care or morality.

I have way too many memories of those people in my library.

We walk together, traveling the hallways of Mana, passing supplicants as we follow the map. Subconsciously, I adjust the speed of our passage as we move to ensure that I arrive on time.

The longer I walk, the more I realize that this is an ingenious method of meeting. We’re all walking through the shrine, and only through chance or planning would one meet another within.

We get to the passageway just a little early, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see a familiar figure. Hondo Ehrish, Weaponmaster for Clan Kangana, makes his appearance, walking ahead of who I expect is the Duchess. He looks well, like himself. Big, strong, slightly scarred. Grumpy.

So many years have passed since our first meeting. And he is no longer an Advanced Class, but a Master Class now. A low-Level Master Class, since his duties keep him away from the dungeons and the planets where he could Level. It’s strange, to me, to think that I have passed Hondo in personal strength, when years ago, he was such a fearsome opponent.

But it’s part of the problem of serving another. When you subsume your own needs for others, you also reduce the speed of your Leveling. Certainly safer, certainly more likely to survive, and as a Master Class, he probably has a very comfortable life ahead of him. Not one filled with pain and suffering, danger and tragedy around each corner like we have lived for so many years now.

And the reward for all my emotional toll, for all the risk-taking, is in the widening of his eyes, the twist in his lips as he begins to sneer then stops himself. When he realizes the vast difference between myself and him now. Because even if I have adjusted my Levels and hidden my Heroic Class, he knows the truth. As does his mistress.

She sweeps into the room, proceeded only seconds ahead by her Aura. The Aura of the Frozen Winter Queen pings off my resistances, reminding me of who she is. Like her servant, the Duchess Kangana is not a Heroic, just a late Master Class. Though she might gain experience from doing her duties, from ruling, such experience gain is much slower and less plentiful, if steadier than throwing oneself into the middle of a Forbidden Planet.

As interesting as her Class is, so are her looks. The Duchess is gorgeous. And I’m talking gorgeous in relation to other Master Class level Charisma-influenced individuals. She’s tall, nearly six and a half feet tall, with the dark skin of the Truinnar and the striking, bright eyes that come with her kind. Her hair is long and lustrous, swaying just above the swell of her behind in a tightly wound, compact braid. Legs for days, and a shapely figure like a model underneath a sharp, angular face.

As for her dress, it’s a flowing, multi-layered cloth piece that reminds me of a saree—the more risqué kinds that reveal as much as they hide. She draws more than one hungry gaze, but I know it’s from the Aura she uses as much as her beauty.

Snorting, I turn from her with a visible yank, moving away from the woman. How the hell we’re supposed to meet without people noticing, I have no idea.

After half a dozen steps, my pace slightly slower than hers, a slight touch on my arm startles me. I turn my head even as I drop a Toothy Knife into my palm.

Beside me is a young lady, another Truinnar. Plain-looking, just about as tall as me, dressed in Adventurer chic. She bobs her head, and I feel a slight shift in the Mana around us. A Skill kicks on, but it’s so subtle you wouldn’t realize it was there if you didn’t pay attention. A new condition appears in my Status display.

Condition: Secret Liaisons

Sometimes, midnight assignations have to be done during the day. Secret Liaisons allows a lady to speak and interact with her lover in public without drawing attention. A combination of magical, psychic, emotional, and System influence makes others ignore the interactions within the field of the Skill.

“A pleasure meeting you, Redeemer.” The greeting is whispered, a simple low, throaty growl that makes me shiver and pings my Mental Resistances.

My eyes narrow as I read the Skill notification, the Resistance notification, then her Status. Which, surprisingly, is filled with question marks. Even for her name.

“Duchess,” I say in conclusion.

“Good. Graxan did say you were smarter than your actions would lead many to believe,” the Duchess-in-disguise says. She steps forward, making sure we keep walking, pulling away from the fake-Duchess but still within proximity.

“Smart. Doppelganger and Skills to take away attraction. Add in the Shrine’s natural abilities to hide scrying and a routine for coming in, and I’m surprised more people don’t use the Shrine for their meetings,” Ali says.

I can only send a mental shrug to him while I speak with the Duchess. “I’m sure you’ve had time to consider my request.”

“So direct…” The Duchess smiles and nods. “I have. I have spoken with your Earthen representative too. He has offered much, but all of it dependent upon successfully seeing off this challenge to the World’s sovereignty.”

I grunt a little in surprise that she talked to Rob. When she sees my surprise, the Duchess sniffs.

“Did you think I would deal with a middleman in such matters? I am loath to waste my time.”

“Then why are you talking to me at all?”

“Maybe not as smart.”

I growl in response to her taunt.

“You have something they do not have, of course.”

“My Class.”

“Insignificant.” The Duchess shakes her head. “I can acquire one of your stature if necessary. Credits do have their own strength. As do favors.”

My eyes narrow as she falls silent. I walk with her, crossing one hallway after the other, eyeing the various supplicants. I see one golem-like creature made of sand pushing its fist into the wall, the Mana crystal dissolving to take his arm. When he pulls back, the wall hardens, leaving his hand within, where it slowly transforms into crystal too.

Eventually, the Duchess speaks, naming what she wants. “Answers. You have answers to why the Council acts with such impertinence. They have upset centuries of political norms, attacking diplomatic locations, making their wishes known.”

“It’s a dangerous secret,” I say.

“All secrets worth having are dangerous.”

And once more, we walk in silence as I mull over my options. “Fine. I’ll let you know what they want to keep hidden, what this is all about.” The start of the lady’s smile is squashed as I continue. “After the vote.”

“You’d have me waste political resources for a promise?”

“Or for me to provide a secret on one?” I counter.

She turns her head, and I meet her gaze too. Violet eyes bore into mine, an unyielding will pressing against me. But I find it easy to dismiss the pressure she exerts. I’ve faced down an Empress before. A mere Duchess is nothing—even if she controls as large a volume of space as the Empress does.

“You could use your Skill,” she offers.

“As you said, Credits have their own power. Be a simple matter for you to break it, with the right kind of hire. Or using the System.” I shake my head. “This secret stays with me until you vote. But whatever the result, I promise you this. I’ll tell you the truth.”

The Duchess turns away, staring at the walls as we walk. Behind us, a loud thump, then a body comes flying past me. Hondo strides after the body, but the walls of the Shrine act first, picking up the plastic-creature that dared to approach the fake-Duchess and absorbing it.

As I reel with surprise at the actions, Ali slides into my mind. “Relax. It’s just depositing him in another corridor. No killing.”

I nod dumbly, relaxing. Only to tense as the Duchess speaks. “Very well. I shall take your word. I expect you will make arrangements that such information passes on, no matter what happens to you?”

“As best as I can.”

The Duchess nods and, without bidding me farewell, takes an off-shoot passage. Leaving me to stroll on alone. Hondo and the fake-Duchess make their way over to her passageway. And just like that, our meeting is over.

“She never did say how much help she’d bring,” Ali muses.

“Nope. Also, another important question,” I send.

“What?”

I stare down the featureless blue crystal walls, the passageway that splits and splits again as it leads me through the multi-hectare, multi-story building. Packed with sapients, praying, chanting, singing, and exuding pheromones.

“How the hell do we get out?”

Chapter 15

If this was a Hollywood story, when I finally deposited my little nugget of information, my crystallized warp of Mana and information into the Shrine, it would have bestowed upon me some great Skill, some nugget of information that would have solved all my problems. Sadly, even when I left the Shrine with my most closely guarded secret, it offered me nothing.

Not even a feeling of pleasant exchange.

Forced to join the exiting throng of disillusioned supplicants, I move in the crowd of hopping, floating, walking sapients. Two transits and one long walk to verify I’m not being followed later, I’m relaxed enough to check on the status of the team. Since they aren’t home yet, I divert myself to a nearby Shop sphere, accessing a private room and using Extra Hands to form another copy.

While my doppelganger picks up various equipment to resculpt his face and make himself not so human-looking, I take the time to review my own Status Screen and consider my next steps. My Credit pool is sadly bereft, though only by the standards of a Heroic. I still have more than enough to pay for daily events and even pick up a couple of lower-end Class Skills, but… what’s the point?

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Junior System Admin (Grand Paladin)

Race

Human (Male)

Level

3 (12)

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead, Duelist, Explorer, Apprentice Questor, Galactic Silver Bounty Hunter, Corrupt Questor, (Living Repository), (Class Lock)

Health

6000

Stamina

6000

Mana

5740

Mana Regeneration

474 (+5) / minute

Attributes

Strength

422

Agility

495

Constitution

600

Perception

403

Intelligence

593

Willpower

574

Charisma

225

Luck

256

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

5*

Blade Strike*

5

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand Blades*

4

Soul Shield*

8

Blink Step

2

Portal*

5

Army of One

4

Sanctum

2

Penetration

9e

Aura of Chivalry

1

Eyes of Insight

2

Beacon of the Angels

2

Eye of the Storm

1

Vanguard of the Apocalypse

2

Society’s Web

1

Shackles of Eternity*

4

Immovable Object / Unstoppable Force*

1

Domain

1

Judgment of All

6

(Grand Cross)

(2)

(Extra Hands)

(3)

System Edit

2

External Class Skills

Instantaneous Inventory

1

Frenzy

1

Cleave

2

Tech Link

2

Elemental Strike

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footsteps

1

Analyze

2

Harden

2

Quantum Lock

3

Elastic Skin

3

Disengage Safeties

2

Temporary Forced Link

1

Hyperspace Nitro Boost

1

On the Edge

1

Fates Thread

2

Peasant’s Fury

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)

Elemental Walls (Fire, Ice, Earth, etc.)

Ice Blast

Icestorm

Improved Invisibility

Improved Mana Cage

Improved Flight

Haste

Enhanced Particle Ray

Variable Gravitic Sphere

Zone of Denial

I’d made a few changes on my Status Screen, spending a ton of the free attribute points I’d saved to test how it affected my ability to handle the Mana code. Unfortunately, even adding points to each of my attributes slowly, one after the other, and running the tests, it seemed that attributes had only a marginal affect on my ability to handle System Mana. Constitution, Intelligence, and weirdly, Luck all gave me a little more time. Perception let me handle and understand the flow faster, but it didn’t increase the amount of time I had before I started taking serious damage.

No, the biggest determinant of how long I could stay within the System and edit things? My Level. And interestingly enough, this is one case where my Junior System Administrator Level counts as much as my “fake” Levels.

Sadly, even when I Leveled up my Administrator Class, I didn’t double dip and gain additional attributes. I found it strange that I received attribute points when I leveled my other Class, but didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. But when it didn’t double dip and give me those attribute points for the Administrator Class for which the actual attributes should have been linked to, then I was real curious.

Of course, it’s not as if I can actually ask the System why it’s doing what it is. Nor do I have anyone else to experiment or compare with. The only thing I can think of is that the System has to give me those attribute points immediately—otherwise, my fake Class would be a poor fake.

On top of that, I’ve got the adjustments to my Class Skills, including the unhappy experience of learning how to upgrade my Skill Edit ability. Specifically, when I was meant to get a new Class Skill point at Level 3, the free point I hadn’t used beforehand had been taken and used immediately to level it.

Now, I have a second point in Skill Edit and no free Class Skill point to use in case I need it for something else. The good news is that the upgraded System Edit Skill allows me to adjust code easier. I even get the feeling that with a few upgrades, I could edit certain types of code I’ve been locked out of thus far. But…

It doesn’t help with my ability to kick ass. And the fact that Kasva is running around makes me feel the lack of ass-kicking Skills even more than normal. It’s kind of amusing how I keep fluctuating between feeling like a goddamn demigod and feeling useless and underpowered.

Sure, having a total of three doppelgangers that I can use might be useful—if it didn’t drain nearly my entire Mana pool to conjure a single Extra Hand. And even though Grand Cross’s second Level is powerful, adding even more damage to what is already a ridiculous Skill, I still feel underpowered.

Grand Cross (Level 2)

The burden of existence weighs heavily on the Paladin. This Skill allows the Paladin to allow another to share in the burden. Under the light of and benediction of the Grand Paladin, under the weight of true understanding, wayward children may be brought back to the fold.

Effect: Damage done equals to (Willpower * 22) per square meter over radius of (1/10th of Perception2) meters. Damage may be increased by reducing radius of the Grand Cross. Does additional (Willpower) points of damage per second for 11 seconds.

Cost: 2000 MP

Now, that doesn’t seem like a lot of damage for a single point attack. After all, my Advanced Class Skill already does over fifteen thousand points of damage. If you don’t include resistances, armor, and the like, even I’d fall to one of my own Advanced Class attacks. And I’m a “tank.”

So when you look at it that way, doing roughly fourteen thousand points of damage is nothing. And sure, there’s a damage-over-time effect, but most Paladins would have the Judgement of All for a much better damage-over-time effect.

That is, until you get to the part where I’m able to increase damage by concentrating the attack. And since it is very rare I need to use it at the full size of seventeen kilometers radius, the ability to concentrate damage stacks. And it stacks at an incredible rate when you consider how fast my attributes are increasing.

Of course, the issue with a Skill like this—much like Sanctum—is the need to control size and placement. It’s not like Beacon of the Angels, where I point and activate, letting it do its things. Beacon might take longer to charge up, but the attack doesn’t require much in the way of concentration once I use it.

Whereas with Grand Cross or Sanctum, I have to pre-fill in the details before activating or else it defaults to its base setting. In Grand Cross, that’s smacking down everyone at maximum size. With Sanctum, it’s forming itself around me at maximum size, enveloping everything.

Both are powerful but have to be used carefully. I’ve also noticed, upon inspecting Sanctum with my Skill, that the “all” portion of the Skill description is a little misleading. In its entirety in System Script, it’s actually a formula calculation—much like I’m seeing for my newer Skills—that indicates the amount of damage it can absorb per second before it falls apart.

In fact, upon inspecting most “absolute” statements from the System, there’s often more detail. Sometimes it’s just a matter of translation. Sometimes I can see the workings of a System Admin in there, adjusting descriptions to something that’s a little more user-friendly.

Reviewing my Status Screen is really my way of procrastinating. I can’t buy much in terms of new Skills, and with my penniless nature, I don’t have the funds to buy anything really cool. Never mind the fact that I’m filled to the brim between the System Edit and Class Skills. In fact, my Grand Paladin Class Skills are all side-loaded, meaning they’re even slower to activate than I’d like.

No, I’m just wasting time reviewing my Status Screen because there’s something else I have to do. Drawing a deep breath of the stale, recycled air of the Shop anteroom, I place my hands on the Sphere and slip into the System layer. Repeated tests have shown it’s relatively safe for me to access the admin level of the Shop, thus far. I could almost swear the System is built so that finding other Administrators is hard, the way it naturally obscures logging functions. And makes it even easier to obscure your own further.

Still, I don’t have a lot of time to go over such details, not with the need to layer my protections and ensure I’m hidden before I slip within and look for a message. And this time, I’m surprised to note there is one.

It’s pretty simple, though I do have to disable a nasty little locator virus before I open the file.

Meet at 198.55.xmu.$@90.55

There’s a date afterward, but the moment I see the address, it feels as if it’s branded into me. I reel backward out of the System, cutting the feed and the Mana draw, shutting down any tracing as I stagger back.

My doppelganger stares at me and sniffs. Which is just weird when his face is mine—if I was in full V-lizard face makeup. You wouldn’t realize it was me if you didn’t know what to look for, but because it’s my face, I do.

“Idiot. You should be more careful. And wipe your nose,” the Hand says. The voice is mine, but grouchier, lower.

I blink, touching my nose and feeling blood running down it. I wipe it away, grateful that I’m not bleeding further as System regeneration fixes the damage.

“What was it?” the Hand asks.

“An address.”

“System address? You should be careful. That Skill is dangerous,” the Hand says.

“No shit.” I’d love to have the doppelgangers use it, but funnily enough, they don’t have it. While they might replicate my attributes at a lower percentage, they don’t have the System Edit Skill. Which is, in itself, fascinating. “Now, please stop talking to me. It’s really weird listening to me talk.”

Doppelganger John rolls his eyes but does shut up. One good thing about the System making it based off me, it seems to accept that I really don’t want to talk to myself. And makes the doppelgangers respect my wishes—the same way I would my own.

No, that sentence doesn’t make much sense. But it’s not a very sensible world.

“Well, if that’s it. I’m off.” The doppelganger waves goodbye off-handedly before walking out of the room, silver doors sliding open.

I nod absently, watching him leave and feeling a weird sense of déjà vu. I hurry after him a moment later, not wanting to stay at the Shop any longer than necessary, especially after what happened.

It’s when we’re well away, moving in a random but trained pattern to pick out potential shadows, that Ali asks the obvious question.

“What the hell happened?”

“The Council—or the Administrator side of the Council, or the Inner Council, or whoever it is—gave me an address.”

“And it made you bleed?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure it’s not just any address.”

“Then what is it, boy-o? I’m not here to play twenty questions, you know.”

I work my jaw, getting some saliva back into my mouth. Even thinking it dried my mouth, and I’m not particularly happy with the idea of thinking it out loud. And yes, it’s weird to want to be able to say the words, even when you’re thinking it. And I could suppress such actions, but why bother? It’s small things like that that help me stay human.

I hope.

“If I’m not wrong, it’s a System programming station.”

There’s a long, long silence after that as Ali works through the implications. It’s particularly concerning, since even though we’ve had a hint of them before, we’ve never seen hide nor hair of them. Not even when we’ve gone poking among the planets we helped reconquer.

“Well, that’s not worrying at all.”

***

Meeting with the rest of the group at our residence comes soon after. The group finds me eating, having ordered a large meal to assuage my hunger and my restlessness. The overly large dining room is filled with takeout boxes, each of them individually heated to keep the meats, pastas, vegetables, roasts, and other forms of sustenance warm. There’s even a gooey sludge that looks like slime and tastes like liquid sunshine.

I’m wrangling a drumstick whose bone is made of crystals and metals, the meat tearing off in strips with each bite, when they walk in. I take one look at Harry’s more expressive face and kick out a chair.

“Didn’t go well, eh?” I say.

“It could have gone better,” Harry admits, catching the chair’s back. He spins it around and sits, flopping down to stare at the food.

Mikito snorts as she takes her own seat, pulling the Galactic equivalent of fried rice over to her side of the table, along with a shallow and large bowl. She ladles in the carbs while she explains.

“Katherine ran the numbers. Has been running the numbers. Even with the Duchess’s help, she doesn’t think we have enough to stop the vote.” Mikito side-eyes Harry before she adds, “She thinks at least half of those we have done work for aren’t going to come through with their side.”

“Even with the System contracts?” I snarl.

“Even with,” Mikito says.

“Goblin shit,” Ali says. He’s in his full-size mode and visible since he’s helping himself to food that he doesn’t need to eat. But he likes the taste and who am I to say no? “Is there no more honor among politicians?”

“You’re not serious, are you?” Harry sighs. “Fun fact. It seems that for high-Level Politicians, Diplomats, and the like, they have Skills that mitigate the effect of broken System contracts and oaths.”

“What!?!” I say.

“Yeah, surprised us too.” Harry shook his head. “Katherine forgot to tell us because she’s gotten used to it. Wouldn’t matter anyway. It isn’t as if we know who’s going to break their word until, well…”

“They do.”

“Exactly.” Mikito spears a shrimp, chewing the deep-fried, battered goodness.

We fall silent for a bit, each of us following her example and eating a little more.

“So, you’ve heard about what the Duchess did?” I ask.

“Yes. Which is why her wanting to meet you was surprising,” Harry says. “She’s extracted quite her pound of flesh from Earth.”

I grunt, not surprised. It’s not as if they all don’t have us over the barrel. But… “She wanted to know why they’re after us. Me.”

“Told you,” Mikito says to Harry.

He shrugs. “I was just offering other options. But I did say that was most likely.”

“So?” Mikito says to me.

“So what?”

“Did you tell her?”

“Not immediately,” I say. “I promised I would if she came through on her end.”

“Big promise,” Harry says. “You think it’s a smart thing to let her in on it?”

I shrug. There’s the obvious conclusion that if the Council really doesn’t like what’s going on, they’ll end her, my friends, and anyone they even think I provided the information to. But… “She’s a big girl.”

Harry shrugs, seeming sufficiently settled. I guess he’s used to seeing adults throw themselves into seemingly dumb situations. Taking risks that others would decline because that’s just the way it goes. At a certain point, you have to accept that risk is part and parcel of the job description and stop worrying about it.

“You didn’t tell us what they thought of John’s brilliant plan,” Ali says, sipping on a drink-cum-meal via a bendy straw that injects a portion of the meal’s taste as it passes through.

“Katherine wasn’t thrilled,” Mikito says. “But she’ll take it to Rob.”

“And he’ll release the information?” When they look up, I clarify, “If he decides to do it.”

Mikito shrugs.

I frown. “He shouldn’t. He should be using… well, a patsy.”

“Us, you mean,” Harry says.

“Well, you.” I grin at the reporter and he rolls his eyes. But I’m surprised to note there’s a level of uncertainty in there too. “Problem?”

“This isn’t breaking just any story. This isn’t even news reporting, not really. It’s weaponized information,” Harry says. The man has a very large slab of meat, still raw and bloody, sitting on his plate, being delicately sliced with knife and fork. Next to it, carefully set aside, is a small, colorful handful of greens—well, yellows and purples. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of using the news like that.”

Huh. I would have thought it was the target being painted on his back. Then again, Harry’s always been a little more moral than smart. “Fair enough. Doesn’t sound like he’s going to use us anyway.”

“He probably has others,” Ali says.

When we look at him, the Spirit shrugs, having traded for another soupy dish which he uses a tureen spoon on. Small, floating chunks of meat that still squirm and reach can be seen in the soup as he pops the entire, so-cold-it’s-smoking ladle into his mouth.

We aren’t the only players in the Galactic scene these days. And as a World Ruler, Rob has his own contacts. Maybe he uses a group that does things like this, or maybe he uses another human team. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m overthinking things.

But for now, there’s not a lot we can do but wait. Which, I’m finding, is an extremely uncomfortable place to be in.

We sit, we eat, and we do that in silence. When the meal is nearly done, when we’ve cleared the majority of the plates and another of my doppelgangers has died, Ali speaks up.

“You going to tell them?”

I glare at the Spirit, angry he’s pushed me to speak when I would prefer to be silent. At least for a little while more. But the threads of the doppelgangers in my mind, the missing one weighs upon me. Telling me that what we’re outnumbered, outplayed, and no matter how much we hide, what we’ve done, all our efforts are worthless. They know we’re here.

“The Council. Or the Administrators at least. They’ve left me a message,” I said. “An address.”

My words cause a stir, one that has Harry and Mikito shifting uncomfortably and offering me suspicious looks. I can only offer a half-shrug in apology for the length of time I’ve taken to speak.

“You going?” Mikito says.

I nod.

“When?”

“You’re not coming,” I say.

“I’m not letting you go alone, you bakayaro!”

I shake my head again. “It’s not your call. Where I’m going… you can’t enter.”

She frowns before shifting tactics. “Then I’ll go as far as I can.”

“Mikito…”

She crosses her arms, daring me to push it further. I meet her stubborn gaze, and I find myself at another crossroads. One of trust. Because I could sneak out, but loyalty, trust, belief… it’s a double-edged weapon. What is given must be returned, or one day, the well will run dry.

“Fine.” I turn to Harry, who snorts.

“I’d love to, but I think I’ll get this news later.” Harry chuckles ruefully at my incredulous look. “The juicy bit is in the room, and if I can’t get in, I don’t think it matters if I get the news five minutes or five hours later. And you’re probably also going to want me on the outside as insurance, no?”

I half-shrug. In truth, I’d considered it, but I wasn’t going to presume. Asking him to release what I know, to cover my bases, to let the galaxy know, it’s more than presumptuous.

“I thought so,” Harry says. “How many days do I have to set up the news release?”

“Eleven hours, four minutes, and thirteen seconds.”

“Well, isn’t that accurate,” Harry drawls, but I see the worry in his eyes.

And I get it. Because the countdown in my vision, the one that has refused to disappear ever since I received the address and invitation, continues to tick ever so slowly.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Chapter 16

An empty alleyway, shrouded in the shadows of the buildings that loom above it and bereft of light even from the main streets. In the middle of the night, the dark passageway offers no illumination but for the single, hovering light spell I sent ahead of us. Unlike a pre-System human alleyway, there’s no detritus on the ground, no broken asphalt or concrete or scrawled graffiti from neglect. In this place, there’s not enough traffic for sapients to lay their mark upon the alley before the System cleanses it.

We’re in the third ring, close enough to the center that there are actual dead spaces like this. In the outer rings, empty alleyways like this would be impossible, as every scrap of land is used, even by the homeless.

“This it?” Mikito sounds doubtful, even though she’s seen the overhead imagery from the drone we deployed ahead of us and its conjured map.

“Yeah.”

I tilt my head, watching the Mana flows, the way it interacts with the environment. Something weird is going on, but I can’t figure it out. In the end, I dismiss the matter. Not because I don’t want to know, but because if I tried to work out every strangeness in Mana flows I encountered, I’d never take more than a dozen steps.

Mana moves as it will, and sometimes, System Mana and unaspected Mana conflict, almost as if they’re fighting one another. Other times, they flow past one another without an issue, mingling. And sometimes, one or the other just subsumes the other entirely. There are even a few studies—2,413—that have delved into the matter with the leading theory…

“Boy-o…” Ali coughs.

I blink, shake my head, and pull my mind back to the present. I’m less prone to side-thoughts now that the damn library is being processed by my new Class, but it still happens, especially when I’m a little nervous.

“Sorry.” I shake my head. “Now, remember, just watch. Stay hidden, if you can. If things go to hell—”

Mikito snorts.

I chuckle ruefully but step into the alleyway, then stop. I turn to her and touch the side of my bracelet, pushing the Skill over us to hide our conversation as I continue. “About the three stooges…”

“Musketeers,” Mikito says.

“That make you D’Artagnan?” I raise an eyebrow. Mikito shrugs, and I push past the irrelevant question. “Any word?”

“Yes. They’re good. They are on it,” Mikito murmurs. She looks around and shakes her head. “I’m still a little uncomfortable with using them.”

“It’s safer than being with us,” I point out.

Mikito nods, smoothing out her face and shoving me in the shoulder to get me moving. I sketch a bow, dropping the topic, and walk away. I watch the little dot on my minimap grow closer, the dot located almost two-thirds of the way down the empty alley.

Each step I take seems to take forever. There’s a slow building discomfort that scratches at the back of my throat, clenches my guts. I cough, clear my throat, clench and unclench my fist as I walk. Ali beside me keeps flipping between his TV channels, going from reality TV show to reality TV show, before finding a musical.

“Something…” I frown. I poke at my resistances mentally, testing the borders of the System-generated defenses. I find nothing, but my footsteps have begun to drag, each movement slower than the other. “Something’s wrong.”

Ali frowns, then he slowly stops spinning. He opens his mouth then shuts it, notification windows appearing then disappearing, flicking on and off. He struggles, then suddenly, just up and disappears.

Banished.

My sword appears in my hand and I turn around slowly, searching for the threat. For what banished him. Long minutes pass, where I have to fend off a worried ping from Mikito and the growing dread. But nothing happens.

And I find myself growing angry. Angry at whatever it is that’s affecting me, that’s slipping past the defenses the System has put in place. That has buffered my will and driven me on.

That has made me, me.

I’m angry, and because I’m me, instead of turning away, instead of running, I turn back. I walk farther in, shoving my anger at the damn feeling, at the cloying tendrils of fear that wrap around my heart and guts that try to push me away. Anger unleashed, the dread and fear, the need to depart, shrivels before me.

Step after step, I make my way inward, the empty alleyway a void of dark thoughts and darker threats. I push forward with each step before the tension snaps like a rubber band at my latest step.

I stagger as the weight, the pressure disappears. Only to find myself nearly where the location given to me should be. The place where I am to meet the Council. Or whoever it is I’m to meet.

“A thousand and one demons,” I snarl, realization arriving belatedly.

Of course this feeling bypassed the System. The gods damned Administrators are in play here. The weirdness in Mana, the Skills not working. It’s their way of hiding themselves. Which means…

I eye the empty space before me, the innocuous piece of land that marks the meeting spot. There’s nothing there, nothing I can see, nothing I can sense even when I push my Mana Sense forward. It’s empty.

Utterly empty.

“Well, let’s just hope I’m not a frog looking up the well.” Two quick steps, and I’m there.

Then.

Light.

***

When my sight resolves again, I’ve taken three steps to the side, crouched low with my sword held before me and trying to activate Soul Shield. Surprisingly, it doesn’t activate, which has me worried. Almost as much as my blindness.

But System healing is powerful, and the teleportation—and it was a teleportation—wasn’t meant to blind me, just shift me. To this place. A simple room filled with hanging notification windows with System script scrolling across, multiple bar and line graphs, and what my many years as an IT worker can tell immediately is a ticketing board with colored priority task lists.

My stomach falls, my breathing hitches, and I push—and fail to activate—Blade Strike. Just for a second, before I get hold of myself. Flashbacks are bad, and it’s surprising that my short period working at an IT help desk can be more scarring than getting eaten by a giant monster.

“So. You really are on Irvina,” a voice cuts through my subsiding panic, dragging my attention to it.

I turn my head from side to side, taking in the room and the simple steel-grey mezzanine floor without a railing, the glowing blue notification windows that dominate the walls before turning to the only figure within.

He stands before me, a humanoid corvid creature with black feathers, a long beak, and large, pupil-filled eyes that focus upon every motion of mine. Wings jut from his back, a contrast to the taloned fingers that he keeps crossed before me. As for clothing, he’s dressed in belts, and a loin cloth and nothing more.

My eyes narrow further when I see his Status.

Sefan ared Lebek’jjas (Senior Administrator Level 14)

HP: ???/???

MP: ???/???

Conditions: ???

“Who are you?” I push once more at my identification Skill and find it doesn’t activate further. Another push and System Edit kicks in, showing me that my entire series of Skill uses are being blocked. An Administrative block.

What the hell?

“If you read your location notification, you’ll understand,” Sefan says.

I realize I swore out loud, but while keeping an eye on him, I call forth the System location notification as he suggested.

You have entered Administrative Center 194-8-15 (Security Access Level 3)

Warning! No violence may be initiated in Administrative Centers. All Skills (outside of Administrative Skills) and System-assisted Spells are blocked. This includes all enchanted items and System-registered technological aids.

Effects: +2 Skill Ranks in System Edit Skills, +200% increase in Mana Sense skill, access to Level 3+ System Administrator Quests, access to Administrator Network (temporary)

Congratulations Junior Administrator!

You have accessed an Administrative Center for the first time! You have gained access to the System Administrator Quest notice board and the Administrator Network (temporary localized basis)

Level Up! +1 Junior Administrator Level

I stare at the notifications before coming back to myself. I realize that Sefan’s still making no move to bother me. In fact, his eyes are no longer even focused on me, darting from side to side as he reads notification windows, talons twitching in small motions as he controls the data.

Thus far, if this was a trap, they’ve missed multiple opportunities to close the jaws of it. And really, I can only hope it’s not a trap. If it is, I walked in here knowing it could be. Without answers, I’m not leaving. And this is my first chance for true answers.

I dive into the notifications, pulling up the System Administrator Quest board. And then I have to quell my rising panic when I realize it’s the very same task list I spotted on arrival.

“Cut me apart and boil me in the thousand hells. You have got to be fucking joking with me.” When the corvid stares at me, I growl. “The damn System Administrator Quest board is an IT help desk!”

“Well, yes. We are System Administrators.” Sefan’s voice is slightly musical, a little clicky—as if the top of his tongue keeps hitting the roof of his mouth at the most inopportune time. That his tongue is sharp and angular and perhaps not used to Galactic might be the reason for that. “We fix the System, when necessary.”

I twitch. The first ticket I try to touch—one that’s glowing green—sends a painful jolt back at me. I stagger, feeling my nerves burn as the ticket rejects my choice.

“Why would you choose one you are barred from?” Sefan says.

“It’s green. Green is go!”

“No. Green is barred. You are black.” Sefan shakes his head. “Everyone civilized knows that.”

I hear the unsaid “barbarian,” but I leave it alone. Even if, I know, there’s no such information in any of the Galactic civilization packs I’ve purchased.

I’m a little hesitant to touch the ticketing board again, but I have to know. So, mentally reaching out, I touch a black ticket. And get a notification.

There’s Something Wrong in Tumiaaq (Status Level 3)

Experience and Mana exchange is imbalanced in Tumiaaq. Conflict caused by inclusion of dungeon 132.8, revision 511581251267844.881.52, and the presence of the Skills Experience Tap for the Lazy and 5,565 Minutes Used Properly.

Do you wish to take this quest? (Y/N)

I hit the No, skipping out of the mental notification, and check a few more. They’re all the same, all coding issues where Mana, experience, Levels, Skills, or attributes are messed up. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. A dungeon spawning too fast. A building not fixing itself, instead spewing out System Mana as it attempts to handle a persistent enchanted item. A warp engine with a design error that churns through unaffiliated Mana while also draining System Mana at the same time.

Error after error after error. I watch as some of the notifications disappear and others pop up, replacing them. The ones that don’t change, the ones that sit there, are the ones coded green. They just sit, unmoving.

Untouched?

I purse my lips, but noise from the corvid makes me glance at the unspeaking Administrator. I shift my sight away from him and check the Administrator Network. Only to find myself less than impressed.

“I’m blocked from everything but the local node,” I say.

Silence greets my words. I start to speak but notice his clawed fingers flicking in routine. I shut my mouth, watching silently as I test the edges of this Administrative block with my System Edit Skill. It doesn’t take me long to feel how hard, how rigid it is.

If it can be bypassed, it won’t be by me.

“You are blocked because you are but a Junior Administrator,” Sefan says finally, his fingers stilling. At the same time, I see a green ticket disappear. “An unauthorized Junior Administrator.”

“And here we get to it. So will it be door T or B?”

“What?” Sefan says.

“Threats or bribery?”

Sefan lets out a little screeching noise. The grip on my sword tightens and the tip bobs up and down under my grip. I try for Ali, hoping I can get an ally, and find the very same block in place. Not that it matters to the corvid who ignores my caution as it continues to screech. It takes me a bit to realize he’s laughing.

“You are blunt as a warhammer to the beak.” Sefan cackles. “Do you humans not know subtlety? Grace?”

“I’m North American. Our version of subtlety is checking if you’re fine after we kick your ass,” I say.

“And you think you can ‘kick my ass’?” Sefan cocks his head. Down, down, down until he reaches his shoulder, his head tilted until it goes past the edge of his shoulders. My neck hurts just looking at him.

“I’ll give it the good old college try.” And hope that the question marks are due to our location and not the fact that he’s a Legendary. Because otherwise, this will be an incredibly fast fight. And not in a good way.

“College. How quaint,” Sefan says. “But you have gained knowledge you should not. Endangered an order you should not. You and those Corrupt Questors continue to be a pain in our order.”

“Then why not just kill us all?”

“Because we occasionally get something useful.” This voice is high-pitched, female. It’s accent is unnatural and stilted, a Latin American one of some sort. I never did visit before the apocalypse.

I jump, looking up at where the voice comes from and get a spideresque nightmare. It’s a reminder of Xev, my old mechanic. The creature is similar to her in the vaguest sense that a house spider compares to an invisible tarantula. Because this one, above, is invisible except for the barest outlines. It’s not even a Skill, just its natural ability to play chameleon.

Wex (Senior Administrator Level 17)

HP: ???/???

MP: ???/???

Conditions: ???

“Who the hell are you?” I back away, only to stop when I realize that Wex is moving too, making sure to hover right above me. I growl, but if my displeasure makes any difference to the spider, there’s absolutely no indication.

“You may call me Wex. Senior Administrator.” The bulbous head, with its multi-faceted eyes, turns slowly. Then, disturbingly enough, it conjures a bundle wrapped in spider-silk and sinks its jaw into it. A little of the liquiefied remains drips out from where its fangs pierce the bundle, missing me by a foot or so.

I keep my face neutral at the display, just letting my lip curl up a little. Intimidation. Petty intimidation.

I turn over its words, seeking understanding. If there’s an argument about how useful I can be, that explains why I’m not dead. I wonder how often Administrators are made, what the usual methods are of creating such individuals. It’s a Hidden Class, but is it one you could get from just knowing that you can alter the System? Certainly a level of mastery over Mana Sense is required. But is there more? I would guess so, or else there’d be a lot more and it would be a less well-kept secret.

If there is more, if it’s hard to make Administrators, maybe I have more leverage than I think I do.

“Something useful, you say.” Yeah, fine. I’m as blunt as a virgin asking for his first kiss.

“But I fear there’s nothing useful in this one,” Sefan says. “He’s a bog-standard Administrator. One with problematic connections and an even more problematic attitude.”

I bite my lip on my instant retort, keeping an eye on Wex above. I’m getting the idea that these two are the representatives of opposing viewpoints. And Sefan is never going to warm up to me. So…

The spider makes the bundle disappear back into its inventory before it answers. That the bundle is half the size, I try not to note. “We’ve yet to see what he can do. Or why the System chose him.”

“The System?” I say, only to see Wex nod a little.

So. That’s interesting. A notification window blooms before me, the ticketing system appearing before my eyes.

“Enough talk. Let us see then. Or be done with this,” Sefan says.

I could ask what they want to see, but I’m not that dumb. And since what they want from me is what my own curiosity is killing me to explore, I take to it with gusto.

First, I plant my feet apart, making sure I’m well balanced. Then I shift the window to the main focus area before I pop out tickets. I toss them to the side of me, leaving them hanging in mid-air without accepting, without closing them.

I do that for a half dozen before I stop, then I probe the connection between the ticketing window and me. I look for more information, more details that can be brought forth. To little surprise, there’s more information that could be added to each ticket.

The stream of information, the flow of Mana it denotes, was hidden by default. I delve into the view, looking for details, looking for what I need. Previous administrator comments—added. Number of times tickets have been accessed—added. Security access requirements—added. Time in queue—added.

I customize my interface, pulling more information and discarding others. I automatically filter away anything I don’t have access to. Then I filter out anything that requires significant access to multiple databases. I filter by previous comments by administrators, putting those at the bottom of the list. And then filter for new tickets that haven’t been accessed.

All of it to find work that I’m more likely to do well. I can’t guarantee that it’ll work, but it’s better than accessing tickets where previous Administrators with more experience have started and left unfinished.

Maybe it’s not what they’re looking for. Maybe they want someone brilliant and gifted, who’ll tackle the hardest jobs and somehow, miraculously, do what others can’t. But those kinds of individuals only exist in movies and TV shows. And sometimes, rarely, in really life. For the rest of us mere mortals, who have to wade through mud when it pours, who have to learn to dance by taking classes or put on pants one leg at a time, we’ve got to start easy.

And work our way up.

The tickets I’ve opened help with that. I pull data from them, digging into details before I accept anything. I get more information, more columns to show me what I need. The System can show more than I could begin to guess. Number of databases accessed. Number of Classes involved. Number of individuals involved. Sphere of effect. Amount of Mana involved or stored within the Class, or Skills, or enchantments, or whatever else is being affected.

I sort and adjust, filtering again and again. All the while, the pair of Senior Administrators watch me, saying nothing and letting me do what I want. The tickets before me change, adjusting constantly as they update with new information.

And at some point, I’m done. There’s no more delaying. Nothing else to stop me from picking something. I draw a deep breath and I find my hands trembling.

Suppressed fear or excitement? I’m not sure. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s—

Time.

***

Damage Calculation for Class Skill Open Ocean is Incorrect

Calculations when interacting with the Skills River Flows and the Greater Depths as well as during formula calculation of resistances to fire and elemental ice damage; damage calculations are providing x83-variance in Mana.

The first ticket seems simple. It’s an edge case, happened twice in all the time it’s been in play. It’s a relatively urgent ticket though, because an individual is running this particular underwater ice dungeon. Once he leaves, it probably won’t matter ever again.

But it still needs fixing.

System Mana is bleeding from the bad calculations as the System compensates for the bad data with raw power. System Mana fixes issues, paves over the problems so that those affected don’t see what’s happening, don’t realize there’s a problem—for the most part. But it costs. Costs more than it’s worth for the System to keep the Skill and individuals alive.

So we fix it.

Administrators, that is. The information flows through me, into me, an answer to a question I didn’t know I was asking. I fix the calculations, working by instinct, using Intelligence attributes in ways I never knew it could be used, Wisdom and intuition when raw processing power is insufficient. I twist the Mana strings, encode the new formula, the exceptions, and send back the results.

There’s a hum, almost a feeling of gratitude when the answer is accepted. I feel experience trickle into my body, going straight to my System Administrator role. The ticket closes.

And I grab another.

Regeneration of monsters in Class XIVI dungeons, at the Hamton and Brasmith dungeons compromised.

A simple matter of adjusting Mana flows around Mana lines that the System laid down due to damage from a recent Master Class fight. Stupid Geomancers, with their alteration of the Mana and physical environment. I adjust the flow, increasing it for the normal monsters, reducing it for the Alpha, and put the bleed-off into the nearby river. That’ll make the water slightly more Mana-rich, maybe mutate a few more things in the future. Make an alchemist or two happy.

Another prompt, another agreement. Another rush of experience.

Next ticket.

Attempted access to time displacement technology (5.7s) by the Varia White Institute on Yuhupe Satellite IV.

I dig into the information. It’s interesting—the notification isn’t because the System doesn’t want them to try to go back in time. It doesn’t care. There’s almost a smug sense of guarantee that it won’t work.

No, it’s not that the System doesn’t want them to try. It’s because the attempt itself is the problem, because the drain on System Mana and the subsequent destruction of the materials makes the experiment cost vastly more than what Skill, technological processing, and regeneration the individuals involved—even peripherally—have put into the System.

It’s inefficient.

I get the database, the full cost and variables. And I have to balance it all out. It’s part accounting, part manufacturing process management, and part Administrative Skill adjustment as I dig into all of the data. I make adjustments on the backend, not on the System itself. But there are so many variables that we never see—especially when creating—that it’s not easy to balance it all.

It’s not an easy ticket, because I can’t just make the artifacts they create more expensive. Otherwise, they’d get around it by creating something similar. And I can’t penalize their entire Skill because then it’d penalize everyone else. Nor can I do it on an individual level or else our adjustments would be noted.

My work slows down then as the library, the Questors’ library, assaults me. It floods me with information about times when an Administrator, or perhaps even the System, did a bad job. It gives me information, guesses, formulas that the Questors have used to understand what is going on.

Information.

I admit, I crib from the notes. I make alterations, twist the strings of Mana that are the program codes that tell the world how to work. I get to fixing, smoothing out the data, applying an older solution with some minor adjustments.

Next ticket.

Ares Gravitic Grenade v183.9 interaction with Mana-infused Dragon Silver—Overdrawn

Formula. Math. Calculation. Adjustment.

Next ticket.

Rhapsody of the Siren current degradation too slow

Just over two dozen individuals, all of them having found this once abandoned Class. Now they’re back and creating a… cult? Groupie group? I’m not even sure. It’s a problem, especially with the way they’re exploiting the Rhapsody. I dig into it, and once again the library comes to my aid. Research studies, Skill lists, details about mental and musical Skills.

All of it at my fingertips.

I adjust the degradation, add details of how and why and when, make it easy to explain away why it wasn’t noticed before. I give users a built-in resistance. And maybe I overweigh it a little bit so that they get a mental resistance for everything too.

The System rejects and fixes that overplayed hand. Sends back a feeling of… wrongness. The experience I get is less. The final ticket is adjusted by the System before the ticket itself disappears.

And I’m on to the next ticket.

Star 489151x199967y889987z-1 has begun to dim. Mana uptake is at 87% of expectations.

I falter a little when this one comes up. The System deals with suns? Not surprisingly, the library has something to say about that too.

I hesitate at adjusting this, wondering at a System where fixing a star is considered a trivial, low-level Administrative task. But the Senior Administrators are waiting, watching. I feel the weight of their regard even as I unconsciously note that they’re at work too. Coding.

I dive right in, forcing aside doubts.

For what is an enormous project, the code itself is simple. A simple comparison is all that’s required before I see the problem. The Mana equivalent of copy and paste fixes the issue, then I send it over.

Assessment, agreement, and experience.

Next ticket.

There’s always another ticket.

***

“Enough.”

Sefan’s voice pulls me from the fugue I’ve fallen into, grabbing tickets, fixing the problem, and moving on. An unknown period of time has passed, my abnormal Constitution, buoyed by the intense focus my attributes have provided, allowing me to work without interruption.

Multiple tickets are open before me, each of them in the process of being completed. I’ve gone from one ticket to three, search processes and databases open for each of them. At some point, the Administrative equivalent of their data repository was made available and I’ve got multiple windows into that open, allowing me to review and assess code. Adding remarks of my own, like the one I finish leaving as Stefan’s sentence recalls me to the present.

The next time you leave a code recommendation, make sure you check it over first. Otherwise you’ll cause a cascading failure in the third tier of the System database archives. References attached.

Code revision attached.

I finish the updates with a grunt and drop back into reality. I put bookmarks on the tickets, leaving links for reference when I get to them again. But a part of me burns with rage at being interrupted. Do they know how long it takes to get back into the right frame of mind for coding?

Actually, as I eye the pair of Senior Administrators, I realize they probably do. They deal with the System code much like I do. And while the System code is as much poetry and biology as hard programmed lines, the mindset required is the same.

“Seen enough?” I say. When in doubt, go on the offensive.

“You have some skill,” Sefan admits, looking to the side.

I follow his gaze and realize I can see the window he’s looking at. On it are a list of tickets I’ve tackled and a timer beneath it.

258 Class 3 tickets. 4 Class 2 tickets (misclassified).

97.8% code fidelity. Loss of 1.8764k SMU.

Security rating upgraded to Class 2 (Provisional, within Administrative centers only. Pending approval).

14 hours, 38 minutes Administrator Time

“Fourteen hours!” I yelp a little. “Wait. What’s Administrator time?”

“Time within this zone is compressed. Only an hour and a half will have passed when you exit,” Wex says. “A decent number for a first-time delve.”

“Decent?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Decent. I cleared two hundred seventy-five,” Wex says.

“Three hundred fifteen,” Sefan says smugly.

Beyond the radiating pride from Sefan, I don’t see any indication they’re lying. Which makes me a little annoyed. Even if I know I’m not a gifted coder, it’s never nice to have it rubbed in your face. Especially since I was in the flow when they interrupted me.

It’s possible that was for the best though. Even if the flow, the damage, from interacting with this much System Mana is reduced in the Administrative Center, my body burns, aches from being damaged and regenerated continuously.

“However, the System seems pleased with your work,” Wex says. “Few Junior Administrators do as much. Or as cleanly.”

“As cleanly for sure.” Sefan stares at me, as if by just looking, he could dig out my secrets. Maybe outside of the Administrative Center he could, using Skills and psychic abilities, but in here, there’s just my smiling mien.

“Then did I pass?” I smile grimly. “Will you end your actions against Earth?”

“Earth?” Sefan looks puzzled before recollection sparks. He caws again, in shortened amusement. “That matter is already resolved. The vote will be done and another problem dealt with.”

“I don’t see a ticket for it, so it ain’t an Administrator problem,” I say, flicking my hand and refreshing the ticket. “Doesn’t seem to be a problem to me.”

“Not everything is dealt with via the Administrative Center,” Wex says. “Managing the Galactic System requires more than the ability to resolve tickets. Though that is not a matter that Junior Administrators should trouble themselves with.”

“Then again, I’m not your normal inductee, am I?” I say, turning from one to the other. “And that’s the point of why I’m here.”

“Yes.” Sefan’s wings rustle, opening and closing as he stares at me. In the end, he shakes his head to Wex. “He has talent. Whatever he did to get him the Class, it makes him a good technician. But he is too much of a risk. Even now, he taunts us. He will not bow. He will not bend. My vote stands.”

“The Weaver will be unhappy,” Wex states calmly, clicking its mandibles together. But it lowers itself on a thread, getting closer to me.

“Hey now, no need to be hasty. You could try asking before making pronouncements,” I say, edging away.

To my utter lack of surprise, the damn spider-creature has invisible threads strung above, letting it shift sideways too. It just reattaches as necessary. I eye the surroundings, taking in the mezzanine floor, the walls. There’s no exit that I can see. I cast around discreetly for a way out as the corvid stalks toward me. Sefan’s feet click with each step, even as the spider above me moves, watching my every motion.

“We are not hasty.” Sefan’s wings open and a breeze arises.

“We are deliberate.” Wex twitches, and the notification windows collapse, shrouding me in darkness.

“We are inevitable.” Energy talons extend from Sefan’s fingers.

“We are what makes the System work.” Wex rears back, bunching legs as he readies himself.

Together, they finish their creepy villain dialogue. “And you are a bug.”

Chapter 17

I throw myself out of the way well before they finish their words. Sefan is already darting forward, the wings on his back beating as he flies low toward me. Wex above on its invisible threads, barely discernible with its camouflaged skin, spurts out new thread, hoping to catch me.

Skin tears, blood staining the white floor of the Administrative Center. The energy talons Sefan uses don’t burn, leaving my torso wound to dribble red blood, nanowoven battlemesh coming apart as easily as Christmas wrapping paper. As Sefan twists in mid-air, I smell the musky stink of his feathers, hints of heavy spices and clean wind.

A raised sword catches the thread as it splashes around me, allowing me to tear myself away from Wex’s attack. The sudden jerk and change in momentum forces me into a roll, small strands of the spider thread catching at my clothing and tearing free. My sword I dismiss, leaving its thread to flop around uselessly before I recall the clean weapon to hand.

Soulbound seems to mean something more than just plain Skills. That’s good, because I’m at a disadvantage here.

I hunt for an exit, pushing at the System, searching. After a second, a notification flares into my vision, ever so briefly. A door flickers then disappears, forced away by the Senior Administrators.

Distracted, I don’t see Sefan bearing down on me until it’s too late. A sword catches one talon, my free hand grasping his shoulder as he bowls me backward. I fly back under the mezzanine I’ve been angling toward, feeling his talons sink into my body. At least we’re briefly hidden from Wex above.

Taloned claws clench in my stomach, tearing at intestines, slippery innards sliced apart and turned into Silly Putty as the Senior Administrator easily overpowers me. I struggle, but he’s stronger, much, much stronger. Even adjusting the Strength attribute, throwing everything into pure strength does nothing to his grip.

If they had Skills, if I had Skills, this fight would go differently. But we have nothing but our attributes, our skills, and whatever innate abilities we might have given our bodies.

Sefan’s mouth opens in a long screech that makes my ears hurt, my arm tremble. I shift the direction of his other attack, letting his arm slip over my shoulder even as I crash into the wall behind me. My teeth slam shut, blood fills my mouth, and my bones creak in dismay. The wall itself does not give way, Mana construct that it is, but his talon is briefly captured.

I drop down, feeling more of my body tear, rip. But the overly sharp nature of his claws plays against Sefan now, the skin in my torso opened wide. I rip free, screaming in agony. His now-free hand swings down. A sword in the way cuts into his arm a little, stopping the attack as I’m flattened on the floor.

Out of the corner of my eyes, beneath the mezzanine roof, I see Wex creeping over. Its body can barely be seen but for flickers of motion. It’s taking its time, placing its feet carefully as multi-faceted eyes watch as I struggle.

And struggle I am, for Sefan keeps lashing out. I have a single sword that allows me to block his attacks somewhat. But each blow throws me around, crumpling my defense and leaving me bleeding.

Seconds pass, enough time for Wex, with its increased attributes, to near. A kick—a new addition to Sefan’s arsenal—throws me back into the unyielding wall when I attempt to escape. I crack my head again and see stars. My health is halfway down, my torso a gaping wound that attempts to reconstruct itself, but a part of me, the part that is connected to the System, buzzes.

It’s angry, upset over the breaking of its rules. I almost swear I sense a touch of frustration in the connection, but I can’t focus on it. Just my impending doom, as Sefan raises his hand to strike me down.

Time slows as I taste iron, as stars resound and his screech of victory pierces my eardrums. I watch talons, glowing yellow and red with shafts of energy, rise and fall, both oh-so-fast and glacially slow at the same time. I feel my hand, bereft of my sword, rise up to block it. I know it’s wasted effort.

Time slows, and for a few infinite seconds, I have time to think.

Energy.

Force.

Affinity.

Lightning bursts from my raised hand, channeled through it. Electrons are excited, released from their bonds, resistances lowered. The world changes and brightens as my attack strikes Sefan and arcs through his body, grounding in the floor, in the mezzanine roof, in Wex.

I tap into my Elemental Affinity, the connection strong and powerful and not at all gifted by the System. There is no block on it, for it’s not something offered to me by the System but via my connection to Ali at first, then by time and training.

Sefan staggers back, surprised. As is Wex. The attack doesn’t kill. It barely even damages. But it gives me an opening, and with that and with the aid of the System, I push against the block they’ve set up. The door appears, open, against the wall I lean on. Behind me.

I fall through it, still unleashing uncontrolled energy. When Sefan and Wex move to follow, I take away their grip, the friction between them and the floor. It bothers them for a second as they fail to find purchase on the floor, the ceiling. They slip, fall, and reassert their own control of reality through the System.

Then I’m through, the door slamming shut as I let their block reassert itself.

I tumble to the ground in the same alleyway, bleeding, bruised, broken. Blood pools around my torso, ropes of torn intestine falling out, shredded clothing by my side. I have multiple broken bones, a shattered collarbone.

I’m hurt and in pain. But I’m alive.

I stagger to my feet, feeling my Skills reassert themselves. As Mikito rushes to aid me, I grin predatorily at the empty spot.

“Inevitable, my ass.”

***

My moment of arrogant challenge dissipates as fast as the blood escaping from wounds. I pull myself together, using healing potions to aid the System that struggles to heal me. I drop a bunch of mines, shield barriers, and other friendly greetings in front of the door as I stagger toward Mikito. She’s stopped, a deep frown on her face as she deals with the Administrative injunction to enter the alleyway.

“Sloppy code…” I mutter, watching as Mikito grows more and more frustrated. She struggles forward, pushing against the enchantment even through the lack of notifications. “Don’t. I’m coming.”

She jerks a nod, relief evident on her face. Rather than worry about the state I’m in, she conjures a beam rifle and points it behind me in support while I stumble to her. Injuries that should cripple me seem to be healing faster than normal. I could poke at it but getting away is more important.

Yet, nothing happens. Not when I get to Mikito. Not when we retreat, while I plaster myself with healing spells and wrap a cloak around my torn clothing. Not even when we get on a nearby private aircar to be chauffeured away.

Long, tense minutes pass as we evade pursuit. We change cars and transportation methods, even going so far as to pay for a short-range teleport out of the city.

Once we’re away from civilization—or the closest Irvina equivalent—we conduct short-range hops. I push past the Dimension Locks on the planet, overriding it with my System Edit Skill.

We run and keep running until we’re in the middle of an ocean, floating in the middle of the air. Alone, with the ability to see potential problems coming from every angle. Paranoia wanes, and I find my hands trembling uncontrollably while the sour taste of acid floats in the back of my mouth.

“What happened?” Mikito says, eyeing me with caution.

“Trap.” When she grunts, I continue. “A pair of Administrators were within.” I shudder, remembering their visages, the power they wielded. “They had to be high Heroics. Maybe Legendarys.”

“How are you alive?” Mikito asks.

I don’t answer the insulting question, not immediately. I call forth Ali, who pops into being, arms crossed. He spins around, taking in the world, then relaxes. Only to tense again when he sees my face. I’m clean now, all the blood gone, but the shredded remnants of my clothing are still on me.

“What the hell happened?” Ali says.

“Trap,” Mikito replies.

“Duh! But why’s boy-o looking like he’s been told he’s got a kid? And what are all these notifi—” Ali shuts up as his eyes glaze over, data streaming before him. He reads and ignores us, catching up in a more direct manner.

“They didn’t have access to Skills. None of us did.” I touch my side where I can still feel the sensations of my body being torn apart. “And they weren’t taking it seriously. Didn’t think I could do anything.”

Mikito purses her lips. “Learn anything useful?”

“A lot. But most importantly…” I draw a deep breath and let it out. “They’ve made up their minds. I don’t think they’re going to hold off hunting for us. Not anymore.”

Mikito’s eyes widen and I nod. She shivers, but I smile. A hand is raised and a book recalled. I weigh it in my hands, feeling the power within as I let the book fall open. A Skill, harnessed within, waits to be unleashed. And I let it.

The book rushes into my mind, seeking information, knowledge. I offer it what I can, everything I just learned about Skills, Administrators and Administrative Centers. How the System works, how its encoded.

With a snap, the book closes. I hold it for a second more, Mikito side-eying me and the leather-bound, parchment-based weapon of mass destruction and knowledge. Then I open my hand, letting the book free. Light swallows the book as it shrinks, twisting in on itself before it disappears.

Returned.

“John?” Mikito asks quietly, and I smile grimly.

“Time to pull out all the guns.” I draw a deep breath. “Tell Katherine, Rob. They’re not going to stop pushing Earth, no matter what we do. Best to be ready.”

She nods jerkily, and the wind picks up over the open ocean, splashing us with water. As dark storm clouds roll in, we get to work.

If chaos, if death and destruction are all they’re searching for, then we’ll give it to them. In spades.

***

The Questors get moving. Corrupt Questors or orthodox, this information gets disseminated. Not the actual information about my Class—not yet. But that there might be more to the System, to the Quest? Definitely. The new information, hints and real data are thrown into void space to chum the waters.

Long dormant conversations about the kind of world we live in, the nature of the System and our reality rise once more. News articles appear, reporters and investigative journalists having long-held questions answered. Reports about the movements of the Council, the things they’ve done in the past—and are doing now—are published all across the galaxy.

Secrets are revealed. From the residence of Legendarys who value their privacy to share holdings in private companies, forcing runs on shares and the sudden questioning of certain contracts. Other companies and guilds, who have long alluded to powerful backers, are revealed as frauds, their share prices dropping. Guilds are destroyed, headquarters gutted.

Civil order becomes discivil. Races whose worlds were stolen, their lands taken, question the validity of the actions taken against them, their place in society. The line between what the System—an uncaring, unfeeling, remote program—and the Galactic Council—supposedly a body to serve all sapients—is questioned once more.

Libraries of hidden knowledge, of Classes and Titles that the Questors have accumulated suddenly appear in public forums. Secret Skills, used to control and hamper competitors, other individuals, other groups, become known.

Assassins and bounty hunters, searching for their targets, for weaknesses to exploit, find that once closely held information is now freely available. Vengeance seekers looking for those to blame, looking for a path forward find their ways illuminated.

The Questors make their move, and the galaxy is thrown into chaos. Because while the Questors might not be able to wield a sword, the weapon they hold—the trove of knowledge they have access to—is as dangerous, if not more, to the society they live within. They but lacked the will to use it. Now, they act. A truth dangled before them, a hint whispering through the halls.

That there are not one but two individuals who have reached ninety percent in the Quest. That the Quest is possible to complete, perhaps. That information, that final step, if asked for carefully, if desired, might be available. For those who dare.

Questors act, and the Head Librarians meet. And what they might make of my little book, I know not. Because I’ve got my own problems.

***

They find us a day later. Mikito, Ali, and me. The attack tears the sky apart, boiling water, cooking the jelly-like monster we’ve been attempting to reel in and creating gale force winds that toss us aside. Servos whine in the Hod, my power armor struggling to keep me aloft. Engines shriek and scream as I stabilize myself, as the sky lights up again.

Blink Step takes me out of the way while Mikito tanks another blast, her conjured horse riding out of the beam of light with her on it. Ghostly armor forms as she rides through the stabbing beams of light, joining me as we run. Ali reforms beside me, attaching himself to the Hod as he floats on his back, staring at the sky. As we keep running, he bends light itself, making the next strike miss us by miles.

“Where is he?” I snarl, searching my minimap for our attacker and finding nothing.

“Out of sight. This is a Heroic artillery Skill,” Ali says. “Untargeted—sort of—but wide ranging. Keep running, we’ll get out of range soon enough.”

I cast Soul Shield on myself and Mikito before I reach out to my doppelgangers, hoping they’re doing okay. I could call another now, but I get the feeling I’m going to need all my Mana. Anyway, their job hasn’t changed. Keep trying to get us more seats, and failing that, try not to get killed and waste my Mana.

The air heats up around us, waterspouts attempting to form from the overheated air and failing as even more beams crash down. Occasionally, I see the edges of the holes that the attacks create, deep abysses of boiled water and injured aquatic creatures before the ocean rushes back in.

“Underwater?” I send to Mikito over party chat.

Rather than answer me, she dives. Maybe it’ll help, maybe it won’t, but we don’t have a lot of options, so we go down. Deep into the water, feeling the liquid press upon us, slowing us as we kick forward.

Until I reach outward with my affinity and take away the friction. We speed up, faster than ever before, angling deeper and away. The beams continue to attack us, but they’re less coordinated, the water and Ali bending them, the lack of direct sight disallowing direct adjustments. It’s easy to tell when Artillery boy switches methods to watch us, since more of the attacks land.

Damaging or not, the Hod and my Soul Shield hold up, aided by the dispersed level of the attacks. We run, and we keep running, health and Mana see-sawing as the artillery attacks keep landing.

As we escape the edge of the Skill, the next attack comes. The Sea Serpent rises from the depth, swallowing Mikito on her horse entirely, rows of teeth chomping down and masticating the woman and her ride. Dark green-blue scales swirl, its swimming form smacking me in the side and sending me away as I catch sight of its Status.

Ancient Sea Serpent (Level 283)

HP: 28155/28387*

MP: 1253/1253*

Conditions: Controlled, Heroic Passive Pet Buffs (Partial)—increased Mana regeneration, Health regeneration, damage resistance and damage penetration. Water Mana Damage.

“Mikito!” I throw a couple of Blade Strikes, holding off on my other Skills, uncertain of where exactly the Samurai is. I know she’s alive—her health still stands. But my Skills would damage her too if I miss, and the kilometer-long body obscures her location. “I hate water!”

It was the right option to go down, to fight where we believed they’d have fewer options, fewer civilians to harm. But less is not nothing…