Life in the North: An Apocalyptic LitRPG

The Sea Serpent turns toward me, mouth opening. I expect it to swim toward me, and it does. But deep within its mouth, a glow forms, an attack beginning.

A hand shifts and I toss out grenades. Absolute-zero cold grenades and mines trigger as they float away, forming shards of ice between us. The mini-glacier is created within seconds, even as I boost back and aside.

The Serpent’s attacks tear away my protection, tossing me around as it shatters the Hod’s security shield and strains my own. I snarl, relayering Soul Shield, but I’m surprised as the blast continues to veer away. The Serpent struggles, twisting and curling in paroxysms of pain.

Then from its belly, a third of the way down, a shining light. A curved, illuminated blade pokes out, blood flowing into the edge of the weapon as it tears a way out for its wielder. Samurai and horse exit before turning around and driving downward. Hitoshi’s blade end plunges into the body, unzipping the Serpent.

Before I can exult, the artillery beams from before reappear. I’m tossed aside as the waters boil.

“Time to go!” I shout as I regain control.

Mikito pulls away, the Serpent left to fall to the ground, dying or dead.

And we’re running.

Running and wondering when the big boys will arrive.

***

One day. They take an entire day to harass and attack us. It’s not just the Heroic artillery attacker and the Beast King in play but a trio of Master Class mages who lob attacks at us, well outside of our range. Using ritual spells, Skills, and beast pests to keep Mikito and I running, they never get close enough that I can hurt them. We cross the ocean, flying, fighting, and dodging, transiting between air and water from moment to moment.

We get a short break when I contact the Questors, who manage to pull the Heroic artillery attacker away by dropping a bomb on his location. It won’t do much to the actual Heroic himself, but it does destroy his connection to the satellites above Mikito and me. A series of sabotages sent the remainder satellites spinning away at the same time, repositioned or destroyed.

And while he went chasing off after the Corrupt Questors and System Watchers who are busy playing hide and seek, their respective Skills and enchantments making them perfect to play saboteurs, the rest of the Irvina military takes over the job.

We get swarmed a couple of times by Galactic military personnel, the equivalent of planetary security. They don’t last long, not when I can throw Judgment of All at the group. I was tempted to use my System Edit to kill the Heroic artillery and Beast King, but I held off, concern about potential feedback affects, about who they have waiting in the wings, holding back my ire.

Twice, the Council’s army try swarming us. Twice, I rack up kills without our enemies doing much to us.

After that, it’s summoned monsters, drones, and long-range attacks over the horizon. We’re harassed and attacked constantly, the damage accumulating to the point that I give up on the Hod, storing it away so that it can regenerate while I tank the damage.

Mikito suffers the worst from it, and I add Two for One at opportune moments to share her pain. Luckily, her Ghost Armor and higher mobility keeps her from taking the brunt of the attacks. But it doesn’t stop all of it, and she lacks the sheer number of resistances I have. She gets thrown around a lot, and toward the latter half of the day, we split up more since their main target is me. It gives her a break, even if it makes her grumpy.

But unlike the movies, she’s not stubbornly opiniated, willing to risk her life for no good reason but pride. She’s practical enough to understand that she can’t do any protecting if she’s dead.

One day, and by the time they finally decide to act, we’ve landed on one of the semi-abandoned islands that dot the ocean. The entire place was initially swarming with monsters, but the constant bombardment while we ran around has thinned the herd, even as more continue to emerge from the overflowing dungeon.

“Why the hell would they let a dungeon break happen?” I snarl, feeling the pulse, the open wound of Mana that is the dungeon and its overflowing monsters like a needle in my System senses.

“Level management, if I had to guess. Let it break, let the monsters kill and Level up outside, then when the place is packed, let a Heroic or some senior Master Classers go to town and farm the XP.” Ali looks harried, exhausted like Mikito and me. He’s reverted to his normal form rather than the floating crystal he was, but he’s hazy, broken at the edges. It’s one of the ways I know he’s struggling. As a creature of energy and concept, what he looks like is more a matter of choice and will than physical truth.

As Mikito rides up to me, blood dripping off the edge of her naginata and the edges of her translucent armor, I look around. It’s silent for the first time in a while, though in the corner of my vision, I see a pair of dots moving toward us unhurriedly.

The vivid colors of the planet’s vegetation are marred, crisped by flames and overwrought energy, stained with dark purple and red blood. Corpses of monsters that attempted to attack us or were caught in the crossfire litter the ground, lustrous scaled skin and peacock feathers crisped. Once upon a time, I’d have picked up the high-Level waste, used every inch of their hides to earn a few Credits.

Now, I just wonder if they’d work as cover.

“Decided to stop running?” Kasva says. The Champion is bedecked in his gold-edged plate armor that sparkles in the sunlight, pink skin and small tusks perfectly burnished. He looks as if he just walked off a magazine shoot, his hair billowing in the wind.

“Decided to come out to play at last?” I reply, conjuring my swords. They form around me, hanging in mid-air, and I smile grimly. Level 38 to my own Level 14—quite a big difference. Especially since Kasva’s got a bunch of additional Class Skills.

Beside him, a short whiplike creature slithers forward on his tail. He hisses and shifts, staring at Mikito. A crystal diadem floats above his earless head, yellow scales glinting in reflected light. Ali provides his Status, making me wince a little.

Buidoi Samaaoi, Winner of the 219th Koopash Tournament, Banned of the Casinos, Marked Gambler, Marked from Birth, Mind Flayer, Outcast, Slayer of Goblins, Movana, Truinnar, Hakarta, Erethran, Grimsar, … (Psychic Master Level 42) (M)

HP: 2140/2140

MP: 4230/4230

Conditions: Psychic Storm, the Waves of the Soul, Mana Fount, Empathic Senses, Mind to Body

“I was held back,” Kasva says. He looks as unhappy as I am as he walks forward and plants his feet before me. His cloak catches the wind, fluttering behind him. I spot a half dozen small drones, barely larger than a fly, floating before him. Recording him. “By those who feel you are worthy of being taken seriously.”

“Bomb me to bits first then.” I shake my head. “But then you take the time to let my Health and Mana regenerate.”

“Killing you was never the expectation. Though it would have been convenient,” Kasva says. “Your companion perhaps. But even that was not within the range of forecast outcomes. Wearing you down, mentally, was.”

“Some people might point out that lowering my intelligence might be the opposite of good,” I say, idly twirling my sword. “I’m more an instinctual fighter.”

“Some might. Few who have truly studied you, Redeemer.” Kasva’s eyes narrow as he regards me. “You might fight instinctually, but you win your fights with your mind.” He pauses, then adds, “And with unexpected help at times.”

I grin.

“Those Questors. What did you tell them?” Kasva says.

Before I can answer, pressure pushes at my mind like a building headache. It’s annoying, and there’s an understanding that if I push, I could make it disappear. I almost do, before I pause and consider the pain, the pressure. I test it with my System sense, feel the edges of the attack with my System Edit Skill.

And watch as a flood of notifications arrive.

Mental Intrusion Detected

Skill: Secrets of the Mind and Soul in use.

Modified Skill Detected

System Edit (Level 2) Used to Edit Skill.

Would you like to see edits?

A mental assent is all I need before details on the Edited Skill arrive in a tangle of Mana.

Mental Resistances Lowered

Mental Manipulation Detection Opportunities Lowered

System Resistances Altered

Intelligence Attribute—Compromised

Each of those are summaries, high level headlines for what is a much more complex bundle of information. I absorb it all within fractions of a second as the Mana threads flow within me. Armed with new knowledge, I push back, slamming shut the mental intrusion.

Mental Influence Resisted

“Nice try,” I say while Buidoi cocks his head.

I wonder how much Kasva knows, how much he suspects. He is the Champion, but in the conversation, there were hints. Hints that the Council and the Administrators are not the same. That there might be another council, another group behind them.

“Will you answer the question?” Kasva says. “You could save a lot of lives. Already we are forced to undertake drastic actions. The terrorist attack on the military base containing Guard DeeArz was highly inflammatory.”

“Who?”

“The individual striking at you from above.” Kasva gestures above and I nod. Artillery boy. “Many were killed in aiding you. Men, women, slugs. Ordinary guards who were just doing their jobs. Killed by the bomb that did nothing to injure Guard DeeArz himself.”

I make a little face at that. I’m not thrilled to hear of the deaths.

As if sensing my hesitation, Kasva continues. “If you provide us details, information about your friends, we can end the deaths early. Lower the body count, the numbers that must die.”

“No offer of mercy for myself?” I tilt my head toward Mikito, who is silent, watching the pair on her horse. “Or my companions.”

“Too late for you or your companions. But not for the civilians, for the innocent Questors you have dragged down with you.” Kasva gestures again, his movements expansive. I note the little cameras moving. “No need to drag others down.”

I find myself staring at Kasva and Buidoi for a long moment. It’s a tempting offer, one geared to tug at my heartstrings, at the remnants of my conscience. My eyes narrow in thought, and perhaps I’d have continued talking.

As always, I’m saved by my friends. By those who have aided me.

“Six assault teams are surrounding you, cutting off all escape. He’s just buying time!” The voice is familiar, but one I’d forgotten mostly. It’s Vrasceids, the Middle Samurai’s voice crackling over my helmet’s communicator. He says something else, but it comes across garbled as the Council shuts down his hack. But the map download he sends expands my minimap.

It shows the truth of the attackers coming for us. And suddenly, that moment of peace ends as the silence becomes edged with dread and the upcoming threat.

“Ah… too bad.” Kasva smirks and gestures for the drones to move aside. The next motion he makes is to explode forward, legs fountaining dirt behind him as he charges us.

***

He’s fast. Faster than I realized, watching the recordings. I get the feeling he was holding back for this reason. He bats aside two of my floating swords, the one I wield, and my blocking arm, and hits me in the chest with his fist. No weapon, just a fist.

Cold, penetrating cold, tears away my breath and locks my muscles from the attack. It digs deep into my chest even as I fly backward, the attack bypassing my Soul Shield, Hod’s armor, and my resistances. He doesn’t stop, launching a second, third, and fourth strike.

I manage to block two of the others, take a glancing blow on the fourth. The cold radiates from the top of my shoulder from the fourth strike, slowing me down further. I trigger Penetration’s Evolved form, hitting back as hard as I can to make the Skill shield work. Somehow, his attacks punch right through my Soul Shield without destroying it entirely, though I can sense its integrity has dropped.

“What the hell is going on?” I get the thought off even as I do my best to deploy the rest of my Skills.

Aura of Chivalry turns on, its effects slowing my opponent by fractions of a millisecond. But it costs me nothing, so I let it run. Vanguard of the Apocalypse gives me speed and strength, boosting me, as does the Haste spell I’ve already laced myself with. Vanguard drains my Stamina, which will take a beating under the stress of fighting. For more speed, I use Unstoppable Force as well, boosting my damage output and attributes even further.

Domain engages after that. It takes a while to fully trigger as the System extends who and what I am over the space I’m in. The Champion slows down noticeably when Domain does kick in, and my Penetration Shield glows and firms up, shards of ice and frost noticeable along its shell. The damage per second effect hammers him and the few monsters we pass, flames erupting from trees and plants while reinforcing my Penetration Shield.

The sky spins and blurs around me as we battle. I keep blocking, conjuring and dispersing my swords as I block his attacks, forcing him to dodge or take the cuts. Pink and purple vegetation burns, trees shatter, and we keep adding Skills.

Disengage Safeties triggers next, overriding the Hod’s output regulators. It gives me greater strength, speed, reaction times. When I swing and attack, cutting at the Champion, he’s forced back now, with all the accumulated boosts I have. I’m stronger, faster than him—briefly.

Then he triggers his own Skills. Passive effects that build upon his strength, that grow stronger the longer we fight, Skills that have limited durations. My advantage disappears. We’re equal to one another for now, even as Kasva takes damage from my Domain.

Our fight takes us farther away from Mikito and the psychic. We move at such speed that hills are destroyed, trees and vegetation flattened. Everywhere we pass, monsters are hurt, injured, and killed. I attempt to guide the fight to the edges of the island, to where his people attempt to surround us, to deal damage to them as well. Kasva blocks my attempts, punching me down, throwing me aside and guiding the fight with contemptuous ease.

We’re equal in attributes, but not in skill. Or Skills. He has decades of combat experience over me, training by the finest masters in the Galaxy, and an unimaginably large Credit pool to draw from. His strength builds with each moment, his attributes increasing the longer we fight. The gap between the two of us constantly increases.

Funnily enough, neither of us are bothering to Zone or Dimension Lock another. Even the planetary lock is of little use, bypassed on a short-range basis by myself and removed for the Champion. But neither of us is bothering to run.

I need to finish this fast before all the on-going Skill use drains my Mana and Stamina pools. With so many Skills turned on and with the use of my damage-eliciting Skills, my Mana Pool is draining at an alarming rate. I’m losing nearly three hundred Mana per minute just for my current Skill use, never mind Stamina drain or damage to myself.

Worse, he’s wielding an affinity. One he has a Greater Affinity for. It’s cold, or frost, or something along those lines. It’s making me slower, freezing muscles and tendons, locking up my limbs and organs and forcing me to injure myself with each movement. Unstoppable Force bleeds the edge off his attacks a little, but not enough. Each time he hits, he’s slipping past my Evolved Penetration Shielding and hurting me. Not much, but enough that his affinity takes hold as it slips past even the physical containment of the Hod.

Perhaps I could fight it back, use my own affinity on it. But I don’t have time to experiment, not in the middle of the fight. Even as I block another attack, he’s shoving his arm right through my blades, shedding blood and skin in an attempt to grab me.

I pull back, dropping my sword and snatching it as it reappears in my other hand, shifting angles so that he’s forced to impale himself on it. Kasva does, the blade bending around his reinforced armor a little even as blood drips.

A surge of power shoots a Blade Strike out from the tip of the blade, firing from the point of the weapon into his open wound. It burns Kasva, crisping his flesh and muscle before tearing a new orifice in his body.

Then Kasva hits me, his hand wrapping around the edge of the Hod’s armor. Grey metal groans and tears as he twists, throwing me through the air before I impact the edge of a hill. The angle is sufficient that I tear a deep furrow before skipping off into the sky, legs aching and numb. As I crest above the hill, Kasva is chasing me on foot, already at the top, ready to punch me again.

Abyssal Chains trigger, forming from around the hill and reaching upward. He flinches a little, thinking the black chains are meant for him. But they’re too low-powered to slow him. Instead, I wrap myself in the chains, change the arc of my flight, and dodge him even as I conjure and layer the air between us with weapons.

Kasva turns, searching for me, scaled armor sparking as it batters aside my swords. Blade Strikes tear into his back as I angle myself over his body, and as I land and spin around, Beacon of the Angels strikes down on his charging form.

Another moment to focus as I trigger another Skill. I have him held, for a brief moment, as he hunkers down around the blast of Beacon of the Angels. It’s enough time for more swords to form, for me to use Army of One.

I swing my hand down, the enhanced Intelligence and my control of the System making the once-elongated process of casting faster than ever. I admit, I’m surprised to find that true, but only in a very small corner of my mind.

Army of One hammers into the Champion. He blocks it on his arm, expending one of his enchanted items to form a spherical green shield of energy to tank the attack. It’s insufficient, given the amount of damage I can do, especially with Penetration.

Bright cracks form, then the energy dome shatters. White light pierces his shield, catching him on the arms, mutilating skin and muscle. Bones the color of brick are revealed as my attack breaches his defenses.

Kasva lands in a heap farther away from me, body smoking, the air shrieking as overheated air forms around us. As he stands, I can literally see flesh and muscle forming around his flesh. Healbot nanites, Skills, and enchantments all work in tandem to keep him on his feet. But he’s dazed, recovering.

Another time, I might have said something. Taunted him. Here, now, I just call upon my next Skill—Grand Cross. I spin the Skill, the formula together without thought, taking the brief moment to finish it.

A bright light, a column of energy. Small, no larger than the man I target. It crashes down, gravity and electromagnetic force and Mana. So much System Mana, focused on one small area.

It glows, growing brighter with each second. The flapping cloak, the emerald chest plate burn and melt beneath my attack. Kasva collapses onto his knees, forced down by the attack. The ground compresses in a circle around him, showing orange clay beneath. Light grows even brighter, cauterizing and crushing at the same moment.

So bright I can no longer see him.

Wind rushes outward, kicking at the Hod, threatening to knock me off my feet. The few remaining trees are knocked over as the kinetic energy of the attack disperses. The ground itself heaves and tosses, disturbing my balance.

And then, no more light. No more sound. The Skill ends.

When it’s gone, it leaves a crater centered around the Champion, eight feet deep, orange clay edging the crater. The wind moans, but there are no screams, no howls of anger.

And Kasva, still standing, still alive, grins at me as he floats out of the crater, burnt and damaged but alive.

“That all?”

***

I drop the majority of my Mana-intensive Skills, letting my Mana regeneration pick back up. Using all my Mana-intensive Skills means I’m close to tapped out, having spent over half my pool on my last three attacks.

I need the Mana now, need to refill the tank. Potions are slammed into my body, hypodermic needles flooding my body with Stamina and Mana potions. The cold tries to slow down the regeneration, slow my healing. I fight it back, but my body is trembling involuntarily as muscles clench and release.

Kasva doesn’t care as I ready myself. He stalks forward, his grin cracking wide. Metal, twisted and melted, regenerates around him, puddles of broken liquid flowing upward and connecting to the breastplate as it reforms. His cloak restitches itself before my eyes, flesh reforming and bones shifting back into the right position.

Above his head, his Status flashes, Mana and health climbing at an alarming rate. It’s not regeneration, because this is at least ten times the rate should be increasing from what I recall from the last little bit of our fight. Worse, he still has a quarter of his life yet.

I toss out a few Blade Strikes, but instinctual recognition of the glow around him is proven true. The attacks deflect off an invisible shield that flashes to life briefly. My eyes narrow as I read the System data that flows to me, the library filling me in on the rest.

Second Chance (Level 1) (H)

Champions do not fall that easily. There’s always another chance, another opportunity to keep going. How could a hero, a champion of the people, fall that easily, when the world believes in him? Second Chance makes that concept a universal truth.

Effect 1: Second Chance automatically activates when user has less than <1% of Health.

Effect 2: Skill User regains Health, Mana, and Stamina to maximum upon use of the Skill over the period of one (1) minute. All equipped equipment is restored to full durability. A portable second chance shield that grants invulnerability to damage is in effect during that restoration period. All Skills are reset.

Uses: 1

Recharge rate: Variable ($_championrepxhealthxManaregenxqualificationxlevelx…)

Annoying. Unlike the other second life Skill I’ve run into, this one regenerates the individual’s lifeforce. And something in the way the System information is coming to me says that the Champion has dumped multiple points in this, giving him more than one use.

I shake my head, pushing aside the idle thought of what an Evolved Skill like this would be like. As it stands, I’m pretty sure whatever he’s using to pierce my Shields is an evolved Skill, a damage multiplier effect or an evolved piercing attack or something. It combines to be a real cheat as he drives his Affinity into me.

Kasva strolls up, his body, his clothing, his weapons almost fully regenerated. He grins, cracking his knuckles, his neck. He even bounces a little on his feet as we wait for the shield to drop.

“Round two.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when he shoots forward, right at me. I drop low, pushing down hard on my Elemental Affinity, letting him hit me as I crouch. The bubble of my Penetration Skill bulges, flexes even as I adjust the angle of his strike and his momentum, the friction between himself and the world. I stabilize the ground beneath me, lock myself down with Immovable Object and heave.

He flies, arcing through the air, and even my head rings from the collision. I turn to track his flight, only to see him disappear from my sight.

Kasva reappears briefly to hit me as I twist around. I’m flying through the air, my Immovable Object Skill’s threshold exceeded. The belated feel of impact on my back arrives with a burst of pain and cold. I tumble through mid-air, spotting Kasva grinning at me. Before he disappears again.

Impact.

Cold.

Pain.

I try to block, try to defend myself with my swords. But he’s faster now, faster than ever. Another Skill, a passive that builds the longer he’s in a fight. He’s also using his equivalent of Blink Step, except his doesn’t confer momentum. So he’s teleporting, striking, and following up whenever I manage to reposition myself.

Even Blink Stepping myself—shoving past the weakened planetary Dimensional Lock around the island—is insufficient. I just damage myself porting through the sky before he is on me, smashing me around.

Fate’s Thread breaks the moment I latch it onto him, shorn apart by another Skill.

Impact.

Cold.

Pain.

The only advantage I have is that he’s taking less care around my weapons now, accumulating injuries. He’s healing around them, but each portion of damage adds to my Penetration Skill Shield. It holds, for now, as the Champion hammers at me.

But I’m realizing he doesn’t care about my shield. It’s his affinity that is doing the real damage here. My body is slowing, and no matter what I do to churn my Mana, to push against it, I feel myself freezing over. Slowing down.

Which lets him hit me more.

Which freezes me further.

Which lets him hit me more.

A vicious circle of pain as I am blasted around the island. Even Immovable Object doesn’t help, its parameters unable to stop the physical dislocation of myself or the ground I stand upon.

Trees tear, hills and cliff faces are destroyed. Sky and ground intermix in my view, nausea threatening to overtake my guts. He pummels me through the edge of a waterfall so hard that I collapse the cave behind it, crashing through the edges of an incipient dungeon, collapsing the mountain on the lair as I’m blasted out.

Blood dribbles from my chin and fills my mouth. Ribs grate, and I no longer tremble as my body stops fighting back against the encroaching cold affinity.

“Ali!” I scream for my friend, looking for help. But he’s nowhere to be found, hasn’t been anywhere since the start. I wonder what happened, a little, before I’m struck again.

My head throbs, blood leaking from my nose, my eyes. Vomit spills from my mouth. I struggle through the pain, searching for a way out. I reach for my Elemental Affinity, trying to excite my cells, to push against what he’s using. Instead, I end up injuring myself as I tear apart my very own cells.

Blood fountains from my arm as I block another attack and bones tear free of my muscle and skin. I fall down on my side, still partly protected by my shield. He’s still striking me with short, repeated jabs, hooks, and cut kicks.

Another blow and I bounce over to where one of the groups ringing us stands. My eyes widen when I notice they’ve got manacles, enchanted to capture and suppress my Mana regeneration. I push against the cold, triggering the start of Judgment for All. It starts slowly, even the Mana within me seeming to move slowly.

“No,” Kasva says and slams his hand down on the remnants of my shield.

The core of cold pierces me, and something flickers into my vision.

Mana Spike—Skill Disruption Attempted

Skill Interrupted Successful—Judgment of All

The Mana I gathered disperses and Kasva grins. “Take his shield down. I’ll make sure he doesn’t use anything.”

Another quick strike, and his affinity continues to burrow deeper into me.

I struggle.

I fail.

The cold takes me, darkness pulling at my consciousness.

And then, warmth.

Heat.

Flames everywhere. The cold affinity breaks, replaced by the heat, the warmth, the raging inferno of flame.

I scream, for it burns me. And the darkness that was approaching takes me.

Even as the world burns.

Chapter 18

I wake up, which is a surprise. I’m healed, which is less of a surprise, considering it’s the System. But as I struggle to wakefulness, as my arms shift to take me up, I find myself free of restraints. Another surprise.

Eyes crack open and I stare at the smooth white ceiling of a vessel of some form. I hear the engine running quietly in the distance, the slight shudder that is suppressed to all but the most delicate of Perceptions.

The fur blanket covering me trembles, shivering with each motion, the heated warmth of the fur bringing back flashes of my dream of rolling around in the depths of a canyon, fighting, struggling against a swarm of furred creatures that bite, chew, and claw.

I push away the nightmare, the relived memory, and breathe deeply. I swing my feet off the bed, leaving the soft, almost sensuous comfort of the mattress. The blanket rolls itself back up, fur parting a little, and I frown at the enchanted stitching it shows off. Expensive. Decadent. And wasteful.

“What the hell is going on?” I wonder.

I admit, I’m hoping someone will answer me, but the room is empty. In features, the room is much the same as the blanket and bed. Over-the-top luxury but understated in form. Nanite-based furnishings that form with a thought, restrictive arrays all around to ensure privacy and increase Mana density within. Soft lighting that is perfectly suited for human normal levels of sight. There’s even the faintest hint of vanilla, lavendar, and chocolate in the air, meant to calm.

“Awake finally?” Ali says, drifting out of the wall.

“What the hell happened to you?” I say, feeling a flash of irrational anger. Where was he? Where was Mikito when I was being beaten? Humiliated.

“Getting my ass handed to me,” Ali replies. “The Psychic had a Spirit of his own. Trapped me almost as soon as the fight started. I couldn’t get out.”

I frown, not recalling the enemy Spirit. Then again, that doesn’t mean much. Unlike me, who can make do with buying Skills and the like, Ali is constrained to some extent by the System. His strength is directly proportional to my true Level—so about one entire grade down. He’s the equivalent of a Master Class Level 14 Linked Spirit, which means if the other Spirit was Linked, Ali would be at a major disadvantage.

Still…

“I guess you’re not as good as you think,” I say. Ali glowers while I wave at him. “Mikito?”

“She’s fine. A little banged up and nursing the mother of all headaches, but she’s good. Being linked to you means she’s got more defenses than most against Psychics, but it wasn’t an easy fight.”

“What was?” I mutter rhetorically. I then ask the most important question. “Now, where the hell are we?”

I barely notice the wall open, falling apart as the nanites act upon the unspoken command of the one who enters. She’s tall, beautiful, regal, and scary at the same time. Golden hair tumbling down behind her back, pointy ears that suit the angular, heart-shaped face, and piercing blue eyes that strike a chord deep in my soul.

“Perhaps I can answer that.” The speaker’s voice is low, throaty, sensual. The kind of voice some women get naturally and others via a pack-a-day habit.

My loins stir involuntarily as a flood of notifications roll by my eyes. Most are beaten down, but the charms she wields leave their mark upon my mind, my body, and my emotions. I find myself turning, disregarding my lack of proper clothing as I face her.

That I conjure—successfully—my sword into hand only elicits a small, mysterious smile from her. “Who are you?”

She arches an eyebrow and tilts her head upward. I flush, realizing what she means, and look up to stare at her Status.

And find my jaw dropping.

The Lady of Shadows and Lies, ???? (??? Level ???) (L)

HP: ???/???

MP: ???/???

Conditions: ~Emotional, Mental and Physical Skill Manipulators~ (Put some pants on, boy-o!), ???

“Thousand hells.”

***

After she crooks a finger at me, I find myself following the swaying, green-dressed, form-fitting figure down the corridor. Out of portholes, I catch the occasional glimpse of surf and deep water, blinking creatures with way too many teeth and not enough points in Charisma. I watch it and her, all the while conjuring myself some clothing.

Because.

We don’t walk long before I enter an oval dining room. I manage to make it three steps before my eyes land on the figure dominating the room. And I find myself sinking to my knees, my legs giving way beneath me. If the Lady of Shadows is regal and queenly, a dream of a goddess of beauty given life, the one who sits, lounging with his feet on the table, is her opposite.

But more so.

The pressure he exudes, the dominance of the room crushes me, like being forced to give a speech before millions of disdainful mortals. Like the first time I tried to ask Angela out on a date in tenth grade, as her friends cut me down with their eyes. Except this time, the eyes can truly cut, the contempt crushing my will and bones. My heart hitches, pausing between beats.

No notifications, no indications the effects are driven by the System. Even my new System-enhanced senses are quiet. This is not a Skill or an Aura. This is the man’s sheer presence, the legacy of what he, who he is.

He’s a stake driven into reality, a reminder of who I am, what I am. How little I truly matter.

My head bows, my eyes close, and I find myself biting my lower lip. Anger roiling and thrashing deep within me smolders, catching fire. Reminders of past failures compress around my sense of self, and it doesn’t extinguish my ego but gives it fuel.

“This trick again,” I growl the words out. Or try to. It comes out slurred, mangled. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t say it for them.

Just for me.

I push, shoving back against the pressure, against the metaphorical chains that attempt to bind me. Fingers clench into a fist that pounds the floor once, then again. Pain flares down broken knuckles, but it’s pain I can use.

I use it to stand, to meet the man’s eyes. Meet and realize they’re reptilian in nature. Golden, with slitted pupils and a fire burning deep within. Meet and note he’s smiling.

It’s smiling.

So I smile back, though mine is more a snarl. I shove back as hard as I can and my heart speeds up, having restarted at some point. It beats fast, but it beats. My breathing evens out, even if it’s deep. The pressure, that was at first too heavy to bear, becomes manageable. Like most tragedies, time and will make it bearable. If painful.

“The Dragon,” I state, naming him.

My eyes travel to the side, blink as I spot another anomaly. Floating above a chair is a single twisted eye clad in a robe. The eye looks, feels familiar, bloated with fat and power. The library aids me, offering details.

“The Weaver.” I incline my head toward the eye.

It blinks but offers no other indication.

“You might as well let her up too,” the Lady cuts in. I follow the small gesture, the way she turns her body, and finally notice Mikito.

She’s kneeling, one hand gripping Hitoshi, the other on her knee. She is grimacing in pain and determination as she struggles to stay upright. Something in her eyes, something in the way she holds herself makes me wonder if she is trying her hardest.

Or waiting for the opportunity to thrust that polearm through the oh-so-tantalizingly-close dragon.

The pressure releases like a pop and Mikito draws a deep, unhindered breath, as do I. I offer her a half-smile before regarding the trio, making one more quick sweep for others. None that I can see. Which means almost nothing among this company.

“So. You saved us,” I say. “Why?”

“Not even a thank you?” the Dragon asks. Like the Lady, his Status is empty of any useful information.

“If you did it from the kindness of your hearts, without agenda or expectation of return, sure. Thank you.” I let the silence drag out a little. “But that’s not why you did it.”

The Lady slides into a chair, leaning back in it ever so slightly. The chair reforms to make itself more comfortable and, conversely, also emphasize her figure. Not that she needs any help.

The Weaver blinks. Once.

“No, it’s not,” the Lady says. A slight movement and a drink appears, forming above the table and allowing her to snag it. The pale, amber drink within the dainty fluted glass with a handle reminds me of whisky or tea.

I stay silent while she sips her tea and the Dragon stares at me as I stand there, waiting. Mikito shifts slightly, putting herself directly behind the most obvious threat. The silence drags on until such time as the Lady conjures a wooden, tiered display of snacks reminiscent of a snooty high tea restaurant.

“Am I supposed to call you the Lady, the Weaver, and the Dragon?” I change tactics, striding over to the table and taking a seat. I ignore the Dragon’s predatory gaze by dint of sheer willpower, letting the anger still smoldering within me be my shield.

“It will do as well as any moniker you might use,” the Dragon rumbles.

“Shiny.” I gesture and pull out snacks of my own, conjuring them from my own inventory. It’s nowhere as smooth, the plates and containers making noise as they drop onto the metal table. I snatch up a chocolate cake, pulling it to me as I spear the entire thing with a fork.

Yes, the entire cake. It’s been a long day.

Ali floats over my shoulder, making little motions with his hand to float one of the Lady’s snacks over to him. Mikito stays standing, watching in silence.

Chocolate cake, carafe of coffee, and a chaser of Mana-imbued water. I eat, ignoring the trio while I wait for them to answer my question. I’m amused to see the Dragon taste-test everything I dropped, while the Lady keeps to her own food. The Weaver just watches, rarely blinking. I’m half-done with the cake before she speaks.

“Few would dare to act like you.” The Lady gestures at me, and I flash her a tight-lipped grin. Mikito makes a wiping motion on her face and I find a napkin to clean up the mess around my lips. “Do you not fear what we might do?”

“To what? Me? Mikito?” I say. “Seems to me if you wanted to torture us, you’d have done it already. If you wanted me dead, you’d have waited a couple of seconds. Which means whatever you seek, it’s not something that force will aid you in achieving. And if I had to guess, you have the same question we’ve all been trying to answer all this time.”

“I care naught for your System Quest,” the Dragon rumbles. Golden eyes sparkle with flame, and the fork in my hand trembles a little as he showcases his displeasure. “It is enough to exist. Seeking the why is a fool’s errand.”

I feel a minor flash of irritation—more because of his casual dismissal than because he doesn’t care. I’ve known for a long time I’m on a fool’s errand, that I’m tilting at windmills of my own making. But stopping has never been something I’m good at. “Foolish or not, you saved me. So you want something.”

“What any good dragon wants.” He grins wide, showing me all his teeth. I’m reminded that he’s a predator as I note the pointed, sharp edge of the majority of them. “I desire power. And you Administrators, with your secrets and hidden agendas, are in the way of that.”

My mind spins, putting together numbers. Nine Inner Council members. Here are three members of the Inner Council in their own secret club.

The two Administrators I met aren’t part of the Inner Council numbers, which confirms there’s another, hidden power set. But there’s no way the Administrators would leave the Inner Council untouched. Which means they’d need at least four, if not more, members to outvote these three.

Six potential suspects.

“Emperor, Nang Mai, the Truinnar representative—their King…” It makes sense he’d be an Administrator. It’d give them power and it’d be an easy way to shape things. “Ares? Or his daughter.”

The Dragon inclines his head a little, marking my guess.

“Four against your three. The Erethrans are out—they’re barely holding on and I’d have been caught. The Movana? Maybe, but dangerous to use a faction,” I say.

Memory from the library comes back, filling me in on details about the seat, the number of seat changes for the faction. Surprisingly stable, with the Movana mostly holding the seat. But occasionally it changes. I run the numbers, gauge the politics, and decide they’re likely not controlled.

Not directly.

“Go on,” the Lady of Shadows says softly. Her eyes lower as she regards me as if I’m an intriguing bug. Or a dancing bear.

I keep talking out loud. “Four against three. But there are more, hidden Administrators who can join the Council if they wish. They probably tilt it in their direction, when they want, through bribes. But that doesn’t work, not all the time.” I sweep my gaze over the three. “And I bet you don’t always work together either. Too obvious. And probably too many conflicting agendas.” I remember Prax, fixing my gaze on the Lady, and frown. “In fact… you vote for them too at times, don’t you?”

She inclines her head.

I turn to the Dragon, somewhat certain of my conclusions. “You want me to distract, kill some of them, don’t you? Maybe help adjust the seats, make some of them lose power. Give you an opportunity to gain further control.”

“That is sufficiently correct for our purposes,” the Dragon says. “Your survival and the aggravation of your existence keeps them distracted. If you are able to end them or create opportunities for such an attack…” His grin reappears, feral and predatory. “My investment will have paid out.”

“But why act yourself, honored lord dragon?” Mikito says, her voice soft and demure.

He turns his head toward Mikito, head twisting all the way around like an owl’s. He looks puzzled for a second. As if he’d forgotten she was even here.

Before he can speak, the Lady cuts in. “Because the Lord Dragon does not countenance the use of others. He feels it is demeaning to his honor to deal regularly with those beneath him. As for myself”—the Lady places a hand on her chest—”I am required to hide you and him.”

That last makes sense. She’s who we were the most worried about all the time. And her presence here explains why the Council hadn’t found us too quickly, if she was working at cross-purposes the entire time. It does amuse me a little that the Dragon doesn’t have minions, but looking at the lounging, confident man, I can see it.

“Honor is important.” Mikito bobs her head in agreement.

I smile slightly as she butters up the Dragon while standing right behind him, ready to cut him apart with her polearm. Of course, I’m not sure it matters since he’s already turned from her at this point. But it’s useful to have at least one of us trying to be polite.

“So he wants Power. And you, the Quest?” I say to the Lady.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’m the Lady of Shadows and Lies.Keeper of Secrets. Mistress of the Obscure,” The Lady drawls, her voice filled with sarcasm as she names her various unofficial titles. Then she becomes serious. “But there is one secret I do not have. Do you know how irritating that is?”

I open my mouth and, deciding against a direct answer, stuff it with chocolate. While the chewy, chocolatey gooeyness melts in my mouth and the ship we’re on cuts through the water silently, I consider my next questions.

To buy time, I swallow and look at the Weaver. “And you?”

Silence greets my question, which isn’t surprising. It is a floating eyeball after all.

“What do you think? Do we trust them?” I send to Ali, who shifts, staring between the group.

“Do we have a choice? Also, throne room.”

I pick uip the water, washing down my latest mouthful at Ali’s warning about our silent conversations being not so hidden. I slide my tongue along my teeth, picking up crumbs as I turn from the trio. They don’t seem particularly in a hurry to push this conversation along. But a part of me, the part that’s still agitated by the damn Dragon and his power plays, with having my ass handed to me by Kasva, can’t help but push things.

“Then let’s stop playing footsie. What exactly do you want?” I say as I lay down my fork and fix them with a flat stare.

***

“You had to say that, didn’t you?” Mikito says, hands on her hip as we watch the Lady’s vessel submerge itself and motor away. We’re standing on the shore of the beach off a peninsula a good thousand-plus kilometers from where we started.

A breeze kicks up as I contemplate her question and the last two hours. I draw a deep breath, smelling the salt in the breeze. I note the barest tinge of sulphur and rotten meat in it and wrinkle my nose at the smells, even as I answer my friend. “I doubt anything I said was going to change what they did.”

“Probably not.” Mikito shakes her head. “You do seem to attract hyper-focused individuals.”

“You know, I wonder if the fact that we have actual Levels and Skills kind of removes the need to posture as much. At least, when you hit the Levels those guys have,” I muse. “It’s not as if they don’t have a very clear understanding of how powerful they are.”

“You mean planet-swallowing levels of strength?” Ali says. “And instead of giving him a planet to eat, you offered him chocolate?”

“Hey, he liked it. And I only gave him the name of the chocolatier.”

“Which he’s now bought.”

“What!?!”

Ali gestures and a notification flashes up in front of me.

News Alert—Savoy & Sons, Her Majesty’s Chocolatiers, have now been purchased and renamed Savoy & Sons, His Dragon’s Chocolatiers.

“Thousand hells. He works fast.”

“Best remember that.” Ali taps his wrist. “And you should get moving too. That cloak she put on you won’t last forever.”

I nod, turning inland and beginning the hike. We head as fast as we can for the peak of the small mountain range ahead of us. Knowing where we’re headed, Mikito takes point, safeguarding me while I consider our most recent encounter.

For all my glib conversation with the Legendarys, in the last two fights I was involved in, I had my ass handed to me. The very last fight, I was as good as dead if not for the Dragon’s intervention. Sadly, while he had intervened, he’d left Kasva alive, citing security concerns with killing him.

Personally, I think he just likes to see me squirm.

While I might have help in beating the Administrators, if I meet them again, I do need to work out how to deal with Kasva. That Affinity of his was nasty, and figuring out what it was and how to beat it will top my list of things to do.

Fortunately, I’ll have more than sufficient time to work that out. Katherine and Rob have, from what the Lady tells me, taken my suggestion and run with it. There’s quite a bit of a ruckus growing right now, but even so, there’s no guarantee anything we do will be enough for the vote. Estimates—and these are the Lady’s estimates—put us too close to call. There are too many variables since a particularly annoyed planet could throw all of its backing into making the vote work.

But the advantage of the chaos we’ve caused is that many are now hesitant, concerned about being backstabbed. Or using their resources to lash out. It’s delayed the vote again, giving us time.

For now, me staying hidden is for the best. The idea of a Galactic Bounty Hunter—Silver Class running around and lashing out against our enemies is useful. So long as I’m alive, I can spawn my doppelgangers to kill and wreak havoc.

With the Lady’s help, I expect my doppelgangers will do even more damage than normal, potentially tipping the scales. And though Harry has been captured, imprisoned under the orders of the Council, his interrogation is currently on hold. A power play going on between the Administrators who wish to learn how much I’ve told him and the Lady, who insists on being in the questioning, as is her right as the Secret Keeper of the Council.

That her insistence on regulations is but a threadbare fig for her naked curiosity, it is a curiosity and interest that is well-known. And as such, unremarkable. In this way, my friend is safe.

For now.

In the meantime, while my doppelgangers are busy playing hardball and Katherine and Rob are trying to convince everyone else to keep to their promises, we’re here. Holding up our end of the deal with the Legendarys.

Doing the one thing they cannot.

We’ve traded knowledge, information on the Administrators that we’ve met for information too. The Dragon was more than happy to gain confirmation of members of the shadow council. Together, the Lady and Weaver will use that information to track down more of the Administrators, figure out who is and isn’t part of the shadow council. Confirm—or not—their pawns on the Inner Council. It’s a good trade.

All things they can do that I can’t. But out here, this place, this exploration of information, this is ours to do.

Our feet grind into the ground as we turn around the switchback, pushing past the hanging foliage on the deer—har, probably something a lot less innocuous than a deer—trail we follow and find ourselves before our goal. Amusingly enough, for all the alien architecture I’ve seen, for all the soaring skyscrapers, living trees, crystalline temples, this structure is all too familiar. A dome with a single, deep slit sits upon a cylindrical base. An observatory, meant for viewing the stars.

An innocuous-looking structure.

Which hides the Administrative Center we’re about to break into.

Chapter 19

We stand on the small, flat outcropping, shattered granite sand beneath our feet as we stare at the observatory. To all external senses, it’s abandoned, empty of sapient personnel. A light wind blows, catching at our clothing, bringing with it the taste of the sea.

We stare at our objective until Mikito shrugs and walks forward. She does so hesitantly, back tense, bracing for an attack that never comes. A few more steps and she turns around, frowning at me.

“What?” I say.

“No attack. None of…” She waves as if trying to explain the mental, emotional pressure the last Administrative Center had forced upon us.

I stride over, head cocked as if I’m listening for the attack. As she said, nothing. I turn around, sensing something unusual. Over my right shoulder, where I’m used to a floating presence, I find nothing.

“I’ll just be back here, if you don’t mind. Getting banished sucked,” Ali is quick to say when I spot him, still a distance back and floating farther away with each passing second.

“Traitor!” I shake my hand at him before turning back to the looming observatory. Mikito has not waited for me, continuing to close on the silent structure. I hurry to catch up with her and turn my head as I pass her. “You know, I’m the Administrator here.”

“Junior.” Mikito speeds up, pushing ahead of me. “Also, bodyguard.”

“Better resistances.” I speed up again.

“Faster.” She overtakes me once more.

“Soul Shield.”

“Ghost armor.”

In this manner, we race toward the observatory. We’re sprinting in a silly attempt to outpace one another. But for all our joking, neither of us is really going all out, and we’re keeping an eye out for problems.

Of which there are exactly none.

Standing before the closed door, a hand on the entrance plate, I glance at Mikito one last time. Upon her nod, I send the surge of Mana it waits for, opening the damn thing.

To find the inside empty too.

“Well, that’s a little disappointing,” Ali says, making the pair of us jump as he appears behind us.

***

We walk the empty halls, chatting quietly, heads turning from side to side as we manually search for problems. There are no sapients within, though there are numerous dumb machines and semi-sentient droids taking care of the place, jotting down notes, cleaning the mirrors, and repairing issues. There’s even a single security droid that attempts to chase us out. The insides are busy, if empty of living creatures.

“Makes sense with their tech to automate everything,” I say. “No point in being here when you can just get the readings sent over.”

“And the overall Level is low enough that the security droid and the exterior walls keep things secure,” Mikito says.

“Needing space and clear skies to run the observatory makes sense,” Ali adds. “Along with the Mana-sensing equipment.”

“But that doesn’t explain why we can’t find the Center.” Once more, I look around the building as we keep climbing.

We make it to the top of the building, to where they house the telescope and other Mana-sensing equipment, only to find nothing. No sense, no indication of an Administrative Center.

“You sure there’s one here?” Mikito finally voices the question we’ve all been asking.

“The Lady believes so,” I say. It’s not as if I have a better clue. The only time I found one was when they told me the exact coordinates.

“There’s no… mind messing,” Mikito says.

“I know.”

I stomp around the perimeter, poking idly at the equipment and walls and triggering nothing. I end up back where Mikito is standing, watching me while Ali floats around, his notification windows beside him. Searching in his own way.

“But this is our best lead,” I say.

“Then maybe you are looking at this the wrong way,” she says.

Her words force a reluctant nod of acknowledgement from me. I draw a breath then another, slowly cycling out irritation and impatience before I tap into my Skill. Skill Edit blooms and I reach out with it, using the additional System Edit sense it gives me for… something.

The results come so fast, I could kick myself for not doing this earlier. The Administrative Center’s entrance is like a blazing beacon in my mind, one that screams for attention. Half-cognizant of what I’m doing, I walk down the stairs, away from the main rooms, into a familiar office.

The door slides open, revealing a boring-ass manager’s office. But it’s not the desk that I see, nor the single, strangely shaped chair with its extra-long seat and sloped back. My attention is fixed on the empty exterior wall that should lead to the outdoors. I’m nearly there, nearly touching it when a hand drops on my shoulder.

“You’re taking me with you this time, yes,” Mikito says. The sentence might be phrased like a question, but it’s clear she really isn’t asking one.

“I don’t think I can,” I say. My head turns, facing Ali. “I don’t think even he can come.”

“Don’t think or do you know?” Mikito says.

I consider the information pressing on my mind. Glyphs, runes, whatever you want to call them, each with further information encoded in each rune, their meanings manifold. Details about exceptions, regulations, methods of creating exceptions, security considerations, minimum thresholds, data and more data.

I try processing it consciously, fail, and give up, letting my subconscious mind take care of the information flowing within. It’s the only way to deal with the System, only way to understand… everything.

“Know. Sorry.” I tilt my head upward, considering. “But I think, yes. I should be able to augment and alter the security protocols. Keep you hidden, just like the Lady did.”

“You sure?” Mikito says, frowning. “You know, I could go with her…”

“And be beholden to that witch further?” I shake my head. “We already owe her for Harry. And your club.”

Mikito makes a face. “We don’t know if she’s lying.”

“No, we don’t. But do you think they’d leave even that stone unturned?”

Mikito shakes her head.

“Right. So we trust that she’s protecting them as best she can. By making them less of a threat than they might be.”

“I….” Mikito bites her lips, shaking her head. “Do you think they know what they’re truly getting into?”

I hesitate, thinking of her question. Thinking of all those we’ve burnt, will burn. All those who’ve been sacrificed on the altar of my Quest. Who will be sacrificed. I see Lana’s face, Roxley’s dark skin, the pictures of Kyle’s and Sarah’s kids. I remember an old friend, a tired First Nation lady and a vibrant one, now dead.

Harry.

Richard.

Bolo.

Even Catrin, perhaps.

So many lives at risk or lost already. And for what?

For what?

“Boy-o?” Ali calls.

I shake my head, seeing Mikito’s face, brows scrunched, lips tight with worry. I offer her a half-smile, then tell her the truth.

“I don’t know. Probably not. But did any of us?” I say. “I don’t know if there’s anything that could ever make us truly prepared. But we’ve made choices, and those choices have brought us here. And there might be more prices to pay, more lives lost. But if we stop moving forward now, everything we’ve done will have been for nothing.”

Mikito nods, then meets my eyes. She says the next words slowly. “Then you best get moving, baka.”

With those compassionate words ringing in my ears, I touch the wall.

***

The inside of the Administrative Center is similar to the last one I was in. Same white décor, same large windows of notifications giving details about the local System code and tickets. Same mezzanine. Good news though—what’s not the same is the lack of homicidal Senior Administrators.

Once I confirm my life isn’t at risk, I turn my attention to the buzzing notifications. I flip through them quickly, ignoring the welcome messages, searching for new information. A surprise is the small experience notifications I get when I find a pair of the tickets I was working on having been completed. I get partial experience and credit for that.

I almost pull up the tickets to see what they’ve done to my code. To see what kind of obtuse solution they entered for what would likely be a simple solution. Then I smack myself mentally. For not trusting others and for the fact that I’m not here to code.

At least, not immediately.

Instead, I dig through the notifications for more information. I’m still puzzled about why the Senior Administrators didn’t exit after me. Nor do I think that just trying to kill me is all they could do if they were blocked from exiting.

Unsurprisingly, I find my answer in my notifications.

Senior Administrators ared Lebek’jjas and Wex have been penalized for violating Administrative Center protocols.

No information about what kind of penalties, but I’m assuming it involved being unable to follow me. Potentially being put in a time-out. I can only hope it’s a long time-out. Still, that’s one mystery solved. Not that it was a big mystery, but I’ll take the wins where I can find them. I haven’t been getting a lot of them recently.

Senior Administrator ared Lebek’jjas has input a demerit for Junior Administrator Lee and instituted a decrease in his security clearance.

Those Gremlin-shit eaters. Wait. Am I hanging out with Ali too much? I’m beginning to curse like him.

Security Clearance for Junior Administrator Lee is now at Level 5.

Root Administrator has reviewed security clearance decrease for Junior Administrator Lee.

Root Administrator has rescinded security clearance decrease.

Security Clearance for Junior Administrator Lee has been adjusted by Root Administrator to Level 1*.

The last three notifications scroll past without comment as I find myself too stunned to move. I stare at the last notification that slowly disappears, my jaw hanging open, my mouth and throat drier than the underside of a vacuum cleaner in the Sahara Desert.

Administrative Center maps have become available for Junior Administrator Lee. Please access Administrative Center consoles for further details.

Root Administrator.

There’s a Root Administrator.

I find myself on the floor, shivering. Emotions, long pushed aside or subsumed under that most useful of cloaks—rage—erupt and resolve. My hands are shaking, and I find my eyes wet with unshed tears.

Because if there’s a Root Administrator, and one that rules against the Senior Administrator, then that means there’s someone out there who might be able to help us. Someone who, with their knowledge, might be able to answer my questions. Someone who can stand against the Council in its entirety. Stand against even my so-called allies.

It means there’s hope.

Of salvation.

And an answer to the Quest.

As though the System reads my mind, my System Quest has another update waiting for me, one that appeared when I read the other notifications. A simple update, a small rollover of numbers.

System Quest Completion Rate: 90.1%

“Gods above and below…” I breathe the words, staggering to my feet as I prod at the notification. But there’s no further data to be had, just a simple notification. No more useful than a plain piece of paper.

Just a series of numbers.

Which change everything.

“I knew it.” My grin grows savage as I look around the Administrative Center, my smile widening. Gloating at my success. At the hope I can now grasp, which I thought lost. Lost, even though I dared not say so to Mikito. Or anyone else.

And then my face falls, for the library reminds me that my success, the knowledge I’ve extracted, is not unique. Other Questors have reached these heights. Others must have gotten this close. And to keep their secret, to protect their powers, the knowledge I’ve gleaned, the Administrators have enacted purges. Billions have perished to cover up this secret.

“How far will you go?” I repeat Mikito’s question out loud.

And for once, I have no answer. For my resolution is shaken.

***

I walk upstairs in the echoing silence of the Administrative Center, ignoring the unanswered question I leave behind, headed for the mezzanine. There’s nowhere else I’ve not seen, and rather importantly, I’m looking for information on the map. Tapping the details in the notification had not provided me further details, so I’m leaning toward the mezzanine having the answers.

The mezzanine, when I finally make it upstairs, is empty of everything but a gleaming silver console. I walk over to the console and frown, for it’s empty of buttons or markings.

I prod it with a finger, only to watch notifications bloom before me. But my eyes are glazed over, for I’m busy focusing on the Mana stream, the System information being displayed to me via my Skill.

Information about the facility, about the people who have used it, about the settings for the facility surrounding the Administrative Center. A slight touch of power extends the zone of exclusion. Another ensures that Ali and Mikito are allowed to work within that zone. I set a timer on this, before letting it revert to its previous settings.

My friends’ safety assured, I pull up further information. I find details on the zones in close proximity, information on monster Levels and aggression settings. Details about spawn rates, habitats, Mana flow to each of the species, unmarked Mana and System Mana inflow and outflow.

My lips twist in amusement as I make a few adjustments. The lure I deploy ensures Mikito will have something to do while I’m busy, the System-enforced shielding around the building giving her a safe place to rest when necessary.

Another focus of will, and I drop a note for her to read over Party Chat. It requires more effort to do so as I’m forced to bypass some of the safeguards in the Center, but being at the console, I’m finding I have more options. And one of them is a way to “spoof” my location to some extent. The manipulation wouldn’t hide itself from other Administrators, but it does make things like explaining what I’m doing to mundanes easier.

More importantly, as I stare at the console, I’m brought to focus on another aspect of my time in the previous center. I’d done a ton of work, gained a bunch of Levels, yet when I came out, it seemed only a few hours had passed. Like the Shop, the Administrative Centers each have time dilation effects, but the level varies and is, in general, significantly more powerful than most Shop time dilation effects.

Of course, I immediately try to adjust it. More time to train, more time to think, would be an advantage to me. But I hit a hard wall in the code as the System refuses to budge that number. Not for a simple Level 3 Administrative Center.

If I want a higher time dilation, I need to find an Administrative Center with a higher Security Rating. Which brings me to the last notification waiting for me.

I touch it, and information blazes into me. I crumple to the floor as nerves burn from Mana flooding into me along with the information. It’s as if the System is literally carving the information into my body with liquid fire.

Fingers clench and tremble, and I let out little whimpers as I spasm on the floor. I’m really beginning to hate being a System Administrator. Even if I’ve learnt to ignore the pain, the damage, it’s not fun. As pain finally recedes, I touch the imprinted information tentatively. And realize why the damn process hurt so badly.

The System Galaxy blooms in my mind in its entirety. Not just the planets, but the space in between too. There are even Administrative Centers in the deep reaches of space, places where swarms of space wraiths and leviathans float, asteroid-laden phantom stalkers and electric stingrays float on solar winds.

The empty vastness of space is not so empty, not with creatures such as those. And other, smaller, almost impossible-to-notice things. Clouds of creatures, as fine as dust, who exist upon Mana itself. These clouds float in the vastness of space, churning through unaffiliated Mana and creating System Mana.

I knew all this. Even fought some of these creatures in my time in the Galaxy. Now, with the galaxy map forming in my mind, I see the galaxy as the System sees it, and with it, the spaces that we, as Administrators, must care for.

In this map, I have the location of every Administrative Center I may journey to. And there are so many, so many for those with security clearances of three or lower. A single thought will show me any single spot, any single world, with full directions and a map of where to go.

“Couldn’t have just given me a damn paper map, could you?” I grumble, struggling to my feet.

I stare down my body, at the wet patch on the floor, and cast a Cleanse. Watching as blood and other unmentionables disappear. And I grin grimly.

For among all the information burned into me, there’s a single dot that glows. That burns, calling to me. A dot, an anomalous security clearance and a notification.

Administrative Center 14-1-1 (Security Access Level 1*)

A single place, the only one that I can access that is higher ranked than three. The asterisk in my Security Clearance. Located in the deepest regions of the Forbidden Zone, in the center of the System galaxy. Where planets should be overrun, destroyed by the pressure of unaffiliated Mana.

A lure. A goal. An objective.

On a planet full of dragons.

***

Once I’ve regained my bearings, I explore the security console further. There are more functionalities in the console, but for the most part, its aspects hold little interest to me. It does give me a deeper understanding of the System, of how it controls the flow of Mana. And it reinforces my belief, my understanding that the entire System is nothing more than a sieve.

Unaspected Mana goes in, aspected Mana comes out. Living creatures, matter, it all acts as a sieve. But creatures, living creatures, are better sieves than most, while sapients are the best. And the higher the Level, the better.

Titles, Levels, Classes, all of it are just a method for the System to push sapients to advance, grow, and become stronger to handle more Mana. There’s an aspect of sapient creatures—call it the soul, call it Mana saturation—that changes when people Level. When people push themselves. And in so doing, expand what they can hold.

It’s this aspect that the System wants to expand upon. And so Titles, Levels, Skills, spells. All of it, available to give everyone as much opportunity as possible. Experience is just a way for the System to judge growth and force it. The entire system is the most laisez faire capitalist system in the galaxy.

More than that, it’s also corrupted. For I can see the fingerprints of the Administrators all over it. Adjustments made by Senior and Junior Administrators to benefit one Class, one Skill, one person over another. Minor adjustments that pass the System’s verification. Galactic Council edicts that twist the—relatively minor—levers the System offers them to their benefit.

It’s not a good System. The more I dig into it, the more I notice the slipshodness, the haste with which it seems to have been implemented. There are errors, but the errors are covered by expenditures of Mana such that no one notices them in the moment. Until an Administrator or the System itself puts in a more permanent patch. Sometimes causing even more trouble further down the line.

It’s not a fair System. But I don’t think it cares to be fair. Or just. There’s no overarching edict, no rules or conditions.

Yet for all the information I glean, for all my new understanding, even when muttered out loud, I gain no change in my System Quest. That Quest, that question lies unanswered.

What is the System?

I know what it is in terms of Mana, in terms of function. I can see the code. But I don’t know the why. And the deeper secrets of what it is, what the System truly means. Or so the System judges.

Perhaps just as important, what is Mana? And why does the System go through so much effort to integrate it, control it? Why can it do what it does, change the very fabric of reality?

“And why does it keep increasing?” I say softly.

Because it’s very, very clear, looking at the information provided to me here, that the Mana keeps increasing. Every second, every moment, the numbers climb. And it’s been going on for thousands, hundreds of thousands of years. Eventually, at some point, like the heat death of the universe, Mana itself will fill the world and kill us all.

If there is an answer, it’s not one that I can find here. Once more, my gaze drifts to the simple map notification.

Administrative Center 14-1-1 (Security Access Level 1*)

If there’s an answer, it’s there. An end to the road. Just a hop, skip, and jump away. Past the yellow brick road, at the end of the rainbow. Over the eastern sea where the immortals live.

All I have to do is get there…

“And be willing to sacrifice everyone else along the way.”

Because that’s what it would mean. I can see it now, the Administrators beginning their purge. Sending armies to destroy Earth. Bounty Hunters and assassins after the Questors. The Galactic Council’s army, their guards searching down everyone connected to my quest.

“But I’d have my answer.”

For why they have to die. For why a world had to be twisted. For all the death and destruction. Why, after all this time, I’m still standing. Still here, where so many others who should be alive are dead. Individuals more deserving, more virtuous.

An answer.

An ending.

I close my eyes, searching for my anger, my conviction. And finding it missing, banked. Anger has no answer for me here, rage no solution. Desperate action can only take you so far before it sputters to an end, leaving you standing empty and hollow. Gutted of dreams and hopes, lost in the blaze of energy and action, washed away in streams of weeping blood and unshed tears.

In the desert of my soul, I search for something to hold on to, some compass to give me an answer. Resolution or benediction.

Time passes, and in that hollow space, I find it. The simple truth of my own existence.

My eyes snap open. And I laugh softly at the simple answer I have found. Because there was never really a choice. Not and be who I am, what I have forged myself into after all these years.

“What is, is. And it’s time to make that clear too.”

I look up at the softly glowing, blank ceiling. I crane my head, searching for a sign of the Root Administrator that might be watching.

I find nothing, but still, I speak. “Fair warning given then. I’m coming for you and for my answers.

“And if I have to, I’ll let your Council burn to get it.”

Chapter 20

Of course, it’s not that simple. Time dilation means I have time to kill. To learn and Level. Prepare and plan. I make full use of it. Because there’s more to be done to ensure I’ll be able to do what I need, to reach where I have to go.

First things first, I use the communication hack I have to coordinate with Mikito and those I need to work with. Katherine’s initial list, of those who oppose us and those who might be swayed, becomes my guide as I make calls.

There aren’t many, just a few here and there. People who have what I need, who might be open to gaining a lead over their opponents by betting right, by having some information provided to them earlier.

I ask them to do certain things, to open up gaps in security cordons, to provide aid. When we get down to the brass tacks, I tap into my Skills. Forced Link with System Edit and Shackles of Eternity to cross the gap between them and me, riding along the communication and control lines of the Administrative Center. It’s a pain and I do it only a few times, but it’s sufficient to lock down the help. They might be able to break my Skills, but there’s so little time that it doesn’t matter. I don’t bet on any single person anyway.

All of that is ancillary, things that are done while I work on the truly important aspect of my plan—leveling my Junior Administrator Class. I spend hours Leveling via the ticketing board. I pick my tickets with more care now, finding ones that might have something to teach me. That are more than just simple patches. The ones that give the most experience.

I find tickets to help create programs to fix minor tickets, to build processes to sort and fix regular issues. I spend interminable hours building the programs, debugging its code, and spitting blood when I overdraw System Mana. Eventually, I release the program as a completed solution.

Even more hours are spent debugging the program as it runs into more unforeseen issues and interactions. I untangle the snarl of error codes and new tickets when my program runs into other automated solutions, recode priority signals, trim down my program in its scope, and save the hacked code for future use. I delete other programs and incorporate their functions into mine.

Hours, interminable hours, when I eat on the move, pacing, lounging in the air, then snapping to attention as a solution comes to me. Reworking strings of Mana, watching my hands tremble, bleed, and crisp as my vision doubles or triples while Mana ravages my body and code refuses to function as I wish.

Never-ending hours working base tickets to understand what I did wrong, what I needed to learn. Gaining experience, fixing problems, and finishing ticket after ticket.

Levels fly past me, as do days, and when I release the program, I receive another surge of experience. A surge of gratitude as it goes to work with minimal errors. Immediately, the program begins the process of cleaning up snarled processes, conflicting Skills, and more.

My Level as a Junior Administrator climbs again, overtaking my Level as a Grand Paladin. It jumps as I’m gifted experience for the final program, but not for the tickets it solves. Annoying, but understandable.

As I Level, additional Skill points arrive, only to be allocated just as quickly. There’s a bare moment of anger at the loss, at the lack of options given. Then I shove it aside, for I know now which is the greater Skill.

When my body cannot take anymore, when even my will and drive is insufficient to push me further into the jaws of System Mana as it shreds my body and soul repeatedly, I sit and meditate. I find my center, and I contemplate the fight. I investigate the dregs of Kasva’s Affinity, query my feelings and the System for what it logged. I pull at my own Affinity and pit it against my memory of the battle, searching for a solution.

Then I experiment on my own body.

I bleed. I tear. I burn. I scream and roll across the floor in pain. But I inch toward a solution, an understanding of a counter. In the near-timeless space of the Administrative Center, in the safety of Leveling, coding, and experimentation, I find what could be a solution.

And when I’m healed, when the Mana overflow is cleansed and my mind restored, I get back to coding. I throw myself back into the flood of Mana and swim, doing the best I can to make my way to the source, to an answer.

Endless days before the timer I set finally goes off. Weeks, maybe months within the unchanging world of the Administrative Center before Mikito contacts me, letting me know its time. The chaos we created in the outer world has died down and the vote is finally going to go through. No longer can I hide. No longer can we wait.

I clean myself up using Cleanse, setting the System to wash away the grime and the clues of my residence within the Center. I have the System help me with that, cleansing log and data sets. Then I change, dressing in my armor, my weapons.

As I leave, I glance at my Status Screen, grinning maniacally at what I see there. Because there have been a few changes, some of which I’m sure the System and the other Administrators would be less than impressed with.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Junior System Admin (Grand Paladin)

Race

Human (Male)

Level

16 (12)

Titles

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

Health

6300

Stamina

6300

Mana

6350

Mana Regeneration

479 (+5) / minute

Attributes

Strength

448

Agility

521

Constitution

630

Perception

435

Intelligence

635

Willpower

574

Charisma

225

Luck

296

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

4

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

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

But that’s their problem.

***

To my surprise, I don’t find Mikito waiting for me outside. Only Ali stands there, arms crossed, foot tapping on the floor, rotund belly pushing against his orange jumpsuit. I idly note that it seems to have shifted slightly, looking more like a onesie than a jumpsuit. Seeing my attention, Ali growls and wills it back to its normal configuration.

“Miss me?” I say, walking forward. That he stands at his full height, dwarfing me, makes me kind of amused.

“Who’d miss a Goblin-loving, toad-warming Mana-crystal waste like you?” Ali says. He waits for me to pass by before he floats, shrinking as he does so such that he finds his place at my shoulder once more.

“Perhaps a socially inept Spirit?” I say. “Did you get what I asked for done?”

“I contacted them. Still waiting to hear back from the Dragon Lord, but the other arrangements, well…” A flash of uncertainty crosses his bearded face. “You sure?”

“I am.” Whatever doubts I have, I’ve let them die. It’s the best solution I can find, even if it’s one that no one will be happy with. Not even me.

We make our way out of the building and see the sky filled with puffy pink-shaded clouds for the first time in ages. I spot Mikito, standing at ease out there.

“The arrangements?” I ask.

“Completed,” Mikito says. “If you want this to work though, you’re going to need to start producing your Hands. We lost all of them days ago.”

I nod, calling forth my Skill. Mana pulses through me, rippling outward to touch the space beside me. What pops out is a replica of myself. A few short words, and he’s off to keep an eye on our next guests while I turn to Mikito.

“Thank you. Did you have fun out here?” I say, gesturing around.

In the distance, I see the mounds of flies, the shifting corpses of monsters that Mikito has killed. Small—and not so small—scavengers tear at the corpses, eating their fill. Thankfully, the System wipes the smell well before it reaches us.

“It was productive,” she says.

I grin, eyeing her Status.

Mikito Sato, Spear of Humanity, Blood Warden, Junior Arena Champion of Irvina, Arena Champion—Orion IV, Xumis,…; Time Slipped, True Bound Honor (Upper Samurai Level 42) (M)

HP: 4818/4818*

MP: 3657/3657*

Conditions: Isoide, Jin, Rei, Meiyo, Ishiki, Ryoyo, Feudal Bond, Blitzed, Future Projections

Galactic Reputation: 84

Galactic Fame: 38,983

“So it seems.” A pair of Levels might not seem much, but at the amount of XP she needs to Level, it’s considerable.

“Oh, the second Level was when you walked out.” Mikito’s eyes glint with amusement. “I think there’s a bug between the Bond and your dual Classes.”

That would make sense. I could even check and fix it. But in this case, I’m just going to leave well enough alone. We need every advantage we can get, and her leeching experience from both of my Classes whenever I get experience works. I just have to hope no one fixes the issue.

I could take the ticket and mark it as being worked upon. But considering I’m persona non grata to the rest of the Administrators, that might make the issue even more obvious and highlight it for others. Decisions, decisions, decisions.

“John?” Mikito draws my attention back. “Are you sure about this?”

I meet her concerned gaze and consider what I told her. What she now knows and what I haven’t mentioned. In the end, I can’t help but nod.

“Yes. I have to do this,” I say softy. “And we’ll need all their help. Just… make sure they’re ready to run.”

My words are punctuated by the whine of an engine and the gusts of blowing wind as a plane, with giant rotating motors encased within oval shields, arrives. Four swirling propellers on each corner, on top of a sleek vehicle and jet engines at the back land the plane straight down, landing struts deploying just before they touch the ground. A door rolls open and a familiar trio waves to us from within the vehicle. Other unfamiliar faces peer from behind, all of them looking to spot their idol.

“Then it’s best we get going,” Mikito says, walking over and waving back to her fan club, closely followed by myself. My doppelganger is already in the vehicle, scanning for trouble, mask down to hide his features. “We’ve got a friend to rescue. And a vote to gatecrash.”

***

They keep Harry in a secret prison, one off the books. They want to interrogate him, pull out information about where I am. And, probably, set it up as a lure for when I come to rescue him like the fool I am. Considering he’s a Galactic Reporter, his capture is currently a closely held secret, one they don’t want getting out. He has protections in his role that they’re ignoring, for now.

Which is an advantage for us. Because the problem with secret bases is that you can only put so many people within and still keep it innocuous. Of course, teleportation pads and quick scramble units alleviate some of those issues, but it means on-site, the number of personnel—enemy combatants—are low.

Relatively speaking.

Then again, there’s also the additional problem of Levels. A single Legendary could make our lives truly miserable, which is where having an inside man—or in this case, Dragon—helps.

We’re two-thirds of the way to the prison, joining the air traffic that dominates the skies above Irvina, when we get the call.

“The meeting is called,” the Lady says. It’s a video call, though it is of little use since her background is shrouded in shadow, leaving only her breathtaking beauty to be seen. For a lady known for being the most secretive, she really does like to preen. “Our mutual friend will handle the Council. Now, about the information…”

“I set up a message drop. Don’t worry, it won’t ever not release. It comes through my specific skill set.” I’m not exactly certain I want to speak about my special Class in public. There’s not a lot of privacy in this ship. “It’ll arrive after the vote. So long as you do your part.”

“Very well. Everything you’ve asked for, so long as you complete your objectives, will be in play.” The Lady shares a small smile with me. It’s a cute smile, almost endearing, as if she’s a little child with a secret that she cannot wait to share. “You know, such confrontations, they’re rarely my thing.”

I open my hands sideways. “It’s always nice to change things up, isn’t it?”

As she smiles in approval, I flick my hands and dismiss the communications channel. I turn to Mikito, eyeing the swarm of fan club members around her. It’s a surprising number, but the three have been hard at work, pooling the locals—in terms of a solar system—into Irvina. Just over two and a half dozen individuals, most of them in the late Basic to mid-Advanced Class stages. No Master Classes though, not yet.

There are more fans, from what Mikito and Ali tell me. But being a new fan club, it’s still building. Most of those who follow her, at the level of adoration given like these guys, are at the lowest Levels. Give her another decade or two and if she continues winning, the numbers and Levels might be quite different.

That being said, I turn to the group and grin. “All right, you guys. When we get there, leave the big boys to us.”

A small gesture from Ali and a slew of notification windows appear for everyone. Among other things, the Lady has dropped off information about who exactly is on guard, as well as their backup plans and reinforcements. Using that information, we adjust our plans to remove some of those distractions, which is why we need my doppelgangers.

“Your job is dealing with the regular administrative and security personnel and intercepting any additional security that arrives. There are also at least two other prisoners. One of them, we want to free. If you can, get it out.”

I think of the information about the first prisoner. Political rather than criminal, the picture Ali displays is of a bright bug-like creature who’s another sapient from a nearby galaxy. He was reported disappeared by the powers-in-charge of his planet just over half a year ago. As a contender for planetary governorship, his disappearance meant that his opponent achieved reelection with minimal fuss.

Hopefully his release and escape will engender a level of gratitude that will help the fan club, as well as add to the chaos. Of course, I’m not betting on it, but it’s a nice side benefit.

“And the second?” a voice calls from the back of the crowd.

“Kill him.”

There is a susurration of whispered words at my blunt statement. But it’s cut off when Agr’us gets to the personnel file of the second prisoner.

His exclamation silences the craft. “That’s the Flayer of F’fauheok.”

“Impossible. I heard he was in the Rusanox sector.” Another voice, among the crowd.

“No, he’s dead,” Ruvuds says, his tone doubtful.

“You’re wrong. The Leontine Gris caught him, tore his arm off. But he escaped using the Skill Blast Off. After that, he had it regenerated—”

I listen to the hubbub, the conversations as they argue about one of the galaxy’s most notorious mass killers. The Flayer was a homicidal maniac crossed with the Joker and a Friday night horror flick, all squished into one insane package. The fact that he gained strength not only from the atrocities he committed, but from the fame he gained, drove him to higher stages of violence.

It was kind of worrying, the way the Council had him locked away. I’m sure there are a load of reasons why. Whole conspiracy theories, ready to be born out of that single fact. If it was any other time, I might even try spinning some of them myself. I’m sure Harry will, when we free him. But for now, the more important aspect is…

“Oy! I said kill him, not become his fan club.”

You would think I’d shot their dog, the way I spoke. They glare at me, though some are chagrined. It’s amusing, the way they interact with me. Mikito, they adore and listen to without thought. Me, I’m either considered her Lord or her abuser, depending on who you ask.

At the glares, I’m tempted to continue insulting them, just to get a rise. To pick a fight I know I can. It’s the part of me that isn’t particularly nice, which I try not to indulge. Too much.

Before things can devolve further, Mikito elbows me in the side and I force an apologetic grin around the wince.

“Best make another Hand, boy-o,” Ali reminds me as we dip out of the clouds nearby a new building.

My first Hand has already moved to stand by, readying himself to leave.

The first part of a plan is getting prepped right now. And as always, with any of my plans, it involves a healthy dose of violence.

***

Step one is dropping off the pair of doppelgangers. They know what I plan to do, mostly because I told the System—and Mikito—the breakout plan already. The doppelgangers know they’re headed off to die—which, by the way, elicited a few nasty looks from them to me. I’m beginning to wonder about the moral implications of all this, even though I know they’re not really real. Still, a part of me doesn’t feel great about this.

But needs must, and right now, the gates of hell have been thrown open and the hungry ghosts are coming. Better to get moving and to stay out of the water rather than concern myself if this is perfect.

As my last Hand walks away, blending into the crowd around the rooftop parking spot, the plane takes off again and we jet over to the prison. We can’t land too close, but there’s a useful training center in a nearby skyscraper—one geared toward newbies. They had been more than happy to receive a last-minute group booking to learn the art of survival scavenging.

“Welcome to Mioga Dosa Training Center.” The snake monster greeter slithers up to us, iridescent purple and green scales glistening as it hisses its greeting. Its lips widen as it arcs up, thin arms held open and wide. “If you’ll come this way, we have the virtual training room—”

“Thanks… Chad.” I blink as I read the Trainer’s name. I feel a weird sense of vertigo at the name before pushing it aside. “But we’ve got other plans. Just let us park the ship here for the moment and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Chad blinks—vertical eyelids snapping shut and open—as it takes in the team streaming out. Clad in full combat gear, weapons out, they head to their assigned locations, streaming to elevators, stairs, and in a few cases, shooting locations.

“I’m sorry. Your booking doesn’t include a terrorist incident,” Chad says, drawing himself up. “If you don’t vacate our premises, I will be forced to contact the authorities.”

“As if you haven’t tried,” Ali says, floating up and wagging his fingers at Chad. “Good thing I blocked you. And your friends.” He shakes his head. “We’ve deployed a communication router. Also, if you haven’t realized it, take a good, close look at boy-o over here.”

Chad stares at me then looks up, spotting my revealed Status. He rears back, mouth dropping open as he hisses, fangs dropping in surprise. His hands drop next as he readies himself to attack or defend.

Mikito appears next to Chad, moving so fast she’s almost teleporting. She hits him with a series of short, quick jabs and elbow strikes that chain together, taking his health down and putting him in a stunned Status. Another series of blows and a Skill use and he drops, unable to do anything.

“I thought we were trying this without violence,” I complain even as fan club members drag Chad’s body aside.

“We did. You failed.” Mikito points at the floor and the floors below. “Now come on, we’re on a schedule.”

Shaking my head, I follow Mikito as she leads the alpha strike team. It’s kind of different, having her take charge, but this is her fan club and her plan. I just gave her the overall objectives and passed on information. The details of the execution are hers.

By the time we hit the skybridge that connects to our target—a series of condos set in the middle of the skyscraper opposite us—the first part of the plan has kicked off. We get to watch it all, since Ali has a news feed playing next to him, set to display for the team.

— a familiar figure, striding across the ballroom floor. A hand rises and clenches, and people going for him fall. Bodyguards scream and curl up, private security shields flare and crash as Judgment for All takes effect. The diplomat, one of the ones known to be against Earth and a prime instigator due to his ties with the Zarry Cartel, starts bleeding. Even as the alarms go off, emergency personnel punch through the cheap dimension lock that the dimension stabilizer the Hand carries emits. Weapons are drawn and fired, but the Hand isn’t staying still, moving through the group with his swords, cutting and dicing.

Another screen, another video of destruction.

This time, it’s the Beacon of the Angels striking the living tree that houses this target. Shields gleam and glimmer as they fight off the attack, even as the Hand continues to cast Beacons and strike with his sword. Automated defenses open fire upon the Hand, but the evolved Penetration Skill shield holds up easily, giving the Hand more than enough time to dish out damage.

More guards, more emergency personnel scramble. And fall right into his trap, as the Hand triggers Judgment for All, killing them and adding to his shield. He stops for a bit, just using his sword and striking the shield with it as he regenerates his own Mana, tossing out the occasional nanoswarm grenade to reduce the shield regeneration rate.

The Hands draw emergency security personnel with their brazen attacks. Sadly, they only manage to draw away one of the six teams that ring our target. The rest of the reinforcements come from other locations. Still, it’s better than our expectations of none, though nowhere as good as what we hoped.

The interception teams slide into place around the buildings as we arrive at the skybridge joining the two buildings.

One of the fan club members, dressed like a cyberpunk-ninja with wires and glowing dots along her head and arms, finishes the hack of the security systems just in time, killing the forward alerts. That doesn’t do much for the physical sentries who spot us and attempt to raise their friends.

The scouts who are part of the vanguard are already across the bridge, having either walked across innocuously or invisibly. They launch their backstabs as the guards scramble, even while those of us in the main group keep strolling forward. The scouts and guards enter into a short, bloody brawl. Made even shorter when the rest of the vanguard arrives and adds their burst attacks.

As for me? I’m stuck in the middle of the group, watching as the fan club sweeps ahead like a well-practiced special forces team. Even Ali’s busier than I am, doing his best to block off System notifications and communication channels, aiding the comm team. Mikito, the three musketeers, and a number of other fan club members are all around me, blocking my way.

My fingers twitch. I’m eager to step in and do something. I feel the System notifications, the buzzing of System Mana flowing all around me. I could reach out, Edit the information and Skills, kill notifications and reduce Mana regeneration rates. I could help.

But I hold back, because this is not the time.

“Relax, we have this,” Mikito murmurs. “And try to look a little more confident.”

“I am relaxed,” I bite out.

“Really?” Mikito looks downward, where I’m white-knuckling my sword. I make it disappear, feeling guilty, while explosions and screams echo toward us. “They really do have this.”

“A bunch of Basic and Advance Classers?” I raise an eyebrow. “You know the guards are mostly Advanced Classers, right?”

“Yes. But we have numbers, surprise, and skill on our side,” Vrasceids says, joining the conversation from where he walks beside me. “The only way to gain our Samurai Class was to reset ourselves. We are all, significantly, more experienced than our Levels would indicate.”

Each step takes us deeper into the rising skyrise, its defenses broken. Smoking bodies, struggling figures are all around us, appearing and disappearing as we walk past them. The alpha team, my group, peels off at intervals, joining fights as necessary.

“Levels aren’t the only gauge of strength,” Mikito says sniffily. “As you should know.”

“Skill, not Skill, eh?” It’s true enough that she has kept up with me through all this by displaying more skill than Levels. Still, Levels are an absolute unit of strength that is hard to overcome. Almost impossible at the highest tiers.

“Also…” Mikito grins, shifting her stance slightly. Hitoshi appears in her hand even as her Haste Skill triggers and wraps itself over her body, shrouding her in a cloak of Mana. Then, Blitzed. She leaves behind a garbled message as she blinks away, leaving me alone. “Theyhaveme.”

I watch her leave before I turn to the remnants of the alpha team who have been left behind to guard our retreat. It’s only Vrasceids and the cyber-samurai now, the other pair of musketeers in charge of their own strike teams.

“You not going?” I ask.

“We have other orders,” Vrasceids says, his pale-green-and-black gills flaring open and closed as he tastes the air.

My eyes narrow even as the continuing screams, the shouts, and the addition of a high-pitched whine as Hitoshi comes out to play echo through the building. Explosions, the telltale shattering of tiles as people lose control of their Strength, the smashing of walls and the pop-hiss of failed shields all tell a story of combat around us.

“Hells doors. You’re babysitting me, aren’t you?”

We pass through the entrance foyer, blasted and torn, and turn toward the fighting in a marked corridor. Upstairs, more fighting occurs, the battles more contained as the beta strike teams slide in from above to deal with the office and off-duty personnel who reside there.

Vrasceids’s face is smooth, calm at my irritation. “I would not describe our duties like that.”

“Maybe not, but that’s what it is.” I close my eyes and touch upon Society’s Web. I follow the threads that reach out from me, watching the way certain threads hidden from normal sight appear under my System Edit Skill. Threads that I know lead to certain high-ranking members of the Galactic Council.

But one thread isn’t shadowed. It shifts and strikes at another, a more personal thread. My Hand disappears, and I watch as the green-and-red thread that leads toward Kasva shifts, intent on dealing with the next Hand.

“We better get moving,” I say, opening my eyes again. “We just lost one of my Hands.”

Vrasceids’s eyes flick up, noting something, then he nods. “Yes, Shogun. Lord Mikito has been informed.”

I snort, but we both shut up and hurry forward. To join the fight or free the prisoners. Whichever comes first.

***

“Harry. You’ve looked better,” I say, grinning at the reporter.

I cast a Cleanse to punctuate the point, wiping the dirt, blood, and snot from his body. The dark-skinned British reporter is gaunt, seeming to have lost thirty pounds in the two weeks we’ve been gone. He’s clad in prison garb—yellow clothing with stripes of green and grey—meant to restrict his Mana regeneration and leave him in a low Mana state.

Harry Prince, the Unfiltered Eye, Galactic Investigative Reporter—Barium Level, the Unvarnished Truth, Heroic Survivor, Friend of the Erethran Empire,… (Galactic Correspondent Level 19) (M)

HP: 174/780

MP: 21/2740

Conditions: Reporter’s Luck, Nose for Trouble, Just a Bystander, Information Locus, Network News—Barium Grade, Mana Withdrawal (Severe)

“Let’s get you changed, shall we?” I touch his arm, ignoring the protests from Vrasceids and Harry.

The man flinches away from me, and I try not to take it personally. But I keep a tight grip on Harry’s arm as I access the prison garb’s Status, bypassing the automated pain deployment, shutting down its alarm system, and deactivating the suit via my System Edit Skill.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” Ali says disapprovingly. He can’t see me using my System Edit Skill, it’s locked from him, but he can sense the changes in my body.

Even as the Spirit speaks, Harry is breathing deeply as Mana floods back into him for the first time in a long while. His health climbs once more, as does his Mana regeneration.

“Am I… am I really free?” he says, his voice cracking.

“Yes.”

I’m not even done speaking when Harry is peeling at the clothing, ripping it off his body and leaving furrows in his own skin. He hisses as he tears it off, portions of his skin coming free as embedded nanospikes tear open wounds, but he doesn’t stop. Not even when he is bathed by healing spells that Vrasceids throws on him, forcing wounds to close just so that the reporter doesn’t inadvertently kill himself.

It’s only when he’s down to his skivvies that Harry stops, holding the tattered remnants of the prison garb before him to ask hesitantly, “You didn’t bring any clothing for me, did you?”

“Just grab it from your inventory,” I say.

Harry winces, muttering. I only barely catch it. “They took it from me. Everything I ever stored.”

My fists clench as I realize I didn’t plan ahead for that. Thankfully, someone did. Vrasceids hands over an armored jumpsuit sized for the reporter. In short order, the rest of us exit the small cell to offer Harry some privacy as he gets dressed.

We step out in time for us to watch the political prisoner’s swishing behind leave. And for Mikito to step out of another cell, holding the head of the Flayer. Behind her, one of her clan members stumbles out, clutching a missing third arm stump.

“Harry?” she asks, looking toward the cell. Her Blitz is gone, since most of the fighting is over, though she’s still Hasted. She breaks into a wide smile as Harry walks out.

I turn just in time to see the reporter’s jaw drop as he spots the head Mikito holds.

“Is that…?” Harry says, focused.

“Yes.” She walks over and hands him the head, which he takes automatically. A moment later, she’s put away Hitoshi to give Harry a hard hug. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Harry says awkwardly as he juggles being hugged and holding a severed head. Luckily, Mikito doesn’t care about being splashed with the blood. “And what am I supposed to do with this?”

“Whatever you want,” I say. “But we should move. That’s two.”

My pronouncement robs Mikito of the momentary joy of reunion, as it does the fan club. They offer muttered assurances to Harry, and the minimap dots move in hurried but controlled haste. We all hustle, dragging Harry along after he rechristens his empty inventory with the severed head.

Somehow, this has gone much better than expected thus far. Which means things will go to hell some time soon. For now though, we have Harry and are on the way to the second part of our plan.

As we run, I cast Extra Hands again, drawing forth another friend to leave for Kasva to play with when he arrives.

Held in Vrasceid’s arms, Harry wails as we drag him out of his prison. “Two what!?!”

Chapter 21

The slap cracks across my face, not budging my face but making Katherine shake her hand in pain after the strike. A moment later, she’s nearly screaming into my face. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting Harry back. And tilting the odds,” I reply calmly.

We’re in the lower edges of the sewers, a hidden meeting area offered to us by the Lady of Shadows that she guarantees none will be watching. Except perhaps her. But I don’t call her out on that.

See? I can learn when not to annoy my allies.

“Are you insane? Your Hands are causing widespread destruction throughout the city. You might have killed a couple of diplomats, but you’ve just earmarked Earth and humanity as deranged killers who have no respect for diplomatic norms!” Katherine shouts, utterly furious. “Why didn’t you check with me or Rob?”

“I didn’t have time. And I also knew you woudn’t agree to this,” I say. “But this is necessary.”

“Rob was right. You really are a loose cannon.” Katherine shakes her head with disgust. “Even if we win this vote, we won’t win the next one. Did you consider that?”

A part of me wants to quail under the disgust she exhibits. I push it aside, reminding myself of my goals. The point of what I intended to do today. “I did. And we don’t have a lot of time before the vote. So I’m going to be blunt.”

Katherine braces herself, casting her gaze toward Mikito, who stands guard a short distance away, and Harry, who is being brought up to speed by Ruvuds in the corner.

I flick my fingers, bringing Katherine’s attention back to me. “I need you to give me your proxy.”

“What!?!”

“Your voting proxy,” I say. “Give it to me.”

“No! Why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll die?” I say, cocking an eyebrow. “As you said, you’re persona non grata. Earth and humanity. If you try to show up, they’ll kill you.”

“I’m protected.”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t care anymore.” I gesture around, taking in the world around and all the hell that has gone on. “Or do you think it’s worth the risk?”

“How about you? You’re even more wanted than me,” Katherine says. “Wait, were you planning to force my hand?”

“No.” Then, reluctantly, I add. “Not exactly. I have other reasons for what I did, but forcing you to give me the proxy is a lucky coincidence of sorts. More like a… conjunction of interest?”

My search for the right terms makes Katherine hiss again before she stalks away. I watch as she strides around in a circle, windmilling her hands. Her lips move, uttering breathless imprecations as she forces herself to calm.

Eventually, she returns to me. We do need to try to adjust the vote, no matter what she thinks. “How do you intend to survive going to the chambers?”

“Can’t say.” When Katherine’s eyes narrow, I point upward. “They might be listening. But trust me, they might try to end me. But you might have realized, I’m really hard to kill.”

“He’ll be there.”

“Kasva?” I nod. “Maybe. I can take him.” The look she gives me is full of doubt, making me chuckle darkly. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

“Like the last one? Do you know how much chaos our information release caused on the Galactic scene? They don’t know, but many suspect it was us who released that information.” Katherine’s eyes go distant, dark as a cloud of grief shadows her face. “The number of deaths among the powers that be have increased fourfold. A half dozen wars started in the last week alone. When they finally learn who caused this, there will be hell to pay.”

“But it improved our odds, no?” Her silence is answer enough for me. “It has to be done. And trust me, I have a plan. Now, the proxy, Katherine. I need it.”

“And if I say no?” she says.

“Don’t.”

“And if I say no?”

I meet her stubborn gaze, wondering what it is with damn obstinate, bull-headed women in my life. I look over my shoulder at Mikito, who gives me a small nod, acknowledging I’ve tried.

I clench my fist and whisper, “Don’t make me take it.”

“You can’t…” She stares at my eyes and breathes out slowly. “You can, can’t you?”

I nod.

“What have you done?”

“Just found a few answers,” I say. “The proxy?”

Katherine searches my eyes. I let her, curious what it is that she’s looking for. Or if what she seeks is still there. The man who left Earth with her was many years and even more lives shed ago. Sometimes, I’m not sure there’s much of that man left.

“Promise me something,” she says.

“What?”

“That you’ll not harm Earth. Whatever you do with the proxy, make sure it’s for the best for Earth.”

I offer her a nod, and when it’s not enough, I speak the promise out loud. I know she’s using a Skill, verifying the truth of what I say. Just another Diplomat Skill.

When she’s assured of my intentions, Katherine presses an arm upon my chest. Light glows for a second, and a new notification appears.

Earth Voting Proxy given to John Lee, Redeemer of the Dead (Galactic Paladin Level 12)

“Thank you,” I say, bowing my head. I know how much that cost Katherine, and there’s a look in her eyes, a pained look of broken trust that tells me I might have burnt my bridges here. “And I’m sorry.”

I look at Mikito, who’s sneaked up behind Katherine. The Diplomat’s eyes widen, just briefly, before Mikito hits her, striking so fast and hard it bypasses her safeguards and knocks her out.

“How long?” I say, laying down the unconscious woman I caught.

“Long enough.”

Harry, who just watched us knock out our friend, raises his voice, his voice shaking between outrage and fear. “What the hell is going on?”

***

We explain the plan to Harry as we hurry off, leaving Katherine to sleep off the attack. At least, enough that he stops hyperventilating and agrees to carry out his part. He’s kind of important. Not linchpin, but close enough that if he disagrees, it’d make our job more difficult.

Maintenance tunnels carry us deep into the first circle of Irvina. Security clearances provided to us by the Lady of Shadows help get us through the security checkpoints. I leave just enough of a trail with System Edit that when people come and look later, it’ll seem I Edited my way through.

We keep moving, the original trio of fan club members the only ones left with Harry, Mikito, and me. The others have dispersed, headed out of the city, off the planet, and preferably out of the sector. Many have plans to go to Earth, offered refugee status and a chance to Level and soak up Japanese culture.

I’m a little annoyed that Mikito’s got all the fans, but I can see which one of us is a better ambassador for humanity’s culture. Not to say Harry or Katherine don’t have their own fans, but in a world filled with violence like this, it’s no surprise that the ass-kickers are the major draws.

There are others of course, individuals who have made it out to the Galactic universe. Some of them have taken on public personas, promoting themselves and Earth. The singer who brings our pop culture to the galaxy. Matisse Bien, who vacillates between taking part in virtual movies and joining teams as a pinch-hitter, acting out his role when necessary. Of course, it’s not as good as having an actual healer or ranged attack or crowd control member, but method acting gives him close enough approximation of Skills and abilities that teams desperately in need of a specific role make do.

There’s the XI Legion, who’d been camped in the middle of France during the initiation, reenacting their little Roman wars. Clad in full combat armor, they’d been one of the more powerful group forces in Western Europe for a time. Of course, they also hired themselves out to the Movana, but we won’t discuss that portion of their betrayal. In the end, they shipped off Earth long before I did, taking part in clan wars and dungeon clearances where a Legion of Adventurers were required.

There were others: the Hoodoo Doctor, the Operator, the Gurkha. Individuals who’ve gained notoriety on the Galactic circuit, just like us, and so have gained fans both at home and in the wider Galactic sphere. Still more humans move through Galactic society without creating a major ripple, affecting only individuals.

Just as most galactics do in the end.

That’s the thing about celebrity, about fame. It strikes once and you might burn bright for a time, but it’ll fade just as easily in a series of accusations, of bad decisions. It eludes those who desire it and is gifted to those who seek it not.

Knowing that, I realize there’s no real point in being jealous of Mikito. It is what it is, and I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

“Is this route going to bring us to the Galactic Council building?” Harry asks as he cranes his head around, staring at the underground tunnels. “I thought the main entrance is above ground.”

Ali answers, floating over to Harry. “No. The Council building has multiple entrances set up just for cases like us.”

“Us?”

“Individuals who are in trouble with multiple groups.” Ali smirks. “The right to vote is quite sacrosanct among them all.”

“Doesn’t that mean that they’re probably waiting for us here?” Harry says, frowning. It’s the obvious conclusion after all.

“Probably,” Ali says, making Harry blanch.

In the corner of the minimap, I see we’re getting somewhat close to the building. In a couple hundred meters, give or take a few crossings and turns, our particular path will intercept the main routes. Idly, I wonder how many other diplomats are making use of the underground tunnels today.

“Well!?!” Harry says, waving his hands around. “We’re just going to walk straight into a trap?”

“Not exactly.” Mikito looks at me and I shrug, so she continues. “We all have enchantments to make us look different. Security clearances should also get us past the automated sentries.”

“And their Skills?” Harry says.

“We’ve got that covered too,” I say.

Or at least I think so. Of course, the reporter isn’t letting it lie just like that, but it’s not as if I’m that interested in answering his questions, so we keep walking. Mikito and Ali are happy to do their best to reassure Harry, providing him the various pieces of enchanted equipment we’ve acquired for this. It mollifies him a bit, but not all the way. More importantly, we keep him guessing and irritated, drip-feeding him information.

It’s not that we want to torture him, but we can all sense Harry’s a little on the fragile side, the torture and interrogation having driven him past what should normally be his breaking point. He’s still holding it together, but only by sheer willpower.

Making him irritated, making him angry, gives him something to focus on while we forge ahead. And more importantly, if he knew the plan, I’m not sure he’d agree to it. Even though it’s mostly safe. I feel a little guilt at what I’m doing, but there’s no time to placate him, make him see the reasoning. The need. So I’m going with trickery.

As we finally reach the end of the corridor, we take the first left at the T-branch. Ahead, voices can be heard—grumbling voices and one rather annoyingly high-pitched one. The group turns and stares at me. The kid who we’ve been trying to get an Advanced Class for stands in the middle.

“Redeemer.” His father, the Cafire Representative, is the one who speaks, his voice low. “Are you sure this will work?”

The Cafire’s group are similar in looks, creatures that look like the devils of Earth’s Christian mythology. Red skin, black horns, a long, pointed tail. The full works. Unlike the other one we once met, they don’t speak in iambic pentameter.

“Of course.” I walk forward while Ali grows in size, tugging Hary along behind.

“You said that the last time,” Yorera, the father, says.

“That’s right. You keep saying you’ll get it, but you keep failing,” Xirera, the kid, says. “And we can’t fight in here. Not without drawing attention.”

“You don’t need to.” I reach sideways, extracting a set of manacles from my inventory. These came from the Weaver, delivered to Mikito while I was trapped. Runic engravings cover the manacles, and even to my Mana sense, which I’ve tuned down, they glow in the shielded passageway. “Just put these on us.”

“John…” Harry raises his voice, eyes widening. Fear erupts from his voice, panic threatening to take him.

“You best start with him,” I say, gesturing to Harry.

“No!” Harry struggles, trying to pull away from Ali.

Before Harry can make off, Agr’us casts a spell, one that he’s been prepping for a bit. Harry ceases struggling, entering a dazed status.

“Trouble with your friends?” Yorera says.

“Nothing you have to worry about,” I say coldly. “Just get it done. Him first, then the rest of us.”

The kid with his scrawny appearance and flushed red skin takes the manacles off my hands and starts with Harry as requested. By the time Harry is able to pay attention, he’s manacled and his Mana is suppressed. Unlike the previous time though, he has a full Mana bar. He just isn’t able to activate any Skills.

“I can’t do this, John. Please don’t make me do this,” Harry says, his voice pleading now.

“It’s okay.” Mikito bumps him with her shoulder, offering him a half-smile. She has her hands out, waiting to be cuffed too. “We got this.”

“No, you don’t get it. We can’t, we don’t have any Skills. They’ll hurt us. Hurt me…” Harry’s beginning to hyperventilate.

I shoot a glance at Agr’us. He hits Harry with another spell, this one meant to calm his emotions rather than put him in a dazed Status. Harry stabilizes a bit, and while he’s stabilizing, Agr’us offers him a ring.

“What?” Harry says.

“Ring of Calm Emotions,” I say. “It’ll help. It only suppresses what you’re feeling, but it’ll help you get through this.”

It’s not the best option. In fact, there’s quite a bit of literature that shows things like that ring end up doing more damage in the long run than they help in the short term. But in specific circumstances, their use has been recommended. And in our case, we need it.

Manacles slide over wrists, one after the other. Each time, the kid hesitates as he waits for a notification, then he moves on, not getting one. By the time he gets to me, he’s looking less than enthused. When the heavy clunk of metal closing on my wrists echoes through the chambers, I reach into the System.

And find the notification that blossoms, telling me of my captured nature. I follow the Mana strand back, finding the node it arrived from, then down the strands that reach the kid. The manacles might block others, might stop most my other Skills, but System Edit isn’t blocked. We tested it, verified it before committing to this.

The child’s lips are turning down into a frown, disappointment crossing his flushed face, those glowing black and red eyes. He’s turning to complain to his father.

In the stretched moment that contains us both and the System Mana flooding into me, connecting us, I find the information that marks his actions, the collaring, and the multiple strands of information that verify his actions against Title acquisitions. I find the Title requirements, the little tick and check mark it searches for for the one we’re looking to get.

In that frozen moment, I make a few quick edits to his Status and the Title data. The System bucks as I manipulate it, hating what I do. It floods me back with error notifications, tickets and protests. In turn, I make adjustments further down the line, altering the kid’s fate a little to appease the System.

And then, I’m done.

I take a few extra seconds to make sure the alteration to the Title is locked to the kid, that it doesn’t cascade through the System, before pulling back. As time resumes its normal flow, the kid freezes. His eyes widen with surprise.

“Redeemer. Your promises are—” Yorera’s already gesturing for his guards to grab us, his tail lashing in anger.

Xirera cuts him off with a whoop. “I got it! I got it!”

“You did?” Yorera’s jaw drops, but he doesn’t stop the guards from gripping us as he pulls his son around. “Show me!”

The kid does, adjusting his notifications so his father can see it. None of us get to see it of course, but I don’t need to. I amended it myself, so I know what it says.

Title: Killer of Achilles

You’ve done what many would consider impossible. You’ve fought and beaten a Heroic while in your Basic Class. Such an act of heroism, fortitude, and foolhardiness will forever be marked upon your Status.

Effect 1: Access to certain Rare Classes. Increase in Reputation among certain factions. Decrease in Reputation among others.

Effect 2: +25% damage against those one Rank higher than you. +15% damage to those two Ranks higher than you. +10% damage to those three Ranks higher than you. +5 damage to those four Ranks higher than you.

Effect 3: +20% damage resistance

“The System’s beneficence. This is better than we expected,” Yorera says, reading the notification in detail. “You’ll definitely get a good Class now.”

Xirera can only bob his body in acknowledgement, vibrating with excitement. I keep silent, knowing his future, knowing the kind of Classes he’ll get. The ones I trimmed out so that I could make this work. A small part of me feels guilty, but I push it away knowing that he’s still bought one heck of an advantage. Just not the kind he thinks.

“Well, I guess I should make sure to carry out my side,” Yorera says, grinning and clapping me on the shoulder. And if there’s a little malice, a little greed in his eyes, well, it’s to be expected.

After all, he’s an Ambassador too.

“Come. We do not want to miss your vote.”

With those words and a few gestures, Yorera has his guards drag us to the Council building. Behind us, we leave Xirera, who is still vibrating with excitement and rereading his new Title, almost glowing with happiness.

***

We’re frog-marched through the corridors, our presence gaining more than a few raised eyebrows. There are questions asked, but we’ve put away our permits, passing by under Yorera’s security clearance now. He doesn’t stop, answering shouted questions with pleasant but useless nonsensical answers that give away nothing.

At our first major security checkpoint, we’re pulled aside and scanned for weaponry. The few that we carry outside of our inventory have already been taken by Yorera’s guards, held in their own inventory as a matter of course. The Council security check’s our faces and Statuses, pursing their lips as they find nothing in their database.

Which is by design. The enchantments that change our looks are boosted by the Lady to ensure we’re hidden. Of course, the lack of data engenders another round of questioning, but we stay silent while Yorera deflects the questions under the guise of Diplomatic Immunity.

As for the guards, they spend more time checking our manacles, only to mutter pleasant surprise when they read their details. I completely understand why, considering their quality.

Enchanted Manacles of Imprisonment (Master Class)

The problem of System-enabled individuals have long been considered and solved with the development of the Manacles of Imprisonment. Each set of manacles is as unique as its crafter, but they all suppress the usage of Skills while worn. Mana flow is inhibited, while Mana regeneration is directed into empowering the manacles themselves.

Effects: Skill Suppression, Spell: Powerful Suggestions, Spell: Lightning Grasp (Inactive), Spell: Sleep (Inactive)

Durability: 2300/2300

Satisfied that we’re well secured as prisoners, we’re passed through the security cordons with minimal fuss. As we journey deeper through the silver-covered hallways, they grow wider and wider as more diplomats and their bodyguards join the main thoroughfare.

Even if the session has already started—for quite a while now—being fashionably late and skipping out on the early morning, unimportant discussions is a time-honored tradition. But now, the Diplomats and Ambassadors are arriving for the afternoon session where actual bills of import are voted upon. And while only a portion of them might be coming in via the underground passages, when you’re looking at a portion of the over ten thousand plus worlds, it’s still a large number.

Of course, the actual Galactic Council isn’t just made up of ten thousand planets. There are a lot more. Between the hegemons, empires, and serf contracts, many planets either have no seat on the Council itself or have permanently handed over their voting rights. Leaving us with this mixture of planets that have their own seats by being independent, stubborn, vassal planets that refuse to give up their presence—even if they vote as directed—and multiple minor and major empires.

All in all, it’s a mess of a government system. Made more of a mess when the vast majority of the bills and other matters that are voted upon are ignored by non-signatories. It’s kind of like the UN, but with a lot less bite if you can imagine that.

Except when the Inner Council acts, of course. That’s when matters escalate, as the entire force of the Council and its bureaucracy take action. And for all its inadequacies, the empowerment of the System ensures that the occasional System-wide pronouncement and bill that do manage to pass can cause true havoc.

Like the creation of a Dungeon World.

As we pass and get side-eyed by the crowd, Harry grows increasingly paranoid and twitchy. Even the ring—a simple Advanced Class enchantment—is being overwhelmed by his growing panic.

I drop back, bumping him with my shoulder as I lower my voice. “Hold it together, old man.”

“We’re being frog-marched to our deaths as prisoners!” Harry hisses back.

“Well, at least there won’t be any more torture,” I say glibly. When humor doesn’t calm the reporter, I murmur, “It’s fine. I’ve got a plan.”

“Really? Does it take into account the fact that he’s going to betray us?” Harry says softly.

I grin at the reporter and he rolls his eyes. I don’t even mind the fact that Yorera looks back at us, his eyes narrowing. My grin is as much a warning for him as it is to assure Harry. That neither side seem reassured does make me a little sad, but it is what it is.

“You see, Harry, the problem is when someone is a devious, backstabbing bastard all the time, it becomes very predictable. Then it’s just a matter of figuring how you’re about to get backstabbed when you deal with them.” I pitch my voice relatively high, letting the guards around us hear me.

The really smart ones, the ones who are tasked with containing us if things go bad, look worried. Some of the guards shoot Yorera concerned glances, searching for a reaction from him. The alien continues to stride along confidently, playing as if he’s not heard a single word I said.

Truth be told, there are two major ways this could go. The first—if he keeps his promise—makes things a lot simpler. The second—if he does betray us—will make things much more complicated.

The first time this might happen is when we enter the main building, when security intensifies once more. Where there were a half dozen semi-bored guards going through the procedures at the other post, here there are over two score, each of them glaring at Diplomats and Ambassadors without a care. There’s even a change in their Classes.

Mook 1 (Loyal Council Guard Level 17) (A)

Mook 2 (Loyal Council Investigator Level 24) (A)

…

…

Mook 33 (Dedicated Council Lieutenant Level 27) (M)

Unsurprisingly, more than a dozen of the guards surround us the moment we make an appearance.

“Halt, Diplomat Yorera.” Mook 33 holds his hands down by his sides and up and sideways, barring the way. He can do that, what with having ten limbs—four legs and six hands, all crystalline outgrowth from his sea-foam-green and pink cystal body. “You have unauthorized prisoners with you. Judgment of Galactic Criminals are on the sixth configuration of the moons. It is only the twenty-third configuration currently.”

I feel Mana twitch as Skills trigger, putting us and the nearby guards under a privacy dome. It’s a powerful one that also blocks most access to the System. At least for us.

“These are special prisoners. The Council will be grateful to see them,” Yorera says. “I am invoking my right as a Diplomat under Treaty Clause 2567-891-53-c(ii).”

Mook 33’s eyes glaze over a little as he accesses the relevant section, before his lips press in disdain. “A once-a-decade option? Unusual.”

“These are unusual times,” Yorera says.

Before Mook 33 can say anything further, a guard—a shivering blob of pink and green slime—glops closer and burbles at the lieutenant. “They are under powerful disguise enchantments.”

The Skills the Slime-Mook uses cut through our physical disguises with ease. I’m not super surprised. They wouldn’t be guards here if they couldn’t do that much.

“Of course they are,” Yorera says, not even missing a beat. “Do you think I want my surprise spoiled?” He glares at the Slime-Mook, his voice lowering. “If not for the privacy screen, I would have your head for your indiscretion!”

“These people, they seem familiar,” Slime-Mook says.

A few of the other guards nod, and the lieutenant’s crystal body trembles. He cocks his head, waiting for one of his subordinates to say something.

Harry’s breathing speeds up, sweat dotting his skin, glistening like diamonds on obsidian sand. Mikito looks around as if she’s entirely unafraid, but I see the way she’s lowered her weight, angled her body ever so slightly. As for me? I just glare at everyone. And hope.

Famous as we might be, the Lady’s Skills are in play. She warps memory, databases, and the eleven senses of sapient creatures. Yes, eleven—because we’re talking about aliens and everything from tremor-sense, sonar, psychic, and aura senses come into play. And while most Skills affect some—but not all—of these senses, this is the Galactic Council’s headquarters. And guards with the full complement of sensing abilities and Skills are in play.

Without her, there’d be no way to sneak in. No way to get past them. Once more, we gamble everything on her Legendary Skill. And come out the winner. Because it is a Legendary Skill. And pointed in one direction, against a single planet? There’s nothing that can be done.

“Restricted,” Slime Mook finally speaks up.

The other guards nod, making the lieutenant’s eyes narrow. He gestures and the group close in on us. Yorera tries to protest, but it doesn’t matter, as the Cystalline Mook Lieutenant drags us all in the privacy bubble to a secure room.

Once we’re within, the Council Mooks move to the corners of the room, keeping an eye on us. Yorera’s guards stay in closer, hands on their weapons, smirking at us. Harry’s literally hyperventilating now, while Mikito is standing utterly still, waiting for her chance. The three musketeers keep themselves next to Harry. Their job is to keep him safe.

As for me, I watch Yorera, who has a calculating look in his eyes. Our chance of sneaking in has been broken by an obstinate guard, so I’m curious what Yorera will do.

The Crystal Lieutenant speaks first, eyes fixed upon Yorera. “I am invoking Council Security Protocol 158, section 83. All information in this room will be locked and safeguarded under Council Secrecy Protocols and will not be revealed for a thousand years. Now. Speak.”

Yorera shoots a look at me, visibly considering. Red skin flushes darker, turning almost deep scarlet red as his tail waves. Then he shrugs. “My apologies, Redeemer. This is not going to work.”

I watch as the Mooks freeze, surprise showing on their faces. Yorera’s guards are less surprised, instead pulling out weapons as the Samurai shift in position.

“You are saying this is the Redeemer of the Dead? The human we have been tasked at locating?” Crystal Mook grates out, his voice ever so careful. He waves one of his many hands, gesturing for the guards to close in on us.

Slime-Mook and the others close, weapons pulled.

“Yes.” Yorera glares at me. “This was not my plan. I wanted to be deeper within, where my people are waiting. But this will do. This is the Redeemer of the Dead. The human you are searching for.” His grin widens, sharp carnivore teeth flashing pearly white as he gloats. “Did you think I would risk my life, my child’s life for a simple Title? You are facing the Council itself! And the rewards offered. Why, what I'll get—”

I never hear what he was going to get.

The Lieutenant Mook moves first. He thrusts his hand through Yorera’s neck, catching him in the back of the spine, his crystal arm erupting from Yorera’s neck then growing, engulfing his head in crystal. Yorera struggles, his guards moving to help him. The Slime-Mook rears up, engulfing a trio of guards near it—both Yorera’s devils and another Council guard.

Beam attacks fire while Mikito kicks and beats another while her hands are still chained. The three musketeers bear down another pair of guards while Harry falls flat onto the ground, covering his head as best as he can.

As for me? I slip out of the manacles, my Skill Edit making the damn manacles fall away. Then I trigger Judgment of All on the enemies within. And there are more of them than I’d like. It seems only the Slime and the Crystal Lieutenant are on our side as they battle valiantly.

Unfortunate for our enemies, Judgment of All doesn’t care where they are so long as I can sense them, see them. The spell erupts, tearing at them through their connection to the System, raw Mana flooding their bodies. Their screams, their struggles are brief. But not without cost.

We find the Slime a bubbled mess, his body eaten away by the poisons, the necrotic attacks used by Yorera’s guards. The feedback attack from Yorera himself, as an Ambassador, has shattered the crystal light within the Mook Lieutenant. He lies dying, his body cracked. Even healing spells do little for him.

“Never mind me, Redeemer. My crystal is shattered. But the formation will grow,” the Crystal Mook speaks, it’s body twisting and shuddering one last time before it collapses in on itself.

In the silence, I look around. The musketeers did well, keeping Harry alive. Agr’us is the most injured, hair of his beard burnt off, clutching at the stump of his arm. The remainder of his arm is lying a short distance away, bubbling as poison eats it.

“Lord Sato, are you well?” Ruvuuds is by Mikito, looking her over with his cat-eyes.

Mikito grimaces as the poisons threaten to eat away her leg. A brief foray over and a System Edit fixes the issue, allowing her to heal.

Harry is on the floor, trying to recover his bearings, his state of mind. Vrasceids is helping him, speaking softly as he strokes the reporter’s back, offering comfort by presence and touch.

I don’t have time for that. Instead, I move quickly, picking up the bodies of the guards and moving them into my Altered Storage before cleansing the space.

After that, we pull out the Lady’s security clearances once more before I hack our way out of the security room. This time around, we use a secondary exit, one that leads us directly into the council building itself, bypassing other security stations.

As we move, I can’t help but think we got off light.

***

Of course, eventually, Harry recovers enough to ask the questions. “Why’d they help us? Were they more of your Questors?”

I answer him, using the Party Chat, keeping our answers to the silence of the System. I lock it down with System Edit, though I know it isn’t perfect. But if anyone is looking that close, we’re screwed anyway.

“No. It was a trade,” I say. “Those attacks that Katherine was complaining about? They were distractions, but also payments. To certain factions with the Fist, kingdoms who wanted revenge. In turn, they’d help us out here.”

“Dangerous. They’re defying the Council directly,” Harry says. “Don’t they fear retaliation?”

“Of course they do. Which is why the help will be limited. The moment Crystal and Slime-Mook helped us out, they were dead. Cutouts that can’t offer further information.”

Even if someone pulled information backward, searched for how they were told, I’m sure it was hidden. Coded words, additional cutous. Ways of saying things without saying it.

“He has a name, you know.”

“I do.” But I carry enough names, enough grief with me already. His death, his sacrifice, is not one I take on. Even though I fear both are indelibly stuck in my memory anyway, that he’ll come to me in the middle of the night like so many others. Accusing me, berating me.

The help I’ve acquired, the people I paid off and locked with my System Edit Skill are numerous. But my plans, my options are wide too. And so in each spot, our potential help is thin. And there’s only so far they’re willing to aid us. Getting us into the Council chambers to create havoc? Sure.

Directly killing others? No.

As with so many things, we’re on our own for the majority. We hurry through the security corridors, our changed clothing and the firm stride we move with allowing us to pass without issue. Safeguarded by the Legendary’s Skill and the knowledge that we can’t be here.

In these safe, secure corridors of their security personnel.

Chapter 22

The journey to the Council chambers takes forever. Each diplomatic retinue has its own specific location within the building, one that’s protected by the same rules and regulations of diplomatic immunity that pervade the building itself. The Galactic Council building is not owned or controlled by any single individual, instead guarded by the Council and their guards.

Within each diplomatic sector are the institutions that own their voting boxes, their own safe zones. Of course, there are limits to that self-governance within the building itself, but it does offer some level of security once we arrive.

Soon enough, we pass the external security perimeter. Inside the building itself, security is looser. We pop out then, stepping into the main thoroughfares. A simple privacy bubble created by a Skill from Harry keeps the majority of people from speaking with us.

Even those diplomats and guards who see through the bubble only glance at our group before turning away. Custom and manners means that the vast majority do not attempt to interact with us.

That is, until we’re stopped by a familiar coral-eared, pale-skinned set of figures. The Erethrans that stop our team are not people I recognize automatically, even though I’ve seen images of the Vice-Ambassador that stands before us. Hands crossed behind his back, clad in the latest fashion, which in this case seems to include very little clothing—I wonder when that changed—the Erethran Ambassador shifts when we do.

I find myself coming to a stop and letting him enter the privacy bubble. I growl a little, annoyance in my voice. “Vice Ambassador Ramanner, what is the meaning of this?”

“Just a small thing. We’re hoping to speak with you before the upcoming vote,” the Vice Ambassador says. “If you don’t mind, we will escort you the rest of the way to your demesne.”

“And if I say no?” I ask, fist flexing.

“Why, I’d accept your request with good grace. And then go on to my next one, with the Movana.” His grin widens even as his eyes stay cold.

I do my best to keep my face unmoving, giving away nothing. Unfortunately, people like Harry—who is off his game—and the three musketeers do. The Erethran Ambassador grins, deliberately shifting his gaze to those who gave up the goose before turning back to me. Revealing our presence, our location to our enemies would be bad. Really bad.

“Shall we continue your walk? I wouldn’t want to hold you up too long.” Rammaner steps aside slightly, letting us move forward if we wish.

I growl but accept the fact he’s got us cornered. I can’t afford to start a fight here, and his threat—while subtle—is clear enough.

We walk, the Ambassador and his companions content to stroll alongside me in silence. I take a few moments to call up their Status information as I consider what they want. The two other Erethrans are boring, an Assistant and a Bodyguard, or the Erethran equivalent with fancy titles to denote their Advanced Class Status. The Bodyguard is right on the border of crossing into Master Class, and a quick dip into the System shows he’s stuck, unable to progress as he hasn’t chosen to fulfill his Class Quest.

The Ambassador, on the other hand, is much more interesting. I stare at his Status screen and poke at it mentally, seeing what I can call forth.

Zimalin Ramanner, Platinum Tongued, Famed Courtier, Beloved of the System, Master of Ceremonies at the 5S0-8, Slayer of Goblins, Manticores, Sphinxes, … (Senior Erethran Ambassador Level 3) (M)

HP: 2130/2130

MP: 2130/2130

Conditions: Diplomatic Immunity, Two are One, Secured Shield, State Secrets, Aura of the Empire’s Voice, State Security Protocols

“That name…” I frown. “I should know that name, right? It’s not Catrin’s, right?”

“Seriously. How did you ever keep a girl? You had a multi-month relationship. And her name was right above her head the entire time!” Ali sends back.

“I remember her name, just you know, not her last name. I didn’t need to remember it, and it was always right there,” I mentally rebut Ali. “It’s like remembering phone numbers. You don’t need to, because your smartphone always has it. Or birthdays. Or the name of your Skills.”

“Separating molecules, you humans are so lazy.” Ali sends an image of himself rolling his eyes.

I snigger, but I’m grateful that since the latest Level-up, his banishment doesn’t mean he can’t communicate with me. At least, so long as it’s a voluntary one. We haven’t tested an involuntary banishment as yet.

“Ramanner. The ex-Chief of Staff. The one you Shackled.”

“Right! He never mentioned he was related to the Vice Ambassador.” I frown. His presence here, the lack of information. I smell a conspiracy. On the other hand, he is the Vice Ambassador, the guy second in charge. Maybe Ramanner didn’t think it was necessary?

Ali’s dire chuckle makes me grimace, only to see Mikito interrogating me again with an eyebrow. This time, I can only offer a shrug.

We march on, the Erethran Vice Ambassador breaking the silence to chat about inconsequential things. The latest play, the places to eat. He fills the silence with practiced ease, and his presence makes the other guards and the other diplomats glance at us and away.

Each step, each sideways glance by a diplomat, a courier or assistant as we walk makes me tense internally even as I offer monosyllabic replies to Rammaner. My stomach clenches, my fingers press together under the cuffs of my sleeves, and I find myself wishing I had some chocolate to eat.

Harry doesn’t do much better, his fears warring against the enchantments on him and winning out. I see the occasional flashes of panic, of concern that run through him. I hate it. I hate pushing him so hard. But I don’t have a choice, I don’t think.

Mikito handles the walk the best, keeping an eye out for problems without looking more suspicious than any security guard would. It’s still not perfect, it’s still not great, and I can tell that the liquid grace she moves across the floor with is her fighting stance. Her body, her awareness is ramped up to its peak level.

All this tension, all this wariness will force a crash that’ll really suck later. Until then, we watch, we breathe, and we function.

Finally, finally, we reach the hallway that leads to humanity’s secure room. Our secure location, the one that only members of humanity can enter. Guards watch us as we move through the hallways, but none dare stop us. Not with the Erethran with us. And since the hallways lead to many places, they only glance at us before letting their eyes move on.

I’m just glad that traditions—and Council paranoia—dictate that security personnel are pulled back and out of hallways. You can’t stay standing in a hallway for too long, no matter what. Which means there are, of course, roving groups of security and paid diplomatic couriers, but no stationary guards. In this way, with a little bit of luck and planning, you can slip into a rival’s room, make a deal, and leave with no one the wiser.

“And here we come, to the end at last. Really, coming here is dangerous. One might almost call it insane. No one in their right-thinking mind, when pursued by the full power of the Council, would think to come to the very heart of their power,” Ramanner says. “Which is why we knew you’d be here.”

“We?” I say.

“The Empress Apparent sends her greetings.” Ramanner gives a small salute, hand to his chest before he continues. “Also, and these are her words, ‘Tell that fool this is the most I can do and that, if he survives, he should visit.’”

I blink while behind me, Mikito lets out a muffled snort of amusement.

“And what, exactly, did you do? Or is she offering?” Harry says. Something in his voice makes me turn around, slowing down our pace. His hands are clenched around one another. His fingers are pale, almost white around the edges.

The Ambassador sweeps his gaze up and down Harry, his lips tightening in disapproval. He hesitates before giving his head the slightest shake and turning away from the reporter.

“I do want to know the answer to that question too,” I mutter to the Vice Ambassador.

“Ah. A simple matter of extraction.” Ramanner shifts and holds out four stylized pins.

I frown, picking one up from his hand and scanning it to see what the System has to say.

Stylized Pin

Material: Gold

Of course, that’s not enough for me. I dig in, checking the information provided, and my lips curl up. Because it might be a simple pin according to the description, but the bundle of Mana it’s wrapped around is dense. I push, sliding past the data bundle, and find myself staring at another, more honest notification.

Manop Galactic Positioning System Pin (M)

When you absolutely must keep track of something, Manop’s GPS Pins are guaranteed to work or your Credits back three times over! That’s right, our lifetime triple warranty has never failed, even against Heroic Level Class Skills.

Effects: Provides your location to holder of the master-piece to this slaved pin. May be used in conjunction with master-piece to target spells and Skills.

“Really. You expect us to wear this?” I say.

Ramanner smiles. “I am hoping you do not.” At the incredulous look, I give him, he shrugs. “I follow orders, but I must also express my displeasure at her actions. The Empress Apparent is placing the Empire in danger with the aid she offers you. So no, I would prefer if you didn’t use this.”

I turn the pin over in my hand before speaking slowly. “You know that kind of statement could almost be seen a rather direct method of manipulation.”

Ramanner’s smile widens as if he’s enjoying me squirm. My fist clenches around the pin. If it was just a “simple pin,” it’d be crushed.

“What I want to know is why there are only four pins,” Mikito says softly, plucking a pair from Ramanner as she walks past us on her way to Harry.

When both of them put the pins on, I frown even more. “You trust him?”

“He could have had us thrown into jail already,” she says. “And I trust Catrin.”

While I mull the trust my friend puts in my ex-lover, she raises an eyebrow.

He shrugs, gesturing vaguely at the three musketeers. “We had not planned for them. I’d recommend they leave. Before… well. You know.”

I frown, considering his words. They were useful to get us in. Most alerts will be looking for two or three people, which is why a group of six helps with camouflage. But Ramanner has a point. We don’t need them here, and they’d slow us down when we run.

“Go,” I say to the three.

Of course, they look at Mikito, who speaks directly to the Vice Ambassador. “Will you see them out?”

Ramanner frowns, then looks at me then at the three. Eventually, he nods, gesturing to the Bodyguard. “They will be shown out.” Mikito opens her mouth to protest and is overridden by Ramanner immediately. “Do not push my largesse.”

She shuts her mouth, chastised. At the door, I look between the group as she steps toward the three, whispering to them. I hear words of thanks and further, coded orders before they step away.

“Good eve to you. And I hope that whatever you choose to do, the fallout will be minimal,” Ramanner says, his voice cold. “Or at least contained.”

I can only offer him a grin, still turning the pin over in my hand. He glances at it, then at the ones on both Mikito and Harry before gesturing, bringing the three members of Mikito’s fan club with him. They offer me respectful nods, then bows to Mikito before we finally turn to the door.

Humanity’s abode. The only place where we can be safe for the short period that we need before the rest of the plan is put into play. I smile, placing my hand on the plate and willing it open. The System recognizes me, recognizes my authority, and slides the door open. I cast one last glance back to where the Erethrans and the three musketeers leave.

A part of me wonders how much danger I’ve put them in. How likely retribution will be for him, for Catrin, for the Empire and the fan club. In the end, I dismiss my concern for them. There’s a point where care and concern for others becomes nothing more than a self-mutilating burden, when you have to accept that others are adults and able to accept the risks they take upon themselves.

There’s a point where you have to let go and let them fall. And hope that you’ve held them up long enough that they’ve grown their wings enough to fly.

***

I step into the quarters, idly noting the security systems Katherine has bought. As I walk forward, further notifications bloom with information about Earth’s embassy within the Council building.

The complex itself is relatively small, nothing bigger than a penthouse condo in size with floor-to-ceiling two-story tall windows straight ahead of us overlooking the voting chambers. There’s a small floating orb in front of the windows where we will be able to cast our vote. And to our right, a staircase leads to a second floor where the offices lie. The main floor is fully open for simple gatherings and parties.

You Have Entered the Embassy of the Galactic Planet—Earth. This is a subsidiary Diplomatic Zone of Earth.

All laws, regulations, and planet-wide effects are in place. Current domain effects include:

Planetary Dimension Locked (Disruptive Interference Tier I)

Sensor Net

Past Mistakes Teach Best (+0.04% XP Gain)

Dodgy Accounting (+4.2% Voting Mana Regeneration)

… (more)

I push outward and tap into the Sensor Net. Sense nothing, see nothing. The expected welcoming party is missing. No Kasva, which is somewhat of a surprise. I expected him to be here. To meet him at the end, to fight a drawn-out battle.

But maybe Ramanner was right. Only the insane would expect us to be here, to dare them in the lions’ den.

This Diplomatic Space currently includes:

2 Secure Meetings

3 Secure Office Spaces (1 Reinforced)

1 Refreshment & Dining Room with integrated Kitchen

Voting Sphere—Main & slaved voting sphere (in Reinforced Secure Office)

Tier II Security System

I barely pay attention to this notification since there’s another one right after it.

You are the Earth Proxy.

Would you like to modify the current Diplomatic Space?

I assent to the request and make a quick purchase—a small study with a library within. Another purchase of a series of books fills the library. Hardcover editions of a series of readings, all useful, all important. It’s a little gift for Katherine. Though she—Earth—is the one paying for it. I’d pay for it, but that’s not the way the System works.

We spread out, Mikito moving with Harry to one of the nearby lounging chairs to relax. Now that we’re in a safe spot, we need to do so. Since we’ll be doing something else, something a lot more dangerous soon enough.

Alone, I flex my will, calling forth Ali. He takes a few seconds to form, passing through the membrane between worlds, his body pulling together much like the Mana doppelgangers. I give him a second to finish up before I walk the rest of the way in.

Something, something pushes at the edges of my senses. Maybe it’s my Luck, maybe it’s my augmented Perception. Maybe it’s just because I’ve seen him before, saw how he camouflaged his body. I look up.

He’s invisible, almost entirely blended into the ceiling. As I stare at him, I see his Status information is once again blank. The damn ghost spider-creature offers nothing. But luckily for me, the Lady had happily provided that information, at least as she knew it. Ali combines it all together for me, giving me his rather interesting Status.

Wex (Anasi Martial Glutton Level 38/ Senior Administrator Level 17) (H/?)

HP: 2430/2430

MP: 4380/4380

Conditions: Webbed Intuition, Threads of the Nest, Stored Reserves, You Are What You Eat, Body of the Dead

“Senior Administrator Wex. I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re here,” I say, calling to him.

“Expecting someone else?”

“Yes. Your champion.” I watch as my friend scrambles, weapons coming out as she stares at the spot in the ceiling I look at. Harry doesn't notice Wex, but Mikito does. She has Hitoshi out, the Legacy weapon glowing scarlet as she points at the spider. “I actually prepared for him.”

“I had a bet. I believed that you would dare this. You're always presumptuous, foolhardy in your decisions. Choosing to attack rather than retreat. What is your plan? To stare down at the Ambassadors and Diplomats below and use your Skill? Kill them all?” Wex asks, shifting a little.

Harry gasps, spotting him at last. Now that Wex is moving, I realize its not just sitting there talking to me but holds another bundle in its hand, a spider-thread-wrapped bundle that it’d been snacking upon. Martial Glutton indeed.

“That would solve some of our problems, wouldn’t it?” I say, offering it a wide grin.

Harry shoots me a horrified look while Mikito begins the process of buffing herself.

“So you guessed right,” I say. “But why’s your buddy not here?”

“We are verifying multiple angles.” Wex clicks, making the bundle disappear. “Unlike you, we do not like to gamble upon a single winning outcome.”

I growl, even if he is somewhat correct in his assumptions. All too often, I’ve been forced to take one risk after the other without backup plans. Or few enough backup plans to matter. Calling forth a dragon, choosing the Heir I wanted, even the vote for the planetary governance.

“Maybe, but I’m not the idiot standing before a group of very enthusiastic killers by itself.” Once more, I eye its Status, grateful for the information I have now. The understanding that came about after spending so much time Leveling in the Administrative Center.

Wex isn’t a Legendary. It’s a much weaker than normal Heroic—at least in terms of its “fake” Class. That was confirmed both by the Lady and my own experiences Leveling up. Even as a late-stage Heroic, it doesn't have the same level of Skills, the kind of ability to do damage that a real Heroic would. That’s because most of its Skill Points have been dedicated toward the System Edit Skill—just like my last few ones.

Of course, it’s made up by the fact that it can buy Heroic Skills, just as I would have to if I had progressed normally. Add the fact that we need to Level up both Classes at the same time, because we’re forced to gain experience in two different formats, and its Combat Class just isn’t that powerful.

Oh sure, it could go out and fight to level its fake Class, but without Class Skill points to dedicate toward combat Skills, Wex must rely on its purchased Skills to make up the difference and hide its lack of Skills. And with our responsibilities and the need to split our time, I bet it was not as easy as just jaunting off.

In the end, that probably means that an Administrator is weak in a direct confrontation like this. Or at least, theoretically. If you discount the use of the System Edit Skill in combat itself.

I have a feeling I’m going to get a lesson on its uses in a second…

“Maybe.” Wex cleans its front legs again, rubbing them together.

For a second, I look into the fractured kaleidoscope of its eyes, the fractured vision of its almost invisible body.

And then we dance.

Chapter 23

It’s not me who starts the fight but Mikito. She uses Makoto, her long-range strike, swinging Hitoshi in a short, chopping motion that makes the explosion of energy from the tip of the legacy weapon arc out in an ever-growing curve of energy.

Wex throws itself out of the way, swinging on an invisible thread attached to the ceiling and dodging the strike. It avoids Mikito’s initial attack with ease, but as it lands on invisible threads, Wex doesn’t take into account the living-flames Hitoshi provides.

They catch onto its threads, jumping from connection to connection, burning their way to Wex as they destroy its delicate web. The flames are hungry, seeking blood and flesh, and the spider lets out a squeaky exclamation of surprise as it slashes and parts its own web, forcing it to fall away.

In the distraction, I act.

First step, I throw up my Penetration Evolved Skill. It’ll keep me alive longer than not. Domain and my Aura switch on, followed by Eye of the Storm as I figure my team could use the boost and distraction. Then I trigger the rest of the defenses in the building itself. Weapon turrets drop from the ceiling only to get stuck, caught in webs. Drones attempt to roll out of their resting spots, only to burst apart as explosive threads ignite, sending molten shrapnel into space. The defenses that Katherine paid for are rendered useless just like that.

“Fine,” I snarl and raise my fist, clenching it.

Judgment of All doesn’t require me to hit the Administrator, just for me to see it. And Wex might be mildly camouflaged, but it is moving too much. There are too many flames above it now to hide it completely.

Judgment of All starts up, and Mana floods out of me. And keeps flooding. My eyes widen as I sense Wex tearing at my Skill using its System Edit Skill. I try to block it, but I’m too late.

Notifications arrive, telling me what it was doing, all too late.

Judgment of All Activate

Administrative Override: Mana Cost Tripled

Duration Reduced: 6.5 seconds

Even so, my plunge into my Skill is enough to make the damn Administrator stop. Its mental intrusion scurries off just before it nerfs my damage too.

I feel, more than sense, the rush of Mana that hammers into the floating point of its body. To meet an obstruction. The Mana burns, tearing away at Wex—but not. I frown, digging into the discrepancy with my System Edit Skill even as I conjure swords and throw them at the damn spider, letting my floating weapons create problems for the scurrying spider.

Stored Reserves (Level 10) (Administrator Modified)

The Anasi Martial Glutton’s premier Skill, it allows the Anasi to consume health and Mana stores from its victims and store them for later use. Stored reserves replenish health and Mana of the user at an increased rate.

Effect 1: Store up to 11,000 HP and Mana from consumed victims at a ratio of 1:100

Effect 2: Increased Regeneration of Health and Mana of user at need by 11%. Each addition unit regenerated decreases stored HP and Mana respectively.

Administration Modification: Stored reserves of HP and Mana take damage first. User resistances are still in effect.

“Son of a bitch! It’s got a reserve for health,” I shout to the group even as it bounces away from one of Mikito’s attacks.

She’s on her ghost horse now, riding on air as she charges it. Wex is fast, but she’s good and the ever-changing size of the energy blade on Hitoshi keeps it guessing.

“I know,” the Samurai snaps at me. Another cut, this one bouncing off the sudden silvery body of the spider. A second later, it’s back to normal as the Administrator swaps around the traits of its physical body with Body of the Dead. “Stop standing around and help!”

“I am doing something. Didn’t you see that… I guess you didn’t…” I mutter.

Of course she wouldn’t. Judgment of All, even now finished ticking down, never had an external effect because it soaked all that damage up in its health bank. Even nastier, its Resistances—including its Administrator Resistances—soaked up much of that damage. Which wouldn’t have been that high otherwise, it being pure Mana damage.

“I got it!” Ali shouts.

The Spirit flies straight up, the conjured ball of plasma in his hand about to be lobbed at the Administrator. Only for Ali to suddenly stop as he hits a series of invisible threads. Even with my higher Perception, I can barely sense the way they shifted to catch it, forcing Ali to hold. A second later, they burn the caught Spirit, attacking him on the immaterial plane as well as the material plane.

The Spirit holds it together long enough to release the plasma containment in the general direction of Wex, catching the Administrator in the backblast. It isn’t a direct hit, but it does destroy even more of its threads. Threads which keep growing back.

I debate flying up, but I’m not Mikito. I lack her Skills to avoid and dodge the damn web. And getting caught is a bad idea. Instead, I fall back on an old standby—using Blade Strike to cut at the spider above.

While I do that, while I let my physical instincts take over, I step into the other side of the fight, extending my System Edit Skill. For I can see how it’s tearing at Mikito’s Skills, knocking them down, aborting their start, increasing cost and otherwise hampering her.

Blitzed is put on cooldown. Isoide—her haste—increases in cost by ten times. Shatter is lowered in percentage, making it almost useless. Even Gi, her unblockable, undodgable attack, is nerfed as she’s forced to expend multiple times her Mana to make use of it.

It’s going after me too, but only occasionally. Domain only barely reaches them as they dart around the inside of the building. Eye of the Storm taunt effects aren’t affecting it at all, its mental resistances more than sufficient. The damage effect is nice, since it adds to my Skills, but it isn’t burning the threads as I hoped. And my Aura doesn’t affect it directly. As for my Blade Strikes, it’s easier to dodge or tank than to actually bother Editing.

I dive in, fighting Wex with my System Edit Skill. I cancel its Skills, block further Skill uses, attempt to delve into its Status Screen. We’re fighting on a half dozen fronts virtually, and in a short period, I go entirely on the defensive.

It’s many times more experienced than I am, multiple times stronger and smarter. I can barely keep up with the changes it makes on Mikito’s Skills, and I barely pay attention to when it nerfs my own, destroying Penetration’s duration, reducing the damage done on my own Blade Strikes.

But it’s also hampered. Firstly, by the System itself. Like when I changed the Title for Yorera’s son, the System doesn’t like us making localized alterations like this. It fights back, wanting to revert to normal. On top of that, it’s also hampered by the penalty the System placed upon it when it attacked me the first time we met. I sense the hitch in its Skill uses, the way it has to expand Mana in a surge each time it switches to a new line of attack.

And all the while, while we fight in the virtual, Mikito takes it on in the physical. She’s cutting at it, bleeding its body even as she dodges around combat drones, slips past threads of flame and electricity, and avoids the occasional swing of Skill-powered blows.

Ali breaks free and, angry at its entrapment, fights back against the Anasi’s threads. He’s burning them, detaching them from the walls with his affinity, sending arcs of electricity down others to shock the spider.

And occasionally, occasionally, one of my Blade Strikes hits, cutting into the damn spider. It still looks pristine, undamaged, but I know its health bank is dropping, draining with each strike.

And we’re fine. Mostly.

“Keep at it! We’re winning,” Ali crows. “Useless Administrator!”

Of course, that’s when Wex stops playing with us.

***

The first thing it does is release a cloud of gas. I don’t even need the green and purple nature of it to tell me it’s a bad idea to be anywhere near the cloud—especially when it expels it from its behind. Mikito, maneuvering around its back, receives the full blast of it.

Of course, her ghost armor has a protection against direct breath attacks. But such poison Skills bypass the sensibility of pure breathing, using aura and physical contact to push its effects upon its victims. Mikito reels back, forced to pull away for a moment as she’s assaulted by the poison.

Below, I pull out the Hod and trigger its dressing aspect, cursing myself for paying too much attention to its System Edit Skill and not taking the time to armor myself. “Ugh…”

My pity party is cut short when I look to the side and spot a forgotten member of the party. Harry, curled up on the floor, is thrashing as the damn area effect poison hits him. I snarl, and rather than risk it, I use Sanctum. It forms faster than ever, covering the reporter. I can only hope he’s able to survive. Too late, the Hod finishes closing in around me. I feel the Status effects from the poison flare to life as the poison seeps into me.

You have been poisoned by an Anasi Internal Brewed Poison Cloud (Modified)

Effects partially resisted

Health and Mana Regeneration reduced by 38%

You are (mildly) intoxicated. Negative Perception and Agility bonuses applied.

You are receiving 14 HP damage per minute

The damage-over-time effect is negligible for me with my regeneration in play. The Health and Mana regeneration effects are more concerning, especially since this is after my resistances.

But Wex isn’t done just yet.

“Look out!”

Ali’s shout makes me look up to see a rain of white packages falling down around me. Some fall straight, some arc through the air, and many, many of them bounce off invisible spider threads, their final destination impossible to gauge.

Still, I try to dodge, especially when a few hit the razor thread and part. The damn corpses explode when they fall, engulfing the very air in flames and burning poison. My aura trembles, the Hod hissing as acid-coated rain and poisonous flames assault it. Soul Shield and the Hod’s defensive shields sparkle, light chasing across the edges of the protection as I search for a safe place on the ground.

And realize there is nothing.

I take to the air, throwing Blade Strikes ahead of me, calling back my sword as I begin another spell. Beacon of the Angels, targeted to start within the demesne itself.

I swear when my Skill is cut short, the Administrator sliding in and brute-forcing the attack. My body shudders a little as the Mana that was meant to power the Skill flows back into me with nowhere to go. But I climb out of the explosion of body parts and flames, of poison and toxins below into the—relatively—clear air of the second floor. I cut again and again, letting my swords swing in preset patterns, destroying the threads that threaten to take me.

The remnant flames from the explosions pop the Hod’s shield. Poison air eats away at my Soul Shield, but I ignore it, searching.

I spot Mikito first. Her horse is treading on bare air, its armored mane ragged, its ghostly body rotting. Its rider is lolling on the back, head hanging over the edge of the horse’s neck, Hitoshi pointed at the ground. At least the Legacy weapon seems to be doing well, as a small whirlpool forms around its head as it absorbs the poisons.

Wex I miss until it’s too late. It rises up from below me, using threads that I was certain were cut. Hopping through the sky for its fangs to close in on me from below. Dark energies, gravity, and other forms of magic are embedded in its fangs and along the edges of its mouth. Its jaw closes with a snap, popping my Soul Shield without issue. I struggle, attempting to escape and fail.

Rather than fight a losing battle, I trigger Blink Step. I sense it moving to shut it down, and I use my own Skill to block it. But it’s sort of like a teenager trying to stop a professional linebacker. The sheer volume of Mana it can wield compared to me is an entire tier apart. The backlash of the direct conflict causes more damage than the grinding, necrotic bite itself.

I shudder, coughing as Blink Step is forcibly shut down and put on cooldown. Its Mana invades my Status, my body, and the essence of what I am within the System, changing, altering things. It hits my escape and defense Skills first, tearing its way through Portal, through Soul Shield and Sanctum. It even turns off Domain, which is hurting it more than Eye of the Storm.

That’s okay though, since I’m leaning toward bringing the pain rather than worrying about damage. I force Mana into the System, activating Judgment of All and feeling it snap off. I don’t try to stop it though, because I’ve already got Grand Cross rolling. It slams it shut, but I see the constant Mana use, the way System Edit is burning it up.

Of course, I’m not doing well. Penetration’s Shield is powerful, but it requires me to do damage. And it’s stopping me from doing it all too often, shutting down whatever it wants with impunity. It’s not even trying to edit around restrictions, slamming full stops on me. The System is punishing it, fighting it, but it’s taking it to finish this fight. And without damage, my Penetration Shielding is falling, the necrotic, toxic, and elemental damage on its fangs burning through the shield.

I have to finish fast. Good thing I still remember the lesson from our first fight. While it’s busy dealing with the System, I conjure lightning. It’s easy. There’s so much energy being shed—from disrupted Mana, from my shield’s sparking, from the escaped radiation and electrons of its energy attacks. I just borrow it, lowering resistances, increasing attraction. Making lightning itself come alive all around us.

It bounces from it to me, to the threads around us, and back again. Lightning, jumping and arcing, connected to one another. The System registers the damage, but it doesn’t give it to my shielding, ignoring my Elemental Affinity as it stands outside of the System.

Wex tries to shut it down, of course, but it’s an Affinity. There’s no System finagling here. It records, it displays, but it doesn’t control. But it can mitigate. The damn spider pulls me close, holding me tight with its legs, mouth still clamped onto me, as it absorbs the damage. Its body shimmers, shifting to something darker, something more rubbery. My grasp on its body, on the connection to it, slip as it adjusts to my attack.

“Idiot boy-o.” Ali shoots over to me, having freed himself.

He slams a container of plasma into Wex’s back, burrowing in as deep as he can before releasing the containment. Electricity tries to jump to the Spirit, but he’s mostly immaterial. Beyond charring the Spirit a little at the edges—disrupting Ali’s material plane connection—he’s fine.

So’s Wex, to my horror. The damn creature’s resistances and bank of life is taking Ali’s attack with aplomb. Things go from bad to worse as I reel from another System Edit assault that floods my body with Mana, turning my Judgment of All Skill on me. I batter the Edit attack aside, shoving will and my own Skill against it, but not before my Penetration Skill pops and my life plummets.

My body is on fire, the Hod is smoking and screaming as the power armor is melted, and my flesh decays as necrotic energy invades me. I liquify and burn, and my tender grasp on the lightning falls aside.

A last ditch maneuever. I haven’t tried it before, but theoretically, if I let the bonds between my molecules slip far enough, I can fall. Right through its grip. I try for it, feeling myself and the Hod shudder.

And stop, for electromagnetic force is only one of the prime forces in the universe. And the damn Administrator is wielding gravity spheres in its mouth, pulling me toward its fangs.

“Wake up, Mikito!” Ali shouts. Its olive face is scrunched up in concentration as it pours plasma into Wex’s torso, trying to push it through the body to hit something important. It must hurt, but the Administrator doesn’t care.

A snap, a tear, and the Hod’s outer armor around an arm falls away as the damage from the elements, from the lightning, from the fires that burn below and the toxins that drip take its toll. It falls—and so does the arm beneath it, as liquified and crisped skin offers no grip. The armor falls for only a second before swinging up, smacking Wex in the face as gravity spheres pull it up.

I’m held in place not by its mouth but the gravity it wields, attacked on all sides. The lightning is gone, only occasional sparks still bursting into life as excess energy keeps firing. I’m semi-immaterial, floating in space, smoke and toxins entering and mixing within my body, leaving a burnt, rotten smell in my throat, in my lungs.

Blood drips and falls, and even my defensive Skills fail. Peasant’s Fury is working overtime to increase regeneration, but I’m taking more damage than it can keep up with. Elastic Skin and Harden help, as do my resistances, but poisons and toxins bypass a lot of the defenses. Wex’s abilities are perfect for dealing with me.

The gravity spheres hold on to me and my mind spins, time and Intelligence stretching out for a few brief seconds. Gravity spheres work in one of two ways. It compresses and increases the mass in a location—making it denser and thus increasing the force of attraction. Or it increases G—the gravitational force itself. My Affinity doesn’t change my mass, and releasing it leaves me still hanging in space. The Administrator isn’t strong enough, physically, to handle an increase in mass, so the spell must increase the gravitational force itself.

Which means…

I trigger a Skill and pull at my sword. It lets me, not caring about the extra swords I conjure. They can cut, but they aren’t that powerful, not with me thrashing in mid-air. But I release my soulbound weapon, letting it fall. And it shoots upward, just like my arm.

To strike Wex in the face. It plunges deep, point first. And then, behind it, the conjured weapons it let me have follow, just as they’re scripted to. The attack isn’t enough to kill it, but having multiple blades plunged into one’s body from below and attempt to come out one’s face is distracting as all hell. Never mind the plasma torch Ali wields.

Wex’s concentration falters for a second, the gravitic spheres blinking off. Anger takes over the Administrator and it twists the spell with its System Edit. Rather than drawing, it repulses. Ali, the swords, myself are launched away at speed.

The floor rushes up to me, shattering my newly renewed Penetration shield. The mixed-metal and stone floor cracks beneath my body, webs of kinetic energy dispersed. Flames from burning corpses gutter, as dust and air billow out from the impact point, before reasserting themselves with vigor.

My head rings, my body shattered. I feel bones grind, a lung pierced, organs ruptured. Frenzy threatens to activate, before it is slapped down by the Administrator. It holds itself in the air, Ali and Mikito caught in its webs as it lowers itself toward me.

I wonder when it caught Ali. Maybe in the half-second when I fell, when it turned its full attention on the Spirit.

A glance at its Health bank, as my Skill tells me we did well. We took out nearly all of it. Just a little more and we would be tearing into its real health. We could win.

I just have to move.

But I can’t. The Hod is broken, my body not much better.

Wex lowers itself, thread spooling from its behind as it speaks. “A good attempt, but futile…”

Wex begins to monologue.

And it freezes when I grin.

***

The golden book comes slamming down at an angle, which is a good thing. I’m too broken to dodge, even if I wanted to. And if I did move beforehand, it’d give Wex time to dodge. As it stands, the damn Administrator manages to get a bunch of threads in the way and its body scurrying to the side.

But the book is huge and it’s moving as fast as a bullet. The amount of time Wex has to dodge is counted in milliseconds. The book keeps moving, crushing the spider into the wall and pushing, turning the Administrator into so much paste. I spot a single leg, uncovered at the side of the wall, twitching. Before the flood of blood and guts push out from the edges of the book itself.

“Squish,” I breathe and let my head flop backward.

Pain, pain that threatened to take me, floods over my consciousness. I ride it out, floating in the sea of agony as the System battles the poisons and toxins still in my body, as it deals with the flames. A refreshing wave of energy flows over me, healing some of the damage. Another wave and my body bubbles and twists, toxins and poisons exploding from my skin. A noxious green, yellow, and black paste bubbles from my body, mixing with the red of my blood.

Above, screams resound from Mikito as the same happens to the Samurai. She’s shocked awake by the cleansing, dropping to the ground a moment later when she releases her steed. The normally calm and unshakeable Samurai blanches when she spots the state I’m in. Not that she looks much better. Her hair’s almost all fallen out and patches of flesh peek out from the damaged clothing she wears, raw and open as the System keeps healing it.

“I… I failed,” Mikito whispers, bowing to me.

“Pish-tosh,” Ali says, floating down. “It caught you unawares with that sleepy poison. Overrode any of the defenses you had by cheating.”

“I should have anticipated. Planned better,” Mikito says, shaking her head. “I could have bought other Skills.”

“Which the Administrator would have likely rendered useless.” The voice that cuts in is thick Glaswegian, barely understandable. Totally at odds with the thin black tie, charcoal-grey-suited figure that floats over to us. Except, you know, the extra long limbs and fingers and the grey and pallid skin with oversized eyes on a famine-shaped body. “It was only when it felt secure that we were assured of its death.”

“Pride before fall. And then, squish.” I lever myself up, laughing a little in pain and sardonic humor. It might be a little hysterical, as my mind and the System try to compartmentalize the memories of burning and rotting alive. Simultaneously.

“Yes. I received your message,” Feh’ral says. His eyes flicker sideways, up to the library and the books I purchased. The signal to it, the locator beacon that allowed it to step across time and space to our side. With a little help. “The Lord is less than pleased with us both. I do not think he will help us further. But he is delighted that the Council is no longer probing his defenses.”

“Wasn’t his entire schtick being left alone?” Ali says. “The entire false Forbidden Zone and everything.”

“He might exaggerate the level of his neutrality,” Feh’ral says, fingers back in front of his body and tented. He turns, his entire body floating around to stare at his golden book. A moment later, the book shrinks and flies back into his hand. “If he did not, did you think I would have sent you to him? The Lord has always had conflicts with both the Council and what we now know to be the Administrators.”

“Why…? Oh. The Forbidden Zones.” I nod. “They have no control in there, do they?”

Feh’ral inclines his head and I snort, pushing myself the rest of the way to my feet. I idly tap a few things and send off the Hod, watching as it pulls itself into a shattered cube before blipping away, sent off for fixing. I just hope they can get it sorted before I need it again.

Who am I kidding? They won’t.

“Is Harry okay?” Mikito asks, looking at the still-present bubble of the Sanctum.

I turn my head to follow her gaze, then glance at the party interface. “He’s alive.”

“But silent.”

I have nothing to add to that. I hope he’s fine, but the silence is less than promising. It’s possible that he’s unconscious as well, but his status effects don’t show that. Which might mean he’s catatonic in an entirely, non-System way.

Unable to do anything about that for now, I turn to Feh’ral. “I'm glad to see you.”

As my body continues to patch itself together, I breathe slowly, wishing I had the Mana to cast a Cleanse. I reek of the toxins and poisons from the corpses and Wex’s bile, all mixed with the remnants of my flesh and organs.

Non-combat Class or not, the gods damned Administrator really showed me what the System Edit Skill could do in a fight. I need to learn how to do the things he did—and how to protect myself and my friends.

Thankfully, the vast majority of the things he Edited are being fixed by the System as it reverts me to its baselines stats, dealing with the problematic issues the Administrator created. Anything the System doesn’t get around to, I’ll handle. Once I stop hurting.

“I take it that the Questors have voted,” I say when Feh’ral doesn’t answer. “It’s good to have you guys on board.”

“No,” Feh’ral says.

“What?” I shout.

Feh’ral inclines his head, as if my expression of emotion is something wrong. “The Questors have decided that your information is good. They commend you. They offer you this…”

Congratulations! Title Granted: Innovative Questor

You have contributed a significant piece of information to the Questor library. You have been hereby granted a new Title. Your word and research data will be given more weight during the System Quest studies.

Effect: Reputation increased with all Questors. Reputation decreased with other factions.

I scroll through the notification quickly, then dismiss it with an angry wave. “I don't want a consolation prize. I want to know why you all aren’t helping.”

“The information was good, but insufficient. The information provided increased a number of Quest completion rates. But it was insufficient to provide a marked and universal increase.” Feh’ral’s hands open wide, as if to say what can you do. “The information has been banked. It will be dispersed. It will not be lost. The sacrifice has been noted.”

I find myself shouting, “That's it? That’s all you’re going to do? Because you guys didn't get enough of a completion rate, you just pat us on the head and let my world, let us, die? Just because you can’t fulfill enough of your damn Quest?” I’m angry, and if my chest, my body burns with anger—and lingering damage—it also helps me avoid the thought that I have done much the same before. Chosen the Quest over others, over the individual good.

Feh’ral nods impassively.

“If that’s the case, what the hell are you doing here?” I snap.

Mikito watches us calmly, though I note her hand has dropped low, in the position she uses for calling forth her weapon. The motion which would allow to swing it up and bisect Feh’ral if needed. Ali, on the other hand, is looking… well, conflicted. Between being amused at my reaction and horror at the implications.

Feh’ral grins, and I find myself shivering. That damn #creepylibrarian still makes me shudder. “I disagreed with the majority. As did a few others. We believe you can lead us to more, to the completion of our most sought-after desire. And, I believe, where you go is where I must too.”

I growl, ignoring the rather obvious conversational bait. “So you're here by yourself.”

I shut my eyes, forcing some calm over myself. A hand presses something into my hands and I look at it, spotting a chunk of chocolate. Ali gives me one of his shit-eating grins even as I debate throwing the hunk of liquid sunshine at him.

“Hey, at least we got a Legendary on our side,” Ali says.

I let out another groan but decide against the blasphemy and pop the chocolate into my mouth. He is right. We do have a new dangerous and creepy ally. It’s not what I wanted, but he came when we needed him. When we would have fallen.

As I stare around the shattered, broken domain, I shake my head. In the distance, the windows—thankfully one-way—showcase the voting hall. All of this, all this fighting, and we’re not done yet.

For there’s still what we came here to do. The final piece of my plan. And after that… well.

Perhaps the Questors are right to abandon us.

Chapter 24

We walk forward as the System strains to clean and put the domain back into place. Thankfully, System-chicanery means that no one noticed the fight within. Or if they did, they ignored it.

It’s still weird, shifting from a life-and-death struggle to just silence, to boredom and a moment of relaxation. Or as relaxed as you can get, knowing that you might have enemy fighters running in at any time to end you. It’s a weird mixture of boredom and tension, of breathless waiting and shuddering, tension-escaping moments.

The calm after a hurricane hits, after the earthquake has come and gone, while you’re waiting to see if there are aftershocks. When you have to get on with life, but you’re unsure if your world is about to come apart once more.

Before the windows, I come to a stop. For the first time, I can look properly at the chamber for the Galactic Council. The center of power for the System supposedly, the place where the galaxy revolves. Except we know that for the lie it is.

Seats abound, all facing a giant stage. The council chamber looks too big and too small at the same time. Too small to contain the entire galaxy’s places of power and too big, for it extends on and on, the farthest windows no larger than half the size of my hand. On the sloping ground, along a trio of open air mezzanine locations, are benches and tables for those with less power or who desire to be closer to the action.

From speaking with Katherine, I know each chamber’s windows shift, optimizing the view of occupied locations. Unoccupied chambers are shifted back by more System chicanery.

The whole room is shaded steel grey, illuminated by purple and blue lighting, with minor variations in lighting depending on the section. I absently note small force bubbles in certain areas, set up so that individuals with noncarbon-based, nonoxygen-breathing genetics are able to interact and exist. Some of those bubbles contain water, liquid nitrogen, liquid carbon, magma, and in one case—well separated from everyone else—plasma. The wide variety of aliens that make up the System can be seen in both the kinds of environments they require and the caution taken by others interacting with them.

And interact they do, speaking, gambling, and in a few cases, even fighting. But the poor spike of vegetation on the stage, wobbling and trembling while speaking in Galactic with all its heart—if it has a heart—no one’s truly paying attention to. It only takes me a few minutes to grasp what it’s asking for—a plea for help as they are being invaded and conquered by another opposing nation. I, like everyone else, dismiss it from my mind. As much as I might feel for them, I have my own problems.

And isn’t that the condemnation and a pure example of the living condition? We all have our own problems, our own burdens, all of it pressing down upon us. And for us, no matter how big, no matter how terrible another’s problems might be—objectively and subjectively—ours will always matter more. It takes courage, bravery, and empathy to step outside of our own minds, our own hearts and concerns to aid another. Especially when that aid has no ulterior motives, when there is no hope of gratitude or payment. When it is done because it’s the right thing to do.

There are some, people who martyr themselves on the altar of charity, sacrificing their own lives, their own self or well-being for others. Too many of them, we find out later, aren’t as self-sacrifical or pure as we think. Mother Theresa let people writhe in pain, denying them painkillers and medicine, in some crazy belief about the cleansing power of pain. JFK was a womanizing, charming son of a bitch whose record might have been indelibly stained by the Bay of Pigs if he had not performed well once during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

At the end of the day, charity when you can afford it, when you yourself are stable, is the most real-life form. And yet… and yet, how sad is it that we should only offer help, that we will only offer help, when it’s convenient for us?

What a world we live in. Sadly, knowing all that, I still tune out the Kapre-variant and focus on the council. So many, thousands of them, all of them negotiating and socializing, each of them ready to sell out the other for an advantage for their civilization. Some nothing more than vassal states, others stubbornly independent, and still others wholly controlled by the big empires.

Turning on Society’s Web, I spot the cluster that makes up the Movana and the Truinnar, the main Ambassadors gone but their second-in-commands holding court. They stand in the central flow of the group, standing where others may watch them cluster, while their sycophants surround them in vassal groups.