The System Apocalypse Short Story Anthology Volume 1: A LitRPG Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy and Science Fiction Anthology
Author: Tao Wong; Keane Alexis; Batt L. A.
Date: 2019-10-30 00:00:00+00:00
Description: A bounty hunting survivor. A Galactic dark elf. A woman who has given up her humanity to become something more. These stories and more are available in the first short story anthology for the System Apocalypse, covering year one on Earth. When the world ends, humanity steps up, finding new ways to survive in a world with Classes, magic and monsters. The anthology features exciting, new stories by five new writers and a new, never publicly released short story by Tao Wong. The System Apocalypse world was first introduced in 'Life in the North' and is a LitRPG science fiction and fantasy post-ap
Publisher: Starlit Publishing

The System Apocalypse

Books 4 – 6

by

Tao Wong

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

System Apocalypse Books 4-6

Copyright © 2021 Tao Wong. All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2021 Sarah Anderson Cover Designer

A Starlit Publishing Book

Published by Starlit Publishing

69 Teslin Rd

Whitehorse, YT

Y1A 3M5

Canada

www.starlitpublishing.com

ISBN: 9781989994566

Contents

Cities in Chains

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Coast on Fire

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

World Unbound

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Author’s Note

About the Author

About the Publisher

Books in The System Apocalypse Universe

Glossary

Erethran Honor Guard Skill Tree

John’s Erethran Honor Guard Skills

Paladin of Erethra Skill Tree

John’s Paladin of Erethra Skills

Other Class Skills

Spells

Sabre’s Load-Out

Other Equipment

Cities in Chains

An Apocalyptic LitRPG

Book 4 of the System Apocalypse

What Has Gone Before

More than thirteen months ago, the System came to Earth, bringing with it monsters, aliens and glowing blue boxes of notifications that detailed their lives in this new Galactic System. Humanity was forced to evolve, their lives dictated by statistic screens, Classes and Skills that gave them strength and abilities beyond the norm, providing them a fighting chance to survive. Still, the apocalypse saw the death of nearly 90% of humanity, the malfunctioning of everything electronic and a new, blood-filled existence.

John Lee was camping in the Yukon when the change occurred. Gifted with perks beyond the normal, he journeyed to Whitehorse and aided in the establishment of the city under the rule of the alien Truinnar, Lord Graxan Roxley. With the help of other survivors, the Village of Whitehorse was quickly established to provide a stable environment for growth, battling rampant dungeons, monster hordes and crazed humans in equal measure.

As Earth’s Mana levels and the System stabilized, new alien threats appeared that sought to takeover the city. After a heated battle and political maneuverings, John is able to push back against the Truinnar Duchess’s Envoy and her Weapon Master, only to be betrayed by Lord Roxley.

With Whitehorse now firmly under the aegis of the Duchess, John has left the stable, if alien owned, Village with his team mates and journey’s south to lend what aid he may to the surviving members of humanity.

Chapter 1

The world has changed. Over a year ago, a series of blue boxes popped into existence, notifying humanity that we’d joined the Galactic Council. Along with that, we inherited the System—a reality-bending setup that appeared to us as a blaze of blue boxes—and it gave us strength, endurance, Skills, and healing beyond human norms. The new System was more akin to a video game, with magical spells and Skills, but dying was still very real.

The world has changed. I get that.

But that still doesn’t explain the evolved tiger trying to eat my face.

“This is a tiger, right? And we’re what? A good hundred kilometers south of the Yukon?” I say, holding the monster around its neck with one hand as it attempts to escape and claw me. The occasional scratch is painful and annoying but not at all life-threatening.

“Just hold him still a little longer,” Lana says, laying a slab of steak a short distance from me. The buxom redhead is clad in Adventurer chic—a skin-tight armored jumpsuit with a weapon vest, along with the requisite weapons, and straps criss-crossing her toned frame. “And yes, it’s a tiger.”

“What? My Status information not good enough for you?” Ali, my three-foot Spirit companion says as he floats cross-legged next to me. He might look Middle Eastern, but Ali’s got as much relation to them as I do an amoeba. Since there’s no real threat right now, Ali’s choosing to be visible.

I glance again at the status information hovering over the tiger.

Evolved Tiger (Level 27)

HP: 358/478

MP: 275/349

Condition: Enraged

Of course, the tiger isn’t willing to just be held in the air without a struggle. With a flick of his tail, the tiger glows, calling forth its Skill—Sharp Claws—again. Okay, Sharp Claws is what I’ve named it since it’s not as if I have access to the tiger’s Skill menu. Twisting around, its legs scrabbling against the ground, it tears into me. Wounds that have been clawed open and healed are widened under its newly empowered attacks. Dealing with the damn cat just because Lana demanded we herd it here once Ali picked it up is annoying.

“Owww! You ready yet, Lana?”

“Done. Don’t hurt it!” Lana calls.

I roll my eyes and toss the kitty cat toward Lana. The animal twists and lands with grace, bunching its legs and snarling at me. Before it can lunge, Lana’s pets ring it while the redhead shifts to put herself directly in front of the animal. Considering the pair of pony-sized huskies are nearly the same size as the evolved tiger, it’s not as unfair a fight as you’d think. And of course, a single look from the tiger is enough to make Anna erupt with flames, fire dancing along her lean, foxy body. Elsa, Lana’s turtle, is no longer with us, having been gifted to a child as a pet due to its inability to physically keep up with us. Says something about the world we live in that a fire-breathing pet turtle is considered an appropriate gift by a tear-filled mom.

“Now there, boy, calm down. We’ve got food for you…” Lana says to the tiger, holding out the piece of meat. Her voice is low, soft, soothing, and almost seductive.

I turn away from Lana and her weird taming session, asking the question that has been on my mind. “So how does a tiger end up so far north? I mean, sure, if it was a monster, it could have spawned here. But a tiger?”

“Someone’s illegal pet?” Ingrid says. The dark-haired First Nation woman is seated on the roof of the truck that she’s pulled over to the side of the road, taking in the sun while she waits for Lana to finish. Who would have known that the woman is a sun-worshipper, being the Assassin/Thief/something sneaky Class that she is?

“A zoo?” Mikito says. The tiny Japanese lady dangles her feet off the edge of the mecha she rides. Mikito’s personal assault vehicle is somewhat different than Sabre, being both lighter and more agile with significantly less armor. Also cheaper. I’m just glad that the System-bought language pack Mikito got for English gave her a slight Japanese accent, rather than something like Australian or Irish. It’s very, very strange to look at a giant, green, tusked alien and listen to him talk in a strong Australian accent.

“Makes sense.” I glance at where Lana is wrestling with the tiger. I never saw her tame Anna, so I have no clue if fighting is supposed to be part of the entire taming process. “You think this is going to take long?”

I receive shrugs in return, so I pull out a bar of chocolate to snack on. A few moments later, I’m handing out bars to the ladies. One nice thing about the System, there’s no more concern about weight loss. In fact, most of the time, we work hard to eat enough calories to handle the stress we put our bodies through. Admittedly, a significant portion of our energy needs are supplied by Mana, that weird all-encompassing thing that makes our spells and Skills work, but we still need to eat. Somewhere out there, I bet there’s some Personal Trainer Class who has worked out the exact calorie and Mana requirements to make the most efficient use of our Level-ups and everyday skills. I just know it.

“Is she going to be okay?” Sam asks from the driver seat of his truck. He’s one of our more recent additions to the retinue since we left Whitehorse.

Behind him, on the flatbed, a group of hunters are carefully watching the surroundings, taking care to not just look around but up as well. In the distance, another hunter is on his way back on Ingrid’s borrowed hover bike.

I could tell them not to bother—Ali’s ability as my Spirit Companion allows him to scan data from the System directly, and my own Skill – Greater Detection -is picking up no major threats currently. But I don’t tell them that for a few reasons. Firstly, constant alertness is a good trait to train. Secondly, what Ali and I consider a significant threat is rather different than these guys. And thirdly, we won’t always be with them.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Ingrid says, yawning slightly. “Lana’s got a base heal spell she can toss on if things get hairy.”

“Which she’s using on the tiger,” Sam says incredulously, stepping out of the truck. His salt-and-pepper hair and beard suit the man, as does the worn leather coat and easy air of command. Helps when you top six feet. Maybe I’m still a little jealous of people that tall, even if I’m no shortie anymore, not since the System. Whatever he was before the System, Sam was certainly in a post of authority.

My eyes sweep over the convoy of refugees we’ve picked up, most of them whispering furtively as they watch Lana put on her one-woman taming show. The convoy’s a weird mixture of vehicles, most from the early part of the twentieth century since they don’t need the electronics that were inherent in newer vehicles. There are a few exceptions—a Lamborghini that’s been designated as a “personal vehicle” via a Skill, and the minivan that its Mechanic owner modified stand out. Most modern vehicles don’t work well with their electronics fried by the Mana that surrounds us all.

“Probably trying to mollify it,” I say, answering Sam’s unspoken question. “We might be here for a while. Might as well tell them to get out, stretch their legs and have lunch.”

Sam’s the de facto leader of the refugees, being one of the few willing to actually talk to us. I admit, walking in covered in the blood and guts of the monsters that had been laying siege to their town might have something to do with their wariness. I kind of get the feeling the refugees consider us as much a group of monsters as the ones made by the System. Still, they’re with us because staying in their various small towns was a death sentence.

“You…” Sam starts to say but stops as Mikito chuckles softly. After a moment, Sam decides to do what I say, calling out orders to the group.

The hunters drop out of the flatbed and step out of the other vehicles, spreading out to cover both sides of the road while we wait.

“Nice day for a picnic,” Ingrid says, her eyes closed. “Want me to pull some more monsters for them?”

“Sam asked us to stop doing that.” I walk to the edge of the road and dump out some camping supplies, including a camping table I appropriated recently. Even as I begin getting lunch going, I can hear the snarls, growls, and occasional yips of pain coming from Lana’s scuffle. “Something about scaring the kids.”

“Wimps,” Ingrid drawls.

Mikito joins me, helping with prep and getting more than a few envious glances. Since my Skill Altered Space basically gives me an extra dimensional space I can store anything I want in, I have a lot more leeway than most people in what I can drag around. Everyone else has to contend with good old-fashioned luggage or the System inventory option, and the System inventory only works for System-registered items. Which, for the refugees who have never visited a Shop, is nothing.

“Think we’ll make it to Fort Nelson soon?” Mikito asks Ali.

“We’re about a hundred kilometers out,” Ali says. “An hour’s drive if the roads were good. About three with the state they’re in now—if you guys stop babying the children. And if we don’t find anyone else holed up.”

“They need the experience,” Mikito points out, retreading the old argument. “We’ll be leaving them in Fort Nelson after this anyway.”

“If it’s still in one piece,” I add, grimacing at that thought.

We know, thanks to Ali, that Fort Nelson has a Shop, so the chances of there being no survivors is low. Any location with a Shop has a distinct advantage. The ability to purchase System-registered weapons, Skills, and trade loot in for Credits makes a huge difference. The fact that the Shop connection is still present after the grace period of a year means that someone has spent sufficient Credits for the link to be kept up. Not all the locations that had a Shop managed to keep theirs after the first year ended. Based on all this, the town and some of its inhabitants should still be there.

Theoretically. It is an apocalypse after all.

“Hey, watch the meat!” Ingrid calls out.

I quickly flip the steak, realizing I’d begun to overcook it, lost in my thoughts as I was. Right. Time to focus on the important things. Like lunch.

***

“What was this again?” Lana says, holding up the strip of green steak on her fork before dabbing it in the gravy. The tiger lies curled up next to her possessively, gnawing on a three-foot-long haunch of the same creature.

“Mer… M’r… the green worm mantis thing,” Ingrid says, snagging another piece from the pile we’ve cooked. There’s enough food on the table to feed a hockey team after a game, which is just about enough for all of us.

Lana brightens up as she chews and swallows. “Oh, right! Think we’ll run into any more of them?”

“Hopefully. That was the last of what I had stored,” I say. “I’ll ask Ali to keep an eye out.”

I think toward Ali. Since my Level-ups, our connection has extended quite a distance, allowing the little Spirit to do a lot more scouting for us. Since the Spirit can’t actually eat, I sent him out on a scouting trip. While none of us really expect to find survivors in the middle of nowhere, hope burns eternal. That, and it’s not exactly as if I have to cover the ground. “Hey, Lana wants you to keep an eye out for the green worm mantis things. Maybe drag them back if you see them.”

“You know, boy-o, I think you guys have been getting a little too lax,” Ali thinks back. “The M’rimul Worms are Level 41 monsters and fight in swarms of ten. They’re not snack food!”

“Might as well be. Anyway, we could use the experience if you can find them. We’ve barely shifted the meter since we left the Yukon.”

I hear his mental grunt of acknowledgement. You’d think that with the monsters being generally of a lower Level, there’d be a higher survival rate, but it doesn’t really work that way. Doesn’t matter if it’s a Level 10 or a Level 50 monster; when you’re Level 1, you’re just as dead.

“So…” Sam says as he walks up to our group, his voice punctuated by the crack of rifles and the sizzle of beam weaponry going off toward the tail-end of the column. “People are wondering how long we’re going to be here. We’ve attracted some attention…”

The group looks at me, and I take a moment to check the little monster radar in the corner of my eyes. With Ali away from the group, he can’t share the information with everyone else. There’s nothing too major out there though—just a bunch of Level 20s, from the look of it.

I look at Sam and shrug. “We’re about two, maybe three hours out from the city. This is a decently Leveled area. The hunters should be able to rack up some experience while picking up some loot. If they strap some of the corpses to the cars, they should be able to bring in some of them too.”

“But the women…” Sam falls silent as the three women seated around me just dare him to finish that sentence. Sam coughs and changes his tune. “The non-combatants, they’re a bit nervous.”

Diplomatic as he might be, we know he’s talking about the small group of women who have been making our lives miserable. Somehow, they’ve missed the memo about the earth-shattering change in the social order and seem intent on ignoring certain realities—like violence and the need for Leveling.

“Tough cookies. They’re safe,” I state flatly. “It’s the last chance for their hunters to gain some Levels and Credits safely, so they can sit and stew for all I care.” At the pained look on Sam’s face, I sigh and offer him a little salvation. “We have to leave in an hour if we want to get to the town by daylight.”

“An hour. I can work with that,” Sam says, bobbing his head. He casts a hungry look at the food on our table, and Lana sends him off with an impromptu steak sandwich literally dripping with gravy and monster bacon.

“You’re too nice to him,” Ingrid says.

“Not his fault,” I say.

“Well, he should tell those idiots to come tell it to your face.”

“Eh… I’d rather not.” I grimace, recalling the first few days.

Dealing with that group, especially Ms. Starling, had been painful. I’d actually tried to listen to them bitch about the lack of proper accommodation until I nearly lost my temper. Thankfully, Sam stepped in before things got too far, but I had seriously considered hitting them till they shut up. Which, when you think about it, isn’t exactly the most civilized or smart behavior. Look, I said I thought about it—I didn’t actually do it.

Clearing her throat slightly, Lana redirects our conversation. “What’s the plan for Fort Nelson anyway?”

“Ummm… plan?”

“Yes, plans. They’re not just for clearing dungeons,” drawls Ingrid.

I glare at the First Nation woman. Just because I don’t really talk about my plans doesn’t mean I don’t have one. “What’s there to plan? We go in, we drop them off, and we see what’s up. After that, well, we move on.”

“Oh, John…” Lana sighs. “What if the local government doesn’t want refugees? What if they stop us from going in? What if they need help? Do we want to stay and help? Clear a few dungeons for them or something?”

“Uhh…”

“And what are we doing out here anyway?” Mikito says, pointing a pair of chopsticks at me. “You haven’t actually told us.”

“Didn’t exactly ask you guys to come along,” I protest. I get a pair of snorts and an eye roll, making me rub the back of my neck. “I didn’t… well, I do have some plans. But mostly, I’m looking to check out how the rest of the world is doing. Maybe help out a bit here and there…”

Truth be told, I have a goal. A few actually. But they’re so nebulous, so far away that I dare not breathe them out loud. Never mind the fact that anything I say can and will be registered by the System and be potentially sellable to someone else; my plans just aren’t pertinent to the discussion. Not yet at least.

“Great. We’re the A-Team,” Lana says.

“Dibs on Face,” Ingrid says.

“Well, I guess I’m Hannibal then,” Lana says while Mikito looks puzzled.

“And John’s BA, of course,” Ingrid says, which makes Lana frown in thought.

“I don’t know. He’s more Murdock than Mikito,” Lana points out.

I open my mouth to protest then decide against it. When faced with two arguing women, one of which you occasionally bed, I pity the fool who gets involved. Instead, I explain to Mikito what they’re talking about.

Chapter 2

“Ahoy the gate,” I called out, hours later, when we finally arrived at Fort Nelson. Or technically, the outer gates of the city.

There must be something instinctive in our desire for walls, even if they are somewhat useless. These walls aren’t normal brick—and their slight silvery sheen hints at them being System-assisted at least—but I could probably punch through them given enough time. Or heck, jump over the twenty-foot walls.

Then again, that’s not exactly fair. I’m comparing my Advanced Class Level 37 strength of 97 against their wall while the surrounding zone is only around level 15+. The most dangerous thing we’ve found close to them is a Level 35 dungeon, and that’s a good two-hour hike east. So perhaps the wall isn’t entirely irrational.

“Who are you people?” a voice calls down, the owner hidden behind a gun.

I absently note that a beam rifle is pointed at me—a rather nice one too. A moment later, Ali flashes the guard’s status above his head.

Ian Crew (Level 24 Hunter)

HP: 280/280

MP: 180/180

Condition: Scared

“Hunter? That seems really generic,” I send to Ali.

“The idiot took a Basic class and traded his perk for a Soulbound beam rifle. At least he got an upgradeable toy,” Ali says. He’s not actually here with me, instead floating deeper in town. He’s scanning the System for information about the place and feeds back to me.

“Visitors from up north. We’ve brought some refugees from the communities above,” I shout back. “We have women and children here. Along with some trained fighters and a whole bunch of loot.”

I watch the guard glance at the convoy behind me, then at our hover bikes. Interestingly enough, while he’s noted Lana’s pets, he doesn’t seem as concerned about them, even if his eyes keep straying to the redhead herself. The menagerie of animals is rather awe-inspiring to most.

“Sorry! I can’t let you in. I need to tell Arik and get his okay,” Ian says. “Do you mind waiting?”

I nod agreeably and settle in to wait, letting my eyes run over the other guards, who have relaxed after seeing that I’m happy to wait. As I said, I could force my way in, but what’s the point? A few minutes of waiting won’t hurt us.

“You came from up north?” Ian calls down once he’s sent off one of the guards with his message. His eyes roam over our gear again, stopping to linger on Lana before he stares at me. I know what he sees—armored jumpsuit, high-end beam pistol, expensive hover bike—and can see him doing the math in his head. “Things must be going pretty good up there.”

“You could say that,” I call back. Memories flash through my mind—the fights and the losses we saw in Whitehorse. Richard, Ulric, Miranda. Roxley and his betrayal. My hands clench and I push aside the hurt.

Tired of shouting, I get off the bike and flex my feet, jumping up onto the wall and landing next to the startled guard. I see more than one gun swing toward me, the guards’ eyes wide, but no one takes a shot. Very good discipline. I’m impressed.

“What—”

“Sorry. Got tired of shouting.” I lean back against the wall, purposely crossing my feet and putting myself in a disadvantageous position. After that is done, I hold out my hand. “Chocolate?”

“You…” He stares at me then down at the wall then back at me. “What Level are you?”

“That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?” I smile at him absently as I take the time to read the notification that’s popped up since I crossed the boundary of the town. “At least take me out for dinner first.”

You have entered a Safe Zone (The Village of Fort Nelson)

Mana flows in this area have been forcefully stabilized. No monster spawning will occur within boundaries.

This Safe Zone includes:

- Village of Fort Nelson City Center
- The Shop
- Quest Hall
- More…

Chastised, Ian quiets down. I can see him mentally consider and discard asking me to move. Funnily, I actually would, if he asked, since my point has been made. This should dissuade them from doing anything stupid, but considering they’ve been hesitating to help out a bunch of refugees, I’m not exactly enthused with the welcome we’ve received so far.

“We sent people north, but they said… well, it gets harder,” Ian says to fill the silence.

“It does. Gets pretty high up in the Yukon.” Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch him twitch, and I pop the chocolate into my mouth since he hasn’t taken it.

Behind me, I hear the hushed conversations of my friends as they wait, the refugees trying to convince each other that they’ll be let in. The guards are still tense, shooting me worried looks.

“You’re from the Yukon? Watson Lake or…?”

“Whitehorse,” I answer.

From a building, another guard pops out and runs up to Ian, who walks over to listen.

“Arik is coming. They’re to stay outside till they take the Oath,” I lipread the guard saying to Ian.

Ian nods and walks back to me, smiling slightly, nervousness quite well hidden. “Arik, the ummm… owner of the town is coming to greet you himself. If you can just wait…”

“Ali, get back here. And see if you can figure out what they mean by an Oath,” I send to the Spirit before looking at Ian and smiling languidly. “Sure. Mind if I let the others know that we’ll be waiting a bit?”

“Of course, but he won’t be long,” Ian says.

“We’re getting greeted by the owner himself. So we’ve got to wait,” I call to the group below.

I kind of wish I had set up some kind of signal for potential trouble, but well, I didn’t think about it. Naïve, I guess. Or maybe, as Ali says, overconfident. Still, my friends have been living on the razor’s edge for over a year now and their instincts are as good as mine. Perhaps better. I can see the subtle shifts in their demeanor as they get ready for potential trouble.

While we wait, I engage Ian in some small talk. Trading information about the System, learning a little about their experiences. Fort Nelson was hit badly in the initial few days, the city spread out as it is. Luckily, a group of survivors found the Shop and managed to rally others, eventually becoming able to purchase a few safe zones in the city center. After that, it was just a matter of time before they established the Village. Lucky for them, no external party was that interested in picking up the Settlement Key here, so they could purchase it themselves.

“And now the entire Yukon/Alaska region is under control of this Duchess,” I say as I finish a summarised version of our year.

“Who is a dark elf. But not…?” Ian says, his voice rising a little at the term dark elf.

I don’t blame him. The concept of dark elves isn’t something that popular consciousness knows much about. It’s more a geek thing. Heck, I mostly know of them from a book series my ex used to rave about and I never got around to reading.

“Truinnar. Just think of them as Truinnar. Black-skinned, very pretty elf-looking creatures with a highly sophisticated, back-stabbing society,” I say.

“That’s insane,” Ian says then turns his head as figures walk down the street.

I watch the group come, a larger blond gymrat in the lead, followed by a middle-aged lady and a teenager at the back. The blond gymrat is obviously a bodyguard, the way he watches everything, though from the way they move…

“The kid in the back is Arik, isn’t he?”

“Got it, boy-o. Don’t forget, he could have gotten a gene treatment,” Ali sends back, reminding me that age is much more difficult to pinpoint these days. So he could either be a really smart teenager, like Jason, who’s taken over the town or just someone who has had their physical body reset to a younger age by the System.

Within minutes, the group is up on the wall and making greetings. Or at least, some greetings.

“I’m Arik Dorf,” Arik says, offering me his hand and a smile. “This is Piotr and Min.”

Level 31 Justiciar, Level 29 Bodyguard, and Level 31 Administrator respectively. Ali floats, invisible to everyone else, behind the group, staring at Arik with a fierce expression. My entreaties for information have been ignored in favor of making faces, which annoys me since I really want to know what type of Class a Justiciar is.

“John Lee,” I say. “So what’s the holdup? Sun’s setting, and while it doesn’t necessarily get much more dangerous after dark, it certainly gets more uncomfortable.”

“Straight to the point, aren’t you?” Arik says, smiling agreeably. Seeing that I’m not biting, he continues. “Well, Mr. Lee, the problem is that you have a large number of fighters. Many of whom, I understand, are nearly as strong as my guards.”

“You’re worried about them taking over?” I say, slightly incredulously.

Arik raises an eyebrow. “You really have an untrusting nature, don’t you? No. I’m worried about them causing trouble in the city and us being unable to do much about it. We’ve had incidents with survivors who have… accepted… the violent nature of our present lives.”

“Oh…” I consider what he’s not saying. Right. Idiots with power, especially young idiots with power, throwing their strength around. I recall Amelia, the ex-RCMP, complaining about that more than once. “So what do you want us to do?”

“It’s actually quite simple. I have a Skill that allows me to take an Oath from others. Those who break the Oath are penalized significantly, which will make handling them easier,” Arik says.

“That’s really interesting. I’ve heard of Skills like that before—Lords, Kings, and the like often have them—but this is the first time I’ve seen a Justiciar,” Ali comments to me.

“Sounds a lot like a Contract to me,” I send back while speaking to Arik. “And what is this Oath?”

“I swear to do no harm to the citizens within the Village of Fort Nelson, to abide by the orders of duly-appointed guardians of the peace within the Village, and to leave the Village if so requested,” Arik says. “And to clarify, all the guardians wear these pins.” Arik taps a small oblong pin with a castle on it that shifts like it’s a holographic projection. “They’re also linked to each individual, so if they get removed forcefully or aren’t in contact with the designated individual, they lose their luster and break down.”

“Seems mostly reasonable.” I’ll admit, I can see the potential for abuse, including the stratification of those in power and those not but… “You’ll have to ask Sam and his people about this yourself. As for me, I don’t intend to stay long. Amend the Oath to add a timer and a designation that it’s only for the town and we’re good to go.”

Arik’s eyes narrow while gymrat bristles at my tone. The Administrator leans in and whispers into Arik’s ear.

He nods, smiling at me. “Of course. We’ll designate that the Oath only takes effect in the city.”

“For a period of two weeks,” I said, smiling. “I’ll be gone by then.”

“For a month.”

“Done,” I say.

After that, I take the Oath easily and send Ali down to relay the information to the team. Arik takes his leave too, to stand at the gates to greet and administer the Oath to the refugees. I absently note that no one gives him trouble, except for Sam. He balks until Lana pulls him aside. A short while later, he’s back, helping the Administrator manage the refugees. I have to admit, the village is efficient at sorting and housing our little convoy, sending the groups to various empty houses or, for the eager, the Shop.

“So, Ali, what’re the consequences of breaking this Oath anyway?” I ask the Spirit while waiting.

“They vary, but mostly depend on the level of the Skill. With only a few points, you’d probably take a hit to your own Levels temporarily,” Ali sends back to me as he stares into space, reading whatever information he can see in the backend of the System. “Won’t make a huge difference to you, but I’d be careful about taking an Oath with a real King.”

When Lana and the group get in, I hop down from the wall, after waving goodbye to Ian, and command Sabre to follow. I hear a few muted gasps as the PAV moves by itself, quickly muted.

“So, Shop?” I grin at the group and get confirming nods.

A couple of weeks of fighting and not having access to the Shop means that our inventory is filled to the brim. We’d even taken to dumping some of the less valuable items with the refugees, just so that we didn’t waste them. And of course, in my Altered Space, I have a few corpses that desperately need a good Butcher or Harvester.

“Shop!” Mikito says happily, gunning her PAV.

We all follow the young Japanese woman till we come across the central pedestal with its silver-steel sphere. Each person who touches it disappears, transported to a Shop location—an extra-dimensional retailer. Of course, which Shop you enter is dependent on a number of factors—personal invitations, your reputation, the amount of Credits you have spent, all of that.

The Shop I’m transported to is green. Lots and lots of green, from the simple reception desks to the waiting couches to the personal shopping rooms. A few seconds after I appear, the anthromorphic Fox who seems to be my personal shopper comes hurrying out of a room, all kinds of toothy smiles.

“Redeemer!” Fox greets me. Clad in a vest and blousy pants combo, his dark brown eyes glint with avarice as he ushers me into a quiet room. “It has been too long.”

Ali darts off to speak with his own friend in the Shop and take care of the selling of our loot.

“No Shop access,” I explain. “I’ve not got much to buy today. Just need a refill of some of my consumables.”

“Ah…” The Fox deflates a bit before he perks up like the consummate professional he is. I probably wouldn’t even have noticed the first if it wasn’t for my high Perception. “Perhaps I can interest you in a portable link?”

Portable Shop Link (Single Connection)

The portable shop link transports a single individual to the connected Shop. May only be used outside of dungeons and on the designated world (Earth).

Uses: 3

Cost: 20,000 Credits

“That seems cheap,” I say after I finish reading over the information and staring at the small chip that makes up the link device. Over in the corner, I see the Fox finishing up my order for the various bullets, missiles, and grenades that make up my refill.

“The link is subsidized by the establishment,” Fox says. “And is, of course, only for our most valuable customers.”

“Gotcha. Probably too expensive for me though. Oh, I finished up the last few books, so I’ll need the next five on the System Quest,” I say.

Fox nods, tapping in the information as he pulls out the next few books on my never-ending list. Not surprisingly, someone had put together a list of books to read that would generate experience points for completing small milestones in the System Quest. Of course, while each book might give minor revelations about what and how the System works, they still don’t answer the real question—what is it? In many ways, I feel very much like I’m a blind man feeling an elephant with books.

So far, what I’ve gathered is that the System is something that precedes all publicly available records of the Galactic Council. In addition, the System has administrative points—control areas in each zone. Take control of enough of these and you can make minor adjustments to the System within the world of that zone, much like how we can adjust our villages and towns. The Galactic Council then is just the governments and individuals who control a significant number of these administrative points, getting together to decide the rules of the System overall. Outside of the rules imposed by the Galactic Council, the System itself controls and adjusts everything in our worlds, upgrading, Leveling, and developing both material and organic objects without care to “normal” scientific laws.

Most of this is done by using the Mana that flows throughout System-registered worlds. In fact, Mana seems to be the main controlling force for the System—the electricity, if you will, of the System.

One of the major arguments in the books I’ve read is whether the System is sentient or not. Numerous tests have shown that the amount of Mana input into the System—from Spells, teleportations, Skills, and the like—is always higher than the output. In fact, there’s a “loss” of about 5%, give or take a few decimals here and there. It’s a weirdly specific number, which many on the “System is a software” side point to. Of course, others have noted that just because it’s a software doesn’t mean it can’t be sentient. A lot of fluctuations in the overall amount of Mana that flows into and out of the System lend credence to the argument that there’s something more than just an out-of-control software program at work.

“Redeemer? Redeemer?” Fox calls, and I blink, staring at the retailer who has been trying to get my attention for a bit. Interrupting a customer’s thoughts might not be a good sales tactic, but Fox and I have known each other long enough now that he doesn’t worry about it. “Do you have anything else for me?”

I grimace, hating that name. That title, even if most of the aliens seem to think it’s something I should be proud of having. System-generated titles are a big thing, marking a significant achievement by the individual. How big seems to vary depending on the culture of course, but it’s a still mark of respect—similar to tattoos in older cultures or prisons.

“Sorry. Go ahead. I’ll browse some Skills while I wait for Ali.”

“Of course. Do call for me if you need anything else.” Fox bobs his head then exits the room, leaving me alone.

I consider pulling out one of my new books and dismiss that thought, instead taking the moment to refresh my memory about my Status and what I might need to buy.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Honor Guard

Race

Human (Male)

Level

37

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead

Health

1700

Stamina

1700

Mana

1310

Mana Regeneration

98 / minute

Attributes

Strength

94

Agility

161

Constitution

170

Perception

58

Intelligence

131

Willpower

133

Charisma

16

Luck

30

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

2

Blade Strike

2

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand blades

1

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Tech Link*

2

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (II)

Greater Regeneration

Greater Healing

Mana Drip

Improved Mana Dart (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike

Fireball

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

My build, as a friend would say, is weird. I’m part tank, part damage dealer, part Mage. While I once chided Jason for thinking of this world like one of his games, he did have one point that I’ve been considering for a bit.

If you’re working in a team, specialization might be the way to go. That way, if you compare yourself to someone of the same level who generalized, you’ll generally be more powerful. Of course, you want a pretty stable base first—running around with a 100 Health is just asking to die—but at a certain point, specializing makes sense. Especially since I can’t seem to shake off my friends.

The truth about Jason’s words is something I’ve noted while sparring with Mikito or Ingrid, the way they’re significantly better than I am in their areas of specialization. I can keep up in a fight, but if I stick to playing fair, I’m normally hard-pressed to win. Mikito’s got a bunch of speed abilities, along with Class Skills, that make her a dangerous melee fighter, while Ingrid is more the glass cannon type—able to hit with a ridiculously high amount of damage, but squishy.

In fact, one of the problems with bouncing upward to an Advanced Class the moment the System arrived was that the Erethran Honor Guard Skill tree is mostly about supporting others. The individual combat Skills are mostly in the Basic Erethran Guard or Erethran Soldier Class. That’s also why I’ve been poking around a bunch of Basic Skill trees, searching for things I can purchase from the Shop to give me more oomph. Problem is, Skills are nice, but they all come with a cost. Credits to purchase them, then an on-going Mana and Stamina cost when you use them. I’ll admit though, a lot of my desire for more strength has to do with the fact that I got my ass kicked before we left Whitehorse.

All that said, I still have no clue what my specialization would be. I can do a little of everything, but none of the roles attract me. I like being able to switch between the front-line and back depending on the situation. It’s saved my ass quite a few times, being entirely self-reliant. But now I’ve got a party…

I stare at my Status screen one last time before turning back to the Shop’s inventory. Time to stop mulling over things and get back to it. I haven’t made a decision in weeks, so why should I be able to make one now? Better to focus on what I can do right now. Maybe I can find something to augment my ranged attacks…

***

I’m the first one back, though I’ve probably spent more time in the Shop due to the better time dilation in my Shop. Knowing that the others will be a while, I get moving on arranging our accommodations for the evening and leave Ali to guide the group to the abandoned house I locate. By the time they all arrive, I’ve already gotten a few plates on the table illuminated by some System-bought lamps. We’re all kind of used to it by now, so the lack of electricity isn’t a big problem. The lack of hot water on the other hand…

“Couldn’t you find a place with hot water? I was looking forward to a bath,” Ingrid grumbles with nods from the other women.

“Use a spell,” I say. “They don’t even have enough upgraded places for their own people. What makes you think they’re going to let a bunch of tourists into an upgraded house?”

“We could pay,” Ingrid says.

“Sure. You going to knock on the doors?” I wave at the exit.

Ingrid just stuffs her face rather than chat. As sarcastic and occasionally rude as she is to us, I’ve realized Ingrid is actually a tad shy among strangers.

Lana, who has taken over cooking the rest of the meal, walks by, dropping another platter of food. “Ali tells me there’s a dungeon close by. One that’s pretty close to over-running itself.”

“You want us to clear it?” I ask while Mikito perks up slightly.

“It’d take a day at most,” Lana says. “And the first clear bonus is always nice.”

I consider her words. The first clear bonus is a significant chunk of experience, for sure. In fact, it’s about the only thing that has given us any real experience since we left the Yukon. The rest has been dribs and drabs from beating up under-Leveled monsters. “All right. I’m in.”

“Yes,” Mikito says.

“Fine. I’m in too,” Ingrid says.

Lana flashes all of us a smile of gratitude before plunking a case of bottles on the table. We all stare with disbelief at the familiar brand of Apocalypse Ale. As one of the Yukon’s most popular exports since the System, we all know how expensive the beer is.

“How…?” Mikito asks, and Lana laughs softly.

“What? There are some advantages of part-owning the brewery through the foundation we set up,” Lana says then fixes me with a look. “If someone actually looked into it, he might be surprised what he could get.”

“Huh…” I say, snagging a bottle and popping off the screw-top. “With this kind of incentive, I just might…”

Lana grins and snags a bottle before we all settle in for dinner and rest in an actual bed. Now that we’ve decided on actually testing out the dungeon, we drag Ali over and probe him for more information. Not that he has much, but we often find that anything is better than nothing.

Chapter 3

“Doesn’t look like much of a dungeon,” I mutter, staring at the notification floating in front of my face the moment I step into the gloomy, shadowed forest. It’s subtle, but the change in the ecology is there. One side of the barrier is less lush and more shadowed than the other.

“It is only Level 35,” Lana says, stretching slightly and pulling her skintight jumpsuit tight in all the right places.

When she catches me looking, the redhead flashes me a grin and a wink, making me blush slightly. Living and traveling with a group, we’ve not had a lot of private time lately, which has been a bit annoying. That, and we want to verify her birth control options are still working. Ever since we figured out that the System has a bad tendency of degrading purchased birth control options, we’ve all gotten a little paranoid about double-checking things like that.

“True,” Mikito says, her naginata resting on her shoulder as she straddles her bike. The polearm dwarfs the tiny Asian lady, who’s clad much like Lana, albeit with slightly more armor plating. Like me, she hasn’t yet bothered to transform her PAV. “We doing this on foot?”

“Probably for the best. It’s only a few kilometers in radius. Figure the boss is in the center,” I say, eyeing the fuzzy readouts that my minimap is giving me. Damn dungeons and their weird rules.

“Ingrid and the puppies are on scouting duty. Pull anything you find back to us…” I look around before sighing, realizing that the woman has already disappeared. “As for Tigger…”

“No. Just no,” Lana says, glaring at me.

“But…” I snap it shut as Lana continues to glare at me. “Fine. What is he called?”

“Roland,” Lana says, scratching the tiger, pushing his head into her waist.

“Roland staying with us or…?” Thus far, beyond being big, I’ve yet to see anything particularly special about the tiger, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention either. Without knowing its specialty, I’m leery of giving suggestions.

“He’ll stay for now with Anna,” Lana says, the red fox content to trot alongside the redhead.

All that done, I nod and wave her and Mikito on, letting my eyes dart over their information one last time before I play rearguard.

Mikito Sato (Middle Samurai Level 3)

HP: 770/770

MP: 430/430

Conditions: None

Lana Pearson (Beast Tamer Level 49)

HP: 380/380

MP: 600/600

Conditions: Bestial Senses, Linked x 4

It takes about ten minutes before a body drops in front of us, all dark blue hair, muscles, and blood. Mikito bisects the body before it even hits the ground, while Lana has a gun trained on it in seconds. That’s before we realize it’s a corpse. A moment later, I hear giggling beside us, Ingrid having shifted positions immediately.

“Ingrid…” Lana sighs then prods the corpse with her feet.

Now that we’re no longer worried about our lives, we spend some time actually looking at the monster corpse. It’s similar to a chimpanzee in size but with blue fur, an extra pair of secondary arms, and a tail that looks as though it should belong on a scorpion. After assessing the monster, we get moving.

We barely take ten steps before Lana stiffens, swiveling to the left. Her lips tighten and she drops to a knee, her gun raised. Roland lets out a low growl and pads to her left, his entire body shimmering. Within seconds, it’s hard to see the creature, his body camouflaged against the background terrain. Anna shifts to a safe distance away from Lana, flames bursting from her body and licking against her fur.

“Howard’s on his way back with company,” Lana says as she settles in.

Mikito makes a noise of assent but doesn’t move, continuing to watch her side of the forest. I grunt, consider my options, and pull a beam rifle from storage. Mana Darts, my favorite spell, is just a little too low Level for these guys, and everything else I have is a bit too destructive. A Fireball in a forest is a bad idea, especially since the undergrowth here doesn’t seem to have had a good forest fire in a bit. Hmmm… something else to consider. Who would have thought that bringing death and destruction actually had so many different facets?

Tension mounts as we wait, but we don’t have to wait long. The sounds of branches breaking and the padding of a pony-sized husky reaches us within seconds, then the large hound is here. Close behind him are a dozen of the ape-creatures, swinging through the trees and loping on the ground in a weird knuckle, knuckle, feet gait. The transition from peace to violence is sudden as Roland claws apart the first to cross the threshold, then he launches himself against a second. Lana opens fire with her rifle, and Anna lays down a low wall of flame to ward off the majority while Howard spins around to fight.

I add to the carnage and manage to catch sight of Ingrid coming out of the shadows to do her thing. The fight is fast and furious, but we out-Level the apes by a significant margin. By unspoken agreement, we let Lana and her pets do most of the work, the Beast Tamer having the least number of hours in the field and thus the lowest Level.

A short couple of minutes later, I’m looting the bodies and storing them in my Altered Space while Lana heals her pets.

“Think we should get lunch ready while Lana takes care of the dungeon?” Ingrid says from behind me.

I sigh, refusing to jump even if her sudden appearance is a bit startling. I finish putting the corpse in my Altered Space before I turn around. “Might not be a bad idea.”

“You guys…” Lana says, sounding exasperated. “I’m not that far behind all of you. And the boss might be a little tough for me and the boys. And Anna.”

“A little tough is good,” Mikito says. “Good training.”

“Sounds like we’re decided. I’ll lend you Ali,” I say while setting up the picnic table. “Ingrid, your turn.”

“Hey!” Lana says, growling at us.

“Fine. Stew and bannock?” Ingrid says.

“Sounds delicious.”

“Rice too, please,” Mikito says.

“Hey!” Lana says again.

“You still here?” I look at Lana, humor dancing in my eyes as she stands there, hands on her hips while we ignore her protests.

She glares at me, mouths, “You’ll pay for this,” then stomps off, followed by her pets. Within minutes, her passage fades and I stretch.

“Going for a stroll?” Ingrid says, her voice full of mirth while Mikito snorts.

I shrug, refusing to answer. Ingrid waves the ladle at me and I nod before following Lana quietly. I might not have Ingrid’s Class Skills, but I’ve got some skills.

Look, we might be idiots, but we aren’t exactly going to let our friend solo a dungeon without some backup.

***

The next couple of hours are rather boring. Between her Bestial Senses ability and the pets, I have to give her a significant amount of space just so that she doesn’t know I’m here. Add in the fact that I need to be far enough away that the System doesn’t hurt her experience gain too much and I end up having a really uneventful stroll through the woods. Even so, the occasional extra-large explosion, tree breaking, or scream carries back to me. Thankfully, with Ali floating alongside Lana, I get running commentary to keep me entertained.

“Ooooh, that’s an amazing suplex, John, just makes those legs really defined…

“What a move, sticking her gun in its mouth…

“That kind of language from a woman! Who would have thought…

“Two dozen. We might be in trouble here, sports fans. Wait! Is that…? Yes! It’s the Pearsons’ signature move—the Chaos Grenade. It lobs, it flies, it explodes with pink confetti! This might be troublesome for our young hero!

“… by the skin of her teeth. Well, Roland’s teeth, but there you have it. The latest member of the Pearson Prowlers is showing his value already. Much faster than a tall Asian, I’ll say.

“And that’s the Boss. Whoa, he’s big. No worries though, boy-o, she can take him. Well, not her, herself but together, I’m sure…

“And that’s the second summons. Wynn is off to tangle with those other dozen little bastards. Lana’s tossing those grenades like there’s no tomorrow, even with her arm broken. But the smokescreen’s letting our young heroine move to a new location while Roland and Anna double-team the Boss and Howard does mop-up.

“It’s down! Down. The Boss is down and its minions are fleeing.”

***

When Ali finally gives the all-clear, I find myself sagging against a nearby tree. The Spirit is good at giving a rundown, even if he makes it a little more dramatic than it needs to be. While Lana mops up, I head back to our temporary rest stop. It might seem strange to let her go by herself and then wander along behind her, but I know Lana’s been feeling a little out of place, out-leveled and underpowered. Mikito has years of martial arts training to back her up, Ingrid is a frigging Assassin, and well, I’m me. Lana, until a few months ago, spent most of her time running the foundation and a bunch of businesses in Whitehorse. Even if I think she’s a lot tougher than she believes, especially with her pets in play, she needs to know it. Letting her take out the Boss by herself is a good way for us to reinforce her self-esteem.

Even if it is a bit hard on my heart.

Chapter 4

You would think that clearing a dungeon the Village would make them happy. But if I’ve learned one thing about humans, it’s that they’re never happy. Acting as if we should have asked them for their permission to kill monsters is ridiculous, especially when they haven’t been able to clear it. Still, the entire incident soured us on Fort Nelson, and we decided to leave the very next day. Which is why we’re surprised to see Sam waiting in his truck as we head out of our borrowed accommodations.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Sam, admiring the much younger looking gentleman. I mentally approve—gene therapy is probably one of the best deals in town. It not only shaved a quarter century off Sam’s visage, it also probably boosted quite a few of his physical stats. That Sam decided to keep the silver-grey hair actually makes him look more distinguished, I think.

“This isn’t the place for me,” Sam says, looking around the Village, eyes lingering on the few inhabitants who are up at the crack of dawn. “I’m not a fan of swearing binding Oaths to people I don’t know.”

“Sam…” I consider my objection. While I do so, I take the time to review his Status bar.

Samuel K. Turner (Level 29 Technomancer)

HP: 170/170

MP: 540/540

Conditions: None

Very low health, not at all what I’d consider acceptable. On the other hand, his Mana pool is very good, especially for someone at his Level. Add in the fact that he has a rather rare Basic Skill, which lets him manipulate technology—mostly for his own use right now, but supposedly for others eventually—and he could be a pretty decent back-of-the-line supporter.

In the end, I decide to let him come for two reasons. Firstly, Sam’s got the willingness to fight—something that, even if one has the Skills, can be lacking—and secondly, it’s his life. I’m not here to dictate what he does.

“Fine,” I answer and watch Sam relax slightly.

He slides into his truck a moment later, with Ingrid taking rearguard on her bike. Mikito and I lead the way over the bridge that straddles the town. South, down to Prince George, it is. Hopefully our reception there is a lot less chilly.

***

It’s eight hundred kilometers on the highway to Prince George. Even with the destruction caused by the change and the lack of maintenance, the highways are still the fastest way to travel. No one from Fort Nelson has successfully made contact with those down south though, since the 97 swings close to the Northern Rocky Mountains Provincial Park. The damn System seems to consider every provincial park and place of beauty the perfect place to put a high Level zone. At the closest point to the provincial park, the highway sits at nearly Level 50. Definitely too high for the people in Fort Nelson, and even a threat for us if we were moving alone.

That’s why, by general consensus, we’re taking things slow and sending the puppies ahead to herd some monsters for Sam to play with. I’ve even kindly let him ride Sabre so that he doesn’t have to struggle in and out of the truck while killing them. For all the consideration we’ve given him, you’d think he’d be more grateful.

“Help me!” Sam shouts as he lies on the ground, holding the mutated bear off his face through sheer desperation.

“Oh, come on, it’s only a Level 15,” I call back.

“Two nights of cooking says he’s going to get below 50%,” Ingrid offers.

“Bah! Three nights and 30% of his health,” Ali counters.

“You guys are insane!” Sam screams. He finally levers a hand free, pushing the beam pistol against the bear’s side, and opens fire.

The bear takes the shots, chomping down hard on Sam’s shoulder and making his hand spasm open.

“Hey! Stop that,” I say as I glare at Ali. “No betting on my behalf. It’s not as if you’re doing the cooking if you lose. But we’ll take that bet.”

“John…” Lana says, looking at Ingrid and me. “I don’t think she’s been a good influence on you.”

“You wanted me to lighten up…”

“Exactly. Lighten. Not indulge in dark humor,” Lana says, shaking her head.

“I note you aren’t doing anything to help either,” I say.

Sam screams and I glance at his health, doing some quick math. He can take one more hit before I have to heal him. Of course, if I do, his experience gains drop, since the System will count it as help, which kind of defeats the purpose of all this. As it stands, he’s getting reduced experience as it is. Still, I don’t want him to die either. I pay a little more attention, pre-casting a portion of the Healing spell and holding it in abeyance.

Mikito is dancing with another bear to the side, using her fists rather than her polearm to strike the monster. She’s even got a few light cuts across her face, courtesy of her practicing dodging by the millimeter. We pulled the pair to us a short while ago and Sam learned a major lesson about being a support fighter—don’t let the monsters get close.

Sam jerks his head aside enough to dodge the next bite and pulls the trigger of his recovered pistol a few more times. Flesh sizzles and the bear finally has enough, falling and flattening the poor Technomancer. Before we can help, Howard has pulled the body off Sam and settled down to snack. I release my spell the moment I can actually see Sam, watching as he heals all the damage in seconds.

“I didn’t say this wasn’t necessary,” Lana says, rubbing the back of her neck. “Just, you know, a bit rude.”

“A lot rude!” Sam snaps, kicking the bear corpse after he loots it.

Howard growls at Sam before returning to eating the bear, and Roland joins him after a second. Surprisingly, Howard doesn’t object. Now that Sam’s done, Mikito put down her bear too and lets Shadow and Anna take their turn.

“You complain, but you’re getting better,” I say, looking the man over. “Though seriously, you couldn’t have bought an armored suit or something?”

“I didn’t expect to be fighting!” Sam snaps, checking the charge on his pistol and swapping out the Mana battery. “I fix cars and weapons!”

“And you’re wandering around the wilderness. At least buy yourself some decent offensive Spells, will you? Perhaps a few to restrict movement. It’ll keep you alive longer,” I recommend.

Sam growls at me again, stomping back to Sabre and the beam rifle that was discarded during the fight.

Incidents like that pretty much make up the next few weeks. Of course, once the zone levels started creeping up too high, we stopped playing around. Well, until we hit the Level 50 zone, then we hunkered down and did some real grinding.

I ended up lending Sam Sabre in her transformed form during that period, and I had to admit, I was a bit jealous. With his abilities, Sam could use it just as well as I could with my Skills and Neural Link, interfacing directly with the controls to play ranged damage dealer. He even managed to eke out a higher efficiency rate on the Mana engine and linked his beam rifle directly with the PAV so that he could keep shooting without switching Mana batteries.

We spent over a day and a half just off the highway in the Level 50 zone, drawing monsters to us and killing them. Once we finally ran out of space for storing the loot and Sam Leveled up to 32, we called it a day and got moving.

Our high spirits got shut down fast once we hit the next village. Stuck so close to a high Level zone with no Shop and the nearest settlement too far to walk to, there were no survivors. Nor were there any in the next village. Or the next.

For all the joking and ribbing, this was the reality of our existence—less than ten percent of humanity had survived the transition. Entire communities had been wiped out. Among the survivors, a significant number of the young and elderly were slain. This new world has no space for the weak. Perhaps it might have been different if we had transitioned to a normal System world, but as a Dungeon World, we never had a chance.

We don’t stop or search the settlements. There’s no need. Not with Ali around. And so we drive past empty homes and abandoned vehicles, leaving the past to the past until we reach Fort St. John, a tiny town nearly the same size as Whitehorse. It has no Shop, too small to be considered worth setting up the teleportation link that anchors a Shop to our world. Yet for all their disadvantages, there are survivors. We find a way.

***

“Ahoy there!” I call.

“Ahoy? Seriously? We going with landlubbers next?” Ali teases, floating beside me as we stare at the fortified apartment complex.

“Perhaps we should have someone less intimidating talk to them?” Sam says.

“You mean Lana.”

“I mean Lana.”

I sigh, noting that there’s still no movement from the apartment complex. If it wasn’t for the barred doors and windows and the dots on the minimap, I’d have thought they were all gone. Thankfully, they haven’t tried to shoot me yet, unlike some others.

“You’re up, Lana,” I say, finally conceding.

The redhead laughs, giving my hand a quick squeeze as she saunters up the driveway. A high Charisma, breathtaking beauty, and actual social skills have to count for something. I hope.

“We don’t mean you any harm. We’re here to offer aid!” Lana calls and waits.

“Can I go in and drag them out yet?” Ingrid’s voice crackles over the radio.

To make us look less threatening, we left her and Mikito with the pets, out of sight around the corner of the block. Roland might be a cuddly and foolish kitty to us, but I’m sure that’s not what most people see.

“No,” Sam snaps.

There’re only a dozen survivors, so I’m sure Ingrid could do it easily enough, but then what? We’re trying to get their cooperation, not turn them into slaves.

“How are you going to help us?” a voice finally calls. It’s young and aggressive, challenging Lana and our stated good intentions. I can sympathize.

“Depends on what you need. We’ve got some weapons, food, and water we can give you if that’s all you’ll accept. But we’d rather help you get somewhere safer,” Lana calls back. We’ve done this conversation a few times before, and nearly always, there’s that caution.

“Safe?” There’s a bitter laugh at that.

Another voice pipes up, this one older. “What do you mean safer?”

“There are safe zones, places where monsters don’t spawn randomly,” Lana states. “If you get to a Shop, you can buy a residence and it blocks spawning inside that house. Whole cities can become a safe zone if enough property is bought. There’s a document, a guide we can share with you.”

There’s silence at her last words, but I can see the dots converging on my minimap.

A couple of minutes later, the older man calls, “Leave the guide and the supplies on the doorstep and then back off. We’ll consider your offer.”

Lana sighs and waves me forward. A few seconds later, the printed-out copy of Thrasher’s Guide and a bunch of supplies is on their doorstep. Increased Perception means that I can hear their gasps as I make the paper and boxes of food appear.

After letting them know where we’ll be, we meet up with the rest of the crew and repeat the process at another boarded-up building. We do that for the rest of the day, playing diplomat and good guy. Surprisingly—or not, considering how thin everyone in the group is—one of the groups joins us immediately. All the others are way too wary and paranoid, which seems a little strange. Not that we’re expecting everyone to join us, but the ratio is wrong.

Dinner is held in the middle of the highway, the young man and the quartet of teenagers devouring the food we provide and only flinching slightly when the puppies or Roland move near them. Anna, the lazy fox that she is, is curled up and getting strokes from Ingrid while Sam pokes and prods at the force shields we’ve set up around the impromptu camp. We could have taken a house, but considering that monsters can barge through the walls at any time, this is actually safer. That, and we want to let the human scouts have a clear view of what we are and aren’t doing.

Once dinner is done, I drag a truck back at Sam’s request and we spend the next few hours fixing it up together. I say we, but I was a website hack, so it’s mostly Sam who does the work while I hand him tools and play impromptu jack. I do learn a few things, since Sam is one of those guys who likes to talk while working. Of course, I’m not entirely sure what the point is, since gas-guzzling engines are archaic technology these days.

“Right. Let’s try it,” Sam says after an hour, scooting out from under the vehicle before I lower it.

We pop the hood and he places his hand on the engine, channeling his Skill.

All Tech I See (III)

This Skill allows the Technomancer an intuitive understanding and connection with technology, allowing him to use the technology at will. This Skill also has the ability to attempt to override security features in the affected technology.

Level I effects: +15% bonus to connections with technology, +10% efficiency and productivity (where appropriate)

Level II effects: this Skill will temporarily designate non-System technology as System-enabled with the appropriate bonuses.

Level III effects: Technomancer may designate 3 pieces of technology to be used remotely.

Mana Cost: 20 Mana per minute for active use. Passive use (Level II and III effects) 200 Mana per activation. Duration of 3 hours per activation

I shake my head, staring at the details of Sam’s Class Skill. It’s one hell of a Skill—even better than the Neural Link Skill I purchased—and I’m slightly surprised he’s so willing to share the details. Ever since Sam managed to allocate his third Skill point a few days ago, he’s been able to designate a couple of additional vehicles for use. Unlike a Mechanic’s rebuilding of the vehicle, this is a lot less permanent but a lot faster.

“Sounds good,” I say, listening to the engine. We’ve mostly just swapped out a bunch of starters, pulled a bunch of clogged lines, and made sure the actual gasoline engine works. After that, Sam used some of his other Skills to fix the electronic chips needed to run the truck. It wouldn’t actually work without his Skill, though a real Mechanic with the right tools could probably get it fixed up much easier now. “Next?”

Sam nods, and I walk toward the camp exit, glancing at Mikito as she joins me.

“Something up?” I ask her.

“No. Just too cramped to practice inside,” Mikito says, and I nod in understanding.

“You okay with all this?” I wave my hands around, indicating both the survivors we’re grabbing as well as the destruction.

“Yes,” Mikito answers then pauses, looking at me. “Are you?”

“It’s what we do, isn’t it?” I say. It’s not really something I’ve thought about—just one of those things we can do to help. I mean, why not? It barely takes any real effort, and even if it did, we’re saving lives. How exactly is that a bad thing?

“You seem less angry,” Mikito says.

I blink, considering her words. I prod at my emotions, noting the churning sea of anger that still resides in the pit of my stomach. But it’s more peaceful? Calmer? No typhoon winds, no tsunamis…

“Maybe?” I say hesitatingly. “I’m still angry at times, but it just is, you know? We’re not fighting for our lives as much anymore. And even if things are bad, it’s mostly done and over with. At least, I hope so. How are you doing?”

It’s not an idle question. Mikito has lost more than most. Her husband, dead. Her family, not only separated by a sea but most likely dead too. For a time, I know she wanted to die, but now…

“I exist,” Mikito answers me, offering me a tight smile. “It hurts at times. When I remember. But we do good, and when it is time, perhaps I will meet him again.”

I don’t really know what to say to that, so I offer her a smile and nod. Mikito breaks off soon afterward, walking toward the park we noticed before. I admit, I watch her leave, uncertain exactly what to feel about the conversation we just had. In the end, I push it aside to focus on the work ahead of me.

***

Late at night, I lie in bed, absently stroking the hair of the sleeping redhead beside me. Lana murmurs softly, nuzzling into my chest before falling back asleep, while I stare at the screen in front of me. Page 273 from A Mathematical Review of Classes, System Skills, and the System. Riveting reading. Really. But I’ve got things to do and people to see.

I quietly extract myself from the tent and make my way to the fire, glancing at the young man seated by it with a makeshift spear on his lap. Young, probably in his early twenties, with that wariness that almost all survivors have. He looks up, his hand clenching slightly on the spear shaft while meeting my eyes with his thousand-yard stare.

“You’re up late,” I say and take a seat next to him.

“So are you,” he replies.

I smile slightly, staring at the kid and wondering when I started calling people half a decade younger than me kids. “Perk of a high Constitution. I don’t really need to sleep much.” Or at all, if I want to push it. But experimentation has shown that the human brain really does like having a bit of downtime.

“You’re strong too,” the kid says, glancing toward the vans and trucks I dragged over. We’d briefly considered a bus but figured a single point of failure was a bad idea.

“Thanks. You’re not bad yourself,” I say, and he twitches, eyes narrowing. “There’s no way you’d survive this long if you didn’t have some decent Levels and strength scores.”

Of course, I don’t tell him that I can see his Status bar above his head too.

Kyle Leeburn (Karateka Level 28)

HP: 340/340

MP: 180/180

Conditions: Exhausted (-10 to all Stats and Regeneration Rates)

“Not good enough,” the kid says, and I clearly hear the regret and self-recrimination.

I glance back at the tent that we designated for him and his friends—all those who are left. He catches me looking and nods slightly. I’m not even sure what the nod means, but I don’t push it.

“Did you read the guide?” I ask to break the silence.

“Yes. Not much new there,” Kyle says. “I do want to know what you intend to do with us.”

“Exactly what we promised. Bring you guys to a safe zone, preferably a city with a Shop. That way you can sell some of your loot and get sorted,” I say. “No ulterior motives.”

“Not as if I can do anything about it if you did, is there?” Kyle says bitterly.

“No, not really,” I agree bluntly.

Kyle looks at me, his eyes shining. “If you lay a hand on them, I’ll kill you. I don’t care how, I will kill you. All of you.”

“Oh god…” Ali says, floating down from where he’s been watching all this. “There’s two of you!”

“Funny,” I tell Ali before looking at the kid and giving him a nod in acknowledgement. “Now, go to sleep.”

“I—”

“You said it yourself. There’s nothing you can do if I want you dead. And anyway, if I had bad intentions, I’d want to get all of you survivors together. Right now, you’d be more useful as bait than anything else.”

I see Kyle twitch at that, but he finally stands and goes into the tent. I can hear him breathing loudly and irregularly, forcing himself to stay awake just in case I decide to attack, but at least I have some peace and quiet. Sort of.

“You’ve got a pretty devious mind there, boy-o,” Ali says, floating cross-legged in front of me.

“Hmmm…?”

“The entire using the kids as bait bit. Cold.”

“Never said I wasn’t,” I say, smiling grimly.

I wait, the darkness deepening until finally, finally the kid succumbs to sleep. That’s when I stand and stretch before walking to the force field and letting myself out. I keep silent, walking through the abandoned, empty streets filled with weeds and unraked leaves till we’re far enough away.

“Tell me about the sixth group.”

“Not much more to tell,” Ali says, floating beside me. “Six fighters in the building, all between Level 30 and 40. Three captives, all mutilated so they can’t run. You were right—they’re probably the reason why everyone is so paranoid and looking worse for wear. Can’t hunt or Level up properly if the non-combatants are easy prey.”

“Weapons? Classes? Skills?”

“One Thief, two Bandits, one Guardian, a Shaman, and a Gunslinger. One of the captives is a Healer too,” Ali replies. “Two System-registered melee weapons. All their guns are System-registered, but it’s mostly human shotguns and rifles as their base.”

“Anything else I should know?” I ask, my voice going colder as I walk toward the little glowing dots in the minimap.

“Don’t make it fast.” Ali’s voice is raw and angry at the last.

I don’t blame him. He’s been stuck watching them the whole day when he’s not with us.

***

The group has taken over a bank, their resting place underground, where the safe deposit boxes are located. Safe—or at least safer—than a normal building. One entrance to their main resting place, easy to defend against any incursions. Assuming they don’t get really unlucky and a monster spawns in the building itself, they’ve got it good. Of course, they aren’t dumb enough to not have a watch out, but they’ve gotten lazy. Probably been lording it over the groups around here too much. The big fish in the small pond.

I take my time, ghosting up to him when he’s not looking in my direction, crossing through shadows till I’m close enough to make my move. Haste, Thousand Steps, and agility in the hundred-plus range means that I cover the last five feet in the blink of an eye. There’s nothing wrong with the Bandit’s instincts, his head turning toward me, but he’s nowhere near fast enough. My blade sinks into his neck easier than I thought, forcing me to catch the body with my free hand while the detached head drops. The muffled, meaty thud resounds through the marbled floor, and I hold my breath, wondering if it was too much.

Nothing. I breathe a sigh of relief and head over to the staircase, my sword disappearing back to whatever dimension it exists in when I don’t have it summoned. As I near the stairs, I look down, spot the crude attempt of a trip wire, and step over it.

Downstairs is a single corridor and small rooms, sub-divided to allow privacy, before the main safe deposit storage room. From Ali’s descriptions, each of the private rooms is allocated to the leaders, with the remnants forced to stay together. Of course, each of the three leaders keep one of the women to themselves.

I’d considered a few ways of dealing with this, but any fight in close quarters is likely to result in the deaths of the women. That’s one of the reasons I’ve chosen to do this myself. I’ll admit, I also want to save the group some of what I expect to see. As much as we’ve seen and done, as many nightmares as we might have, there’s no need to add any more.

Downstairs, I tread to the opposite side of the waiting room and make sure to hide myself as best as I can before signaling Ali that I’m ready for the second part of the plan.

“Trouble!” Ali shouts from above in a simulated voice.

Never having heard the Bandit speak, I have no idea if Ali’s doing a good enough job, but the roar of gunfire as Ali triggers his weapon is sufficient to drive home his point.

“What is it?” one of the men shouts even as I hear them scrambling inside the rooms.

“They’re attacking us!” Ali calls back.

I have to admit, they’re not complete idiots. Most of them head up, but they leave a guard for the women. Of course, since I didn’t bother to hide the body too much, I only have a minute at most before they realize they’ve been tricked. But that’s more than enough time.

I launch myself forward, crossing the room at a sprint, and tackle the Thief across his body. I hit him like a freight train, his ribs cracking and snapping, even his breath explodes around my ear. I don’t stop moving, bull-rushing him into the nearby wall, concrete shattering around us—I put him mostly through it. As I lean backward, I grip his upper arm, crushing it, and throw him to the floor. For all that, the Thief manages to form a glowing red dagger that plunges into my torso, sinking past the jumpsuit and sending a shard of pain through my mind.

Before he can do it again, I beat aside his hand, looking back at the women and wasting a few precious seconds to cast Soul Shield on all three. The glowing walls of force spring to life around their bodies, protecting them against collateral damage. Of course, the Thief manages to stab me a few more times in the meantime, nearly cutting my throat with one swipe. Painful as it is, it’s not lethal.

Noise from the staircase informs me that I’ll be getting company soon, so I grip the Thief by the neck. Another second and I cross the floor to the staircase, where the Gunslinger is turning, a pair of pistols in his hand. He unloads, uncaring if he hits the Thief I’m using as an impromptu shield. I twist from the hips and heave, taking a pair of bullets in the lower body before the Thief flies through the air, screaming. The Gunslinger is fast, very fast, bouncing up the staircase and crowding his friends to avoid the newly made corpse.

I snarl, another bullet smashing into my helmet and rocking my head back. A thought and the sword is in my hand, Blade Strike throwing a glowing line of red and blue from the blade while Thousand Blades repeats the action with a pair of duplicate weapons. The attacks fly up the stairs, and this time, there is nowhere for them to go. Unlike their attacks, the Soulbound sword I wield has leveled up with me and is backed by a pair of Skills. The difference in damage is like comparing a BB gun and a 9mm.

Screams, shouts, and swearing as the group struggles upward, unloading their shots into my body. I take them all, my body shuddering slightly under the barrage. But I have over 1700 Health Points and a regeneration rate to match it. It’d be a lie to say I could stand here and take it all day long, but I can for the few seconds that it takes them to reach the top of the stairs and slam the door shut.

Then I use Blink Step, fixing the point of my arrival by using Ali’s viewpoint, and appear behind the group. I kill the Shaman first, who’s busy readying a series of Spells to slow, poison, and kill me. It only takes a single focused strike to kill him. Stupid magic users with their miniscule health.

The Bandit is next, cutting upward with a real sword that glows green with energy. Cleave or Bash or Power Strike or an equivalent Skill. Putting everything he has into the attack. I twist, catching the cut with the sword I’ve materialised in my other hand, surprising him. Even so, the strength of the blow throws me backward, my feet leaving the floor for a second.

The Guardian makes his move next, rushing and grappling my arm. A quick twist as he shouts, “Disarm,” and then he’s got my sword, the blade forced from my hand by the Skill. I skip backward, breaking away before he can attack me, even as the Bandit steps up and the Gunslinger shifts to get a line of sight on me.

They come for me, the Guardian—guarding what, his rancid desires?—leading the way. He swings my borrowed sword, intent on ending me. Too bad for him it’s a Soulbound weapon and I dismiss it with a thought, then I let him run into the others I conjure. I don’t stop, can’t stop, as I dance past him to show the Bandit what happens when you pair Cleave, a Soulbound weapon, and nearly a hundred points of strength together. He takes three hits before he finally flops to the floor, dead. After that, mopping up the Gunslinger is a cinch.

It’s only when I’m standing in the middle of the bank, covered in blood and guts, my pulse slowing and the rage that ate away at my reason dissipating, that my brain kicks in and lists all the problems I’ve got. Starting with how I’m going to explain this to everyone.

“You really shouldn’t hog all the fun,” Ingrid calls from the doorway she leans against, cleaning her nails with a dagger.

I roll my eyes, knowing she’s doing that for effect. Of course, I don’t tell her it does look as cool as she thinks it does.

“What are you doing here?” I flick my gaze upward to my minimap and blink, seeing more dots slowly coming in.

“You really need to work on your poker face,” Ingrid says, eyes dancing with amusement. “And you’re about as subtle as a hammer. We all figured you were keeping something to yourself.”

“More like a tank rolling down the street.” Lana walks up with the puppies beside her. On a nearby rooftop, Roland is perched, watching over the proceedings. “So what’s in there?”

I frown, glancing down and then back at them. Another reason I chose to do this was to save them from the sights and smells below. The memories…

“Three women. Mutilated and kept by them.” I gesture at the bodies and watch as the ladies straighten, tension going through their bodies.

“Okay. Ingrid and I will go down. You, clean this up,” Lana says brusquely, striding forward, trailed by Ingrid.

“Stuck with clean up. Again,” I mutter before casting Clean on myself and trying to figure out what to do.

In the end, I go with the easy option and toss the bodies into storage. I’ll find a cliff to discard them from later. The blood is easy enough to mop up, using stolen clothing to push it around. Rather than storing them, I keep the Gunslinger’s pistols out, reloaded and cleaned, as well as a guard’s shotgun. And then I wait.

It takes them over an hour to return, the women washed and Cleaned, in new clothes and looking much healthier. Each of them is still missing the lower portion of a leg, but with Lana’s and Ingrid’s help, they’re able to ascend the building. Once I make it clear they’re for them, the ladies grab the pistols and shotgun I’ve left out, though Lana stops one of the ladies. She glares at Lana, her lip curling until another lady pulls on her arm. I watch the byplay, frowning slightly, but say nothing as I get a series of cold shoulders.

Stupid. Stupid old John for not putting the pieces together. The last thing they’d want is a male presence right now. Even if it’s one that saved them.

When we finally get back to the camp where Mikito has been keeping watch, Kyle is woken by the commotion. His jaw drops slightly when he sees one of the girls, and he rushes over to her. She flinches, moving away from his touch, which makes him pause, a flash of pain and self-recrimination flowing across his face. The kid manages to hide it, hovering around the girls and doing the best he can to help. Soon enough, the women are inside the group’s tent, asleep and watched over.

Lana walks over to where I’ve taken post, watching over the surroundings. I know other groups are out there, waiting and watching, trying to glean our intentions. Hopefully this helps.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Lana says.

“What?”

“The guns,” Lana replies then gestures to the tent. “Not a shrink, but pretty sure one of them has Stockholm Syndrome.”

Oh… I blink, staring at the tent. I understand the concept—that hostages, forced into close confines with their captors, actually come to side with them. I’m not exactly sure the reasons for this, beyond the fact that humans are weird, but I’d wager their recent experiences could do that. “She dangerous?”

“To us?” Lana snorts. “Maybe if Mikito lent her her weapon and we promised not to move for a few minutes. But still…”

“Sorry, thought they’d like some semblance of security,” I say, explaining my reasoning.

Lana nods, accepting my explanation. “Now, are you going to stop doing that shit?”

“Huh?” I blink, staring at her. “Oh. You mean hiding the group?”

“Exactly. And doing it by yourself. We’re not shrinking violets here, you know,” Lana says.

“Shrinking violets?”

“It’s a saying. We’re not demure ladies of the night,” Lana says.

I pause, waiting.

“Okay, that wasn’t… you know what I mean.”

“I do.” I sigh. “Sorry. Just after the last time…”

“The mountain man incident?”

“Yeah.” I sigh again. “But you’re right. I need to learn to talk to you guys. It’s just… hard.”

Lana shrugs. “Try, John. Try very hard. Because we can’t be a team if you don’t talk to us. And we’re getting pretty damn tired of this.”

We turn together to look at Kyle, who is seated at the fire and staring at the tent with the look of a puppy that has been put out. I debate asking for details. Why it happened. When it happened. How it could be let to continue. But in the end, I leave it alone.

The past doesn’t matter. Not here. What is, is. We can move on or drown in the pain.

***

It takes us the better part of a week to convince the majority of the survivors to trust us and join our little convoy. To get their trust, we do everything from duels to quests to a night of drinking. We scare more than a few groups by showing up on their doorsteps even when they move, but in the end, some still won’t come. As the convoy finally moves out, Lana and Sam in the lead, I find myself staring at the trucks and chuckling.

“Fifty for your thoughts,” Ingrid says beside me.

“I thought it was a penny.”

Ingrid smiles, pulling out a bill and offering it to me. I stare at the fifty-dollar note, the plastic looking almost pristine even after all this time.

“Penny. Fifty dollars. Hell, I got an envelope of it somewhere,” Ingrid says. “You want it?”

“Yeah… no,” I say, shaking my head. So strange to think that we chased these pieces of paper – well plastic now - for all our lives and now she can’t even give it away. An illusion, shattered by the System. “I was thinking I should get a pipe and play a song.”

“The pied piper?” Ingrid sweeps her gaze over the refugees, some of them driving beat-up old trucks whose only advantage is their lack of technology. “Wasn’t he the bad guy?”

“Depends on what he did with the children after,” I say.

At least in the version I read, they never did say what happened. I stare at the string of vehicles, thinking of the journey ahead.

Chapter 5

I sigh as I trace the map of the highway, scribbled pre-System population numbers along each of the cities. We’d been in Dawson Creek for three days now, our search parties spread out and pulling whatever survivors they could from the scattered small towns back to our temporary base of operations. We set up here because the highway split from this point, giving us the best access to the smaller communities along those arteries of civilization.

To the east is Grand Prairie, with a population of around sixty thousand, and much farther along the highway is the city of Edmonton. To the west and south, we hit Prince George, which had roughly the same population as Grand Prairie, and eventually Kamloops. The problem is, with the way the highways worked and the Rockies in between, I wasn’t entirely sure we could get across the Rockies if we went east and entered Alberta. Technically we’d be traversing a portion of the mountain range that made up the Rockies if we went west, but it was significantly flatter. Which probably meant that the zones would be lower. I had a bad feeling that that wasn’t the case with the southern Rockies, where Calgary was. Certainly if the System continued its usual routine, Banff and its surroundings would be murderous.

However, on a practical note, the populations of Edmonton and Calgary were significantly higher than what we’d find in the numerous smaller cities that made up British Columbia. That is, until you hit Vancouver, which had more people in its greater metropolitan area than Alberta’s two main cities. In the end, of course, the numbers came up roughly the same. Give or take a few hundred thousand. Before the System.

“And you can’t get anything else?” I ask Ali for the hundredth time.

“No. I’ve mined the sources I have access to. Anything more, and we’ve got to hit a Shop,” Ali says, his arms crossed.

I stare at the map again, knowing that the decision of where to go needs to be made soon. “We got to get these people to a Shop soon.”

That’s step one. But realistically, the difference in distance between Grand Prairie and Prince George is minor. I hate playing the pied piper, dragging people from place to place, keeping them alive while they stare at us and our Classes, Skills, and equipment with obvious envy. Or in some cases, reverence, which is almost worse.

East or west. The choice might seem easy, but either way we go, we’ll be leaving people behind, people we’re choosing not to help. There’s no way to save everyone, but what kind of people would we be if we didn’t try?

It’s not purely altruistic, of course. The more humans there are, the higher our chances of actually controlling our own destiny. People are weird, strange, and selfish creatures, but in the end, we’re stronger together than alone. For all our fantasies about being the Lone Ranger, we forget that even he had a companion. I might be an introvert by nature, but I understand that people are necessary. There’s no way I could check out all the various towns by myself, no way to clear all the dungeons—heck, no way to even build the equipment I need. People are what make a society strong.

For all that, sometimes the burden of choice is left to a few. We’ve talked about it, weighed the pros and cons together, determined the various options available. In the end though, a decision has to be made and someone has to bear the burden. Better for it to be me, alone, than the group.

And if I have to bear the burden, I might as well go where I want to.

***

“Thanks,” Sam says from where he works on his truck while I watch the convoy roll down the highway.

Lana and her pets are ranging out front with the scouts and Ali, sweeping monsters clear ahead of the group and mapping potential problems. We actually found a pair of hunters, one with a Scout and another with a Ranger Class, who are pretty useful. Their ability to Map and share this information backward has improved our movement speed. In fact, it shouldn’t take more than a day to get to Prince George, if we decide to push it.

“What for?” I say to Sam, watching as a Mechanic swaps out some spark plugs in an attempt to start up the truck.

“Heading west,” Sam says.

I recall that Sam has family there and find myself nodding. Not everyone wants, or has the funds, to buy the information on their families. Sometimes, false hope is better than nothing.

“Not needed. It wasn’t really part of the consideration,” I say.

My words makes Sam look at me, dark eyes tight before he laughs. “You are a strange one. All right then. Why are we going to Vancouver?”

“I want to see the ocean again,” I say with a smile.

My words make Sam blink. With a forced laugh, he ducks his head back under the hood to get the truck started. I’d chide him for not getting it ready before now, but he’s been working all night getting as many vehicles working as possible.

“You going to just stand there?” Sam grouses.

I chuckle, turning my attention to him fully. This is going to be a long trip.

***

No wall. That’s the first thing that comes to mind when we roll up to the city. Instead, across the Fraser River are watchtowers, blockades made of twisted metal and concrete to slow down assaults. In the distance, I note the other bridge is destroyed, its debris lying abandoned in the water while more watchtowers dot the surroundings. Most are automated, with only a few manned. Once again, I’m impressed. These guys are on the ball, the reception party having received us nearly a hundred kilometers out. For all their caution and making us wait and verifying details about the group, they’ve also been very courteous.

You have entered a Safe Zone (The Town of Prince George)

Mana flows in this area have been stabilized. No monster spawning will occur within boundaries.

This Safe Zone includes:

- Town of Prince George City Center
- The Shop
- Armory
- More…

Our escorts guide us through the blockades and the watchtowers without a word, the reception party taking care of the refugees and allocating them empty houses and apartments. The refugees are grateful and happy as a small crowd of humans gathers around to greet and speak with those who arrive. There are even a few embraces and tears as those once thought lost are found again.

As the refugees split up, we get escorted in deeper by our guards. I let my eyes roam over the guards, watching the way they move, fascinated by the green-blue variations of color on their scales and the way the frills on their heads flap and shift as they speak to one another. As I watch them, I can’t help but note the guards have a certain edge I’ve come to associate with those of us who live on the pointy end of the stick.

Much like Whitehorse, Prince George had been purchased by an alien species, a Clan of Khminnie. By the time they purchased it, six months into the System change, the population had shrunk significantly. Now, nearly half of the population is made of the Khminnie, the lizards owning and running all the important shops and services with humans relegated to being second-class citizens.

Still, the humans here are happy for the most part, at least according to Ali. Living as a second-class citizen might not be ideal, but it is living. It’s easy to say you’d never give up a little freedom for safety when you’re behind a computer, resting in a warm home with a full stomach. It’s another when you’ve spent every day of a year fearing for your life.

Soon enough, we’re waved into a house. Inside, a massive eight-foot-tall Khminnie sprawls on the floor, casually eating strips of raw meat while he listens to a young human lady playing the cello. I flick my glance over the two, noting the lady’s Musician Class before I lock on the Clan Head.

Vrymina Ollimar (Level 39 Goldtooth Hunter)

Title: Clan Head of the Frost Claws

HP: 3840/3840

MP: 780/780

Conditions: None

Damn. That’s a ton of Health Points. I’ve seen monsters with higher, but never a fighter. Of course, I can’t read the stats for some of those I’ve met, but it’s still impressive. That’s a Constitution of nearly 384, unless he has a Skill or two that enhances it. No doubt that’s no Basic Class but an Advanced one.

“Greetings, Redeemer,” Vrymina says, sitting up when we come in. He stares at me for a second before he twists his head in an angular direction, almost as if he’s offering me his neck.

Unconsciously, I mimic the motion before his gaze shifts to Lana, Mikito, and Sam. Ingrid’s ghosting around town, not willing to trust them yet.

“Greetings, Clan Head,” I say, bowing to him. “This is my party.”

I quickly introduce everyone, watching as the pleasantries complete. Once again, I’m thankful that the language downloads the System sells include a series of basic courtesies and customs from the language purchased. Thankfully, general Galactic custom is that one must abide by the rules of the world that you currently visit.

Which makes certain worlds less popular. The Wiblox are golem-like creatures who swap minor body parts upon meeting a new individual, each body part imprinted with their own aura. Visitors are expected to lop off their own minor limbs when visiting, which obviously doesn’t work well for most races.

“Tell me, is your party open to taking on a small request from us?” the Clan Head says, getting around to why he invited us to visit him. Not that we were going to turn down the Clan Head after adding a few hundred refugees to his population.

“Uhh…” I glance back toward my friends. The plan had been to stop, Shop, and hop. After all, if the Town is settled, it certainly doesn’t need us.

“It’s a small matter, and one that we can certainly make worth your while,” Vrymina says, leaning forward.

“Well, it can’t hurt to look,” I say, curious now.

Quest Received

Collect 150 Lumar Hide Pieces

Reward: 20,000 Credits, improved relations with Frost Claws

Accept Quest (Y/N)

“I’m guessing those are System-registered skins?” I send to Ali when I see the notification.

“Got it in one, boy-o. ‘Course we could get the bodies skinned too,” Ali says, and I nod.

With a little prodding, I get a full description of the target beast, including their average Level of 48. The Lumar are quadpedal creatures with wide mouths, serrated teeth, and tiny ears, with antenna instead of noses and a high resistance to damage due to their scales. Since we get between four to seven pieces of hide from each monster and they work in herds, it’s not an impossible task.

“I recall seeing many strong warriors in the Frost Claw clan on our way here…” I say leadingly, curious as to why he’d offer us this quest.

“They are. However, we have great need for many things. In a month, my clan will be taking part in a large gathering and we must bring many gifts. These hides were rare, found only in one other world before your world’s introduction to the System. After being transported here though, these beasts have flourished and are now more populous than in the areas we have access to on their original world. Bringing these hides to my people will bring us great prestige,” Vrymina explains unabashedly.

While the hides might initially be in great demand, once they start flooding the market, the price is likely going to drop too. Still, that was a problem for someone else. We’ve got a decent quest.

“May I have a word with my friends?” I ask and, after getting an easy agreement, pull the group aside. It doesn’t take long before I come back with our answer. “We accept. If you’ll excuse us, Clan Head…”

“You will not stay to feast?”

“No. Perhaps once we are done,” I answer, bowing slightly to the lazing reptile-man.

Outside, Mikito turns to me and informs me of the decision the group has come to without my input. “Two groups. Lana, Sam, and Ingrid. Me and you.”

“Not three?”

“No. Sam needs more levels and experience first,” Mikito says with a shrug. “And I don’t have the carrying capacity.”

“Right.” I nod slowly. With Lana’s pets, they can cover a lot more ground and even carry some of the carcasses on the puppies if desired. “Ali, which way?”

“North and west. We’ll be heading into the forest around there,” Ali replies, flicking his hand to send a map. Within it is a quick display of monsters that we had come across, as well other information about recent Lumar sightings. Most of it was second-hand information, of course, but it was enough for us.

***

In bike mode, Mikito’s PAV looked similar to mine. Sleek, modern lines, inflatable tires which could—and usually did—convert to anti-gravity plates. She had even gone with the austere black paint job. In power-armored mode though, the differences were significant. Sleeker and less armored, hers was also surprisingly more responsive than Sabre. She’d sacrificed armor and strength for greater levels of agility, allowing the mecha to supplement her combat style. Mikito had also sacrificed most of her long-range weapon options, instead using mobile, surface-level shields for added protection. On top of that, an ephemeral outline of ghostly armor shrouds the mecha, her Class Skill activated.

I marvel at the way the woman moves, dancing through the herd of Lumar with her naginata, the blade slicing and dicing. Each movement opens a new cut along a creature’s hide, her petite figure moving so fast the Lumar never manage to catch up with her. We’d lucked out and found a herd of eleven, nearly double the normal size, grazing at a waterhole. The moment we spotted them, Mikito rushed into the group to take them on, leaving me to deal with the ugly brown-assed monster in front of me.

Lumar Alpha (Level 64)

HP: 1973/2080

MP: 430/430

Condition: Annoyed

I’ve just unloaded the Inlin’s full load of projectiles into its body and watched them bounce off, doing little but bruise it. I don’t need Ali to know that the Alpha probably has a physical damage resistance Skill of some sort. As the Inlin reloads, I trigger the sonic pulser, curious to see if it will have any effect.

Enraging your opponent is an effect, right?

Dancing out of the way, I snarl and cut at the monster, watching my blade slice into its hide. It spins quickly on its four feet, grey hide flaring and gaining a purple sheen. I don’t have time to pay attention though, as a trio of Lumar break away from the group that have been attempting to attack Mikito and rush me, drawn by the Alpha’s call.

I jump, triggering the anti-gravity plates for a second to aid my gravity-defying leap, and launch some of my mini-missiles at them. They fly down, sticky insta-cement stored inside the missiles spraying out and solidifying around the monsters, hampering their movement as it sets. While moving backward, I trigger my other Skills, sending multiple blade slashes at the trapped group. Blood sprays, flesh parts, and bone shows under the onslaught of Blade Strikes, the blue crescents of force damaging the trio.

Then gravity asserts itself. I never make it all the way down; the Alpha having estimated where I would land charged my falling form. It slams into me, sending me spinning through the air. Sabre’s shield flares, its integrity beleagured as I spin through the air and tear apart a couple of trees.

When I finally get back on my feet, the Alpha is halfway to me. I raise the Inlin, unloading the weapon once more even as I run to the right. The Alpha snarls, eyes narrowing as it realizes I’m not targeting it but its trapped comrades. Unlike the Alpha, the rest of the Lumar aren’t that tough and the projectiles punch into their mangled flesh. A part of me notes that we’re not likely going to get any additional hide pieces from those mangled bodies.

After that, it’s a matter of kiting the Alpha, using Blade Strikes whenever I get far enough away, and dodging otherwise. Tough and powerful as it is, without the help of its friends, it can’t box me in. It only surprises me twice more—the first being the stored kinetic attack it uses to rip apart Sabre’s and my Soul Shield, and the second when it temporarily summons the spirits of its fallen comrades. Luckily, it pulled that trick when it was close to death and its friends disappeared when we focused our attacks on the Alpha.

“That… was interesting,” I said, gesturing to where the spirits were.

“Yes.” Mikito tugs her naginata out of the skull of the Alpha, glowering at the figure and staring at her mangled arm armor. “You don’t mind I jumped in, do you?”

“Har. No, you do more damage than I do,” I say frankly. “There’s a new armor-piercing attack, isn’t there?”

“Yes.” Mikito pauses before continuing. “You’ve been slacking off in the fighting recently.”

“Eh. You guys need the experience and well…” At Mikito’s prompting, I continue. “I’ve been thinking about the nature of experience. Ever wonder about what experience actually is?”

“No.”

I stare at the young lady and sigh. Of course she didn’t. Mikito seems quite happy to take the world as it is, beating up monsters and Leveling rather than probing into the details of the System. Truth be told, she’s probably had more important things to deal with. Most people are like her, especially since the Fool’s Quest is something only idiots like me feel the need to pursue. “Don’t worry about it then.”

“No, tell me.”

“Okay. So what is experience? We get it by killing monsters, completing quests, and in some cases, fulfilling our Class pre-requisites. But what is it?” I say, then pause. “There’re a few leading theories in the books I’m reading.

“Firstly, the stress theory. ‘Experience’ could be shorthand for the changes our bodies undergo when we’re stressed—so the higher the stress level, the higher the chance our body has to accept changes created by the System. There are numerous theories about why—nanomachines that need to burrow deeper or intrinsic Mana alterations by the System are just a couple—but it helps explain why in a disparate Level group, the lower Level individuals receive more experience than the higher Level ones. But in the same encounter, without the higher-Level individual, the lower Levels would get even more experience. More stress, right?”

Mikito nods, frowning. “And quests?”

“That’s where it breaks down a bit. After all, we’ve completed the quest, why would we get experience? Some people say it’s actually our experience already, just stored up during the process of completing the quest and given out at once. Others say it might actually be the quest giver’s experience—the nanobots or Mana or whatever, accumulated by the individual but stored offsite to be distributed later. It’d explain why quests really only come from higher-level individuals or via quest boards,” I say. “The second theory that I personally like is the Mana siphon theory.”

Mikito nods, having looted the bodies and started walking out of the clearing, forcing me to follow as we hunt for more monsters.

“Well, experience in this theory is just the System rewarding us for being good Mana siphons. The more Mana we use—say, in a fight—the more experience we get. The more likely we’ll use Mana—and survive to do it—the more experience we get, which gets us Levels to use it more. Of course, it also encourages us to not fight stupidly hard monsters and die or pick on creatures we can beat by flicking our fingers,” I say. “This theory relies on the System wanting us to use Mana, but…”

“You like it,” Mikito states. “But why sit back?”

“Sam and Lana need more levels—so whether it’s more stress or more Mana use, me helping doesn’t add to their experience. I’ve also got Ali tracking my experience gains recently while I don’t fight and just practice my Spells and Skills. I wanted to see which, if any, made sense and how different it was compared to the books I’ve been reading. Did you know that you gain Mana on a regular basis even if you aren’t fighting? Not a lot, but it’s a non-zero amount.”

“No. But why are you doing all this?”

“Well, most of the experiments were run on stable, non-Dungeon planets. I figured if I can get a series of baselines, we could run the numbers backward using some of the formulas presented and debunk them or potentially improve on a few.” When Mikito just continues to give me a blank stare, I add, “If I can do that, I can publish a paper in the System with my findings. I might even make a few Credits.”

Mikito stares at me for a long moment before she turns her mecha away, walking off without a word. I can almost hear the word “Baka,” even if she doesn’t say it. Okay, fine. My hobbies might be a little weird, but I’m trying to find something a little more productive than being a combat junkie.

Chapter 6

Finishing the quest took a few days of hunting, more of the time spent actually locating the damn monsters than fighting. What was that saying? Hours of waiting and a few minutes of heart-pounding terror? Either way, the Clan Head was suitably thankful and approved the quest completion immediately once we got back. He even waived the charges on the butchering, which boosted our Credits a bit.

Since I had no current needs in the Shop, I decided to save my Credits, though Sam took the opportunity to go shopping. He refused to show us what he bought though, muttering about it “not being ready.” The most I could get was that instead of buying completed pieces, he elected to put together his equipment himself.

Other than a few grateful refugees who slowed us down when we left, leaving the alien-owned town was pretty simple. Not surprisingly, there’s a significant drop in the number of people who follow us. Most of those who come have family or friends they desperately need to meet.

The drive down to Kamloops was long and boring. Since most of the settlements near Prince George had been cleared of survivors, we had no reason to stop and instead journeyed south directly. It wasn’t until we hit 100 Mile House that we found signs of any living being, and in this case, it was a small and entirely unfriendly group of humans. Deciding that we’d prefer not to damage our equipment, we left the gun-happy group to their own devices and swung around the survivors to head to Kamloops.

Late spring was in bloom all around us as we drove to the city, flowers waving gently and alternately perfuming and poisoning the air. As we traveled, we noted the shifting zone levels, some dipping as low as the twenties while other times spiking up to the fifties. Forested mountains surrounded us while hungry bears and other hibernating animals prowled the roadways, occasionally attempting a human-sized snack.

The evolution into a Dungeon World had brought some significant changes to our world. The purple-and-pink forested mountain, the field of poisonous flowers, and the dryad that danced through the trees, tempting us, were just the biggest outliers. Pine and oak now combined with silverkennel and unnzwek trees while squirrels battled imps for nuts and survival.

Sadly, outside of those lone survivors at 100 Mile House, we found no others. Of course, considering it was technically only a few hours’ drive between 100 Mile House and Kamloops, it could be that they’d made their way in. It was something I think we all preferred to believe.

Hopefully, that’s what happened and not something more sinister. Unfortunately, sinister might just be the case, especially with the group sitting on what looks like a tank at the Thompson River crossing, waiting for us.

“Good day,” I greet the group as we roll in slowly.

“Who are you?” one of the group calls. He’s got four arms, two on either side, and an orange, ruddy face, his body covered in a silver bodysuit-armor combo.

“Adventurers from the north,” I call back, smiling widely. I could say visitors or travelers, but Adventurers has a nice ring to it and carries specific connotations in this new world.

“Registered?” Four Arms says.

Crap. Bluff called.

“No,” I call back, smiling widely. “No guild.”

“No problem, we’re always looking for Adventurers,” Four Arms says and waves us forward. “We’ll just need to escort you in. Also, you know about our entrance fee?”

“No. What is it?”

“Just five thousand Credits per person.”

I cough, staring at the man. Five thousand Credits is insane! “That is insane, right?”

“Yup. That’s called a shakedown, boy-o.”

“John?” Lana asks, glancing dismissively at the group.

Ever since Ali upgraded the last time, he’s been able to share the Status information with the party, allowing Lana and group to see their info if he wants to. It still takes a bit of an effort, so he only does that when he expects a fight, like now.

“Chill. We’re here to play nice,” I mutter softly.

That gets a snort from Ingrid.

“It’s okay if you don’t have it. We’ve got some very reasonable loan agreements,” Four Arms continues, smiling widely. “Why don’t we escort you in?”

“Sure,” I agree immediately.

These guys all have Levels in the thirties and forties at the Basic Level, which makes them not much more difficult than the monsters we killed. Admittedly, they’re augmented by technology, but I still can’t see them being a major problem.

Dropping my voice, I ask the group, “How come they’re so confident? We out-Level them by a lot.”

“That’d be me,” Ingrid says, her voice cackling over the radio. “Upgraded one of my Skills and I can now push false information out instead of just hiding it. Since we’re grouped, I dropped all our levels by a bit. Well, everyone but yours, John.”

I grunt, nodding. Fair enough. My System level looks weird anyway at 37. Since there’s no Basic Class attached to it and my Class is rare enough that most wouldn’t know of it—at least not out here at a glance—I basically read as significantly weaker than I am.

The group surrounds us the moment we cross the bridge, “escorting” us to town with the tank at the back of the procession. On our left, the Thompson River feeds into Kamloops Lake, running alongside us all the way in. Abandoned resorts, warehouses, and residences dot the land we drive by. As we pass the golf course, I tilt my head to the side, staring toward where the glowing dot of an established dungeon flashes on my map. The group around us says nothing, so I follow suit, tagging and sending the information to the party. Something to look into when we have time.

On the drive in, I cudgel my brain for information on the town. I’ve driven by a few times, mostly on the way to a provincial park for weekend hiking. Kamloops was mostly a mining and forestry town, from what I recall, with a decent trade in tourists during the summer. There was a major rail line and an airport, with the 5, 97, and the Trans-Canada highways all connecting in it. Oh, and it had a university too.

As we finally approach the city after swinging away from the lake for a bit, I recall a few other facts. Most importantly, Kamloops is a split city—nearly two-thirds of the city lies across the river in the northwest, connected by a bridge. The northeast, which is also split by the meeting of another river, doesn’t really have much. The city center itself is on this side though, which makes me wonder if they consolidated at all.

You have entered a Safe Zone (The Town of Kamloops)

Mana flows in this area have been forcefully stabilized. No monster spawning will occur within boundaries.

This Safe Zone includes:

- Town of Kamloops City Center
- The Shop
- 11 Farming Centers
- More…

Finally, we’re officially in the town boundaries. A quick review of the map information shows that the “town” is actually only everything on this side, the other portion of the town abandoned. It makes sense to do this; after all, it makes hitting the land requirements to create a town easier.

“Looks like they paid to specify the town boundaries,” Ali sends to me, staring at the information. His fingers waggle and he stares at more information before grunting. “That’s why. These guys do have the money. They’re part of the Thirteen Moon Sect. Cartel? Gang? You get my meaning, right, boy-o?”

“You’re saying that the owners of Kamloops—the Thirteen Moon Sect—are rich and ruthless?” I reply to Ali out loud, letting the party into our conversation over the radios.

“Got it in one. Nasty little group, known more for their criminal activities than their governance—but they are a government. Damn it…” Ali falls silent. Since he doesn’t have a radio, he can only talk to me or out loud.

I understand his annoyance. Now that they know we don’t have a Guild backing us, we’re in an exposed position. Guilds in the Galactic Council are the equivalent of companies in our old world, if you’d accept the use of a loose metaphor. Big enough Guilds are like multinational corporations, often powerful enough to bully smaller countries or groups. In this case, the Sect is probably the equivalent of a small country. Due to a law passed a few thousand years ago, Guilds aren’t allowed to own towns and villages, a necessary step to ensure they don’t get too powerful.

“Boss, Henri’s got a bad, bad feeling about this place,” Sam’s voice cackles over the radio.

It takes me only a moment to recall who Henri is—Henrietta Poskart, a Seer with Class Skills that dealt with “seeing” things, whether in the present or future.

“No shit,” Lana says. “On the left, one hundred twenty meters.”

I glance over and spot the group of humans walking along the road, carrying the carcass of a furred and barbed creature on their shoulders. They are dirty, disheveled, and malnourished—which is saying something in a world with a Clean spell and Mana nourishment. Behind them, a Dwarf walks with a whip, cracking it across a back when he thinks they’re slowing down. Over the radio, I hear the hiss of exhaled breath.

“Serfs.”

“Serfs,” I say, repeating Ali as he provides further information. “They’ve been bought by the Dwarf under an indentured contract for two hundred years.”

“Two hundred years!” Lana splutters.

“Don’t forget, gene therapy and the System have increased our lifespan a lot,” Ingrid says. “How long, we’re still not certain, but a few hundred sounds just about right.”

“Sounds like slavery to me,” Sam says angrily.

“Ali says to keep calm. We can’t afford to take them on. They might be smaller as a group than the Duchess, but they’re still a government. They’re spread out across multiple worlds,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice calm and soothing. I stare at the map, quickly resorting the data as I look for information about the Sect in the city.

One mid-Level Advanced Class and three others in the low teens Advanced Classes make up the major punching power of the Sect in the city. Two of the low-Level Advanced Classes are near the mid-Level. The third is at what I’m assuming is the butchering yard or mess hall, from the way the dots congregate and move around in that area. After that, we have another dozen in the Level 30s and a few in the 40s of the Basic Class with nearly a score in the 20s. Quite a few, though at a glance, only two-thirds of them are combat Classers.

It takes me a moment to figure out why. Most of the humans have Levels in the twenties and thirties, and the vast majority aren’t combat Classes. The highest non-party human is a Level 37 Marksman, from what I can see, though there might be a few more out of the city right now. With that kind of Level disparity, they’d only need the top group to keep everyone else in check. In the end, the numbers present in Kamloops don’t matter. It’s their overall strength that is a concern.

“We just going to sit here and let them do this?” Sam growls as we drive through the deserted streets. Whatever you have to say about them, the Sect has done well at clearing the streets of broken down automobiles and other refuse of pre-System technology.

“What do you want us to do? Kill them all? Then what? We might be able to leave and escape their revenge, but what about everyone else?” Ingrid says bitingly. “Ali’s right. Stay out of it. Anything we do is going to make it worse.”

“This doesn’t sit right with me,” Sam says.

“Nor for us. But we’ll hold back for now,” Lana says softly, something unreadable in her voice.

“Will you look at that, you humans can learn,” Ali says wryly. Still, I hear the tinge of bitterness in his voice. After all, Ali’s presence as my Companion is due to a similar contract, as I understand it. He won’t explain it in detail though, even when I’ve pushed him.

“Button up, people, we’re here,” I say as we finally come to a stop.

Unlike Roxley’s ostentatious silver skyscraper, Kamloops’s city center building is a grey, cinder block government building situated near the center of the new Town. Ugly and boring, without a trace of soul.

***

Mikito and I stride through the corridors to meet the titular owner of the city—or is it administrator?—escorted by a trio of guards including Four Arms. The rest of the party is outside, keeping watch over the vehicles and the survivors, the pets spread out around the group and chewing on a snack. The crunch and crack of thigh-sized bones ripple through the coms, a not-so-subtle warning about what the pets could do if released.

Seated behind an oak desk, a slim, nearly cadaverous humanoid-avian creature bobs its head as we enter. No lips, just a beak that chirps loudly, translated a second later through speakers set across its throat. Behind him are his bodyguards, the pair of low-Level Advanced Classes, their arms crossed as they glower at me. One’s a black-skinned orc, a Hakarta derivative of some form. The other looks similar to Four Arms behind us, except he’s bigger and sports six arms.

“Greetings, Adventurers. I understand you are lacking in funds for the entry fee?” the avian says when my gaze finally comes back to rest on him.

“It’s a little steep,” I say, coming to a rest position in front of the avian. I’d sit, but there’s no chair on this side of the desk. I take a moment and scan his status bar.

Bimmox (Level 36 Sect Sub-Chief)

HP: 1080/1080

MP: 2430/2430

Conditions: None

“That’s not a combat class, is it?” I send to Ali and get a confirmation immediately.

Advanced Class, but non-combat. On the other hand, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his own tricks up his sleeve. After all, there’s no reason why he couldn’t have bought combat Class Skills in the Shop. In fact, I’d almost guarantee he has. It does mean, however, that there are only two specialized combat Classers in town and both are right across from us.

“Surely a group as well-equipped as you can afford it,” Bimmox screeches before the robotic voice translates a moment later.

“Not for all our people,” I say, curious to see where he’s going with this.

“Ah, those are not chattel for sale?” Bimmox says.

“And if they were?”

“We could negotiate. Though their Classes are common and their Levels low. We could not offer more than a few thousand Credits per person. The cost of upgrading them to a useful Level, well, you understand,” Bimmox says.

“I see.” I exhale, staring at the monster. I push down the flash of revulsion, forcing peace and tranquility into my mind by sheer willpower. “We won’t be selling them. We’ll just keep moving on.”

“Well, there’s a problem with that, you see. You’ve already entered my Town and have yet to pay us,” Bimmox says.

Behind me, I sense the trio of guards spreading out.

“John, we’ve got more people surrounding the vehicles,” Lana’s voice comes over the radio.

I mentally adjust the radio settings, letting them hear my side of the conversation as well as Bimmox’s. “Well, Bimmox, what exactly are you saying?”

“That we will get our entry fee, one way or the other,” Bimmox says.

“We’ve got thirteen survivors and my group, so that’s ninety thousand Credits in total? How do we do this?” I say, my voice calm. I hear a slight gasp over the radio, too soft for me to make out who it is. I understand though—it’s a hell of a lot of Credits.

“Ssss…” Bimmox hisses and stares at me. “Unfortunate, but each entrant must pay for their own entry fee. Unless they are Serfs of another.”

“I see,” I continue to say calmly. “And if they were?”

“I’d ask to see the contracts of course. Though I should add that falsifying such documentation is a crime.” Bimmox blinks, eyelids closing from the front to back in a thoroughly alien manner.

“I think if I brought out such documentation, I’d find that there’s another law I’d have to deal with, no?”

“What can I say? Laws are laws,” Bimmox hisses after that, its body moving forward and backward. After a moment, I realize it’s the monster’s equivalent of laughter.

“Perhaps you can send these laws to me. My Companion can check them over to ensure we comply with them all.”

“Ah… that is impossible. Only the Administrators may see such information,” Bimmox says again, rocking back and forth.

“Sounds like he’s taking you for a ride,” Lana says over the comms. “We can pay it on our side, but the survivors…”

“Why don’t we cut the bullshit?” I say to Bimmox, my smile widening, the walls of peace and calm that surround my mind cracking. “Give me your bottom line.”

“Bottom line?” Bimmox looks puzzled for a second before clarity returns. “Ah, a colloquialism. We just want everyone to comply with the laws. If the individuals behind you are unable to do so, we can offer a loan of the five thousand Credits with appropriate interest rates.”

“I’m assuming we won’t be allowed to leave once we take the loan,” I say and get a nod from Bimmox. “You’re not giving us a lot of choice here.”

“The law is the law,” Bimmox replies.

“Don’t do this.”

“Are you threatening us? Just because your party managed to clear a few dungeons and receive some Credits to purchase equipment means little. You’re still weak,” Four Arms says behind me.

I turn my head slightly and glance at Mikito, who has her helmet down. The black-and-silver reflection from her helmet’s visor stares back at me impassively, offering nothing.

“Well, human, are you paying the fee?” Bimmox says, continuing to rock back and forth, obviously amused and reveling in his power.

I grin at him, my eyes going cold as the anger I’ve been pushing aside rushes in. I tried. I really did.

“Oh hell, here we go again,” Ali says.

***

The fireball ripples around their shield, spiking the temperature by hundreds of degrees in seconds. I see the shield flickering even as the aliens behind me shout in anger. Mikito shifts, her naginata spinning and lashing out at those behind us even as her ghost armor flickers into existence, taking a portion of the blast damage. My own exposed skin dries out, scorching and cracking, my body cooking.

Bimmox hisses and cackles, his translator not translating whatever he said. Probably good tactics since its likely orders. Long, clawed fingers dance across empty air, sending out an alert. His bodyguards have a gun and a crossbow leveled at me but do not shoot, waiting for the shield to fall. I’ve already shouted my warning to the rest of the party, trusting that the group can handle themselves. Sabre’s on automated defense mode, transformed and attacking, while Sam’s taken control of Mikito’s PAV.

My sword and the conjoined blades stab into the shield, punching a hole with ease, but the shield refuses to fall. I channel a Blade Strike, twisting with my hips to cut downward even as the attack feeds directly into the shield. The shield flickers as my Mana drops with the Skill, finally freeing my blades. Another twist and Cleave, the blades shattering the shield when they finally connect. A red dot behind me disappears as Mikito continues taking on all three Basic combat Classers at the same time.

The moment the shield falls, Bimmox hits me with a spell, the red beam throwing me through the door and down the corridor. Pain, as it cuts into my torso, halves my health in seconds. The bodyguards open fire, both of their shots missing my fast retreating body. The crossbow bolt tears into the side of one their friends who accidentally sidestepped into its path.

“Is that all?” Bimmox screeches, the automated translation carrying some of the mocking tone in his voice. “You people are too—”

“Weak?” I ask, standing.

I toss up a Soul Shield and Greater Regeneration, stalking forward. The bodyguards have already shifted to target Mikito, Six Arms dropping his crossbow to wade in with short swords while the other waits for an opening. Realizing I’m still up and moving, the other bodyguard swings his weapon to target me.

“How? You should be dead!” Bimmox says.

“We cheat,” I reply.

Bimmox jabs his hand forward again, the spell blasting. I twist out of the way but he’s already shifting the beam to track me, falling for my feint. The Shield flares as the bodyguard’s and Bimmox’s attack caresses its edges.

I Blink Step behind Bimmox, twisting at the hips and knees to let me build up momentum for the cut that enters his waist. He might have a few powerful spells and a decent amount of hit points, but my sword is boosted with Mana Imbue and Cleave as I attack. The first blade cuts into his waist and exits just above the middle of his chest, tearing flesh and cracking ribs. Then the follow-up blades land.

Bimmox screams, his body butchered as his reflexive dodge puts new parts of his body into line with the floating blades that follow my attack. Fingers twist and jerk, clawed tips flashing outward to catch his balance, then Bimmox disappears, leaving my follow-up stab to strike air. His bodyguard elbows me in the face, throwing me backward before bringing his rifle to bear, triggering a series of shots I deal with by cutting his rifle apart.

“Ali!” I shout, knowing we can’t let Bimmox heal. That attack of his would have killed most of my friends.

“I’m on it!” Ali spins in a circle, searching.

The remains of his rifle discarded, the bodyguard charges me with a pair of punch knives in his hands. We clash, spinning and cutting, blood flying and my shield failing. A lunge cuts across my face, tearing my cheek open even as I impale the Hakarta. I leave the sword inside him while calling another to hand and finish lopping off his arm, leaving me staggering back as the bodyguard kicks me away. Mikito appears behind him. Her naginata tears through the air and he drops, neck separated by a surgical cut. As suddenly as that, the fight in the office is over.

“Lana,” I order Mikito, and she dashes out, her Hasted body blurring.

“Behind you. He’s in the city core room,” Ali instructs me.

I spin around, staring at the wall behind me, then cut into it. I trigger Cleave again and again, ignoring the Mana cost as I race to get in as fast as possible. If Kamloops is anything like Whitehorse, the city has some automated defenses that are controlled from the city core. I need to turn them off. In the background, I hear shouts and gasped words as my friends fight outside.

A fist-sized hole finally appears and I look inside, triggering Blink Step the moment I can see within the simple cream-colored room. The Skill carries me within and above the waiting Bimmox, my sword swinging as I release a Blade Strike. The attack catches Bimmox across his shoulders, ripping loose his already injured shoulder and bathing the room in too-bright red blood. The avian falls, gasping in pain as its lungs no longer work. Even the regeneration potion it’s drunk is unable to keep up with the damage I lay on it as I land, stabbing again and again into the body.

With the alien dead, I grasp the floating city core, the diamond-shaped core fitting easily into my hand. Nothing happens at first, the core taking a moment to check its requirements before it flashes a notification.

Would you like to take control of the Town of Kamloops?

(Y/N)

“Yes,” I snap, mentally willing acknowledgement.

I snarl as the damn core makes me wait again, a small counter appearing in the corner of my eye. Two minutes. I have to sit and wait for two minutes while the damn System lets everyone who is anyone know that I’m trying to take the city.

Congratulations! You are now the owner of the Town of Kamloops

Current Population: 8,785

City Treasury: 11.7 Million Credits

City Mana: 2,309 Mana Points

Taxes: 20% Sales Tax on Shop

Facilities: Shop, City Center, Educational Institution (1), Retail Outlets (15), Butchering Yard (1), Farms (7)

Defenses: Tier IV Defense Shield, Automated Tier IV Defense Turrets (17), 6 Automated Internal Sentries

First Settlement Acquired!

Bonus +10,000 Experience

A moment and the six changed to five automated sentries. It only takes me a moment to realize why. I snarl, raising my hand as I desperately try to figure out how to turn them off.

“Defense targets change. Target all individuals marked as Thirteen Moons,” Ali chants as he floats up to me, fingers waggling in mid-air, then he shoots me a bemused look. “What are you waiting for, boy-o? I got this. Go help the ladies.”

I pause, conflicted. If someone gets in here…

“Go,” Ali snaps.

I nod, trusting the little olive-skinned Spirit, and run out. Even as I run, I see the dots in my minimap flickering as friends, foes, and neutrals die. Time to finish this.

Chapter 7

The rest of the fight was simple enough. The other Advanced Class Sect member disappeared, never engaging us. The other combat Classers never got their balance long enough to attack us as a group, which meant that my team tore through them without stop. It didn’t help them that Ingrid kept assassinating anyone who showed any real leadership qualities. Afterward, it was just a matter of calming the population down. Thankfully, I could leave that to Lana as I walked back into the City Center.

“Hey, the Serfs are going to be fine, right? No death spells or soul chains or anything that will kill them when the Sect is kicked out? Or if it’s commanded?” I ask Ali as I walk in, the thought striking me only now. A cold sweat breaks out on my skin as I wonder if I’ve just condemned a bunch of people to death.

“Not that I can see. It’s possible but rare and expensive. And not effective in the long-term. Kind of like the sterility shots,” Ali says.

I blink as the System quest updates when Ali mentions that. Well, learning that the System wants us alive, or at least not dead immediately, is interesting but not important at this second.

“How deep in the hole are we?” I say to the Spirit, dismissing the System notification.

“Yes, how badly did we step in it?” Ingrid’s voice floats from the corner where shadows gather. Her Skill drops and reveals the young First Nation woman leaning against the wall. She’s attempting to look blasé, but I know her well enough to read the tension.

“Ingrid.” I nod to her and watch the Assassin pull out a nail file to clean her nails of the accumulated blood. For a moment, I wonder why she doesn’t use a Clean spell, but she’s probably doing it on purpose.

“Depends. The Sect isn’t going to take this lying down, and the fact that you missed a few means they’ll probably know sooner rather than later. On the other hand, they don’t have a portal or a communication array set up, so they’re probably not meant to report in that often. My guess is courier check-ins and arranged meetings via the Shop,” Ali says.

I nod, knowing that some Shops even set up specific inter-dimensional meeting rooms to facilitate such transactions. Guilds, for example, all run their own Shop.

“If the survivors really have left, we’ve probably got a few hours before the Earthbound Sect learns of your attack. For the main Sect? Figure a few weeks to a month at most before they know something went wrong,” Ali says.

“And then…?” I extract a piece of chocolate while I wait for the other shoe to drop.

“Then they’ll likely try to take it back. They’re not the talking type, so they’ll come for you. Probably start local first. Kelowna probably, because it’s closer, unless they feel they need more heavy hitters,” Ali says. “If that fails, they’ll pull from Vancouver and Seattle, where they’ve got their real big boys. If all that fails, I wouldn’t be surprised if they pulled from their Galactic forces.”

“Master Classes?” I say, rubbing my chin. I got my ass kicked the last time I fought a high-level Advanced Combat class. I can’t even imagine what a Master Class is like.

“Unlikely,” Ali says. “It’s a steep pyramid and the Sect isn’t exactly, well, that tight knit. It’s not like the Duchess, who can just order her people around. Most of them are relatively independent. Master Classes are a power onto themselves. They’ll likely send some mid-to-Advanced tier Combat classes to deal with you. It’s easier to dig up a few of those than a single Master. I’d be surprised if they even sent a single Master Class to Earth.”

I nod slowly, understanding Ali’s point. My Advanced Class is already over-powered compared to a Basic Class, so a Master Class would be an entirely different existence. While Earth has a few Master Class-worthy locations—a certain dragon comes to mind—I’ve yet to come across many locations that would be worthwhile for them to visit. As I understand it, it’ll take a while for the ambient Mana pools to deepen sufficiently. The fact that my experience gain has slowed down also drives home how hard it is to advance after a certain point. And I’ve got the advantage that I didn’t have to go through all the Basic Class levels.

“Great. Just a couple of Advanced Classes.” Ingrid snorts, shaking her head.

I glance at her, still seeing the bunch of question marks hanging over her head on her Status bar, before smiling slightly. I understand her point though. Mikito is only in the beginning stages of the Advanced Classes, and the rest of the team hasn’t even reached that point yet. If we were to tangle with a bunch of mid-tier Advanced Classes right now, we’d be in real trouble. We only stood a chance today because everyone around here is so low-Leveled that the Sect didn’t bother to send high-Level enforcers.

“Repercussions for the population?” I say, glancing outward. If we leave now, we could probably run. I don’t like it, but if leaving means the people here aren’t killed…

“Varies. Those who fought on your side or helped out? Probably some torture, extended services,” Ali says. “The rest will likely be left alone. Higher overall taxes, maybe some beatings and more pressure applied to drive the point home.”

“Not horrible,” I say, grimacing. “You said they’ve got Kelowna and Vancouver though?”

“Pretty much all of BC. However, they’re focusing their attention on Seattle right now. From the information I’ve garnered, it’s been more troublesome than they expected.”

“Interesting,” I say.

We could go, take everyone up to Prince George, but I’m not entirely sure bringing a ton of people, especially some indentured individuals, would work out as well as we’d like. If the city didn’t take them in, we’d have to drag them over to Edmonton. Hell, I don’t think we have a way to transport this many even if we want to.

“We planning on leaving?” Ingrid says, looking at me.

“No. Maybe. I’m exploring options,” I say, grimacing.

“We’re not leaving,” Ingrid says, her tone flat. “We started this, we’re finishing it. We can’t just go.”

“But…” I want to point out the amount of time we’d waste. How big an opponent we’re facing. And I shut up, because I realize it doesn’t matter. Not to Ingrid. Or me. She’s right. We started this. “Fine. Get the girls to clean up and start looking for help. We’re likely going to have a bunch of visitors in the next few days and we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“Of course,” Ingrid says, bowing slightly then fading from view.

“You know, you just called Sam a girl,” Ali teases me. When I just stare at the Spirit, he drops the act and gets serious. “What do you want me to do?”

“They lost because they underestimated us and let us in past their defenses. We can’t let them do that to us. Let’s see what we can do about upgrading the city’s defenses,” I say. With bad guys on the way, defense is the number one priority.

A moment later, Ali pulls information from the city core, sending it directly to me to review.

Tier IV Defense Shield

HP: 15000/15000

HP Regeneration Rate: 250/minute

Automated Tier IV Defense Turrets (17)

Base Damage: 75

Charges: 20/20

4 Automated Internal Sentries (2 damaged)

Core: Tier II Numax Mana Engine

Battery Duration: 6 Hours Standby, 30 Minutes Active

Weapons: Musashi Grisin Mark III Beam Rifle

Interesting. One thing I’ve learned is that while beam rifles are ubiquitous, they’re also generally considered the lowest form of weaponry. Not because they can’t do much damage, but because the amount of damage they can do is limited to their initial construction. Mass manufactured weaponry can do damage, but it isn’t as effective as something individually crafted by a support Class. In contrast, projectile weaponry generally varies in damage, especially if you’re willing and able to pay for the hand-crafted—and Skill-generated—ammunition.

With a flick of my hand, I call up the map of Kamloops again and pull the map out a bit. The town is settled at a crossing of two rivers. The Thompson River runs west to east and is joined by the North Thompson River, dividing the city into three parts. The northwest section is the most expansive and holds a large number of residential houses, the MacArthur Island Park, and the Kamloops Airport. Northeast, there’s little development, mostly industrial and farming locations. Lastly, south of the Thompson River is downtown Kamloops, which the adjusted town boundaries contained.

Another thought and the map flickers, showing the extent of the shield. It covers the entirety of the adjusted town boundaries and reaches almost to the edge of the highway that runs south of the city proper. The seventeen defense turrets are spread equally around the perimeter of the shield wall. The automated sentries are located in the town center. From the looks of it, we managed to damage two of the six sentries from the earlier fight. Oops.

“Hey, why are the turrets on buildings?” I ask Ali.

“Makes it easier to create the safe zone. Building a turret on an existing building adds it to the System, adjusting the Mana flows and property requirements. Also, where else would they put them? In the middle of the road?” Ali says.

I ignore the challenge, looking instead at the defenses. Assuming they intend to send help from either Vancouver or Kelowna, the chances are they’ll be hitting us from the east or west via Highway 1. Of course, once the No. 1 approaches the city from the west, it splits up into smaller feeder roads into the city, which means where they’d actually make an entrance is more difficult to tell. At least in the east, there are fewer feeder roads. On top of all that, they could just ignore the roads entirely, entering the city by walking through buildings or the fields that surround the city.

“How are we going to do this?” I mutter to myself, staring at the information.

The shield limits attackers from just strolling in, but since it’s a single shield, attackers could split and attack across multiple areas, weakening the shield overall before breaching it. Do it well enough and we’d have to split our troops to deal with each attack. If they were smart, they could trick us in splitting our forces and then make an end run to the city center.

“Are we able to split the shield?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Ali says, looking at me.

“Maybe have the shield powered in different sections? So that if one side fails, the other still stays up?”

“Sure. A few ways of doing that. We can buy multiple shields and set them to generate side-by-side. There are also fragmented shields which basically do the same thing. A lot spaceships use those.”

“Show me.”

Tier II Defense Shield

HP: 15,000

HP Regeneration Rate: 250/minute

Cost: 10.3 Million Credits

Tier III Multi-segment Defense Shield

HP: 10,000 per segment

HP Regeneration Rate: 200/minute

Cost: 25 Million Base Cost + 10 Million per segment

“Expensive,” I exclaim.

“True. But if you’re looking at creating multiple segments, it’s a better option in the long-term,” Ali says.

“Are the shields upgradeable?”

“Yes.”

“Good to know.” Not that we can afford it, but the concern of having our forces split continues to bother me. “Sensors?”

“They’ve got the most basic system,” Ali replies. “No upgrades at all to it. Figure they’ve been relying on their people.”

“Make sense. We don’t have that.”

A thought or two later and new information appears, showing the wide variety of options available for sensor upgrades. I tell the System to hide everything that the town can’t afford. I’m still given too many options, so I hide everything that costs more than ten percent of our current treasury. Even then, there are over a hundred options.

“Arse. Ali…”

“I got you,” Ali says, smirking at my attempts to navigate the town’s Shop options by myself. He waves and the list expands, repopulating everything. Next, the information shrinks again suddenly as he inputs new parameters, the total number shrinking to about fifteen options. He hums, the windows flickering between each quickly.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Sorting. I filtered by companies by Galactic Reputation points first and then by reviews from trusted sources. Got rid of your percent cost too because you won’t find anything worthwhile. Right now, I’m looking for the knock-offs,” Ali says.

“Trying to get rid of them?”

“Goblin’s arse, no! I’m keeping them. No such thing as your patent laws in the System, so companies copy each other’s designs all the time.”

“Then why would anyone make anything new?” I say with a frown. Doesn’t seem to make much sense.

“A few reasons. For Engineers and other craftsmen, you can’t advance and gain as much experience if you stick to copying. Then of course you’ve got the innovators, the ones who just have to make their own thing. Also, most companies are smart enough to ensure that their schematics require a high-Level individual to make the final product or a portion of it, which limits their competition,” Ali explains, the windows finally stopping their flickering. “So what are you looking for?”

“Data about our attackers—visual, audio, and minimap. Preferably far enough out that we can spot them before they arrive, but I’ll settle for stopping hidden attackers,” I say.

“All right then, boy-o. How about these three?” Ali says.

Tier IV Musami Sensor Array

The Musami Sensor Array is the venerable workhorse of the sensor world. Providing an all-round suite of sensors, the Mumsami sensor array will provide real-time data for towns the Galaxy over.

Range: 10km

Sensitivity Rating: 6

Cost: 7.1 Million Credits

Tier III Kangana Nanite Net

Developed from a nanite factory, the nanite net spreads across its designated scanning area, providing real-time, high-accuracy data on all personnel. Additional add-ons available.

Range: 5km

Sensitivity Rating: 8

Cost: 10.1 Million Credits

Tier IV Sahwano Bionetwork Sensor Grid

A bionetwork sensor grid relies on ambient Mana to power its functioning. While less sensitive than other options, the bionetwork grid is more circumspect and has a lower upkeep cost.

Range: Varies. Initially 3km, with growth up to 40km

Sensitivity Rating: 4

Cost: 3 Million Credits

I frown, staring at the information.

I don’t have to wait long before Ali explains. “The first one is your bog-standard tech option. The second is an upgrade of the sensor suite—more expensive obviously and higher Mana cost for set up, but much more likely to punch through Class Skills and other tech-related stealth options. You also have the option of adding additional fun programming to the nanites, including attack options. Lastly, the bionetwork starts close to the city but will grow out the farthest. It’ll take time, but because it uses ambient Mana sources and has a natural camouflage ability, it’s actually much harder for attackers to know they’ve been spotted.”

“Interesting,” I say, staring at the windows once again.

I have to admit, the low cost of the last option is extremely enticing. I run through in my head what I need for the upcoming fight. A way to mark the Sect’s approach, preferably good enough to pick out potential feints or distractions. Then a defense or two to stop them from breaking in immediately, which is why splitting the shield helps. It’d be nice to get a secondary shield layered directly behind the first, but that’s just as expensive as splitting the shield. On top of that, we actually have to deal with the attackers. Which means we’ll want additional firepower if possible. Unfortunately, we just don’t have enough funds in the town, and considering all these upgrades are in the millions of Credits, I can’t even reach into my own pocket to help.

“Any way to know what they’d send at us? Immediately and in the future?” I ask.

“Even the System can’t tell the future,” Ali says with a snort. “However, we could pull information on the people the Sect have on Earth and do some guessing.”

“How expensive would it be?”

“Expensive,” Ali states with a flat tone that says it all.

Buying information from the System is never cheap. Purchasing information that we have no good way of getting always makes it more expensive, and if the Sect is trying to hide that information, it’d be even higher.

“All right, let’s get the bionetwork sensor grid up first. That’ll give us at least some information,” I say, making some quick decisions. Even if it is purchased from the Shop, it’ll still take a few hours for the entire sensor grid to spread. Figure it’ll take the survivors five to six hours to get to Kelowna, another five to six back, and a few hours of talking, and we’ll likely see some company by tomorrow.

“Done.”

I watch Ali drop the sensor grid over the city, the map shifting and the town’s Credit amount dropping. I bite my lips, thinking of what next to do. What was it again? Know yourself, know your enemy, know the terrain? I’ve got Lana and the team figuring out our resources. The enemy we don’t have time to really dig into—not without costing us too much. That leaves the last…

The Sect knows the terrain probably better than we do. If you don’t like the rules, change them. If playing tower defense games ever taught me anything, it’s that defenses need depth. Of course, it’s not a game and towers built out here are likely to get destroyed, but the idea holds merit. So, disposable and wide-ranging.

“Mines,” I say, waving my hands at the map. A few quick adjustments and I’ve marked out the boundaries, blocking off the area just outside the shield.

Once the area is highlighted, Ali pulls up the cost.

High Explosive Mine Field

A standard, high-explosive mine field that mixes anti-personnel and anti-vehicular mines.

Damage: 100 per mine

Cost (for marked area): 2.5 Million (Tier V) / 4.5 Million (Tier IV)

Tier IV Chaos Mine Field

For the customer who likes a surprise, this mine field consists of a series of buried chaos mines which released stored chaos energy. Effects, as always, vary. Chaos Inc. takes no responsibility for the use of this product.

Damage: Varies

Cost (for marked area): 12 Million

Lumen Standard Enchanted Mine Field

A standard enchanted mine field consists of a mixture of basic elemental and basic technological mines, offering a wide mixture of potential attacks to deal with a wide variety of resistances. Our most popular product by far.

Damage: Varies per mine

Cost (for marked area): 5.5 Million (Tier V) / 8.5 Million (Tier IV)

“Expensive.” I grunt, rubbing my temples.

Still, I like the idea of buying something properly the first time, especially when it comes to things that go boom. While this doesn’t give us the ability to directly engage the Sect members as they arrive, not only will we know where they’re coming from, we can dictate where we’ll fight them by limiting their options. Or if they choose to just go through the fields, the condition they’ll be in.

With that thought, I confirm the purchase of the Tier IV standard enchanted mine field, though I make a note to look into adding the Chaos field at a later time. I’ll admit, I’ve always found them quite fun.

“You just going to add a mine field and not tell anyone about it?” Ali says after I’ve made my purchase and the System starts teleporting in the mines.

“Shit…” I blink, waving. I exhale in relief when I realize that no one, luckily, is actually in the creation zone at this moment.

With a thought, I purchase a simple six-foot-high stone wall around the mine field on both sides. My fingers twitch for a second as I consider adding a series of big signs then decide against it. If you’re going to hop a six-foot-high wall, you kind of deserve what you get.

“Ladies, Sam, I just created a mine field outside the city and put a wall around it. Let people know, will you?”

“A minefield?” Lana says, her voice rising at the end. Silence comes down the line, along with some very measured breathing, before she speaks, her voice carefully controlled. “Fine. We’ll let people know. Let us know if you add anything else.”

“Thanks,” I say, relaxing a little.

Ali’s fingers are moving and, a moment later, a new notification window appears in front of my eyes, a small map attached to it.

City Wide Announcement

A new defensive measure has been added to the Town of Kamloops. There is now a mine field outside of town. To enter and exit the town, please use only designated entrance corridors.

“If you want, I can send that out too to everyone,” Ali says. “As the owner, you’ve got the ability to do so. There’re a few other things that you benefit from, including the ability to access and purchase System-generated Shop items without being at the City Core.”

“Huh. Like Roxley’s tax announcements?” I say, recalling the few times Roxley used that ability. “Do it.”

“Done,” Ali says. “So considering you just blew the entire town budget in oh, about an hour, can we get to the fun stuff?”

“Fun stuff?” I frown at Ali, and the little Spirit rolls his eyes.

“Yes. The loot!” Ali says and waves, dumping out the corpses of the Sect members we killed.

I blink, slowly recalling that I do get to loot their bodies. Somehow, it seemed so secondary to everything else. Still, the Spirit has a point and this could easily fall under commandment number two—Know Thy Enemy. And well, loot.

“Well, come on then,” I mutter and walk over to the first body, which in this case is Bimmox.

Unfortunately, unlike System-generated loot, looting bodies is a more grisly task, requiring me to strip the body. Unfortunately, everything that was in Bimmox’s System storage is lost, which means all that’s left is what’s here physically. Well, that and a portion of its Credits.

Omnitron V Portable Shielding Unit

The Ominitron Portable Shielding Unit is rated for zones 10-20s. This high-level utility shielding unit is an omni-directional shielding unit and suitable for non-Combatants.

HP: 250

Regeneration Rate: 50 per hour

Mana Battery: 100% Charge

Integrity: 87%

“Omni-directional?”

“Marketing speak for you can’t shoot through it,” Ali explains.

“Junk pile it is,” I say, dropping it into my System storage. Frankly, I’m surprised the damn bird had something this cheap and useless on him.

Osmaa Integrated Bio-Armor

Osmaa technologies weaves organic carbon-fiber tubes through their award-winning design, providing a class-breaking level of protection against multiple forms of attack.

Armor Rating: Tier III

Additional Resistances: +20% to Lightning, Thermal, Cold, Dark and Light Spells. +25% Resistance to Mental resistances

Integrity: 07%

“Damn,” I swear, running my finger over the bio-armor. Not much left of it unfortunately, and getting it fixed would cost more than buying one. Pity, but that’s what happens when you cut your opponent into pieces.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing else on Bimmox worth looking at—a wand it pulled out is shattered, never even brought into play. And most of its quick injection potions are broken or used. On the other hand, as I use the System to Loot the avian, I have to smile.

12,385 Credits Gained from Bimmox

I stare at the Credit notification. That’s actually very, very good. Obviously, most of their fortune has been taken by the System, but even the small portion I’ve been “gifted” by the System is more than I’d get for killing an equivalent level monster. If I hadn’t destroyed most of his gear, I might have made off even better. Almost makes the case for killing sentients rather than monsters. Even the XP bump is slightly higher, though just barely.

A small part of me is pointing out that I should feel something a little more than annoyed after killing a group of sentients. But it’s a very small part, and it’s mostly doing so in a dispassionate sort of way. Between the fact that I’m mostly emotionally retarded anyway and I’ve bathed in rivers of blood in the last year, killing, even killing sentient creatures, is just another damn day. In the end, I don’t have the emotional energy or the intellectual desire to care. They started it; I finished it.

“Tell me more about the Sect, will you?” I ask Ali as I pull out the discarded crossbow to inspect it. I’ll have to return it to Mikito since she killed its user, but no reason I can’t take a look.

Rudola Tier III Crossbow

When beam rifles do too little damage and projectile weaponry is too noisy, shop Rudola! The Rudola series of projectile weaponry is guaranteed to provide pointed satisfaction!

Base Damage: 15 + Ammunition Damage

Not my kind of thing.

I move over to the bodyguard’s body, stripping and inspecting each piece of equipment.

Punch Daggers

Created by an unknown artisan, these are personally forged punch daggers.

Base Damage: 75

Durability: 87/107

Special Abilities: +15 Piercing Damage

Nice. I add it to my stockpile of weaponry. Not sure what I’ll do with them since none of my friends use that style of fighting. Might make a good gift, especially since they’re personally forged. Maybe I could get an Enchanter to work on them later…

“The Thirteen Moon Sect isn’t a large organization, as I mentioned. They’re on about sixteen planets, spanning just over four solar systems. Within those, they have about seventy-three cities, towns, and settlements under their control, most grouped at the edges of other domains. They’re in conflict with at least twelve major, six minor, and a bunch of trivial powers, including two large Guilds,” Ali says, his eyes darting from side to side as he reads and summarizes the information he’s pulling from the System. “Current strength is just over ten thousand members with a dozen Master and two Legendary Class members. Officially.”

BioMarine Potion of Haste

All BioMarine potions are guaranteed mixed and produced to Galactic Standards. Don’t buy sewage, buy BioMarine!

Effect: Haste

Level: II

Duration: 5 Minutes

“What do you mean officially?” I say, raising an eyebrow at the piece of gear. Huh. Definitely a keeper.

“I’m pulling those numbers from the Galactic equivalent of their corporate website. So, you know, take everything with a grain of salt,” Ali says. “Probably reduce the number of total members and add to the number of higher Level members. No one wants to let everyone know the whole truth after all.”

Tam’s Boots of Titans

These enchanted boots of titans provide boosts to strength and speed, with additional self-cleaning and stitching enchantments layered. Produced by the Cobbler Tam.

Durability: 76/87

Armor Rating: Tier IV

Special Abilities: +11 Strength, +5 Agility, Self-cleaning

“Fair enough,” I say. Pity the boots are constructed for a creature with webbed feet and are about six sizes too wide across my toes. “Anything else?”

“Not much more. They’re the Galactic equivalent of official thugs—they deal with legal slaves, loan sharking, gambling, drugs, smuggling, and the like,” Ali says. “They take control of settlements next to other, more restrictive groups and set up shop and then rake in the Credits. They’re not well-liked, which is why they’re in so many conflicts.”

“Doesn’t seem like their thing to take over a town in a Dungeon World,” I say, frowning. Stripped of its gear, the body’s last piece of clothing dares me to go ahead.

Tervik Ballistic Underwear

Provides ballistic and minor beam protection. Trust only Tervik for the most important jobs!

Armor rating: Tier III

Durability: 63/63

I twitch my hand, dropping the underwear into my inventory to let Ali sell at our next Shopping trip. I blink, the sharp, angular spiky projection with the bulging purplish egg sacs next to it an education in alien biology that I could have done without. The body disappears into my Altered Space, joining its compatriot. Another note brings a slight smile to my face.

7,389 Credits Gained from Bodyguard No.1

“Edge cases. You guys were—are—slightly ahead of schedule. Killing the Envoy and ending up a Dungeon World put a kibosh on a whole lot of plans. Everyone’s scrambling, and the smaller and more nimble groups are the ones coming in first. The big boys… well, they’ll move in when they’re good and ready. That’s the thing about being the ten-ton juggernaut. When you move, nothing stops you,” Ali says.

“Then why would anyone move in at all?”

“Because it can be cheaper to buy someone out than fight. Then there are alliances and deals that can be made and hell, you might just get lucky and not get targeted,” Ali says and waggles his finger, showing me the next piece of good news.

Level Up!

You have reached Level 38 as an Erethran Honor Guard. Stat Points automatically distributed. You have 6 Free Attributes and 2 Class Skill Points to distribute.

“Okay.” I nod, standing and stretching out of habit. Allocating my attributes can wait. A small organization or not, the Thirteen Moon Sect is still larger than my party and me by orders of magnitude. It’s only because they’re so spread out that we even stand a chance. “Let’s find out how the others are doing.”

“On it, boy-o,” Ali says.

Before we exit the room, Ali spends a few seconds to fix the damaged wall, hiding the center once again. It won’t stop anyone who’s actually serious about getting in, but half the battle with security is making sure you don’t put the fifty-dollar note out for people to take.

Chapter 8

Finding Lana and Sam takes me only a few minutes. Mikito’s at the edges of the town, moving with a group of grey dots that denote neutrals. For now, at least. I’m guessing those are potential helpers, hunters, and others who Mikito’s running through their paces. Levels are easy to tell; combat experience is another thing entirely. Sure, if you’re a fighter Class of some form, most likely your Levels are from combat, but it still doesn’t mean you’re good at it. Ingrid, of course, is nowhere to be found, a ghost in the System as always.

Next to Lana and Sam is another pair: a tall, thin human with a black beard and hooked nose, and a masculine figure with a series of frills across the top of his head and a long hairstyle. I can’t help but think he’s a Klingon, though his entire temperament seems far from the famous TV character. Another case of Mana leakage? Or just a coincidence?

“John,” Sam greets me when I approach and scan the pair.

Torg Lavar (Farmer Level 37)

HP: 470/470

MP: 250/250

Conditions: Serf

Benjamin Asmundur (Architect Level 28)

HP: 210/210

MP: 470/470

Conditions: None

“Torg here is an import by the Sect and the farm overseer,” Lana says, gesturing to the man. He taps the side of his shoulder with two fingers in greeting as Lana speaks. “He’s been in charge of assigning tasks to the Farmers, Herbalists, and Gatherers for the various herbs and other crops they’re developing. Mel, who’s with Mikito right now, and his team kept an eye out for monsters while they worked. Anything gathered was sent off to the Sect for processing though, so we don’t have any high-Level Alchemists or Herbalists in town. The ones we have mostly produced things for internal use.

“Benjamin’s one of the few free humans in the settlement—an Architect. He was telling us how he managed that,” Lana finishes, gesturing to the human.

He smiles at me, eyes twinkling with good humor while he extends his hand. “Call me Ben.” It’s a firm, controlled shake, the kind that doesn’t try to overwhelm you with strength. “I’m an architect. When the System came, I was still at home with my family. I took the Class too, and well, I had—have—the Skill to devote my Mana to ‘purchasing’ a building so I can reconstruct it. I did it for my apartment building and just kind of upgraded it.”

“You can buy buildings outright without the Shop?” I say, my eyes wide. That’s one hell of a gamebreaker in the early part of this year.

“Yes. It requires Mana and I’m still paying off the buildings I bought. Kind of like a loan from the System,” Ben says. “Really messes with my regeneration.”

“You should see it later, John,” Lana says, pointing into the distance with a slight smile. “It’s a damn fortress. It takes up a whole block.”

“Huh.” I rub my nose and kind of wonder why we never had anything like that in Whitehorse. Then again, the non-combatants had a tendency to die fast, so maybe we did and they were just another daisy-pusher. “How’d you keep the monsters out?”

“One of my Class Skills lets me create traps. I turned the first few floors into death traps and funneled them into my entrances. I set it up so that the traps only triggered for enemies, so my people could use the exits easily,” Ben explains. “When the assholes came, they figured it was easier to leave me and my people alone than dig us out. Since then, they’ve been trying to starve us out while levying one tax after another. We’re real happy you guys came.”

“Your people?” I say.

“His fortress is pretty impressive for a Level 28 Architect. There’s just over two hundred people in there, though most are non-combatants. He’s reinforced the walls and entrances and even has the occupants devoting a portion of their Mana regeneration to the building Mana pool. You’d have to blast the entire wall apart at one go and move fast, or else the building would fix itself around it.”

“Those under my protection,” Ben says, shifting to face me and angling his body slightly. I wonder if it’s a conscious decision or not, the way he’s giving me less of a target. With the amount of violence we’ve all seen, it’s sometimes hard to tell who is a fighter and who isn’t. “I gathered as many as I could.”

“Fair enough.” A nagging thought surfaces—a conversation with an acquaintance in college during one of the few parties I ever went to. Red cups and beer in a smoke-filled kitchen. “Architects have to do some city planning too, right?”

“We do,” Ben says, frowning.

“Good,” I say and leave it at that. We’ll worry about building up the town later, once we’ve survived the upcoming fight. On that note… “How are the fighters?”

“Pitiful,” Sam replies, shaking his head. “Beam weapons or modified gunpowder rifles. No one’s above Level 20. Average around the low teens mostly.”

I frown. I knew the zones around the city were low, but they’ve had a whole year to grow. There are higher-Level zones easily within reach, never mind potential Swarms. Though from what Ali has told me, Swarms were more common in Whitehorse due to our high Mana saturation. I guess it’s less of an issue here.

“They took the higher-Level hunters away,” Torg finally speaks up, ducking his head immediately after. He shifts under my regard, almost as if he’s embarrassed to be speaking.

I nod in understanding. No point in making your life more difficult by keeping potential threats around. Still, from the grimace that flashed across Ben’s face, it was probably not something that went down well.

“How about the defenses?” Lana asks, cocking an eyebrow at me.

“Not great. There’s the city shield, but it’s only Tier IV. I’ve got a mine field out there and a sensor array built out now, so we’ll have at least some warning. We could use the sentries, but two of them are damaged.” I look at Sam as I say that and he offers a nod in understanding. “We’ll probably have to deal with the attackers ourselves.”

“I’m assuming we’ll expect them soon?” Lana says, rubbing absently at her arm where a beam attack has scorched the material, turning the dark blue black.

“Yes. Most likely from Kelowna to start.”

“Think they’re that confident?” Lana says, waving her hand around. “We did just kick their ass.”

“Definitely,” Torg says.

“Indubitably,” Ali echoes at the same time. When Lana stares at the little Spirit, he explains. “Ingrid’s ability hid your true Levels and no one survived the attack in the office. Considering the Levels you showed, they probably assumed you launched a sneak attack on them. Without their main fighters, the guards you fought were killed off easily—but that’s easily explained by the PAVs and other equipment. Add on to the fact that the Sect is just that arrogant…”

Torg nods at that.

“And they’ll be sure to strike back immediately,” Ali says. “Problem with ruling with strength is that you always have to be seen to be strong, you know?”

Lana nods slowly, looking toward the east for a second. After a moment more, she speaks up. “We going to take Kelowna then?”

“What?” I blurt, staring at her.

“In for a penny…” Lana meets my eyes. “If we’re going to free them, we might as well do it right. If they’re sending their fighters here, if we beat them, there won’t be much left in the other city.”

“I…” I pause, natural objections falling silent. The plan… well, there was no plan. I just intended to help where I could. However, conquering a few cities was never part of it. Still, Lana is right. If we’re going to do this….

Sam stares at the two of us incredulously while Ben and Torg stay silent, their faces much more neutral. A glance at Ali has him giving me a thumbs-up, and I finally offer Lana a nod.

Lana looks quite satisfied, smiling like the cat that just got cream. “Now, let’s talk about what we’re going to do with the town after we’re done.”

I nod, content to let the lady lead the discussion. Between her experience on the General Council in Whitehorse and the information she’s managed to garner here, Lana’s got a much better idea than I do of what’s going on and what needs to be done.

***

The next few hours passed in a blur. Learning about the town kept Lana and me focused, and Ben and Torg pulled in various other notables to talk to us through the day. Sam wandered off in about fifteen minutes, helping to settle our refugees and spread the good word among the general populace. I also recall him muttering something about finding a suitable workshop, but I ignored that bit. Mikito continued to put the hunters, all but the few extra guards still watching over the farmers in the northeast, through their paces. And Ingrid—well, who knows where she was.

We did it all in the middle of the street, just standing there and talking to people, letting anyone and everyone who was interested listen in. And there were a lot. People streamed in and out of the crowd that gathered around us, listening, chatting, and pointing as they confirmed the news that the Sect had been kicked out. It took me a bit to realize that Lana had chosen the location on purpose, a not-so-subtle hint that things were changing. I admit, I approved, though I hoped no one expected us to do it all the time. Governance by committee made me roll my eyes.

Ben was, unsurprisingly, quite helpful. As the leader of the only independent group in the town, he knew nearly everyone. His presence by our side, talking congenially, probably helped allay a lot of fears. It was nearly as useful as his knowledge of the town’s resources.

Torg, on the other hand, contributed in a different, if no less useful, way by providing us examples of the way the Sect and other Galactics did things. Whether it was discussions on farming and gathering to zoning or Credit generation, he had ideas and examples from his time on other worlds. It seemed Torg had been bounced around a lot, always moving from settlement to settlement to help start up their latest farmland. The man had a knack for organizing individuals and problem-solving. It was unfortunate that he never actually got his hands dirty farming, keeping his Levels low.

My understanding of the town grew while I expanded my knowledge of the people around us. Late in the evening, when the others had begun to flag, the sensors pinged. I was a bit surprised, having expected them to come tomorrow. But I guess with the longer daylight hours of late spring, it didn’t matter.

“Incoming, boy-o,” Ali interrupts, flashing the map in front of Lana and myself. He taps something and text message notifications go out to the rest of the team.

From the map, I can tell that the group from Kelowna is coming in loud and brassy, not even bothering to hide their presence. Arrogant. Five dots, Levels popping up in short order. They’re headed straight in on the main road, which means they’ll miss the mines but will have to deal with the beam towers. If we let them get that close.

“Time to go,” I say, triggering Sabre to roll closer to me. I swing my foot over the bike even as Lana hops up on one of the puppies.

“Not sure I’m going to be much help here,” Sam’s voice cackles over the radio, and I have to agree. He’s better off where he is, fixing the sentries. Not being a frontline fighter, he’d be a liability if he came right now. While he’s done stellar work during the fights we’ve dragged him into, there’s no point in risking him when we don’t have to.

“Roger,” I say while Lana bids the group goodbye. I add my own belated and almost forgotten goodbye, the group splitting apart with worried expressions. Helmet on, I speak into the radio, giving rapid-fire orders. “Mikito, get the fighters up high. We’ll take them right outside the shield. Tell them to hold fire till we command it. Or we fall.”

I get an acknowledgement from the Samurai before her voice barks commands to others. I tune it out, glancing at Lana, who rides Howard next to me.

“You up for this?” I ask, my eyes roaming her form to assess her state.

Her armor has seen better days, and there’s a tightness to her shoulders I don’t like. But when she turns to me and flashes me a smile, it’s filled with confidence and I recall that this is the same woman who followed me into the Kluane Icefields without a word of complaint. A rush of hormones comes with that memory. That brazen courage even in the face of fear and anxiety was damn sexy. I make a mental note to find some time alone with her at some point. There’s always one thing or another in the way.

“I’ll be fine. You’re going to have to handle at least two of them. Maybe three. Are you up to this?” Lana says, violet eyes crinkling as she stares at me.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, patting my bike. “I’ve got Sabre.”

“You don’t look it,” she says, staring at my face. “You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

“Just disappointed, I guess.” At her cocked eyebrow, I go on. “I spent a lot of money and time planning out potential avenues of attack. Bought new sensor arrays and a minefield, figuring they’d try something smart. Instead, they walk right up to our front door.”

Lana stares at me for a second before snorting in amusement, a smile dancing along her lips. In minutes, Mikito falls in line on her bike, guiding it to flank me. Ingrid’s still gone, but that’s no surprise. She’ll pop up when she’s needed, probably with a blade in someone’s back.

As we pass the watchtowers, the shield shifts, opening long enough to let us out before we pull to a stop. Mikito doesn’t hesitate, transforming her PAV into mecha mode and walking to the side while the puppies spread out, flanking the road and crouching low in the green, uncut grass. Within seconds, Roland has disappeared, its form shifting as it uses an innate Skill to Stealth itself, leaving only Anna beside Lana. The redhead has her shotgun out and a portable shield array set before her feet, ready for trouble.

We don’t have to wait long, the Sect group arriving soon after. They disembark and walk toward us, leaving their hover transport behind. No surprise on that. Replacing vehicles is expensive and since few are actually made for extended combat amongst combat Classes, they break easily.

As they walk closer toward us, I scan the group. The first two are melee fighters. A Level 3 Advanced Class Bladesinger in brown fur wields a pair of swords in each hand, strutting forward on all four legs. Next to him, a sleek, green-scaled Advanced Level 27 Blood Warrior wields a rod and shield. Behind is a faceless Level 47 Elemental Mage in blocky armor and a rock-covered, seven-foot-tall Advanced Level 12 Rock Thrower. They’re guarding their Level 41 Stitcher.

“You can stop right there,” I call out when they’re about thirty feet away. Just in case, I check the Soul Shield I’ve added to Lana and the puppies.

“Nice of you to meet us out here,” the Blood Warrior says with a grin, his accent deep East Coast. A part of me tries to pin it down, certain I’ve heard it on TV somewhere. Idle thoughts. “Saves us the trouble of hunting you down.”

“Blah blah blah, random thug posturing.” I shake my head at the anger that crosses their body language. Tightened grips and shifts in positioning are universal, no matter what alien society you come from. “You have one chance to get out of this alive. Take your friends and leave BC now and return all the humans you’ve enslaved.”

There’s a long pause before a hissing, cackling, and grunting series of laughs erupts from the group.

Since they obviously aren’t going to take my generous offer, I follow up with the stick, launching all my high explosive mini-missiles and screaming, “Now!”

The sentry towers open up, lances of red fire striking even before my missiles. A second later, flames erupt from Anna’s body, a tightly wrapped beam of fire pulled from the creature’s aura. Lana opens fire with her shotgun as Mikito rushes the group, her Hasted body covering the ground within seconds.

The beams reach them first, fracturing ineffectively against an invisible shield. The beam turrets cut off after a second. The mini-missiles land next, creating rippling explosions that throw sand and dirt into the air and a pressure wave of force that hammers into us. A second later, the follow-up shots from the towers and the rest of the attacks land, the shield flickering under the assault.

It holds though, long enough for our enemies to take action themselves. Charging forward, the Bladesinger clashes with Mikito, his greater weight spinning her around as she blocks the strike. The pair blur, flashing across the ground perpendicular to us, their forms barely visible. A spell in the shape of a flaming bird rips through the air and slams into the beam towers, bypassing the settlement’s shield, which has dropped to allow the beam towers to fire. The other sentry tower goes down as the Rock Thrower, living up to its name, projects a series of car-sized stone spears.

“Hey. I’m going to have to fix those!” I snap as I open fire with the Inlin mounted on my arm.

The flashing projectiles get cut apart in mid-air by the Blood Warrior. The explosions of the projectiles around him seem to be doing nothing, and even when I shift my target, he’s always there, blocking my attacks.

The puppies move forward the moment their shield drops, but they never reach their prey, the shield popping up within seconds. They howl in anger, battering the invisible protection, but there’s nothing they can do. Behind the shield, their Elemental Mage waves his hands around, Mana gathering for another spell. The Blood Warrior is outside the shield though, rushing toward us.

“Lana, yours,” I shout over the radio, trusting that she can hold the Blood Warrior.

With a slight mental exertion, I trigger Blink Step, teleporting through time and space into the shield. It’s a gamble, since there’s no guarantee this shield won’t bounce me off. I appear next to the Rock Thrower, the Inlin firing into his side even as I summon my sword into my other hand and cut upward. He’s fast and trained, throwing himself to the side and backward, my attack only managing to lop off part of his foot. Green blood spurts outward, coating Sabre even as the monster rolls away from me in trained reflex. Spikes erupt from the ground, shattering Sabre’s shielding and making it flicker and disappear.

Even as I spin to target the Stitcher, Ingrid makes her appearance finally. Her dagger erupts from his neck, the enchanted weapon, along with her Skills and the surprise attack, cutting through his health and armor. Still, the Stitcher falls to the ground, fingers waggling, and a glow surrounds him. Ingrid’s next attack slows down as it enters the white glow, giving the Stitcher time to twist and roll with the damage.

I don’t have time to pay any further attention since I’ve crossed the ground toward the Mage, weathering the sudden Lightning Bolt it throws at me, the arc of electricity jumping through the air and striking Ingrid and the Stitcher as well. I grunt, hair and teeth on edge, but the bleed through is low and nothing Sabre and I can’t handle. I butcher the Elemental Mage in seconds, even with his momentary teleport away from me. As I attack, spikes of rock slam into Sabre’s armor, but the harassing fire from the Rock Thrower isn’t enough to dissuade my attacks. Personally, I think the Rock Thrower made the wrong decision in focusing on me. As I yank my sword out of the Mage’s corpse, I’m grateful that Mages are so damn squishy.

A particularly large spike knocks me off my feet, alarms flashing as Sabre reports the increasing amount of damage the monster’s attacks are having on me. I roll and bounce back to my feet, ducking to the side as I assess the rest of the battlefield.

Mikito is racing back, the Bladesinger lying still behind her, her PAV scored with damage even through her ghostly armor. A quick review shows she’s down nearly half her health, which is surprising. Roland and Shadow are squaring off against the Blood Warrior and a second, blood covered clone. God damn it. I hate Skills, especially ones that we don’t have access to.

Anna and Howard are caught in blood tendrils, forced to twist and struggle while Lana hacks away with a machete in her left hand, her right hanging limp beside her. Ali floats next to her, keeping watch on the attackers, a small ball of lightning in his hand. It’s a surprising development, one that shows his willingness, if not ability, to do damage.

“Go. I’ve got these guys!” Ingrid snaps at me over the radio as she pulls her dagger out of the Stitcher’s side, which continues to bathe itself in white light.

With a twist of my hand, I toss an insta-cement grenade at the Rock Thrower, holding it in place and buying Ingrid time. Once the grenade has left my hand, I Blink Step toward the Blood Warrior. My attack is anticipated, a pair of tendrils spearing from the blood clone to strike at me the instant I appear. They knock my attack aside, my blades missing the Blood Warrior. With a shiver, the green-skinned humanoid rolls forward, leaving another blood clone to fight me as it engages Roland. I duck and weave as tendrils of blood that acts like acid erupt from the clone and fly through the air as I attempt to cut my way in close to the true body.

Roland howls in pain, the impact of the Blood Warrior’s club tossing the tiger away. Even as Roland spins away, its back feet lash out and claws rend wounds along the Blood Warrior’s shoulder, displaying grey bones beneath green flesh. Even then, the Blood Warrior twists, another clone appearing as he continues to bleed.

“No!” comes a loud, grating shout from behind us.

Then the explosion hits us all, dust and dirt obscuring our vision as we stumble and fall. Even System-enhanced Agility is insufficient to compensate for the force of the explosion. When the cloud finally clears, the Blood Warrior is gone and so is the Rock Thrower and the Stitcher.

“What happened?” I ask, standing and looking around. Sabre’s running diagnostics, nano-armor already fixing itself.

Ingrid limps toward us, quaffing healing potions. I watch as her broken fingers pop back into place, bloody wounds disappear, and her body straightens up as pain goes away. “Rocky triggered a Skill. Blew his body apart when I was about to finally kill that damn healer.”

Ali floats down. “He’s not dead, by the way. Just weakened. His race adds layers of rock and stone as they increase in Level. Blowing up layers of his body destroys his Levels. He must have sacrificed a ton…”

“How did they escape?” I say, frowning. I get the explosion, but we were only knocked down for seconds. Even now, I can’t spot them in my minimap, which is disturbing. While I wouldn’t say we pulled out all the stops, we certainly weren’t holding back. Letting them get away after we’ve shown them a significant chunk of our abilities is not great.

“Localized teleport,” Ali says, grimacing. “Very, very expensive and requires them to have pre-purchased the option in the Shop.”

“Do we know where they went?” I say, letting my gaze track over my team. Between a bunch of health potions and the System’s healing, we’re mostly back to fighting shape, except for the pets. Lana’s feeding some of the most damaged pets health potions, though their enhanced healing is already seeing gaping wounds slowly close.

“No idea, boy-o,” Ali says with a shrug.

I curse silently, discarding the idea of attacking Kelowna now. There’s no way they completely emptied the city of high-level characters just for an assault on us. Add in their local guards and fixed defenses and I’m not looking forward to a direct attack. There’s also no guarantee they don’t have another of those localized teleports saved up, though I’d be surprised if they did. Unfortunately, even I’m not so irresponsible that I’d gamble with the lives of others.

“We’re not going to Kelowna, are we?” Ingrid says, glancing down the road, and I shake my head. “Right then, drinks it is!”

Ingrid flashes me a smile, and I make myself return it. She’s right. We might not have wiped them out, but we weathered the first attack. A success is a success.

Chapter 9

Later that evening—or was it technically morning by now?—we’re mostly alone, seated around heaping plates of food and beer. Even the curious and interested long ago gave up on overhearing anything interesting. Truth be told, after giving everyone who asked brief assurances, we had little more to say. Thankfully, unlike a “real” town, there was little enough in terms of paperwork that I needed to handle—at least, right away. That allowed me and the team to settle down for a few hours.

“But if I upgrade the Ghost Armor again, I’ll add nearly 50% to its hit points,” Mikito says to Lana and Ali, waving a fork to punctuate her point.

“And move away from your main advantages,” Ali stresses. “You’re fast and you hit hard. Better for you to focus on what you’re good at. You’ve got a decent amount of hit points anyway, and can dodge everything else if you pick up Enhanced Reflexes.”

“Except if they use an area effect spell. Can’t dodge those,” Lana points out, shaking her head. “I’m with Mikito. She’s plenty fast as it stands. More defense is a good thing. I’m thinking I should get something too.”

“Feeling a little vulnerable out there?” Ali says with a glance toward her arm.

“Just a little. The boys are great at keeping most people busy, but if Hondo or someone like Ingrid came along…”

“I wouldn’t stab you in the back, Lana. We’re friends. I’d look you in the eyes as I did it,” Ingrid says with a smile, making all of us roll our eyes.

Sam watches our banter, mostly silent, before he taps the table to get our attention. The seriousness on his face colors his next question. “So what now? Are you going to try to attack Kelowna next?”

“Missed our chance,” I say, shaking my head. “If we’d wiped them out, I’d be willing to risk it. Now, there’s no guarantee they won’t hit us when we leave. Better to stay and consolidate our strength here.”

“About that…” Sam says, grimacing and looking around. “You guys. Well, you’re tough. But there’s a lot of concern about what happens if they send more. If you fall…”

“The city doesn’t have much in terms of defense,” I finish for him and sigh.

Sam’s not wrong. The problem is, I’m not entirely sure what we can do about it. Setting up a training program like we did in Whitehorse will benefit the combat Classers, but it takes time. Bumping up Levels by grinding monsters is easy—there’s even a convenient dungeon to run. But real combat experience requires time. Time to make mistakes. Time to repeat those mistakes and learn from them. Until then, we need more than just a couple of easily destroyed sentry towers.

“For that matter, are we staying?” Ingrid says, staring around the table. “I don’t recall there being a discussion before we started all this.”

“Didn’t mind sticking your knife in earlier,” Lana says.

“I’m not saying we should leave. But we’re discussing sitting still and being a target while our enemies gather their forces. Not smart,” Ingrid replies, letting her eyes roam over the group as if she’s testing everyone.

“You suggesting we run?” Lana says softly.

“No. I’m making sure we’re all in,” Ingrid replies.

I cut in, waving in apology. “You’re right. We didn’t discuss this. I’m sorry, I should have…”

I stop because Mikito is smiling and Lana’s laughing softly. Even Ingrid snorts slightly, shaking her head after a moment.

Sam looks between the three before he finally asks, “What?”

“John’s being cute. And idiotic again,” Lana says with a chuckle.

“Baka.” Mikito nods firmly. “We knew you were going to do it.”

“I didn’t,” Ingrid says. “But I should have.”

“What?” I exclaim.

“Boy-o, you’re a bit predictable,” Ali says.

“Oh, come on!”

“You’re very predictable, Redeemer of the Dead,” Ingrid says, naming one of my titles. I twitch, ducking my head slightly, and she smiles again. “As I said, I should have realized it the moment we saw the Serfs. You weren’t ever going to leave this alone. You’re just not good at doing the smart thing.”

“Welcome to Team John,” Lana says, raising her mostly empty pint in mocking salute. “We don’t do the smart thing. Or the right thing. Just the necessary.”

“You’re okay with this?” Ingrid says then shakes her head, chiding herself for wasting words. “Never mind. Of course you are. Mikito, Sam?”

“Where John goes, I go,” Mikito says simply.

Sam pauses, his face obviously conflicted before he finally huffs. “My family is in Vancouver. Where the Sect is. I’d rather go there in force than try to beg my way in.”

Ingrid stares at the group of us before she throws her hands up dramatically. “Gods! How did I end up with a bunch of heroes?”

“Your asshole team got killed,” Ali says bluntly.

Ingrid freezes, all levity drained from her face. For a moment, we can all feel it, the killing intent that rises at Ali’s crass words before Ingrid takes control of herself, dampening it. She stands silently and walks out. It’s only when she’s gone that we dare take our eyes off her.

“Not cool, man,” I say, smacking the Spirit. Of course, my hand goes through him, but it’s the thought that counts.

“That was very much uncalled for,” Lana says. “I’m disappointed in you, Ali.”

“Whatever,” Ali says, though he hunches his shoulders a bit under our combined disapproval. “She’s been bitching about being with us for months now. She was literally telling John to stay a short while ago. It’s time for her to choose her Class or let the System do it.”

I frown slightly at his non-sequitur then realize it’s the Spirit equivalent of shit or get off the pot.

After the silence stretches on for too long, Sam clears his throat, drawing attention back to himself and our original question. “So we’re staying. And you’re the boss of this town. What do you plan to do?”

“Funny you should ask…” I say, leaning forward and taking the change in topic. Rather than join most of the conversations this evening, I’ve been thinking. Planning. Time to get to work.

***

The next morning, the team splits up to tackle their respective tasks. Sam’s on crafter duty, working with the various crafters to upgrade their talents. His main focus is on the Mechanics in the hope that we can upgrade them enough to build some better defenses and offensive weaponry. Mikito’s still on combat duty, continuing her initial work with the combat Classers yesterday. Lana’s working with Torg and his crew of resource gatherers to account for and divert what they have to the respective Classes in town and the Shop. For once, everyone’s going to get paid.

Lana’s job is probably the most important in the group since I’ve managed to drain the funds for the entire town. Without additional Credits, we can’t upgrade the Town—not without physically upgrading the buildings and roads. At least, I don’t think so. But assumptions just make an ass of u and me, so that’s why I’m seated in the control room with Ali this morning.

“This is a bit ridiculous. It all came in overnight?” I say, staring at the hundreds of open System windows. The vast majority are messages—requests, demands, complaints, suggestions, and even a few threats. They range from issues about education for children to real estate queries, pleas for help with regard to those taken and even noise complaints. Noise complaints!

“Overnight and they keep coming in. The joy of being the owner of a settlement,” Ali says.

“Never knew you could do this. How come I never got Roxley’s message box?” I say, staring at the growing number of windows as Ali populates them one behind the other.

“You just walked in when you wanted to talk to him,” Ali says.

Oh, right. I guess I never did consider there might be other ways of reporting to him. “This only for the owner? Or can we create a system like this for everyone?”

“Anything’s possible. But we don’t have the Credits. I do have a recommendation though.” Ali’s hand twitches.

K’myn Artificial Intelligence Tier III

This specialised AI is designed to take on the administrative processes of new and developing settlements including the legal and bureaucratic processes of the Galactic Council.

Cost: 145,000 Credits

“An AI?” I frown, staring at the information, then tilt my head to the side as I stare at Ali. “Can’t you do this?”

“I’m a Spirit. I deal with magic and spells and the System. I don’t do bureaucratic paperwork. Not unless you want an audit,” Ali says, shaking his head. “Buy it. We can tie it to the town for now so you don’t have to use any processing power in your Neurolink if you’re that worried.”

“What’s the difference in Tiers for an AI anyway? I get guns, but AIs?”

“Sophistication, processing power, and restrictions. Higher tiers have fewer restrictions, better coding, and the ability to utilize more resources. Most are restricted to some extent by what you download them into, which is why I recommend tying it to the town,” Ali said. “In this case, we’re also buying a bunch of knowledge packs so it can hit the ground running.”

“Doesn’t Lana have one?” I say after a moment, recalling that Ali once recommended she purchase an AI.

“She does, but hers is Tier V and geared toward private businesses. The knowledge base is entirely different. You’re going to need her help later if you want this town to run properly, but for now, you need this.”

I pause, staring at the Credits cost. Ever since leaving Whitehorse, Credits have been harder to acquire. Not as many high-level monsters to fight and longer gaps between visiting a Shop meant lower revenue. If I bought it, I’d have just over forty thousand Credits left. Not much at all when you consider a single Class Skill could cost sixty plus. But… needs must.

The moment I make the decision, the System flickers. A moment later, the windows before me shrink and disappear, replaced by another, larger window. Text appears on the window in blocky letters.

“GOOD MORNING, SIR. I AM KIM, YOUR SETTLEMENT ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT. I HAVE TAKEN THE LIBERTY OF SORTING ALL INCOMING MAIL. IF YOU WISH, I WILL REPLY TO ALL TRIVIAL AND MINOR ISSUES WITH STOCK RESPONSES. ALL OTHER ISSUES WILL RECEIVE A RESPONSE REQUESTING PATIENCE UNTIL FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS AND GOALS HAVE BEEN RECEIVED,” the text reads.

“Yeah, that’ll work. Kim,” I say, blinking slightly. An AI named Kim. I can see where he (it?) got its name from, but does that mean every AI purchased from that company calls itself Kim? Or is it just a matter of luck in my case? I shake my head, pushing the thought aside to focus on something more important. “All right, let’s get to work. Process the information on the town. We’ll discuss the parameters of what we need to set later. Let’s talk defenses first though. Those towers went down fast. What can we do?”

“Buy better towers?” Ali says with a shrug.

“They were Tier IV!” I said, frowning.

“Exactly. They’ll handle most monsters up to Level 20. Monsters,” Ali says, shaking his head. “Sentients fight differently from monsters. You know that.”

That was too true. Sentients of the same Level were generally more dangerous than monsters. If that wasn’t the case, it would be impossible for a Level 1 sentient to kill a Level 1 monster. The number varied of course, depending on Class, Skill, and skill, but it was generally taken as a force multiplier of between one and a half to two. So a Level 1 sentient could likely fight up to a Level 2 monster on equal terms, not including equipment. Which meant our defense towers could really only handle Level 15 or so fighters.

“Still, they got destroyed so fast,” I say, grumbling slightly.

“Did you notice the Rock Thrower and Mage were a lot less active afterward? They used some of their best Skills and Mana to one-shot those towers,” Ali says.

“COST OF TIER III BEAM SENTRY TOWERS CURRENTLY GREATER THAN CREDIT RESOURCES.”

“No Gremlin poo. Now, be quiet till you’re called on,” Ali says. “Automated defenses are fine for monsters, but they’re all supplementary, boy-o.”

I nod and wave the Spirit silent, leaning backward into the chair. I swing it back and forth as I think through what I know. The System pushes people, Classes to higher Levels. External items, equipment, tech is all replaceable, but none of it is anywhere as important as the individual. Mostly. There are exceptions—Linked weapons like Mikito’s naginata, my Soulbound sword—can grow. But otherwise, at some point, external equipment has to be discarded. In the end, it’s people that matter. That explains why Roxley focused mostly on walls and shields, leaving the security of the city to his guards. Easier to scale, especially with monster swarms constantly popping up. Unfortunately, I don’t have his house guards to bolster our low-Leveled forces.

Roxley… I huff out a breath, thinking of the swarthy, tall Dark Elf. Damn but I could use his advice right about now. However, the way we left it, I’m not sure asking him would be the best idea. His decision to join the Duchess, after all we did, did not sit well with me. No. Roxley isn’t an option. But that doesn’t mean that some of the others I’ve met might not be of help.

“Ali, let’s get some messages out to some friends,” I say, looking at the Spirit. “And after that, I guess Kim and you should start briefing me about the city properly. Can’t rule it if I don’t understand it, and we might be in for the long haul.”

***

Hours later, my head’s pounding from all the information fed to me. I wasn’t a business major or a politician or bureaucrat. But somehow, I was supposed to understand all of these things while running the city.

In some cases, the System simplified what would have been significantly more complicated before its introduction. For example, transactions held by the Shop and transactions done by transferring Credits in the System were all tracked automatically. That made taxation simple, as I could tax individual sales and purchases within the town between Classers with a single adjustment in the core. Of course, then you ended up in the long, long discussion about consumption taxes versus income taxes versus… well, whatever. You get the picture.

Right now, Kamloops is mostly a resource economy. Funds are generated from the farms or Gatherers and Hunters selling their loot. Of course, being a Dungeon World, the sheer amount of Mana in the surroundings speeds up growth and increases monster Levels in comparison to other worlds, so being a resource town isn’t a bad thing. However, as most undeveloped countries know, the real money isn’t in selling your resources—it’s in production and development. Turning those resources into Credits. In our case, that’s what Lana and Sam are tasked with jumpstarting. Until then, I have to deal with taking a hit on revenue as we divert sellable material to in-town crafters to Level them up.

Furthermore, that means we have a lot of small transactions happening in the Shop as resource items are sold. The easiest way to generate more revenue would be to charge the tax rate when individuals sell, creating a basic income tax. It might miss a few outliers, but for the vast majority, that’d work.

In Whitehorse, Roxley instituted a flat percentage charge on all transactions in the Shop, which actually impacted production Classes more than anyone else, due to their need to purchase additional products for their needs. That sounds bad at first glance, but it does mean that people are more likely to look into ways of building or developing technologies and secondary resource items in-town rather than purchasing them through the Shop. Which, I’m beginning to understand, is likely what Roxley intended.

The world’s complicated, and only the foolish, ignorant, or those with an agenda would ever say otherwise. There are no simple answers to any of these problems, and even when I pop out to the Shop to get myself a quick, downloaded education, it’s not enough. Because sometimes, the question isn’t what’s best but what you’re trying to do.

Right now, what we need is income and fast. I can’t afford to spend too much time on the long game, which is why I end up keeping a flat five percent tax rate on all transactions in the city. I even extended it to transactions between citizens in the town, ensuring the town gets their fair share. Of course, this was a reduction in the Shop tax rate from the initial twenty percent, so hopefully there aren’t too many complaints. Even though we desperately need funds, I have to think long-term as well, and that means helping the city grow.

Next on our agenda was figuring out expenses. This was much simpler, since most items in the city were linked and run by the System. Of course, you could have the System auto-regenerate and fix all registered buildings and facilities, but one thing I’d realized after reading through the more in-depth menu was that this actually took Mana. Or more specifically, Mana regeneration. Across the city, Mana production and regeneration was actually tied to the amount of space a town controlled. So while Kamloops had managed to establish and even develop a higher percentage of System-integrated buildings, it actually produced less Mana than Whitehorse because of its smaller square footage. Not to mention it was situated at a lower level zone.

Interestingly enough, buildings and the town itself seemed to generate less Mana than I’d expected. Compared to the Mana regeneration of an individual, it was paltry. It was only at this level, where I was looking at the Mana generation of a whole town, that it started showing up at all. With Kim’s help, I could turn off the default allocation of Mana for individual buildings, letting me store up more. For now though, I left it alone since I had no idea what we needed it for.

Outside of Mana expenses, there were Credit expenses. Since we didn’t have to pay for maintenance for the most part—outside of simpler services like cleaning for non-System-upgraded buildings—payroll was the major ongoing expense I could expect. In this case, I actually didn’t have any since I hadn’t hired anyone and everyone previously hired was either a Serf—now freed and let go—or a Sect member who had fled. On the other hand, that meant I’d have to hire again soon. I mentally sacrifice Lana to this task with a smile before finishing the sparse file.

“What’s next?” I say.

“ALLOCATION OF ASSETS.”

I grunt, staring at the dire blue words before nodding. Kim flashes up the list of buildings I currently own after kicking out the Sect.

Commercial: 4 (City Center, Armory, 2 x Workshop)

Residential: 178 Individual Residences, 24 Apartment Buildings

Industrial: 7 Farmland, 3 Alchemical Laboratories

Military: 14 Sentry Towers, 1 Shield Generator, External Minefield, Bionetwork Sensor Grid

There used to be one more line here—one for Serfs—but now it’s gone. Obviously I’d dismissed all the Serfs and their debts, at least as far as it concerned me. If the Sect caught them within the next month, they’d revert to being Serfs, but after that, they’d be fine. It was, surprisingly, a decent Galactic law and said some interesting things about politics at the Galactic level.

Scanning over the list, I looked to see if any of these buildings had been forcibly taken by the Sect, “purchased,” or taken as “collateral” for loans that would eventually force their owners into debt. There were a few, very few, lucky individuals who weren’t Serfs but whom I now owned their property because the initial loan was to the Sect. Since the property was registered to the town ownership, I actually owned it, but a few quick swipes transferred ownership back to them. This way, at least they owned the property they’d been paying the mortgage for.

The question now, and it was relatively urgent to answer, was what to do with the buildings that had been taken or had been owned by others before the System. In the second case, I was leaning toward saying “tough.” The world had changed—all old property ties were gone, at least in my view. However, memories of a grenade, a shop, and undying anger came to mind. Whatever my personal feelings on the matter, it was also true that we couldn’t afford internal strife—especially the violent kind—while the Sect was still a threat.

The smart thing to do is to leave things as they are, perhaps reducing the rent charged. Currently, the rent charged on each of the apartments and buildings is outrageous, specifically geared toward keeping Serfs and other lendees in perpetual poverty. For obvious reasons, I have no desire to do that, but at the same time, the rent is a major revenue source. One alteration I can make is to charge a daily rental fee rather than a monthly one, with the provision that individuals can pay in advance. That would give us more regular income rather than sudden surges. I hope.

Of course, it isn’t exactly fair. Or nice. Or right. But…

I sigh, staring at Ali. “This… did they all have to make decisions like this?”

“All?”

“Roxley. The city, the general, council. Rulers.”

“Yes. If you think this is bad, wait till you see what bit boy has up next for you.”

“Kim?”

“KAMLOOPS REQUIRES SOLIDIFICATION OF ITS RULE OF LAW.”

“Shoot me now,” I say with resolution.

Having spent enough time with Angela, the ex-RCMP member in Whitehorse, I know how complicated the entire matter is. It isn’t as simple as taking our old laws and adding them back to our lives. For one thing, were we willing to set up the full court of laws with judges, juries, and lawyers? Why? A simple purchase from the System could verify the truth of a matter. Never mind the fact that certain Classes have Skills that can divine the truth even without using the System Shop. But if we came to rely on a single individual, did we then create a single point of failure—of corruption?

Property crime was less of an issue, though theft of items continued to be a concern. Of course, it only cost a little additional to “register” items with the System, though few Adventurers bothered. After all, with the increasing Levels, what equipment was useful now might be outdated within a few months. Why bother spending the money then? As such, item theft could be considered a “minor” crime these days, since anything truly expensive would be registered, making it much more difficult to sell the item.

Then you had violent crimes, which needed to be redefined. Since nearly everything outside of actual death was temporary, breaking someone’s nose or arm or ribs was a lot less dangerous than before. It was nearly impossible to kill someone by accident these days. Of course, you didn’t want to encourage violence either—after all, if you did, combat Classers would trample production Classers. And while that might make certain juvenile individuals revel in their “strength,” it did nothing for the community. After all, if all your goods could be exhorted out of you, why would you put in any effort?

I sigh, staring at the information, and get down to it. Luckily, since this is directly related to the town, I can use the town’s Credits to purchase information from the System, giving me detailed laws from other settlements that we could base ours off. In the end though, what I want is something simple and easy. I’ll leave it to the professionals to develop the complicated bits. My laws basically ran down to—don’t be a dick. If you are, don’t expect us to back you up.

As for the buildings, I figure I’ll lower the rent and leave them in my care for now. Procrastination might not be a good thing, but it does mean I don’t have to deal with the problem right this second.

***

Ingrid never makes it back that night. That’s okay. What I have planned for her is better said alone. When I finally find her, she’s seated in an abandoned office building, nursing a bottle of alcohol in the remnants of a window overlooking the city. I sit next to her, fishing a bottle of whisky from storage to join her in a bout of silent drinking.

“Not going to bitch me out?” Ingrid asks eventually, noting the lack of blunt Spirit next to me.

“No.” I shrug and sip on the drink. “Always been your call on what you want to do.”

“Is not wanting to play hero that wrong?” Ingrid says testily. “What have these people ever done for me? Or you?”

“Why the change of heart?”

“Amazing, the things you overhear when no one notices,” Ingrid says cryptically.

I wait for the teenager to add more. While we sit in silence, I take a moment to regard the First Nation woman and the bitterness that creeps across her face. I wonder what she overheard, what careless words were uttered. God knows, being a lipreader means that I’ve picked up more than one casual insult spoken when they thought I wouldn’t notice. The people here, they’re the same ones who were content to live in their own little bubbles and declare that they were “good” or “right” because they never did anything actively wrong pre-System. Just content to let the evils of the world happen because they weren’t actively taking part in it. I doubt much of that has changed and so, I understood her feelings.

“But it’s not enough,” I whisper to myself and smile crookedly when she shoots me a puzzled look. “I don’t care what they did or didn’t do. Or if it’s right or wrong to give them back a little of their own medicine. Because I’m not looking to be them. It’s easy to be just about good enough, to be mediocre and normal.

“The world ended, Ingrid. We had a damn apocalypse. If there’s ever been a good reason to change, I figure that’s it. I won’t, I can’t go back to just getting by, doing just enough to live. I tried that once, and all I did was mark off the days till I died. Now we’re here and I’m still alive and everyone and everything we knew is dead. So yeah, I’ll play at being a hero and doing the right thing, because I’ve tried the other way.”

“Not everyone.” Ingrid’s lips twist slightly, and she tilts her head as she speaks. “You could play at being a villain.”

“Meh. Villains are boring.” I say mockingly, “Oooh, look at me. I’m bad. I’m evil. Watch me stomp on a baby’s head because that’s so edgy.”

Ingrid snorts at my words and the false face I put on.

“So you in?”

She takes a swig from her bottle, making a face. “Whatever. I don’t have anything better right now. But I’m not wearing tights.”

“How about some leather?” I waggle my eyebrows and wince as she punches my arm, chuckling slightly. “But seriously, we need your skills. They’re going to be sending people at us, and we’re going to need as much information as we can get.”

“You want me to spy on them?” Ingrid says flatly, and I nod. “Why don’t you just buy the information?”

“I have some basics. The rest was too expensive. Spread around North America are four high-level Advanced Classes, fourteen mid-level Advanced Classes, seven low-level Advanced Classes, and just over two hundred Basic Class Sect members. Most of them are locked in combat around Seattle at the moment. The ones in BC are their holding force, the people in charge of keeping things running,” I say, explaining things simply to her.

“For all that, the System can’t tell the future, so figuring out what they’re going to do isn’t something it can tell us. Guesses, probabilities, sure. But if you sneak in, look around, maybe ask a few questions…” I shrug. “Maybe you can figure it out. And either way, we’re going to have to take those cities later. It’d get pretty expensive if I just kept buying information. That bit of information already cost us two hundred thousand Credits.”

“Really? You took one city and now you’re looking at more? Getting a bit of a big head, are you?”

“Might as well do it right.”

Ingrid laughs softly, tipping her bottle upward and draining it before she nods. “I’ll play spy for you. Until I get bored. Or get a better offer.” She snags my bottle and leans forward, flipping off the ledge into the darkness below.

“My bottle!” I grumble softly, her dot disappearing from my map. That went better than expected.

Chapter 10

Breakfast. The most important meal of the day. Whether or not it matters for our altered bodies, it certainly helps as a ritualized meeting place for the team. Today, it’s Sam’s turn to cook, which means we have gruel, gruel, and bacon. At least there’s enough.

“Ingrid’s not here,” Mikito says, dumping some chopped ginger into her gruel.

“I spoke with her last night. She’s scouting,” I say unconcernedly. No point hiding this information from my team. It isn’t even too much a concern about need-to-know issues since anyone who really wants this information can buy it from the Shop. Though I am curious how Ingrid’s Skills affect that option. Something to ask Ali about later.

“Huh,” Ali says. “Figured she’d have left.”

“No thanks to you,” Lana says, waving a finger at Ali.

Once the Spirit ducks his head, Lana takes the time to update us on her progress yesterday. The others follow suit, including me. I even take a moment to introduce Kim, who is extremely reluctant to even say hi. Everyone takes the introduction of the AI with aplomb—just another post-System moment.

“Sounds like most of you have things well in hand,” I say as we stare at the empty pot. Bland as gruel might be, it was still decent fuel for the day. “Mikito, if you’ve got teams that are workable, let’s get them headed north to the dungeon. Get your best team on clearing it. If it manages to replicate, we’ll send another team in till the Mana pool is cleared. We’ll also want scouting teams moving to the communities. I know the Sect might have swept the place before, but now that they’re out of power, we might be able to convince them to join us. Lana, I’ve got the basics up and running, but I want you to keep an eye out for talent. Someone’s going to have to run the city, preferably someones.”

“Benjamin?” Lana says with a raised eyebrow.

I raise my hand horizontally and waggle it. “Let’s not rush this.”

“I’ll look around. But what are you going to do?”

“The city needs money and I need more Levels,” I say, grimacing. “If I could hit Level 40…” I shake my head and push aside my regret. “There’s a National Park close by, so the zone should be decent. Might even have a dungeon or two.”

“Har. So you’ve got us all working and you’re off having fun,” Sam says, waving the last stick of crispy bacon.

“Well, yes.” I could explain how growing my strength means growing the strength of the city and our team, of how I can hunt, fight, and capture faster than anyone here, bringing in a significant amount of Credits. I could even note that I spent the entire day yesterday stuck doing paperwork, but really, I know he’s mostly teasing me.

“Leave your drones, will you?” Sam follows up. “I want to study them.”

“And John, can you have Kim stay in the city? She can be useful to me,” Lana says. “If you’re willing to let me work with her on assigning tasks.”

“It’s an it,” Ali corrects before I can reply.

“THE SENTIENT FORCE IS CORRECT. SURPRISINGLY.”

“Enough, you two,” I growl softly. “Kim, can you download yourself into the settlement’s ummm… core?”

“YES.”

“Good. Do that and follow Lana’s orders,” I say, settling that quickly.

Seeing that no one else has anything else to add, I stand. Time to get rid of some stress and get some experience.

***

Traveling to the national park wasn’t hard at all. It was barely fifty kilometers from the town itself. Of course, it’s on the other side of the river, which gives the town some protection, but it still isn’t much if the monsters decide to go a-roaming. While most monsters don’t, finding the higher Mana forests more comfortable, it still isn’t a lot of protection. That’s part of the reason why I was swinging by, to make my own evaluation of how dangerous it is. If there’s an Alpha monster or a dungeon in here, it definitely needs taking care of.

“Is taking over the town’s core the only way to win a city?” I ask Ali as I wander through the forest. I don’t bother with the trails since I’m looking for monsters, tossing a spell or two when needed and letting the Spirit dump the body in my Altered Space.

“Nope. Easiest way, but there are others. Kill the guy who owns the place, and if they don’t have a designated heir, it reverts to the killer or whoever is in the town, depending on circumstances. Only works on places that are individually owned. You can also buy up eighty percent of the land in a town. If that happens, the town automatically reverts control to you because you literally own most of it. Of course, if you drop below the eighty percent and gained it that way, you lose control too. Not common these days of course,” Ali says.

“Of course.” I sigh, calling for a Blade Strike, and cut down an overly affectionate mutant-pine tree. There’s something wrong with the concept of carnivorous trees. Especially ones with pink fuzz rather than leaves. “Any reason they can’t just sneak someone in and put their hands on the core to steal the place from us?”

“They could. Been done before, but mostly for places that have better defenses to turn on the original defenders. As it stands, the System notification will alert everyone, so it’s not like they’ll gain much. Kamloops’s defenses would go down in a heartbeat. Doesn’t gain them much and loses them some useful people,” Ali says. “It’s one thing to steal a city, another to keep it. As you’re finding out.”

“Still…” I frown, glancing backward.

“Not their style, boy-o,” Ali reassures me. “And Kim will slow down the changeover long enough for your people to get a-killing. Relax.”

I grunt, accepting his words for now. Still, it may be time to set up some additional security when I get back, something Ben could help with. Be a good test for him too, see if he’s worth working with.

“You figure they’re just going to launch a full-scale attack then?” I say, going back to the original line of questioning. I adjust my saunter through the forest slightly, heading for a few green dots. Better than nothing.

“If you mean a few of their teams, yeah. Might hire some additional help too,” Ali says. “The Sect leans toward the quality-over-quantity approach to fights.”

“Like the Guard.”

“Actually, more like the Dragon Knights. The Erethran armed forces actually leans the other way. Not to say they aren’t tough, but they use a lot of tech at the lower levels, which lets them field a larger force than others. More expensive, but makes them nasty to fight,” Ali says.

“I’ve been wondering about that. My Class is only an Advanced one. Seems a bit low for bodyguards of royalty,” I say.

“Are you concerned about the rarity or the strength?” Ali says, asking for clarification.

“Uhhh…” I take a few moments to finish off the bounding metallic wolf-like creatures attacking me. They might even be wolves. I don’t bother checking. “Both, I guess.”

“To get your Class the normal way, you would need to be assigned to the Honor Guard to start and be at Level 50. Obviously, even if you are Level 50 and refusing to progress, you aren’t necessarily going to get to join the Honor Guard. A lot of people would rather keep progressing than wait around,” Ali explains, dumping the bodies away for me while we head toward the next group of monsters. “As for their strength, I think you’re missing the point. They’re the Guard, the people you have to fight through to get close to the Erethran royal family. You’re not facing one or two or a dozen of them but hundreds. And if you manage to survive all that, well, then you’ll be up against their Champions.”

“Champions?” I frown, tilting my head to the side. “That the Master Class?”

“One of the possibilities. There’s generally only one or two next to the royals—the royals are pretty damn tough themselves. But it’s one way to go,” Ali says, shrugging. “More independent, better individual fighters. Of course, you need to be granted the title and well…”

“I’m not likely to.” I sigh. Right. It’s why I’m not as thrilled by the idea of hitting Level 50 as others might be. Whatever options the System might offer me, it’s probably not going to be what I want. Not as if there are members of the Erethran Royal Family around to grant me a title of Champion. Lack of opportunity sucks. “Whatever. Future John can deal with that problem.”

I grunt, picking up speed as my mind turns once more to the initial question that drove me out here. How do we deal with the Sect? I turn over, again and again, the options offered by Ali.

“We should be drowning them in numbers, shouldn’t we?” I finally say, coming to a halt in a clearing and staring at the sunlight that streams in. I touch my helmet, letting it retract, and let the warmth cover my face as I struggle with the knowledge. “We should arm everyone, get them up on the walls for when they hit us. Drown them in fire and numbers, whittle down their best fighters…” Deal with their quality with our quantity.

“That’d be a good idea.”

“And kill a lot of people,” I whisper, my eyes burning with unshed tears. Anger and pain, mixing on this beautiful day.

“It’s their fight too,” Ali quietly points out.

“I know.”

My mind spins, possibilities opening up. Put the people whose lives are at stake, whose freedom is in play, on the walls to fight. To live and die by their own hand. Help them, sure. But let them sacrifice too.

It’s the smart thing to do.

The right thing to do.

I just have to be willing to let others die.

***

Later that evening, Lana finds me seated in the same spot where I found Ingrid. Watching the city, drinking from a bottle, mulling over my options.

“Missed you at dinner,” Lana says, plopping down next to me.

In the corner, I’m somewhat startled to note, is Roland, the tiger almost completely hidden except for a pair of glowing eyes. I make a mental note to watch out for the kitty. Its ability to hide is almost as good as Ingrid’s.

“Yeah, sorry. Doing some thinking. How’d the day go?” I say, offering her the bottle.

She takes it and swigs from the bottle before handing it back to me. “Pretty good. Kim was helpful in allocating resources and getting people working, including cleaning up some new buildings. Ben is working on reinforcing some of the thoroughfares as well, and adding a few traps. Can’t do much fast since he doesn’t own the buildings, but his Skills do give us options. He’s talking of creating a ‘fortress city,’ with buildings reinforced and set up to do damage as invaders come in. Kim’s also spending the time to reinforce our System security for the settlement, making it more expensive for others to buy information,” Lana says. “You?”

“Nothing much. Mostly Level 30s out there, nothing to worry about. I accidentally wiped a lair, some moss monster living inside. Didn’t realize it till later, otherwise I might have left it to grow,” I say, shaking my head. Pity. We could have used another dungeon to clear and get the XP bonus from. “Might need to range farther out to find a dungeon.”

“Not the worst thing in the world. So why are you sulking?” Lana says, prodding me with a booted foot.

I grunt, staring at her. “Not sulking. Thinking.” At her raised eyebrow, I find myself elaborating. “Now that we kicked their ass, the next attack is going to be in force. While Ali doesn’t expect them to send any Master Classes, even a high Level Advanced Class or two…”

“Will be more than enough to hold us down. And there’s more of them than there are us,” Lana says, smiling grimly. “That about right?”

“More high Level individuals, yes,” I say, looking at her steadily as I finally say what’s on my mind. “We could beat them if we used everyone. Draw them in, target and whittle down each of their Advanced Classes and make them bleed as they come in.”

“But…”

“But people will die. Probably a lot of them,” I say, waving at the window. “And that’s if we can get them to agree to do it.”

“No guarantee of that,” Lana agrees. “Non-combat Classers aren’t exactly the bravest bunch in general.”

If we had a connection with them, or someone with a very high Charisma score, like Richard, maybe we’d have a better chance of motivating the group. Lana could do it, but she’s got her hands full just organizing things. Then again, not being someone’s slave is pretty good motivation, I’d think. There’s no way to know what they’ll choose really, not without trying.

“But you don’t want them involved, do you?” Lana says, breaking into my thoughts. “Still trying to save the world?”

“No. Not if I can help it. But I don’t see another way.”

Lana smiles, leaning forward, her blouse falling open as she does. My eyes stray downward, and while I’m distracted, she flicks my forehead.

“Owww!” I exclaim. “You know, ever since we started sleeping together, you’ve gotten a lot more violent.”

“And you’ve gotten dumber.” Lana smirks. “When have you ever decided to take the options you’ve been offered?”

“I can’t think of anything else!” I snarl. “It’s not as if I’m a damn soldier. I’m a failed programmer with violent tendencies.”

“You were a failed programmer,” Lana says, her voice dropping, growing gentler. “Whatever you were, you’ve changed. Now you’re something more. You’re our leader.”

“Joy,” I mutter, suddenly feeling so damn tired. I never wanted this. But somehow I’m here, leading a group of people who trust me and a bunch of people who never asked me to.

“Tell me.”

“Huh?”

“Tell me why you don’t want the others to fight,” Lana says.

I meet her eyes, drawn into those violet whirlpools, the insistence in her voice focusing me.  “Because… it’s not their job. It’s not what they should be doing. Not if they haven’t chosen to. Civilization, society, it’s been a climb from the bloody muck where everyone fought and killed and died. We built our world with technology and rules and will, so those who weren’t suited to a violent world could live in peace. Now, the drums are rolling and we’re all part of that thin red line of heroes.” Fresh anger bubbles up and leeches into my voice. “And we’re forgetting that damn line is there for a reason. The System might have destroyed our world, but the only people who can destroy who we are is us. And I’ll be damned if I contribute more to that than I have to.”

“Then find another way. And stop complaining.”

I nod, clenching that anger tightly again, pushing at the bubbling frustration. Lana watches, her hand on mine until I settle.

Then she edges closer to plant a gentle kiss on my lips.  “Sometimes, not thinking about a problem can be the best way to find a solution.”

I return the kiss, wrapping my arms around her body and holding her generous warmth to me. I draw a deep breath, smelling that intoxicating mixture of fresh air, ionized air, and something that is just her, and kiss her again, harder this time. Perhaps I do need a distraction.

***

An insistent pinging wakes me from deep slumber, automatic reactions conjuring my sword into my hand as I sit up, startled. I see nothing except for Roland, who stirs slightly at my movements before returning back to watchful stillness, and a still-slumbering redhead. A moment later, a flashing message finally clues me in on what woke me.

“YOU HAVE AN INCOMING COLLECT CALL. WOULD YOU LIKE TO ANSWER IT?”

“Who’d be calling now?” I mutter softly.

Even as quiet as I am, Lana shifts. I freeze, wondering if I woke her, but then I hear the whimpering, the half-filled sobs, and I know. She’s having another of her nightmares. I stroke her head, futilely willing calm into her.

“MAJOR LABASHI RUKA.”

“Ah! Yes, answer it,” I send to Kim mentally.

“CONNECTING.”

“Redeemer, you wished to speak with me?” Labashi’s voice comes over the air, seeming to resound in my head.

Similar to but different from the way Ali talks to me. It’s weird and expensive, since I’m basically paying the System to make the connection, but it does skip past the entire issue of light speed lag and interference. A part of me, the same part that controls my affinity, seems to thrum with familiarity. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to explore it.

“Got a problem. Thought you might be able to help…” When Labashi doesn’t reject my initial proposal, I get right into it, explaining the situation I’ve dragged the team into. “Figured with your experience, you might have a few ideas.”

“Well, my first recommendation would be to augment your forces with external help,” Labashi says. “I’ll even give you a discount. It won’t cost you much since it seems like the Thirteen Moons are already at their limit. There’s a stop order on the boards about them.”

“Oh?” I say, curious.

“Merc boards. We keep a number for information distribution purposes, places for us to talk about things that might affect each other—upcoming wars, new Dungeon Worlds, and the like. The Thirteen Moons have over-extended themselves with their entrance to Earth. They’re over-leveraged and their credit rating wasn’t that great to start with,” Labashi explains. “None of the reputable companies will work with them.”

“Right. So just some companies of ill-repute at best.” I sigh. Better than I had hoped for. It was one of the reasons I contacted Labashi, the potential of external help on both sides making things even more complicated. But if we can hire and they can’t… “That’s good to know.”

“Figure a platoon or two for your town will provide you the extra muscle you’ll need and keep the town safe while you’re gone.”

“Gone?”

“If you’re outnumbered, you shouldn’t be waiting for them to set the tempo. Hit them and keep hitting them. I wouldn’t recommend taking another town though, not unless you’re willing to abandon it,” Labashi says.

“Guerilla tactics?”

“Not exactly. You have a well-known base of operations, among other things. But close enough for your purpose.”

“That can work. Send me the contract. If we can afford it…”

“If not, we have access to some banks,” Labashi says smoothly.

“Send it all. And thank you,” I say, my shoulders finally relaxing.

So. Another option. Well, another two options. Help and a plan. Well, a direction, but I can work on it from there.

***

Awake now, I find my mind bouncing from thought to thought like a sugar-rushed fairy. With sleep eluding my grasp, I leave a note for Lana and take to the streets, walking my new domain. That’s how I find myself seated in the stands of a baseball field as dawn creeps over the horizon, watching Mikito and a hunter team train together. Facing the tiny Samurai in her Ghost Armor are four individuals: two in melee combat, a spellcaster over thirty feet away, and another fighter who intersperses his body between Mikito and the caster, firing a pair of pistols in staccato rhythm.

A jumping twist sends Mikito spinning through the air in a dodge, her naginata sweeping around her body to force her second assailant to dodge. The moment she lands, she’s spinning aside, taking the impact of the explosive rounds on her armor and building speed to sweep the legs off her initial attacker. Freed, Mikito darts toward the spellcaster.

Before she can reach the caster, the ground erupts in front of her, a rolling, attacking wave of greenery that grasps and stabs. A second is wasted as Mikito cuts and dodges, giving the others time to catch up with her.

“Nice use of the spell,” Ali says softly to me. “A bit wasteful for Mana but against itty-bitty…”

“Yeah,” I agree.

There are three methods of targeting for crowd control spells—manual, area effect, and System-targeted. The first requires you to cast and hit the target—think Spiderman’s webbing, grasping ivy, and the like. The second is like my Polar Zone spell—target it at an area and anything inside gets affected. Including allies, which is less useful for group fights. And lastly, System-targeted spells go through the System, so there’s no dodging them, only resisting. Of course, in terms of cost, the spells go from low to high in order, so while System-targeted spells might be more effective in theory, they’re also significantly more expensive.

I watch the fight, the group surrounding Mikito doing their best to contain and take her down while Mikito takes shots of opportunity at the close-in fighters and attempts to get at the caster. Lowering her body to within inches of the ground and spinning on her feet, Mikito dodges a series of shots that impact against one of the sword-wielders behind her. Surprisingly, the bullets seem to do nothing, glancing off his body.

“What…?”

“Class Skill,” Ali says and flicks his finger.

Friendly Fire (Class Skill)

Reduces damage done to designated friendly targets by attacker. Number of designated friendly units and damage reduced is dependent on Class Skill Level. Mana Regeneration reduced by 5 per Skill Level.

“Useful. But expensive,” I say.

I can see why it’s not a common Skill. Even with their group, he’d need at least two Class Skill points dedicated to it, reducing his Mana regeneration by ten. That’s ten attribute points just to stay even, which can be painful, especially when you’re starting out. On the other hand, the way he’s taking part in the close-combat fight, I can see how they’ve integrated his ability into the fight. Curious, I pay a little closer attention to the shooter, calling up his information.

Mel Furh (Level 26 Gunslinger)

HP: 187/240

MP: 290/290

Conditions: Eagle-eye, Steady Hand

“Interesting,” I say.

The two conditions seem to be exactly what they say—boosts to accuracy and speed of targeting, allowing Mel to run and shoot at Mikito, adding to the sheer volume of attacks she has to deal with. It probably would work better against someone who didn’t have the control of the battlefield that the Samurai does, as she exhibits an uncanny understanding of where everyone is. As she’s explained before, it’s more an understanding of the options available to each individual in relation to the attacks they may use on her than a sixth sense. It’s still impressive.

Close to Mikito, the second melee fighter drops low and pushes his hands outward, fire exploding from his form. It’s the third time he’s done this attack, so it doesn’t catch Mikito by surprise, even if it does blow her aside enough into the path of the bullets.

Rhys Hnaris (Level 23 Mage Adept)

HP: 141/280

MP: 284/380

Conditions: Hasted, Flame Armor, Kinetic Absorption

Who would have thought there’d be a Mage who was willing to get in close? Using a combination of martial arts and spells, he’s holding his own. Mostly. He’s not skilled enough to compete with a dedicated melee fighter, doesn’t have enough physical stats to overpower others, and his Mana pool isn’t that deep. Kind of like a middle ground of all bad choices, if you looked at it statistically. Of course, none of that matters when you’re flexible and prone to pulling out surprises—which the Mage Adept is doing right now. The exploding flame, rather than retreating to his body, flows toward Mikito and wraps around her.

The ranged spellcaster doesn’t hesitate, waving and calling forth her moving greenery spell. This time around, instead of wrapping Mikito directly, she uses the spell to dump earth around the Samurai, entombing her. The swordsman and gunslinger pull back, the former guiding the Adept even farther away by hand. I frown, flicking a glance upward to note that Mikito’s health isn’t dropping too much before I relax.

A slow ten count, the green-brown mound shuddering and jerking with each of those seconds. But while she’s fast, smart, and destructive, Mikito isn’t that strong. She relies on her weapon and precision to add force multipliers to her attacks, rather than raw power like me. In a situation like this, it’s a major disadvantage.

“Impressive,” Ali says.

“She wasn’t fighting that seriously,” I point out. In the few minutes that we’ve watched, I already saw the holes in their offense that she could have exploited if she had gone all out. Among other things, she wasn’t Hasted. “But yes, they’re pretty damn coordinated. Might actually be better than us. Reminds me of Capstan and his original group.”

“They’ve put in a lot of time training their coordination. And they’ve done it in a disciplined manner,” Ali agrees.

As the mound slowly falls apart, a bladed polearm leading the way, I hop down to introduce myself. I’m a bit puzzled why a group this skilled and disciplined isn’t higher Leveled. The fact that they’re willing to be out here in the early hours of the morning speaks to their dedication.

“Hello there,” I greet the group, smiling. Not that they haven’t noticed me.

I get grunted and verbal greetings. Mikito offers me a single nod before she casts a Cleanse spell on herself to rid herself of soot and dirt.

After a round of greetings, I congratulate and praise them. It’s something I know needs to be done—boost their self-confidence, let them know they’re doing well. Lead, I guess, if you wanted to think of it that way. Which is why I’m surprised when the Gunslinger snorts.

“No need to pour sunshine up our ass. Mikito was holding back,” Mel says, the well-built brunet grinning as he speaks. “She could have taken us at any point if she hadn’t limited her abilities and tactics.”

His harsh words get a round of nods from his team—and it’s clear, it’s his team.

“Huh.” His bluntness gives me pause for a moment. “How come you guys are so low Leveled?”

“The Sect,” Rhys answers, grimacing. “They took on anything that was higher Level, limited our hunting to lower Level zones and limiting the amount of time we could hunt. They wanted us to stay well below their Levels. Made it easier for us to be controlled. Rather than get ‘relocated for better opportunities,’ we decided to limit our growth ourselves.”

“They could stop us from Leveling, but they couldn’t stop us from training,” Mel says, his hands casually resting on the butts of his pistols. I look at the pistols again and realize I recognize those giant, ugly pistols, but I’m unsure why. Seeing my look, Mel smiles slightly and pulls one out, finger off the trigger and holding it pointed up and away slightly, for me to see it properly. “Desert Eagle. More a toy than a weapon before the change, but with my added strength…”

“You were shooting exploding rounds,” I say, frowning. “Didn’t realize they had those.”

“Class Skill. I’m able to make specialized ammunition that works with my weapons. Upgraded them all myself too, so they work with the System,” Mel explains.

“Can they…?”

“Nope. Tried it already,” Mel says. “Seems to be locked to me, so I can’t provide the rounds or guns to others. Might change at higher Levels, but for now, it’s only the craftsmen who can do that.”

“Your Class…” I ask, unsure about the etiquette on this matter but curious anyway. We’re all still figuring things out after all.

“Gunslinger. You could call me a bit of a gun nut before this. Was in the army for a few years. Infantry. Was in between deployments to Afghanistan when the System hit. That first day, I grabbed at the Class when it came,” Mel says. “Wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being a Rifleman.”

“Ah.” I nod in agreement. Yes, the System was known to hand out skill- or hobby-appropriate Classes. Still, surprising that he got what I’m assuming is a somewhat uncommon or even maybe rare Class in a city like this. Then again, luck does have a part to play in all this. “Seems like an interesting Class.”

“I think so,” Mel says, flashing me a grin. “Mikito tells me you were planning on hitting Kelowna earlier, but stopped?”

“Yup. I figured it’d be good to attack them if we wiped out their Advanced Class team, but…” I shrug, acknowledging our failure. “Didn’t work out. Probably a bad idea anyway.”

“Why’d you say that?” Mel says, frowning.

“Well, a friend pointed out that we’d be over-stretching ourselves. We wouldn’t be able to defend either place adequately,” I say, remembering Labashi’s advice.

“Only if you intended to defend it. Nothing wrong with wiping out their people then pulling back, draining the place of any resources you can get your hands on,” Mel says. “Hell, if you threw up some basic defenses, no guarantee they’d be willing to go after it.”

“Oh…?”

“We’re right smackdab in their zone of control. Only reason the other team wasn’t here was because they were expanding out east. If you knock them out, all the cities around us would be in a precarious position geographically. Nothing to support them—which means they might not risk more people to take a marginal place,” Mel says.

“Risky,” Mikito says, frowning.

I note that Rhys is nodding as well.

“Of course, but what do you lose out? Might widen their options, but if you don’t care about losing the cities…”

“And the people who live in those cities?” I ask softly, my voice cold.

Mel’s broad shoulders move in a dismissive gesture. Before I can say anything else, another group wanders into the training grounds. Mikito takes the opportunity to order the groups to train together, gripping my arm to pull me away.

“Bit of a dick, isn’t he?” I say, not bothering to lower my voice.

“He’s actually got a pretty decent set,” Ali says, glancing at me.

Mikito ignores the rude Spirit, speaking to me instead. “He’s not wrong. Nor are you. But I don’t think you are here to talk to my people?”

“Your people?” I say, then move on before she can answer. “I was, a little. Thought I’d get a firsthand look at them, maybe give a few encouraging words. Also wanted to let you know that we’ve got some Hakarta coming in to reinforce the city in a few days, once their transport drops them off. Well, and I sign the papers.”

“Hakarta?” Mikito frowns then glances at the group before nodding. “You want me to warn the hunters.”

“Right. I’ll get Lana on it too, but well…”

“They’re more likely to do damage,” Mikito says, nodding. “Consider it done.”

“Thanks.” I watch the groups spar. I frown, shifting my feet, considering if I should stick around.

Mikito steps in front of me, blocking my vision. “You should go.”

“But…”

“You have better things to do. And your presence is not beneficial,” Mikito says, smiling slightly to take the sting out of her words.

“I…”

“Go. I have this,” Mikito says, waving.

“Fine,” I grumble and head off, kind of upset she’s kicking me out.

I’ll admit I’m not the most charismatic or nice individual, but I’m not that bad! Still, I do have paperwork to review and others to speak with. Resigning myself to further work, I head off.

Chapter 11

“Again,” Mikito says firmly as I come to an end of the form.

I glare at the woman for a moment before sighing and walking back to the center of the room we’ve taken over to restart the sword form. One of the advantages of owning most of a city, places like a school gymnasium are easy to find and the bonus in training speeds is a plus.

Before I can begin, Mikito says, “Focus on your edge. It’s still shifting at the end. And at step three and seven, shift back a half inch.”

I grunt, nod, and begin. The form I use, that I train, is the same one I deduced over a year ago from what I saw on recordings of Erethran Honor Guard fights. In particular, there’s a certain blue-haired woman whose style I’m attempting to mimic, a way of using the Soulbound weapon more effectively. It requires me to summon and banish my blades as I attack and defend. Together, Mikito and I have further refined it, adding the additional blades from Thousand Blades so that I can form a never-ending ring of swords around my body. In theory—and with some practice—the form allows me to attack and defend at the same time, constraining openings as the floating blades cut off lines of attack.

Sadly, while Mikito might be trained, smart, and dedicated, she was also limited by her past. Human martial arts don’t contain much knowledge about floating weapons that move in their own paths, so we’re both struggling to figure out the best ways to use this Skill of mine. Since the recordings we have are of the lady in actual combat, replicating them into forms that I can use to train was difficult. If it weren’t for the fact that I heal constantly, I’d be littered with wounds.

It’s only after I’ve run through the forms another four times that Mikito calls it a day. At least for the theory portion of our early morning training session. As I stretch and rub at the latest cut, smearing blood over my skin, Mikito is gently stretching.

“Ready?” the young Japanese woman asks me.

“Limits?” I answer.

“No Skills for the first three rounds. Then we’ll increase. Choose one Skill or spell to add each round,” Mikito suggests.

I nod. “Sounds fun.”

I grin, calling forth my sword and getting into my guard. Right foot forward, hand held slightly above waist high and slightly outside my right knee. Left hand close to my angled body, weight distributed evenly.

Once Mikito sees I’m in guard, she moves, leaping forward. My eyes widen slightly, the change of pace and style catching me off guard for a microsecond. Luckily, my reflexes don’t stop, shifting my sword to aim toward the fast-moving body, and it clashes with her naginata even as the Japanese woman spins away. I catch a glimpse of laughing eyes, the sheer joy of letting go without concern for safety, before I have to focus. Still, a grin creeps across my face.

An hour plus later, we’re both seated on the ground, panting. Stamina might not necessarily be a major concern during fights for either of us—well, me—but training is different. We’re purposely attempting to remove all our Stamina, pushing ourselves to the state where we’re tired and start making mistakes. The kind of mistakes that only happen when you can barely lift your hand.

As I stare at the ceiling, I can’t help but ask, “How are you doing?”

“Recovering. Eight minutes,” Mikito says wryly.

Of course it’s eight minutes. It’s mostly the same for me. That’s one of the oddities of the System—it takes the same amount of time for everyone to reach their peak level. Of course, what that peak level is is different, but still. An oddity. Only Class Skills make a difference.

“I meant with the hunting groups,” I say, clarifying matters. It’s been days since we arrived and Mikito has taken on the role of guide without complaint.

“It is good. They’re more hesitant than those in Whitehorse. More jumpy. I’m spending time building up their confidence,” Mikito says with a frown. “The Sect has done well to condition these guys to play it safe. Getting them to risk a little has been the hardest thing.”

I nod, understanding her point. Still, it wasn’t what I was asking. Even if we’ve only known each other for a bit, she’s still a friend. And a year ago, she lost her husband and her family. Now I’m asking her to take care of strangers and train them to put themselves in front of monsters. “And you?”

“I’m fine,” Mikito says, offering me a slight smile.

It’s a deflection. I know it. She knows it. But I don’t push it, because, well, it’d be rude. And talking about our emotions, about how we feel, isn’t really something either of us is comfortable doing. Blame our culture, our upbringing, or just our nature. In the end, the results are the same.

“Okay then,” I say softly. “So tell me what I did wrong this time.”

Mikito smiles slightly, leaning forward to speak. After she’s done, I’ll give her my own notes. And then, well, we’ll do it all again tomorrow.

***

I frown, staring at the converted block of buildings. What used to be squat, utilitarian concrete buildings have transformed, becoming one squat, utilitarian concrete building with weapon emplacements. A concrete extension, seeming to have grown from the corner of the building, joins the apartments to the two-story retail shops next to it. Above the retail stores, sandbags and molded steel sit on the rooftops, providing cover and protection for defenders. Just above, mostly hidden, I see flashes of greenery where the apartment complex’s garden thrives. As Lana said, the building is impressive.

As I walk up to the main entrance, Benjamin walks out to greet me with a smile. Behind him, protected by sheets of metal, are guards, each carrying registered rifles. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see security cameras dotting the walls, watching me as I approach.

“Johnathan, thank you for taking me up on my invitation,” Benjamin says with a smile, offering his hand.

“It’s just John,” I say, shaking his hand. Once again, I eye the thin Architect. His invitation was a surprise, though it shouldn’t have been. After all, I had “felt out” Roxley myself. There’s no reason Benjamin wouldn’t want to do the same with me.

“Come on up. Or would you like the tour first?”

“Mmm… dinner first,” I say with a smile.

Interestingly enough, Benjamin doesn’t live on the top floor but the sixth. His apartment is small, cozy even, with the look of a well-lived building. Children’s toys and discarded clothing are scattered on the floor of the living room, around a worn beige couch, and a smiling lady greets me as I step in.

“This is Susan, my wife,” Benjamin says, then he’s tackle-hugged at the knees. He pats the child’s head. “And Julia, my daughter.”

“Mr. Lee.” A hand is offered to me, which I shake. Ben’s wife has long, curly, light brown hair and is wearing a simple summer dress that hugs a thin figure. “Please, sit. Dinner will be served soon.”

“Thank you,” I say, letting Ben and Susan guide me to the dining room. Surprisingly, I find Mel seated already. “Mel.”

“Ms. Sato mentioned that we should have Mel over for dinner too,” Benjamin says as we take a seat.

“Not a problem,” I say. “Mikito tells me your team was the one who managed to clear the dungeon?”

“Yes. That completion bonus was quite good,” Mel says, eyes glinting with humor. “I’m beginning to understand how you guys Leveled so fast, especially if what Mikito said was true about the number of dungeons you had to deal with.”

“There were a few,” I say, leaning forward. “Tell me about this one.”

Mel tilts his head, regarding me for a second before expounding on the dungeon. I lead him on, getting a feel for how they did and what he thought. Mel’s interesting—he’s dry and clinical and extremely detailed about the dungeon, almost as if he’s providing a report. Only when Susan arrives with dinner do we switch topics and speak about lighter matters. The weather, cute new animals, the burgeoning education and daycare system she’s involved in. Topics more suited for the ears of the four-year-old joining us.

The meal is delicious and filling—matzah ball soup followed by a roast with pureed carrots and potato pancakes, and after that, mashed potatoes and salad and a stew. Beef stew perhaps, though I wouldn’t have bet on that for the meat. Tasty and chewy anyway.

When dinner is over, Julia is taken by Susan to her room, Ben’s wife giving him a look I’m unable to read.

“Shall we take a walk?” Ben asks, gesturing toward the door. “I’d love to show you around the apartments.”

“Sure,” I say readily, curious about the building and his Skills. It doesn’t hurt that we’ll actually get to the meat of this meeting finally. As nice as a home-cooked meal and the evening was, it’s pretty draining playing at this social game.

No surprise, Mel follows us as we walk.

As we head down the corridor to the elevators, Ben speaks. “Sam tells me he’s not really from the Yukon. He joined you later?”

“Yes.”

“Ah…” Ben pauses, realizing I’m not going to elaborate. “Well, he seems to have gotten along well with you.”

“He’s got an interesting Class,” I reply.

Mel’s eyes tighten, but he doesn’t say a thing.

“Very true. There’s been some interesting synergy between his Class and the Mechanics, Engineers, and other craftsmen in town. Now that they’re working together with a wider range of resources, they’re managing to develop some interesting inventions,” Ben says. “Ah, you might be interested in this.”

Ben stops at a door, opening it and pointing at where the original apartment building expanded to join the retail stores. For a time, he explains the various security measures and his Skill, detailing Mana and point cost, the self-improving nature of the building. It’s an interesting discussion, but as we speak, I can see Mel getting more and more impatient.

When we’re finally out of the join, Mel speaks. “What are your plans for us? For the residents.”

“What do you mean?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t seem intent on leaving. Are you intending to choose people based off their Class and Skills? Off Levels?” Mel says belligerently.

“Choose what?” I ask softly, playing obtuse.

“The people in charge. Don’t think we’ve not noticed that everyone in charge is someone with a high Level or one of you Yukoners.”

“Well, we are somewhat more experienced,” I say, shrugging. “Thus the higher Levels.”

“Bullshit,” Mel snaps. “Ben here knows more about city planning than you do. He was on a damn city council, for god’s sake. And Mikito might know how to fight, but she’s still learning about tactics. At least you’ve got Sam and Torg dealing with your farming and crafting.”

“Figuring we’re not competent?”

“Not competence. Lacking a little experience perhaps,” Ben interjected.

Mel says, “You kids have—”

“Kids? You might be a decade or two older, but we’re not exactly children,” I snap, then draw a deeper breath. “And who’s the kid? You both are nearly half our Levels. Whether you like it or not, those Levels matter.”

“As does pre-System experience!” Mel snaps. “You think your Levels are all important while—”

“While you aren’t paying us enough respect for what we’ve done.”

“I’m sure Mel wasn’t insulting you on purpose,” Ben says quickly, stepping between us. “We’re all just looking to help out where we can.”

“Maybe. But calling me a kid isn’t helping,” I say angrily. “We’ve got the experience of actually building up a city in this new System world. And yeah, we might not have the same skills you had, but we sure as hell have done it before.”

“And we understand that,” Ben says, shooting a glare at Mel to shut him up. “But we’d also like to know what your plans are for the city.”

“Not much to tell. We’re going to do our best to get the city into shape, give you all the boost that we’ve found worked in the Yukon to become a functioning city,” I say. “We’ll kick the Sect’s ass too, while we’re at it. In the meantime, if you guys want to help, we need you to continue Leveling up and helping keep things contained. Whether you like it or not, till the Sect is dealt with, we’re the city’s best hope.”

“Fine. We’ll continue Leveling up, but you guys better start talking to those of us from Kamloops. We won’t take being locked out of our city. Not again, and not by a… by humans,” Mel says huffily.

I nod. He’s a bit short-tempered and gruff perhaps, but I get it. And I do have plans for them—but it’s not time to tell him just yet.

***

The next week passes in a blur. The Hakarta platoons arrived yesterday. They integrate pretty well, mostly because my team and I take the time to ensure everyone is settled with their presence before we head out. I guess when you have a walking, talking, mostly polite humanoid and compare it to the slavering, carnivorous monsters that lie outside the cities, you get a little bit of perspective. Helps when the polite green humanoid looks as though he could rip you apart if you weren’t polite.

In the course of the week, Mikito’s able to drag the average Level up by one, which is pretty impressive when you consider how few high-Level zones are around here. I’m once more reminded how “lucky” we were in Whitehorse.

“DRONES ONLINE,” Kim flashes at me, and my minimap updates.

A second later, another larger map appears in front of me, providing a real-time feed of the surrounding areas. While the bionetwork continues to grow out, the modified sensor drones will help fill in the gap and provide more detailed information. For now, Kim has them on a routine sweep.

“Thanks.” I stare at the information, watching data flicker and update before stabilizing. I dismiss the map after a second, and the view of the roadway where we wait reappears. The rest of the team hasn’t arrived yet, so it’s Sam and me standing in the middle of the road west, sharing the map information that he’s fed to the settlement. “Good work there, Sam.”

The Technomancer grunts his acknowledgement, head still in the bowels of his modified truck. Now that he has had the time and supplies, he’s been upgrading his transportation, adding everything from anti-gravity plates to plate armor. The most eye-catching addition is the anti-tank beam cannon mounted on the roof, a weapon that feeds off its own power supply. It doesn’t have a lot of shots, but it’d hurt even me.

“Keep the teams to the north for now,” Mikito instructs the group that trails her as she turns the corner. “Remember, the Hakarta are here to help, but you all are still the primary defense force. You need to pull the teams back in time for you to join the convoy. Watch your rotations!”

“We got it,” Mel grumbles, shaking his head. “I’ve done this before you know.”

Mikito’s lips purse, but she nods shortly, leaving the group.

Coming from around the other corner, Lana’s doing much the same with her tiny retinue. Torg, Benjamin, and a few others who make up the new city council listen to the redhead. While they still aren’t happy, the short-term solution of using a group of locals to oversee the day-to-day has settled the locals down somewhat. Unlike Mikito, Lana’s mostly just saying goodbye and letting them know our general plans. Rather than breaking away, the group follows Lana all the way to me.

“John,” Benjamin greets me with a smile, eyes sweeping over our group as we get ready to leave. “We’ll keep the city ticking for you.”

“Thanks.” I smile in gratitude. I’m not stupid—I understand the risk in giving this group of strangers as much access and power as I am, but it’s not as if I have that much time. Better to trust that Lana picked them right and that Kim can keep them contained while I get on with the important parts of keeping everyone alive. Not to mention the fact that unless they’re really stupid, they’ll wait to take over until the current danger has passed. No reason for me to stick around and help them out if they take the city from me.

“Not sure what I’m doing on the council,” Torg mutters, shaking his head as he returns to a familiar complaint.

“You know farming. System farming to be exact. The city mostly does farming. Seems like the perfect fit to me,” I say.

“I’m just a Serf…” Torg peters off as everyone else looks at him. He sighs, giving up.

Still, I make a mental note to keep an eye on him and look for a replacement. Never know if he’d choose to leave for a more established city.

“Right, you guys keep the city running. Get the convoy up and running. We won’t be gone too long, if everything works out well. Kim can contact us if necessary and has an idea of what we want done. Mostly though, keep building, keep growing in Levels, and keep strengthening our defenses,” I say.

After that, getting on the road takes no time. Lana joins Sam in his truck while Mikito and I ride ahead. About half an hour later, we exit the sensor envelope around Kamloops and find the last member of the team waiting for us.

“Ingrid.” I pull Sabre to a stop, leaning forward as I sweep my gaze over her body. Nothing out of place and she looks, if not relaxed, at least somewhat neutral.

“John. Ladies,” Ingrid says, her gaze lingering on Sam’s truck before she shakes her head and dismisses whatever thought is bugging her. “You got my message?”

“Yes,” I say, tapping my helmet so I can at least speak with her eye-to-eye. Really, a part of me wonders why I bother with a helmet. I’m strong enough that I could fall off the bike onto my head at a hundred miles an hour and only get a tiny ouchie. But years of training seems to hold true, making me feel really uncomfortable on the bike if I don’t have the helmet on.

Before Ingrid can answer further, Shadow, who has crept up next to her, assaults her with a giant, slobbery tongue. A few minutes later, after Ingrid has finally pried herself away from Lana’s puppy and its shadow—and how a shadow slobbers and licks is somewhat mind-bending—she is more calmly greeted by the girls and Sam, leaving me drumming my fingers in impatience.

“They pulled everyone from Vernon?” I say slowly.

“Yes,” Ingrid says.

“And you’re certain there isn’t anyone in town?” I mutter.

“Certain? No. But I’m pretty sure the Sect grabbed all of their people and their Serfs,” Ingrid says. “If they’re there, they’re so well hidden we can’t see them. They might really be gone."

“What do you intend to do?” Lana says, tilting her head toward me, a lock of hair falling across her face to be angrily brushed aside.

“Take the city. Organize those who are willing and have them leave for Kamloops. Then I’m going to sell the city back to the System,” I say.

“What?”

“Huh?”

“Maji?”

“Why?”

I turn to Sam, who asks that last question. “We can’t hold the city. And with our population so shot, there’s no point in keeping a ton of tiny little enclaves. Better to concentrate our people where we can to grow faster. Also, the Credits from selling a town can be—”

“Lucrative,” Ali says, flashing a wide, shit-eating grin. “That’s how John got Sabre.”

I see lots of nods, but of course, it’s Ingrid who asks the obvious question. “You going to share?”

***

Organizing Vernon and getting its citizens moving back toward Kamloops is painful. People are stubborn, emotional, and irrational, and even in the face of incontrovertible proof that their town is dying if not dead, many still refuse to leave. It takes all of Lana’s significant Charisma to convince most of them to pack. There’s no way we can guard them all, no way to keep them safe from the monsters or the Sect if they are out on the limb. And yet, some refuse. Some because they don’t believe us. Some because they believe it’s another test. But Lana does her thing as do the others to a smaller extent, and we slowly get a stream of others in. Of course, the next problem is transporting people back to Kamloops.

“We ready yet?” Sam asks. “The convoy should be ready by now.”

“How long will it take?” I frown, trying to mentally gauge how long it’d take to send a message back to get the convoy moving to us. Then again, until we have at least the majority of people sorted and out of the way, I’m not going to even attempt to enter the City Center. Just because we haven’t run into any traps or resistance yet doesn’t mean there isn’t any.

“Hour or so. Should just be about right for the pickup,” Sam says, turning to his truck. He stares at it for a second, and a panel in the back rolls back, a drone floating upward. I can see portions of my drones in it—the dragonfly’s base framework has been bulked up and altered. The resulting drone is no longer a surveillance drone but something bigger, nastier, and greyer. A pair of beam rifles stick out from its side, and a smaller dish hangs below the undercarriage. “I’ll let Kim know. Shouldn’t take more than an hour and it can hone in on me later.”

“When did you build it?” I ask, looking over the new drone. Not what I was expecting, since this drone is significantly different from my own and the ones around the city.

“In the last few days, after I modified the others for Kim. Have about a half dozen drones in store, though I can only control three right now. Well, three with any degree of control,” Sam says quite proudly. “I got fed up of hiding inside Mikito’s PAV.”

I smile and send Sam off to send the message while I walk around quietly. As always, Mikito has taken on the role of dealing with the few hunters while Lana’s in the midst of organizing the others. I pitch in with Lana where I can, cajoling and answering questions, but it’s no surprise that Lana and eventually Sam are the main go-tos. I’m more than content to let them deal with the crowd, and I eventually break off when Ingrid makes her way back.

“So…?” I ask.

“Traps. Lots of them. The entire building’s wired to blow. Multiple spells and turrets are set up to deal damage if anyone tries to enter the Core. Probably some mines too,” Ingrid says, shaking her head. “Wasn’t easy to get close enough to look. The townsfolk cordoned off the place. I hear a few people were injured before they realized the problem.”

“Can you disarm it?” I ask.

“What do I look like?” Ingrid says sarcastically.

I wince at her tone and glance at Sam, wondering if he could be of use.

“Don’t bother, boy-o,” Ali says. “He doesn’t have the Skill for this. Or skill. Disarm Traps or its equivalent is a specialized thing. You’d need both to do a proper disarm.”

“Great.” I frown, considering my options.

“What are you worried for? Toss your Soul Shield on and walk in,” Ali says, waving. “Just keep casting your Heal spells and you’ll be good.”

“Just walk in?” I say, somewhat amused. “One does not just walk in—”

“With your health, Skills, and spells?” Ali says. “Yes. Yes. You do. Unless you want to take a few days slowly whittling down the defenses.”

“Then we stick to the plan,” I say, gesturing to the group of humans still being slowly moved and guided out.

The second convoy departs as I speak, enough transportation scrounged together to make a group large enough to make sense to send out with our limited number of hunters. I can only hope the rest of the hunter teams arrive from Kamloops. We didn’t want too many of our own people in the initial scouting groups, but now that we know what the situation is, it’s time to get moving.

***

Hours. It takes hours for transportation to arrive from Kamloops and the refugees to pack themselves in. The hunter groups from Kamloops are finally here, spread out to play guard over the convoy. Lana and Sam are in the midst of it all, organising people and directing them to vehicles, bargaining and explaining why, no, bringing Grandma’s armoire isn’t going to work. It’s stupid, irrational, and emotional and why I’m dodging it all, seated as I am on a nearby office tower and watching the roads, staring at the data Ali feeds me.

It’s there that Ingrid finds me. “Nothing?”

“Not yet,” I say, my fingers rolling a chocolate bar around and around. “I could have sworn they’d have hit us by now.”

“Might be waiting for you to take the city,” Ingrid offers, gesturing toward the abandoned building which houses the City Core.

“They can’t think I’m that stupid.” Maybe I’m being paranoid, but this feels too much like a trap. There’s no way I’d go in while the city is still mostly populated, never mind the threat of an attack if I’m stuck making my way to the City Core.

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Ingrid says.

“And boy, have you done some stupid things,” Ali adds.

“We set?” I say to Ingrid, ignoring Ali, and receive a nod in reply. I relax slightly, grateful that whatever the reason for the delay, we’ve set up our own little series of surprises.

“Would I be here otherwise?” Ingrid snarks back.

I open my mouth to reply, but something on the horizon catches my eye. I frown, zooming in with the helmet, the dot growing bigger at an astounding rate. A pair of stubby wings, a flattened, cone-shaped body in grey, and stubs of metal pointing out of it is what I see. Behind it, bigger, blockier airships follow at a more sedate pace.

“Shit!” I mentally command the radio on. “We have incoming airships. Get everyone off the streets and hidden. Sam, we’re going to need that gun of yours. Ingrid, Mikito, get ready to intercept when their ground-pounders arrive.”

Even as I speak, the dot I noticed has expanded significantly, now visible to the naked eye. A moment later, its weapons start tearing up buildings with brilliant blue beams of destruction. I throw myself off the building, crossing the distance to another, my Soul Shield flaring into a brilliant corona of reds and blues as energy bleeds over.

I run and dodge, the attacks seeming to be fixed on me. A few eternal seconds later, my Soul Shield having fallen and my exposed skin blackened, the attack cuts off. The booming echo of too-fast airships and crumbling buildings rings through my ears. My breath comes hurriedly, the filtered air from the helmet stale and sterile. On a partly crumbled building, I swing my hand up and ignore the falling black dots that make up air-inserted Sect members. My team will have to deal with the invaders disembarking from the transport ships. My job is to fix my mistake. I should have known about the damn airships.

My hand rises, my mind fixing on the fast-retreating airship that is already turning, and I make the connection. Lower the potential on one side, increase it on the other. Use Mana to restrict the flow, my Elemental Affinity to reduce the bonds in the channel. Then more Mana to start the process, even as arcane symbols and thoughts flicker through my mind. Lightning explodes from my hand, reaching across the distance in a blink of an eye, and I channel the raw forces of nature. Ali darts forward into the stream, focusing the flow and intensifying it with his ability.

Around the gunships, shields flares to life, taking the damage I dish out as the lightning jumps from ship to ship. Those shields are more than enough to deal with my initial blast, but I have the connection now and I refuse to let them hold the high ground. A part of me rails against my stupidity at forgetting that there is no dragon to rule the skies. That out here, airpower is actually possible. People are dying, people have died, because I made a mistake and all I can do is pay them back in kind.

Beams of fire targeted at my unmoving form, my refreshed Soul Shield glowing as it sheds damage. Seconds before my shield falls, so does the lead gunship’s. More power, channeled through Ali, shorts out electronics and melts armor while my flesh cooks. A corner of my mind spots a beam of destruction stab upward from the ground, Sam’s truck taking out the second airship. Pain wraps around me like clingfilm, my nerves frying, my body burning. Suddenly, blessed relief from the mounting pain as the beam cuts off, the remaining airship peeling away.

“Enough, boy-o,” Ali shouts, and I realize he’s been doing so for a couple of seconds.

I kill the lightning, collapsing to my knees as my body struggles to heal. Flesh reknits, my hair slowly regrowing, burnt skin flaking off. A hand scrambles to the side and injects a health potion into my body to speed up the healing process. I know the System reduced some of the damage for me, reducing the actual effect of the damage to simulate my resistances and my health points. Hell, it even reduced how much it hurt. System-weirdness.

“Time to move,” Ali says, expanding the map so that I can see the converging red dots.

I made a target of myself, and if it weren’t for the hunter teams from Vernon and Kamloops and my friends slowing them down and distracting them, I’d be dealing with the landed Sect members.

John Lee

HP: 487/1700

MP: 729/1310

Conditions: Crispy

I stagger upward, eyeing my condition, and cast a quick Greater Healing and Greater Regeneration in short order. Should have done a second earlier, but I was so damn angry. Still am, but the armor I’m wearing is mostly gone and my health is nearly shot. Sabre first, then combat.

“Status,” I say over the party communications, wondering how things are going as I drop to the ground. Sabre’s on autopilot as it winds through the broken roads to me.

“Forty-three Sect members are in the city. They’re working in groups of five when they can, but we’re working on breaking them up. Levels range from around 30 plus to Advanced Classes, I’d guess,” Sam says, his voice gruff and hurried, as if he’s got something better to do. “Mikito and Lana and her pets are leading the combat teams in direct fights, but that Blood Warrior and Rock Thrower you were talking about are tearing through any group they find. We’re avoiding them for now but…”

“Forty-two,” Ingrid says, breaking into the conversation. “But we need you out there, John.”

“On it. Just getting Sabre.” I hurry toward the intersection I know Sabre is rushing into. Instinct and the map make me jerk to a stop before I enter the intersection and expose myself. A large twisting cone of energy and vines rips through the air in front of me. “Might be a bit delayed.”

I conjure my sword and a few trailing blades, gather myself, then jump upward and sideways slightly. I land against the building’s wall, legs bunching beneath me as they take the impact and release, throwing me at an angle upward and forward. Spinning through the air, I lash out with Blade Strike as I clear the building, sending blade energy streaking toward my attackers.

Small fry, I note quickly, even as I conjure a fireball. I send it toward the group scrambling from my earlier attack. The fireball flies toward the group, a Sect member already raising his hand to conjure a shield of ice. That’s when I surprise them by Blink Stepping into their midst, ignoring my own fireball. It’s an insane move, stepping right into your own explosion, and that’s why none of them expect it.

Cutting right, I slice apart the fast-acting Mage, breaking his incipient spell and ducking behind his bleeding form, using his half-severed body as cover for when the fireball arrives. Everything is moving in slow motion it seems, but it snaps back into place when the fireball erupts, throwing red and gold destruction around like a child given a bag of confetti. Compared to being cooked alive by the gunship’s beam weapon, this just hurts.

“Die,” I snarl, lunging forward and skewering another Sect member.

A third, struggling up from being thrown aside by the fireball, gets run over by Sabre. I throw myself toward the bike, triggering the change and stomping on the struggling form with one newly metal-covered leg. The others are easy to mop up after that, the added firepower of the mecha adding to the carnage.

Exhaling, I take a couple of seconds to get my breath back. Then it’s time to get moving. Minutes of running and dodging, hunting down the glowing red, green, and blue dots of enemies on my minimap ensue.

There’s no planning on my part, instead giving control to Sam, who has a better view of the fight with his drones and isn’t directly in combat, stuck as he is in his truck. I bounce from group to group, adding an onslaught of sudden death to existing and burgeoning fights, never stopping as I attempt to close with the Blood Warrior. Problem is, he’s split himself a couple of times and his blood clones are running around, clogging up my minimap. The two I manage to catch are easy enough to dispatch—one easier than the other—but even watered down, they’re too tough for anyone except the core team to deal with. And if any of the team actually runs into the main body, it’ll go real bad real fast. Thankfully, Sam reports that Lana and her pets have run into the Rock Thrower, the group and her hunting team ganging up to take him down.

I round the next corner and spot a glowing threesome ready for the picking. Except I’m not the only one with sensors and information and these three hit me with a combined spell. Wind, electricity, and kinetic force cut, fry, and smash into Sabre’s shield, their combined spell throwing me through a nearby building and the next one too.

Sabre’s shield had taken a beating even before this and doesn’t last under the onslaught, meaning that the mecha’s armor has to take the brunt of it. Damage bleeds through—it always bleeds through—cracking a rib and searing newly healed skin, the smell of slightly cooked flesh re-assaulting my nose. I keep rolling, getting out of the line of sight, which does little when they fire a series of grenades inside and blow me out the other side of the wall.

This time around, I Blink Step mid-explosion, throwing myself onto the top of a nearby building using Ali’s line of sight. Head spinning from the attack, I struggle to orient myself as I stagger to my feet. A glimpse of figures below is all I need to act on instinct and return fire, launching my entire rack of missiles at the group. It’s overkill for a trio of Mages, but they pissed me off.

“Sorry about the trap, boy-o. They layered some invisibility spells to hide what they were up to and I didn’t manage to pierce them in time,” Ali says.

It’s a horrible trade, three Sect members for two-thirds of Sabre’s armor and even more of my Mana. I snarl, running again as I search for more, the smoking remnants of the town surrounding me. Vernon was never a big city—mostly three-, four-story office buildings in short blocks—which means I end up on the road again in short order. The city is ruined, smoldering hulks of buildings and spreading fires all around me. The Sect cares not a whit about collateral damage as they attack our people.

“Two blocks down, keep going this way,” Sam says, his voice urgent. I speed up, refreshing my spells and the shield’s, watching my Mana drop again. “The Blood Warrior—or one of his clones—is about to intersect with you.”

I grin wolfishly, happy that something is going my way. I raise the automatic rifle strapped to my arm, making sure that the armor piercing and high explosive rounds are cycled and ready. Comparatively low amount of damage, but the Inlin spits out enough projectiles that it makes up for some of it. In my other hand, I have my sword, ready to release a Blade Strike. On top of that, I prep the sonic pulser, pulling out all the stops when the Blood Warrior arrives.

The ear-piercing shriek, set at decibels high enough that it can shatter glass and screw with an individual’s inner ear, explodes outward the moment the Blood Warrior crosses the road. The red, fluid figure informs me that I’m not fighting the original, just one of his clones. Still, the sonic pulse is enough to make it shudder to a stop, disturbing ripples flowing along its “flesh” as the pulser assaults it. Time enough for me to drop all of my rounds into it, the projectiles alternately exploding or piercing its form.

“You!” the clone snarls. “You killed my friends.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried killing us!” I snarl and keep running at it, releasing a wave of energy from my sword and its trailing counterparts.

The clone twists and dodges by jumping over and between the flying crescents of energy, a display of agility that has me slightly envious. Even with my own enhanced stats, I’m not entirely sure I’d be willing to try that, especially not with the amount of time he has to react.

“You attacked us first,” the creature says as it lands and thrusts its palm at me. A spike of blood juts outward, slamming directly into my shield.

Momentum shatters the spike and the Soul Shield at the same time, letting me tackle the monster to the ground. I reach upward and slam my sword down to the side of him, trusting the arc of my attack to send the blades that trail alongside to cut into the ground beside the clone, trapping it. Doesn’t matter where it goes, it’s going to get cut.

“This isn’t over!” the clone snarls, stabbed through its chest by one of the trailing blades as it squirms aside.

I channel Freezing Blade, tired of listening to it, when the blood clone ripples then explodes, the explosion throwing me backward.

“Asshole,” I say with a groan. Flashing lights in Sabre telling me that the explosion has done even more damage to the poor mecha.

“That’s another group gone,” Ali says, coming over to where I struggle to my feet.

That makes four. Even if I’m locating and killing the damn Sect members as fast as I can, they’ve got the initiative here. We have the numbers, but they’ve got the Levels and the initiative, with our people too spread out across the city as we attempt to save everybody. They’re hitting our people piecemeal, taking out teams while we scramble.

“We’re losing,” I say after a glance at the map. “That’s it. Everyone, this is John Lee. Pull back on Sam. Grab whatever civilians you can, but everyone pulls back. Sam, coordinate them to fall back on you.” A part of me hopes I’m using the terms right, that everyone understands what I mean. It’s what I know from reading a few books and seeing a lot of movies, terminology that probably means what I think it does. “Ali…?”

“Head down this street and take a left. There’s a group of hunters pinned down with civilians about four blocks down,” Ali says.

Better to rely on my Spirit now; Sam’s got his hands full.

I curse inwardly, knowing we’re abandoning people, leaving them to be taken or possibly killed. A part of me figures that the Sect won’t actually go after the civilians, not when it’s clear we won’t be coming for them anymore. But another part of me wrenches at the thought of abandoning them, of leaving them to the mercies of the Sect. Still, I have an obligation to the fighters, the warriors, to my men. Sending them out to die is one thing, but doing so for a meaningless gesture? That’s the greatest betrayal I can think of.

***

We pull out what feels like hours later, the surviving combat Classers and the civilians we managed to gather in an assorted train of transportation vehicles. We have everything from gravity sleds to a 1940s Ford in the retreating convoy, bloody and shell-shocked civilians in all of them. No open wounds—or not many anyway, since the System is busy healing everyone. No more chance these days of someone dying from lingering injuries. Cold comfort, that thought.

But the Sect is letting us pull back. The fighting since I called for our retreat was brutal, the last fight a brief clash with the Blood Warrior’s main body right next to Sam’s truck. Dancing with him, containing his attacks while his friends fired at our grouped civilians, was stressful. The Blood Warrior pulled back fast once Mikito arrived, leaving the field of battle to us. Even the ranged attackers ran away after they realized they were steadily losing people to an unseen attacker. We managed to kill nearly two-thirds of their combatants in all the fighting. We bloodied them enough to force them back, but it’s a Pyrrhic victory at best.

“They still holding?” I say to Ali, even though I can see the information on the map as clearly as he can.

“Yes,” Ali says, fingers dancing. “I don’t think they’ll be dropping more people, but we should keep moving.”

“Sam?” I say, speaking to the Technomancer in the center of the convoy. “Can you talk to whoever is in front to speed up?”

“On it,” Sam says. “We need some hunters out ahead though. The civilians aren’t willing to walk into a monster attack.”

“I’ll send Roland and Shadow,” Lana chimes in from beside me, cradling a beam rifle. “Mikito…?”

“I’ll ask around and find some hunters,” Mikito says, something in her voice that I’m unable to read.

I frown slightly, turning to stare at where Mikito stands on the bed of a truck, but I can’t read anything behind her mecha’s armor.

“Thank you,” I mutter, wondering if this is it. Hoping it is.

I don’t have the numbers, not yet, but I know we lost quite a few of the hunter groups. We lost—badly, this time—and a part of me rebels at the idea. At the loss of life for no damn reason, of the pain and suffering. I find myself gritting my teeth, staring at Vernon while the column draws away from me.

I want to get back in, to make them hurt. But if I do that and they attack the column, I’d just be compounding one mistake with another. Better to stay here. And anyway, Ingrid’s doing her thing, hunting the stragglers, making them hurt inside that city. No. As much as I want to fight, right now, right here is my place.

But I swear, I’ll make them hurt.

Chapter 12

A day later, we’re gathered at the city center’s central office lounge. We being the entire team, excluding Ingrid, and my “council,” including Mel as a representative of the combat Classers. We’re scattered in a rough circle on whatever random chairs and other surfaces we can find. A part of me notes we need a real meeting room at some point, but right now, I want to be near the City Core.

“We lost four full teams and another fourteen combatants from those who came from Kamloops. The Vernon fighters lost the most. We barely have eighty of them here, and that’s including the ones who came in the earlier convoys,” Mikito says, pain in her eyes. “I don’t know how many actually died in the city. I wasn’t able to get a real count.”

“Definitely the same for the civilians. No losses from the earlier groups of course,” Benjamin says, shaking his head. “We’ve got over a thousand new people, some of them still shell-shocked. I doubt many of them will be of use to us in the next few weeks, though anyone who has survived thus far…”

“Are survivors,” Mel says, grunting. “They’ll get over it.”

I grimace but nod, understanding the harsh truth in that statement.

When I look at Torg, he answers the next question easily. “We have enough food for them. Food is tighter, but we’ve shifted a few of the farms to producing consumables and those should help the overall situation. Our stores are more than sufficient for now.”

“For now,” I say, repeating the qualified statement. I almost ask how long “for now” means, but I figure if it was a major issue, he’d bring it up. Better to let the experts do what they do best without me jogging their elbow.

“Space isn’t an issue. There are still a significant number of abandoned buildings, even System-registered ones,” Ben says softly. “I’ve been upgrading them as I can, but at least they’re warm with running water.”

Again, I’m struck by the absurdity of me leading anyone. I don’t know, don’t understand any of this. Even the downloaded knowledge from the System doesn’t cover the fact that I just don’t have the experience or temperament to do this. As leading a bunch of hunters to their death showed.

“ATTACKERS HAVE BEEN DETECTED AT THE PERIPHERY OF THE SENSING ZONES. SHOULD WE DEPLOY DRONES FOR ADDITIONAL COVERAGE?” Kim says, flashing the notification in front of me and everyone else.

“Yes,” I say.

“No,” Mel says at the same time then glares at me. He draws a breath before explaining himself to me. “A drone will likely be picked up by them, letting our enemies know the limits of your sensor net.”

I nod slightly while Mel queries Kim for further information. I take a more direct route, pulling up the map and scanning the information. Two groups—four and six people respectively. That’s literally all the information there is, the biosensor network not particularly good at providing anything else. Well, outside of the fact that they’re on foot.

“We’ll deal with this,” Mel says, standing. I frown at him. “My people need the experience gained from fighting them.”

“But—” I protest.

“Lana is lending her pets to us, so we’ll have enough muscle power. And we’ve got trained groups who are stealthier than you and yours,” Mel says, cutting me off. “We have plans for this. Let us do our job.”

I grimace but nod and let him leave. I hate that he’s right and I hate that his people, the combat Classers, are going to do the fighting while I’m seated here, safe and useless. My glowering form keeps the silence until Mel leaves, at which point Ali clears his throat.

“Well, then. I got some good news,” Ali says, waving.

A list of information pops up: details of weapons, armor, and assorted magical and technological accessories.

“What’s this?” Benjamin asks, frowning.

“Loot,” Ali says, grinning and goes on to explain where he kept disappearing to throughout the fight. “I grabbed whatever bodies I could while we were in Vernon, dumping them into storage and John’s Altered Space. Gear’s decent and definitely an improvement for the city.”

We fall silent for a time, scanning through the list. I randomly stop at various pieces of equipment, assessing the information.

Kmino One-Size-Fits-All-Humanoid Battle Armor (Tier IV)

The Kmino Battle Armor provides a Galactic Council approved, Tier IV defense on all covered regions. Note that the Kmino Battle Armor is sized to fit all standard humanoid forms and will restructure (within Galactic Council approved limits) to fit with a high degree of comfort, suitable for even the most rigorous combat conditions.

Durability: 83/125

Inlin Solarburst Beam Rifle v4.8

The Inlin Solarburst is the classic, proven primary rifle for two hundred seventeen governmental armed forces—and one hundred eighty-three rebels.

Base Damage: 48

Mana Battery Charge: 25/25

Ground Elemental Clay

Most commonly used by professional demolition experts and the military, Ground Elemental Clay has been stabilized through an arcane process, ensuring the mixture is non-volatile and stable in most conditions.

Base Damage: 200

I grab the clay, because extra explosives are always nice. Anyway, I’ve got a skill—sort of—for explosives.

Proxima Earrings of Regeneration

The Proxima brand of luxury jewelry provides the best designs and the highest regeneration. Show your faith to the one you love, buy Proxima.

Health Regeneration: +15

Mana Regeneration: +3

“Anything else like this?” I send to Ali, admiring the earrings.

“Sort of. There’s also a penis ring, but considering the Worick we got it from was about as wide as your arm, I don’t think you’d want it. The other more traditional stuff is in the low single digits, other than a ring I set aside for you,” Ali says. “That means no stealing this for yourself.”

“Lana then?” I say, glancing at the earrings. I haven’t actually bought the young lady anything… I consider matters and decide that perhaps I should avoid giving my sort-of girlfriend dead body loot as my first official gift. “Remind me to go shopping.”

“Got it, boy-o. I’ll let Mikito know we got this if you don’t mind,” Ali says, and I send my mental agreement before going back to reviewing the list.

Q’mmn Never-ending Flask of Inebretiation

Blessed by Clerics of the God Q’mmn, the never-ending flask provides extremely high proof alcohol. This flask generates Ilmunax, a traditional distilled alcohol drink derived from the crushed bodies of Yuma worms.

“Is it really never-ending?” I ask Ali.

“Not really. The blessing runs out of after a decade or so, but it’s good enough for most people.”

“Huh.” I waggle my fingers, removing that particular item from the list.

In the end, I give up scanning the list in its entirety after extracting a promise from Ali that we’ve already kept all the really good stuff. A bit selfish on my part, but my team is still our best defense and anything that increases our survivability is good for the town. Or you know, that’s one way of justifying it. Really, I’m honest enough with myself to know I just don’t want to share.

“Share the rest among the combat Classers and anyone who came through Vernon first, then allocate as appropriate,” I say finally, giving orders to the group. After a second, I send a note to Kim to keep track of who gets what, a niggling concern about corruption in the back of my mind. After all, I really don’t know these people well.

I get more than a few surprised looks, even though Ali had purposely brought all this information out in the council meeting because we were going to share it. I ignore them, instead delving into the next issue that has arisen from dragging so many refugees to town. There’re a lot of problems, and housing and food are just the start of them. Even if I’m not the best person to make the decisions, someone still has to rubber stamp what comes through.

***

Hours later, I’m lying on the floor in the Core’s room, feet propped up on a chair, and staring at my character sheet. Now that we’re out of trouble, I figure it’s time for me to catch up on the notifications that have been awaiting my perusal. Most of them are experience notifications, the vast majority of which I’ve learned to ignore because as Ali once pointed out, knowing doesn’t change the reality. I either have the experience or I don’t. Better to view the actual character screen and the new Levels.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Honor Guard

Race

Human (Male)

Level

39

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead

Health

1780

Stamina

1780

Mana

1370

Mana Regeneration

98 / minute

Attributes

Strength

98

Agility

169

Constitution

178

Perception

61

Intelligence

137

Willpower

139

Charisma

16

Luck

30

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

2

Blade Strike

2

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand blades

1

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Tech Link*

2

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (II)

Greater Regeneration

Greater Healing

Mana Drip

Improved Mana Dart (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike

Fireball

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

All that death and destruction was useful for something at least. I smile grimly, noticing I’ve edged ever closer to that elusive Level 40. Just a little more and I’ll actually gain access to my Tier III Class Skills. If I’d had those Skills back in Vernon, if I was just a little stronger…

I exhale, pushing aside the anticipation and regret, and remind myself once again that what is, is. Still, I’m human and not a damn monk—the shaven-headed, robe-wearing ones who sit under waterfalls and don’t have superpowers of kung fu—so I distract myself by poking at the equipment Ali saved for me. He’s even been nice enough to label them as mine.

To start with, I pull out the ring he mentioned. It’s a simple circular band of black stone with unknown runes carved onto it. Or it might be a language. In either case, holding the ring up to my eye, I pull up its information.

Kryl Ring of Regeneration

Often used as betrothal bands, Kryl rings are highly sought after and must be ordered months in advance.

Health Regeneration: +30

Stamina Regeneration: +15

Mana Regeneration: +5

“How come the health regeneration is so much better than the Mana regeneration?” I ask. I ignore the Stamina regeneration, since that’s never been an issue for me. I just don’t have the kind of Skills where it would matter, and my base regeneration is so ridiculously high, it’s never been a concern. Mikito, on the other hand, with her Haste spells and other Class Skills actually has to worry about it.

“Mana regeneration’s always the worst,” Ali says.

“I asked why.”

“Just is,” Ali says, shrugging, obviously unconcerned with the why.

I grumble, hating how the Spirit can be so blasé about the way the System works sometimes. Then again, I never bothered to learn how indoor plumbing worked, so who am I to talk?

I stare at the ring once more, debating how I feel about the fact that this was someone’s engagement ring, before I shrug. Considering it’s so good, it must have belonged to a Sect member, and they were all slavers. Stealing from them was the least I could do.

Having resolved my doubts with what is probably a highly questionable moral equivalence, I slip the ring onto my finger, watching as the ring grows to fit. “Hey, this self-adjusted. Would some of the other stuff have done that?”

“No. Kryl rings are actually expensive. Most of that junk was mass-produced,” Ali says before he flashes up the next notification.

Monolam Temporal Cloak

This Temporal Cloaks splices the user’s timeline, adjusting their physical, emotional, and psychic presence to randomly associated times. This allows the user to evade notice from most sensors and individuals. The Monolam Temporal Cloak has multiple settings for a variety of situations, varying the type and level of dispersal of the signal.

Requirements: 1 Hardpoint, Tier IV Mana Engine

Duration: Varies depending on cloaking level

“English?”

“It makes you invisible by making your actual presence appear either in the past or future. It’s not actual invisibility and it can, on occasion, cause more trouble than it’s worth, but it’s also extremely effective at hiding your presence immediately,” Ali says. “You can set it up so that it sends your presence anywhere from a few minutes to a few years down the road. Of course, the more you interact with the world, the higher the cost on drainage.”

“Huh,” I say, rubbing my chin. This is real weird and scientific. Or maybe it’s magical, considering we’re talking about time travel of sorts. I’m not entirely sure at this point. “This looks like it needs to be connected to Sabre.”

“Got it in one,” Ali says. “Doesn’t make up for the QSM but…”

“But it could be useful. How long a charge do we have?” I say.

“If we keep it to draining only about twenty percent of Sabre’s battery, which I recommend, anything from two seconds to about an hour.”

“Nice. Let’s get Sam to install this when he can.”

I turn next to the notification for a circular brown bracer which also has—if different—runic script on it.

Tier III Bracer of Mana Storage

A custom work by an unknown maker, this bracer acts as a storage battery for personal Mana. A must-have accessory for Mages and other Classes that rely on Mana. Mana storage ratio is 50 to 1.

Mana Capacity: 0/350

“Zero stored?” I blink, staring at the information.

“I drained it of the last amounts it had stored,” Ali says. “Can’t mix Mana types in enchanted equipment like this. You won’t even be able to use it just yet. You’ll need to acclimatize the system to you, which means putting in a little bit of your Mana at a time.”

“Still, that’s pretty decent,” I mutter and strap it on my left arm. I push my Mana toward it, careful to control how much, and immediately understand what Ali means. The bracer rejects my Mana immediately, forcing me to repeat the process slower and with significantly more focus. I expend nearly two-thirds of my current Mana pool before even a single point of Mana is stored in the bracer.

“Don’t worry, it gets better,” Ali says reassuringly. “What you input will disappear in a few hours, so make sure to keep refreshing the storage to assimilate it.”

I grunt in acknowledgement and get to the next notification, curious to see what kind of weapon Ali might have picked up. Interestingly enough, it’s a simple greenish steel dagger with no runes or other mystical markings, with a blackened steel hilt that fits snugly into my hand. It’s incredibly well-balanced, definitely made by someone with actual skill.

Fey-steel Dagger

Fey-steel is not actual steel but an unknown alloy. Normally reserved only for the Sidhe nobility, a small—by Galactic standards—amount of Fey-steel is released for sale each year. Fey-steel takes enchantments extremely well.

Base Damage: 28

Durability: 110/110

Special Abilities: None

“This thing’s sharp,” I mutter, staring at the base damage.

Of course, sharp isn’t the right word—better to say that the System considers it extremely damaging, allowing it to do a higher level of damage—but in either case, it’s nasty. I’m also intrigued by the note that it can take enchantments well, though at this moment, I know no one with that ability.

“It is. All Fey-steel is like that. It’s why they’re so sought-after. The body I pulled it off of was one of the higher Level Classers. Must have been one heck of a story about how they came to own this,” Ali says.

“About that…” I frown, tapping the dagger. “How rare is this?”

“How rare were those Teslas?”

I nod, somewhat gratified. Rare but not entirely uncommon. Still, it’s not something I need to be showing off, so I dump it into storage. “No guns?”

“Nothing too much of an upgrade.” Ali shrugs. “You don’t really use rifles much, and while the weapons they had were improvements, it was mostly marginal. Better to stick with what you know than to chase a minor bump in stats.”

I have to agree with Ali on that. Changing up equipment might be fun in a game, but it always takes a little while to get used to new equipment. If the other weaponry isn’t much better than what I have already, what’s the point?

Next up are a series of mines and explosives, some omni-directional, some directed. I pull out a few, just for fun.

Shim Lun Razor Tripwire Mine

Rather than triggering a specific attack, this mine sends its razor-sharp tripwires across its targeted region, laying a trap for unsuspecting targets within its attack zone. Best paired with Shim Lun’s Skin Contact Poison Mine Canisters.

Damage: 15 per tripwire

Ollie’s High-Explosive Slime Mixture

Don’t let its name fool you, this is a high-explosive mine. Made from an unstable chemical mixture and a slime core, Ollie’s High-Explosive Slime Mixture is infamous across the Galactic System and banned in six Galactic regions for unusual cruelty to animals.

Damage: 125 Explosive Damage

Ares Burrowing Droid Pressure Mine

The Burrowing Droid Mine releases a series of droids that impact and attempt to burrow into target bodies. Once they are embedded in target bodies, the droids attempt to reach its target’s vital organs by burrowing toward the body. Please note that the Burrowing Droid may not work against certain non-standard, non-humanoid races.

Damage: 15 HP per second

“Ali, how much money do I have right now anyway?” I say. I know I got more from the fight, though I hadn’t bothered to do the math.

A quick look shows I’ve got just over thirty-eight thousand Credits—a pitiful amount considering how many I killed. Unlike the equipment Ali looted off dead bodies all around town when we passed by, Credits are only collected when I actually kill the individual in question myself. I personally think that’s a bit of a cheat, but then again, it’s better than the equipment stored in the System storage, which all disappears.

Fun and interesting as looking at the aftermath of the fight is, it’s nothing more than a distraction from the bitter truth that we lost that battle. I might have gained something personally, but we’d lost the battle. Even now, the Sect is probing our defenses, sending groups into the surroundings, seeing if they can sneak people close enough to take pot-shots at our shields.

For now, we’re in a stalemate with the Sect, but it can’t, won’t, last. Grimacing, I wave, pulling up a new book. Rather than an esoteric tome about the System, this one’s more pertinent to our current problems as it details one of the many, many conflicts the Erethran Empire has been involved in and their tactics. I’m hoping that somewhere in this book is knowledge that can help us. I’ve got hundreds of points in Wisdom and Intelligence; I must be able to think of something new. Even if those points don’t exactly work that way, I can still hope.

***

“John?” Ingrid calls softly early the next morning.

I dismiss the book and clamber to my feet, walking out of the Core’s room to greet the Assassin. “You made it back.”

“About an hour ago. I wanted to eat and change first,” Ingrid says. “Managed to take out another high Level Basic while I was in the city, but they started clamping down on security after that. Mostly, I just watched them.”

“Fair enough,” I say, knowing that Ingrid did the best she could have. Frankly, she did better than anyone else could, so I have no complaints.

“They’re hunkering down now. I don’t think they intend to leave. Probably use Vernon as a staging ground to attack here,” Ingrid says. “Any humans left aren’t being allowed to leave for their ‘protection.’”

“Why don’t they just make them Serfs?” I say, frowning.

“Galactic Law. As much as you might call them slavers, the Galactic Council doesn’t legally allow slavery. Serfdom—and the entry to Serfdom—is actually very structured. Outside of being legally convicted for breaking laws, you have to voluntarily agree to enter a Serf contract,” Ali says. “Of course, the number of loopholes involved in ‘convincing’ people to enter Serfdom is wide and varied, but they can’t just throw your entire people into Serfdom.”

“They added another ten or so combat Classers to the city after you left, but that was it. Didn’t look like they intended to add any more, but…” Ingrid shrugs, leaving unsaid the fact that she did less than a day’s worth of scouting. “One of the new classers was a hunter of some sort. It nearly caught me twice. Weirdest thing ever—six feet, purple-and-pink-furred lizard thing. I don’t think I’d be able to sneak back in any time soon.”

“They’re called Badas,” Ali supplies. “Sentient umm… well, sentient.”

I stare at Ali, curious as to what could make even Ali pause but discarding the thought. I’m sure there’s a story there, but for now, time to focus on Ingrid and our problems. I raise my hand, pulling out a map of the surrounding settlements. British Columbia has a ton of small towns, but outside of Kamloops, Vernon, and Kelowna, most barely have any population.

“Don’t think they’re going to do any major staging out of Merritt,” I mutter, tapping the town icon to the south of Kamloops. “So it’s probably a temporary base there.” At the hmmm from Ingrid, I clarify for her, “They’re attacking us from that direction. Probing with a few groups. So far we’ve counted about five different groups. All low Level though.”

“Okay. You want me to kill them tomorrow?” Ingrid asks, straight to the point.

“No. Mel’s got the teams doing that, using the Sect as training. Not sure they’re getting a lot of Experience, but…” I shrug.

Mel’s given me an overview of his plans, intending to let the groups come in and probe our defenses and even letting them succeed at times, saying it’s better to hide the full range of our abilities than to win every fight. I’m not entirely convinced, but his logic is sound, so I’m letting him run with it. As it stands, his results so far have been decent—no losses on our side and one death on the Sect’s. Unfortunately, unless we’re able to achieve a fatality, any injuries are easily healed. It’s probably why wars are so vicious in the wider System galaxy. If you don’t put them down, they just keep coming.

“Okay then. When you figure out what you want me to do, let me know,” Ingrid says, waving. “I’m going to get some rest.”

“Of course,” I say to Ingrid, waving goodbye. “Thank you again.”

I don’t get an answer as the woman strides off, leaving me alone again. After a moment, I look upward and stare at Ali.

“Been thinking about that Mana flow. We use it to power the settlement shield and the sentry towers, correct?” I say to the floating Spirit.

“Yes. Though it’s mostly from the background flow,” Ali says.

“Can we use the built-up reserves in a more active way? Maybe boosting the sentry towers and shields occasionally?” I say.

“Not the traditional way of using Mana overflows…” Ali says.

“And non-traditionally?” I say with a frown.

“Spells. Generally a settlement-wide enchantment of some form,” Ali explains.

“IT IS POSSIBLE. UPGRADES WILL BE REQUIRED FOR BOTH THE SENTRY TOWERS AND SHIELD GENERATOR, AS WELL AS THE PURCHASE OF A SETTLEMENT MANA STORAGE BATTERY.”

“Where is the Mana stored now?” I ask with a frown. After all, I can see the Mana numbers right in the settlement information.

“MANA ACCESSIBLE BY THE SETTLEMENT IS KEPT IN CIRCULATION THROUGH THE ATMOSPHERE OF THE TOWN.”

“What kind of rituals or enchantments are we looking at?” I ask Ali next.

“Anything you want. I’ve seen weather control rituals, life enhancement, fertility, crafting rituals. You name it, you can get it. Including defensive ones,” Ali states.

“So defensive rituals,” I say, nodding. “Think this is a conversation I’ll need to have with Mel.”

“And funds to build it up,” Ali points out. “Enchantments—combat enchantments in particular—are expensive.”

I groan. Of course they are. Anything good is always expensive. Though I absently make a note to ask Aiden about this. I know he’s got some experience with enchantments in Whitehorse. Perhaps we could con him into helping out here. Humming to myself, I start composing the message.

***

Tracking down Lana the next day isn’t hard. Even if I didn’t have access to the full surveillance apparatus of the city, the buxom redhead is both noticeable and well-known. She’s also a bleeding heart, which is why I’m not surprised to find her with the refugees in a makeshift office, making suggestions and offering advice to the crowd that has gathered. Luckily, there’s no shortage of jobs to be had, so it’s a matter of assignment more than anything else.

I wave to Lana, catching her attention before stepping back and waiting until she’s done. I spend the time watching the refugees, curious to see how they’re doing. They’re a mixed lot, though the group here leans toward the shell-shocked and somewhat disheveled. It’s interesting how even when your clothing and self is perfectly clean, you can look utterly wasted. There’s a truth in there somewhere, one that I’m too tired to consider.

“John?” Lana says, drawing my attention back to her.

“Oh hey.” I lean in to give her a quick kiss. She returns it before raising an eyebrow, querying my presence. “I wanted to give you this.”

I hand her my purchase, the small velvet box dwarfed in my hand. Lana takes the box, lips pursed in thought as she pops it open to see the simple silver and gold chain, each link inscribed with runes. Her lips part slightly as she stares at the necklace and the information that displays.

Proxima Necklace of Regeneration

The Proxima brand of luxury jewelry provides award-winning designs and the highest regeneration in its class. Show your faith to the one you love, buy Proxima.

Health Regeneration: +20

Mana Regeneration: +5

“This…”

“Here, let me,” I say, taking the necklace and walking around to her back. Lana lifts her long, wavy red hair, letting me clasp the necklace. For a moment, my fingers fumble slightly as I stare at the graceful expanse of white skin. “Done.”

Rather than answer me verbally, Lana turns around and leans forward, planting her lips on mine as she wraps her arms around my neck. After a time, she breaks the kiss. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” I say awkwardly.

“What brought this on?”

“Ummm… nothing. Just thought I should,” I answer, deciding against mentioning my initial inspiration.

“Mmhmmm…” Lana says before she smiles one of those radiant smiles. “Thank you again. You know, Richard would be taking you out for a talk if he saw you give me this.” There’s a brief flicker of sadness, one that she forcibly pushes away.

I nod slightly, understanding her pain. I miss that idiot too.

“Was this it?” Lana says. “Not that I don’t value your presence…”

“Yes,” I say, rubbing my nose and taking my dismissal graciously. “If you didn’t have anything for me, I was thinking about checking out the farms, then talking to Mel and his people.”

“No, I’ve got this,” Lana says, waving me off to do my rounds. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I smile, hearing the unspoken promise in those words, my stride having a slight bounce to it that wasn’t there before. The gift for her was well worth the Credits, even if it did drain my funds.

***

“Can we help you?”

Polite or not, the question is obviously meant to dissuade me from wandering into the small strip mall. With its internal walls taken down and a short wall obstructing the parking lot, the strip mall no longer looks as inviting as its original architect envisioned. Which is the point, I’m sure. There are even a pair of guards standing outside the main entrance, mostly looking bored.

“Just wanted to check out how things are going,” I say, peering past the woman who stopped me.

The stout raven-haired woman steps sideways, hands on her hips as she blocks my view. Over her head, her Status says she’s KC Markowitz, a Level 21 Gunsmith. Absently, I wonder how she ended up with just initials for her name. I’ve never seen that before.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what they told you, but this area isn’t open to the public,” the Gunsmith says, glaring at the pair of guards with displeasure.

“My name’s John Lee.” I flash her a grin. When she doesn’t get it, I add, “The guy who kicked out the Sect? Your boss’s boss?”

“Oh…” KC gasps. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

“It’s fine, KC,” I say, waving toward the building. “Ben’s reports mentioned that he set up a gun factory and I was curious.”

Having started at the use of her name, KC draws a breath before nodding. “If you’d like, I can show you around?”

“That’d be great.” Part of my visit here is curiosity. Part of it is a desire to get more bullets for Sabre, though I’m not entirely sure these guys are up to the task. Which is the point of coming and finding out for myself, obviously.

“Well, we’ve got the workshop—umm, factory—set up in three parts right now. Outside here”—KC gestures to the group of plastic tables covered by cheap pavilions probably looted from the closest big box store, where a few craftsmen move about—“we work with the high explosives and other, ummm… volatile materials.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” I frown, walking over. On closer inspection, I realize that the tables are cordoned off from each other with portable shield generators.

“Well, better than constantly fixing the walls inside,” KC says with a shrug. “We all carry multiple healing potions, and we never keep more volatiles out here than we can stand from an explosion. Those of us working with the volatiles have also either invested in our Constitution or have a Class Skill to reduce ummm… self-created mistakes.”

“Ah…” I pause at the nearest table to watch while half-listening to KCs explanations.

The individual is working on what looks like tiny missiles—mortar shells, perhaps—alternately pulling various parts apart, screwing parts together, putting the two-thirds complete item upright, and gently filling one of the four vials in the shell with a purple liquid. Once that’s done, he switches to filling another vial, this time with a red liquid. He continues doing so, adding different liquids to each vial, before sealing the vials with a glass stopper and screwing the entire assembly together. After that, he holds his hand over it, focusing while the product glows.

“He’s using a Skill to complete assembly. It’s called ummm… Assembly,” KC says. “If Sherman gets simple-to-assemble parts, he just screws and mostly finishes them then uses his Skill. The Skill finishes everything for him, making it a complete product. Like that.” She gestures, and I nod.

The glow around the shell is gone. In its place is a single smooth item, rather than the screwed-together contraption that he had before. What he does next surprises me.

Hands glowing again, Sherman waves his hand up and down the table, his movements centered around the mortar. He does that for twenty seconds, the area where his hand moves slowly growing brighter and brighter. Then suddenly, with a slight rumble of displaced air, another ten mortar shells cover the table.

“Wha…?”

“Mass Production,” KC says, shrugging. “All of us have it. If we don’t get it as part of our Skill tree, we buy it from the Shop. It can only be activated within five seconds after you’ve completed your most recent work, but it lets the System generate even more copies. There are a few variations, including a channeled version like what Sherman has and a single-use Skill like mine.”

“Wow…” I say, blinking. That’s amazing. Then again, it’s taken Sherman about five minutes to produce eleven shells. And as I watch, Sherman slowly puts together the other piece, his movements slow and careful.

“Check out his Mana level, boy-o. He’s nearly out. So each cast takes about ten minutes to finish eleven.” Ali grunts. “Not horrible for a Basic Class, but not great.”

And of course that explains why hand-crafted projectile weaponry is so expensive. Each of his shells does high-explosive, flaming damage over a range of ten feet on impact, but only a base damage of 53. Not great. If he was making bullets, I could see why it would cost multiple Credits to buy even a single bullet. Still, it’s better than the single-digit damage levels of non-System generated weaponry.

“So outside, we have the volatiles,” KC says, continuing her initial conversation and leading me into the open doorway. “Inside, we’ve got the basic, solid-shot projectiles. Everything from basic armor-piercing weaponry to just bullets like I make. Then there’s the warehouse section, where our runners put the finished product and we take inventory.”

I nod, listening to KC as she guides me around, showing me the place. It doesn’t take long, even with introductions to those who look interested.

When we finally get to the warehouse and KC finishes her spiel, I turn to her and hold out a single projectile. From the looks of it, KC’s probably my best bet. “Are you able to make this?”

“Ummm…” KC frowns, staring at the projectile as she turns it around in her hand.

It looks a bit similar to our own bullets, physics—basic physics, at least—not changing much. She pulls a small pair of plyers from her tool belt and pulls apart the backend with a twist, brows furrowed. After a minute of silence as she continues to tap and play with the projectile in silence, I clear my throat.

“Oh, right. Sorry. No,” KC says, shaking her head. “I don’t have the blueprints for it. I’d need to get that first or research it. It doesn’t look hard…” KC taps one edge before casually tossing a part onto the concrete floor. It explodes with a small puff of smoke, shattering the concrete and making me jump slightly. No one else even flinches. “Nice reagent… I think… yes…”

I cough, bringing her attention back to me.

“No. Can’t do it. Don’t have the materials. I could cobble something together with what we have in a few weeks once I’ve researched it, but it wouldn’t be as good. This is very nice work.”

I sigh, nodding. For all the advantages of owning a settlement, getting free bullets doesn't seem to be one of them. Not yet at least.

“Can I keep this?” KC says, holding up the pieces of the projectile.

“Sure,” I say, shaking my head.

KC grins, walking away while muttering to herself as she stares at the projectile, abruptly leaving me alone in a warehouse filled with ammunition.

“Well done, boy-o. A real charmer you are.”

I grunt, shaking my head, and walk out. Best get to my next project.

***

I knock on the door of the apartment building gently—mostly because I spotted the pair of high-explosive mines hidden in the wall. Between that, the surveillance cameras, a shield enchantment, and probably a few more toys I haven’t seen, this building is probably the most well-defended in the city. Which isn’t surprising, considering who lives here right now.

“Redeemer,” the Hakarta greets me, his face solemn. I notice he’s standing almost at attention. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem,” I say, frowning. “Why would you think there’s one?”

“I did not. Are you here to speak with the lieutenant then?” the Hakarta says.

“Well, I…” I consider my answer and finally nod. It’s obvious the private I’m speaking to would prefer I speak with his boss. “Yes. Please.”

“Very well. I shall lead you to him,” the private says, letting me in before closing the door and resetting their security precautions. After that, he leads me upstairs a couple of floors and to a corner apartment, where he knocks on the door before gesturing for me to stand to the side. “Wait here please. I shall inform the lieutenant.”

Once the lieutenant is informed, it takes only a minute to get the formalities out of the way, leaving me with him in the comfortable living room filled with a beige L-designed couch and lounging chairs. I absently note that all the family photos are gone, stacked in a corner, while the Hakarta reside here for now.

“How are you doing, lieutenant?” I say.

“We are well. There are no complaints, sir,” Lieutenant Nerigil says. “Major Ruka briefed us on what to expect beforehand. And your… commander is competent and willing to listen to suggestions.”

“Good. Very good,” I say, nodding. “I understand he’s got you guys on guard duty mostly?”

“Yes. Our contract only extends to the direct defense of the town. While it could be argued to include the hunting of your harassers, it was decided that our strength was better used in town, providing guard services and occasional training companions,” the lieutenant answers stiffly. “If that is acceptable, Redeemer.”

“Oh, I’m not here to meddle,” I say, waving away his words. “I’m actually just checking in on you guys. Making sure none of my people have started fights because you… well…”

“We look like your orcs.”

I cough, nodding slightly with embarrassment.

“It is understandable. My people’s major occupation does place us in an antagonistic position with most settled races. We have fought against, and fought for, most races. It is no surprise that the Mana Leakage you experienced cast us as a warlike race,” Lieutenant Nerigil says.

“Ah… I’m glad you understand,” I say, smiling. The lieutenant nods and I get up before shaking his hand in farewell. “Well, I won’t bother you on your day off anymore. I just wanted to make sure you guys are doing well.”

“Our comfort is well within the parameters of the contract,” the lieutenant confirms and sees me out.

It’s only when I’m out of the building that I realize he never did say if his people had gotten into any fights over our impression of them as orcs. I turn around to knock again, a bit annoyed at being blown off like that.

“Leave it, boy-o. If he didn’t want to say, that’s his problem. You did your part.”

“But...” I feel guilty. For what? The entire human race? For racist or idiotic assholes? Maybe it’s the Canadian in me that feels the need to apologize.

“Leave it. You’ve got your own battles to fight.”

I sigh, giving up. Ali’s right. I’ve got a lot more work to do, more people to check up on, more training to conduct. More Levels to gain. A few hurt feelings and broken noses, if there are any, is something I can leave for others.

Chapter 13

It’s been eight days since we returned from Vernon. The refugees have settled down, mostly, with many taking part in the development of our city. It helps that there’s enough vacant real estate that rent is still incredibly cheap. Even if large swaths of space are owned by me directly, there just aren’t enough people to actually populate most of the locations. The small increase in population barely makes a dent.

Eight days and the Sect has not stopped launching probing attacks. Current consensus is that they don’t have the manpower to actually take Kamloops—at least not without losing more people than they’d be willing to risk. Between the Hakarta, my team, and the combat Classers from Kamloops and Vernon, we’ve got a sizeable force in an entrenched position. While we don’t have the resources to upgrade the town as much as I’d like, our defenses do give us a bit of an edge, especially since Benjamin is working on the approaches. Some of the things that mind of his has come up with are nasty. And innovative. Still, letting the Sect past our shield is the last thing I want to do.

Mel has been keeping our combat teams sweeping out to the south of the Thompson River to harry our attackers, the group playing hide-and-seek in the lands around. Between Class Skills, technology, and forested areas, the hunting groups are just as likely to stumble across an opponent by chance as find them with Skill. It does mean that we have the north of the river to continue to run hunting and Leveling though, which is nice. It allows some groups to Level in more controlled environments while others gain experience in real combat. Like everyone else, I’ve been sneaking out to Level too, making use of my greater Constitution to squeeze in grinding sessions late at night and in the early morning. Unfortunately, stuck as I am at Level 39, the monsters available are a drop in the bucket.

My musings, mostly procrastination as I go through the morning mail from Kim / the Settlement is interrupted by a call.

“John.”

“Mel. What’s wrong?”

“We need you at the gates. There’s… something weird. We’ve got the shield up just in case, but you’ll want to see this.”

“On my way,” I say, dismissing the notification and heading out.

It takes me only a few minutes to arrive on Sabre and I find myself joining Mel and Mikito and another teenager at the edge of the settlement shield, staring through the shimmering force field at the blood-covered sole survivor of a group. As I walk up, the exhausted brunette outside the shield looks up, eyes locking with mine even as she cradles her stomach.

“You’re here,” she says with relief.

“I am…” I glance at Mikito and Mel. “Why aren’t we letting her in?”

“She’s got a weird Status effect,” Mikito replies.

I actually look at her and her status, noting the woman’s injured condition and another that I’ve not seen before. Blood Vector.

Carla Flowers (Level 28 Wisp of Flame)

HP: 44/490

MP: 210/210

Conditions: Injured, Blood Vector

“Class Skill. She’s infected. If we let her in, she’ll explode and spread the disease to everyone else. As it is, she’s dying,” Ali explains. Even as he speaks, I see her health drop a little.

“He let me go,” Carla Flowers says softly. “After he killed all of my team. My friends. He took his time, pinned me to the ground while he cut them apart, again and again. Said that he wanted you to know who is killing us.”

“Who?” I say.

“Utrashi Wyt,” the survivor answers, her voice coming out softer, weaker. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll kill him.”

I grit my teeth, rage flaring. I walk forward, stopped only by the shield, as I meet her eyes filled with pain, despair, and rage. Her hazel eyes are filled with the knowledge that she’s dead already and won’t be able to enact her own vengeance.

“I promise. I’ll cut his head off.”

When she hears my promise, Carla smiles slightly. She raises her hand, calling forth her Mana, and fire comes, so hot and so fast that she probably doesn’t feel it. Much. Mikito lurches forwards for a second and then stops, held back by the shield and good sense. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the stranger standing next to Mikito step backward, face pale before turning away and refusing to watch. Mel’s lips tighten but he doesn’t look away. Neither do I.

I watch her burn until there’s nothing left of her or her equipment. We watch in silence, my stomach churning with the acidic knowledge that I can do nothing but witness her death.

Only when it’s done do I speak. “What happened?”

“The Blood Warrior—Utrashi—was hiding in the group they attacked. Just waiting for them,” Mel says, shaking his head. “My fault. I should have expected something like that. We’ve been seeding the beasts and Mikito among the hunter groups. Should have realized they might have done the same.”

I turn to Mel, my eyes glowing with anger. His fault. Her death, their deaths, was his fault. I open my mouth and Mikito steps between us, the tiny Japanese woman craning her neck upward to meet my eyes. The teenager shifts slightly too, his hand falling to the katana at his side. I glance at Mikito automatically and she stares at me, daring me to speak.

“Not your fault,” I grate out, not needing Mikito’s reminder. I’m angry, but I understand we make mistakes. For that matter, any of our groups without Mikito in it probably would have died too. Even one with the pets. “Mikito, we should let Lana know. Her pets…”

“Already done. We’ll group her pets up more, keep them in tighter groups,” Mikito says, understanding my hesitation. Neither of us wants Lana to lose another pet. For all her strength now, she’s still somewhat emotionally fragile from losing her brother.

“Who’s the kid?” I tilt my head sideways.

Mikito looks uncomfortable for a second before her face turns placid again. “This is Lee-kun. I’m training him as an Aonisaibushi.”

Lee turns to me, bowing slightly, and I have to keep my face from twitching. It’s weird to see a blond-haired, blue-eyed teenage male bowing while wearing a katana.

“Aoni…” I give up. Mikito said it so fast and fluently, I had no chance of repeating it after her. “That was your Class before, no?”

“Yes.” Mikito nods.

“You can give it?”

Mikito glances at Ali, who sighs, looking at me.

“Not exactly. With certain prestige Classes, you can train others in it. Not all Classes, and not all people, but if you managed to achieve a rank higher than the one you’d like to train, it’s possible,” Ali explains. “It’s still no guarantee the kid will be able to get it, but it makes it possible.”

“I can only take three apprentices at a time,” Mikito says, waving at the kid.

I nod, noting that his Class hasn’t changed from Artist yet, which I assume means he’s still learning under her. Still, knowing Mikito’s Class, I can see how upgrading someone could be useful.

“Drawbacks?” I say. There has to be some.

“Experience. He doesn’t lose his old Class. This one just replaces it eventually and he restarts at Level 1. However, his experience requirements to go up to Level 2 are the same as his previous level,” Ali explains.

I can see how that’d suck, but with his Level only at nine, the kid isn’t likely to be hurt much by this.

“Thanks,” I mutter to Mikito for her explanations. Then I turn to Mel, who was patiently listening. “All right, tell me what you plan to do about this.”

***

Later that evening, Lana finds me lying down in the old office leading into the core room, staring at the ceiling. Ali’s disappeared, driven off by my silence and grumpiness. I never bothered to replace the furniture in here, so lying down is my best option. It’s not even dirty—the building modifications keep the floors and ceiling so clean you could eat off them.

“Missed you at dinner,” Lana says, taking a seat across from my prone form, sweeping aside a discarded chocolate wrapping paper. The timer before it gets absorbed runs out a few seconds later and the wrapping paper dissolves into nothingness. Such a useful feature, though some people turn it off as they don’t want to inadvertently lose something important.

“Didn’t feel like the company,” I say, continuing to stare at the ceiling.

“Brooding?” Lana says, a half-smile on her face.

“Thinking.” A shred of self-honesty forces me to admit, “Maybe brooding a little. Labashi mentioned we should be on the attack. Throwing them on the defensive, rather than stay on it ourselves. We failed, rather spectacularly, at trying that the last time.”

“We couldn’t just leave the refugees in Vernon,” Lana says pointedly.

“Really?” I say, frowning. “I don’t think that’s right. We could have passed right through the town, hit the Sect in Kelowna like we’d planned, or at least met their planes in the air. But we decided to stop, take the town because it was offered to us, and we fell for their trap. Then we lost people trying to cover the civilians rather than concentrating our forces and hitting them hard. We might have killed that Rock Thrower in Vernon, but we should have finished off that Blood Warrior.”

“You’re saying you’re regretting saving their lives,” Lana says warningly.

“I know. But if we had hit them hard, focused on killing their people rather than playing defense, maybe they’d have gone on the defensive too. If we’d pressed the matter, left the civilians to evacuate themselves and pushed against the Sect’s forces…”

“You don’t think they’d have sent more help?” Lana says.

“I don’t know.” I exhale roughly, shaking my head. “I’m not a general. No tactician. I just wonder if we could have done something else. And now, we’re here. We’re back to playing defense when they were meant to be on defense. It can’t last. The Sect must be sending people over, or consolidating their people, or something.”

“So you want to go attack them again?”

“Yes. But we’ve got to keep the city covered too. The Hakarta aren’t enough, not anymore. Not after the losses we suffered early on. And we can’t afford more,” I say, shaking my head. “That means keeping the team here. They’ve moved enough people up that if we left, they might be able to take the town. Maybe do some real damage…”

“Worried they might destroy the town?” Lana says softly, concern in her voice.

“Yes. They’ve shown they’re willing to kill civilians, and while it might be frowned upon, it’s not entirely taboo. No UN here to stop them. Not that it did much good in our world…”

Lana sighs, squeezing my hand, and I return the squeeze. The losses during the fight weighs on all of us, even if we’ve had experience losing people. Too many empty homes and abandoned buildings on our trip down, too many people we couldn’t help, no matter what we did. For all that the System has changed us, we’re still human.

After a moment, Lana lies down, resting her head on my stomach, and holds out a hand to me. I frown, then pull a chocolate and hand to her. We lie in silence, ruminating on our losses and what we can do. Still, with her silent presence, it doesn’t seem as bad.

***

Alarms, deep in the night, wake me from dreams I’m thankfully unable to remember. I jerk awake, staring at shrill noise, as Lana does the same. Without asking, Ali’s already displaying a map, showing the attack on the settlement’s Shield.

“Who is in charge?” I say, hands flicking as I pull clothing from my storage and dress.

“Not sure. Mel and Mikito are asleep,” Ali says, frowning. “Ah… Leopold.”

“Who’s he?” I say, glancing at Lana.

She’s already up and dressed fully. She gives me a nod, moving toward the door and leading the way to the attack.

“One of the residents. Has some prior military experience, which is why he was chosen,” Ali says, eyes flicking as he reads his screens. “He’s ordered the hunting parties to converge. Should we countermand the order?”

I grunt, staring at the cluster of dots. Just over sixty Sect members with some assault vehicles are opening fire, hammering the settlement Shield. Not enough to take it down immediately, but if we leave them at it, it’ll go down in four or five minutes. On the other hand, we’ve only got two hunting parties—ten people—out there, and who knows how many other hidden attackers are on the Sect’s side. For that matter, I’m curious how they got in so close without alerting us. Behind the Shield, the guards are gathering, over thirty of them already there and more streaming in.

“Let them close in but don’t engage. They’re dead if they do,” I say, rubbing my chin. “Can the beam weapons help?”

“A little,” Ali says, shrugging. “They’re still liable to be destroyed the moment you open the shields.”

“Damn it,” I growl, running down the streets. We really need to figure out a better option for those guns. “Patch me in to Leopold.” Once Ali gives me the thumbs-up, I say, “This is John Lee. What are your plans?”

“This is Mel. I’ve taken over for Leopold,” Mel says. “Once we get a critical mass behind the shield, we’ll lower it and hit them hard. Everyone has been given specific targets. Our goal is to kill as many as fast as possible.”

Too bad we can’t continuously raise and lower the shield. It’d give our people even more of an advantage. The shift costs a lot of Mana, and if we did that, we’d weaken and eventually destroy the Shield ourselves.

“Are we sure it’s only this group?” I ask.

“Drones are already sweeping the rest of the field, and we’ve got guards on all the other entrances. We’ve got it covered,” Mel says.

“Lana and I are nearly there,” I inform Mel, only half-seeing the shadowed streets we run through. Without a main generator, each building is left alone to generate its own electricity and lighting, which means the streets themselves are intermittently lit by residual lights.

As we turn the corner, the bang, crackle, and hiss of weapon fire and Class Skills can be heard. Our beam weaponry opens up as well, automatically adding their own damage.

“Hold fire,” Mel orders a couple of seconds later.

No surprise that a lot of shots go off even after the command, the order having to be repeated again and again. Mel and a few others growl and curse out the shooters half-heartedly, obviously more concerned about what they can see. As I near, I frown, noting how all the enemy dots have disappeared from my minimap. That doesn’t seem right…

Rather than ask a stupid question, I jump onto the short wall that we use to give our people elevation for the attack. The scorched and broken earth is testament to the damage dished out by the group around me, but rather than bodies, there are but a few broken automated weapon turrets.

“Ali…?” I say, unsure of what is happening.

“A FLUCTUATION IN THE DATA PROVIDED BY THE SYSTEM WAS NOTICED ONCE ATTACKS IMPACTED. IT IS LIKELY THAT A CLASS SKILL WAS USED TO PROVIDE FALSE SENSOR INFORMATION,” Kim flashes to me. “IT IS CONJECTURED THAT THE SAME INDIVIDUAL HID THE SECT’S APPROACH.”

“And the damage to the Shield?” I frowned.

“DELAYED. ON ANALYSIS, ACTUAL DAMAGE WAS DONE A MINUTE BEFORE BUT WAS RELAYED TO OUR SENSORS LATE.”

“You can do that?” I say, blinking. What kind of insane Skill is that?

“YES.”

“This has got to be the work of an Advanced Class. I’ll do some research, see if I can dig up what Class Skills and Classes this might be, but don’t hold your breath. There’re a million options in the System for anything you can think of.”

“Where are they now?” Mel asks, obviously having received the same information. I don’t see them on our sensors, which is disturbing to say the least.

“UNCERTAIN.”

“Pull the hunting groups back,” I order Mel. If those sixty Sect members—which I can’t even be certain of anymore—meet ours, they’d wipe out our hunting groups in no time flat. Better to pull back right now.

“What’s the point of all this?” Lana growls, her hair a frazzled mess.

“They’re attacking our morale,” Mel says, waving at the puzzled people around us.

Most look confused, a few looking enlightened as Kim’s analysis trickles down. More than a few are annoyed, some thrilled as they boast about driving them off.

“Doesn’t look that way,” Lana says, and Mel snorts.

“Not right now. But if I’m not wrong, they’re going to start doing this every night. Maybe more than once a night. It’ll go from annoying to dangerous because we’re going to have to keep people on watch all the time.” Mel sighs. “The Afghanis used to shoot mortar rounds into our camp randomly. You could never really relax.”

“Recommendations?” I ask, looking outward.

“Not much,” Mel says. “We can up our hunting groups, hopefully figure out how many they’re actually sending. If we can counter them on an attack and actually make them bleed, that’d be best. But…”

“They’re likely to be waiting for that,” I say, grimacing.

Mel nods. “We’re also trying to protect a whole city, so our perimeter is too large. Maybe after a few weeks, if there’s a pattern, we can get Ingrid or some of the other teams out. But until then, there’s no guarantee we’d be able to find them.”

“Will they be back tonight?” I ask, and Mel shrugs. “I’m headed back to the Core. Maybe there’s something we can find…” I wave goodbye.

Lana indicates that she’ll stick around a bit, which leaves me walking alone even as Mikito and her apprentice come strolling up.

“Kim, this information distortion, can we do something about it? Get better data?” I ask out loud.

“BASED UPON CURRENT FUNDS, THERE IS ONLY A 34% CHANCE FOR US TO UPGRADE SENSORS TO REMOVE INTEFERENCE.”

“How much would we need to spend to do even that much?”

“ALL OF CURRENT CREDITS AVAILABLE.”

“Bad odds,” I say, shaking my head. “Forget that for now. What else can we do?”

“MANY THINGS. WHAT ARE YOUR OBJECTIVES?”

I growl, annoyed at the pissant AI. Luckily, I’ve got a Spirit who knows how to handle these things.

“Bits-for-brains, we’re dealing with the attacks. What can we do to make it less annoying? Or hurt them when they attack us?”

“CURRENT DAMAGE OUTPUT BY ATTACKERS WILL REMOVE SHIELDING IN FIVE MINUTES, TWENTY-THREE SECONDS OF CONTINOUS ATTACKS. WE HAVE SUFFICIENT CREDITS TO INCREASE RECHARGE RATES OF THE SHIELD TO INCREASE TIME REQUIRED FOR SHIELD FAILURE.

“WE MAY ALSO UPGRADE THE SHIELD TO ALLOW SINGLE DIRECTION FIRE, ALLOWING SENTRY TOWERS TO ATTACK IN RELATIVE SAFETY. ADDITIONAL ATTACK METHODS MAY BE PURCHASED, INCLUDING INDIRECT ARTILLERY FIRE, FROM THE CENTER OF THE CITY. LASTLY, WE MAY PURCHASE A SETTLEMENT ENCHANTMENT TO REFRACT A PORTION OF DAMAGE TO THE SHIELD TO ITS ATTACKERS.”

I frown, tilting my head upward. Even if I can’t see it, I know that the current shield is a dome. Indirect artillery fire would basically make a hole in the dome in the center. Of course, the Sect has shown that they’ve got airplanes, so that might not be the best idea. On the other hand, airplanes are at least easier to spot.

“Sounds interesting,” I say. “Show me.”

Tier IV Defense Shield Regeneration Rate Increase

Increases regeneration rate of settlement shield by drawing a higher level of ambient Mana.

HP Regeneration Rate: 250/minute

Credits: 1.98 Million Credits

Tier IV Defense Shield Upgrade—One-Way Fire

By altering the frequency and direction of the shield, one-way fire out of a settlement shield is viable.

Allows intermittent fire from inside to outside the shield. Must be activated.

Duration of activation: 5 Minutes

Credits: 2.5 Million Credits

Automated Tier IV Artillery

By connecting directly to the sensor network in a settlement, these automated artillery pieces can range up to 50 kilometers away (dependent upon sensor range).

Base Damage: N/A (dependent on ammunition)

Capacity: 5

Fire Rate: 1 per 5 second

Reload time: 30 seconds

Credits: 2 Million Credits

Settlement Shield “Bite Back” Runic Enchantment (Tier V)

Named by original creator Rqweervs Hivemate, the Bite Back Runic Enchantment absorbs damage done to a settlement shield and applies damage directly to its attacker. This Runic Enchantment comes in a wide variety of levels of effectiveness.

Base Damage: 2% of Damage

Requirements: 200 Mana + 20 Mana Upkeep

Credits: 5 Million Credits

I scan through the options, wincing at the cost, and pull up the Settlement information once again in short order. One and three-quarters million Credits. You’d think that anything over a million would be enough, but as I go up in Levels and deal with the town, a million has started to feel like pocket change. Unfortunately, with me wiping out the majority of the Credits earlier and the economy only just beginning to pick up, making millions of additional Credits is impossible. Frankly, it’s amazing that we’ve managed to earn as much as we have. Right now, we’re making roughly forty-five thousand Credits a day as a settlement, which might seem like a lot, but that includes all the rent, sales of Sect-owned goods like farm produce, and taxes we’ve levied.

My hand rises as I get ready to wipe out the options we can’t afford, then I pause. Not because I can’t really activate the purchases till I’m in the Core. Not because we don’t have enough money to make the changes matter. No, because I realize, once again, we’re reacting. Playing to their game.

My hand falls and I stare at the information, stopped in the middle of the street as my mind whirls with possibilities. A glimmer of an idea approaches me, skirting around my perception. Time. Space. Action. Reaction.

Even if I do take the steps I want to, need to, I’ll need to visit Sam and the Shop. But maybe, just maybe, there’s an option.

Chapter 14

There are things you do because you have to. There are things you do because it’s the right thing to do. And then there are things you do because you’re just good at them. However, what you think needs to be done and what others consider to be right are often markedly different. Once again, that thought was reinforced as I told the team about my new plan over our delayed breakfast.

As I sneaked along the ground outside of town, I recalled the arguments, the glares, and the less-than-happy expressions. It was one thing, at least to them, when Ingrid upped and disappeared. She was the Assassin, the scout, the rogue who did all those things. Sending her off from the city, even when we needed her to do some hunting close by, was acceptable. Expected even. She was the free spirit who flitted around. Me? I was supposed to stick around, help settle the refugees, and figure out purchases and defenses and all that crap.

Never mind the fact that I’m really not suited to all that. Or that there are much better people already in place. Even if I feel—I know—my greatest contribution is in the field, most of the others aren’t particularly happy about my choice. As I left, there were even some muttered comments about me regressing.

Truth is, they might be right. That’s the thing about the human mind—we can find justifications for everything and easily rationalize our decisions. In my mind, decisions like what to buy, when to buy, the optimization of our defenses and upgrading buildings and rents… all of that can be handled by others more inclined than I am to do so. Kim can run the math and guide the others on my overall goals. The council can do the actual work, and Lana can watch over them all. Mikito is better at handling and training each of the hunting groups, while Mel seems to have a handle on our day-to-day strategic fighting decisions. As much as I might dislike the older man, he’s doing a decent job so far.

In my mind, there’s nothing I can do that can’t be done by them. But none of them has my Class, my Skills, or Sabre. Of them all, I have the greatest mobility and punching power. Which leads me to traveling across the relatively open ground around the town, leaning on my stealth skills to find the hunting groups. I’ve dumped Sabre into my Altered Space, deciding that going unarmored is a better choice for now. Mobile as it may be, stealthy isn’t something I’d call Sabre in either mode.

Thankfully, the monsters around me stay away. They can sense the Level difference sufficiently to avoid me when they do pick me up, and I make sure to swing around them otherwise. Thus far, in the last few hours, I’ve yet to find signs of our potential attackers.

Which isn’t too surprising. The ground to the south of Kamloops is pretty flat and bare, more plains than forests for around five kilometers before they get hilly and forested again. In the end, my goal isn’t to head into the woods where I know most of the hunting groups stay or to flush out our attackers but to make my way farther south.

South, perhaps swinging by Logan Lake to the southwest a bit, but eventually making my way to Merritt. I might not be able to do as much damage as Sect can with their attacks, but if I can get close enough, when they’re not watching, I believe Ali and I can at least gather further information about our attackers.

Hours of sneaking and scouting finally elicit a result—a small group of alien creatures, only two of which are humanoid. It’s the weirdest group I’ve ever seen, including a nightmare fish-like creature in an oval liquid containment unit with tripedal mechanical legs; a flowing mass of yellow-cream tentacles and mouths; and a ram-headed, cat-like creature with an extra pair of hands. At least the two humanoids are mostly human, even if they are weirdly colored and something you’d see in Farscape rather than Star Trek.

“What are those things?” I send to Ali.

“Don’t see them much. The aquatic is a Pismeen, tentacle-goo is a Mohran, and ramses is, well, we’ll call them Satyrs. You can’t properly pronounce or hear its name, so we’ll go with Satyr,” Ali says easily. “Must be one of the Sect’s mixed hunter groups. It’s not uncommon for Galactic organizations to put the minority species together.”

I grunt. That’s something I’ve noticed, that groups like the Truinnar, Hakarta, or the Yerick tend to be single species groups. I guess when you’re the dominant power in your region, it’s easier and better to keep to a single species for your groupings. Which makes mixed species groups rarer since they are, by virtue, a minority.

“We going to bury them?” Ali asks after he finishes naming the other two species.

I ignore their names for now, already pondering my choices. “No. We’re going to stalk them. I want to see if they meet up with our midnight attackers. Tell me about the weirdos.”

I make sure to let the group pull away even farther, just inside my ability to track them. Even now, their markers are weirdly shaded in my minimap, Ali’s way of indicating that they’re there because I can see them and not because he’s getting the information from the System.

“Okay. Well, let’s start with the Satyrs. Firstly, don’t ever get into a drinking contest with one—alcohol actually doesn’t affect their bodies at all…” Ali begins.

I only half-listen, since I do actually have to make sure I’m not caught. Still, it passes the time and gives me a little bit of information about new species.

***

The next few hours are surreal, watching the enemy group travel across the map, doing their best to hide so they aren’t found out while at the same time looking for our hunting groups. Groups which I have full view of in my map. Twice, barring a hill and a particularly dense piece of forestry, the Sect nearly stumbles upon our people—and vice versa. I’m glad it doesn’t happen though, since it’d waste all the time I’ve already invested.

So strange to think of a simple turn left or being five minutes slower and what could have been. Then again, isn’t that the truth about our lives? Half an hour one way, a different decision, and our lives would be so different. If I had never gotten a cup of coffee on that Saturday, I might never have met Anne. Trace it back further—if I had gotten up when my alarm first went off that morning, I’d have had time to make coffee for the day. Without meeting Anne, I’d never have traveled to Whitehorse. Never gotten my Class. Never met Lana or Ali.

Small decisions, small changes, and the course of our lives could alter by such a wide margin. Every day, we chide ourselves for past mistakes, past actions, calling forth a myriad of what-ifs of times past. We might never know of the hundred thousand small decisions that might have changed our lives. Still, we reprimand ourselves for the decisions we make as if, somehow, we know the optimal path.

As evening comes, I watch the group peel away, slowly heading south. I wonder if they’ll finally bring me to my prey. Of course, it’s not that easy. Twenty kilometers from Kamloops, and well out of sight of the settlement, the mixed species group gets on the road and calls forth various instruments of transportation, pulling away at speed. I stare in amazement at the mecha shrimp, shaking my head at the weirdness of the System world. Mecha. Shrimp.

I take my time getting on the road and following the group, knowing I won’t be able to keep up and stay hidden. A failure of some form perhaps. There’s something to be said about knocking out their people, again and again, killing even the small fry till they have no one else to send.

But…

Sometimes, you have to wait. Play the long game. Hope to get the whole pot rather than bleeding them for a few chips here and there. So I head down the road, staying to the shadows and waiting. Maybe I’ll find something. Maybe I’ll fail. But for the first time in days, I feel useful again.

***

The message from Mel later that night was exasperating in its conciseness and the news it provided. Another attack, launched at ten and again at two in the morning. In neither case did the individuals who launched the attack come via the road I was watching. Which meant that my presence watching the road was of little use.

Yet… negative progress was still progress. Or could you call it negative progress? Probably not, now that I was thinking about it. Which tells you the kind of thoughts that occupy one’s mind when you’re seated in a small depression overlooking a darkened road early in the morning after spending the entire day awake.

I’ll admit there’s a small chance that the group involved might have sneaked past me. But a Skill that could hide sixty individuals from the System—or at least their data from people drawing information from the System—was powerful. So powerful that it must have been upgraded quite a few times. A Skill that could hide sixty people from the System and from visual and other line-of-sight sensing at the same time was insanely powerful. If my understanding of power levels in Classes is correct, that’d be a Master Class Skill. And if there’s a Master Class Sect member out here, they wouldn’t be bothering with all this bullshit.

Which leaves me with the question of what to do now. Option one—return to the area around Kamloops and work with the hunter groups to locate the attackers. That’s the safe option, the smart one. Take out the attackers, give the settlement some rest. But it’s also likely the one they’re expecting.

The other option, the one I want to do, is to ignore the attackers. I know the group I stalked left for another area. Probably a staging area in Merritt or somewhere else. Hit those guys, make their lives miserable. But the moment I take out one of their hunting groups outside of their city, I’m also letting them know that we’ve changed tactics and I’m out here.

Doing so would call down the dogs of war. Which means I need to make sure that when I do act, it does the most amount of damage possible. I sigh, leaning back, and go back to watching the road, turning the thoughts over in my mind.

Hours later, I finally give up on locating any hunter groups on this stretch of road and look at my brown friend. I don’t have to speak, but there’re no monsters or Sect members and I’d like to actually hear my own voice. “Am I selfish?”

“Yes,” Ali says automatically, then pauses as he considers my question. “Yes. What brought that on?”

“Lana,” I say, remembering the accusation leveled at me.

“Ah.” Ali shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. You’re sentient. Outside of a few, rather dumb, races, we’re all selfish.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“Oh, come on, don’t sulk. What’s that thing you’re always muttering? What is, is?” Ali says. “This is the same thing. You’re selfish for wanting to go out and do this alone, because it gets you out of the city. Lana’s selfish for wanting you back in Kamloops, safe and with her. You’re both right to be selfish.”

“Greed is good?” I mutter, and Ali rolls his eyes.

“In moderation, sure.” Ali shrugs. “What, you don’t want to Level up?”

I grunt, thinking about that single Level I need to hit 40. All those Skills, all that power. Yes, I can admit it. I want to grow, to Level up. To become more powerful. And that’s greedy and selfish, but also practical and sensible and yes, sociable since I’m the bulwark for my group and town. “So… selfish. And greedy, charitable, and angry.”

“Or as I like to put it, sentient,” Ali says.

“Speaking of sentience…” I frown. “Why didn’t you recommend I buy a military AI? Or upgrade Kim to a military AI?”

“Probably because it’s a bad idea. You seem to think AIs are like your Skynet. They’re closer to the Machine.”

“The Machine?” I frown, raising an eyebrow at Ali, and he sighs.

“Person of Interest. Great show,” Ali says. “AIs are limited, both by the constraints placed upon them by the Galactic Council but also the information they’re able to ascertain. They’re only as good as the information provided, and you, my boy, are limited on the information you can provide. A good military AI needs a lot of information to function, to make the best guesses possible. It also needs to get trained to function properly.”

“Why?” I frown, shaking my head. “Can’t it, you know, figure out the optimal choices with what we have now? I thought buying the data stores gave it the training.”

“Not that kind of training. Look, let’s keep it simple. If I told you that we should kill all the ex-Serfs to remove the Sect’s objective for taking back the city, would you?” I glare at Ali, and he nods firmly. “Exactly. But it’s a viable, potentially even the easiest, solution. An AI might see that option, decide it’s the best option, and tell you that. Now, when you tell it no, you’ve got to explain why. Teach it.”

“Ah…” I tilt my head to look at Ali. “And how long does it take to teach an AI that?”

“How long’s the tapeworm?” Ali says. “Varies on the type, tier, resources, and how good you are at teaching and actually knowing what you want. With you? Quite a while.”

I sigh and nod. I can see Ali’s point and, on further thought, his point about lacking knowledge for the AI to actually make better decisions. It’s not as if we’re tapped into the Internet or anything, so the AI would be stuck with limited knowledge of the world. Unless we wanted to spend a ton of money purchasing information from the System, I can see how it’d be limited. It’s only because Ali is a linked Companion that he has access to as much information as he does. Even Kim is forced to rely on tapping into general System information channels and the information provided by the settlement.

For all his assurances, I am concerned about the AIs used by larger organizations. But since I can’t do anything about them right about now, I decide not to ask about it. I’ve had enough nightmares to last me for a while, and a galactic-wide, networked AI is one I don’t need.

***

After that, it’s a simple matter to continue my journey to Merritt. When dawn finally breaks, I’m situated on an appropriately far away and vertically dominant position to watch the tiny town. The hill I’m on is between the 5 and 97C highways, letting me keep an eye out for movement on either road—mostly via my map rather than visually—and also actually stare at the town itself. At this distance, and with my new Out of Class Skill I bought from the Shop and with Ali’s help, I should be safe. Once again, I read the Class Skill description, more for comfort than anything else.

Shrunken Footprints (Out of Class Skill Level 1)

Reduces System presence of user, increasing the chance of the user evading detection of System-assisted sensing Skills and equipment. Also increases cost of information purchased about user. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 5 permanently.

After the attack, I’d done further research into the ways they could have evaded our sensors. This, among many other Class Skills, was present. Some, like the Skills Ingrid uses, hide the user entirely—pure Stealth Skills—but are expensive to purchase as they’re normally restricted to their Classes. Many of them are active Skills, draining Mana from the pool immediately. While theoretically, with my Mana regeneration, I should be able to use some of those Skills, I’m also a direct combatant. Keeping up such a Skill seemed a bad idea, especially as constant use of an active Skill has deleterious side effects.

Others Skills, like the Shrunken Footprints, are less powerful overall but much more focused in their effects. And, obviously, cheaper. In this case, since I can rely on my real-world stealth skills, I just needed to reduce my System footprint. As it stands, so long as I don’t actively push matters, I should be pretty well hidden from casual scanning. Along with Ali’s help, we can even doctor some of the information given out.

Smiling at that knowledge, I turn back to the town spread out below me. Known more for a country music festival than anything else, the once-populous town is a ghost of itself. Not that I ever made it to the festival. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against country music, but the thought of the press of humanity at such an event is enough to make me shudder.

Still, the city shouldn’t be as much of a ghost town as I see. For the last hour, I’ve seen maybe a dozen different individuals, most of them alien-looking creatures. Yet not a single human can be seen. This could be because everyone died, which, while unlikely, is possible. However, I’m leaning toward a forced evacuation or a group of citizens so terrorized they aren’t willing to show their faces.

Once more, I cycle through all the visual processing options available on my helmet. Infrared, UV, X-ray, magnification, none of it helps. The distance is too great, the buildings too sturdy to leak any details. I can’t even tell if the city is a Village or Town, a safe zone, or just a series of unclaimed buildings, divorced by our System overlord.

Frustrating. But I spend the time watching anyway, quietly building up a count of who resides in the city and how many. Scouting, because when and if I attack them, I want, nay, I need it to count for something.

***

Days. Watching, counting, planning. Days, while a trickle of information sent by Kim through the System keeps me updated. As expected, morale is dropping, the constant harrying attacks and the occasional fight and death doing nothing to help. Sure, we occasionally come out better, but without an idea of how many we’re facing, it just seems like a constant, never-ending fight. Even our Leveling parties to the north have reported being attacked, making progress ever slower. The Sect is wearing us down, containing our people until they are ready. It’s a siege, even if there are no catapults or entrenched lines.

Days of watching has seen some progress though. I know now how many Sect members are in Merritt—twenty-three—and I’ve even managed to figure out their groupings. By now, I have a firm grasp of the group’s schedule. I’ve seen how they always keep at least two groups at home, rotating who’s on hunt each day. On two occasions, a full group came back less an individual or two. In one case, I’d even seen them return somewhat cockily and, on that same day, learned that they had nearly wiped out an entire hunter group on our side. That was a bad day and I had to contain myself from rushing in.

Truth be told, I had all the information I needed at least a day ago, but I’d hesitated from attacking because I wanted to verify if this was a trap. The fact that they stayed apart, sleeping and leaving at different times, made it seem just too easy. After all, an empty town with only Sect members in it is somewhat suspicious. But however closely I looked, I just couldn’t see the trap. In the end, sometimes all you can do is set the trap off and hope to get out.

Resolved to doing something mildly stupid, I make my way stealthily into town after the second group finally left for the day. If they followed their rough schedule, a third group would leave at some point within the next hour, leaving two groups behind to rest for the day. That was the time I had chosen to act.

Hunkered behind a convenient house, I pulled Sabre from my storage and transformed it. I waited for a second, listening and watching to see if I had been found out yet. Seeing nothing, I started up the Temporal Cloak, beginning the process of sneaking in deeper. My forehead creased as I received no notification that this was a claimed city or town.

“Ali?”

“John. I love you too.”

“What’s going on with the town?”

“They sold the town key a few weeks ago. Probably at the same time they started moving people out. Data on the town activities dropped off around the same time in the System, so I’m assuming that’s the case,” Ali says, eyes flicking over notification windows.

“Well, that at least removes the town’s sensors from the equation,” I say, looking for a bright spot.

I kind of wanted Merritt. It’s a decent midway point, but with the key sold, we’ll either have to pick up each of the buildings individually or repurchase the town settlement key ourselves. Though that does bring up the question of why the populace hasn’t purchased enough land to keep it as their own. After all, as Ali pointed out, you could just purchase enough property to force the System to create a settlement for you.

Idle thoughts as I continue to carefully make my way in. I grunt, bringing my attention back to the rather important point of not being found out. While the Sect seems to cluster in the city center, that doesn’t mean that they won’t or can’t explore.

For all my caution, I run into little trouble until I’m a half-block into the historical downtown district. Historical like North American historical—so within the last hundred years—not European or Asian historical, which is within the last few hundred or thousand years. Stubby little commercial buildings from around the turn of last century make up the city center. The Sect members have taken over the Coldwater Hotel, each of them probably lounging in the equivalent of a suite or something. Not a bad idea really, since one of the upgrades in a designated hotel includes laundry and other cleaning options. Assuming someone purchased it, which I’d have done.

“That is purchased, right? Any idea about the upgrades?” I ask Ali since, well, I might as well.

“It’s registered. That’s about all that’s relevant available. Climate control, Mana engine and battery, sonic showers and plumbing, I could go on…” Ali says with a shrug as he floats beside me.

I’m not surprised. It’s not as if I’d make the security upgrades I’d bought available for people to learn. Unfortunately, that does mean I’m not entirely sure how strong those walls are.

As I ponder my next steps, I watch a humanoid reptile-like creature walk out. The sleek emerald-green Sect member strolls down the street without a care in the world, the morning sunlight glinting off the purple highlights of her body.

???? (Level 29 Warrior (?))

HP:

MP:

Conditions: Oblivious

“What’s with the question marks?”

“Don’t want to probe too deeply right now.”

Pulling backward, I make sure to stay hidden while checking the timer of the Cloak. I’m going to need to make a move soon…

Still, I let the Sect member leave on whatever business she has. If I were Ingrid, this would be the perfect time to kill her. Sneak up, backstab and mute the attack, murdering her in silence before anyone knows. But I’m not Ingrid and I have no Skills to mute the attacks or her call for help. It’s not like I could walk up and slit her throat like in the movies—the System’s interference makes it hard to kill another with a single hit. Not impossible perhaps, but hard. Better to let her go than risk losing the element of surprise against everyone else.

Once she’s gone, I proceed with my initial plan. All around the building, I quietly add a series of explosives. Since I don’t have any real skill in demolitions, I go with the tried-and-true method of using more rather than less. After all, I need to destroy both the building and the people inside. And if you think about it, I’m just returning the looted explosives. See, I can be generous.

Only when I’m done and on the building across the street, crouched low and under cover, do I relax. Thankfully, the Sect isn’t a military organization. Rather than having scouts, watchers, and a fixed timetable, the members lounge about and relax, obviously content to take their time off. It reminds me a lot of the Adventuring Guild in Carcross and their members, rather than Capstan and the Truinnar or the Hakarta.

Rather than pursue that thought, I trigger the explosives. Interesting thing to note about explosions—you never hear them until after the explosive wave front hits you, the air moving faster than the noise. In addition, once the explosion has finished expanding, there’s a secondary “pull,” as nature abhors the vacuum. Even with the explosives directed to send the majority of their blast inward and upward, what does escape is enough to batter poor Sabre’s shield and my meager cover. Look, as I said, I’m not exactly trained in demolitions.

“One down,” Ali announces even as I pop up, waiting.

The building across the street is gone, now a mass of System-enhanced wood, steel, and concrete. Fires burn around the building and against a few others that were caught in the explosion, small and not-so-small craters in the ground where the explosives were laid. If not for the System’s enhancements, the explosions would likely have done more damage to the Sect members resting within.

Even as I think that, the rubble moves. A strong, multi-armed, orange creature with a topknot shoves a column away, a pair of short humanoids following it. In a corner, red smoke pours out of the broken concrete, swirling in a circle. A few seconds later, a cone of ice erupts from the ground a short distance away from the smoke, a figure encased in it like a human tootsie roll center.

Before the group can fully recover their senses, the covers over my mini-missile launchers open and let loose. A fraction of a second later, my left hand rises and a fireball forms, flying outward. I don’t stop, repeatedly casting the spell as fast as I can. While I have a personal preference for Lightning Bolt, the group below is too spread out for that spell. At least, right now.

The multi-armed topknotted creature snarls, grabs a piece of intact rubble twice its size, and holds it up in front of its body as the missiles streak toward it. The twin humanoids duck behind the monster, curling slightly to shield their bodies against the explosions. All around, the Sect members defend themselves—all but an unlucky bastard who manages to dig himself out just in time for the explosion to hit.

High-explosive missiles send waves of flame and compressed air through the surroundings, throwing up debris and turning it into shrapnel. Moments later, my first fireball explodes as well, flames moving in an aborted globe that envelops those below. The second and third explode soon after, the Sect members doing their best to protect themselves.

“Three more down,” Ali tells me even as I unload another fireball.

But my sneak attack is over and the group is firing back. Spells, beam weapons, an acidic fluid, and more target me, hammering Sabre’s shield and then mine in short order. Rather than duke it out at range, I focus and Blink Step forward, hiding myself from the incoming fireball behind the mostly melted spike of ice.

“Owwww! Those spells hurt,” Ali sends to me as he zips forward, still invisible. “You could have warned me you’re leaving.”

Raising my foot, I pivot, my blade sinking into the Mage’s body. It exits through his shoulder, the severed arm flopping to the ground, accompanied by a scream of pain. Arming and dropping a grenade by my feet, I Blink Step away to Topknot, ignoring the continued complaints from my Spirit. Even as the grenade explodes, finishing the job of killing the Mage, I’m attacking Topknot.

Topknot is good. The knife that might as well be a sword in his hand moves with impressive speed, blocking my surprise attack and the follow-ups. We dance, trading blows, while next to him, the last humanoid struggles to its feet, body thoroughly cooked. No time to finish it though. Just enough time to take a cut to my leg as I plunge my sword into Topknot’s chest and end that fight.

“The third group is on its way. Twenty seconds,” Ali tells me, his short form swooping down to clock the cooked humanoid in the head with his tiny fist. Tiny or not, between momentum and the creature’s injuries, the monster falls.

“Good job!” I grin at the now-visible Spirit. Just in time to see him get smashed aside by what looks like a giant crossbow bolt.

Turning, I see the female reptile monster turning the corner down the block, running away with the crossbow held up toward her body. I snarl, thinking of chasing her before recalling Ali’s earlier message. Rather than wasting time, I jump away from the wreckage, my hands moving as I deposit mines all across the street. Some land on the ground, tripwires exploding outward and almost disappearing from view before my helmet highlights them for me. Others burrow away, covering their casings in the dirt as they await their chance.

“Three seconds,” Ali says, once more invisible and intangible. Still, as he floats beside me, his hand clutches his side where he leaks blue light.

“Thanks,” I grunt.

I stop dropping mines and spin around, pulling my beam rifle from storage and snugging it to my shoulder. The first Sect member to turn the corner takes a beam to his waist, the sight of melted armor and burnt flesh making an appearance as he gets cut up. He throws himself to the side, attempting to dodge the shots, but I follow him, firing again and again.

Bolts of red and green land around me. A massive metallic spike shatters against Sabre’s shield, and wind blades crack the shield apart. I take another shot, injuring the sucker before I skip backward, eyes dancing over the group as I take in their Levels. No names, just Classes and Levels. A mixture of combat Classes, most simplified to “Warrior,” “Gunner,” “Healer,” or “Mage” for right now, while their Levels sit in the high 20s to mid-30s.

I snap off shots from the Inlin and launch missiles in a more controlled fashion, backing off slowly as I weave through their attacks. Even with my higher Agility, the sheer volume of fire means that I get hit constantly, my Soul Shield crumbling every second. Still, I persist, luring them closer.

The first pair of warriors reaches the mines, explosions and gloop flying. One is thrown into the air, a chunk of flesh sliced off his foot from a razorwire. Another is caught in insta-concrete as he struggles to free himself and pull at his own flesh as worms burrow into his body. The Healer slows down before it can reach them, the mechanical-biological body pulling to a stop as it waves four-fingered tentacles, magic wrapping around its friends. The others, ranged attackers, keep firing, chipping away at my defenses.

Polar zone. I raise my hand, casting the spell, and the temperature around the group drops immediately. The next second, I trigger the sonic pulser, the teeth-clenching shriek throwing off their aim and making my attackers stumble. Ali darts into their midst, his invisible body glowing as he activates his Elemental Affinity, tapping into the vibrations and molecules around. I can vaguely sense what he’s doing, the way he’s enhancing—or perhaps more accurately, breaking down—the stability of molecules around us. A neat trick, something I’ll need to work on later.

Disoriented and under attack or not, the group refuses to run through the minefield. The pair caught in it are attempting to extract themselves, the Healer too disrupted to finish its spells at the moment. Rather than letting them take the time to recover, I call forth Enhanced Lightning Strike, my Mana already down to a third. Too much. While electricity arcs through the air and dances between bodies and the ground, I have Sabre inject me with the Mana potions it has stored. The tightness around my temples from an incipient Mana headache disappears even as my body feels refreshed, since the Mana Regeneration potions adds to my natural regeneration rate.

Natural. Har!

I cut the Lightning Strike spell off before it drains me too far, knowing I can’t afford to let it go on much longer. Instead, I dash forward into the mine field, continuing to target the Healer with the majority of my attacks. Ducking around the mines and making sure I don’t trigger the ones that don’t have a friend-foe sensor eats up time. My sonic pulser shuts down, no longer able to sustain the caterwaul, allowing the group to recover.

“Oh man, I was just getting into the groove,” Ali moans, his invisible Spirit body stopping its waggling.

The group is experienced, I have to admit. Hurt and damaged as they are, the Healer is drinking its own healing potions while the Mage slams his hands together, earth erupting from the ground to hide the Healer. As the Mage does so, the ranged attacker lobs a canister over the emerging wall, the cannister exploding in a brief cloud of dust. A second later, I get a new notification.

Nano Machine Pollution detected.

Mana Regeneration decreased in surroundings for 5 minutes by 31.4%

I growl, my prey out of sight, even as one of the melee fighters throws out his hand. A single silver needle multiplies until thousands of them fill the air, glowing with a malevolent dark red light. Without stopping, they bypass my Soul Shield and stab through Sabre’s armor into my fleshy body.

You are poisoned!

-13 HP per second (after resistances)

Duration: 00:0:33

Pain erupts from the needles, as if acid is spreading from the needles throughout my body. I snarl, noting the duration, and change directions. In passing, I throw a grenade at the twitching form of the stuck melee fighter, focusing instead on the one that poisoned me.

You’d think a poisoner would look, I don’t know, devious and evil. Slimy perhaps. What I see though is a flamboyant, thin creature dressed more like a swashbuckler with a colorful, patched half-cloak. Very humanoid-looking too, other than the single eye that dominates his whiskered face. Running forward, I throw a Blade Strike, forcing d’Artagnan to duck even as he throws a pair of spikes at me underhand. Those, at least, don’t pierce my Soul Shield, though the shield suddenly shifts to a sickly-green color.

Soul Shield Corrupted

-15 HP per second

“Boy-o, they’re retreating. And teams one and two are on their way back. I’ve got team one on my screen already. They’re making damn good time,” Ali updates me.

I snarl slightly, covering the last few feet as my damaged and worn shield finally gives way. I lunge forward, my sword caught and pushed aside by d’Artagnan using one of his spikes. What he doesn’t expect is for the sword to disappear, throwing his balance off just long enough for me to step forward and cut up, bisecting his abdomen and chest. Even as he screams, I conjure a sword into my other hand to finish the job, lopping off his head. As he dies, I swipe my hand through his body and dump it into my storage space, glancing back at the burnt and twitching body of his compatriot, the worms making a mess of my attacker.

“Remind me to buy a cure for those mines,” I send to Ali even as I run to put the poor man out of his misery.

The Spirit pops out of the earthen wall a moment later, flying toward me as he flicks a small screen up in front of me. The remnants of the group I recently engaged slow down as they link up with the second group even as the first group to leave town appears on the edges of my map. It’s clear that they aren’t coming at me piecemeal anymore, gathering together for safety.

“Can I reach them?” I send to Ali, wondering if maybe I can pick off a couple more from the consolidated group.

“The running group? Sure. But they’re likely to play for time, bog you down,” Ali says.

A quick glance at my Mana level and its hampered regeneration shows that I’m running dangerously low again. That’s why I chose not to use Blink Step earlier, knowing that the Skill is expensive. Better to save a little just in case I need to run.

“Recommend you get out of the nano cloud at the least, boy-o,” Ali sends as I dither.

Nodding, I jump onto the roof of the nearest building, using Sabre’s jump jets to help cover the distance. Not that I couldn’t do it just using my stats, but the jump jets and anti-gravity plates make it a lot easier. As I fly through the air, I refresh the Soul Shield, wincing as my Mana drops again.

“Time to go,” I say and suit words to action.

Better to get out of here before they gather and try to track me down. I might be able to win, but getting encircled by a group of Advanced Level fighters worries me. No guarantee they don’t have a plan to get some real players in. Without the QSM – my Quantum State Manipulator which lets me phase partly into another dimension - my options for running away have decreased, so better to draw this out and keep hitting them one after the other.

Anyway, I’ve struck my blow. Now for the next part of my plan.

Chapter 15

A day and night later, I finally relax. Sons of bitches had someone with tracking Skills on their side, so I’d been forced to run and fight against the consolidated groups, reinforced by another hunting group that didn’t originate from the city. While I had no idea which one of three I managed to kill in our last encounter had the tracking Skill, I was finally confident that I had lost them. Either that, or they’re laughing their asses off while I hide at the bottom of this lake.

Once again, I go over the gains in my mind. There’s something to be said about fighting multiple sentients—the experience gain is definitely better than what you’d get killing monsters. I’m now three quarters to my next Level and I earned another seventy thousand Credits. Sadly, most of the equipment I looted is less than useful—some mediocre personal weapons, some damaged armor, and the usual slew of Mana and Healing potions. However, there are a few interesting things.

Triffgits Leeches of Poison Neutralisation

Guaranteed to remove most Tier V and IV poisons if applied within two minutes of infection. Do not store in System inventory.

I stare at the tiny bottle of writhing leeches, my face twitching in disgust as I stare at the black-and-green creatures. They really do look similar to Earth leeches, though I’m promised they feed on poisons rather than blood. Still, I’d have to be pretty desperate before using these.

Q’saex Nano Swarm Grenade

This specially designed nano-swarm will not directly damage your opponents but will instead constantly reproduce, using the ambient Mana in its surroundings to multiply the swarm. This will reduce all Mana regeneration in the affected regions during this period.

Affect: -40% Mana Regeneration

Duration: 20 Minutes

“That’s dangerous,” I mutter, staring at the pair of grenades in my hand. I slip them back into the external storage locations for Sabre.

“Worried about your grey goo scenario? Don’t be. The nanites are programmed to shut down after twenty minutes. And even if they weren’t, the System would shut them down soon after,” Ali reassures me as he darts around the lake, chasing a few barracuda-looking fish. At Level 3, those things aren’t dangerous to me and supposedly make good eating.

“How sure are you?”

“Very. It’s pretty well-recorded that the System has defenses against nanite encroachment. In fact, a lot of studies show that the System hampers nano-machines and reproduction, along with out-of-control AIs,” Ali says.

“So I noticed it says forty percent here,” I say. Of course, it might be that the group all just had different toys, but this seems like something the team might have pooled money together to purchase as a group.

“Forty percent based off Galactic Standard, remember? We’re in a Mana-rich environment in a Dungeon World, so the effect is less,” Ali sends back.

“Right,” I say, listening to the echo of my voice in my helmet.

I draw another breath of recycled air and I swear, I can taste my own unbrushed breath. I know it’s psychological, that the helmet and Sabre’s environmental filters have removed it all, but I’ve been here for hours. Still, I force patience on myself again. Two more hours, that’s what I promised myself. Two hours and I’ll be out.

***

We forget how big Canada is, when the roads are perfect and the weather is great. While the weather today is nice—a warm summer day with a light breeze blowing—the roads themselves are a mess. There’s an entire stretch on the 5 between Merritt and Hope where the ground is a swamp, the road buried under murky waters where things reach out to grab at Sabre. I’m grateful I picked up the anti-gravity plates for the PAV, allowing me to traverse the sudden change in environment with ease.

When the roads are great, we forget the size of our country thinking that a three-hour drive is a reasonable thing to do on the weekend. It’s something more than one overseas acquaintance has pointed out, that the same amount of time would put you into a new country in many parts of the world.

But without roads, with monsters and enemies all around, what should have been a few hours’ drive takes me days. Alternately, driving alongside the road, or in some cases, diverting entirely away, I find myself finally nearing the Lower Mainland. Not Vancouver itself, but Mission as I switch to the 7.

A part of me wonders if I’m entirely insane, going directly into the lion’s den. Of course, it is insane, but I’m banking on Ali and Shrunken Footprints to make it less so. Ingrid could do this better, sneak right in and stab someone to death, but she’s got her own job to do. Between my stealth Skills, the Class Skill, and my ability to run away really fast, I’m the best choice for entering Vancouver. Or at least, that’s what I keep trying to convince myself on.

Once I near Mission, I get off the road. Traveling takes longer off-road, since I have Sabre stored away and am on foot. I weigh the pros and cons of keeping on my skintight, high-tech armor and eventually go with on. While I’m not sure how many humans in this area might have it—certainly, everyone in Whitehorse took to wearing a variation of it as a matter of course—it’s black, doesn’t make much noise, and offers some additional passive protection. Rather than take that away, I just opt to take more time sneaking in.

Alleyways and side roads do well for me, leaving me with few encounters and none of note. Ali’s ability to sense others means that we can swing wide around potential problems long before they see us, leaving only a few low-Leveled monsters that we can safely ignore. Not that we see many sentients anyway, other than the occasional scavenger party breaking into abandoned buildings, looking for necessities.

Curious, and nearer to downtown Vancouver itself, I make my way into an abandoned office building, this one once hosting individuals that used to sell million-dollar shacks. There’s an irony in watching the very people that the realtors used to prey upon ransack those same structures. I watch the scavenger group through the windows, curious to see what they take. Food sometimes, jewelry of course, but more mundane items are common too. Toilet paper, menstrual pads, books, LPs, and DVDs are more common.

It takes me a while to puzzle that out. Consumables and jewelry sure, but the LPs and DVDs only make sense after I realize it’s culture. Music. Things we can’t get or produce anymore, that comfort in times of stress and uncertainty. A wave of sadness washes over me with the realization that we might never get another ZZ Ward, Meatloaf, or Whedon creation. All that we have, all that is made, that’s all we’ll ever have.

After a time, I push down the grief and focus again on their scavenged goods. In a nuclear war, we might be scrounging for oil and food, but here, food is all around us. Oil is useless since most of our machines are dead and Mana engines are so much more efficient. Guns—non-System registered guns—are laughable toys that barely affect anything other than the lowest Level vermin.

No, in this apocalypse, the most important resource is Levels. People create Levels, so people are important, but a single high-Level individual is still more important than a series of low-Levels.

“You know, the System is a bit of an elitist,” I whisper to Ali, rubbing my nose as I hunker down, watching the group on my map as they move to another building. This time, they’ve decided to leave someone on watch. When Ali sends me a mental huh, I explain my earlier thoughts.

“Talk in your head. And of course it is,” Ali says. “That’s the System for you. But don’t tell me you thought your society was fair either. At least with the System, you’ve got a chance to Level up.”

Rather than argue with Ali about the merits or demerits of democracy, I ask him another question that has been bothering me. “Whatever. Can’t change it, can we? Tell me something else. What’s to stop a really rich or powerful group from loading up on Shop-bought Skills, making them invincible?”

“Mmm… nothing? Or well, practicality, I guess. Obviously Mana regeneration limits the passives,” Ali sends, waggling his fingers. “And since you can’t really stack most Mana regeneration-boosting Skills, there’s no way to get around that. For the active Skills, you’ve got the problem of Mana pool to worry about. Easy enough to get a ton of different Skills, but if you can’t afford to use them, they aren’t much use. But yes, there are people who pack a lot more punch for their Level than they should have because they’ve bought a bunch of Skills.”

I slowly nod. In the end, those with money and influence have a head start, whether in the System or our old world. Add in the fact that we’re working a knowledge deficit compared to the rest of the galaxy, and us humans are at a severe disadvantage. But that’s okay. As my dad once said, even if you have to work twice as hard to be half as good, most people aren’t willing to put in the work to start.

What I see before me, from my map and the occasional glance out the window, tells the truth of that too. The Sect members I’ve fought are decent, smart and experienced. But compared to the human teams at the same Level, especially those from Whitehorse, they’re missing something. An edge, a drive, that we have. I can even see it in these kids, the way they move and scavenge. Come to think of it, the Yerick have it to a slightly lesser extent too.

If we survive, if we manage to make our way through the colonization of our world and not fall into despair, we might just do okay. To do that though, we have to have our own areas of control, our own cities. And that means beating the hell out of the Thirteen Moon Sect. Settling comfortably again, I wait for the group to get moving so that I can get back on task.

***

My first big hurdle is the Pitt River. Rather than cross it along the actual bridge, I swing north for a bit, running in the dead of the night through empty streets till I hit an abandoned golf course. From there, I swim across the river in the early morning light and hide out in someone’s expensive and torn-up home. Whoever built the house was a fan of the typical West Coast design with lots of windows, which meant that when the monsters came, there was nothing sturdy to hold them out. I ignore the months-old signs of struggle, grateful that the scavengers have removed the bodies.

After that, I scavenge some old clothes. Blue jeans and a T-shirt with a goth girl with an ankh design on it replaces my combat gear. I keep the sidearm and a beam rifle though, wearing both out in the open, along with the combat boots. While the weapons might be a tad more expensive than normal, everyone’s packing these days. A quick discussion with Ali has him shifting some information on my Status. He can’t do much about the Level, but I now read as a Level 39 Guard. High enough to raise more than a few eyebrows, but at least to all casual scans, I’m just a Basic Class.

Working my way towards downtown Vancouver the next evening is easy. Making sure to come in with the scavenger groups means I’m just another dot on the Sect’s sensors as I walk in through the streets of Coquitlam. That’s the thing about the Lower Mainland and Canada. While we might have lost ninety percent of our population, Canada’s population has always been concentrated in a few major cities. Even ten percent of a million is a lot of people, and with all the towns around the city abandoned, the survivors have concentrated significantly. All those people need to hunt, farm, build, and otherwise improve themselves. Which means hunting parties, scavenger parties, farming groups, and more. The Sect might own and run the place, but they don’t have the numbers to check out everyone.

That’s the next thing I notice. Roxley had his guards in his livery to make themselves easy to notice. Policemen normally are noticeable; after all, it helps keep the rabble in line. The Sect members do the same here, mostly by just being different than us humans. It takes only a short while for Ali to point out that not every single alien is a Sect member though. After that and a bit of grumbling, he adjusts the aliens’ descriptions. Now, every Sect member who publicly displays his allegiance—which is likely all of them—is marked above their heads via their Status bars as well. That’s good, because I really don’t want to kill an innocent.

It’s interesting to watch the reactions of the other humans to the other species. Few humans talk to them. Even fewer seem friendly with any of the aliens. Oh, some are worming their way into the Sect’s good graces by toadying up, but whether it’s because they suck at that or are just exaggerating for the aliens, picking out their motives is easy. But for the majority, the silent edge of resentment and anger is there in the sidelong glances and twisted lips when the Sect members aren’t looking.

Not that the Sect members are helping matters. Most act like the small-time bullies they are, giving a shove here, a shakedown there. Lording it over the humans wherever they can.

“They’re making this too damn easy,” I send to Ali, glancing at a pair of beast-like creatures shaking down a scavenger party. It also explains why most of the humans use normal bags rather than their storage. Though I’m curious how the Sect is stopping people from sneaking things in via storage.

“Auditors. They’ve got the ability to look into your storage, with your consent or without if they’ve got enough strength,” Ali says, answering the implied question. “Go right here. There’s a group of Sect members coming down the street who are looking bored. Better to skip around them.”

“Got it,” I say, sighing. I’m not the only one who does that, though most who duck out are ahead of me, I notice. Pissing off the humans they guard is definitely helping me blend in, since no one wants to meet the Sect members if they can help it. “Not many Serfs here.”

“We’re still on the edges. They’ll keep the Serfs close on hand. Don’t want them running away,” Ali says.

I nod, rubbing my chin absently as I assess the areas. Truth be told, so far, the city looks much like the towns I’ve seen. Windows and doors broken, abandoned cars rusting on the streets, occasional monsters popping up then hiding as they sense the Level difference. On occasion, a few utterly insane monsters attack and are put down. More cars of course, a lot more cars on the major roads, abandoned and useless, but I don’t stay on those byways much.

But in time, I spot the differences. The Mana flows in a big city are more concentrated and grow greater as I head deeper into the Lower Mainland. While Coquitlam might be a “Village,” it could easily be considered a Level 10-20 zone, with a few of the wooded parks and neighborhoods jumping up another zone level again. Monsters grow and populate around here, seeming to thrive on the unregulated flow of the city.

The blooming dots of monsters at certain buildings—the hospital, the campus, a weird strip mall—all speak to monster hives that haven’t been dealt with. Maybe even dungeons in the making. And then there are the occasionally destroyed neighborhoods, entire buildings wrecked in what must have been periods of intense fighting.

But no humans—at least none who have made it their goal to live out here. Which is surprising. I expected holdouts, groups settled into defensible regions, creating their own tiny communities. Instead, I see none of that. A few groups here and there stay alone, but no large settlements.

“Is this normal?” I say to Ali.

“Nothing’s normal. But if I were the Sect, I wouldn’t want an independent group all the way out here. Be really easy to put pressure, draw them in where you can keep a better eye on them,” Ali says. “And those who don’t… well, there are monsters out here.”

“Convenient excuse,” I say, grunting. Anger flares for a moment before I push it down. Not the right time. Still, a part of me burns at the thought of people being forced to give up the little stability and protection they’ve built for themselves, all to make the Sect members’ lives easier.

“It’s kind of what you guys did too,” Ali says, sending a chiding thought to me. “How many towns and people did you drag back to Whitehorse or to the next safe zone?”

“I always gave them a choice,” I say, pointing out the major difference.

As much as I wanted to, I never, ever forced my choices on others. Even if it meant their deaths. God knows I wanted to. Especially for those idiot families who decided it was still safer to hang out in the middle of a monster-infested zone than to proceed to a safe zone because humans are evil.

Idiots.

They were so fixed on their beliefs that humanity is evil, that we devolve to our basest instincts the moment the lights go off, they refused to accept the evidence before their eyes. And doomed their children and themselves to struggling and fighting in the wilderness alone. Some days, I wonder if I should have just taken the children.

There’s no good answer here. Pull the kids away and I’d probably have had to kill their parents in front of them. I somehow doubt that would help them become well-adjusted, stable individuals. Even if I didn’t, who would take care of them? Do I drop them off at the nearest town and hope that there’s some kind soul willing to take in a group of traumatized children? It’s one thing for a government that, technically, has a series of methods to take care of such children. It’s another for my team and me to kidnap children because we don’t think their parents are doing a good job.

Yet… I can’t help but think about them sometimes.

“Getting late out here. You might want to get a move on it.” The voice, low and rich, breaks me out of my morose thoughts.

I blink, staring around, and find myself grinding my teeth, hands clenched while standing in the middle of the street. I blink, shaking my head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there,” the guy says, smiling at me kindly. He’s in his late thirties, a hint of wariness in his eyes as he offers me his hand to shake. Six feet tall, thin, with brown hair, he’s got a guitar slung across his shoulders and a bag by his feet. A quick check shows his Class and Level—a Level 21 Appraiser. “Damian.”

“John,” I say, shaking his hand. I’m glad he doesn’t ask why I was frozen in the middle of the street, but the way he looks at me sympathetically, I can guess what he’s thinking. All of us have our own nightmares.

“That’s Analyn and Jonah.” Damian indicates a short Filipino woman armed with a beam rifle the size of her body and an older, almost grandfatherly, man who seems to be their pack mule, carrying four bags on his shoulders. “You a hunter?”

“How’d you know?” I ask.

“No bags, so you’re not a scavenger,” Damian explains, pointing at my guns. “And those look like they’ve seen some use. Like you.”

“Pretty smart,” I say, smiling at Damian. I don’t move away, since I’m curious to see where he’s going with this.

“Get anything good?” Damian waves down the street, indicating we should continue walking.

I fall into step with him. “A little.” I shrug, thinking of the various random animal bits I’ve picked up from the monsters that have refused to leave me alone. It’s more habit than anything else that has me grabbing the loot, since the amount of Credits I’d get is pitiful. “I was mostly scouting this time.”

“Outside the Mainland? You’re either brave or stupid,” Analyn says then smiles slightly.

“Going alone lets me hide better,” I say, shrugging. “I have a few skills in that area.”

“Ah…” Analyn says, nodding.

“If you made a map, I know a few people who might buy it,” Damian says. “Good information about the land outside is hard to find. Everyone’s focused on the dungeon the Sect made in UBC and the new dungeon formed in SFU.”

“The UBC dungeon must be Town-formed. Expensive, but it’s a great way of focusing the Mana flow in the region. The dungeon northwest of here that they’re talking is natural,” Ali sends to me. “The places around here are all villages, except Vancouver itself, which is a full Town.”

I grunt in acknowledgement of both, letting my eyes roam over the area. We’re making good time, even burdened down with gear. The higher-than-human stats means a normal walking speed is nearly a jog pre-System, without any concern about running out of stamina.

Since Damian seems talkative, I probe him for information, just basic things. He’s more than happy to discuss the Sect, giving me a spotty overview of the city. I do my best to hide my ignorance, asking leading questions while letting Ali fill in the blanks.

As Ali mentioned, the initial period was bloody. Monsters, both mutated and portalled, showed up all over the city. A lot of people died, but things held together surprisingly well after the initial death toll as people learned to run, hide, or fight. Unlike Whitehorse, a number of really high-Level monsters had appeared, including a land drake that had taken the entirety of Stanley Park as its home. Even then, things had settled down, the local army and police managing to deal with the evolving monsters.

Unfortunately, the System—or maybe the Council—decided that wasn’t good enough and portalled in more high-level monsters in a single night. The devastation was amazing. The entire False Creek area, including the brewery and armory, had been destroyed, the Sky Giant finally dying under the continuous assault of hundreds. The land drake actually took out one of the portalled monsters when a multi-headed chimera was forced into the park.

The sacrifice of the fighters didn’t stop thousands from dying that night. That same tragedy repeated over and over again all across the city. Any major staging area had to deal with an attack by a high-level monster. At that point, resistance had been shattered and groups broke up into much smaller sections.

“Suspicious, no?” I send to Ali.

“Would you be interested to know that it isn’t a singular experience? In the same period, there’s constant sudden drops in your population—from such attacks, I assume. I’d need to buy the information to be certain but…”

I keep my face neutral, continuing to listen to Damian, but a part of me growls. There’s a story there, and one I need to dig into at some point.

A week later, the Sect appeared and claimed all the cities of the Lower Mainland. According to Ali, they actually purchased the village keys nearly the same day they were released. Rather than improving the rest of the cities, the Sect focused their attention on Vancouver only, turning it into a Town in four months. Pretty much the entirety of the downtown is their exclusive property—outside of the Downtown Eastside, where some humans gather.

Unlike our smaller towns, quite a few Shops are clustered in the Lower Mainland. Each city has their own, with Vancouver having two—one in the art gallery downtown and another in the middle of Queen Elizabeth Park. Burnaby’s Shop is in the Metrotown which has a significant human presence living in the giant shopping mall and thus outside the Sect’s direct sphere of influence. Unlike the downtown of Vancouver, where most of the Serfs live, the mall in Burnaby is actually owned and run by free humans according to Damian. Well, technically rented mostly, but it’s close enough.

When I hear that news, I change my mind of where I intend to go tonight, deciding against a direct trip to downtown Vancouver. If I’m going to find out what I want, and potentially locate a safe place to rest, the mall seems to be a better choice. As we get closer to Burnaby, I notice more and more humans. Some of them are rather interesting too…

George Pierre (Level 19 Breacher—Sect Member)

HP: 380/380

MP: 170/170

Conditions: None

“Fucking traitors,” Analyn swears under her breath when she spots the group of five Sect members, each of them with a simple grey cloth with the Sect’s symbol on their arms.

My eyes flicker over them while Damian glares at the lady before he glances at me, concern on his face. I flash him a little smile but make sure to swing around the group. That action makes him relax slightly.

“Seems to be more of them,” I say to Damian softly.

“The Sect pays well, gives discounts on goods in the Shop, and if you join them, you’re immune to becoming a Serf,” Damian says, his tone neutral. “After they crushed the resistance, can you blame them?”

“Yes,” Analyn hisses while Jonah nods firmly.

“Dangerous words,” I say, my tone light. I’d love to ask about the resistance, but it seems a bit too obvious to duck into that question right now.

“Eh, everyone’s said it,” Damian says with a careless shrug. “No one likes them, but…”

But it’s a way of surviving, and we all have a certain degree of empathy for each other over things like this. We might not like it or agree, but we can empathize. There’s been so much going on that a period of safety or comfort is attractive. Even if you have to sell out.

Having skirted around the human Sect-members, we head south. Surprisingly, the group follows me to Metrotown. Or perhaps not, considering the views they’ve expressed to me, a nominal stranger. Once we get past the rather foreboding warehouses and industrial complexes—many of which are breeding grounds for groups of monsters—we hit the residential zones. Those, as usual, are depressing lots, which is why we continue south at a jog. Conversations grow sparser and less useful, turning to the usual jokes and ribbing, which I eventually tune out.

Before I know it, we’re down at Kingsway, which runs at a diagonal to most streets with its multi-story retail stores, and only a stone’s throw away from the Metrotown mall itself. Surprisingly, none of the retail stores are owned—most shuttered, others vandalized and looted. I stare at the buildings for a second, shaking my head as happier memories clash with reality before I hurry up to follow the group.

If you’ve been to one shopping mall, you’ve been to them all, it seems. Or maybe if you’ve been to one mid-class, sprawling giant mall, you’ve been to them all. They’re all filled with brand-name shops, each segregated into their own little niches, with bright, artificial lighting and a food court or two with “food” that is, at best, barely edible. In other words, soulless and vapid.

Not much has changed, it seems. With the Shop located in what used to be a giant bookstore, the rest of the mall has been partitioned to make buying and selling goods easier. Rather than ask questions that might expose me for the stranger I am, I follow the group, playing as if I’m happy to continue chatting with them. Occasionally, I pull things from my storage to sell too.

Each portion of the mall seems to be taken over by different groups. We spend most of our time in the scavenger area, where “normal” human goods are bought and sold. While Spells are nice, dishwashing liquid, hair gel, toilet paper, and replacement sets of clothing are all still desirable. Sure, you could scavenge it yourself, but convenience trumps cost for most people. I don’t get a lot of Credits and the group spends some time haggling as prices fluctuate depending on what other groups drag in, but eventually everything is sold.

After that, it’s off to another part of the mall to sell monster parts. Interestingly enough, there are two sections, one for food and one for non-consumables. We hit the non-consumables first, haggling with various merchants who are only willing to buy a portion of what we have. This time around, I take a more active role, as my cover as a hunter means I should have more loot.

“You know, he ripped you off there,” Jonah says, shaking his head. “Five Credits for Creller teeth? You should have gotten at least eight each!”

I shrug, not wishing to comment. Ali looks unhappy as well, floating invisibly next to me, obviously itching to get involved. While it might be a break from my role, I just don’t have the patience to waste time haggling over a few Credits. A single good kill could easily replace all the funds I lose. That’s why I never bothered with it all in Whitehorse, leaving the money matters to Ali.

From glancing around, it’s obvious that many of the individuals buying in this portion of the mall are just middlemen picking up small numbers of lootable components for others. The way the various merchants perk up as the direct buyers wander along is an obvious tell, since direct buyers generally don’t haggle as hard. It also helps that I can see their Classes, which range from the mundane Toolmaker to the specialized Weaponsmith or Alchemist. Some are truly weird, like the Augurer and the Binder.

After I’m done, we make our way to sell the meat, which makes up the majority of what everyone has to sell. While monster components do form when we Loot monster corpses, the vast majority of the time, at the lower Levels, it’s just meat. Unsurprisingly, the food section is made up of the food court and a portion of the shops around it. There’s almost no haggling at the food stalls. Large cardboard signs hung above each stall state both what they’re selling and buying with the respective prices.

“Mrs. Cho’s selling her burgers again!” Damian says excitedly, eyes glowing slightly. “I’ll line up. You guys sell my share.”

“Done!” Analyn answers excitedly, taking his bag while shooting me a look. “You don’t want to miss her burgers.”

“Ummm…” I glance at the long line then finally nod to Damian. “Get me a half dozen then.”

In short order, we’ve sold the last of our gains—or at least, what I’m declaring as my gains—and retreated from the stalls respectfully.

“This place is crowded,” Analyn says, glancing around pointedly. “We’ve got a place in one of the apartment complexes here. Let’s go eat at home.”

The invitation is obvious. So too is the potential trap, but after a moment, I nod. Realistically, even if they triple the number of individuals involved in the trap, there isn’t any concern for me. Between Ali’s ability to sense things and my Level, running away is simple.

Once I agreed, the three of us quickly left the building to head to their apartment complex. I definitely had no intention of visiting the Shop here—for one thing, anything I bought would likely get taxed and the Credits added to the Sect’s coffers. Why the heck would I do that?

The pair of condo buildings is interesting, surrounded by stern steel walls that are obviously not part of the original architectural plans. On top of those, a series of small orbs sit, ready to unleash magical hell. Once inside, the building itself doesn’t seem very different, keeping most of its original design and furnishings, including the cream tile floor.

“Are you guys just renting the place?” I ask.

“No, parceled ownership. We own the apartment but have to pay into the general security fund. Votes on changes to our maintenance fees and major upgrades are all handled via the System, though there are a few administrators,” Jonah answers, obviously enthused by this. “Much better than a damn condo board. Anyone can propose a change with votes monthly. Of course, the administrators can block the proposals, but only three times in a row. Keeps the silly requests from appearing mostly.”

“Ah,” I answer, my curiosity more than assuaged.

However, my non-committal answer does little to slow down Jonah’s enthusiasm, and I get a whole lecture about the way the System works in terms of managing a multi-property location, the various options available, and the pros and cons of it all. I keep a mostly attentive expression to stay polite, but I can’t help but sigh in relief when Damian returns, hands filled with bags of food.

Toward the end of the meal—which, I have to admit, is superb—Damian’s demeanor changes and he looks unexpectedly serious. He puts down his burger, motioning toward Jonah, who pulls out a small device and taps it before nodding to his team lead.

“Where are you from? Really?” Damian asks, his face stern.

I stare at the group and absently note that Analyn’s hand is on her gun, which is pointed in my general direction. Not directly at me yet, but close enough. Jonah’s backed off too, his fingers rolling a small metal disc over his fingers.

“Whitehorse originally,” I answer truthfully. I’m curious to see where this is going. “But more recently, Kamloops.”

“We’ve heard about Kamloops. Even heard that you managed to fight off one of their invasion groups when they came to take it back,” Damian says, shaking his head. “You need to work on your blending in. You’re way too confident and assured of yourself for a local. No one walks like you do out here.”

“Except the delvers,” Analyn points out.

“Oh yeah, but we know who they are,” Damian answers.

“Delvers?”

“Dungeon delvers. The high Level, independent combat Classers. They’re forced to pay a high daily tax rate, so they have to do the Dungeons again and again to keep up,” Damian answers easily. “None of those guys waste time walking. They’re all about the luxury vehicles.”

“Doesn’t sound practical to me,” I say, shaking my head.

“Who’s talking practical? It’s not as if it’s expensive to get them fixed up,” Damian points out and shrugs. “It’s all about indulging in past fantasies. Who doesn’t want to drive a Jaguar?”

“Thanks for the information,” I finally say, considering what Damian said. Since I can’t alter my Status any further, sneaking in might be an even bigger task than I thought.

“Ask them why there are so few high-Level combat Classers that he thinks he’d know them all,” Ali sends urgently.

After a moment, I realize the Spirit’s point and pass the question on.

“Ah… that’s the other thing we need to talk to you about. Are you here to cause trouble for the Sect?” Damian says.

“I asked you first.”

“Are you a child?” Damian mutters, rolling his eyes. When I refuse to answer, Damian sighs. “We lost a lot of people a few months ago when the Sect put down the rebellion. Grabbed everyone involved, after they beat them, and shipped them all off-world.”

“What?” I say, my voice rising as I lean forward. I note Analyn shifting slightly at my sudden movement before she calms down.

“That’s why I’m asking your intentions. We can’t—we won’t—start a new fight with the Sect. We’ve learned our lesson—numbers don’t matter when they’ve got enough Advanced Class people to kick our asses. And every time someone gets close to reaching an Advanced Class, they disappear,” Damian says with a grimace.

“Technically not legal to kidnap people, if that’s what you’re thinking. But laws without people to enforce them are just bits in the electronic stream.”

“I do intend to do something about the Sect,” I say. I’m curious to see what they do. If they intended to sell the information about me, they could have done so already. And if this makes them decide to do it now, well, so be it. I could kill them, but they’ve treated me fairly well so far. “They’ve been attacking Kamloops non-stop for the last few weeks. If we continue to let them do that, they’ll eventually win.”

“What do you intend to do?” Damian asks, his eyes glinting.

I sigh. “Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure. I planned on sneaking in and figuring out what is going on before I acted. It’ll probably end up in blood and tears though. It always does.”

“Did you not hear the part about their Advanced Classers? They’ve got seven of them in this city,” Damian says sternly.

“How do you know that?” I say. Obviously, from the way they’ve been speaking, these guys can’t tell my Level.

“They told us. A friend of mine who’s an Auditor confirmed it. Seven Advanced Classes, six of which are combat Classes with Levels ranging from 14 to 39, and one non-combat Advanced Class Level 38 Administrator,” Damian says. “You can forget about stirring up trouble in Vancouver. The moment you do, they’ll kill you and then make it more difficult for the rest of us.”

“I’m not that easy to kill,” I say, both as a warning to them and a statement of confidence. I get a few eye rolls. They’ve obviously run into overconfident people before. “But thank you for the information.”

“You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

“Not one bit,” I say, smiling slightly. Even if I look relaxed, internally, I tense up as I wait to see what they’re going to do next.

“No new figures around us. If they’ve called for help, it hasn’t arrived yet,” Ali reassures me.

“I assumed that.” Damian exhales, slumping. He rubs his face, fatigue and grief showing on it as he speaks. “They left those of us with lower Levels alone after the revolt. Just left us, even though they must know who we are. There might be hundreds of us, but we’re all in the twenties. That’s how useless we are.

“Anyone with a higher Level, they’re being kept at the Olympic Village at False Creek. Easy enough to control them. And even then, there’s only, like, fifty of them. They keep a couple of the Advanced Class combatants around them all the time, including a Summoner with his demonic dogs and a Warden.”

“Not a lot of you guys left,” I say neutrally.

“Not a lot. After the revolt, that’s when we found out how different things were. The entire downtown is theirs, remade into their world. They’ve got security cameras everywhere, and anyone who wants to go in has to wear a bracelet marking their identity. Their Serfs are all incentivized to tattle on anyone not authorized to enter the downtown, so we couldn’t sneak most of our people in. Even when we did, they’d upgraded the main library to have its own shield to keep the City Core safe.”

I open my mouth then close it, frowning slightly at what Damian says. And how he says it. I tilt my head, looking at Analyn, whose face is blank, and Jonah, whose face holds a trace of anger and resentment.

“For a guy who is complaining a lot, he’s giving me a lot of useful information,” I send to Ali.

“General deniability. If they know who he is, this way, he can still say he’s learned his lesson,” Ali says, looking at Damian and the group with a tinge of respect.

“That sounds tough,” I say, rubbing my chin.

“Har! Tough. Tough were the damn Advanced Classers. They had an invasion team during the revolt, including that Blood Warrior, though he’s out of town right now. His clones really messed with our groups. Then there’s the Psychic. Not much for area effect, but its spells one-shotted everyone it hit. Brain-blasted them till they all fell unconscious,” Jonah snaps, shaking his head.

“At least you didn’t have to fight that Bone Monster. It didn’t matter what we shot it with, we couldn’t punch through its armor. I’d upgraded my Penetrating Strike Skill four times by then and it still didn’t hurt it!” Analyn says, shaking her head. “And that Sect Enforcer was nothing to sneeze at. He switched between his rifles and other Skills easily, filling in the gaps whenever they needed him.”

“If they hadn’t been holding back to keep our people alive, we’d have had a lot more losses,” Damian says quietly, his eyes fixed on me. “You should give up and go back. Don’t bring more trouble for us.”

I sigh and nod, looking at the group for a moment more. “Thank you. For the food. But since we aren’t coming to an agreement on this, I’m going to take my leave.”

“You won’t last a day out there,” Damian says, his tone foreboding. “Just get out of the city.”

Rather than answer Damian, I smile and shake my head, walking out. None of the three move to block me, leaving me with my thoughts.

“Figure they’re going to sell me out?” I ask Ali while waiting for the elevator.

“They’ll probably give you a little head start, but I’m sure they will. You sure you don’t want to head back? We’ve picked up a bunch of information. And out of town, we’ve got a lot more advantages,” Ali says quietly, concern in his voice.

“We’re not done yet. I still want to take a look at the downtown. If they give me even an hour, I can get in.”

“And then what? They said it already—they’ve got surveillance everywhere.”

“Then we dance,” I say with a savage grin.

Chapter 16

No matter what people say, I’m not entirely insane. Foolhardy, short-tempered, and overly confident sometimes, sure. But not entirely insane. I don’t say completely sane, since well, I doubt any of us are entirely sane compared to pre-System standards. Though that does raise the question of if the standard of sanity has changed, with the “norm” shifting as we fight and kill for our survival.

Having been, quite literally, warned to leave, I was of course going to stay. I’d come to Vancouver for a few reasons, and I wasn’t satisfied with getting a partial complete on a couple of them. Firstly, scouting out the city was important. Sure, I could have bought the information, but there’s something to be said about actually seeing the changes. Never mind the fact that to buy the information, I’d have to know what kind of questions to ask and then pay for it. Cheaper and easier to visit and see it with my own eyes. Thus far, I’d only managed to make it to Burnaby which, at best, is a suburb. No, I need to visit Vancouver itself.

Secondly, splitting their forces is important. If they start fearing an attack in Vancouver, it means they’ll have fewer forces to devote to Kamloops. Us staying purely on the defensive would just allow them to concentrate whatever leftover forces they had. While my fight in Merritt had helped reduce and alert them, it wasn’t enough. I needed to make sure they stayed on the defensive.

Right now, I was very much like a chess queen let loose behind the lines. While I wouldn’t say I could knock out any single other piece without fail, given the right conditions, I was definitely a danger. That meant they could either let me roam and knock down their pieces or take active steps to go after me. But that only worked so long as I wasn’t cornered. Which meant I had to be unpredictable—and that meant going right into the lion’s den.

Thirdly, I needed to kill more to get my next Level. While hunting monsters was doable, at the level I was, I needed tens of thousands of experience points to advance. Bullying monsters wasn’t going to get me there any time soon and finding a higher Level zone, while possible, meant that I wasn’t being a threat to the Sect. Whether it was right or not, the Sect members were giant bags of experience and Credits.

Lastly, taking over Vancouver was necessary to ending this. To do that, we needed to understand how tough these guys were going to be and see if we could get some help from the residents. That meant poking at the forces they’d left behind to safeguard the city and opening channels of communication. The Sect might have beaten the initial resistance, but they’d left enough people around that, if they believed we could win, would be of great use to us. No matter what the kids thought, numbers do have an important quality—even if it’s not as much as pre-System.

Of course, talk is cheap. The fact that we’re putting up a fight in Kamloops might be heartening, but it isn’t convincing enough in and of itself to get them to risk their lives or their freedom. And it shouldn’t be. We’ve all struggled so hard to survive, throwing it away at the smallest hope is a bad idea.

Which means I need to prove that we can do more than hurt the Sect. We can beat them. And the best way to do that is to prove it right here, right now. In the middle of their stronghold. Of course, I’m gambling with my life. But as I trot down Kingsway at a speed that a cheetah would find fast, I’m grinning beneath my helmet.

Because this? This is the kind of shit I live for these days.

***

I hit Broadway in twenty minutes at a pace that is slow only because I had to skim around a couple of Sect groups while traveling down Kingsway. From here, it’d be simple enough to cross over to the downtown from the Cambie St. Bridge or swing around and go through the downtown eastside. Either would get me into downtown Vancouver. Problem is, even if I can’t see the bridge itself from here, I can see the numerous dots clustered in a line at regular intervals on my minimap that indicate people are lining up to get in. Trying to get in might kick things off immediately.

Which is why I move out of the way of the flow of people all around me while I consider my next steps. There’s no way for me to get downtown without making a fuss, which means it’s got to be at the bottom of my list of things to do. From here, it’d be a simple matter to visit the former Olympic Village and check out the buildings and the delvers who live there. Of course, there’s no guarantee anyone’s home and I’m not entirely sure what I’d say to them either. But…

A solid projectile impacts my stomach, bending me slightly. A second later, beams of energy cook my flesh, tearing my clothing into pieces and throwing me through the café windows, its internal walls, and out the other side even as magical arrows chase my body.

“Stupid.” The word reaches me after the attacks fall, the group smart enough to hold back on taunting me until after they struck.

By the time I hit the ground and start rolling, I’ve got my Soul Shield in place to catch the next wave of attacks. All around me, the bleed-off from the attacks flares up, reducing my vision significantly. Which is weird, but probably a purposeful side effect.

“You really dared to come into our city,” the same voice taunts. “When we bought your location from the System, we couldn’t believe you were here.”

I kick backward, hopping out of the immediate attacks, and then again, finally able to see who I’m fighting. For a second. A rolling green cloud covers the area, paint and plastic peeling and melting on contact with the cloud. I see my Soul Shield weakening under the effects of the corrosive poisonous cloud, even as the screams of innocent passersby reach my ears.

“Assholes,” I snarl, borrowing Ali’s eyes as he hovers overhead to Blink Step out of the area of effect.

I appear directly above one of my attackers, allowing me to drop straight down and slice the son of a bitch open, twisting the blade while its inside his body. I’m not even sure who I’m killing, the attack too sudden and unexpected for Ali to populate System information for me.

Kicking off the Sect member’s body, I bounce backward before more shots arrive, and I blink in surprise as the body pulls itself together, what I thought was a soon-to-be corpse healing before my eyes. The pale-skinned creature turns toward me, a mouthful of fangs and too-big eyes facing me as blood flows backward into its body.

“Yuck! Genetrolls. They’re genetically modified creatures who have troll regeneration added to them. They stopped being produced a few hundred years ago after repeated failures. About ninety percent of their test subjects just went insane. The survivors creep around the edges of society,” Ali sends to me, his fingers flying as he populates data all around me.

“Not. Now,” I snap, a fireball flying outward to impact next to the genetroll as Ali speaks, my focus on surviving the next few minutes.

Flames explode, coating the creature, which screams in pain and catches some of his friends in the blast as well. Within seconds, I’m sprinting away, trying to put some distance between my attackers and me. Smoke grenades are pulled and tossed from my inventory as I focus on running and dodging. My Soul Shield falls, another shot ripping it apart, and the laser beam splashes on my skin, burning it away and leaving muscle and tendon exposed. I jerk reflexively, moving away from the path of the beam before I Blink Step away, furious at myself.

I should have known they’d buy my location from the System. Once they realized there was only me out here, the first step would be to figure out where I am. Not track me, just buy my information. Even if it was expensive, they could do it once or twice to narrow down my location, then send their teams at me. The only good thing is they shot their bolt too early. Rather than consolidating their forces and hammering me all at once, they sent their closest groups to attack me.

Ahead of me, blocking my way to the river, is a group of nine Sect members. Half of them are human, the other half aliens. A couple of reptile folk, a wolf-like creature, and a Hakarta open fire the moment they see me. My hands twitch, and I pull the remains of a Level 38 hard-shelled beetle the size of a car from my Altered Space. Holding it in front of me, I let the corpse soak up the damage as Ali darts ahead.

Seconds to cover the ground, to give me the distance I need. I Blink Step again into the sky above the group and release a Blade Strike downward, the wave of blue and red light cutting my attackers below me. I could have added more blades, more Blade Strikes, but I need to conserve my Mana. A part of me regrets the deaths of the humans, wishing they’d stayed away. But we all make choices, and theirs was to attempt to kill me. Idiots weren’t even Level 30.

“Above us!”

The scream cuts off abruptly as I land directly on the gnoll’s body, my knee and shin crushing its collarbone a microsecond after my blade enters its body. I rip sideways, tearing the head off the creature, then dance among my attackers, blood flying. Basic Sect members, all in the mid 20s to low 30s. Nothing exceptional, some having as little as a few hundred health points, none above five hundred. Seconds to cut and injure, to kill. Soulbound, my sword does nearly a hundred points of damage without enhancement and targeting. With their pitiful armor and defenses, my attackers fall all around us, their screams of despair resounding. Experience flows into me as more Sect members die. Each second, I inch toward my next Level.

A giant bone hand swings, catching in my hastily brought up guard. A hand reinforces my blade, the force of the blow sending me skipping through numerous buildings as physics and a Skill knock me away. My arm cracks under the force of the blow, nearly a quarter of my hit points disappearing under that single attack. As I struggle to my feet in the rubble of a building, the Bone Monster is rushing toward me.

I plunge a needle into the exposed flesh of my thigh, the healing potion injected directly into my body. Flesh knits and my arm pops back into place with enough force that I drop my sword. Staring into the glowing freight train of a monster, I grin and Blink Step away.

“Gotcha,” I chortle as I get away from the Advanced Class.

I’m between my initial pursuers now, the group having spread out a bit as their running speeds pull them apart. Next to me is a Mage or support Classer of some form. Truthfully, I don’t have time to tell, only noticing that his health pool is tiny.

I spin, sword recalled into my hand, to lop off his foot above the knee then plunge the blade into his body. As another Sect member raises a gun, I grab the Mage by his face, pulling him in front of the attack to take it before I cast Mana Dart, forming the spell right on my hand. As I shove the Mage at his teammate, I release the spell, the Mana Darts ending the Mage’s life and giving me time to cover the distance to his friend. Something slams into my side, breaking a pair of ribs and dragging out a whimper.

“Mana,” Ali sends to me as I cut apart my latest target, grinning savagely in pain.

More dots, ever more dots converge on us and I take off running again, each step shooting pain through my body. A hand flickers, stabbing a Mana Regeneration potion into my body as I run and form another Soul Shield.

“Hopscotch,” I send to Ali.

Too many Sect members are boiling out of downtown now, some flying across the water, others screaming across the bridge and up Main St. No way for me to cross, and I’ve got less than half of my health points left. Still more than most of the Basic Sect members, but each time I stop to kill, they target me and chip away at my regeneration. And scarily enough, I’ve only seen one of their big guns.

“On it. Stay alive!” Ali sends to me.

I nod, taking a second to duck behind a house that nearly instantly gets obliterated by a pair of spells and what looks like a mortar shell. The explosion kicks wind and debris around me, hammering my Soul Shield as it drains down again.

Twisting in the air, I call forth Sabre and start the transformation process. I haven’t done it before because I didn’t have enough space and cover, the transformation process being the most vulnerable time. Even as I think that, another spell hits me, wind blades combined with a freezing spell cutting into the mecha and my shield.

We land, Sabre already blinking yellow as readouts tell of damaged circuits caught during the change. Immediately, I layer the mecha’s shield on top of the Soul Shield and take off running, picking up speed.

A laser beam fires, this one coming from the Wall Center, and cuts through both shields before losing its effectiveness against Sabre’s armor. A single shot did over a thousand points of damage! At a guess, that’d be the Sect Enforcer in play. I shudder and start dodging, glad that whatever Skill and weapon he’s using, it must take some time to charge.

“Ali…”

“Almost there, boy-o,” Ali sends.

Walls erupt ahead of me. I grin behind my helmet, jumping upward and hitting the jets to get me higher. That’s when tentacles come bursting out of the wall, reaching for my body. Even as one grabs my torso and another my head, I reach through Ali’s senses and trigger Blink Step. Surprisingly, I see my Mana drop even further than normal.

A microsecond to recover my footing, another to grab and smash my fist into the Sect member. This time, it’s a gilled purple creature, its eyes widening comically as my blow catches it. Surprisingly, the Sect member folds over, bones crunching under my attack. I don’t stop, can’t stop, as I spin around it and plunge my sword through its back. A quick twist, a strangled scream, and I’m off. Experience flows again and another notification flickers in the corner of my vision.

“That was too easy!” I send to Ali.

“Non-combatant Sect member,” Ali sends to me as he flies away.

A part of me winces—a small part, since I’m too busy running away. We’re behind the main converging line now, the group turning to follow us. Ahead of us, even more Sect members are hurrying forward. I pick a group to fight, watching my health creep up as my regeneration kicks in and pulls ribs back into place. Just over nine hundred hit points, but only three hundred Mana. This is going well. For getting caught in an ambush.

“Aaaarrrgghhhhhhhhhhh!” Ali’s mental scream catches me by surprise.

I look back and see the Spirit twist in the air, clutching his head. A second later, he disappears in a burst of light, banished. Through our connection, I can feel the burning pain from the psychic attack he was under.

Swearing quietly, I trigger the Temporal Shift module and a Mana potion from within Sabre. It floods my body, giving me a few hundred more Mana to play with. That’s enough of a leeway for me to Blink Step to a nearby power pole. A second to orient myself, then I trigger it again. And then once more, crossing nearly a kilometer and a half in seconds. No time to rest, so I port straight to an abandoned alleyway and transform Sabre so that I can take advantage of the greater speed and mobility the bike provides.

Without Ali, I can’t skip away as far as I want to. Can’t even sneak out, not with everyone looking for me. The only advantage I have is that I’m in Burnaby now, outside of Vancouver itself, which means the main sensors they’ve installed are probably reduced in effectiveness and I broke out of their initial encirclement. Speed is my only advantage right now.

This might have been a bad idea.

***

Once my breathing calms down, I assess options as I eye my much-reduced minimap. Without Ali’s greater sensing ability, it’s shrunk to only what my Greater Detection Skill can provide. Less detail, lower range. It’s still better than what most others have, I know, many having to rely on technology or enhanced senses. Still, without Ali, I feel half-blind.

A small blinking notification in the corner of my eyes attracts my attention, pulling me from my worries as I gun down side streets. A moment’s thought is all I need, the notification making me grin. Finally!

Level Up!

You have reached Level 40 as an Erethran Honor Guard. Stat Points automatically distributed. You have 9 Free Attributes and 3 Class Skill Points to distribute.

Tier III Class Skills Unlocked

Now we’re talking. I slam the first free Class Skill point into Portal, my long-range teleportation ability. It flashes, the details coming up within seconds. I crouch down further behind my bike, watching attacks splash harmlessly against Sabre’s recovered shield as I zoom past another group of attackers.

Portal (Level 1)

Effect: Creates a 2-meter by 2-meter tall portal that can connect to a previously traveled location by user. May be used by others. Maximum distance range of portals is 100 kilometers.

Cost: 250 Mana + 100 Mana per minute

Damn. I’m slightly disappointed with the range. Nowhere near as far as I wanted it to go. After all, once you’re bending the laws of space and time, why should distance matter? I push the thought aside, knowing that bitching about distance isn’t the point right now. Still, I take a turn down a side street and onto a main thoroughfare, catching the next group of Sect members by surprise.

The sonic pulser gives me enough time to use my blade as an impromptu spear as I lean dangerously away from the bike. I leave my sword speared in the Sect member’s chest where his heart should be. If its physiology is human-like. The fireball I launch afterward finishes the job, a blip in the corner of my eyes telling me I probably got experience for that kill. No time or desire to check it.

I leave the other two points unused for now. While I have plans for them, those plans rely on me surviving the next few hours. Tapping into those points for a sudden power boost might be all that I need to make it out of here.

By reflex, I turn my head, scanning around me. Something high above, a flicker of light, catches my attention. Looking up, I see not one but a half-dozen drones spreading out along my lines of retreat. With a crunch, a flicker, Sabre’s shield goes down again. Something pink and fluttery, meaty and garishly blue flies past me as I turn forward again and pay attention to where I’m going. No experience notification this time, so I probably didn’t kill whoever—whatever—I just ran over with my bike. I mentally shift the power drain by the shield recharger higher, drawing more from the Mana battery and overheating the poor shield.

A bare couple hundred Mana left in my personal pool. Barely enough for a pair of Blink Steps, then I’m in Mana withdrawal and nearly useless. The few Sect members who get close get shot at, more to keep their heads down than in hopes of hurting them. But their attacks hurt, chipping away at Sabre’s shield. After that, its armor and my health. I’m reminded once again that Skills don’t matter if you don’t have the Mana to back them up.

I keep swerving, hoping to give whoever’s out there a harder time of shooting me. Instinct makes me change direction earlier than usual. A second later, the ground where I’d have been evaporates, asphalt gone and the sewer system exposed as the Sect Enforcer fires again. Even the near-miss is enough to melt my nanite armor and scorch my bare flesh, sweat evaporating in an explosion of steam.

Damn it! I can’t risk it any longer. A second later, I trigger another Mana potion, the second one within an hour. My Mana goes up immediately and I open the Portal, driving straight into its sinister void seconds before the potion feedback hits, sending me screaming into darkness.

Chapter 17

“Well, that was stupid,” Ali says, floating beside me in the inky blackness of the lake.

We’re back at the same lake bottom, the location of my Portal, surrounded by fish and the damaged portions of my mecha. Thankfully, the Portal could be set to be one-way, which meant no one had any clue I was at the bottom of a lake. And I know that because if they knew I was here, I’d probably have eaten another laser beam of death. As it stood, after porting in, I’d pretty much fainted from the potion backlash, the lack of Mana, and the damage done to me. I’d barely managed to trigger the mecha’s transformation to encase me in the suit and keep me alive under the water.

“Damian didn’t tell me about the laser beam of death,” I grumble to Ali. Sabre’s down to a barebones output of Mana, just the Temporal Shift module, life support, and the nanite factory. By the time I awoke, I’d fully healed and even the Mana headache had mostly subsided.

“He probably didn’t use it,” Ali says. “Remember, they were trying to keep the humans alive. Can’t get good prison labor out of corpses.”

“That reminds me. Necromancy…?” I ask.

“Works. You can get zombies and skeletons and the like, but it’s no more effective than any other summoner. The undead aren’t particularly smart, so an undead workforce isn’t useful outside of the most rudimentary tasks.”

“Good to know.” I sigh, taking the time to allocate the last two Skill points I have. Once I’m done, I pull out my new status, curious to see where I am.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Honor Guard

Race

Human (Male)

Level

40

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead

Health

1850

Stamina

1850

Mana

1400

Mana Regeneration

102 / minute

Attributes

Strength

100

Agility

175

Constitution

185

Perception

61

Intelligence

142

Willpower

142

Charisma

16

Luck

32

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

2

Blade Strike

2

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand Blades

1

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal

3

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footprints*

1

Tech Link*

2

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (II)

Greater Regeneration

Greater Healing

Mana Drip

Improved Mana Dart (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike

Fireball

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

“You nearly died out there, boy-o,” Ali says softly.

I have to agree with the Spirit. While I had meant to take the risk, and planned for it, I hadn’t expected it to be quite that risky. If it hadn’t been for the Body’s Resolve and my ridiculously high health, along with judicious use of Soul Shield, I would have died quite a few times. Thankfully, I can take a lot of damage, and Blink Step means it’s really hard to pin me down in a fight. Even the Erethran Honor Guard’s resistances help in small doses, mostly from side effects of damage, like fire and cold resistances.

That’s why I had to be the one to do this. Mikito is tough and fast and frankly, fast becoming deadlier than I am in a straight-out fight. Her weapon can dish out more damage than mine, has better reach, and she’s both more skilled and Skilled for straight-on duels. Lana would have died fast because she’s just too squishy, and Ingrid… well, okay, Ingrid probably wouldn’t have been caught even if they knew where she was.

“So how long are we staying here?” Ali asks, waving his hand around the water.

“Not sure. Debating if they’d spend more funds to locate me. If they don’t, this is a great place to hide. If they do, I need to be on the move,” I say, reaching up to rub my chin and finding my helmet in the way. I frown, itching to eat something but not having the option to do so. Well, outside of the damn food paste the nanites can produce. But we don’t consider that food.

“Recommend you portal out of here anyway,” Ali says.

I sigh. This time around, with more points stuck into Portal—all my remaining ones, in fact—my range had significantly increased. Even so, wielding Mana in any form hurts right now. Even summoning Ali had been painful, but I felt safer with his presence.

Still, the damn Spirit has a point. A few minutes later, I’m stretching and savoring the experience of being free of both Sabre and my armor while standing in Kamloops’s City Center. Painful as it might be, a Cleanse spell a second later makes me feel so much better, though I promise myself a hot shower too. But first…

“Guys. I’m back,” I say over the radio, sending a notice to the group.

Lana and Sam answer immediately, and I make promises to see them soon. Food first though, as my stomach’s rumbling again.

“Ingrid’s left a few messages,” Ali says, waving at the city center orb.

I grunt, walk over to place my hand on it, and pull up the messages.

In Seattle safe. City is weird—multiple Shops situated throughout the city with each Shop creating its own “city,” unlike in Whitehorse. The Sect has control of most of the minor towns north of Seattle and about a quarter of the Shops in northern Seattle itself. :( They have lost major ground recently as the humans have been pushing back hard. Will update later when I know more.

I frown, reading the message quickly. Good to know she managed to make it down safely, even if the message itself was weeks old by now.

No messages for me? You suck. :P

Met some friendly—too friendly in some cases—humans. Quite a few groups of survivors down here, each of them competing and centering their bases around the Shops. Some are going all Mad Max while others are trying to be nice. Nicer groups include a bunch of geeks who nearly all Classed as Mages of some sort centered around Microsoft’s headquarters and another group of hipster coffee makers who make the best coffee ever. We got to get some of this going—their coffee tastes like heaven and bumps up Mana regeneration without affecting other potions. I’m writing this right now on it. So good.

You were right. The humans down here are really keeping the Sect on their toes. They’re fighting back and stubborn and the Sect has to keep most of their troops down here. I’ve spotted quite a few scouts watching the Sect. Any time they shift forces one way or the other, someone attacks the weakened group. If they didn’t have so many Advanced Classers, they’d be wiped out already.

There are other groups that Liam—the coffee brewer boss—promises to introduce me to. He’s real nice and says he’s interested but figures everyone is too tightly wound to actually help. Best we can hope for is a bit more of a push. But I’ll see what I can do. Might have to kill a few Sect members to prove things.

PS: Forgot. Almost everyone who leads a group has an Advanced Class, though no one’s above Level 15. Highest is a 13 so far, but I think they’ve been funneling kills to him because everyone else on his group is in the 30s. Mage group is nearly ready to break into their Advanced Class—give them a few months and their elites will be there. They’re scarily good but very cautious.

Interesting. It seems like at least one group has learned how to cheat the System’s experience a bit. Or I might be over-thinking things. There could be a dozen different reasons for why the leader has much higher experience points. Still, something I’d love to look into later…

Still no messages? What, do I smell bad? Making a girl feel a little abandoned here.

Remember how I pointed out I wasn’t real good at this talk nice to people thing and you should send Lana? Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I might have had to kill a few Americans. In my defense, they were racist, sexist, misogynistic, torturing pigs. Also, they were trying to kill some new friends of mine and had good loot. So yeah, keep an eye out for the Sons of Odin when you come down.

I’ll keep talking to people here, but I don’t think we’re going to get that much help. They’re a bit too fractured. If they weren’t, they’d probably have kicked the Sect’s ass by themselves anyway. I’ll keep trying though. It’s been fun.

I rub my face as I read the last message. Just what we needed. Another group of enemies. Then again, considering their name, I could guess the kind of idiots they are anyway. Any group that decides the Vikings are people they want to emulate will never be high on my friend list. Seriously, study some history, people.

I consider what to write before I jot down a quick message thanking Ingrid for her help and letting her know that my part of the plan had some progress. After that, sending out a few more letters, simple messages to old friends, makes sense.

Once that’s done, I do a quick check and wince. Nearly two hundred million to set up an anti-teleport formation. As useful as that might be, I decide against it. Not that I can afford it, but it’s the thought that counts. After all, a long-range teleport Skill that includes more than one individual is pretty rare.

Stepping away from the orb, I assess my surroundings again. Sabre’s lying on the ground, its Mana battery slowly recharging, nanites crawling over the frame to fix gouges and burnt-out components. Traces of dried blood lie all across the exterior and interior, somehow not washed away by the water. I raise my arm, ready to cast Cleanse on it and pause, staring at the trembling digits.

Strange. I stare at my hand, puzzled, unable to grasp what I’m seeing. Then the shakes hit my legs, a wave of weakness taking me to my knees as my breath shortens. I struggle to draw a breath, my chest tight as my hands tremble uncontrollably. The shudders reach my body, my teeth chattering as memories of the battle erupt, taking me back. The laser beam, a sword that cuts through armor, a bone fist. Moments of crisis, of imminent danger. One after the other.

Aftershocks. I know what this is, understand the effects. How could I not? The reliving of memories, the shakes, it’s all natural. Now that I’m safe, my mind is finally releasing the clamps that have kept me from unraveling. It’s good for me even as my mind processes the violent encounters, reorganizes, and resets my nerves and body.

Natural perhaps, but tears drip from my eyes nonetheless. A woman thrown aside by an explosive, brown eyes filled with shock and betrayal. An innocent caught in the midst of my grandstanding. A green-eyed, slit-pupiled alien staring at me from inches away as his life drains. Screams of pain, a still-kicking leg against a grey concrete sidewalk. Memories.

The shudders slowly stop, the memories subsiding as my breathing evens out. I scrub my face, wiping away the tear tracks, and spit to clear the blood from the lip I bit through. Perhaps I could, I should, be able to handle this better with the System’s help. Certainly I don’t fall to pieces like this all the time. Perhaps I could wipe away all of this with an application of will and Skill.

But I’m glad I don’t and can’t. So little of me that I can unilaterally point to as being human is left. So little of the quiet programmer I was pre-System. Better to have a breakdown once in a while, to hate and regret the lives I take and the violence that has happened, than to remove it all. Because if I did, I’m not sure I’d like the person left.

By that point, my stomach’s growling and occasional bars of chocolate eaten while working is no longer sufficient. Thankfully there’s a restaurant—the Loose Goose—nearby, which I visit at Ali’s insistence. Truth be told, I don’t have much energy to gainsay him. I have to admit, I nearly choke when I see the sheer amount of Credits they’re asking for—until I realize they’re offering an all-you-can-eat buffet. Still, I’m amused that they changed the name but not the red-and-steel décor of the previous chain.

Food paired with blessed peace and silence all slowly pull the shards of my calm together. By the time Sam finds me, I’m mostly myself once again, my mental and emotional equilibrium restored. Just another “gift” from the System. Or perhaps too much experience.

“You know, as the titular owner of the city, you shouldn’t be trying to eat your people out of house and home,” Sam says, grabbing a seat next to me.

“Nice to see you too,” I greet the Technomancer, nodding at the silver-haired gentleman.

“You do what you planned to do?” Sam says.

“Pretty much. Attacks still coming?”

Sam nods, his face grim.

On seeing that, I add, “What?”

“We nearly lost Mikito two days ago. The Blood Warrior and his team hit her group while they were hunting in the park. Focused their entire attack on her, and since she refused to run away…” Sam shakes his head.

“How’d she survive?” I say, concern tingeing my voice. Only a little bit, since he said nearly. Anything that doesn’t kill us in this world quite literally makes us stronger.

“Her trainee stuck by her side long enough for the team to get far away enough and sneak back to counter-ambush the group. The team managed to kill a couple of their people and let Mikito injure the Blood Warrior. Her trainee didn’t survive though.”

Shit. I wonder how the Japanese woman is handling that. Losing a trainee, an apprentice can’t be good for her.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“Out.”

Of course she’s out, hunting and dragging the groups around to Level them up. Whether it’s because she’s got an over-developed sense of responsibility or just a need to bury her grief, she’s out with her people.

“Lana says she needs some time,” Sam says softly at seeing the worry on my face.

I nod, accepting his words. Still, I make a note to see if I can have a word with my friend.

“The night attacks?” I ask.

Sam makes a face, telling me all I need to know. Of course, he does explain it anyway, listing all the different ways Mel has tried to catch the group before they run away. Even having the entire town up and watching with groups ranging around at night has done little to stop the annoyances of the midnight attacks.

“We could have used Ali for the night attacks,” Lana says, dropping into a chair next to me as I finish picking my latest plate clean.

Stomach finally satisfied, I push the plates away and stare at my some-time girlfriend. From her unhappy expression, I can tell she’s still not gotten over my abrupt departure.

“Hi, Lana. Ali couldn’t find them the last time. Don’t think he’d be of much help even now,” I say with a shrug. “And I needed him.”

“And how many times did he almost get killed?” Lana asks Ali sweetly, violet eyes glinting with the promise of violence if Ali doesn’t tell the truth.

“Ummm… we talking total or number of battles? Just two major fights. About… a dozen times? Something like that,” Ali says with a shrug. “I kind of lost count.”

“Only a dozen. I take it that happened in Vancouver,” Lana says, still ignoring me.

“Mostly. Running away in Merritt was tougher than we thought—they had a tracker,” Ali says as way of explanation.

“Ah. And of course, buying a Stealth Class Skill would not have helped,” Lana says again, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I twitch, recalling her asking me to take her Credits to buy myself that Skill and my subsequent refusal. Pride—for using only my own Credits—and idiotic stubbornness stopped me from doing so. Even if she doesn’t say it directly, I can hear the “I told you.”

“Well, a single point probably wouldn’t have helped boy-o against the tracker,” Ali says, coming to my defense.

“Maybe not a lot. But what is it you guys keep saying? That everything’s on a razor edge?” Sam says, getting into the conversation. “Me, I like having lots of Skills. Even if I can’t use all of them very well, having more options seems like a good idea.”

“Yes, but you can also integrate those Skills into your machines,” Ali says pointedly to Sam.

I blink, since I didn’t even realize that that was an option for Sam. Someday, I really need to explore Sam’s full Skill list and what he can actually do. I have a feeling I’ll be pleasantly surprised.

“If we’re done talking about how stupid I was…” I glare at Ali, who opens his mouth to retort, before I continue. “I did Level. How are we doing on the rest of the plan?”

There’re a few quick smiles at that one, but Lana looks around at the obviously unsecured area. I nod to her to go on.

After a moment, she does. “We’re getting there. We’ve managed to double our revenue, so we should be able to pick up some decent upgrades for the city. The hunting groups have picked up a few more Levels as well. However, morale continues to be down and we’ve lost a full group since you’ve been gone.”

“Good,” I say, considering her words. “There’s a lot I need to talk to you all about.”

“Tonight?” Lana asks, glancing out the window to the sky outside.

It’s only a few hours left till dusk —time enough for me to wash and rest and Mikito to get back. Still, I hesitate, judging my mental and emotional balance.

“No. Tomorrow,” I say.

Lana frowns, seeing something in my face because she just nods and kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight then.”

I open my mouth then close it, shutting down the automatic rejection. Mentally cursing myself, I keep quiet. Why would I reject her presence tonight?

“At a guess, because you’re stupid and don’t want to look vulnerable to your girl,” Ali says then chuckles softly as I shoot him a startled glance. “Oh please. I’ve lived with you for over a year. Reading you is easy.”

I grunt, watching the redhead walk away before glancing toward Sam and realizing the older man has already left. A moment of scanning shows he’s working his way through the buffet tables with a giant pile of meat. I’m in worse shape than I thought if I missed his movements that easily. On that note, I decide to take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow and all that it will entail will still come.

Chapter 18

Surprisingly, at least to me, the evening with Lana progressed pleasantly. Annoyed or not, the woman seemed to understand that I needed a bit of time to decompress, and so we spent the evening mostly in companionable silence. With a very pleasant massage that did not lead to anything too strenuous afterward. Perhaps it was because of that that I found myself waking up late the next day, alerted by Lana shifting on my arm to stand up.

“Morning, beautiful,” I greet Lana with a smile. Once again, I admire the redhead, her pale skin and lightly freckled body combined with a subtle level of athletic muscles that enhanced her femininity.

“Morning,” Lana says, turning to smile at me as she dresses. “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” I say, tilting my head. “Was it that obvious?”

“To those of us who know you? Definitely,” Lana says.

“You seem better…” I say slowly, cautiously. She does seem less agitated, less angry, than the day before.

“I just needed a night off. Time to understand, to know, that you’re back. Alive.” Lana sits back down next to me, clad only in her shirt, and puts a hand on my arm. “I know you are who you are. I even… well, it’s what attracts me to you. But it’s not easy, knowing you’ll always throw yourself into the fire.”

I blink, stopping to consider her words. After a moment, I squeeze her hand and smile at her wryly. “Sorry. I didn’t really think about it that way.”

“No, of course you didn’t. You idiot,” Lana says affectionately before kissing my forehead. “Now go brush your teeth. The rest are waiting for us.”

I nod, watching as Lana finishes getting dressed before I move, a strange feeling in my stomach. It’s been so many years since I had someone who actually cared about what I did or where I was that it was strange. It was a feeling that I had been missing with Luthien, an aspect of our relationship that I probably should have taken as a sign. Shaking my head, I promise to try to be better.

***

Pushing aside the remnants of my breakfast, I stare at the group around me. This time, it includes everyone on my team and the erstwhile council, including a very tired-looking Mel. Curiously, no attacks were made last night, though it didn’t stop the Gunslinger from staying up all night.

“Right,” I say, cutting through the conversations. “Let’s begin.”

For the next hour or so, my team and the council gives me a more thorough briefing about the city’s status. It can all be boiled down to not much change but mostly for the better. More Levels, a growing economy, a more settled populace are all the positives. The negatives all concern the Sect and their continued presence.

“Thank you,” I say after everyone finally runs down. “Ingrid’s reported in, as many of you know. We aren’t going to get much help from the US, but it’s unlikely the Sect is willing to risk pulling out more forces to hit us. Not until they can stabilize their situation down south. That means we only need to concern ourselves with the players in BC.

“Vancouver’s doing worse than we hoped for. The Sect’s a lot stronger there than what we’ve seen here.” I quickly fill them in on the revolution, the deportation, and the Advanced Class members I fought. More than a few of my audience suck in a breath or show their uncertainty as I describe the fight. “That’s pretty much where we stand now.”

After I’m done, there’s a bit of conversation, whispered words between the council members and Mel, between Sam and Lana and the others. Mostly, my team holds off on talking to each other, knowing me as well as they do.

After the initial conversation trails off, I break in. “The way I see it, we have the same two choices we started with weeks ago. Hunker down, keep growing our people, and hope we can Level everyone faster than the Sect can shift resources to the planet. All while they have free rein to attack us and whittle our people down. Of course, they’ve got to divert their people to bothering us but…” I shrug, figuring they understand the point. The Sect doesn’t need to Level their attackers, not the way we do.

“Or…?” Torg says.

“Or we take a little risk. It’s why I left.” I pause before committing to telling these guys what I planned. The team knows, of course; it’s why we argued. “We take the fight back to them. Hit Vernon again, then Kelowna in short order. Except instead of just my team, this time we take a large portion of our fighting force and do it properly. At the same time, we attack the group that’s been hounding us at night.”

“We don’t even know where they are!” Mel says bitterly.

“We can buy their location from the Shop,” I say. “It’d be expensive and probably take most of our savings, but we can do it.”

“You’d be leaving the city undefended! It’s only a few hours’ drive from Vancouver. If those Advanced Class members or a few groups come, we’ll lose everything,” Benjamin says, shaking his head. “I can’t agree to a risk like that.”

“And you’re talking about hitting at least two, if not three, groups. We don’t have the people,” Mel adds.

“We’ve still got the Hakarta here. And that’s the other reason I left. You see, I’ve got this Skill now,” I say with a smile.

It doesn’t take long to fill them in on Portal. Mel grasps the advantages first, the others requiring a little more prodding before they understand. I don’t mind. It took me a bit to really grasp what Portal can do. In the end, it comes down to a simple thing—mobility.

“I’ll admit, you’ll be able to reinforce us quickly, especially if we use Skills and technology to keep you informed but…” Ben says, doubt in his tone. “It’s still a risk. The Sect has a lot of Advanced Classers out there.”

“That’s why we asked some friends to visit,” Lana says with a smile. “They can’t leave their homes for long, but for a quick strike, they’d be happy to help.”

“Friends?” Mel says, something glimmering in his eyes as his gaze sweeps over my team. “I take it they’re tough.”

“Some of the toughest we know,” I say, smiling.

“When were you thinking of doing this?” Ben says, worry on his face.

“Well, today,” I say, looking up as Ali signals me that we’ve gotten a reply.

***

As the council streams out unhappily after being railroaded, I find Lana standing beside me, waiting. It’s only when they’ve left that she speaks.

“Why did you bother?” she says, her tone filled with curiosity.

“Bother?” I repeat.

“Giving them an option. You knew you were doing this anyway,” Lana says.

“Ah… I was told that as a leader, you should at least try to explain your reasoning to others.”

Lana stares at me, her eyes widening incredulously before she giggles. I frown, a bit annoyed by the giggling. Fine. I’m not exactly used to leading. At least not like this. Hell, even pre-System, I mostly just did my own thing in the jobs I worked.

When the giggling comes to an end, Lana says, “I’m sorry. But next time, maybe you can work on giving people more time to get used to the idea before insisting on your way.”

I consider what I’ve seen of her skillsets then nod. A glance at the time shows I’ve still got a bit of time before I should open the Portal.

“John?” Lana draws my attention back to her. “Why are you still the owner of the town?”

“Hmmm?” I say, tilting my head.

“Why haven’t you just given it back to the townspeople?” Lana says. “Set up some democratic elections or something? Keeping it isn’t really your style.”

“Tired of me giving you all the hard work?” I say, teasing her.

“Actually, yes,” Lana says huffily before she relents slightly. “People do like to know what the hell is happening. You keep things too close to your chest sometimes.”

I pause before nodding. “Sorry. And you’re right. I’ve gotten a little more paranoid since the System. It’s just that since everything said can be purchased…”

“You’re worried someone might learn what you’re doing?” Lana says.

I nod. “It’s stupid really. All-encompassing surveillance might be great in theory, but it doesn’t help if you don’t look. And we’re so insignificant…” We really are, in the greater scheme of things. “But I can’t shake the feeling that I shouldn’t talk about my future plans.”

Lana stays silent while I grapple with the practical and the emotional considerations. At times, I open my mouth then shut it, finally giving in to the practical.

“Do you know much about how the Galactic Council operates?” At her denial, I continue. “Think of it like the UN. Each world gets a representative on the general Galactic Council. Within the Council itself, there’s an inner circle, a smaller group that makes all the decisions, like the UN Security Council. Except these guys actually have a lot of power and get things done. They’re the ones who made Earth a Dungeon World, for example.

“To get a seat on the general council, you’ve got to be in control of your world—or at least the majority of it. Sort of like the way you can get a city, you’ve got to do the same thing with your world. Of course, owning that much of a world can be impossible, so in those cases, you’d have to enact voting of some sort,” I say, looking at Lana to see if she gets it. “It’s worth noting that no Dungeon World has ever had a seat on the Galactic Council. Too many interests fighting for control, so no one gets a seat.”

“And you want to change that,” Lana says quietly, staring at me. I nod slowly, and she grimaces. “That’s ambitious.”

“Just a little. But you’ve seen the Yerick. They lost their world. I don’t want us to be like them. But to get involved in the voting process, to start the ball rolling even, we need—I need—a stake in it.” I wave my hand around us, encompassing the city.

“You don’t ever think small, do you?” Lana says, giving me a hug.

“No. But it’s what we need. As a race,” I say softly.

I won’t let us become like the poor Yerick, just another race forcefully added to the System. Now they don’t even control their own home planet, forced to drift through the Galactic System as adventurers and transients. They do well—for third-class citizens—but it’s not what I want for humanity. Maybe it’s insane to think that I can make a difference, but it’s better than sitting around adding Levels for the hell of it.

“Speaking of the Yerick…” Ali says leadingly, tapping his wrist.

Nodding at the Spirit, I detach myself from Lana. Time to get back to work.

***

For the first time, I get a chance to marvel at the Portal I can conjure. It’s the third Portal I’ve cast, but it’s the first time I’ve done so when I’m not being shot at or hiding in a lake. Neither of which is particularly conducive to admiring your work. The Portal itself is a gaping hole in space bordered with shimmering golden light. The center is nothing but a stygian blackness, one that neither reflects light nor provides any clue of what lies behind. If I wasn’t the one who had summoned it, I probably would have found it difficult to transit through. Luckily, my friends are more trusting and less paranoid than I am.

The first to exit is a giant Yerick. Just under ten feet tall, the leader of the Yerick in Whitehorse is broad-shouldered, ripped, and bull-headed. Literally. The Yerick are what we knew as minotaurs, creatures of great strength and an infallible sense of direction. Of course, the reality is that they’re just Adventurers who hit dungeons a lot, but that’s Mana Bleed for you. Behind him, a shorter female Minotaur in a simple armored jumpsuit follows, her eyes dancing with amusement as she looks around.

“First Fist. Nelia!” I greet both of my friends/ex-teammates with a smile and a handshake.

Capstan takes my hand with care, not crushing it, as does Nelia.

“It is good to see you, Redeemer. I see you have Leveled again,” Capstan rumbles, his voice low and gravelly.

“And you. Thank you for coming,” I say.

“No thanks needed. Just payment.” Capstan flashes me a smile.

I know he’s mostly joking. Even knowing that he’s a friend, I find the smile intimidating. Leaving Lana to continue greeting the pair, I turn to the next individual to enter. “Mike?”

“No need to sound so surprised.” Mike Gadsby, the Level 8 Regional Guardian, smiles at me. I return his smile, taking in his new Advanced Class and the gunmetal-and-chrome arm. “And yes, I upgraded it.” Mike flexes his left arm, grinning at me, his mustache waggling as he does so.

“Sorry, just surprised. I figured—”

“Jason would come? Not a chance. Rachel isn’t letting him out of her sight, not with her so close to giving birth,” Mike says with a smile. Before I can ask about their health, Mike grows serious. “Anyway, protecting the citizens of Canada is my job. Gave my oath long before the System.”

“We both did,” Amelia, the stocky ex-RCMP officer, says as she exits the Portal. She is once again dressed in her old uniform, this one adjusted slightly to cover her armored jumpsuit. After she clears the entryway, she shudders as she stares at the Portal. “That thing is so creepy.”

“Hmmm?” I’m curious to hear what she has to say. Transportation is instantaneous and doesn’t even feel like anything, at least to me.

“Just the entire teleportation thing. So weird…”

I nod in understanding. Amelia’s not gotten her Advanced Class yet, though she’s only a couple of Levels away. No surprise there. Since Jason has been on guard duty, Mike has been forced to take on more active roles in Carcross, resulting in his Level jumping up. Amelia, on the other hand, has been in town, dealing with the day-to-day policing issues.

I blink as Vir, Amelia’s Truinnar partner, steps out behind her, hands clasped behind his back, wearing his silver-grey uniform. Among other things, Vir is Lord Roxley’s right hand and what I believe to be his spymaster as well as Amelia’s on-off partner while she works the streets of Whitehorse. Of course, considering how high Vir’s Level is, I’m not likely to turn him down. Still, I can’t say I’m happy to see him or what he represents.

The black-skinned, pointy-eared humanoid greets me with a tight-lipped smile. “Mr. Lee.”

“Why are you here?” I frown.

“John…” Lana chides me, walking forward to greet Vir.

“Mr. Lee’s reaction is expected, Ms. Pearson.” Vir kisses Lana’s hand as he bows over it. “He is, as always, predictable. My lord has requested I provide what I am able to in your most recent endeavor.”

“And of course, report what is going on,” I say with a bite.

“Of course,” Vir says, refusing to be ashamed of his secondary goals.

“Well, you’re here.” I close the Portal after I ascertain no one else is coming. “Let’s get started.”

***

Hours later. First, greeting and introducing everyone, then explaining the roles I had planned for them. Then, there’re all the questions I have to answer about potential problems, all the contingencies I’ve made or all the ones that we need to make.

In the end, the plan boils down to what we’ve discussed already. By shifting a few of my people and the Hakarta platoon in-house, we’ll be able to send my team, the Yukoners, and the hunting groups to hit the other areas. Of course, there was quite a bit of discussion on whether to split or attack sequentially. In the end, the fact that we feel we have enough people to launch simultaneous attacks tipped the balance in that direction.

It’s mid-afternoon by the time we’re done, and between lunch and needing to brief everyone involved, there’s no way to get going until tomorrow. As it stands, the unlucky few who have to stay behind have to familiarize themselves with the city.

“Tomorrow then,” I say, looking around the group.

“Still don’t see why I have to guard the city,” Amelia says grumpily to Mike and Lana.

“Well, Guardian, your Skills fare better on the defense. Buying time is the entire point of those left behind,” Lana explains patiently.

“Mike gets to go!” Amelia protests.

“My Skills let me boost those around me, along with dishing out the pain. You’re geared toward individual fighting and wide-range defense. I’m the better choice for an attack, especially if that Bone Monster or Sect Enforcer is out there,” Mike says patiently.

Amelia makes a face but falls silent.

Capstan finds me at that point, looming over me. “I am uncomfortable with leaving Nelia behind.”

Nelia snorts quietly by his side.

“Sorry. We need a Healer back here to help drag things out. The hunter groups out here are a lot more healing intensive than Whitehorse, so the attacking teams should be fine,” I say.

“Aye. Still, I have a suggestion…” Capstan is cut off by the blaring of alarms and the flashing notification that appears in front of us.

“What…?” I exclaim before staring at the newly populated map.

Red and green dots everywhere. Even as I’m reacting in surprise, another notification shows up, indicating a sudden drain on the settlement’s shield.

DECLARATION OF WAR

AS THE OWNER OF KAMLOOPS, YOU ARE HEREBY NOTIFIED THAT A STATE OF WAR NOW EXISTS BETWEEN THE THIRTEEN MOON SECT AND THE VILLAGE OF KAMLOOPS (OWNER JOHN LEE).

ALL WAR PROVISIONS ARE ENACTED AND WILL BE ENFORCED UNTIL A MUTUAL STATE OF PEACE HAS BEEN ADOPTED, THE DESTRUCTION OF ONE PARTY, OR A PERIOD OF ONE GALACTIC YEAR HAS PASSED.

The System notification window—this time a giant blue screen, all in block letters—appears. I blink, reading through it quickly before dismissing the note.

Ali announces, “We’re under attack.”

Chapter 19

Everyone in the meeting is a veteran. Whether we chose it or not, we understand that speed at certain times is essential. The only order I give is to hold my team back as a reserve, allowing everyone else to rush to the walls where we have been attacked. Even as the Yukoners run, Mel’s barking out orders to slot them into his plans.

“Whoever was hiding the attackers is still masking their Classes and Levels,” Ali sends to everyone via the city’s notification system. It’ll be confusing for those not involved in the defense, but it’s also the fastest way for us to get out essential information.

“Got it,” Mel says, his voice cackling over the radio. “I’m briefing the newcomers on the communication protocols. We’ll be able to talk properly soon. Hold all non-essential communication till then.”

“I’ve started the online process for the sentinels,” Sam says, his eyes half unfocused. “We’ve done a few upgrades to them since you’ve been here last, John. Got my drones in the air too. Give me a couple of minutes and I can feed us more detailed information.”

“Shields are holding, but they won’t hold for more than another two minutes,” Lana says.

Out of nowhere, Roland pops into existence next to me, nearly making me jump. Would have, if Ingrid didn’t do it all the time and made me slightly inured to friendly creatures trying to make me soil my pants.

My mind’s spinning. If they’re taking down the settlement shield this fast, it’s got to be because more than their original attack group is here. In fact, there’s got to be quite a few people. A glance at the icons on the map is enough to tell me that there’s at least one hundred twenty. Probably including a bunch of Advanced Class players. The question, of course, is what they’re doing here.

Actually, that isn’t the question. The question is what I intend to do about it. Without a word, I’m heading for the City Core.

“No point in keeping funds for figuring out where they are,” I mutter as I sprint down the corridor, closely followed by Lana riding her tiger. A part of me is curious if that’s a Skill or a skill.

“Hold your fire till I tell you to. Yes, you too!” Mel’s voice snaps over the radio, ordering the teams that gather.

“And that confirms that Sect Enforcer is here,” Ali says.

I note the drop of nearly a third of our shield’s rating from a single hit, the effects of the Enforcer’s attack.

“Kuso,” Mikito curses.

“Can we locate him?” I snap at Ali. We need him taken down. If we get into a fight and he’s out sniping, it will not go well.

“Nothing,” Ali says, shaking his head. “The System’s giving me nothing on these guys.”

“A pair of my drones got a good look on that shot. I’m trying to triangulate his position now. I’ll send some over in that direction,” Sam says, speaking over the team’s radio channel.

Finally at the orb, I slap my hand on it while calling out, “Recommendations!”

“Three options. Mana field—it’ll increase Mana collection in the surroundings and up Mana regeneration for everyone in town. Get the upgrade and it can exclude the Sect members. It can be tied into an enchantment later that can boost its effectiveness, but I don’t think we can afford that right now. Tier IV Sentinels would be a nice addition. Can’t get many of them, but it’ll give us something that can potentially handle the lower Level Sect members. Last option, upgrade the Shield. Buy us more time,” Lana says, her eyes gleaming.

“I CONCUR WITH MS. PEARSON,” Kim says.

No surprise there, as Lana and Kim have been working together to keep the city secure. On that note…

“Kim, you’ve got control of the beam turrets. Target low-Level Sect members when you can, concentrate fire, and take them out. Switch to air suppression once you need to do so,” I order the AI. It’s only after I’ve done that that I realize I might be contradicting orders from Mel. Ah hell…

“UNDERSTOOD.”

I nod, thinking quickly. The last option is discarded immediately—might have been viable if the Sect Enforcer wasn’t around, but even with an upgraded shield, he’d cut through it eventually. Not worth the cost. I can also guess that’s why we weren’t going for things like artillery and even the beam weaponry—too likely to hit our own people when the fighting really started. That left either the Mana Regeneration module, which could give us a slight edge if things dragged on, or the Sentinels. Unsure, I pull up both stats.

Mana Collection Field

Using a mixture of symbols of enchantment and upgraded nanites, the Mana Collection Field increases total Mana flow within the settlement. Higher-grade fields increase regeneration rates by a higher amount. Note: in non-stable regions, this can lead to an increased spawning rate of monsters.

Effect: 5% Increase in Mana Regeneration Rates

Cost: 2.3 Million Credits

Upgrade: Mana Collection Field may be targeted (+1.5 Million Credits)

Monolam Tier IV Sentinels

A staple of cities throughout the Galaxy, Monolam Sentinels are equipped with sonic, beam, and kinetic weaponry to deal with a wide variety of monster threats.

Cost: 500 Thousand Credits each

When Lana said we couldn’t get many of the Sentinels, she wasn’t kidding. I wince at the cost. And I know, I just know, that if I buy them, they’ll be destroyed within minutes of the fight actually starting. A part of me rails against the waste, refusing to throw hard-earned Credits away so simply. Hoping that cheaping out won’t get anyone killed, I buy the Mana Collection Field.

“MANA COLLECTION FIELD PURCHASED AND INITIATION BEGUN,” Kim flashes a note before me. “MANA REGENERATION RATES WILL INCREASE TO 5% IN INTERVALS AS INTEGRATION PROCESS PROCEEDS.”

I swear softly, realizing that the process won’t be instantaneous and thoroughly regretting my choice. Still, better than nothing.

“Shield is down,” Lana says.

“Now!” Mel’s voice roars at the same time.

The ensuing explosions and wave of Skills briefly overload my display, the dots that indicate the Sect members disappearing for a second. Unfortunately, we’re not the only ones who can plan for an expected attack, and it doesn’t seem like anyone was injured.

A moment later, I watch as our people and the existing Sentinels roll forward to meet the attacking Sect members outside the defunct Shield and the city itself, and the battle truly begins.

***

Dots. From here, all we can see are dots. I’m dressed now, Sabre’s still-repairing form wrapped around my body. Structural and armor integrity is in the low 30s, significantly worse than what I’d like, but it is what it is. Mikito’s PAV has finally reached her and she’s armed and ready, standing beside me patiently. Sam’s outside, driving ever so slowly in his modified truck to the fight while he commands his drones, providing us a real-time display while he hunts down the Sect Warrior. And around us, all of Lana’s pets crowd the control room. From here, all we see are dots that blip and move, shifting as they engage one another.

Each dot a life. Each point that vanishes is one more death to lay at my feet. I could see the actual images, the actual fight, if I wished. Easy enough to train cameras to watch the blood flow, hear the screams of pain. But I don’t. Callous and cold as I might be, watching their deaths is more than I can do. Because we have to wait. To hold…

“Guardians, pin that Psychic down. We can’t let him hit anyone else. Healers, get that Minotaur up now! We need him back on that Bone Warrior; the elf can’t hold him alone. Sam, can you do anything about the cyborg? Who’s got eyes on that Assassin? Teams two to six, you need to swing around to deal with those Mages. The rest of you, hold that Blood Warrior…” Mel’s voice, snapping orders constantly on the radio, details things for me.

The Hakarta are engaged with the Blood Warrior and his clones, along with the majority of the Sect’s forces, in a wide-ranging skirmish constrained only by the mine fields. In some cases, not even that—I note more than one dot moving quickly across the map to land in the fields. Someone—or someones—out on the field seems to enjoy tossing Sect members around.

In each fight, the Advanced Fighters, or those close to it, are separated by a large area around them, no one willing to get between those titans. Even as they fight, the colors and markings on my map shift as Ali adds information. Soon, each enemy Advanced Fighter gets his own special purplish-red color to mark his position, with me wincing at how many of them there are.

“Looks like they pulled all the Advanced Classes they could get their hands on to hit you guys first,” Ali says as his fingers dance in the air. “Being forced to use Portal to run away probably tipped our hand.”

I can only nod, holding my emotions close and tight. Can’t, won’t, let them out. This is neither the time nor place. Regret worms through my guts anyway, escaped from the tight control I have on everything else. Just once, I’d love for a plan to work out…

“Who’s that… arrgh. We’ve got a damn Assassin out here. We’ve got to find him.” Mel’s voice again, even as a dot flickers and disappears.

No mention of us yet. I’m not sure if that’s confidence that we’ll do the right thing at the right time or he’s forgotten that we’re out here.

Clusters of blue appear around the walls again and on the buildings that lead into the city. I realize after a moment what those dots are—non-combatant reserves coming to pitch in. A flicker as a pair of dots disappears. A simple straight line that we could draw, if we wanted to. A signal.

“I have him.” Sam’s voice is cold.

A new dot nearly a kilometer away. I know that place, know there’s a building there, though I’ve never been to it.

“I can’t drop us off right there,” I say, already reaching out with my Skill. I can only create Portals where I’ve been, or within a few tens of meters of where I’ve been. That location is too far. “Mikito, Lana, hit them from behind. The Sect Enforcer is mine.”

Acknowledgements come even as the Portal opens. The other side of the Portal exits behind the Sect’s lines, between the Sect Enforcer and our attackers. A chance for us to split their forces, make use of our ability to move around the battlefield. Of course, the spell itself drained nearly a quarter of my Mana and I still need to finish this fight.

I don’t look behind me as I run toward the Sect Enforcer’s location, trusting my friends to hit them as hard as they can. I’d considered dropping us off closer to the fight, allowing the girls to hit them faster, but that Sect Enforcer is a greater danger. It’s not even the sudden death that he can drop on others—it’s the fear that he engenders. And it’s no surprise people are afraid. Even with my shields up, I can’t take more than a single shot from him.

A glint, a flash of light as the Enforcer shifts his gun. A moment, and then I’m gone, Blink Stepping to beneath the grey office building he lies on. Too far by just a bit, but the flash of light across my peripheral vision tells me that delaying would have been disastrous. I launch myself through the air at the edge of the building. A moment later, concrete shatters around me as my body hurtles through the flimsy building.

A hand on the building edge, I pull and twist, flipping up even as I ready a Blade Strike. The Enforcer is gone though, having left his sniper rifle alone. I stare down the extra-large, tri-barrelled sniper rifle, my fingers tapping it gently to sweep it into my Altered Space. Too long. I spent too long, and I pay for it. My world becomes fire as the silver-clad, six-limbed creature drops its reflective invisibility cloak and opens fire with a large, shoulder-mounted weapon.

The explosion throws me backward, Sabre’s shield failing first and my Soul Shield nearly half gone. I can do nothing to stop my body from being blasted off the building, the explosion throwing me straight into the air. Still, I trigger the mini-missiles, each tiny warhead roaring through the sky to impact around and on the Enforcer. Even as I fall, the roof collapses, dropping the Enforcer into the building as it crumbles beneath our onslaught.

Recovering from the fall, I stare at the building, rotating through the various vision options available through my helmet. Strangely enough, I see nothing but the shadows of the collapsing building. Nothing until a gleaming spear flies through the air, forcing me to jerk aside in a hasty dodge.

“The Enforcer’s shielded by his—its? hir’s?—armor. I’ll do my best to boost your Greater Detection abilities to outline hir,” Ali says.

A flicker of surprise and curiosity, but I don’t have time to deal with weird alien gender issues and English language limitations.

My sonic pulser opens up in a wave of sound that sets my teeth on edge and disrupts the Enforcer’s equilibrium. Not much, just a second before hir’s helmet shuts down the majority of the noise, but long enough for Ali to tag hir. After that, I let loose a blast from the Inlin, unloading everything in another round of explosions and kinetic death. A small, portable shield flares to life around the Enforcer, deflecting explosives that shatter even more of the building. It groans as supports buckle, dust kicking up everywhere, obstructing my vision even further.

He’s good. Hir’s good. Very good. Even between the shots, hir’s moving, grenades fired from another weapon exploding around me. The next few moments are a running, jumping, shooting, and dodging series of attacks, each of us trying to land a hit. All the while, I attempt to close on hir and the Enforcer attempts to keep the range and evade.

Now.

At the thought, I Blink Step to where I expect hir to be, spinning to cut with my sword and meeting nothing but air. An explosive roars, hitting not me but the air around me as insta-concrete spreads, covering my shield in goop. I shove against the ground, attempting to break free, but it doesn’t help. The gears in Sabre strain, as do my muscles, all of it futilely.

“Move, boy-o. He’s dropping mines all around you!” Ali snaps.

Crouching as much as I can, I shove with both feet. The insta-concrete holds for a microsecond longer, then shatters. Not a second too soon, as the mines explode, throwing me farther into the air. The remnants of concrete and my shield explode at the same time, destroyed as I spin through the air.

“Son of a bitch,” I snarl even as a laser beam cuts into my body.

I twist in space as the beam tracks my movement, melting armor. A Blade Strike tears apart the smoke and dust, clearing my vision as the attack shatters the remote-controlled laser rifle.

“Behind you!” Ali says, sending me an image of the Sect Member setting up a shot with another single-barreled rifle. My Spirit can see him, and that’s all I need.

I’m a second too late, the shot ripping into my back and through my chest, tearing off a third of my hit points before I Blink Step away. Fingers already leaving the trigger, the Sect Enforcer is rolling and moving aside, but hir’s too late for once. A Thousand Blades Blade Strike sends numerous waves of blue and red force through the area beneath me even as I land. Caught in the projected energy strike, the Enforcer can only block and absorb, pink blood flying from injured limbs.

On the ground, too close for hir to run away, we clash. A pair of short swords are in hir’s top hands, one glowing with a sickly green light, the other shimmering at its edge—a clear indicator of a monofilament weapon. Well, as close to monofilament as you can get. A weird glowing stick and a small oval shield are in hir’s bottom hands.

The Enforcer is good. Fast and smart, discarding weapons that get entangled or damaged, switching to new attacks at the drop of a hat. A taser, a whiplike baton that wraps around my sword, a blade that explodes, all of it comes into play as it uses Instantaneous Inventory as I do my soulblade. Too bad for hir, I cheat too. The Freezing Blade I hit hir with initially slows the Enforcer down a bit, and the other strikes I keep piling up slows hir further. Any time hir tries to take my sword from me, I dismiss it and call it back.

The Enforcer's good, but Mikito and Roxley are better. And I’ve trained with them long enough that my edge in Skill and speed shows up. As Mikito has pointed out, Skills are nice, but skill is just as important. That, and a willingness to die.

A thrust with the monofilament blade targeted at my heart. Hir’s over-extended, expecting me to fall back and away. Instead, I twist just enough to ensure I’m not speared directly by it, but I refuse to miss the chance hir’s given me.

I cut sideways, using the momentum of my dodge to disembowel the Enforcer. First the left hand, tearing apart and shattering the shield and destroying the last of its armored suit. Then my right hand, holding a second blade, follows close enough that there’s nowhere to dodge. After that, I take its top arms and head in short order, pinkish blood flowing down around me.

Cradling my side, I realize that Sabre’s wrecked. I pull it back into my Altered Space, discarding what little protection the mecha can provide for now as I force myself to breathe and inject myself with a healing potion. After that, I layer my Healing spells and turn toward where the main fight is happening. Gods, I hope they’re winning.

***

A plane lies shattered and smoking to the right of me. Tracking a second airborne attacker, the beam weapons of the city swivel, firing again and again. I wonder how I missed the plane exploding, but dismiss it for the moment as I run toward the fight. Scooting around above are Sam’s drones, each with weapons that he controls to snipe at fighters below. Few people care to attack those drones, most too busy with other, larger problems.

Near the plane, the Bone Warrior swings its fist, only to be met with bone-shaking force by Capstan’s axe. Bone is shattered all across the Warrior’s body, showing the yellow flesh beneath as Capstan pushes his attack. Both fighters began with huge amounts of health and defense, but only Capstan has a dedicated high-Level healer, and the difference is telling.

In the center, where the fighting is fiercest, the Sect’s forces are split between guarding forward and dealing with Lana and Mikito and the pets behind. The puppies lunge and bite, tearing into Sect members as Roland pounces and ends anyone who threaten Lana. Anna’s flames keep control of their side of the battlefield, blinding and injuring waves of reinforcements. Fighting by herself, Mikito weaves between a pair of Blood Warrior clones while dealing damaging blows to both and any Sect member unlucky enough to close in on her. She’s a blurred ghost, moving so fast that none can keep up.

In front of Lana and Mikito lie the bulk of our forces. In Amelia’s case, literally. Over her body, another woman crouches, glowing white light coming from her hands held above the fallen Guardian. A glowing bubble explodes from Mike, shimmering forward for a second before collapsing down a bit and repeating, even as the Regional Guardian beats aside a Sect member with his trusty baton. I can see him struggling forward, attempting to close on the Psychic who just stands there, staring at Mike.

“Psychic attacks aren’t really visible,” Ali says, as if I needed an explanation.

Even as Ali speaks, the Psychic flinches as lights spark on a shield around him. Mel bounces off the shield, still firing at the Psychic as other Sect members target him. Fighters on both sides clash, spells exploding in a riot of colors, smoke, and dust twisting in a cyclone of superheated air above the battlefield. A moving ice elemental smacks around a pair of hunters, half-engulfing them, while a musician strums an electric guitar whose music forms famous figures in front of him, literally assaulting his attackers with the power of song.

On my left, Vir stands over the smoking remnants of a twelve-foot-tall metallic creature that bleeds and smokes. Blood drips down Vir’s hand, miraculously not staining his clothing, as he surveys the surroundings before dashing into the middle of the fight. Among the torn remnants of our sentinels, a giant crocodile-like creature swarms forward to intercept Vir.

All of that and more flashes across my vision as I run, mind weighing and balancing where my help will make the most difference. But whatever I do, the answer seems to be quite clear. We’re winning.

Chapter 20

My sprint allows me, roaring, to slam into a Blood Clone. Closer, I can see the differences, the sheer red visage that looks up at me in surprise before it splatters into a waterfall of blood. Mikito uses the distraction to spear her Clone as well and split it apart.

“Punch through the center,” I snap at Mikito. “I’ll get the Psychic.”

“At last,” a voice comes, reverberating through my mind the same way it feels when I speak with Ali. Except this voice feels like a thousand nails going down a chalkboard.

“Oh shit. Boy-o…”

Ali never completes his sentence. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to. The information pops up above the Psychic’s head as I stare at him.

Patrag Yn Drnak (Master Psychic Level 1)

HP: 570/570

MP: 1483/2120

Conditions: Mana Enhanced, Psychic Storm, Telekinetic Shield

One second we’re winning. The next, a psychic bomb goes off in all our minds. It’s not super-damaging, at least not to me—the Erethran Honor Guard training helps to allay half of the attack. But it’s powerful and distracting enough that all our people are thrown for a loop. And in a battle of life and death, a single second’s distraction is enough.

A missed dodge. A misfired Skill. A moment of distraction, multiplied dozens of times across the battlefield, is enough to turn the tide of battle. Capstan is slammed in the chest, his body flopping through the air as the Bone Warrior rushes Nelia. Vir’s Skill misfires, his attack failing to form, allowing the crocodile creature to rush him. Roland snarls, missing a Sect member that slips past him to stab Lana in the stomach.

“I must thank you for your attack. If you hadn’t taken action, I could never have convinced the Elders to allow me to sacrifice more Serfs,” the Psychic says directly into my mind. His voice is taunting, glee-filled. Seeing I’m still on my feet, he turns to face me directly.

Forward. I rush forward, Soul Shield back in place. The area around him is packed too tight for me to Blink Step over. At least not on the ground. A second to look, then I reach out for my Skill to Step into the sky.

Too late. A spike of psychic force slams into my mind, shocking me still. I can’t move, forced to freeze in place as an Assassin appears at my side to slam a spear of force into my shield.

A moment, then a naginata strikes, tearing into the hamstring of the Assassin. The Sect member falls even as I stagger forward, bulling aside another attacker with my momentum. My Soul Shield has barely a third left. An explosive projectile hits the shield, the explosion spreading around me to collapse another attacker’s shield and giving me a momentary gap to move through. Before I can move though, another psychic spike slams into my brain. This one brings pain rather than paralysis.

“This isn’t something I can help with,” Ali says as I fall to my knees, an outstretched hand all that stops me from falling on my face.

Liquid warmth drips down my nose, the salty taste of iron on my lips. My free hand rises, Lightning Strike on my lips, when another attack erupts. This time, the pain is so bad, it feels as though I’m crying, warm tears running from my eyes as my brain feels as though it’s being pulled apart. The pain is so great, I can’t even scream.

“I’m impressed. You still live. I wonder what kind of resistances you have to survive this long?” the psychic sends, taunting me. “Oh wait, your friends seem to be doing well. One moment…”

Pain again as the psychic bomb goes off. Instead of a spike, it’s a wave that ripples through my mind and jars the cells of my body, making me stagger. While not as powerful as the individual attack, it still hurts.

“That Guardian of yours is very annoying. One moment, I need to kill him.”

“Noooo…” I stagger upward to look around me.

Chaos reigns, our people forced back after their brief resurgence. Amelia is still down, Mel and the healer flanking her prone body. Mike’s bubble is a quarter of the size now, only a small portion of our people covered by it. Those who are protected look steadier, their hit points significantly better. As I step forward, my brain too fried to call forth a Skill, I see the Psychic raising his hand toward Mike.

I can deal with pain. Pain’s a companion, a friend. It’s an artifact of the mind, a brake to stop you from hurting yourself. It’s powerful and strong, but in the end, it’s illusory. Don’t believe me? Then tell me what the hell heartbreak is.

Pain is a mirage, as is anger. A simple thing then. Open up the floodgates and allow that churning sea of rage to push back the pain.

“Ali. FRENZY,” I roar, warning him and my friends.

Then I snap, triggering the Skill. If the Psychic wants to shut down my brain, then I’ll help him. The Psychic’s eyes narrow at my scream. Long hair flows behind him as he flicks his hand, the next Skill effect targeting me instead of Mike.

The psychic spike drills into me, but the pain is secondary. Remote. It means nothing to me, not anymore. Just a number in my display, a little blood on my lips. Swords in hand, I dash forward, cutting and stabbing. A remote part of me notes that all my people are pulling back, clearing the way and getting far away from me.

My Soul Shield fails around this time, another blow crushing my outer protection. Not good enough, not by far, as I grab my attacker by the neck. Small neck, smaller torso, a simple squeeze chokes my attacker to death while I acquire a new, fleshy shield.

Another spike of pain, this one carrying a hint of fear. Fear he should, as my eyes glow with undiminished rage as I near the Psychic. Sect members throw themselves at me, trying to slow me down. Some are intercepted by our hunters while the Sect pours on attacks.

I run forward, the Sect member’s body held before me, twitching as each attack pours into his body and tears apart skin and exposes bone. Cruel. Unworthy. I don’t care, not right now. A Lightning Strike forms around my other fist, channeled to the point of my sword. I raise it, releasing the spell to wreak carnage across the muddy, bloody field. Sect members scream as the spell dances, draining my Mana and their lives.

A growing headache as Mana disappears, but it matters not. What matters is that I’m near the Psychic, the long-haired punk scrambling back as he attempts to put some space between us. Too slow, too slow by far. Lightning dances against the edges of his shield, stopped from crossing over even as bolts of elemental fury split away to strike others. His face tightens and the Psychic makes a shoving motion. I skid backward, an invisible force pushing me away.

Twisting at my hips, I throw the smoking corpse at the shield and watch it bounce off, leaving a streak of green blood across the invisible barrier. Three steps carry me closer to strike the shield directly, the glowing arc of my sword crashing against the invisible bubble. The Psychic steps backward, the shield slowly retracting with each blow. A hand comes up, swiping at blood that flows from his nose.

“You Soonak Worm!” he snarls at me, anger lacing his words.

A spike of pain at his words. I don’t care. My focus is on attacking, again and again, smashing my sword into the shield. Occasionally I feel the impact of another attack, another strike that digs into my legs, my chest, my arm. But it’s secondary, utterly secondary to the importance of ending this, of ensuring that the Psychic hurts no one else. My arm feels heavy, the ground slick with muddy blood. Bloody mud?

“Heal him!” Mel on the radio. I wonder which him he is.

“ENACTING PROTOCOL 148.2.8. SECONDARY ASSISTANCE PROVIDED TO OWNER. TARGETING ALL ATTACKERS.”

A soothing warmth rushes over me and my body moves a little better. Ali swoops down, brows furrowed for a second, then he shifts, coming into this world fully. A second later, he glows as beams of light stab at my closest attackers.

An explosion tears at me, flesh burning, nerves screaming. I pick up a giant black marble creature that attempts to wrestle me away and toss it at the Psychic’s shield, throwing my sword a moment later to pin the monster to it. A quick step and I plunge a second blade into the body, punching a hole through the shield.

“Control, boy-o. Control! The Skill should leave you a little more control than this,” Ali screams into my mind, concern in his voice.

I don’t have time to deal with his concerns. After all, the Psychic is still alive and retreating. A hop and skip away, just a little more. But that damn Blood Warrior is there now, blocking my way with his pair of clones.

We dance, me ducking and cutting, attacking with each motion. Sacrificing skill and my body for the opportunities they offer me to hurt, to kill him. In the corner of my eyes, I see Mikito caught in her own dance, fighting that Assassin who nearly speared me while Lana and her pets corral the remaining Sect members, containing those trying to come near me. Sam’s drones are floating above, providing a minor distraction as they hammer at the Psychic’s shield while it continually attempts to reform.

“You will fall!”

A psychic bomb, lashing out at everyone, hits us again. People stagger, pain overwhelming their senses as their minds are assaulted once more. I spin away from a cut and watch as the Sect Assassin slams a blade directly into Mikito’s thigh, impaling it entirely. My sword blocks another cut, disappearing from my hand a second later as I convert my momentum into a lunge. The clone gurgles and explodes, its blood stinging like acid as it coats me. Another wave of soothing light washes over me even as I recover my backfoot, catching a cut high before I drive the blade to the ground and open up my attacker’s defense.

I swing, a Blade Strike hissing from my hands to cut the Blood Warrior while his fingers dance. A moment later, the blood that leaks from me floats, connecting to the Blood Warrior before me. It’s not only my blood though, but the blood all around us is attaching itself in floating red tendrils.

“Regeneration Skill. The more blood there is, the more he’ll heal. You can’t let him keep that up too long,” Ali says, no longer glowing but floating beside me, immaterial once more and looking exhausted.

Laughter bubbles up within me. The Blood Warrior’s fingers freeze for a second, the strands of blood freezing with him as he hears me. A brief hesitation before he continues while I wade forward, my blade seeking his life. If he wants to block me, I’ll take his life too. Another psychic spike attacks me even as the last remaining blood clone blocks my way.

A few slashes and a Blade Strike that makes my head pound later, my Mana dips precariously low as my regeneration is nerfed by the Frenzy. But it doesn’t matter, because the clone is dead and I’m pushing through to the Warrior. A flicker of fingers and the blood around him drops as swords appear in his hands.

“You will not survive this. So I vow on the blood and hearts of my friends,” the Warrior says, sliding back and blocking each of my cuts.

I don’t waste my breath, the Warrior but a speedbump to the Psychic. After so many attacks, the Psychic’s Mana must be drained, much like mine. But still, he was dangerous. Smart usage of the psychic bomb had done a ton of damage to our troops.

No more Mana means no more spells. All I have left to rely on is a little bit of technology and the skills drilled into me by Mikito and Roxley. That, and the rage within my chest. A cut aimed to take out my feet. I take it, letting the blade sink into my calf, which gives way. But it means I have a brief opening. I grab the Blood Warrior’s arm and yank him forward onto my weapon. My sword plunges upward, cutting into his body as I wiggle it around, searching for his heart. A moment’s struggle, the blade in my leg jerked out, but strong as he is, I’m stronger. We jerk and twist, repeated spells of healing landing on me and him, but finally, finally he stops.

Then I’m there, the Blood Warrior’s corpse discarded as I barrel into the Telekinetic Shield. It flashes, seeming to compress like a bubble under my assault before snapping back. In that moment, bullets strike the Psychic, piercing the shield and bloodying him as Sam’s drones target the man.

“Probably a Mana-linked Shield. Impossible to break fully until he runs out of Mana,” Ali says, eyeing the shield that continues to flicker.

A wordless snarl is all I have as an answer for Ali as I pull backward and lunge with both hands on the blade now. It pushes against the soap bubble of a shield, bowing it.

No more bravado, no more taunting. All I see in the Psychic’s eyes is fear as he attempts to back away.

“Why won’t you die?” the Psychic screams.

His hands move, pulling out Mana potions, smoke bombs, and grenades, even a pair of drones and a summoned flying sword. None of those matter, not to me. They’re just distractions that burn and shoot and cut my body while I push forward in a frenzy of rage and pain. Occasional washes of blue and white light hit my body, regenerating and fixing the damage, while Sam’s drones attack the summoned items for me.

It doesn’t matter, because in the end, it’s a battle between my health regeneration and stamina against his Mana regeneration. And unlike him, I have help. The shield pops and my sword driven by enhanced attributes plunges forward, spearing the Psychic in the chest. He coughs up blood, eyes wide with disbelief before he slumps over. Damn glass cannons. I extract my sword the hard way, ripping it out of his prone body, before glaring around me.

His death was satisfying, correct even. But I’m not done, not at all. They dared to attack my city, to hurt my friends. If they want to die, I’ll be happy to fulfill their wishes. A savage grin spreads across my face before I dart forward into battle.

Chapter 21

The only thing sadder than a battle won is a battle lost. Staring at the blood-soaked fields, the corpses of allies and enemies all around me, I find those words ringing through my mind, a minor sense of gratitude that we won floating through me. The smell of burnt flesh mixes with the sharp, acrid sting of melted plastic and corroded metal. Low voices—some filled with pain, others with loss—wash over me, accompanied by a low ringing as my abused hearing recovers. Blood drips from my wounds, skin and muscle restitching themselves, and bones shift and grate within my body, finding their true positions.

Control and clarity returned in dribs and drabs as my enemies fell. Standing alone on a hilltop, my body slowly healing, I wonder for a moment if that’s a good thing. Brief, because for all the usefulness of the Frenzy Skill, losing myself to it like I had was frightening.

Except… could you say I had lost myself to the Skill? Would it not be more correct to say that it had made me more myself? Is a person in a rage no less that person? If they are, then is someone in love considered different? Or are we just sliders on a scale, who we are and what we are changing from breath to breath? In the distance, the sun is briefly occluded by a cloud, darkening the scene before me.

“That Skill, you said it doesn’t do that normally?” I send to Ali as I search for something concrete, something real.

“Exactly. Anger yes, but not that much. It’s probably because you didn’t buy it or gain it from a Class but actually earned it yourself,” Ali says, rubbing his chin as he floats cross-legged beside me. “Add on your usual… hmmm… emotional state, and voila.”

“Voila indeed.” I sigh, rubbing my face. At least I had been more in control, more present than the last time I had triggered that state. Back then, I’d basically had a breakdown. Here, I just didn’t give a damn if I was going to die. All that mattered was their death.

“John…?” Lana says, limping toward me. I look over, staring at the torn and bloodied redhead blankly before I smile tiredly. She returns it, her eyes searching my face before relief comes. “Better. Much better.”

“You don’t like crazy, enraged John?” I say, trying for a light tone that I don’t feel.

“I’m not Betty Ross,” Lana says. At my puzzled look, she sighs. “Bruce Banner’s girlfriend. The Hulk?”

“Oh. Right.” I nod firmly. I was a programmer; of course I knew who Bruce Banner was. The question was, why did Lana?

“I like Liv Tyler and Edward Norton,” Lana says as way of explanation.

“How many did we lose?” I say, breaking the strained lightness as my need-to-know pushes its way to the front.

“Too many,” Lana says, giving me a hug. She winces, pushing away as she wrinkles her nose after catching a whiff of me. “Amelia is badly hurt. Vir promises that Roxley can fix her with the Shop, but she’s in a coma right now. We also lost half of the hunters in Kamloops and a quarter of the Hakarta. And Mel.”

I wince slightly, considering her words. “No one else?”

“No,” Lana says softly, shaking her head. “We were lucky. I doubt they expected our reinforcements. If you hadn’t kept the Psychic busy, it would have been a lot worse.”

“I remember Mikito…” I say softly, recalling the stab.

“The Assassin got away,” Lana says softly, shaking her head. “Ran off when they realized things weren’t going their way. Only reason she’s still alive, I think.”

Exhaling in relief, I let my eyes roam the battlefield again. A corner of my mind, the part that pokes and prods at wounds, notes that Lana failed to mention the actual numbers. Or any civilian casualties. Though I’m hoping, considering we kept the fighting to the outskirts, that there are none. A part of me knows that the details of our fight, the long list of losses still waits for me. But for a moment, for this period of time, I can at least revel in the fact that none of my close friends are dead.

Just for a second.

“What’s our move?” Mike asks, stomping up to me. He’s injured, but like most of us, his body is already healing. Between Spells and Skills and the System’s healing, injuries never last long. At least, not the physical ones.

Among the hunters, Mikito moves quietly, casting her Minor Healing spell while helping others up or, in some cases, aiding in the looting of the corpses.

“They must have pulled everyone they could to hit us before we hit them. My Portal Skill must have frightened them,” I say, mind already having traveled down the likely paths of reasoning. It wouldn’t have taken a military genius to realize how we could concentrate our forces and hit them harder with more safety than they could. And so, they hit us first.

“You want to take over their cities,” Lana says softly, worry evident on her face. “I don’t think our people…”

“I’m in,” Mike says, nodding firmly.

“We will accompany you. Our fee was dependent upon the number of cities conquered, after all,” Capstan says as he walks over with Nelia, enhanced hearing obviously useful for more than picking up enemies on the battlefield.

“Our defenses…” Lana objects.

“SHIELD IS AT 38% CHARGE. ALL SENTINELS ARE CURRENTLY DESTROYED. ELEVEN BEAM TURRETS ARE CURRENTLY ACTIVE. PERSONNEL HAVE BEEN DISPATCHED TO BEGIN REPAIRS OF SALVAGEABLE TURRETS,” Kim flashes for us all.

“We won’t bring everyone. Once my Mana is back, just a few of us. We’ll pop in to Merritt, verify it’s clear, then drive to Kelowna. If we’re right, it’s just a bunch of Basic Classes left. If that’s true, we’ll pop open a Portal here and wipe them,” I say.

“A solid plan,” Capstan agrees softly as he unstraps his axe and places it on the ground, head first. Hands on the shaft, he nods at Mike and Nelia.

Pursing her lips, Lana stares at us before speaking. “Fine. But take Roland. He can keep up with your bikes…” At the look on my face, she stops. “What?”

“Sabre doesn’t work,” I say. “She’ll be weeks before she’s useable again. So I was hoping…”

“To use the puppies?” Lana says, her eyes narrowing with disapproval.

“Well…”

“If they don’t come back, you better not either,” Lana says threateningly. Some might consider that an idle threat, but I know it’s not.

“Of course.”

“We would not dream of it. Beast Tamer.”

“I’ll prioritize their healing.”

***

A short hop later, we found ourselves in Vernon. This time around, it took us only a few minutes to confirm that the city was really abandoned, without a single soul—hidden or not. Once we confirm that there’s no enemy to fight in Vernon, we head to Kelowna. Not before taking the city of course.

Holding Howard’s body as the puppy runs, his movements eating up ground with ease, I have nothing to do but wonder and worry. Rather than Kelowna, we could have gone straight to Vancouver, but a part of me wants to ensure we take care of the much closer location first. Cover our flanks before we take on the real challenge.

Kelowna is, strangely enough, empty of Sect members. Not of humans though, many of whom are standing around discussing matters in extremely puzzled tones. The group scatters slightly as we approach, concern and tension ratcheting up as they spot our disparate, partly alien team. As the crowd pulls back, I find myself staring at an older gentleman who stands his ground confidently.

“Afternoon, son,” the old-timer greets me, grey eyes flicking over me with casual ease as he leans on the cane in his hand. A Cleanse spell and a new set of clothing ensured that most of us look presentable. At least, on casual inspection. I check his Status bar, amused to see he’s a Level 18 Vintner. “Name’s Kyle Reimer.”

“John Lee,” I say, hopping off Howard and strolling over to shake his hand. Kyle returns the handshake before my gaze returns to the cane.

“An old habit. Bad hip before the change,” Kyle says easily. “Mind telling me what your intentions are? Seems like you’ve got a beef with the Sect.”

“War notification that you were invading went off when you crossed the boundary,” Ali sends to me as an explanation.

“The Sect wasn’t particularly pleased with us taking Kamloops. I’m intending to do the same with Kelowna. Where are they?” I say, eyeing the curiously empty minimap in the corner of my eyes. Not that it’s empty empty, just empty of any hostiles.

“Left in a real hurry about an hour ago.” There’s a low drawl to Kyle’s voice, a wheezy sound that older people have, but there’s still a lot of strength left in there. “Other than grabbing a few of their favored Serfs, they didn’t stop for much. Last we saw, they were headed east.”

“Ah…” I run a map of the province through my mind. East really doesn’t bring them to Vancouver, but considering they have shown the ability to use airplanes, it might just be the most convenient location to gather. “Great. Want a job?”

“Pardon?” Kyle says, startled for the first time since we have started talking.

“I’m about to take the city, but we’re going to be moving soon after. Going to need an overseer of sorts. So, interested?” I say with an encouraging smile.

“And what makes you think you can trust me?” Kyle says, his eyes narrowed. I note that he isn’t actually declining the offer.

“A few things. First, you didn’t jump at the job, so you’ve got some brains. Second, you’re willing to talk so you’ve got some b—courage,” I change what I say, feeling somewhat uncomfortable swearing in front of the older man. “And thirdly, if you do screw around, I’ll just come back and kick your ass.” The last sentence is, of course, chosen with purpose.

“You probably could,” Kyle says, but there’s no hint of fear at his words. “And I’ll let you know that I won’t stand for this Serf nonsense. Or any of these new System laws. We’re still in Canada here, and we’ll still follow our principles. Peace. Order. Good government. And if not, you can send me on to meet my Maker.”

I smile slightly at the older man. Got to admire his balls. Then I turn sideways to point at Mike. “That man’s a friend. He’s also an ex-constable. If I was going to do something other than that, he’d be more than willing to put a stop to it.”

“That true, boy?” Kyle calls to Mike, who nods, his face serious. After a moment of consideration, Kyle nods and offers me his hand. “Then you have a deal.”

“Good. Be back in a sec,” I say before turning to get back on Howard to go to the city center. On the way, I can’t help but ask, “Why hasn’t the Sect sold the city and their buildings?”

“No point. When they declared War on you, it limited their options for sale. Stops either side from selling off all their assets if they think they’re about to lose and forcing the other to purchase it from the System. If you were to do that now, the other side would get it for free and all the Credits would be taken directly out,” Ali says.

“Wait. I can’t sell the town now?” I say, frowning.

“Oh, you can, but if the Sect were to take over the place before peace was declared, they’d just get it free,” Ali replies. I open my mouth, about to protest that doesn’t make sense, before I sense a long sigh. “I’m simplifying the legal process for you. Just trust me, it’d make no sense wasting time selling off assets. And no one smart is going to buy it.”

I could dig into this and I probably will, but right now is not the time. Placing my hand on the floating sphere that makes up this city’s core, I flick through the notifications with practiced ease. Yes, I want to take control. Yes, I’ll hold and wait while you inform the Sect that I’m attempting to grab their property. Yes, I’ll be on tenterhooks while awaiting a potential attack. And finally, yes, I’ll assign rights to someone.

After that, porting to just outside of the Lower Mainland is a simple matter. The Sect abandoning Kelowna wasn’t completely unexpected, but I was caught off guard when all the small towns we passed as we journeyed toward Vancouver itself were devoid of the Sect. Even the normal population was mostly hiding, the constant System notifications and the grapevine alerting all but the most desperate to stay off the streets.

“This is concerning,” Capstan says as we leave the New Westminster city center. Only two major centers left before we reach Vancouver itself. For the most part, we’re just moving, intent on finding the Sect first before we stop to deal with the rest of the administration, especially since no one is stopping us.

“Thinking they’re concentrating their forces in Vancouver?” I say softly.

“Yes.” Capstan looks around and sighs. “It is possible that they have, for the moment, decided that their losses have reached significant enough levels that it is no longer viable to hold position in this Dungeon World.”

“You make that sound worse than a straight-out fight,” Mike chimes in. “I know you guys like fighting, but I’m ready for some peace.”

“At what cost?” Capstan asks, shaking his head. “If they wished peace, they would have sent an envoy. Without one, and with the Redeemer confined to this world, it is unlikely that peace will be achieved.”

“What he’s saying, for those who are a little slow”—Ali stares pointedly at me and Mike—“is that they’re pulling back to bring their people to another of their many, many fronts. Once they’ve won there, they’ll come back to finish this. And they won’t take you guys so lightly the next time.”

With that morbid thought, the group travels through the remaining cities. Not once do we see a Sect member, and the only real resistance we find is automated weaponry. Realizing that it’s quite likely we would have to pay for repairs, we do our best to limit the damage we do. We stay on guard, previous traps clear in our mind.

Things only change when we finally make it to downtown Vancouver.

When I arrive at the outside of the stone-and-glass coliseum-inspired building that makes up the public library, I find an interesting crowd of individuals. There are three distinct groups, each forming a wedge of the small pie-shaped cluster, arguing with one another. Even without Ali’s prompting, I can tell they’re mostly made up of combat Classers. Or at least individuals like Damian who have risked their lives regularly. It’s the way their eyes keep moving, the relaxed stances with just a hint of tension, their weight distribution and spacing between them. Small things that add up to a bigger conclusion.

“Evening, folks,” I say with a smile, hopping off Howard.

More than a few tense at the sight of Capstan and the puppies, but no one becomes overtly hostile. Still, there’s definitely an unfriendly vibe to it all. Damian’s eyes are a little wide when he sees me and obviously pieces things together.

“And you are?” The question comes from a tall East Indian lady in a simple cream blouse, blue vest, and jeans combo, obviously the leader of one pie wedge of people. Interestingly enough, the late-thirty-year-old has no visible weapons. Even if she is a Mage—and her Mana pool indicates as much—it’s still strange not to have even a single weapon on hand.

“Evening,” greets an older Caucasian gentleman at the same time. He looks to be in his mid-40s, broad-shouldered, with a rifle and sword at his side and his smile is all kinds of welcoming. Except if you looked into his brown eyes, which are devoid of any real warmth.

Seeing that they spoke to me at the same time, the pair glares at each other.

I’m almost tempted to let them continue, but I decide against it and answer both. “Evening. I’m John Lee, and these are my friends.” I quickly introduce each of those behind me, not forgetting to include the puppies and Roland. Of course, I leave out their Classes and Levels, though I can see more than a few people whispering that information to others.

“What are you doing here?” the East Indian lady snaps at me, hands on her hips.

“I’m going to take control of the city, of course, Anika,” I say with a smile while pointedly using her name. Anika Kapoor, Level 39 Summoner.

“Christian Hecker,” the older man announces softly as I turn to him. Level 38 Infantry Soldier. First one I’ve seen actually. “It seems that you have some knowledge about what is going on. Perhaps you’d care to inform us.”

“Well, I’d be happy to chat. After I’ve removed the Sect’s control,” I say, stepping forward.

The group actually contracts slightly, obviously intent on stopping me. My eyes sweep over the fifty or so combat Classers, none of them above Level 40. These must be the “elites” Damian spoke of. Or at least a portion of them. Interestingly enough, the third part of the wedge, which includes Damian, doesn’t move.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t let you do that just yet,” Christian says, regret tingeing his voice. However, there’s none of it in his body. Politeness for politeness’ sake it seems.

“What makes you think we’re going to let you take our city? If the Sect is gone, we sure ain’t going to just let you take it,” Anika says as she glares at me.

“Well…” I try to figure a diplomatic way of saying this.

“Look, kids, you couldn’t stop my boy-o if you wanted to. Not him alone, and certainly not with his pals,” Ali says as he makes himself visible to everyone. I see more than a few hands and weapons rise up before stopping.

“Just a little confident for a Level 40, aren’t you?” Anika says with a smirk.

“This is going to be a thing, isn’t it?” I say exasperatedly.

The flat looks Anika and Christian provide me are more than answer enough. Beside me, I see Mike moving forward to say something while Capstan and Nelia stand next to the pets, watching the surroundings. While the library square is wide open and clear, there are buildings around us, some of which could easily contain snipers. In fact, they probably do contain snipers.

If Lana was here, perhaps we would have sat down and talked to them. But the lady is back in Kamloops, taking care of our people. And I’ve just finished a very long day, one filled with blood and death. And these people just want to keep arguing, talking about who is the top dog. All these thoughts and the bubbling frustration over the day’s events filter through my mind in seconds. By the time Mike reaches me, I’ve made up my mind.

Blink Step doesn’t require me to be moving to activate; it just requires sight. I’m next to Anika in a second, a foot sweeping out and dropping her, a sword pressed against her neck as I crouch over her. Another hand lights up, Lightning Strike forming in the palm I point toward Christian. I don’t let it loose, since right now, all I’m doing is posturing. Unfortunately, before I can open my mouth to speak, I’m cut off.

“Blink Step. Enhanced Lightning Strike. Mana Imbue and a Soulbound sword.” Damian’s voice carries quietly, his eyes raking over my body. “His Soul Shield will also deflect most attacks. At least, long enough for him to finish this.” I raise an eyebrow at Damian, who shrugs. “What? You want them to fight you?”

“Well, I was hoping to…” I frown as I’m interrupted by a punch to my body. It doesn’t actually penetrate the Soul Shield, but the flaring of the shield and the sense of pressure catch my attention.

Still held down, with a trickle of blood from where she cut herself as she shifted, Anika snarls at me, her hand still glowing. “Get. Off. Me.”

I pause, making sure she knows that I’m doing this on purpose before I slowly stand. As it is, I’m already surrounded by the wedges. “As my friend said, I can take you. All of you.” Okay, that’s probably a bit of an exaggeration, but I’m not going to tell them that. “But the point of this is if you can’t even stop me, what makes you think you can hold up against the Sect? Or anyone else?”

“You would have us give control of our city to you? To rule at your whims?” Christian says, some of the politeness slipping from his tone.

“I’m not very whimsical,” I reply, looking around the group. “But right now, arguing about who’s going to own the city forgets one thing. The Sect still does. So I’m going in and taking it away from them. Then we can talk about what happens afterward.”

“And if we don’t like what you have to say? You going to beat us all up? Might makes right?” Anika says, her voice tinged with contempt.

“Not right perhaps, but certainly effective. Until you can defend the city from me, or anyone else interested in it, you really don’t have the qualifications to argue,” I say, eyes sweeping over the group. “Or have you forgotten what happened the last time you had a little revolution?”

The moment I say that, I realize I might have pushed things too far. The way many bristle, growl, and even hunch down means I’ve hit a sore spot.

Thankfully, Damian breaks the silence and holds up his hands, stepping backward. His movements sparks movement in his group, who backs off too. “We’ll let you take it. For now. But we will have a longer discussion.”

“If you swear to hold a meeting to discuss both the Sect’s actions and yours, I will, reluctantly and temporarily, agree to you taking control of the city,” Christian says. “Understand that we will be watching you.”

“Of course,” I say, though I really just want to say “yeah, yeah, yeah.” But I’m no child, and while I hate playing these political games, it’s better than an all-out fight. Using my Skills was to show my strength. But too much and I’ll push them into a corner and we will end up swinging. And that’s the last thing I want.

Anika growls at me, her eyes moving to my friends and the puppies then me before she touches the already closed wound at her neck. Rather than speaking, she steps back reluctantly, since the other two sides have given way.

With the path clear, I give a command to the rest of my team to keep watch, then I walk onward. I’m not surprised, though somewhat annoyed, that once again, the group in play is mostly combat Classers. Well, outside of the scavenger group of Damian’s, which even then is made up mostly of combat Classers. It’s a pattern we’ve noticed again and again. For all their talk of equality, it’s always the combat Classers who take the lead, swinging around their oversized swords.

Thoughts like that take me to the top floor of the library and the city center orb. Thoughts like that keep me busy until I take over the city, send a note to Lana and co., and another note to Ingrid before replacing the security measures I damaged on my way in. Luckily, repairing things is cheaper than buying them outright. For the most part.

“So, boy-o, they did bring up a good point,” Ali says.

“Hmmm?” I say to the Spirit as I turn around to head downstairs. I glance at the restored metal door, stationary gun turrets, and traps as I walk out. “What point?”

“You really should consider creating your own group. Right now, if you die, everything reverts to the System. Without an organization of sorts, you’re just… well, you.”

“They didn’t…” I sigh, shaking my head. Whatever. Ali can jump to whatever conclusion he wants. He still is right. But for this second, I’d rather not consider it. For all the blood and tears, for all those lost, we’ve managed to succeed. Vancouver is ours. The Sect, as best we can tell, has withdrawn from BC. It might be a short-term ceasefire, a moment’s respite, but it is real. We have won the fight, if not the war.

And for that, I’m grateful. In this blasted world, small moments of peace and gratitude are all we can hope for. So I’ll take it and the Portal back to Kamloops and leave the worries about what to do next for another day.

Coast on Fire

A LitRPG Apocalypse

Book 5 of The System Apocalypse

Chapter 1

I’ve kited a Salamander over forty Levels above me. Had a Master Level Psychic fry my brain. Hell, I’ve even faced down a Dragon. I’ve faced calamities and crises, fought and bled, nearly died more times than I care to admit. For all that, I’d rather go back to any of those times than stay a single minute longer in this meeting room.

“Electronic voting is a farce! We cannot trust his AI to count the votes!” Christian Hecker, Level 38 Infantry Soldier and ex-CEO of a gold mining corporation, says as he leans forward. The mid-60s, brown-eyed, greying Caucasian gentleman is bereft of his rifle today, though he has his sword slung over his back and a pistol on his hip.

I regard the boomer as he besmirches Kim—my AI’s—honor, wondering what his angle is. As one side of the split Combat Classers, I’ve quickly learned that Christian always has an angle.

“We’re not doing a straight democratic election,” snaps Damian. The Level 22 Appraiser is spinning a pen around his fingers, obviously uneasy in our company. He’s got the lowest Level of everyone here, even if it is rising faster now that the Thirteen Moon Sect isn’t around. Still, as the voice of the scavengers, he has the moral right to be here. One that I’d had to enforce by dismissing an earlier meeting when he had been “unavoidably delayed.” “That’d just let you people load up all the seats with your friends.”

“You people?” Anika arches a graceful, plucked eyebrow. Ms. Kapoor, the Level 39 Summoner, is one of the few non-Caucasians in this room.

“I believe he means the non-Delvers,” I answer Anika, smiling slightly in amusement at Damian’s poor phrasing.

She inclines her head to me, appearing somewhat mollified. Truthfully, I figure getting annoyed over bad phrasing shows how uptight she is, but my role isn’t to judge, just pacify.

“Rationed seats are wrong,” Tsien Wuji says. He’s a Level 39 Engineer specializing in infrastructure construction. He’s also an influential member of the non-Combat Classers, Damien’s counterpart, and the other of the pair of their representatives, the more talkative of the two.

“Allocated,” Leo Brand says with a sigh, covering his face with his hand.

There are a few quick smiles around the room as Leo once again corrects Wuji’s malapropism. Leo’s an ex-ER doctor, now a Doctor who finds most of his life’s work superfluous. After all, with the System, if you’re not dead, you’ll heal. And since he’s a self-professed coward who refuses to enter the city dungeon, he’s been at a bit of a loss as to what to do with himself.

“Will you finally buy a Language upgrade in the Shop? I’ll even pay for it,” Anika says once again with a roll of her eyes.

“No need. Waste money,” Wuji denies her offer once again.

“We cannot continue this farce of a government any longer. My people want results!” Christian says, ignoring the byplay as he pushes ahead with his agenda. “They are sick and tired of being locked out of decisions about their city.”

“Farce?” Ali says, floating visible beside me. The two-foot-tall Spirit chuckles softly, his olive skin beautifully off-set by the dark suit and cream shirt he wears. “Did you call boy-o a farce?”

“Farce?” Wuji whispers to Leo. His friend leans over to explain the word.

“I consider this unelected government, this tyrannical rule of your boy-o a farce,” Christian says.

When we first met, Christian had been the less combative of the pair of combat Classer leaders. The last week of dealing with me has worn away the false warmth he showcased before I rejected his subtle manipulation and, later on, bribes.

“It’s certainly better than what we had with the Thirteen Moons,” Anika says, waving around the noisy conference room. The wave also encompasses my only direct support in the room—Lana, my girlfriend and the more politically inclined part of my team. Though, by common agreement, she stays silent during these meetings, letting me take the brunt of criticism and allowing her to work her charm during the breaks. “We’re at least having a meeting. Even if someone doesn’t listen to us.”

Finally fed up with the various barbs, I speak up. “I’d listen if you people ever came to an agreement.”

“We would, but your irrational requirements are impossible to meet!” Christian snaps.

“Oh? All I’m asking is that you all come to a reasonable agreement on what the government would look like,” I say. “I’m only here today because you promised me that you would have an agreement by today.”

“We promised that we’d have something to discuss with you,” Anika says, eyes dancing with humor. “I’ll admit, we haven’t gotten that far though.”

“Fine. Since I’m here, someone sum up the sticking points.”

Silence takes hold of the conference room at those words. The various “council” members suddenly find anywhere to look but at me. Wuji opens his mouth to speak, but Leo puts his hand on the man’s arm, shaking his head. The older Chinese man subsides, allowing Damian to clear his throat.

“Well, we’re currently facing a problem of deciding both the number of seats on the council and the method of election. The Delvers and ummm… my people, are looking for a guarantee that our voices will be heard. We refuse to continue to risk our lives, bringing in more revenue and goods than the ummm…” Damian stops there.

“You can call them civilians. Or crafters if you want,” Ali offers. “The closest translation to the Galactic term is Artisan. Feel free to use it or not.”

Damian nods in gratitude to Ali before he continues more confidently. “The Artisans want a straight election, but because of the ratio of combat Classers and Artisans—”

“Are you sure you want to base your argument on revenue?” Anika says wryly. “They’ll eventually beat us, you know. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if their generated revenues are already greater than ours if you include the other cities.”

“That’s not the point!” Christian says. “We are just trying to ensure we are not sent into battle and forced to guard people, without a say!”

Damian sighs and looks at me, his gaze serious. “I must admit my people have that concern too. Scavenging is growing more and more difficult with returns growing smaller. Sooner or later, I expect that most of my people will turn into hunters or delvers. And at that point, well…”

“We don’t want the Artisans sending us into dangerous zones just so they can get better crafting material. Or under-paying for those items,” Anika says.

“We not do that. The Shop set ceiling. Floor. Stopping place,” Wuji says. “We pay good price. Get materials from you.”

“A good price because you want the city to subsidize the purchases!” Christian snaps. “Otherwise, there’s no way you’d be able to afford the Galactic price for most of our better material.”

I sigh, listening to the argument devolve. No real surprise here. I’ve had Lana explain this discussion before, since it’s similar to the one we had in Whitehorse. Simply put, low-cost materials almost always receive a better price locally. The cost of transportation often makes it possible for local Artisans to purchase those materials at a similar, if not slightly higher, price than what Galactic buyers would pay. However, and this is a big however, high Level materials aren’t the same. The cost of transportation for high-Level materials is significantly lower as a percentage of price, which means Galactic buyers, who are both more numerous and better funded, can often offer a higher price than locals. Part of the reason is that for Artisans to gain Levels, they need to constantly challenge themselves with better materials. It’s also one of the reasons why the cost of high Level enchantments and equipment climbs steeply.

It doesn’t help that since we’re on a Dungeon World with a consummate increase in Mana flow, we actually have a larger number of spawnings. That means that the volume of low-to-medium quality crafting material is higher, which of course results in greater efficiencies in transportation since Galactic corps can do larger mass teleportations or send bigger transport ships. All in all, it means that our crafters are in a bad competitive situation.

“We must Level!” Wuji insists.

“But taxing our purchases and sales puts our lives at risk,” Anika says softly. “We need that equipment, those Class Skills. You don’t put your lives at risk every time you try to Level.”

“So we’re not as important?” Leo says without heat. “Our lives don’t matter?”

“You’re not risking yours,” Christian snaps.

I groan, watching them start up again. That barely attracts any attention, so I smack my hand on the table, grabbing everyone’s attention. “All right, people. I’ve got another meeting to go to, so you guys keep talking. We’ll talk again in another week.”

“That’s—”

“No, we need to—”

“These delays are unacceptable!” Christian says, standing.

“That’s nice,” I say with a smile to everyone, ignoring the various protests as I open a Portal.

Lana and Roland, her pet tiger, duck into the Portal first. The pitch-black hole in space swallows them without a ripple. Three quick steps, even while the council calls for me to come back, and a closed Portal later, I’m free.

***

A grin splits my face as I draw a deep breath of the sweet, sweet air of freedom.

“Ack!” I cough, a burning pain in my throat and lungs.

You are Poisoned

-3 HP per second

Duration: (Continuous till you are out of the cloud)

“Where did you bring us?” Lana says, her voice muffled by the helmet she’s put on.

A moment later, my helmet expands from the collar around my neck, covering my face and clearing the air. I’m still poisoned, but it’s no longer dangerous as my System-assisted healing fights the toxin.

“Just outside of Kelowna actually,” I say with a frown, sword in hand as I survey our surroundings. Poison clouds aren’t normal, as far as I know. I have to admit, I’ve only been here thrice since the change.

“Floating Poisonous Cloud. Not sure why, but it seems to be directed by the wind. Kim’s telling me that wisps of this have hit the city, but nothing major. They’re keeping the kids and other vulnerables inside, but prevailing winds will have the cloud gone in an hour,” Ali says as he stares at notifications only he can see.

“Ali says it’s natural. Sort of. Nothing to be concerned about,” I tell Lana. She nods firmly, and we walk toward to the city. After a moment, I realize something. “Where’s Roland?”

“He’s already left.”

“Ah… good.” I nod and keep walking. Ever since she picked up the tiger, he’s become her constant companion, even more than the puppies. “Wanted to ask you something. You’ve been hovering at Level 49 for a while now. Is something going on?”

“Nothing major. I’ve been channeling my experience to Roland to upgrade his Level. You remember, he was a bit on the lower end when we found him.”

“You can do that?”

“It’s a benefit of being a Linked companion for me. Makes it easier to find new companions and upgrade them. It only works until he hits my Level, then we’ll upgrade at the same time.”

“Are you going to continue that till he hits Level 49?” I say, trying to recall Roland’s Level now—32 or something like that?

“Not sure yet,” Lana says.

I nod, and we continue the walk in silence through the invisible cloud of poison, enjoying the beautiful, sunshine-lit valley, verdant plains with the occasional pine trees, and the river beside us, glittering with blue.

“Why did you drop us out so far?”

“Oh… umm…” I stutter. “Well…”

Lana arches an eyebrow at me before the buxom redhead takes my arm and squeezes her bountiful treasures into me. “Were you thinking of taking me for a walk?”

“Well… yeah. It’s beautiful out here. Except for the cloud…” I sigh, shaking my head. “We haven’t… well…” I fall silent, still uncomfortable talking about things like this.

Lana smiles, bonking her helmeted head against mine with a friendly nudge. “You couldn’t have known. It was very sweet, and it is still beautiful.”

I smile at that, relaxing slightly and giving the arm that holds mine a squeeze. For the next while, I can afford to just be a man walking his lady, talking about our days. For a while, I can put aside the niggling questions of what the Sect is doing, if the Duchess intends to expand south, and what, if anything, I’ll do about the Americans.

For a little while.

***

Kelowna has seen better days. The once-picturesque town beside the river is still beautiful from a distance, but if you get closer, you notice the burnt-out buildings, abandoned vehicles, and occasional brown lawn. There’s a desolate feeling to the city, which is significantly magnified in the abandoned outskirts.

Luckily, it takes us a while to receive the “entering Town” notification. The Sect was kind enough to actually decrease the settlement boundary to just East Kelowna, and even then, only the downtown region near the river and a bit east of that is considered Town. I’m grateful for them spending their funds on that, because otherwise, the settlement itself would still be in the Village stage, unable to reach the minimum land-owned threshold.

I still find it amusing that somehow, the town’s City Center is the Benvoulin Church, rather than a more central location. I’m sure there’s a study with a complex mathematical analysis of why each location is picked, especially for Dungeon Worlds, but that’s a book even I refuse to read. I’m still debating if I should pay to shift the city center orb somewhere safer and more central, but for now, the church works.

As we walk into the historical, picturesque steepled place of worship, we’re greeted by the titular overseer of the city. The older gentleman waves his show cane at me, no longer needing it thanks to the System, and greets me with a smile.

“John!” Kyle says. “Didn’t expect you till later.”

Kyle Reimer (Level 18 Vintner)

HP: 130/130

MP: 240/240

Conditions: None

“Afternoon, Kyle,” I say, smiling. “I cut my other meeting short. They—” I glare at Lana after she elbows me, shooting me a warning glance. After a second, I realize her point and turn back to Kyle. “Well, here I am. Shall we go in?”

Kyle smiles slightly, seeing the interplay and probably reading a lot more into what I didn’t say than he should have had the opportunity to. I’m still not used to this entire “being a leader” thing, but Lana is right. Bitching about one settlement to another is probably not a good idea.

“No need. I understand you upgraded your AI to allow you to upgrade any of your settlements without touching the core?” Kyle says.

“Yup, bits-for-brains is good to go,” Ali says, making himself visible as he floats upside down, watching a System-generated TV screen the right way around. The fact that I can see his screen means Ali’s messing with me. Again.

“Good. Then I’ve got a few things to show you,” Kyle says with a wave.

I nod, glancing at the building and absently offering a nod to the god who’s supposed to be inside. Not that I believe in Him, but my father ground respect into me. And if He is real, well… a little respect won’t hurt.

“To begin, I thought you’d like to see the mall? It’s our main trade hub for now…”

Lana and I nod, and the trio of us take off, walking through the streets to the mall. Kyle prattles on, filling us in on the town and how things have gone. Kelowna was an interesting case in the settlements I own. Due to its number of surrounding vineyards, it had seen a significant immigration of Alchemists, Chemists, Biologists, and other alien Artisans intent on studying the change the System has brought about. And exploiting it of course.

“So everyone is happy about the Sect leaving, including the aliens,” Kyle finishes. “Seems like they were trying to drive away a number of our earliest immigrants. The only big issue we have is that we’re struggling to work out the legal aspects of having so many different alien groups in the city. Our Lawyers and Accountants are struggling to understand the differences in the various corporations and organizations that have purchased land in the city, especially because many of them are claiming specific tax exemptions that we’ve never heard of.”

“Capital L and A? Or just old time professionals?” I say, curious.

“Mostly. A few took up other Classes but have gone back to their original professions, but most of those have dual-Classed,” Kyle explains. “Getting that first Level took a while, but at least they don’t have to discard their combat Classes. Some are just doing the job without the Class.”

I grunt in acknowledgement. I wouldn’t want to discard my combat Class to become a Lawyer either. In this world, being able to kick ass makes a lot of difference. As things settle down, more and more knowledge about the System keeps cropping up. The fact that it’s not only possible but relatively easy to dual-Class is something those in Kelowna learned early on and disseminated to the other settlements. Not that I’m intending to change my Class.

“Did they buy the Skill to divvy up their experience?” Ali asks and, at the puzzled glances all around, rolls his eyes. “There’s a Class Skill called… ummm…”

“PORTION CONTROL.”

“Right, Portion… wait, that’s not what it’s called,” Ali says, glaring at the notification window created by Kim, my AI. Sniggers abound at the Spirit’s grumpy response. “Anyway, it’s a Skill similar to Lana’s, except you can only use it on yourself. You can portion out part or all of your experience to a specific Class rather than having an even split. Makes it possible to Level both, unlike a complete changeover.”

“I still think that keeping your first Class is a much better idea,” Lana says, shaking her head. “Especially if it’s a combat Class. Hard enough Leveling one Class, but having to switchover midway? That’s insane, especially with the increased experience gain requirements.”

“Not everyone wants to be a fighter, my dear,” Kyle says with a smile. “In fact, most of us are happy that things are settling down. It’s why we want your boy to grant the Adventurer’s Guild’s request as soon as possible. Once they’re established, we can seriously work on getting our fields back.”

“And you’re happy with the fact that so many of your fields have been bought by others?” I say with a frown.

“Happy isn’t the right word. Maybe resigned? It’s better than having the land become a spawning ground. And you might have noticed we lost a lot more people than most. Most of the original landowners are either absent or dead, and what we have is a large number of Galactic aliens and temporary workers,” Kyle says with a shrug and a small smile. “The few who are around… well, let’s just say some people have upgraded their places.”

I snort but take his word for it. Not my place to handle the day-to-day operations. It’s why I hired the older gentleman. In fact… “Have you looked at gene editing?”

“Looked at it,” Kyle says evasively.

“Kyle…?”

“Look, young man, when you’ve reached the age I have, well, adding a few extra years isn’t as attractive as you might think. All my friends are dead. Most of my family is too.” At our wince, he adds, “Long before this. My wife succumbed to cancer a few years ago, and we never had kids. My brother died from a stroke a week before the change. This new world, it’s interesting. I want to help, but I’m tired. At a certain point… well, it’d be nice to have a rest.”

I grunt and drop the topic unhappily. Maybe I’ll bug him later, but for now, I leave it. I find it hard to believe that any man who’s managed to survive an entire year plus in this post-System world is the kind to roll over and die because he’s “tired.” Now it’s just a matter of making Kyle see that too.

“Anyway, we were talking about that Adventurer’s Guild. We’ve got four applications, each with their own people in town already…” Kyle says, changing the topic.

I stay silent, listening to Kyle and his opinions. It is, after all, why I came. The Settlement Screen might give me numbers and facts, but the in-person reports give me context.

***

Exhausted, I collapse onto my couch, grateful that the System continues to keep my Whitehorse residence in good shape. Early summer in Whitehorse means that at eight o’clock at night, the sun is still shining brightly, bringing the bright greens and blues to life. The transition from somewhat setting sun in Kelowna to bright light in Whitehorse had been slightly disorienting the first time I’d done it, but this time around, it seems natural. The only pity is that Lana decided to stay in Kamloops with her pets to spend more time with Mikito. Making multiple jumps to get home is annoying, but it seems to affect others more than me.

Silence. Blessed silence. Which is interrupted by a knocking on my door. I frown, then frown even more when I see who it is on my minimap. Resolutely, I ignore the knocking.

“John, I know you’re in there.” Roxley’s voice is authoritative and commanding. Not because he’s trying to order me around but because that’s just the way he is. Even so, I have to admit that voice does things to me that wouldn’t be polite to mention in company.

Lord Graxan Roxley. Duke of the Yukon. The Duchess of the Pourquoi States’s errand boy on Earth. A tall, dark drink of muscle, nobility, and charisma. Someone I flirted with for a time—before the son of a bitch betrayed me and the city of Whitehorse by joining the Duchess. For all that, I can’t help but be slightly interested in seeing him again…

“I’m coming in. Don’t shoot.”

I growl softly, deciding that I won’t shoot him or even deign to stand. Instead, I put my elbow and arm over my eyes and stay flopped on my couch. It’s only when an uncomfortable amount of time has passed that I move my hand away to see Roxley leaning against the doorjamb, staring at me with a look that dries my throat.

Down, boy. I’ve got a girlfriend.

Even if she’s hinted that she’s not entirely opposed to…

Down, boy.

Down.

I clear my throat and subtly shift my position by sitting up. Damn pretty dark elf. “What are you doing here?”

Roxley smirks before he straightens up, his face falling into a more serious expression. “As Her Grace’s representative on Earth, I am here to greet the Redeemer of the Dead upon his entrance to her city and inquire about his intentions.”

“I’m here to sleep,” I state tersely. “Do you know how hard it is to not be bothered when I’m in my cities? Everyone wants a word with me. All. The. Damn. Time. I’ve got people literally walking into my house, demanding to talk to me about their latest pet project. Droids for recycling plastic, refurbishment of the kids’ playgrounds, a grant for Galactic languages, and on and on.”

“I keep telling boy-o if he shoots the first few, they’ll stop bothering him,” Ali says, waving hi to Roxley.

“Ali. I believe someone is awaiting you…?” Roxley says leadingly, getting a big grin from the Spirit who flickers then disappears. If I’m not wrong, the damn Spirit has gone to visit Roxley’s AI to gossip once more. I’m still a little perturbed by what goes on on the backend between the two, but interrogating Ali has offered little answers.

Damn traitor. Then again, Ali has never seen my problem with Roxley and his actions.

“Ah. And you have no intentions of expanding your territory?” Roxley continues once we’re alone.

“Not up north, no,” I say, eyes narrowing. “And you?”

“The Duchess has stated that she has no intentions of expanding beyond your Watson Lake. Our intentions involve the north and the resource fields and zones therein,” Roxley says, waving. “Our main point of focus is expanding the Towns of Whitehorse, Anchorage, and Fairbanks to Cities, thus increasing their respective zones of control.”

“I see…” My eyes narrow as I try to decide how much I believe him. In the end, I decide to do so, mostly because I understand how much work Roxley has ahead of him. It makes no sense for the Duchess to take control of a bunch of lower Level zones when she hasn’t completely controlled the areas she already “owns.” Higher Level zones provide higher Level goods, which mean more money—never mind the Level-tourism revenue she stands to earn.

“On a personal basis, I am surprised to see you back. Are you not concerned about the Weapon Master?” Roxley says with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s why I sent Ali through first.” I grin then shrug. “I’m done running. I’ve gotten a few Levels since we last danced. And anyway, way I understand it, he’s gone for now. I doubt he’ll be back so soon.”

“Risky.” Roxley sighs, giving up on admonishing me. “And is that all the reason for returning? Nothing personal?” At my flat stare, Roxley sighs again. “Well then, as Her Grace’s representative, I do extend my offer of aid in any matters of administration.”

“Why?”

Pain and regret at my brusque attitude flicker across his face before he resumes a neutral expression. “Your presence south of our holdings is considered a benefit to Her Grace. You are much less likely to be combative than the Sect or any other, hmmm, foreign interests that may appear. As such, the stronger your government, the greater the benefit.”

“Great…” I drawl as I assess the sincerity of his, and her, offer. “And what does this offer amount to? Credits? Technology? Maybe some Skill orbs?”

“None of the above, I fear,” Roxley says. “While we do wish to aid you, the aid must be proportional. Advice, at this time, is the best we can offer.”

“Advice,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “Right, I’ll make sure to ask for it. Now, I was here to sleep…”

“John…”

But I’ve already slumped back on the couch, arm thrown over my face in a copy of the same pose from before. Except this one radiates anger.

“Ms. Olmstead is doing well with treatment. I expect she will be on her feet within the next few days.”

Sensing that I won’t say anything, Roxley sighs, after which I hear the stomp of his feet leaving the house. I grunt in mild happiness, glad to be left alone and for the news he imparted.

Here to help. Har! Advice my ass.

***

It’s much later, when I’ve finished stewing, that I manage to actually calm down enough to do what I had Portalled all the way north for. Since I’m currently limited to 1,000 KM per jump, I actually had to cast it thrice—once to Kamloops, then again into the middle of nowhere before arriving. I did kind of feel bad that I didn’t spend more time in Kamloops visiting Lana and Mikito, but needs must come first. At the thought of the little Japanese Samurai, I made myself a promise to visit with her. Losing her apprentice, then Mel, in short order has resulted in Mikito withdrawing once again. While she isn’t suicidal, she has grown quieter and more subdued. It’s why Lana left the puppies behind with her—their furry presence is a good healing aid. Anna, on the other hand, is just getting lazy, preferring to sleep than go gallivanting with us on our errands.

Too many damn things to do and not enough time. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t even dealt with the numerous notifications I received from the knockdown, drag-out fight with the Sect. Including that most important of ones—my Level Up. With a mental command, my Status Screen populates.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Honor Guard

Race

Human (Male)

Level

43

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead, Duelist

Health

1970

Stamina

1970

Mana

1510

Mana Regeneration

111 / minute

Attributes

Strength

106

Agility

187

Constitution

197

Perception

61

Intelligence

151

Willpower

151

Charisma

16

Luck

32

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

2

Blade Strike

2

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand blades

1

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal

3

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footprints*

1

Tech Link*

2

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (II)

Greater Regeneration

Greater Healing

Mana Drip

Improved Mana Dart (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike

Fireball

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Being part of such an insane battle did wonders for my experience. Killing the Sect Enforcer pretty much by myself pushed me most of the way to the top of Level 40. After that, the numerous small fry and the Blood Warrior I dealt with pushed me two-thirds of the way through Level 41. Ending the Master Level Psychic was enough to push me to Level 42 and netted me my third Title, as well as bonus experience for the kill.

Title Gained

For winning in a battle against a Combat Classer two Class Advancements above yours, you have earned the title Duelist. Others will fear your prowess from now on. Increased reputation in certain circles. +10% chance effect of social Skills in appropriate situations. +5% increase in damage against those with higher Class Advancements

I whistle slightly, noting the Title’s effects. Damn, but that’s nice. Of course, I cheated. For one thing, that Psychic was a Level 1 Master Class. For another thing, he was only one Advancement Level higher than mine, though technically the System still reads me as a Basic Class since I’m still in my first tier. It’s why my Monster’s Bane Title is still so effective. I cheat.

After that, I learned another little secret of being the owner of a Settlement. Any battle conducted during a declared war actually nets the owners of those Settlements a small experience gain for the entire battle. Of course, since it’s based off everyone killed, it was more than sufficient to push me up to Level 43, which is where I’m seated right now. It almost makes up for the fact that I currently have an “On-going War” declaration on the settlements, limiting some of the things I can purchase.

All those sudden experience gains mean that I have nine free attributes and two free Class Skill points. Now that I don’t need Portal as desperately, I actually have a chance to consider what to do with these Class Skill points. Though first, I want to look at what I can do to shore up my attributes.

Charisma continues to be my “dump” stat, as per Jason’s terminology. Though considering how I was—reluctantly—drawn into the world of politics, I might want to up it a little. Not that I have the Skills for it, but… yeah. Then we have my mainstays—my combat stats. I still feel as though my ability to perceive what the hell is going on lags behind what I am doing, especially when I am moving at the maximum speeds that my body can handle. It isn’t a huge difference, but it is there. There is something to be said about putting more points into Perception, especially since Agility and Strength go up by themselves anyway. Unfortunately, there’s no guarantee that the next few points will alter it in the way I need it to, rather than widening my hearing range or something less useful.

My Constitution is the bedrock of my survival, though more than once, I’ve noticed a distinct lack of Mana during my fights. Even with the ridiculous amount of regeneration I receive, once we start getting involved in these long, drawn-out battles, I realize exactly how hampered I can be by my Mana. It doesn’t help that so many of my Spells were Mana hogs.

I’ll admit, Luck is tempting as well. Even if I’m not adventuring as much, the bonus in loot drops is always nice, though harder to quantify. And having someone, something, with its finger on the scale seems like a nice idea. The gods know that I’ve seen enough of how fate can take a crap on you.

In the end, I discard Luck, Agility, and Strength. I’d increased Agility and Strength the last time around and Luck had a slight bump a few Levels back. With it being so nebulous, I can’t justify using my points on it all the time. Better to go for something more tangible.

While Willpower upped my on-going Mana regeneration, I am leaning toward increasing Intelligence since it gives me a higher starting point. A single point of Intelligence is worth 10 Mana, which doesn’t seem much but is worth 1/10th of a Blink Step, probably one of my most used Skills.

Constitution still continues to be a no-brainer. After all, I am pretty much the “Tank” of the group, which meant I get shot. A lot. On top of that, while I hate to “waste” points on Charisma, it is clear that I am going to be in social situations a lot more often. Still, I refuse to dedicate a full Level’s worth to it, so Perception is getting at least a point. If Jason were here, he’d probably bitch me out about deviating from my build or being a generalist, but thus far, it’s worked.

Having made my decision, I dump three points into Intelligence and Constitution, two into Charisma, and one in Perception, wiping out my free attributes. The next Level, I might put another point into Luck and Perception then rotate over to Charisma if I see some benefit in my interactions with others.

Figuring out what I intend to do with my Class Skills, on the other hand, is much simpler. I’ve wanted Sanctum and Army of One for a while now, and I can buy them. So I do.

Sanctum

An Erethran Honor Guard’s ultimate trump card in safeguarding their target, Sanctum creates a flexible shield that blocks all incoming attacks, hostile teleportations, and Skills. At this Level of Skill, the user must specify dimensions of the Sanctum upon use of the Skill. The Sanctum cannot be moved while the Skill is activated.

Dimensions: Maximum 10 cubic meters.

Cost: 1,000 Mana

Duration: 1 minute and three seconds

“Whoa.” I blink, staring at the Mana cost. A thousand Mana. That’s insane. Even with my frankly ridiculous Stats, I can only cast this once. A proper Erethran Honor Guard who’d advanced the normal way could probably cast this twice at best. And the duration isn’t even that great.

“Boy-o, just to clarify, since I’m summarizing the actual System description as always, this Skill blocks everything. Someone could drop an orbital strike backed up by a dragon’s curse on you and nothing would get through,” Ali says.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Damn…” I say, staring at the description. “What’s with the three seconds?”

“Figured on this one, we need a little precision,” Ali says pointedly.

I consider the matter and nod. Yeah, I can see how knowing exactly how long my ability to be invincible lasts would require exactness. Most other times, it matters a lot less.

Army of One

The Honor Guard’s feared penultimate combat ability, Army of One builds upon previous Skills, allowing the user to unleash an awe-inspiring attack to deal with their enemies.

Effect: Army of One allows the projection of (Number of Thousand Blades conjured weapons * 3) Blade Strike attacks up to 200 meters away from user. Each attack deals 2 * Blade Strike Level damage (inclusive of Mana Imbue and Soulbound weapon bonus)

Cost: 750 Mana

I admit, it takes me a bit to figure out the math on this. Basically, it works out to three conjured Thousand Blades multiplied by three—nine—attacks that each deals the equivalent of my Soulbound weapon’s attack. Which, at the present moment, is slightly over a hundred points of damage. That works out to ten attacks—including the original strike from my sword—each dealing about two hundred points of damage, which I can use as an area-of-effect or targeted strike. Put another way, I could almost one-shot myself with just base damage, which doesn’t include external effects like armor or targeting. And this is only the first Level.

“Jesus…” I swear. If I’d had this during our most recent battle… then again, without Portal at Level 3, I wouldn’t have been able to bring my friends. Well, not easily at least, since my range would have been shortened significantly.

Truthfully, the next Level up in Portal is tempting too. It adds approximately 4,000 kilometers to my range, which is significant. I could easily jump from Whitehorse to LA—if I ever traveled that far first.

“These Skills are over-powered,” I mutter.

“Eh… you should see Mike’s penultimate Skills. Hell, you saw his Sphere of Protection. It gave all friendlies within its bubble a 30% bonus to their resistances,” Ali says.

That’s when I realize. “You’re back?”

“We don’t actually need to take as long as you meatbags to talk, boy-o.”

I sigh and shut up, letting myself sink into the couch. “Asshole.”

Sleep. I’m here for sleep.

Chapter 2

I find Aiden standing outside my house early the next day, as I return from a hunting session. A quick check with Ali had indicated that the Kapre had been having issues with an Alpha monster a short jog from town, and after accepting their quest, I proceeded to apply a judicious amount of fire to the problem. And then a lot of Polar Zones. Look, you tell me how else I’m supposed to deal with a sentient moss monster.

Soot covered, with the taste of ash in my mouth, all I wanted was a hot shower and breakfast. Cleanse might clean me, but it never felt right. Which meant that my visitor, manbun and all, is an unpleasant surprise.

“Aiden,” I greet my ex-party member and teacher.

An extremely talented Mage who mixes his esoteric, mangled Eastern philosophy with an analytical mind to advance his magic, Aiden is also a minor coward. After a number of harrowing experiences with us, he no longer journeys out of the city. I disagree—passionately—with his decision, but I understand it. It makes our relationship weird since I desperately try not to judge his actions and fail, then I spiral into mental admonishment of myself over it.

“John. I was hoping I could catch a ride?” Aiden says.

“Ride?”

“To Kelowna. Lana mentioned in a message that you purchased a Mana field enhancement in the city. I was hoping to study it, perhaps improve the core formula, and well, bring it back,” Aiden explains.

“Of course. I need a shower, but we’ll go after that.” I pause after stepping into the door, curious. “How’d you know I was back? And when to see me?”

“Ah…” Aiden shifts uncomfortably.

“Roxley.”

“Yes.”

I leave before I say anything I would regret. Being on Roxley’s good side is smart, especially if you’re living in Whitehorse. The man did nothing wrong. Just because that devious, back-alley scoundrel…

Exhale. Shower. Portal. Breakfast.

***

Breakfast is in Kelowna, a simple series of Portals away. Aiden and I joined the team—or the portion of it that’s here—which includes Sam, our Level 39 Technomancer; Lana; and Mikito. Ingrid, our Assassin / Thief / general sneaky body is still in Seattle, making nice with the Americans. With the Sect pulling back entirely, the Americans have devolved into a series of skirmishes with one another as they scramble for control in the city.

After I made the necessary introductions, most everyone left me alone to enjoy my breakfast while the girls caught up with Aiden and Sam stayed his taciturn self. Sam rarely gets involved in our private conversations, a factor I enjoy about the older gentleman.

“Did John make arrangements for where you’ll be staying?” Lana asks Aiden after they’ve finished discussing the latest gossip from Whitehorse, the majority of breakfast finally finished.

“No…”

At Lana’s look, I protest, “I didn’t even know he was coming till this morning!”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got an apartment where we can put you up,” Lana says with a sniff at me.

“We’ve got an apartment?” I say, surprised.

“Not all of us enjoy sleeping on the floor of the nearest abandoned room,” Lana teases, making Mikito smile.

Even Sam snorts a little. Then again, that man set up his little house-cum-workshop almost immediately. As far as I know, Sam has a workshop in every major settlement he’s visited and spent more than a week in.

“It’s convenient,” I mutter. Between my high Constitution and resistances, sleeping on the floor isn’t really that uncomfortable. In fact, with System-aided healing, I don’t even wake up with sore muscles. I’ll admit though, I do enjoy sleeping in a real bed sometimes, but that’s what my house in Whitehorse is for. After all the upgrades we’ve done for the building, even with the massive swarms, it stays in good shape.

“Thank you. If you show me where it is, I’d love to get started on the enchantment immediately,” Aiden says. “I can already feel the difference in my regeneration rate.”

Lana nods, getting up and setting her plates aside, shortly followed by Aiden. Sam takes his leave at the same time, off to continue working on his latest project—an analysis and dismantling of Sabre. With my Personal Assault Vehicle badly damaged during our last encounter, it’s still in the process of fixing itself, which makes it the perfect time for Sam to analyze the changes. While he doesn’t expect to actually replicate the machine, the knowledge he’s gaining is supposedly increasing his skills significantly.

That leaves Mikito, who I gesture to stay when she gets up. The dark-haired lady sits down quietly, hands folded all prim and proper. Hard to imagine that this sophisticated, well-mannered young lady is also one of the deadliest—if not the deadliest—melee duelist I know. Well, excepting a certain frustrating Truinnar.

I break the silence with a prosaic question. “How are you doing?”

“Well.”

“Well, as in good or well as in well, things could be worse?”

“I am doing fine,” Mikito says. “Lana already spoke to me last night. Your concern is touching but unnecessary.”

I grimace at my friend. This… well, this is an area I don’t know how to handle. She’s hurting a bit, but if she says she’s good, what am I supposed to do? Tell her she isn’t? The fact stands that we all have our own pain, our own emotional scars. This world isn’t one where you can spend years in therapy, talking about your feelings till you get better. The next crisis is always just around the corner.

“Okay,” I say, slumping back. After a moment, I meet her gaze and change the topic. “We’ve been missing our morning training sessions.”

“You’ve not been around,” Mikito says.

“Yeah. Whitehorse or Vancouver’s fast becoming my base of operations. Simpler that way. I could use your evaluation on the delvers in Vancouver. And I’ve been meaning to test out their dungeon.”

“Lana says it’s only a gradated dungeon? It gets harder the farther you go?” Mikito says quietly. “Doesn’t seem like you need me for that.”

“Well, no one knows how strong it is anymore. At least, none of the delvers, though they believe the Sect did. Be nice to understand that,” I say, shrugging. “Furthest the teams have gotten is to a Level 40 plus building zone, and they barely made it out at that.”

“When?”

“Pardon?”

“When do you want me there?” Mikito clarifies.

“When can you get up?” I pause. “Down.”

Mikito bites her lip as she thinks things through. “We still need to work out who is going to replace Mel. None of the… the…” She clears her throat. “No one is shining through right now. And I’d like to get their average Level up a little more.”

I stay silent, letting her work things through herself. I know part of the reason why she’s taking so long to leave here is a reluctance to let go, a need to do good by Mel and her apprentice. Who, I have to admit, I can’t even remember the name of. I know I could if I wanted to, but I don’t. Dwelling on the past, the many people lost, is just a road to further pain.

“Two weeks. Maybe three,” Mikito finally says.

“All right.” I nod, accepting her word. It’s not great, but I’m sure I can figure out something to do in the meantime. If nothing else, my goal of basically visiting every village, town, and other settlement in BC will be mostly done by then.

***

Routine. I’m falling into a routine, even after a few days of peace and quiet. Training, breakfast, Portal to the last town I was at before exploring further to map and add the new locations to my map of explored places. Spend a couple of hours of exploring, then Portal again back to Vancouver and my office on the top floor of the central library and thus the City Center. Depending on how far and which direction I’m going, it sometimes requires multiple Portals, but that doesn’t matter. It’s all the same.

Routine. That is how she finds me. By the time I’m fully cognizant of my actions, I’ve dropped the Portal, cast a Soul Shield, and have my sword at the lady’s neck. She raises an eyebrow, seated as she is at a desk—a new desk, set perpendicular to mine—all coiffed and put together.

“Mr. Lee,” she says. “Or do you prefer your Galactic titles?”

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?” I snarl.

Ali floats above me as he updates my minimap with more information. Lots of dots right outside my door. At least a dozen, though they’re all coded grey for non-aggressive. At least for now.

“My name is Katherine Ward. I’m your new personal assistant,” the woman says, meeting my gaze without fear.

Seeing that there’s no direct physical threat at the moment, I pull my sword back while regarding the older lady. Late or mid 50s probably, with smooth skin, minimal natural makeup, a pixie-cut hairstyle that frames piercing brown eyes, and a form-fitting, classic business suit. In other words, the perfect secretary.

Katherine Ward (Level 21 Assistant)

HP: 120/120

MP: 240/240

Conditions: None

“What? The male secretaries go on strike?” I say wryly, walking to sit on my desk as I stare at the woman. She’s no physical threat to me.

“There were few men doing this job even before the incident,” Katherine says. “There are even fewer now. And as you might note, none of them are here.”

“What makes you think I’d hire you?” I say, shaking my head. “You just walked into my office and set up.”

“Well, for one thing, your AI has agreed to the need for me,” Katherine says. “For another, the fact that I could just walk into your office speaks of a lack of organization on your part.”

I grunt. She’s not wrong. Being accosted by random individuals with their own agendas has been driving me slightly insane. That I’ve been using Portal and Blink Step to get away from them is less than dignified. Though effective. But dodging the problem can hold only for so long…

“Kim?”

“WE HAVE CONDUCTED EXTENSIVE INVESTIGATION INTO MS. WARD’S PRIOR EXPERIENCE. HER RESUME IS EXTREMELY IMPRESSIVE, WITH PRIOR WORK EXPERIENCE INCLUDING CEOS OF YOUR WORLD. PRIOR TO YOUR APPEARANCE, MS. WARD WAS ONE OF THE MAIN ORGANIZERS OF THE EASTSIDE ASSOCIATION.”

“The what?”

“EASTSIDE ASSOCIATION—A GROUP OF LIKE-MINDED ARTISANS WHO WORKED AS A CO-OPERATIVE ASSOCIATION TO MANUFACTURE COMPLEX EQUIPMENT FOR RESALE. THE ASSOCIATION USED PROFITS TO PROVIDE ASSISTED HOUSING AND LOAN REPAYMENTS.”

“What bits-for-brains means is that she’s a do-gooder with skills. And diplomacy. After the art restoration incident, we decided you needed some help. Bits and I did some research and reached out to a few candidates. Unfortunately, she’s the only one not majorly compromised. So far,” Ali says.

“And the ambush?” I growl softly to him while I stare at Katherine. She hasn’t flinched, just sitting there waiting.

“Her doing. We were actually going to talk to you about her tonight.”

“What’s with the ambush?” I say out loud.

“After the limited information provided by Kim, I conducted some research myself. It was soon clear”—and at that, she looks at the door leading out of my office—“that you require help in organizing your day. While you desire to not be ‘bothered’ by such incidents, you do need to deal with them. Or at least arrange for others to deal with them.”

“And you can help with that,” I state flatly.

“Yes.”

“How do I know you don’t have your own agenda? People you’ll sneak into places of power?”

“You are asking how you’d expect to trust me and that is an impossible question. Trust must be built and we currently are strangers. However, be assured that your AI is watching what I do,” Katherine says.

“As am I.”

“If we are finished with the interrogation, I have a recommended schedule for the day. I have set aside an hour for you to meet with petitioners—fifty-five minutes now—after which we have an hour for hiring. And then—”

“Why not the other way around?” I interrupt.

“At this time, we do not have a full grasp of your responsibilities. Also, as evidenced, you have certain trust issues. It is better for you to gain some first-hand experience with your petitioners. I would even recommend that you randomly select some to speak with on an on-going basis even after hiring and delegation is complete.”

“I…” I consider what she said and wave her to continue. Fine. Let’s see how this plays out. If there’s a trap here, I’m not experienced enough to see it. Or I am, but I want to see how it plays out. Because she’s right—avoiding running the city isn’t going to work. And the council is too busy fighting about how they’re going to run it to actually do it. But… “Tomorrow morning, I want it free.”

“For…?”

I smile, waving her to continue.

***

Hours later, after a number of meetings with petitioners and job applicants, I’m finally alone. One thing I’m grateful for is Katherine having the foresight to order in lunch. When lunch is served, Lana saunters in, glancing at Katherine with narrowed eyes. After a few minutes of soft-spoken conversation, the initial wariness slips away from my girlfriend as she drops into a chair next to me.

“How’d you make it here?” I say, frowning. One of the more significant purchases I intend to make is the installation of communication arrays in each settlement. Once set up, they will allow for long-distance transmissions between each settlement. “And how’d you find me?”

“Mmm… your new assistant contacted me,” Lana says around a mouthful of crab. “And I took the boys out for a run.”

I grunt, wanting to chide her for risking her neck, but decide against it. Lana’s a survivor like me and can handle herself. Anyway, with her pets, in many ways, she is a lot tougher than she should be for her Level. Especially since she’s been focusing on Leveling them lately. Especially Roland. Roland is scary.

“Katherine?” I say with a frown. I’m really curious how my new assistant knows enough to contact Lana already so quickly.

“My Class provides me with a number of Skills. A minor Skill in communication called ‘Contact List’ allows me to contact a certain number of individuals within my sphere of influence. Normally I’d need to designate them individually, but with another Skill of mine—Intuit—I am able to access a portion of what would be your contact list. It was a simple matter then to mark Ms. Pearson as a priority individual,” Katherine says. Interestingly enough, she’s also pulled a plate of food to her, though she’s eating with significantly more decorum. I guess the lady has no problem eating in front of her boss. “Now, we were going to speak about your most recent interviews…”

I sigh, but considering Lana’s here, I might as well make use of her skills and knowledge. At this point, I get a nice surprise as Ali uses his gifts as my companion to flash up images of each applicant as we speak, allowing Lana to view them and, in some cases, watch certain portions of the interview.

While we don’t have a broad-based idea of the government system that we want in place, we do have the roughest of sketches. Security, legal, education, and city management are the highlights. The last encompasses a lot of things, from city planning for new System-registered buildings to working with petitioners who have their own ideas about what the city needs. We already have a burgeoning homeless problem—System-homeless that is—which needs to be resolved. With pre-System infrastructure slowly falling apart, staying in non-registered homes is fast becoming less and less comfortable for many.

We talk, debate, and weigh the pros and cons of the applicants for our budding bureaucracy. Of the eight who arrived and passed Kim’s background checks, three are removed from the list for being too skeezy. Another two are put on hold till we can find a proper task for them. And the last three are hired to begin the process of actually putting together a working bureaucracy. Thankfully, with the System and the various Skills involved, the numbers we would require should be significantly lower than pre-System. Never mind that we’ve also got a much lower population. Unfortunately, Security continues to be a crucial gap. Everyone who could do the job has either been deported by the Sect or is a delver and thus tied to the vying political groups.

“I approve,” Lana says, stretching in her chair as silence finally finds us. “Roxley mentioned that you’d need an assistant soon unless I wanted to be stuck with the job. It was part of the reason why I came down today actually. But Katherine seems to have things well in hand.”

“Never said I’ve hired her,” I say.

Katherine doesn’t rise to my provocation, continuing to eat calmly, having already informed the successful applicants. I’ll have to give them their brief tomorrow and get them working on hiring others, but at least this should sort out some of the pressing applications. And perhaps get the city back up and running. Not surprisingly, the Sect took their own form of organization with them, and in any case, the Sect had very different objectives than us—for one thing, we have the entire downtown now available for reallocation.

“She seems to be doing a good job,” Lana says.

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave, indicating Lana is correct. Good job or not, I don’t like the feeling of being rushed, even if I can admit that we’re getting a lot done.

“Lana says to stop being so paranoid. You need the help and we’ll keep an eye on her.”

“What’s next on the agenda?” I ask, deciding to change the subject.

“Upgrades,” Lana says.

“Fair enough,” I say.

The moment I do, Kim displays the summarized Settlement Management Screen.

Summarized Settlement Status

Current Population: 129,308

Combined Settlement Treasury: 98.93 Million Credits (+157k per day)

Combined City Mana: 13,309 Mana Points (+298 Mana per day)

Taxes: 10% Sales Tax on Shop

Facilities of Note: City Dungeon (1), Mega Farms (3)

Enchantments of Note: Mana Collection Field

Defenses of Note: Settlement Shields (III * 1 & IV * 2)

While it is a summarized information screen about the major areas of concern for the settlements under my control, it obviously misses a lot. Still, considering I need to know the basics, it is a good starting point. Interestingly enough, while Credits could be transferred between settlements without any issue, transferring Mana is actually much more expensive and ends up being a 5-to-1 ratio. The summarized amount shows the Mana we have available if we use it in Vancouver, which would obviously change depending on where we want to trigger the Mana usage. Considering Mana usage is mainly linked to upgrading or changing higher-tiered buildings, it isn’t as much of an issue. Yet.

One thing I don’t like is the way the defensive notes don’t list the full defenses of each settlement. Then again, as I’ve noticed in Kamloops, anything that isn’t stupidly powerful is pitiful when stacked up against a real assault. Which I guess split defenses into two kinds: those useful against monsters and those that are needed against other sentients.

“Not sure I’m that confident in spending our Credits on upgrades yet,” I say, frowning at the information. “I know Kyle has specific goals—especially with the Adventurers Guild, whose reps I should meet—but I’m sure the Kelowna council have ideas too now that we’re not on a war footing.”

“Might be an idea to throw the question at your Vancouver council too,” Lana adds. “There’s nothing that the city needs desperately, so we can let them argue it out and offer their suggestions.”

“That’s… not a bad idea.” At the worst, it’d give them something else to argue about while I deal with the actual work of running the city. But I’d invited everyone onto the council—or well, acceded to their demands to be included—because they were parties of import in the city and could provide me more information about it. Which meant they might actually be able to provide some real information. “Katherine…”

“I’ll message the council members and let them know you’d like their feedback on the priorities for improvements to the city at the next scheduled meeting,” Katherine says.

“Thanks,” I mutter, staring at the screen.

Perhaps the most interesting thing we have is the City Dungeon. We actually have a natural dungeon forming on the grounds of Simon Fraser University, but thankfully, it’s high up in the mountains and currently still growing. It’s still something that needs to be dealt with, but for now, I focus my attention on the City Dungeon.

Over the time I spent reading about the System, I’d learnt a little about City Dungeons. City Dungeons are different from natural dungeons. Natural dungeons form from an overabundance of Mana and the fortitudinous encounter with a monster. Or vice versa—an Alpha monster can, through its continued presence, potentially develop a natural dungeon. Depending on the type and volume of Mana, the natural dungeon can be a single-clear dungeon or a multiple-clear dungeon where the System actually forms the monsters from “memory.” In both cases though, these natural dungeons often have a specific difficulty level that permeates the entire dungeon—mostly due to the monster type(s) that inhabit them.

City Dungeons, on the other hand, are always multiple-clear dungeons. They are formed through the conscious redirection of Mana flow into a specific area, with enchantments, rituals, and Mana engines directed to contain and form the dungeon. City Dungeons are generally structured, with upper levels being the lowest available zone and growing in difficulty as you journey deeper. The most common City Dungeon type is an underground dungeon with each level a new, more difficult zone. The larger the city, the more settlements that feed the dungeon structure, the more powerful and greater the potential difficulty the dungeon will have.

However, our City Dungeon is slightly different. Rather than an entrance to an actual dungeon, it is spread out across what used to be the University of British Columbia. The grounds are generally considered the basic zone meant for beginners. Faculty buildings and residences are where the actual dungeon levels are located, with certain faculties being more dangerous than others.

All that information gives me some context when I review the City Dungeon management screen.

City Dungeon

Location: Vancouver

Dungeon Level: Tier III

Mana Consumption: 218 per day

Known Spawns: Jackalopes, Evolved Canada Geese, Wolpertinger, Spirits, Kmi Leeches, Medusa, Tikbalang, Mngwa

Known Loot: Hide (of Known Spawns), Trivial, Minor, Major Healing & Mana Potions, Tier V Beam & Projectile Weapons, Tier IV & V Bladed Weapons, Tier V Explosives, more…

“Hey, Ali, can you explain the Tier system again? I’m a bit confused here,” I mutter, waving at the Dungeon Level. “We’ve talked about how each Tier V is basically beginner equipment, and Tier IV is up to Level 20 or so. And how the Tiers work on a logarithmic process, so Tier III is roughly what? Up to Level 50? That doesn’t seem to work right, because then Tier II would be the entire Advanced Class.”

“The Tiers are for tech items mostly. Basically, any replicable that can be mass produced,” Ali says. “Tier I and II items are generally high-level military items, things that are reserved for their use when taken in the larger context. Obviously anyone can buy them, but you get a lot of raised eyebrows when you buy a Tier II spaceship.

“In terms of Levels, you could consider the tech tiers to cover most of the Advanced Class with Tier II weaponry being basically powerful enough to seriously injure a high Level Advanced Class combatant. As an example, you’ve probably noticed that Sabre isn’t really up to your standards anymore. Mikito certainly doesn’t bother using her PAV half the time. In general, you’d be looking for things in the next section—the enchanted, unique, and legendary items which all have their own tiers.”

I frown. “So you’re saying most equipment doesn’t really work for Master Level Classes?”

“No, I’m saying that at that level, they’re playing on a different field. They’re getting unique items custom-made for them rather than picking things up from the Shop or Dungeons. Rather than relying on random drops to augment their abilities, they want equipment that will either buff up specific advantages or deal with certain disadvantages. Once you’re a Master Class individual, specialization matters,” Ali says. “Also, they’ll probably have a couple of sets of equipment to swap around, for social and combat situations at the very least.”

“And the dungeon tier?”

“A Tier III dungeon isn’t exactly the same. It’s more an expression of how many Adventurers and the number and types of monsters that the dungeon has than the Level of loot. Tier III means that it’s suitable for Adventurers up to the mid-to-high Advanced Classes, potentially higher if you consider bosses. As a group, that is. It’s rare to see a City Dungeon above Tier III. In fact, if you weren’t on a Dungeon World, it’s unlikely your city would have anything above a Tier IV. But with the excess Mana you guys have…”

“It’s easier,” I say.

“It’s almost a given. See your SFU.”

I grunt in acknowledgement and sigh. “And the list of loot?”

“Just what’s known. City Dungeons create loot slightly differently. Obviously monster drops are the same, if less, than what you’d get naturally. But you also get equipment from drops in a city dungeon. Just realize that they can be occasionally… umm… quirky.”

“THE COMMON ADVENTURER TERMINOLOGY IS CURSED.”

“Yeah…” Ali opens his hands slightly. “There are rules involved. The dungeon owner feeds the schematics for such items—or the actual items, though that’s less effective—into the City Dungeon via your management screen. The System can then generate these items. Depending on the complexity of the item, occasional ‘curses’ can happen. It’s unlikely you’ll get cursed gold for example—very simple to reproduce basic minerals. But an enchanted blade? Yeah, it’s complicated.”

I frown, tapping my fingers. “There are ways of knowing what might or might not be cursed?”

“THE DUNGEON MANAGEMENT SCREEN PROVIDES DETAILED BREAKDOWN ON THE LEVEL OF SUBSUEMENT AND THE PROBABILITY OF CURSED ITEM PRODUCTION.”

Lana leans over, tapping on my screen. Obviously it doesn’t do anything until Ali wills it to, but he knows me well enough to let Lana play around with my views. In a second, the dungeon management screen blooms, expanding rapidly. The summarized information disappears as even more information appears. Everything gets more detailed, including data that was hidden before, like the number of visitors, the declared drop rate of various items, which items have been released, and the like. While Lana browses with Ali’s help, I’m doing my own investigation.

“As the dungeon owner, shouldn’t I have a proper map of it?” I grumble.

“CURRENT MAPPED INFORMATION IS PROVIDED BY YOUR DELVERS.”

“I know, but shouldn’t I get more details? I own the damn dungeon.”

“YOU ARE THE ADMINISTRATOR OF THE DUNGEON. THIS DOES NOT PROVIDE ACCESS TO THE DATA YOU ARE SEARCHING FOR BY DEFAULT. WE MAY PURCHASE SAID INFORMATION IN THE STORE.”

I groan. Freaking scam of a System.

“Boy-o, you need to realize that growing a dungeon is more akin to growing a forest than building a house. You throw down some seeds, water the plants with Mana, maybe prune or cut down a tree or two. But you don’t get much say in how the forest really grows.”

“That’s… insane,” I mutter. “It’s a freaking dungeon and I don’t get any real information on it?”

“Nope. And you shouldn’t be calling others insane. Your people used to capture predatory animals and make them pets,” Ali says, staring at the quiet, striped orange cat lounging in the corner.

“Yeah, but those people are crazy.”

“As are city owners,” Ali says. “Also, you’re forgetting the lure of greed. Mining a City Dungeon is a very, very good way of getting low-tier goods. It’s a stable source of income and attracts a ton of beginner adventurers since it’s a lot safer. In non-Dungeon Worlds, it also helps manage Mana buildup and keeps the zones around a city much lower. Here, it does the same. With, you know, less effect.”

I sigh, rubbing my head. Lana finally stops swinging the notification screens about and looks at me with a pensive expression.

“What?”

“Managing the dungeon’s similar to managing a business, just weird. There’s a ton of things in here, most of which could bear watching. Where the Mana is going, how much Mana should be going in, what rate the dungeon is growing at…” Lana shakes her head. “And we’ve not even gotten to that entire loot generation section. You need to find someone to manage this.”

“Great. I’ll add it to the task list,” I say sarcastically.

After a moment, I look over and see Katherine finish moving her fingers before offering me a knowing nod. Great. I guess I really do have a task list now. Next I’ll be getting a bell around my neck.

After that, Lana and I get back to talk about upgrades. She’s got her own ideas, from her time in Whitehorse as well as Kamloops, and isn’t shy about pushing for them. I can’t blame her, and unlike the councillors, she’s got an in to get her own views heard. After all, I’m not sleeping with any of the others.

Yay nepotism.

Chapter 3

Wandering the stacks of the library, I find myself running my finger along the spines of abandoned books later that evening. I’m waiting for Lana, who has gone for a “dinner” with Katherine, one that I was pointedly not invited to. So I’m wandering my domain, staring at tomes of knowledge that have been discarded, much like our prior civilization.

“You’re a morose bastard,” Ali says, floating beside me.

“Yup,” I agree absently before looking around.

Where am I? Biology? Rows and rows of books about the biological world that now matters not a whit. After all, the System has replaced and altered our bodies so significantly that I doubt even half of what is in these books matters now. Furthermore, for the low, low price of a few hundred Credits, all this painstaking knowledge could be bought and downloaded directly into our brains.

“What’s got you down now?”

“Just the futility of life,” I murmur, shaking my head. All the time, all the expertise denoted in these books, gone. A wave of the System, a snarling face, and poof. All gone.

“Uh huh,” Ali says, leaning back in mid-air as he floats beside me.

“Nothing futile about these books,” an older man says as he walks around the corner. Scraggly hair down to his collar, he’s dressed in a dress shirt and a pair of jeans, a pile of books waiting to be reshelved in his hands.

“Eric,” I greet the Librarian.

One of the first people to accost me once things had settled, he literally demanded to be allowed the run of the library again. As a former employee—admittedly from the Marpole branch—he was intent on collecting and returning all the books he could find. I’m not entirely sure if it’s a matter of Leveling or a complex, but rather than argue, I agreed to his request with some stipulations. No approaching my City Core for one.

“What is contained within might not be useful now, but knowledge, any knowledge, is precious. And while your System might provide fast and easy gains in knowledge, have you not noticed that the learning process itself has certain advantages?” Eric says as he shelves a book.

“Uhh…”

“Your training with Mikito?” Ali points out helpfully.

“Right…” The difference between knowing something and understanding it.

“What is contained here might be of use in the future as well. In fact, there are certain skills that may be gained and Titles for those who choose to proceed the hard way,” Eric says, looking at me. “It is why I strongly recommend that we re-open the library. And of course, begin the process of updating our inventory.”

I raise my hand, cutting off any further pitch. Eric’s lips thin, but he inclines his head in acknowledgement before walking away to continue his task. For a moment, I stare at his retreating back.

“He’s creepy.”

“Really? He doesn’t seem any stranger than most humans to me.”

Sometimes, I’m not entirely sure whether Ali is kidding or not when he says things like that. With a sigh, I continue to walk, shifting my thoughts to something more productive.

Maybe a half hour later, Lana finds me, Roland accompanying her while Howard and Shadow chase one another outside.

“John,” Lana greets me after kissing me, leaning backward to stare into my eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

“Government. Or a corporation. I’ve been thinking about how I’m the sole owner of these settlements and it’s not a good idea,” I say.

“And you don’t intend to relinquish control,” Lana states, knowing my reasons for keeping control.

“Exactly. So I need an organization of sorts that both keeps me in control when necessary but also allows people like Ken or the city council to run things and that is flexible enough to keep expanding,” I say. “And, of course, has a decent backup to ensure we don’t actually lose the city if I die.”

A flicker of something crosses Lana’s face. “Where were you thinking?”

“Closest thing I can think of is a constitutional monarchy of sorts. But that brings its own problems,” I say with a grimace.

“Lines of succession, intrigue, and backstabbing?”

“Exactly.”

Lana turns to the floating Spirit. “Ali, aren’t there more Galactic options?”

“Tons. But I’m not exactly an expert on this. The Erethrans use a stratocracy, with citizenship varying based on Levels and time served with the armed forces. Their Emperor is actually just the most powerful Erethran citizen who is then guarded by the Honor Guard. He and his family, along with their advisors, make up both the Erethrans’ reserves and their ruling body. Of course, the fact that the Emperor is able to buy Skills and equipment for his children and put them out for safe training tilts things in his favor, but it’s still technically a stratocracy.

“The Truinnar and the Xylarghs are both monarchies. The Truinnar use what you’d call a pure monarchy, with their Emperor ruling over all and having direct oaths of servitude from his subjects. He even has the Class. The Xylarghs are closer to a constitutional monarchy, with the monarchy and the Dragon Knights making up one bloc of power and the Artisans another. Democracy is a lot less common. The closest examples I can think of that you’d be familiar with are the Kapre. But they’re weird—while they don’t exactly have a hive mind, they’ve got an empathic mind backed by racial Skills in empathy.”

I grunt, recalling our conversations about the tree-like creatures that make up the Kapre. Talking and dealing with them always felt strange due to the long pauses and the feeling that you’re talking to more than one at a time. Which, in a way, you are.

“Well, we’re not interested in a democracy,” Lana says, eyes dancing with humor. “I doubt John wants to hear the ‘will of the people.’”

“People are stupid,” I grumble then amend my note. “But they should have a voice. Just not direct to me.”

“Well, if you’re keeping final say, you should probably be a monarchy of some sort,” Ali says.

“Nope. Not going to get called King John,” I say sternly. I can see Lana’s eyes dancing with humor as I state that. “Anyway, that’d make you the fool.”

“Yeah well, I’d pity the fool who called me one,” Ali says. “We could potentially call it a dictatorship of some form…”

I grunt in annoyance, drawing another shrug from Ali.

“Perhaps a corporation?” Lana says.

“Like a Guild?”

“Can’t be a Guild, remember? No land ownership.” Ali corrects me.

“I never did understand that. What’s the difference between a Sect and a Guild? And how do corporations fit in there?” I growl.

“Right…” Ali says. “Well, corporations can be Guilds and vice versa. A Guild is basically a co-operative of Adventurers. The main difference between a Guild or a Sect is that a Guild can’t hold land. Because they can’t hold land—specifically, they can’t hold settlements—they are allowed to have their Guild branches in numerous cities. Which gives them a significant amount of power.

“Sects, on the other hand, can’t—or well, generally don’t—hold land in cities they don’t control. If they do, that land is considered part of their territory. It’s why other groups won’t let them own land in their cities.”

“Part of their territory?” I say with a frown.

“Think of it like an embassy.” At my puzzled frown, Lana shakes her head. “Embassies are considered the land of their countries. So a Canadian embassy in Saudi Arabia is part of Canada and people within the embassy aren’t required to follow Saudi law.”

“Ah…” I exclaim, realizing what she means. I recall that movie. The one with Ben Affleck. It had something to do with that entire rule of law. I have to admit, I fell asleep while watching it.

“Sects also don’t let their people join Guilds, and their people have to renounce their ties with other kingdoms. Guilds, on the other hand, don’t care—so long as you serve the guild and do their work, you’re welcome to have diverging interests.”

“So how do corporations work in all this?’ I ask, figuring I’ve got a rough handle between Sects and Guilds.

“Corporations can’t be Sects, because Sects require oaths of loyalty. They’re more loosely formed, with stakeholders who own and sometimes run the organization and employees. They can own land too, but unlike Sects, whatever they purchase outside of settlements doesn’t come under their own laws. Like Guilds, they often have widespread interests, but unlike Guilds, they can own land. But… there’s a lot of unhappiness about them in the Galactic core. In fact, many corporations are barred from some of the largest empires and blocked entirely from owning land or operations in certain kingdoms.”

“So my options are a soulless corporation or being called King for the rest of my life,” I mutter. “Not acceptable.”

“I’m sure we can figure out something better. Now that we’ve got an idea what you’re looking for,” Lana says when she realizes I’m not really joking.

“Let’s.” I stare at Ali, who sighs and nods. Grateful to have given the Spirit a task he can deal with, I send him off while I turn to Lana. The redhead raises an eyebrow, and I shake my head. “No more work.”

She smiles and takes my hand, guiding me to walk along the stacks once again. For a few hours at least, I’m going to take a break. Especially considering what I’ve got on the agenda tomorrow morning.

***

Morning. Early morning. Even in the summer, the sun has barely risen as we stand at the foot of the mountain, staring at the rolling mist ahead of us. Wisps of it exit the barrier, its presence significantly denser a few feet ahead. It’s Lana, her pets, and me. Ingrid isn’t back from the US, Mikito is still in Kamloops, and this isn’t Sam’s scene. Mostly.

“Should we have invited Sam?” I mutter, staring at the foreboding mist. If mist can look treacherous and dangerous, this mist would definitely qualify.

“You barely invited me,” Lana says grumpily, a travel mug of coffee in her hands.

“Didn’t want to share the experience,” I say teasingly before sobering. “Truthfully, didn’t know you’d be here. And I figured I should know what the dungeon is like. Maybe even clear it before the delvers actually get it done.”

“What is it anyway?” Lana says, tilting her head as she stares inside.

“Yurks,” Ali says, grimacing. “Semi-sentient, reptilian-frog hybrid creatures in your parlance. They’re mildly humanoid.”

Lana frowns at the mist, which doesn’t seem to be intent on leaving. “Is the mist part of the dungeon?”

“Yes.”

Outside of the dungeon bounds, my minimap cuts out completely, giving me no further information. Frustrating. I turn my head, staring at the two roads that lead farther up the mountain and toward the university that stretches out ahead and to the right of us. Even without the mist, I wouldn’t expect to see much beyond the untamed forests and roads, but I could always hope.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Lana says before downing the last of her coffee and making the mug disappear.

Without an audible cue, the puppies spread out ahead of us, Roland joining the group while Anna stays by our side as we walk ahead.

The moment we enter the mists, we get a notification.

Dungeon Located!

You have entered a Level 50+ Dungeon.

Warning! The current dungeon has not been fully cleared. Successful completion of the dungeon by a System-registered individual will generate increased rewards.

As expected. It’s one of the reasons why it’s yet to be cleared by the delvers. None of the teams are at the point where they can comfortably deal with the problem. This might be a touch much for just the two of us as well—even if I over-Level it. Sort of. Never having had a Basic Class always makes these estimations tricky.

Once again, I note that the double experience reward, as well as the System limitation notification, is gone. Ever since the System fully integrated, we no longer get those, since the System can at least provide the basics of a warning about any dungeons we enter. Annoying, but at least the first clear bonus is still around.

Even if we can’t clear it today, I should be able to open a Portal and pop out. Maybe we can pull Mikito in the next time and deal with it then. But I have to admit, I’m kind of looking forward to the challenge today.

“Don’t forget, you have meetings this afternoon. So no going crazy in there,” Lana warns as we walk up the road.

The mist wraps around us, reducing visibility and muffling her voice. In answer, I grunt, my sword held idly. No point using a rifle if I can’t see what I’m shooting. Indicators on the helmet HUD show that the external atmosphere isn’t poisoned, so the mist itself is benign.

Ting

What the heck? I tilt my head to the side, catching a glimpse of something white falling as it deflects off my Soul Shield. Lana beats me to it, bending and picking up the needle-thin, plastic-looking item with purple liquid dripping from its tip.

As she begins to speak, she slaps a hand to her arm, growling in pain. “Poison!”

I flick my hand quickly, placing Soul Shield on Lana. For good measure, I add Two is One. Lana’s rubbing her hand now, eyes slightly unfocused.

“How bad?” I ask.

“Not too bad. It’s reducing my Mana regeneration a bit for the next few hours.”

Even as she speaks, another plink signifies another attack failing to penetrate. The attacks themselves are so weak they barely even move the health gauge of the Soul Shield. I debate throwing the rest of my buffs on us but decide against it. Better to keep my Mana for now.

“Attacks like these are stackable,” Ali says. Perhaps because he feels like taunting them, he’s fully visible, their shots passing through his body.

“Still nothing on the minimap?” I debate throwing a Blade Strike along the line of where the attacks originate. I hold back for the moment since striking out randomly isn’t likely to do anything but damage fauna. Though if we don’t get results soon, I might just use an area effect attack and see if I get lucky.

“The boys are on it,” Lana says softly, her shotgun held casually now.

A moment later, I see a notification pop up that I’ve gained a small smattering of experience. “Who was that?”

“Roland. And that’s Shadow.” As she speaks, another notification flashes, the experience gain the only information clue that anything is happening. “Howard’s having a little harder time.” Lana shakes her head. “Might call him back actually. He doesn’t have the other two’s advantages. In fact…”

A few minutes later, Howard trots out of the undergrowth, a limp corpse held in his mouth. The creature he deposits at our feet is, as advertised, a green, reptilian-frog hybrid on two floppy feet wearing a leather sash from which a series of needles hang. In addition, a small bottle swings on a string from the belt, unstoppered and slowly dripping out its poisonous contents.

“Good boy.” Lana rubs the puppy’s giant head as the husky shifts to stand guard over us. A low growl is drawn from it a second later when a fast-moving projectile strikes its paw. “John…?”

“On it.” I cast the Soul Shield over the puppy and make a mental note to refresh the protection when it runs out. That’s a significant negative I’ve noticed—in higher Mana zones like a dungeon, the Skill drains away faster. Once that’s cast, I eye the body.

Yurk Scout (Level 20)

HP: 0/224

MP: 0/130

Condition: Dead

“Scouts?” I frown. The attack didn’t seem to do much damage to either Howard or Lana. Harassing and annoying, but not dangerous.

“Probably meant to wear you down,” Ali says. “The scouts will poison you, reduce your regeneration now. When you’re in the thick of it, you’ll find the Mana regeneration debuff a crucial issue.”

“Ah…” I nod. One of those dungeons.

We keep walking, letting Lana’s pets deal with the Scouts. Since they can’t really hurt us through the Soul Shield, it’s good experience for her. That being said, I keep an eye out. This is the first trip through.

***

“Think they’re edible?” Lana says, eyeing a fleeing Yurk Warrior and the burnt corpses strewn around us.

Once we actually enter the campus grounds, we are met by a group of Yurk Warriors. A large group of them, each Level 30 plus. Unfortunately for them, they decide to group up. The moment my Fireball impacts, Lana throws on her Aura of the Red Queen, forcing them to run.

“Maybe. Probably tastes like fishy chicken,” I say.

Lana tilts her head toward me.

“I’m Chinese. My dad introduced me to some different culinary experiences,” I say. “Frog legs are okay. Taste like slightly slimy chicken.”

“Oh. Wow…” Lana says, staring at the corpses around us.

It’s weird eating sentients. Or semi-sentients. Not something we’ve done much of even with the System. On the other hand, they do smell kind of nice.

“Go ahead. I won’t tell,” I say.

She flashes me a look but still steps forward. A few seconds later, she’s wiping her fingers on her one-piece. “You’re right.”

A quick wave of my hand pulls the bodies into my Altered Space, dumping them away for later sale. A part of me wonders how casually eating the meat of our fallen enemies is even a thing. How callous could we have gotten? Considering how sharp their teeth are, I’m pretty sure that’s what they were going to do to us though.

“You never told me how you learnt to cook.”

“Oh? Not much of a story to tell,” I say, sweeping my gaze around the buildings again.

Taking the right roadway, we swing into what used to be the International College building, a stand-alone facility that is a short distance from the main campus. The red brick building with grey concrete appears and disappears as the mist obscures our vision. I nod toward the entrance, and we saunter over and stop at the opaque entrance.

“Grenades?” I ask.

“Just one.”

A minute of hard work later, we’re walking down the next hallway, slightly charred and with refreshed Soul Shields.

“You know I grew up without my mom, right? Well, my dad wasn’t much for cooking. So I had to learn to do it myself. After I grew tired of instant noodles—and a few complaints from my dad—I started watching cooking shows.”

“Cooking shows?”

“Ramsay, Iron Chef, Ray, some road shows too,” I say, shrugging. “Picked up a few tips here and there while watching and read a few books. It was just one of those things I had to learn, and later on, I found it comforting. Something I could control.”

Before Lana can continue the conversation, I hold up my hand. My map is showing that each of the classrooms ahead of us is filled, and this time, it looks as though we’ll have to get serious. Howard hunkers down while Anna burns more brightly. Roland slides into place next to the first door, waiting quietly in gathered shadows.

“Ali?” I frown, staring at the semi-circular series of dots ahead of us. It looks almost like a trap…

“Can’t go through,” Ali says, floating up to tap the walls. “They’re Mana-imbued to prevent me from floating in. I’d have to go through an open door.”

“Grenades?” Lana says, turning her hand over to show me a concussion grenade. Less damage, more shock and distraction. Not a bad choice.

“On three,” I say, moving to the other side of the door.

We stack up on the door in an amateur approximation of good tactics. When I push the door open, Lana tosses the grenade inside and I shut the door again, getting only the barest glimpse of the Yurks all curled up behind solid barriers. An arrow bounces off my shield even as I close the door. The light rumble from the explosion comes a second later.

Flinging the door open, I Blink Step slightly behind one of the barriers, appearing a few feet in the air even as Roland bounces in, unleashing a loud roar as he jumps over the blockade on the opposite side of the room. Anna and Howard rush in a few seconds later while Lana and Shadow keep an eye on the hallway. Even as I land and spin, my swords in both hands, I only catch one across its chest as the Yurks scramble away.

Yurk Elite Warriors (Level 40)

HP: 378/413

MP: 188/201

Conditions: Mild Stun

Mildly stunned or not, the damn Yurk is still moving. Nine Yurks, scattered around the room, are taking us on. None of my AOEs will work—the classroom too small for their attacks. My only other spell is Mana Dart which, while great for Mana conservation, isn’t powerful enough to do real damage. That pretty much leaves my Skills and Freezing Blade.

Considering their health, I ignore using my spell for now and just get on with the killing. They might be fast and skilled, but they’re smaller than me and in a retreat. I catch up with one of them fast. Behind me, I feel the impact of blades against the Soul Shield as his friends rally. Dismissing a sword, I block the Yurk’s cut and grab my target by the neck to spin and throw the smaller Yurk at his friends. Legs and hands flopping in the air, the Yurk bowls over his friends, tangling the group up long enough for me to send in a pair of Blade Strikes. A second later, I’m rushing over to the next in line, intent on finishing up my group.

Lana steps into the room while I deal with the trio on my side, sending a widespread blast of pellets to finish them off before she twists to attack Roland’s and Howard’s targets. Anna has one of the Yurks on the ground, her jaw closed around its shoulder as her flames lick across its body while it thrashes around in pain. Howard’s worrying and backing off another two.

I block a Cleave from one of the Yurks, pushed back a little by the sudden attack. Even as the Yurk tries to entangle my sword, its friend creeps around its side, ready to plunge a blade into me. Stepping sideways at the same time as I dismiss my blade, I use the momentum to complete a spinning back kick, sending the flanking frog into a nearby wall. As I land and recover, I slap the initial attacker’s glowing blade aside with my hand, my Soul Shield glowing as the sabre leaves a light line of red along my arm. Recalling my sword, I plunge it into the Yurk’s body before bull-rushing the Yurk attempting to pull itself out of the wall.

With the added firepower from the redhead, the battle comes to a close soon enough. Battle over, I dismiss the blade and grimace as the blood on it, no longer having a place to grip, falls, splattering over my hand. Thankfully the Soul Shield actually protects me, allowing me to shake my hand clear of the gunk. While I’m doing so, Ali is looting and storing the corpses. After a second, I refresh the Soul Shields on myself and Lana, surprised by how low the shields has gotten. Even now, I can see the injuries on the pets slowly healing, the minor scrapes and cuts sewing back together as the puppies lick their wounds.

“Nine Level 40s. Not bad, but nothing surprising,” I say.

“Eleven,” Ali says, pointing at the additions.

“Eleven…?” I frown, staring.

He’s right. There were nine on the minimap, but in the heat of the battle, I hadn’t realized there were two adds. I stare at the additions, noting the slightly different equipment loadout and information screen.

Yurk Rogues (Level 36)

HP: 0/274

MP: 0/347

Condition: Dead

“Bastard snuck up on me,” Lana says, kicking one body.

“You know, if they’re frogs, they lay eggs in groups. So, not sure if they actually have a family structure like ours,” I say, shrugging. “Never mind the fact that they’re aliens.”

“It’s just a saying,” Lana says.

I cock my head to the side, curious to see if Ali has any information.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not interested in learning about the mating habits of Yurks. Or, you know, any of you meaties.”

“Meaties?”

“Trying out a new descriptor.”

“Don’t.”

Ali sniffs, floating into the hallway as we gather at the door to the next classroom. We stack up again, ready to repeat the process. Interesting that they don’t come out. I debate if it’s a matter of tactics, stupidity, or just the dungeon and then give up. Not my problem if they want to make this easy.

***

“Well, that was anticlimatic,” I mutter to Lana an hour later.

We swept through the building without a problem, the small battles not an issue for the pair of us. Frankly, by myself, I out-Leveled our attackers. With Lana’s pets harrying and dealing with the others, it was a simple matter to clear each room.

“Getting cocky, aren’t you?” Lana says.

“Actually, I’m thinking there should be more to this,” I say, waving us forward and up the hill once again. We’ll reach the main campus soon, which is where the roads and dungeon square should show up.

“We’re nearly out of time, boy-o,” Ali reminds me.

“I know. I just want to see the square. We can pop right in there next time,” I say as we continue to walk forward.

Occasionally, the plink of an attack reminds me that the damn scouts are still out there. That, and the strangled yelps or a sudden crunch as Roland and Shadow get to work on our flanks.

“I should bring the boys up here more often,” Lana says with a slight smile. “They seem to be having fun.”

“I can tell.” Rather than spend more time exploring the outer layer of buildings, I swing us toward the main parking lot and the campus’s town square.

We’re just passing another grey, boring building on our left, the parking lot on our right, when we hear a slow, thudding drum beat.

“Boy-o…” Ali says, frowning.

In front of us, slowly appearing on the map and disappearing as the mists continue to envelop us, is a large cluster of monsters. There’s nearly a hundred or so, many in the Level 30s or higher.

“I think they were delaying us,” Lana says softly, eyes wide as she stares at the shared minimap.

Glimpsed through the mists, the front ranks are slowly marching forward, shields held in front of them.

“Yeah…” I stare at my Mana pool and sigh, popping a bottle of Mana restoration and swigging it down. Between that and my regeneration, I’m back up to two-thirds full, which should do. “I want to try something, then we can go.”

Lana nods, face grim as she engages her aura once more. It bursts forth, making the front group stagger before they seem revitalized by the continued drumming.

I step forward, crouching and whisper the command. “Army of One.”

Around me, six identical copies of my sword pop into existence, tripling the total number that I get from Thousand Blades. I grunt, swinging my hand down, and the blades shoot forward rather than projecting a strike like Blade Strike. The glowing red-and-blue blades strike the front ranks, boring through the monsters and continuing onward, shattering their careful formation.

“Nice,” Lana says as she unloads her shotgun into the group.

Anna helps, flames stretching from her body to run across the group like long tendrils. But for all that, for how impressive it looks, the Yurks stagger back up to their feet and reform their lines.

I sigh. I guess I know where I’m putting more Class Skill points next time. I need more blades and more damage. While the damage will get better as I grow in strength and my blade does as well, the number of blades is a matter of another Skill.

Once they’ve reset the line, harried by Anna’s and Lana’s attacks, the group continues their slow and steady march. A low growl from Howard behind us alerts us to the troops that have flanked us, pinning us in place and forcing both Shadow and Roland out of hiding.

“John…” Lana’s voice grows concerned as the group gets within thirty meters.

A shift in their positioning shows that they’re ready to charge. My wordless answer is to pop open the Portal, and the puppies and Roland dart in without a word. Lana and Anna follow even as arrows and spears fly, raining down around us. I follow her through the Portal.

“Well, that was disappointing,” I say, grabbing one of the spears flying through the fast-closing Portal before it pins Anna.

“Disappointing?” Lana says.

“My Skill,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s really reliant on my other Skills and I just don’t have the points for it all. I’m going to need to put more points into it for it to get useful.”

A cough drags our attention back to Katherine, who has stood up from behind my desk to extract a few arrows and spears that have embedded themselves on it and around the walls. “Perhaps another location would be better for you to teleport to whilst in combat?”

“Sorry!” I say, watching as the prim and proper woman stacks the weapons aside.

“You know she’s going to make you pay for that, right?” Lana whispers to me.

“Nah, she wouldn’t do that,” I say, confident in Katherine’s professionalism. I purposely ignore Lana’s and Ali’s looks, content to bask in my naiveté. Though if you know you’re fooling yourself, is it really naiveté? “So what’s on the agenda?”

Lana waves goodbye, off to deal with her own chores. Behind her desk, Katherine pulls up her status screens and rattles off the agenda for the day. More meetings of course. It’s always more meetings.

***

“The Adventurer Guilds are here,” Katherine announces with slight disapproval as I lounge in my chair.

Since there’s no paperwork, I’ve pulled my chair out from behind the desk. I’m in a nice, comfortable lounge chair taken from below, rather than the uncomfortable office chairs that used to fill this corner office. Katherine, for reasons of her own, is behind a desk.

“Send them in.”

A few minutes later, a tall humanoid elf walks in, a smile on his lips. Tall, blond, and pretty, he could have walked off the set of a Lord of the Rings movie if it weren’t for the futuristic sci-fi jumpsuit and beam rifle slung over his shoulder. I stand, offering a hand and shaking his before I flop back down in my chair, gesturing for him to choose his poison. After glancing at the options—office chairs, another lounger, and the couch—he takes an office chair and rolls it over to me. I note how he dismisses Katherine’s presence almost immediately, his focus on me.

Mental Effect Resisted

“I’m John Lee.”

“Kryl a Sharra. I’m the Guild liaison of the Burning Leaves, a Tier II Guild,” Kryl says.

I’m a bit impressed by the fact that he’s from a Tier II Guild—those represent deep pockets, according to Ali, with Guild Halls in over five hundred settled worlds and a deep roster of dedicated Adventurers. Among other things, Guilds have to meet a certain number of Galactic Council quests and hit certain taxation numbers to qualify for each level. All things considered, there’s just over a hundred Tier II Guilds in the entire Galactic System.

Kryl a Sharra (Level 18 Fell Ranger)

HP: 740/740

MP: 485/520

Conditions: Aura of Command

I don’t mention the Aura or the fact that he’s still using it. A glance at Katherine shows that her conditions still list as none, a rather surprising matter. Then again, I don’t know what kind of Skills she has, but being an Assistant who can be easily swayed probably wouldn’t be great. Something worth noting at least.

“What can I do for you, Kryl?”

“The Movana designate their Nobles by adding an a in between their names. So Kryl should, if you were feeling polite, be called a Sharra.”

A flash of annoyance shows on Kryl’s face before he stamps it out. “We would like to know when our application for a Guild Hall in your settlements would be approved.”

“You’ve got applications for places outside of Kamloops?” I say with a frown.

“Yes. They were added a few days ago,” Kryl says smoothly.

“Huh.” I consider what else to say then make the decision. “Get out.”

“What?” Kryl exclaims, eyes widening.

“Get. Out. You’re not welcome in this office anymore. If your Guild wants to continue talking, they can send someone else.”

Kryl narrows his eyes in thought then nods before walking out in silence. Rude and manipulative as he might be, at least he’s smart enough to realize what he did wrong. Using his aura to attempt to manipulate the negotiation and force us to take his Guild is idiotic. Sure, it might work with some, but that’s no way to build a lasting relationship. When he walks out, Katherine lets out a little snort that I assume to be one of approval. Ass.

“Next.”

***

“Brommax’s Raiders are a Tier III Guild. We’ll be able to not only provide a wider market for your goods through our Guild Shops, but we also have a deep bench of Adventurers to fulfill any of your requests and we are willing—and able—to staff all three of your settlements,” the big yellow Yerrick says. I forget his name, having seen so many for now. I could look, but that’s what Katherine’s for.

“Raiders?”

“It’s a translation imprecision.”

“He’s telling the truth. An English translation thing. Maybe those US Rangers might be a better translation.”

“I’m really only interested in discussing one town at a time,” I say. “Kelowna in particular.”

“Of course. We’re willing to negotiate on the monthly Credit fee, as well as any additional settlement security requirements you might have.”

“Keep talking,” I say, leaning forward. Finally. The Yerrick is the third in line, and the first I’m actually interested in.

***

“I represent the Platinum Pixies, a Tier IV Guild. Our Guild might not be the biggest, but we punch above our weight class,” the pixie says, hovering in front of me with a grin.

“You guys allow non-pixies in?”

An uncomfortable silence later, I watch her tiny form flit out.

***

“Crystal Clans isn’t your typical Guild. We’re a Tier III Guild, but we’re more focused on Artisan work. Our people are looking for stable and plentiful sources of materials, which is why a Guild Hall in a Dungeon World is perfect for us,” the dwarf states, offering me a grin and launching into his spiel the moment he sits down.

“Sounds like a lot of great things for you—”

“What? A stable market that buys at a higher price than the Shop doesn’t sound good to you? How about Advanced and Master Artisans who can guide some of your people? We can work in class schedules.”

“That’s nice, but we’re a bit worried about our security…” I say leadingly.

“We aren’t all Artisans. A significant minority are fighters—we do need guards for some of our rarer materials. And a number of Adventurers see the advantage of having access to Master Level Artisans,” Wrox says, beard waggling. “We’ll have a number of those people in your towns.”

“And a security agreement?”

“Can be negotiated.”

“Good. Now, about the rent…”

***

“No.”

“But with the number of fallen in the transition, we will be able to raise—”

“No.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Get out. Before I throw you out.”

“Simpletons.”

I watch the multi-legged heptadon walk out of the room, almost flouncing out. A hand held out to Katherine puts guests on hold while I keep my breathing deep and steady to get my temper back in control. Asshole necromancers.

***

“Labashi.” I blink, standing and shaking the Hakarta’s hand.

He’s still as big, green-grey, and tusky as ever. However, I’m surprised to see him here in Vancouver. Last I knew, he was up in Whitehorse, finishing his initial contract with the Duchess.

“Redeemer.” He inclines his head and sits down. A hand comes up, offering me a small, red-wrapped piece of heaven. “Chocolate?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, grabbing the chocolate and popping the piece in my mouth. I blink when the chocolate melts in my mouth on contact, the liquid delight a surprise. Even as I sit, quietly enjoying the expensive treat, Labashi offers a piece to Katherine while introducing himself. “Good chocolate.”

“Yes,” Labashi says, leaning forward. “A great export.”

My mind shifts for a second to Adventurers fighting through hordes of monsters, risking life and limb, only to loot their corpses and exclaim in delight at finding a Toblerone. I chuckle, making Labashi stare at me with concern.

I wave away his questioning look, continuing. “What are you doing here, Major?”

“Visiting an ally. And pitching my Corp as an option.”

“You can do that?”

“It is not the most common use of that building slot, but is possible,” Labashi says.

“MERCENARY CORPS ARE UNDER THE SAME CLASSIFICATION AS ADVENTURERS GUILDS. AS SUCH, A SINGLE COMPANY MAY BE ADDED TO ANY SINGLE TOWN.”

“What else is covered under that classification?” I send the thought to Kim and Ali, grumpy about missing another thing. Between a lack of interest on my part and the sheer volume of information, I’m missing a lot about running a settlement.

“Assassin’s Guilds and Thief Circles fall under the same categories. Also Spy centers, but you need to build up the requirements internally.”

I sit in silence for a moment, listening to my companions while Labashi enjoys his tea. When my eyes refocus, Labashi shifts his attention back to me fully.

“Why a merc group?”

“We prefer mercenary corp,” Labashi says easily. “Most Adventuring Guilds will promise protection, but they’re not good at it. That’s what we do. We can provide a higher number of individuals with better Classes and training. While we might not provide the same level of business contacts or a Guild Shop, we can provide training. For our needs, we’ll also need a much larger base of operations, which will aid you in developing to the next level of Small City. And lastly, we’re willing to pay a much higher base rental than any Guild.”

He’s not wrong. One of the requirements, over and above the basic population requirements, of a Small City is a 98% land ownership requirement. Except it isn’t just any land ownership; it designated the amount of physical land too, so you couldn’t just shrink your settlement down to beat the System.

Still, I frown, drumming my fingers on my legs. “Why do you need a location?”

“Because we have none yet. A Headquarters building will allow us to set up long-range teleportation arrays and cheaper housing for our people. We expect to have significant work on your world. Having a permanent base will keep our overall cost down and allow for further training opportunities. That you have a City Dungeon is already a significant bonus,” Labashi says.

I’m a bit surprised he’s laying all his cards out like that, which makes me slightly suspicious about what he’s hiding.

“Why not further north with the Duchess and her people?” I ask, frowning. After all, Roxley probably wouldn’t mind their presence. And while the Truinnar might be willing to help us out, I know he wouldn’t do it by harming his interest—or his mistress’s.

“All her current allocations are earmarked for others. Our Contract includes a headquarters, but only at a later date. We prefer to have one sooner,” Labashi says.

Right. So that means he’d be willing to pay more, but not outrageously. Thus, while the deal might be good, it won’t be great.

“All right, let’s talk details. Call me tentatively interested,” I say, leaning forward. Best to hear what he has to say. Maybe I can garner a little more information that way. And I have to admit, a company of Hakarta in town could provide some really outstanding protection.

***

“That all of them?” I say, watching the swaying form of the duck-like creature walk out.

Weird. So weird. Think Howard the Duck crossed with a cross-dresser. I have to admit, for most of the meeting, I was battling my sense of incredulity.

“Yes. For today,” Katherine answers.

“Huh.” I tilt my head toward the exit. “You know, no one’s barged in since you started. And everyone seems to know when to come in, even if we end up chatting a bit.”

“Ah, a simple matter with a Skill of mine.”

When she refuses to elaborate, even after a long silence, I push ahead. “You said for today.”

“Yes. A few more requests have come in since the schedule was created. I plan to have another bloc of such meetings in a few days. At which point, I believe, we should have a clear idea of who and what might be offered,” Katherine elaborates.

“Nice.” I sigh and lean back. Good. I don’t have to make a damn decision just yet. Even if I know that I can’t push things off too long.

Chapter 4

Early morning drives on the West Coast are always beautiful, even if it’s on forest-lined, battered highways leading to industrial wastelands. Fighting back a yawn—drawn forth from boredom more than physical cues—I swing Sabre around the mangled corpse of a deer on my way to the meeting.

Weeks after we’ve taken the cities, things have finally begun to settle down. I’m still hesitating on approving any single Adventuring Guild, even the ones who have dropped by a few times to press their cases. Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure who or how to set up the deal, so I’m procrastinating till a better idea comes along. Luckily, I’ve got Peter, one of my new city managers, researching previous deals made both on Earth and other worlds. It’s as good an excuse as any for delaying.

Katherine’s recommendation to build out the bureaucracy to run the cities has developed quite well. Kamloops and Kelowna have shaken themselves out pretty fast—an advantage of their tiny populations. There have been few arguments involved, and if anyone does want to bitch about management, they only need to walk down the street. It makes me think about life in small towns and villages, before the industrialization of the world. It makes me think of Whitehorse too, if less political. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not yearning for a time before proper plumbing and professional entertainment, but there’s something to be said about being able to punch in the face the asshole who raised your taxes. Or having your neighbor lend you a gun because it’s the right thing to do.

“How much farther?” I ask Ali, mostly rhetorically.

“Uhhh…” Ali blinks, turning his head to the side.

I look up and blink. “And why are you wearing a turban and a robe?”

“Seriously?” Ali glares at me, the white robe floating around his feet as he sits. “You know better, boy-o.”

“Fine. I know it’s not a turban—that’s for Sikhs. I just don’t know the term, at least for men,” I point out.

“If it’s white, it’s called a keffiyeh and thawb.” A shit-eating grin splits his darkly tanned face. “And I figure we’re meeting Americans, right? Might as well play to their delusions.”

I sigh and shake my head. I guess he’s going to make himself known then. A part of me considers ordering the Spirit to stay hidden so he can be another card up my sleeve. I recall doing that when I first entered Whitehorse, scared of what I’d find. But considering what we’re about to do, I have a feeling that hiding him could be futile and potentially lead to accusations of deception.

“We’re trying for a peaceful, productive meeting,” I say without much hope in my tone. Still, a man has to try.

“This better?”

After I pick myself and Sabre off the asphalt and brush down my now-dirty armored jumpsuit, I resolutely refuse to look at the Spirit while speaking to him. “Why are you wearing a Borat swimsuit?”

“What? Everyone loves that movie.”

“Your definition of everyone needs readjusting. And I repeat, we want a peaceful, productive meeting. So for all our sakes, control yourself. Or else I’ll banish you,” I say.

Ali sniffs, and I risk a quick glance out of the corner of my eyes to see him in a simple black shirt and blue jeans. I exhale softly, catching the grin on Ali’s face, and I realize the ass was messing with me. Still, it worked. I’m a lot less tense.

As we roll along the 5 into the outskirts of Everett, I eye my surroundings with a little more care. All I really know of this satellite town is that it’s mostly industrial buildings and bikini-barista coffee shacks. As I drive past one such shack, tucked in the corner of a gas station, I’m surprised to see movement within. A moment later, I realize it’s an evolved cat, not a human. I’m a bit disappointed. Those bikini-barista girls are weird, a strange intersection of the West Coast caffeine obsession and male lust. I blink after a moment—Ali’s most recent game crossed my mind as it free-associated around bikinis.

“What did you say?” Ali asks, cocking his head in my direction.

“Kittens. Cute, fluffy kittens,” I remind myself aloud, trying to bleach my brain.

Thankfully, we’re going to be meeting outside downtown Everett at Spencer Island Park. It’s not anyone’s choice location, too far out of Seattle proper for the groups based in the city, not inside Everett itself or any other satellite town for the suburb groups. No one’s happy, which makes it the perfect meeting spot.

Ali fills in my minimap long before I arrive at the meeting space, showcasing the wide variety of Classes and individuals awaiting me. There are Scouts, Hunters, Sneaks, and Rogues galore on the outside, keeping away the monsters that might disturb the meeting. And within, we’ve got an even wider variety of Classes—but as always, almost all of them are Combat Classers. Damn it.

When I glide into the parking lot on Sabre, I attract some attention. When they realize I’m alone, I attract even more. And by the time I take my place off to the side, without joining any of the other groups, everyone is looking at me. Tapping the side of my helmet, I let it slide down to let everyone see me properly while I regard the groups.

In one corner is a group predominantly made up of Mages of one form or another, all Advanced Classes, all of them within five Levels of each other, most leaning toward an Asian / South-Asian mix. They’ve got specializations from Ice Elementalists to Conjurers to Metamagician and more. Almost all of them have decent Constitutions, but few seem to have put anything into Strength or Agility. In addition to the Mages, I spot a couple of what must be tanks, one of them still in his security guard uniform. A single girl stands out in the crowd of men, alone. At a guess, those would be the programmers from Microsoft.

In another corner are the Sons of Odin, who are shooting dismissive and angry looks at me and the Mage group. No surprise in their makeup, though there’s a few more women among the long-haired, biker-styled idiots than I’d expect. Lots of yellow hair there, some obviously bottle blond. I check out their Levels and their Classes, noting a decent mix that leans toward melee fighting with a wider range than the Mages. Their leader is obvious, a tattooed monster of a man, nearly seven feet tall with a ponytail and biker leathers, a monster of a pistol strapped to his leg. Quick verification from Ali shows that it’s likely enchanted leather, offering more than just aesthetic appeal.

Sweeping my eyes along, I assess the other groups. A multi-national group leaning toward Latinos in one corner. An all-female group in another. A couple of groups almost exclusively made of African Americans. Another pair that I could swear is made up of the criminal elements. The baristas—one of the few non-Combatant groups here—have their own corner with a table laid out, doing brisk business selling cups of joe and bottles of their pre-made coffee.

My gaze is drawn to the large group of individuals in military uniform. Or are those army fatigues? My enhanced memory absently points out that a uniform is just a mode of dress and fatigues are just combat uniform. Or at least, that’s what those books alluded to. When my eyes lock on the group, my stare is met by a gentleman in his late forties. Flanking him is a group that is obviously his security detail and the person I assume is his aide. I’m sure the things on their uniforms have something interesting to say, but I don’t read military. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to those rank insignias in those first-person shooters I used to play. That is, if fictional space marine insignia translates to the real world.

“Coffee?” A soft whisper of a voice to my left almost makes me jump. Even if I knew she was going to try it, Ingrid almost has me levitating off the ground.

“Sure,” I keep my tone cool as I take the cup. Even the faintest whiff is enough to make me salivate. The taste itself is incredible—perfectly mellow, with strong hints of cinnamon and an aftertaste that disappears before I sip again. I’ve finished half the cup before I realize it. “Damn…”

Superior Cold Coffee Ingested

+8% to Regeneration Rates

Duration: 1 hour

“Told you,” Ingrid says with a smirk. “So where’s everyone else?”

“They’ll be here.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Well, don’t screw it up. It took me quite a bit to get everyone to show up.”

“You did good,” I say. A glance at the clock in the upper right tells me we’ve got another five minutes before we’re supposed to start.

“Let’s get this started,” the blond biker says, stomping forward. I mentally tag him as BB—a childish toy wanting to be grown up. “We’re wasting time and kills here.”

A glance around shows that while he might be impatient, no one seems to be gainsaying his words. Grunting, I walk forward, a slight queasiness in my stomach that I push aside. Public speaking was never my forte, but after all I’ve gone through, that fear is easy enough to deal with.

“Afternoon. Thank you all for coming,” I say. Blondie shifts in impatience, but I ignore him as I let my gaze wander around. “My name is John Lee. I’m the current owner of Vancouver and the settlements around it. Since you guys are our closest neighbors, I figured it’s time for us to meet and talk. Especially before the Sect returns.”

“Sect?” a voice calls from one of the groups.

“The aliens,” BB replies. “Invading our territory, claiming it for their own.”

“Are they expected to return? Your friend indicated that they had retreated from their holdings in Vancouver,” the soldier says. Well, Officer, to be exact for his Class.

For now, I ignore their names since I can fix their characteristics in my mind easier this way. Also, I hate remembering names and I have more important things to deal with. “Not soon. We’ve done enough damage to them here that they’re going to consolidate before they come back. But they’ll be back. If not them, someone else.”

The Officer inclines his head slightly, accepting my words. Murmurs rise as others talk.

One of the Mages steps forward. A Blue Mage, whatever that is. “So what do you want? You didn’t call this meeting to just say hi.”

“Yeah, what do you want, eh?” BB mocks.

“No. I didn’t,” I say, replying to the Blue Mage and ignoring BB. “How much do you people know of the world around us? Of the state of your nation and the world?” I ask rhetorically. “We’re lucky here, mostly. We’ve got our cities back under human control. There are other cities, other countries where humans are desperately fighting for any space they can find. There are a lot of places where humans are what the Sect would have us be—Serfs and servants, landless peasants without a say.” I pause before I take my next gamble. “If you’ll allow me, there’s someone I think you should all hear from.”

“Someone…?”

There’re more than a few looks around me, obviously not seeing anyone. But more than a few nod and a few shrug, figuring I’ve got whoever I want farther out. Which means when the glowing black and gold Portal opens up, there are a few exclamations of shock.

“That’s sweet.”

“Nice. Dimension Door?”

“Long-range teleport,” his friend mutters.

The Mages whisper among themselves.

“A Skill,” I answer everyone.

Lana comes out first, followed soon after by her pets. The animals get a few looks but no exclamations since they’re obviously under control. That, and the seven-foot-tall brute of a minotaur clad in modern combat armor draws all the attention, such that Mikito is barely even seen.

“Monster!”

A targeted beam attack splashes against Capstan’s portable shield. The Yerrick growls as he drops a hand to his combat axe. Lana steps forward quickly, blocking the attacks as best she can while I throw a Soul Shield on her and the pets spread out, letting out low growls. Another second and a twist of my hand has me layering a Soul Shield on top of Ulrick as well.

“Stop that!” I snap.

“He’s a monster. A… bull-thing!” The first attacker still has his beam rifle pointed at Ulrick, though he’s not shooting. His friends have all pulled weapons as well, ready to attack the Yerrick.

“Minotaur,” one of the Mages mutters pedantically.

“I’d drop that,” Ingrid says, whispering into the attacker’s ear. A knife is at his throat, the young First Nations woman magically appearing next to the man.

A part of me wonders when she disappeared, but I dismiss that question for more important things. Like the rising tension as BB pulls and points his pistol at her head.

“Chill it,” I snarl.

“Calm,” Lana states, the Aura of the Red Queen flaring again. Her hair seems to darken, becoming a blood red that is not entirely natural. Those violet eyes shift to a brilliant purple as her skin becomes fairer and closer to marble. More, a palpable sense of danger comes from her now.

The attacking group, bearing the brunt of her attention, whitens, a few stepping backward and lowering their guns, others clenching their fists.

“So. Hot,” a hipster kid manning the barista bar, the same one who exclaimed how “sweet” my portal was, says, his tongue almost hanging out. Probably not the effect Lana’s Aura was meant for.

“Charisma effect. Not always going to work the way you think it will,” Ali mentions. “But I got to agree, damn but the lady’s quite edible.”

“I hope this isn’t how you mean to treat us. Threats are not the basis of a good working relationship,” the Officer says, his legs spread as he stands at ease, hands behind his back. Still, I can see the slight tightness around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders as he wills himself to ignore Lana’s aura.

BB keeps his gun pointed at Ingrid, fingers white around the pistol hilt.

“Capstan Ulrick is our friend and a guest. Attacking him is an attack on us,” I say firmly. “But we’re willing to set the violence aside and talk if everyone else is.”

“Fuck that. I ain’t listening to no alien,” snarls BB.

“Then leave,” I say.

“You…” BB growls, shifting his gaze and pistol to point at me.

I ignore his provocations, watching as the others edge away from fighting. Repressed by Lana’s aura and without additional violence or any hostile action by Capstan, the initial impetus fades. Lana, sensing the mood change, drops her Aura. Yet the pets don’t move from their positions around the Yerrick.

It’s then, and only then, that I dismiss the Portal. My Mana is nearly half gone, between all the casting and Skill usage, but there’s more than enough to get us out of here again. The way the Officer is eyeing me and the location where the Portal is, I can see his mind churning.

Until Capstan speaks. “My name is Capstan Ulrick, First Fist of my tribe. The Redeemer has requested that I speak of my people’s history to you, to explain a little of what you must understand. The dangers that lie ahead.” Capstan’s eyes sweep over the group. “The Yerrick are a displaced people. Our home world was integrated into the System without warning, like yours. Unlike you, we integrated into the greater Galactic System as one of their many worlds. What we did not understand was the meaning of this. We did not understand that a settlement, once sold, cannot be rebought. That land, once taken by the larger groups, could never be retrieved. Not without war.

“We were lied to, tricked, and threatened. We lost our lands, our settlements, and eventually, our world. Now the Yerrick serve under others. My people are scattered through the Galaxy as they attempt to earn enough Credits to survive.”

“Boo hoo hoo. One set of aliens taking advantage of another,” one of the Sons of Odin interjects.

Capstan stares at the interrupter, the look he gives him priceless—it’s the kind of look you give a particularly hairy bug and you’re trying to decide if killing it or smacking it away is the better choice. Once the Son of Odin quiets down, Capstan speaks in detail. For the next hour, he talks. At first explaining the process and their history, later diverting to specific questions.

I keep quiet, listening with half my attention. I know most of this already, having spoken with him before. But the information is a revelation to most others.

So much of it is familiar though—to anyone who studies history anyway. Find a few groups that are at odds, pit them against each other while you pay pennies on the dollar for goods—land—that you want while selling your goods at a huge markup. Control the information, control access to the Shops, bring in secondary or tertiary groups to “rule.” Never, ever keep a promise that is bad for you, breaking contracts and rules where you can. After all, a Contract might hold you and the other party to it, but if you word it right, the Contract can affect an entire settlement on one end and a disposable corporation on the other.

And always, always, keep control of what’s important—the City Core and the people.

“Thanks, First Fist,” I say to Capstan after an hour, when the crowd is getting bored, other than a few notable individuals. “Now, the reason I wanted you to hear that is for you guys to start figuring out what the hell you’re doing. From what I understand, you’ve left the Sect in control of various City Cores because none of you can agree on who gets to control them. Or hell, which form of government you intend to take.”

“There shouldn’t be any real argument. We’re still part of the US of A. We should be having an election,” a rather tubby gentleman mutters, his arms crossed in front of him.

His friends are all nodding firmly, as are a few groups.

“We are in a national emergency. In such a circumstance, the United States Army should take control of the city till we are in contact with a legitimate authority,” the Officer says, shaking his head. “If an election is decided upon, we can help conduct such an event in a fair and impartial manner.”

“Oh, like we’re going to let you army boys take over,” growls an African American man. I’m a bit jealous really—he’s wearing the System-equivalent of a leather hoodie and it’s styling. “Like you guys are actually supposed to be acting on US soil.”

“This is a unique situation,” the Officer says, turning to the man. “And there are specific protocols that have been put in place—”

“Yeah, and you still won’t tell us about what’s happened with your nukes,” one of the baristas says, glaring.

“We’ve already said there is an SOP involved in such a situation. Suffice it to say that there are plans in place for a catastrophic event like this.”

“Oh really, you guys got protocols for the end of the world and the introduction of humanity to a gaming system?” scoffs the Blue Mage.

“Not exactly, but—”

“Ahem,” I cough, quite loudly. “Look, I get it. You all have questions, and you’ve got your own things to deal with. But the longer you argue, the more people—your people—die. You need to get yourselves a city, which means putting together a real organization that all your city cores are tied to.”

“And how did you do that?” the Latino spokesperson asks, eyeing me.

“I own it. All of it,” I say, seeing no point in lying. “We’re working on a better government system, but Vancouver and its surrounding cities are now tied together.”

“You’re a Canadian dictator?” the African American says, choking on a laugh.

“Free maple syrup for all!” the Son of Odin heckler speaks up. This time, he does get a few laughs. “Watch out for the giant beavers!”

That last one gets less of a laugh as they stare at the giant red fox and Lana’s puppies.

“For now,” I say with a shrug, ignoring the heckling. “Speed is important, if you guys haven’t understood Capstan’s point. Once the big boys start moving—and some already have—we’re screwed. As it is, Texas is wholly owned by the Inlin Corporation. Alaska and the Yukon by the Duchess. Europe’s a battleground between five different groups, two of which are backed by the Movana. We need to establish a foothold and take out the smaller groups if we want any say in our lives.”

“And you want our help,” the Officer says, eyes narrowed.

“Aye. My people are good. But there aren’t enough of us. If we’re going to be expanding, we’re going to need help,” I say.

“And there we have it. The real reason you came down,” BB says before spitting to the side. “I knew you people had an agenda. We ain’t going to die for you.”

“I’m not—” I protest.

“And who’s going to take control of those cities, dictator?” the Latino calls out, hands crossed in front of him.

“That’s up to discussion.”

A roar of disapproval explodes when I say that. More questions are shouted, BB smirking as he watches the entire meeting break down. Lana shoots me a look, but I shake my head, instinct telling me that using her ability now would be seen as a provocation.

***

Forty minutes later, we stand around, staring at the few groups that have stayed after the others dispersed. I did my best, as did Lana, but the meeting went out of our control, egged on by BB and a few other malcontents. I couldn’t exactly blame them—having a stranger come in and tell them they sucked was never going to work out well. But someone had to say it.

“That could have gone better,” I mutter.

“No shit, boy-o. Told you you should have let Lana talk,” Ali says.

I end up rolling my eyes slightly while Lana flashes me a sympathetic smile.

“From what you said, I understand you have certain plans concerning liberating more cities?” the Officer says as he walks toward our group.

With the meeting over, I’d popped open a Portal for Capstan to head back to Vancouver with a promise to port him the rest of the way home soon.

“Aye,” I say, glancing at the few interested groups.

The all-women group clad in Adventurer chic, a weirdo group who looks as if they took their dress code inspiration from superheroes, the Mages, Barista group, and a few more “normal” groups standby. About a third of everyone who came.

“Well?” the Blue Mage barks, the East Indian almost bouncing in impatience. I absently note that he’s not gotten a genetic cleanse—or if he did, he opted out of getting more height, being a not-so-impressive 5’6”.

“Calgary,” I answer. “I’ll need to visit Edmonton first, which is human-controlled, and see what they want, but after that, we’re looking at Calgary. That’s currently controlled by two different factions—the Kingdom of Pewsin and Uvrik Corp. The first is a side kingdom of, hmmm, halflings I guess is the closest term. Not hobbits. These guys are vicious bastards. Uvrik Corp is a ‘small’ Galactic corporation with a focus mostly on fortifying foodstuff.”

“Halflings and a food corporation,” one of the Mages mutters. “I swear there’s a joke in there somewhere.”

“If you look hard enough, there’s a joke all around you,” Lana says.

“Joke or not, between those two groups, they’ve got over twenty Advanced Class in play, with three of them in the high Levels. Even a single high Level Advanced Classer can do a lot of damage. We’d need at least three or four of our guys to contain one of them,” I say firmly.

“Our guys?”

“Well, if you all agree,” I say.

“You’re asking us to free a Canadian city,” one of the ladies says, eyeing the three of us.

“I’m asking you to free a city full of humans. Yes,” I say, meeting her eyes.

“She is correct that you are asking for much…” the Officer says leadingly.

I sigh quietly, knowing that there’s going to be politics. Always damn politics. “What do you want?”

“Your help. Your Skill.”

I cock my head to the side, waiting for more. As the Officer continues. “Your actions in taking Vancouver from the Thirteen Moon Sect helped Seattle greatly. Your Class, your Skill, and your people could do the same for our other cities.”

“Yeah, but what do we get out of it?” I say softly, angling for some advantage here. Truth be told, coming down here to get help was part of the goal, so I’m not exactly bargaining from a position of power. But at least, the need is mutual.

“That depends on how that Skill of yours works,” the Officer says, skin around his grey eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Right…” I narrow my eyes as I finally get around to reading his Status. Octavian Wier, Level 7 Officer. “Octavian. Well, that’s something we can certainly discuss.”

“I prefer my middle name, but it’s Colonel Wier to you. Acting commander of the 7th Infantry Division out of Fort Lewis,” Wier says, seemingly nonplussed by my use of his name. I see a few looks shared around, but not much.

“Acting, sure. You’re all that’s left after the hydra rolled over your base,” one of the Mages says with a snort. “That damn monster made its way halfway up the city before we ended it.”

I glare at the man, shutting him up as the soldiers stiffen. Taunting people whose job is to protect others with the deaths of their friends doesn’t seem either charitable or smart.

Once I get my silence, I look back at the colonel. “Well, I don’t have much information on the state your country is in, so I’m going to need data at the very least. But if we do this, we’re really going to need your support on our end as well. All of you.”

I see more than a few pauses, a few looks around, and I sigh. Convincing these people, even the ones who stayed to help, seems as if it’s going to take a bit. Or, on seeing the avarice in some eyes, some bribing. Rather than convincing everyone to get involved here and now, we take names and information with promises of meeting up personally to discuss the levels of their support. Better to do the discussions in person.

***

Octavian’s is the first group we speak with. Rather than going back to his base, we end up at the discarded remnants of a local coffee store. It’s not the best option, but it has chairs and we’ve all got travel mugs of Barista-made coffee, so it seems mildly appropriate. We get there after I’ve sent most of the team home, rather than dragging everyone about. Outside, the pets and most of Wier’s soldiers stand guard, including an interesting pair of Rangers. I’m slightly amused that the older aide keeps staring at me with what I assume is disapproval, but at least he hasn’t voiced it. Either way, I send a note to Ali to dig into the soldiers’ Status information while we talk, curious what kind of goodies they might have picked up.

“So. Retaking the USA,” I say, starting us off.

“Yes. Currently, remnants of our chain of command are gathered around Fort Belvoir, where there is a Shop. We’re in contact with them,” Colonel Wier says, a fact that startles me. Long-range communication is one of the things that we all lost, and while it’s possible to replace it, it’s expensive. That he—and the Fort—chose to get it up is startling at first. Then, it’s kind of obvious. “There are three other alien groups in Washington: one Corporation and a pair of alien governments—one a Kingdom consisting of half-giants, and one an Empire of kobolds.”

“What kind of kobolds?” Ali asks with a frown.

“Kind?”

“You humans seem to mix up three different races. Are they draconic, dog-like, or like short, skinny humans?”

“Uhhh… dog-like.”

“Pooskeens. From the planet Pos.”

“Won’t that make them Poskeens?”

Ali stares at me, hands on his hips.

“Sorry. Right. Alien grammar,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“What I’m going to say, I hope you will keep to yourself for now,” The Colonel says softly, visibly bracing himself before he continues. “In Fort Belvoir, we have the current Secretary of Agriculture, the highest elected authority we are in contact with. Along with her, we have a number of congressmen and senators. We have confirmed the death of most of the others in the chain of command including the vice president. Others are believed to be compromised.

“As such, the Secretary has—legitimately—assumed power. However, a number of army and national guard groups don’t have contact with us or her or are refusing to take orders from us. Some refuse to act on US soil. Others have gone rogue.  We’ve got rebel groups, independent operating groups, and a few cities all working by themselves throughout the country.”

“No one knows who to trust, so everyone’s doing their own thing?” Lana interjects, her brows drawn together.

“In essence, yes. There are police forces and national guard members working independently,” Wier says finally. “We need to put an end to this as quickly as possible, which is why I’m looking for your help. If you can open those Portals of yours, we can shift our men to bolster allied forces and begin negotiations with those on the fence.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” I say with a sigh. I ponder for a moment keeping the details of my power back, but in this case, I realize I’m going to have to tell him something. “I can only Portal to places I’ve been to before. And keeping the Portals open are extremely Mana intensive.”

Wier nods slowly, rubbing his chin. “We can work with that. If we allocate specific teams, my men can still provide force multipliers and specialized help. We could even provide you guards and aides now.”

“No thanks,” I say with a shake of my head. “No offence, but I work better alone.”

Wier just shoots a look at my team but I refuse to back down from that statement. For one thing, it’s the truth, damn it. For another thing, anyone he sends with me is just going to act as a spy and nanny, and I neither want or need either.

“If we help you, you and your people will help us free the Canadian cities. All of them,” I say.

Wier cracks a slight smile, leaning forward. Now that I’m actually negotiating, he knows he has me. The rest of this is just a matter of numbers and plans, of how we’re going to do this rather than if. And really, I never was going to turn him down. For the next hour or so, we negotiate men and numbers, timelines, and other details. We leave a lot unsaid or to be confirmed, a lot to be determined later or open for amendments because we both understand how Murphy can be a bastard. But in the end, we have a rough agreement, one that starts with him helping us first before we shift to some American cities. When we’re done, we shake hands as you do. And that’s when we get a surprise.

Settlement Agreement Reached

Would you like to confirm the agreement (see attached)? There are significant penalties to reputation for breaching such an agreement. Additional penalties may apply (see agreement).

(Y/N)

I blink, staring at the new notification. Wier shows surprise too, obviously getting a similar screen.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Ali says, staring at the screen as well.

“You didn’t know about this?”

“Never had a Companion who was a settlement owner, so no.”

“How do I add penalties to this then?”

“You can’t. Looks like you need the Skills or an upgrade to your City.”

“So no penalties. Huh.”

“This is interesting. But I don’t need a System to keep my word,” Wier says.

Even if he does say that, I note he acknowledges and accepts the System agreement. I do too a moment later.

“Nice. Now for the next conversation,” I say, smiling. “Not to be rude, but…”

“I understand. It’s a pleasure doing business with you. We’ll be in touch for further details.”

“I’ll need to visit your base at some point.”

“Of course,” Wier agrees readily. One of the things we had to cover in our discussion was the limits of my Portal Skill. “Just let us know.”

“I will.” I flash him a grin, making a note to get work on a communications array sorted.

Interestingly enough, what Wier did wasn’t purchase the array from the System but the plans. He shared that with us, so now all we had to do was get some high Level Mechanics and Engineers on it and we’d finally have a communications array stretching across the province.

***

“Who’s next?” I ask Lana and Ingrid after we leave, the young ladies on Lana’s overgrown, pony-sized puppies. Ingrid knows where we’ll have to go, and Lana was the one who set up the meetings.

“Mages.”

“Ah…” I can’t help but grin at that.

Look, the Microsoft campus was the kind of place where any programmer would have loved to have worked. Just short of the Google campus really. But that was a fairy tale dream for someone of my talents. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t bad, but ‘not bad’ doesn’t get you into the big leagues.

“Down, boy,” Lana says, shaking her head. “Try not to get a nerd boner while talking to them, will you?”

“Funny.” I consider the meeting. Obviously Gates won’t be there, or Balmer. If they were, we’d have seen them at the meeting, but… “I didn’t recognize most of those Mages at the meeting.”

Ingrid nods. “No surprise. They lost a lot of people when the System came along. These days, the team you saw, they’re the front. I hear their real leadership team is out there, but I’ve yet to see them. Way I understand it, they’re busy Leveling.”

Under that somber spell, we make our way to their headquarters and are met just before we enter. The same group we saw at the meeting greets us. Now that I’ve got a bit more time, I look over the mixed race group and spot someone who’s likely of Vietnamese / Laos descent, a couple of Indians, and a few Caucasians.

“Mr. Lee,” the Blue Mage says, offering me his hand.

Realizing I might actually have to talk to him significantly more, I spend the time analyzing his status as I get off Sabre and set it to follow me along.

Charles Cutler (Blue Mage Level 6)

HP: 560/560

MP: 1840/1840

Conditions: None

“Nice to meet you.” I glance around. “Are we not being invited in?”

“No, no, nothing like that. We just wanted to make sure you had a proper escort,” Charles says, rubbing the top of his bald crown. For all that he might be folliclely challenged, the fortyish man seems to be in good health, with no sign of a gut and even some definition around his arms. “We’ve already voted and decided to give you all the help you need.”

“Pardon…?” I freeze, staring at Charles.

“You owe me fifty,” someone says in a thick Indian accent, but I’m still staring at Charles, waiting for his explanation.

“We’ll help you. There are limitations—we won’t reduce our guard below what’s safe for us—but if you need it, we’ll throw whatever help we can. You can consider us Allies,” Charles says again.

Settlement Alliance Offered (John Lee & the Mages of Seattle)

An offer of alliance has been offered. An alliance will automatically classify all trade between settlements as alliance trades for the purposes of taxes, tariffs, and duties. In addition, this open alliance offer includes a mutual defense treaty. Failures to uphold this alliance will result in penalties to reputation. Additional penalties may apply (see details).

Note: As you are in a State of War with the Thirteen Moon Sects, the Mages of Seattle will automatically be considered at War upon agreement to this alliance.

Agree? (Y/N)

“Ali? The details?” I say, my eyes wide as I scan the information. I absently note that Charles has already read and dismissed his notification, a glowing little mark indicating that they’ve accepted their side of the agreement showing up on my own blue screen.

“One second. It’s lengthy. Damn, but I wish Kim was here,” Ali says, his eyes darting over the information.

After a moment, I share the screen with Lana, whose eyebrows rise then furrow as she reads. The lady has a business degree, so she might catch something Ali or I don’t.

“This is generous.” I stare at Charles. “Why?”

“Simply put? We understand your motivations.”

“My what…?” I stop, realizing what he means. “You’ve been buying information on me from the Shop.”

“Yes. Ever since your friend”—he waves at Ingrid, who is busy chatting with another young lady in the group—“came to us about you and your plans, we’ve been researching you. It’s been entertaining and enlightening. We understand your goals, and we agree with them.”

I open my mouth to ask why again but stop, realizing that’s probably rather insulting. Why can’t other people want to do good? Yet a cynical part of me really questions their ready agreement.

“We also think you and the Colonel will need our help. We have a number of Seers and Diviners who can fix some of your problems, guide you around potential issues,” Charles continues as we walk into the campus, a slight twitch of his lips as he notes my expression of surprise.

I’m getting a little annoyed at being tracked so much, but I push it down. “That’s good.”

“Now, I understand you were a programmer before? Have you ever been to our campus? It’s not what it was, but we’d like to think it’s still pretty amazing,” Charles says, waving. “In that building, we’ve got our Alchemists, Potionoligists, and…”

I shut up, listening to him while Ali and Lana go over the documents. We’ll probably agree if they don’t see any serious landmines. At this point, we can’t turn away any Allies, even if I find the entire thing a little fishy. So I shut up and listen, content to probe between descriptions.

***

Hours later—more hours than we should have spent with any one group—we’re finally out of the compound and on our way to the next group. We obviously agreed to the alliance, after Lana and Ali checked the terms and came up with nothing too troubling. A few probing questions got us a little more information about their thinking too.

“Did you notice that we never got to meet more of their people? Not even their main team. And I get the feeling they’re still holding a bit to the old corporate bureaucracy,” Lana says, finishing my unvoiced thought.

“Aye.”

“They are a corporation. Soul sucking bastards that they are,” Ingrid says, shaking her head. “But the way I understand it, their main team are still below our Levels.”

“Huh.” I grimace. “Well, at least we know our Levels are one of the reasons they want to help.”

“I’m not sure I like that,” Lana says, lips thin. “Killing, killing sentients, for experience—”

“Is efficient. Them saying that bothers you?” Ali chimes in. “Even if it’s true?”

“Yes.” Lana’s lips thin again. “It’s like most of the ones we met see this as a game. The way they kept going on about our ‘prestige’ Classes, builds, and how to ‘game’ their Advancement.”

“They might,” Ingrid says, “but their leaders don’t. From what my friends say, part of it is they’re angling for better relations with their government. There’s talk about making the campus an academy for Mages. I think they’re still thinking about profits, really.”

“Academy?” I ask, curious if it has more meanings. Or what, if any, bonuses the System might offer.

“System-registered dedicated learning institution. You get bonuses for learning and research. It requires, well, Credits and land and a few other things,” Ali says. “They can’t do it right now. It’s like a Tier II building.”

“So, they need help building upwards,” I say slowly. And of course, being the largest and most developed settlement around, having us as allies is probably useful for them. It might even be part of their requirements to get an Academy in place. I make a note to check on that later, but at least now I have a better feel for the group. Idealistic gamers on the bottom end, fast-moving sharks on the top. So, perhaps not the best kind of allies, but probably reliable until things go completely to hell.

“Who’s next?” I call, deciding to put this issue aside for now. Whatever the case, getting more help is the goal.

“The Baristas.”

***

“You want to start a chain,” I say slowly and carefully.

“Exactly. We get land for free. We’ll do the buildup ourselves. We operate tax-free and train your people in your settlements. One per Shop,” Kaylee, the pink-haired, punk-rock-styled girl, says with an impish grin.

“Leased. And taxed,” Lana says, leaning in.

“No way. We own the place and twenty years tax-free.”

“Leased. Tax- and rent-free for ten years.”

I roll my eyes, sitting back and letting the pair argue. At least this is reasonable. As I sip on a latte, I can’t help but think that we’re getting the better part of the deal.

***

“We’re mercenaries. We get paid for our help.”

“I see,” I say slowly, while thinking that they really, really aren’t. A ragtag group of ex-weekend warriors, gang members, and thieves is what I’d guess. Capstan and his people, the Major, they’re mercenaries. These guys are wannabes. “What are your rates?”

“Well now, that’d depend on how many of our people you want and at what Levels.”

I grunt, sighing. “Got a rate sheet? And a frequent user reward card?”

“No… but we could look into that,” Laila, the African American woman with the big, big hair says uncertainly, not entirely sure if I’m kidding or not.

Truth be told, I’m not sure either.

***

“I hear you’ll be fighting more of those aliens,” Desmond, the greying, bearded man, says before spitting to the side. He’s in charge of a group that formed from one of the suburbs, a mixed group of upper-middle-class folk. His group isn’t the strongest, but being far enough from the front lines means they’ve managed to survive and prosper.

“That’s the plan. Freeing the cities and pushing them back,” I say.

“And what do you plan for the alien crafters, the non-fighters?”

“They’re called Artisans. Galaxy-wide, that is,” I say, curious where he’s going with this.

“Artisans then.”

“Well, I haven’t really considered it much yet,” I say, frowning. “We didn’t have many to deal with in Vancouver.”

“And the few you did? Those aliens?”

“Most aren’t Sect members, so they’ve been allowed to stay.”

“I see. And if they were part of the Sect?”

“We’ve been leaving the Artisans alone. They’ve mostly shipped out anyway. The few who stick around, we’ve restricted their movements and dealings, but they are unharmed.”

“And prisoners?”

“We had none,” I say, grimacing. The Sect fought to the last man in Kamloops. The needless deaths soured my emotions, reducing what little patience I have for all this politicking. “Why don’t we stop dancing around? Tell me what you’re asking.”

“I understand that they made our people Serfs in Vancouver. Seems like a good, profitable solution. We certainly could use higher Level Artisans,” Desmond says.

Rather than answer him—not that I physically could with the way the anger chokes up my voice—I stand and walk out. Asshole.

“Mr. Lee—” he cuts off as Lana shoots him a disgusted look, the pets growling in unison to her change in emotions.

If I had to listen to him speak further, I might do something he’d regret.

***

Meetings after meetings, that’s our next few days as we make our way through the groups willing to talk. Everyone wants something. Assurances, alliances—informal or formal—or even the right to immigrate. Trade deals and training, it’s all there. And while I work over the ones who indicated earlier that they were willing to talk, Lana’s on the others, the ones who refused, working her Charisma and charm.

All because we want to help them out. Gods, sometimes I hate people.

Chapter 5

I survey my friends, my teammates, my fellow dungeon delvers one last time as Sabre slides into place over my body. Mikito is already fully armed and armored in her own PAV, while Lana finishes checking over the harnesses on her pets. The harnesses are for the mini portable shield generators which will act as additional armor for the pets. Instead of a single generator, Lana commissioned a custom harness with each generator, providing a smaller area of overlapping coverage. It’s basically the force field equivalent of scale armor, but projected an inch or so above the pets’ bodies. The shields themselves are ablative protections, meant to absorb a small amount of damage before failing and restarting.

Behind Lana, Sam’s doing his own last-minute fixes. All around him are dozens of drones. Rather than a few larger drones, Sam has decided to test out a new theory, chaining together multiple small drones via a “hive” mind process, giving him more flexibility but with lower damage output individually. Theoretically, they’ve got a higher overall damage output but are significantly more vulnerable. As the man put it, it’s a bit of an experiment. Still, having dozens of skittering, spider-like drones with a variety of weapons makes the older gentleman look just a touch scary.

Ingrid is Ingrid. The assassin sits quietly, buffing her fingernails while waiting for the rest of the team to get ready. She’s clad in her usual getup of light armored jumpsuit, a pair of emergency portable shields on her hips, knives and a blaster awaiting use. The First Nations woman looks perfectly calm, waiting for us to get moving.

“We ready?” I ask, my gaze finally falling on the last and latest addition to the team.

The Latino object of my regard grimaces as he swigs down another potion. A series of small vials is strapped across his body in bandoliers and belts, making him look like a weird mixture of Danny Trejo and a glassmaker. Propped against his feet is a weapon that looks like a slender grenade launcher.

Carlos Garcia (Level 48 Apprentice Alchemist)

HP: 380/380

MP: 1780/1780

Conditions: Stoneskin, Aura of Flame, HP Regeneration Buffed, MP Regeneration Buffed, Perception Buffed, Strength Buffed, … (more)

“I’ve a few potions for everyone,” Carlos says, waving at the green and grey vials that are hand-labeled and propped up on the ground in front of him. His Mexican accent is mixed with American after the years he’s spent in Seattle. “Stoneskin is grey. Gives you a little increase in your armor rating. The green is Eagle Eye; it’s a Perception buff. They’re my best potions, outside of the healing ones. Ingrid said that I should just sell the rest…”

“A few more minutes,” Lana calls back as she works on the straps. We’d help, but our helping is what caused the initial delay as Lana fixes our mistakes.

While I wait, I pick up the Stoneskin potion and eye it for a second before downing it.

Stoneskin Buff Gained

+23 Armor Rating

Duration: 6 hours 18 Minutes and 4 Seconds

Thirty Levels ago, this would have been amazing. Twenty Levels and it’d have been a nice boost. Now, it’s a small drop in the bucket. Still, a small drop is better than nothing. Mikito picks up the potions, tossing them underhanded to Ingrid and Sam, the last almost fumbling the second catch. Carlos winces at the casual abuse of his work.

“Good choice,” I say. If these are his best, then I can understand why Ingrid got Carlos to sell his other work. Until Carlos can get his skill—and Skill—higher, his support potions aren’t that useful. “So your Health potions are better?”

“Of course—387 Health each,” Carlos says proudly.

“That’s not bad. Why the difference?” I ask.

“It’s complicated,” Carlos says, looking uncertain.

Before he can attempt to explain it, Ali pops into existence, snorting. “Let me simplify it for the boy-o. You know how making items works right, boy-o? Artisans get Skill Trees just like you, but the Skill Trees are a bit more complex. On one branch, you’ve got production Skills—making things faster, cheaper, or just replicating. Then you’ve got the assessment or analysis Skills—things that let the Artisan get better at what they’re doing. Lastly, you’ve got the actual product Skills, which dictate what you can produce. Within each of those product Skills, you might have classes of items or tiers which can improve how well you produce items of that sort.”

I note how more than a few people look at Ali as he explains things.

“That’s right. I’ve got—”

“Hush, noob. I’m talking,” Ali says, running right over Carlos. “Now, when noob over there produces a potion, he’s going to be limited to some extent by the materials he uses. There’s only so much you can do if your materials suck. After that, his skill and experience at making the most out of the material comes into play. The more experience, the better he is, the more he can use the materials to their utmost. And then, you layer his Class Skills on top of that, boosting whatever he makes by his Skill. Master craftsmen can easily triple or quadruple the effects of even a low Level item due to their Skills.”

“Shortbus is correct,” Carlos says, nodding. “I’ve focused most of my Skills on Healing and Mana potions, so my support potions aren’t that powerful. But they’ll improve as my production Skills get better and I get more experience. Right now, I’ve got a thirty-eight percent efficiency with producing support potions.”

“Shortbus!” Ali starts up.

I send him a glare, shutting the Spirit down.

“Thank you,” I say to Carlos before glancing at Ingrid, who has returned to buffing her nails.

I grunt, wondering what she meant by dragging the man back with her and dropping him into our party with a single sentence as an introduction. “Meet our Healer.” Sometimes, that woman…

“So are you ready for this?” I ask him.

“I’ve been in dungeons before,” Carlos says firmly. “However, it’d be nice to know what the plan is.”

“We’re going to port in. Ingrid scouts ahead, finding traps and dealing with single Scouts. Everyone needs to have a shield up at all times—otherwise, the Yurk Scouts will poison you—and we clear the dungeon. Mikito and I are the front-line fighters, Lana and her pets are the flankers, and Sam fills in with his drones. You stay behind with Sam, healing as we need it,” I say, shrugging. “Pretty simple. It’s not that tough a dungeon.”

Carlos stares at me for a second, a faint look of disbelief on his face. That’s when Lana calls out she’s ready and impatient to get going, so I cast my Portal. Ingrid darts forward, the nail file stowed away in a flash. Roland and Shadow, not to be outdone, race through the Portal, followed by Mikito and Sam’s drones. Within seconds, the group is streaming through while Carlos stares at me, dumbfounded by my brilliance.

“You can heal, right?” I say as I gently pull him by his elbow across the Portal before snapping it shut.

“Sort of. I don’t have inherent Class Skills, but I’ve put most of my profits into buying Healing Spells and Skills. Most of my Class Skills are more suited for use outside the dungeon,” Carlos says.

“Good. Try to keep up then,” I say, looking around the university square.

It’s not really a square, more of a rectangle flanked by a squat faculty building to the right with an overhang farther down and elevated walkways to the left. Stairs lead down into the rectangle itself, the light brown squares dirty and overgrown with weeds.

Unlike our first time, there’s no large gathering of monsters, no grouping of nastiness. Sam’s drones are laying down mines and traps under his direction while others take off into the mist-enshrouded darkness to give us a better view. The digging drones are fast, laying out a mine field in minutes. I briefly wonder if we could use him to help build / rebuild some locations in town but dismiss it. Not the right time. Clearing the dungeon is a sideshow to our main objectives.

“Incoming,” Ingrid’s voice cackles softly over the communicator.

I’m grateful that Galactic tech comes with “smart” tech, transmitting messages to the correct recipient automatically. The more we use them, the “smarter” the tech gets.

On Ingrid’s warning, Lana falls back toward us, Anna and Howard taking stations a bit ahead, while Mikito stands as the spear of the group. No surprise that Roland and Shadow are nowhere to be seen. I step forward, joining the Samurai, while Sam crouches, deploying a portable shield around himself and Carlos as he controls his drones.

On my minimap, I watch the monsters streaming down roads and out of buildings, forming up, seemingly able to see or sense one another through the mists. Groups appear and disappear as Sam’s drones move around or, in some cases, get shot down. A few Scouts try to get close, but Ingrid and the pets strike and kill the Scouts long before they reach us to get a decent view. Luckily, we’re not near the forest or else it’d be more of a problem.

When they’re two-thirds of the way to us, Sam pulls his diggers back or hides them in the ground in an attempt to preserve the element of surprise. I finish my buffs, having tossed Soul Shield on myself, Lana, and Sam. I figured Carlos has enough buffs to keep himself alive. And if he doesn’t… well, we’ll find out.

At first, it’s just one or two Yurks, seen through the parting of the mists. They become more visible, more stable as they near us. Singular Yurks transform into groups moving in lockstep. Shield-bearing Yurks in the front, bow-wielding Yurks behind, and Yurks over twelve feet tall are scattered throughout. They march forward slowly, getting closer and closer to where our traps are set, then they stop as they shake out their lines.

“Boss…” Sam mutters, eyeing the group, obviously uncomfortable with their actions.

“Wai—”

My words are cut off as the Yurk mages make their appearance. Or at least, make their presence known. Lightning bolts reach down, striking the earth in front of the reptile-frogs with booms of fury, electricity dancing in the air and destroying our carefully laid traps. I wonder why they didn’t call the strikes down on us. Unfortunately, I thought too soon—that’s when the lightning rolls forward, bringing electrical death.

“Hell…” I say, hunching slightly unconsciously as the lightning bathes us.

Electric fire reaches from the heavens, striking all of us as quick as a little dog’s temper tantrum, and just as quickly, it’s gone. Twisting around, I spot Carlos looking a little worse for the wear, steam rising from his cracked and burnt flesh. Even as I watch, his health creeps above half, but that’s not enough, so I throw a Soul Shield on him. He looks relieved, overloaded nerves in his body slowly recovering as he downs another potion. After a second, he stands straighter, burnt and smoking skin healing before my eyes. I absently wonder how he’s able to keep consuming so many potions without suffering from potion poisoning, but that’s probably a Skill.

“Damn. Your shield is down,” Lana says to me, running a hand along her long hair and fixing her ponytail. “And I’m going to have to see a hairdresser after this.”

I stare at the young lady, my mind splitting for a second as I realize I haven’t actually seen one in the past year. Outside of my hair growing slightly longer, I haven’t had to deal with it. For a moment, I wonder how the hell that works—before the plink of arrows hitting Sabre’s shield brings me back to the present. Deal with that question later. Later.

The rocking boom of Lana’s shotgun, the shrill whistling sound of gauss projectiles fired from Sam’s drones, the grunt of exertion as Carlos fires his potions down range anchors me to the moment. Ahead of us, our assault on the Yurks leads to death and fire, clouds of gas and shrapnel raining around us. Mikito absently swings her polearm, cutting arrows from the sky, the clearest traces of her movements the shattered shards of wood and bone.

I raise my hand, unleashing projectiles from Sabre’s rifle, each shot drilling into the Yurks. Anna pitches in a few seconds later as the army closes again, tendrils of flame whipping along glistening shells. A thudding boom, a change in rhythm, and the army charges even as the drums shift once more.

Musical Fear Effect Resisted

Without breaking step, Mikito counter-charges the group. I grunt, taking off after the insane woman, eyeing the range estimator in my helmet. Five meters later, I trigger the mini-missiles, the tiny explosives flying forward to tear and disrupt their ranks. A step later, Mikito shines, ghostly armor layering on top of her PAV, her body speeding up and becoming a living spear. The shock of her clash with the already disrupted vanguard throws back the front ranks of the army, the unlucky couple directly in front of her exploding apart from the transferred kinetic force of her attack.

Layered over the explosive meeting of lines, the howls and growls of the puppies reverberate in my chest and hearten our group. I trigger my Sonic Blaster a second later, layering confusion on top of shock before terror arrives in the form of the pets and Ingrid. Some appear from the flanks, others charging into the gap Mikito has created. And then I’m there too, swords dancing in my hands as limbs and bodies separate.

“Holy shit!” Carlos breathes over the communicator.

“Yeah, it takes getting used to,” Sam says with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, you get used to it. Sort of.”

Lana’s chuckle runs across the comms, reaching straight down my spine and making my lower body clench. The distraction is unfortunate, the attack from a Yurk behemoth catching me across my body and lifting Sabre off the ground and throwing me into the air. Before I can twist away, another attack slams me into the ground. My landing is only barely reduced by the body of an unfortunate Yurk Warrior.

My protective shields shattered, the next club attack is enough to dent Sabre’s armor and leave bruises all along my body. I stagger upward, spinning to send aside the Yurk Warriors who have crowded around me. Mecha-assisted strength and agility combined with my own attributes and my slender grasp of System physics provides me a moment of respite. Even as I stop spinning, the behemoth is before me again, its club approaching at a speed I’m unable to dodge. Thankfully, I’m not alone. A bladed polearm stabs forward, shifting the trajectory of the club.

“No lying down!” Mikito says, darting through a gap and leaving a surprised Yurk Warrior tottering on one foot as she continues her attack, dancing deeper into the army.

I snarl, staring at the Yurk behemoth retracting its giant club, readying for its next attack. Bunching my feet, I hop, feet slamming into the side of the club before I launch myself off it. Not directly at the behemoth as it expects but past it. When I’m half past its body, I twist, slamming my sword into its shoulder to alter my momentum. My shoulder aches, my sword slides and twists as it cuts, but it’s enough. A moment later, I swing my other hand, sword in it, into its neck.

As I ride the Yurk down, I raise my hand and unleash a fireball into another behemoth’s face, the attack partly deflected as a Warrior tackles me in the middle of my casting. Strong as I am, physics still has some say in this world and I’m shifted sideways, feet skidding on the blood-slick floor. Before I can recover to finish the behemoth, a fast-moving set of vials flies into the roaring monster’s mouth. Pink and purple smoke explodes as the vials shatter, the creature grabbing at its throat as it goes on a mad rampage, heedless of friend or foe.

“What the hell?” Lana says.

“Poison, capsaicin, and a hallucinogenic,” Carlos says. “Forces an enraged status while dealing damage over time.”

I’d add my two bits, but having dealt with one of their leaders, I’m getting swarmed by Yurk Berserkers.

Yurk Berserker (Level 41)

HP: 3287/3483

MP: 230/247

Conditions: Enraged, Pain to Blood, Acidic Form

These guys don’t seem to care what kind of damage I deal to them, happy to trade damage for damage. And when I cripple one by lopping off both its arms, it throws itself at me then blows itself up, coating me in unmentionables. Without my shields and the time to replenish them, Sabre’s taking a beating and myself within it, swords and axes punching through metal armor even as the nanites do quick repairs.

“It might be time to heal John,” Sam says, his voice absentminded as he controls his swarm.

“Right. Sorry!” Carlos replies.

A second later, I’m bathed in white light. My health stabilizes and starts rising. I’m only about a third down, Sabre’s armor and my own regeneration more than sufficient for most purposes. Then again, losing a third of my Health would have been enough to kill most Casters. So everything’s relative. But now that I’ve got healing support, I make Sabre disappear, content to let the mecha fix itself while I wade in, ready to deal a little damage face-to-face.

“How’s Mikito?” I growl over the radio. I could probably check on my party screen, but I trust her. Hell, while she might not have as much health as me, she’s got a decent buffer.

“Fine,” Mikito calls, her breathing and voice only slightly short from exertion. A white light flashes as her blade extends, chopping downward and sweeping multiple opponents aside.

After that… well, after that, it’s just mop up work.

***

“Not bad,” I say to Carlos, stretching out my muscles.

We’ve been at this dungeon for six hours, and we have finally figured out where the Boss is likely to be. Once we dealt with the main army, the numbers we faced were significantly smaller. It’s been annoying, going through classroom after classroom, laboratory after laboratory to deal with the Yurks. They keep switching tactics, going from stand-up battles to traps to ambushes to constant harrying attacks. The numbers and Levels have gotten steadily higher as we figure out the layout of the dungeon and attack the higher Level buildings. And through it all, Carlos has been healing and buffing us.

“Thanks. You guys…” Carlos shakes his head. “I’ve seen Advanced Classes fight before in Seattle, even joined a few other teams, but…”

“But…?”

“But nothing like you guys,” Carlos says, walking alongside us.

“We’ve all got somewhat rare Classes. It gives us a bit of an advantage,” I say.

“It’s more than that,” Carlos says. “It’s more your style…”

“You guys might have been fighting the Sect, but we’ve been fighting monsters all along,” Ingrid says, appearing right behind Carlos and making him jump.

“Gah!”

“Fighting aliens is easy. Most of them only have two hands and two legs. Makes their attack combinations easier to predict. Monsters swarm, come in different sizes and shapes. And they have a much wider range of Skills to use,” Ingrid says almost proudly. “The Sect members might have been higher Level, but they weren’t as savage. They want to live just as much as you do. Monsters, they don’t seem to care. Also, you guys might have been out-Leveled at times, but in Whitehorse, we were always out-Leveled.”

I shrug, not entirely sure I agree with Ingrid’s explanation. I think the rarity of our Classes makes a bigger difference. More stats per Level, better Skills, hell, better equipment makes a difference. Over the course of fifty Levels, even a single extra attribute point adds up. The difference between someone at Strength 60 and Strength 10 is night and day.

“Enough talk. Sam, how’re your drones?” Lana says as we approach the final building—the chemistry labs. Says something about chemistry students when the dungeon Boss decides to hole up in their faculty.

“About half left. I’m out of reserves too. Not sure I’m liking this. Feels like I’m standing around burning Credits like a gangster on a coke high,” Sam grouses.

“But effective,” I point out.

Compared to previously, Sam’s been a lot more useful. I’ll admit, the crew-served weapon was great for the war, but in a dungeon, it’s limited. Now, his drones can and do a little of everything. Hell, he even had a few dedicated shield drones whose only job was to block attacks.

“That too.”

“All right, any last words?” I say as I walk up to the doors.

“Phrasing!” Ali calls out, his statement followed by chuckles but not much else.

***

“Well, this might get interesting. I’m staying intangible,” Ali says as we step into the laboratory.

The System’s warped the space within, the last laboratory having expanded to the size of a soccer field. All down the way, tables are filled with beakers and Bunsen burners, all of them boiling, distilling, and condensing a variety of liquids and solids, none of which I recognize.

“Take me with you?” Carlos entreats Ali, his eyes darting side to side. “None of this makes sense, but my Skills are saying it’s all explosive.”

“Figured,” I say. “Think it’ll regenerate like the other labs?”

“Obviously,” Lana says dryly.

Ingrid doesn’t answer, slipping forward through the shadows while Roland and Shadow follow on a parallel path. At the end of the laboratory is the Yurk Boss, clad in a laboratory coat of all things, his Enforcers and Bodyguards flanking him. Those, at least, seem to follow the “medieval warfare” theme.

“So. Frigging. Weird,” Sam says, his drones scurrying forward. One accidentally knocks over a beaker, and the resulting explosion consumes it and two of its friends. “Sorry!”

“Be careful,” I say, watching as the Boss group turns toward us where we stand at the entrance.

They aren’t moving, which means they’re likely waiting for reinforcements. That’s the way they’ve played it so far. Judging that Ingrid and company have gotten ahead far enough, we move forward, Lana leaving Anna and Howard to guard our backs. One uses heat; the other is the size of a pony. Neither of which works in such confined, volatile spaces. Shadow at least seems to have a weird ability to partly phase through things, occasionally seeming to blend with its own, sentient shadow. Roland, while huge, is scarily agile.

Making a decision, I jog forward, calling for Ingrid and the pets to slow down. Already, I can see the beaker that the drone tipped over back in place, the room magically having “healed” the location. A quick check shows my Soul Shield is at full strength, as is Sabre. Considering what we’re facing, I’m dressed fully, even if Sabre is showing signs of damage.

Our enemies don’t waste time once we get moving. Yurk Enforcers stand in front while the Bodyguards stay to the side, using atlatls to send spears arcing toward me, missing the fluorescent-lit drop-ceiling by inches. I dodge to the side, but I realize a moment later it doesn’t matter—they were never aiming at me. The ensuing explosions take me off my feet, throwing me sideways as the Enforcers seem to almost teleport to my sprawled form.

My shields soak up the initial explosions, the Enforcers swarming me. Axes and swords stab into my body, sparking against the shields. Dodged blows, backhands, and missed strikes set off more explosions as the Enforcers push me around the lab, none of the explosions seeming to harm the Enforcers much.

Yurk Enforcer (Level 48)

HP: 1287/1383

MP: 839/1042

Conditions: Lab Assistant, Shared Pool

“Ali!” I snarl, blocking a shot with my left hand while pumping projectiles into the Yurk’s face with the other. A crunch in my side comes from an attack that manages to pierce my shield, its trailing glow an indicator of a Skill.

“Shit. The Boss is giving all the Yurks near immunity to damage from the Lab through a Buff. And that Shared Pool means all your damage is getting shared around them,” Ali says, his eyes roving.

“Help please!” I snarl, stepping deep into one Enforcer’s attack and grabbing its arm.

I could Blink Step away, but as the tank, my job is to keep them busy. It pulls, its slimy, smooth skin slipping out of my grip before I can throw it into its friend. A Yurk steps up, ready to impale me, and stumbles away, smashing a vial that sends another wash of flame over us as Mikito’s naginata pulls out of its body.

“Go. I have them,” Mikito says confidently.

I’m not sure she’s right, but we need the Boss dead. I Blink Step the rest of the way, appearing next to the Boss with only its pair of Bodyguards now. That was the point of my initial rush, drawing them out to deal with each group in pieces. My sword swings downward, intent on cutting the damn Yurk Boss apart, only to be blocked by a Bodyguard. Pushed backward, I find myself dueling the pair of Bodyguards, unable to get past them to the Boss. The Boss ignores the entire thing, instead mixing together vials. Each time it’s done, it tosses the vials away to shatter on the floor. Colored smoke soon surrounds us, a variety of Status effects appearing.

You are Poisoned!

-13 HP per second. Effect partially resisted

You are Slowed!

-8% Agility. Effect partially resisted

You are Hallucinating!

-4% Perception. Effect partially resisted

Again and again, clouds of smoke erupt, affecting us all. Even through Sabre’s fully enclosed environmental system, I’m being affected, which doesn’t make sense. But then again, it’s the System and when has it ever made sense? I do know I’m only taking a portion of the effects, between my Class’s innate Resistances and the additional Resistances from Sabre. But as I skip backward and twist to dodge an attack, my friends aren’t as lucky.

Howard, Anna, Lana, and Mikito are fighting the half-dozen Enforcers in a chaotic skirmish. Lab tables and equipment are destroyed unceasingly, glass and wood shrapnel flying through the air to impale and injure while the System visibly regrows the set pieces, only for them to be destroyed again a moment later. Lana’s bleeding from a cut across her neck, shotgun held low as she feeds more shells into it while being protected by Anna. Shadow explodes from the side, shadow and real mouth taking hold of an Enforcer limb and pulling as if to tear it apart. But none of the monsters have fallen, and at least one, if not more, of the clouds has a regenerative effect.

I coat my sword with Frost Blade, hoping to slow the monsters down. That forces me to trade a cut across my body, which shatters the last of my shields, for the time taken to cast the spell. It also means I can’t dismiss the blade anymore, not without the spell losing its effect, but slowing these guys down is important. I fall back again and again.

“Down!” Sam snaps.

I duck, almost impaling myself on a sword before realizing the command wasn’t for me. A moment later, criss-crossing beams of fire light up behind me, baking my back even through Sabre. The resulting secondary explosion punches me deeper into the floor, jarring the Bodyguards and Boss above me.

“What the hell was that?” Lana shouts over the radio.

“Tier III Skill, All Hell Breaks Loose. I’m out of drones!” Sam says.

“Explain later. Kill now!” Mikito snarls.

As much as I want to look behind me, I’m busy batting aside swords, slamming my blade into any visible body part. Which, in most cases, is a hand or arm. Within four strikes, I can see the Bodyguards slowing, their hands frozen as the spell takes effect. But I pay for it. Sabre’s working overtime to deal with cuts and stabs, applying bandages and patching worn armor. A pale blue cloud reaches me, and a new notification appears.

Antidote applied! Poison Debuff Removed

“Urrrkk…” the Boss gurgles, Ingrid finally making her presence known.

Blades shoved into his kidneys and then withdrawn to cut the Boss’s throat, she saws away as she attempts to end this. Backstab and other Skill multipliers notwithstanding, this is a Boss and his health is unnaturally bolstered.

Antidote applied! Perception debuff removed

A Bodyguard teleports beside Ingrid and swings his sword down while she’s got her arms full. Before it can connect, Roland appears from the shadows, jaws clamping around the arm, the skill Massive Bite triggering. How something so big and terrifying can hide in this starkly illuminated space is terrifying and puzzling. I’m just glad he’s on our side.

Without a distraction, Ingrid focuses her attacks on the Boss, disrupting his ability to create more potions. Even a last-minute explosion which throws her backward doesn’t save him, the poison her blade’s coated in slowly ripping him apart.

After that, it’s mop up time. Carlos continues to throw out potions, some actively destroying the clouds, others just removing debuffs or buffing us in the other direction. With only one Bodyguard to fight, I kill him quickly and return to the fight with the Enforcers, all of whom are suffering from burns and reeling from the damage. Even then, I can tell that Mikito and Lana are the worse for wear.

Congratulations! Dungeon Cleared

+5,000 XP

First Clear Bonus

Having cleared the bonus for the first time, you have been rewarded an additional +5,000XP +1,000 Credits.

“Well, that was fun.” I grunt, sitting on the floor.

With the Boss defeated, the formerly volatile mixtures seem to have stabilized, letting Carlos and Sam join us as we sprawl on the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” Carlos says, shaking his head. “What are your pain resistances? That must have hurt!”

“Pretty high,” I say, not wanting to point out my Class came with an innate resistance to pain.

Mikito nods while Lana snorts as she adjusts her clothing futilely. After a moment, she mutters something about going to get changed, her pets following her out the door. Mikito turns bright red, realizing the state of her clothes and the amount of skin she’s showing, and Hastes out of the room after Lana.

“I’ve seen high. Worked with someone with resistances over 40% and he still didn’t want to tank. Said it still sucked,” Carlos says.

“Ah…” I frown, considering how to answer that.

“Well, boy-o’s insane,” Ali answers with a knowing grin.

“And I try not to get hurt,” Ingrid says with a smirk.

“Never mind all that, what have we got for loot?” Sam interjects, pointing at the Boss’s body.

We all pause then grin, spreading out to loot our kills. A few minutes later, with Lana and Mikito back, we share the information on our murder-happy gains.

+28,385 Credits

Tier III Hallucinogenic Recipe Gained

Tier II Potion of Strength Recipe Gained

Those are the interesting items. I’m particularly impressed we got Credits, since that almost never happens. One of the few advantages of fighting something sentient. Of course, the recipes go to Carlos while the miscellaneous monster parts and mildly interesting weapons get packed away for sale. Neither Mikito nor I need their melee weapons and the others don’t fight in close quarters, so they’re Shop fodder.

“Now what?” Carlos says, looking around.

I shrug. “Now we do it again in a few days when the dungeon resets. And we write up a guide for our people so that they can do it too. Once we clear it enough, the System should have dispersed enough Mana that the dungeon will stop coming back.” I mentally send a request to Ali to get an estimate on how many times. “In the meantime, the UBC dungeon needs more checking, which I’m going to leave to you guys.”

“Oh…” Carlos frowns, looking about as everyone else nods, Sam looking sad as he picks up the pieces of his drones. I guess that last Skill destroyed his drones. “And you?”

“I’ve got a trip to plan.”

Chapter 6

As much as I’d love to get on Sabre and go, there are things I need to settle. Perhaps most importantly, I need to speak with the Guilds. The first meeting—a video call, aided by the System since we still don’t have our communication array up—is to Labashi.

“Major,” I say when he finally appears.

“Redeemer. I hope this call is good news,” Labashi says.

“It is. I’m willing to offer your Mercenary Company a base. It won’t be in Vancouver, but in Burnaby,” I say.

“Really. I do not believe that location is able to host our base,” Labashi says.

“Not yet. But the ownership requirements aren’t too far away. There’s a university where a dungeon is formed. We just cleared it; it’s easily doable. From what Ali says, we’ve got about three clears left before it dissipates,” I say. “We’re willing to let you purchase the land in its entirety.”

“Purchase?” Labashi says slowly, rubbing his chin.

It’s a much better offer than normal—most contracts are only set up to be leased for a specific number of years. It’s one of the important parts about the System now that we’re fully integrated—by keeping everything on a lease basis, the chances of a settlement being taken over is reduced. That we were able to purchase land outright during the set up period was one of the few advantages that we, being on Earth, had.

“That is reasonable. After all, we are putting the Credits down for it. And it is a significant amount of land.”

I snort, and Labashi flashes me a grin, knowing that his attempt at negotiation isn’t getting him anywhere. While he has a point that picking up all that land will help the city, it’s still not worth the permanent removal of the land from our control. With the initial probing done, we get down to the brass tacks and negotiating.

We’re working on broad strokes of course. Katherine, Lana, Kim, and the rest of them will get the details hammered down later. But at the end, we have an agreement of sorts.

Labashi nods, scanning the notification in front of him as he summarizes our long discussion. “Our headquarters will be in your university, this SFU. In return, we provide a permanent guard for the city and will, on attack of the Lower Mainland, deploy all available forces from our base. In addition, we will provide a company’s worth of help twice in assaults. Or an equivalent number of aid split across multiple assaults or defenses. These assaults or additional defenses will take no longer than a month in total of deployment. We do, of course, reserve the right to refuse such attacks as per our usual agreements.” Which, from what I recall, mostly amount to “we don’t do suicidal attacks.” “In return, we will have the land in perpetuity and two years’ worth of rent waived.”

“And miscellaneous additions about training, resale of your equipment, and on-going use of your engineering division for upgrade,” I add. “But that’s for the eggheads.”

“Egg. Heads?” Labashi raises an eyebrow.

“Never mind. Human terminology. Don’t worry about it.”

“IT IS DEMEANING TO BE COMPARED TO A NASCENT ORGANIC LIFEFORM.”

“Sorry, Kim. Does it help that I’m technically an egghead?”

“NO.”

“Redeemer?” Labashi says as I have my quick side conversation.

“If we’re agreed, I’ve got another call,” I say, well aware of how expensive this entire conversation is.

“We will let the eggheads finish this agreement. In the meantime, I will begin the process of arranging our presence in your city,” Labashi says with a smile. “I look forward to working with you once again.”

“Thanks.” I watch Labashi fade away before I glance at Katherine. “Who’s next?”

“The Crystal Clans,” Katherine says with a smile. “Their representative is waiting.”

“Sorry, took longer than I expected.”

“It is fine. I arranged for a crafting station to be moved in.”

“Umm…” I consider then shrug. Ah hell, it worked, didn’t it? “Send them in.”

***

This negotiation, thankfully, is a lot simpler. The Crystal Clans are mostly an Artisan Guild, so beyond getting a small force added to the rotation for safeguarding the city of Kelowna, we just need to work out their rent, training, and the percentage discount for purchases from the settlement. They aren’t looking for anything special and we don’t need anything special—just help and a place that’s willing to farm out quests on a regular basis. With a transportation system in place and Kim handling the administration, we could even extend some of their quests to people in other settlements.

“Next,” I say to Katherine when the door closes.

“That, I believe, would be me,” a voice calls from the door.

I look up, blinking as I see a very pretty elf. Long blond hair is swept backward to uncover pointed ears, startlingly blue eyes, and an easy smile. Lean and thin, he lounges against the door in a relaxed manner. Boy next door charm crossed with male model looks.

“And who are you?” As if I couldn’t guess.

“Wynn a Maro. I represent the Burning Leaves,” Wynn says with a bow, smiling slightly. “I hope I’m not intruding by entering.”

“No.” I wave him forward. I could get grumpy about him coming in before we asked for it, but that kind of pettiness isn’t my thing. Anyway, I’ve got enough reasons to be grumpy with the Burning Leaves, including the use of an aura the last time round.

Wynn a Maro, Spider Slayer (Level 38 Fell Ranger)

HP: 2110/2110

MP: 2080/2080

Conditions: None

“That’s an Advanced Class, isn’t it?” I send to Ali.

“Yup. Be careful, boy-o. I don’t think he’s here to kill you, but he hasn’t talked to you yet.”

“Funny.”

“Good. Otherwise I’d have to get another present as an apology,” Wynn says as he walks forward then stops, a hand twitching as he pulls something from his inventory.

A moment later, he’s holding a simple, silver-looking box with a crest made of stylized glyphs I can’t read. The glyphs are closer to Egyptian hierographics than Arabic letters, which makes it all kinds of pretty and unintelligible. The sudden, indrawn breath from Ali, on the other hand, is quite interesting.

“What’s that?” I say, eyes narrow. Automatic manners have me standing up since he’s neared me, which also means I’m more mobile in case that case is something dangerous.

“An apology for my predecessor’s actions,” Wynn says, bowing his head slightly.

“Take it.”

I use both hands to take hold of the gift, flip it open with a thumb, and am surprised to see a simple chain necklace inside. On closer inspection, each ring on the chain seems to be inscribed with many of the same glyphs as the box. Frowning, I pick up the necklace and wait for Ali to provide me the information.

Brumwell Necklace of Shadow Intent

The Brumwell necklace of shadow intent is the hallmark item of the Brumwell Clan. Enchanted by a Master Crafter, this necklace layers shadowy intents over your actions, ensuring that information about your actions is more difficult to ascertain. Ownership of such an item is both a necessity and a mark of prestige among settlement owners and other individuals of power.

Effect: Persistent effect of Shadow Intent (Level 4) results in significantly increased cost of purchasing information from the System about wearer. Effect is persistent for all actions taken while necklace is worn.

“Those things are rare. We’re talking tens of millions of Credits to purchase one, and this is a Level 4 enchantment. Not the rarest, but not cheap.”

“Thank you,” I say. Even if Wynn says this is a gift of apology, I know there are strings attached to such an expensive and overt gift. But like the elf—sorry, the Movana—probably knew, this is a gift I can’t turn down.

“Not at all. My predecessor’s actions were unaccountably rude. To use his abilities in a negotiation is not how our Guild would want this matter handled,” Wynn says.

“True. Why was he allowed to conduct such discussions anyway?” I ask.

“Ah. Politics. His family has certain pull in our Guild.”

“Har. And you?”

“I’m one too. But I’m competent,” Wynn says, eyes dancing with humor.

“Even so. This is an expensive gift,” I say as I close the box. As much as I want to put it on now, I can wait till I have it properly identified by the Shop. He might seem nice, but I won’t trust him off the bat just because he’s tall and pretty. Also, I’d like to see if I can get it altered so that I don’t have to wear a necklace. I hate having things around my neck. “Seems a little much for a Guild building in a small town.”

“How much do you know of my Guild?” Wynn asks instead of answering my unasked question.

“Not much.”

“Well then, perhaps I can be allowed to enlighten you a bit,” Wynn says whilst inclining his head toward the chairs.

I take the hint and sit down, gesturing for him to do so. Once we’re comfortably seated, he continues while Katherine goes to get us a fresh pot of tea.

“The Burning Leaves are a Tier II guild. While we accept most applications to join the Guild, we started and are mainly based in Movana territory. In fact, many of our members are closely related to members within the Movana royalty,” Wynn says.

“Good for you,” I mutter, still unsure what’s the point of this discussion.

“At the same time, your previous dealings and relationship with the Truinnar are known. Few have fought the Weapon Master and lived to tell the tale,” Wynn continues. “But it is in consideration of those matters that we are interested in yourself.”

“Like your stories, the Truinnar and Movana are differing portions of the same race, split when the groups left for the stars. The actual shade of skin of the Truinnar is due to a genetic modification to separate themselves from their cousins. Earth itself is in Truinnar space, which is the larger of the pair of empires,” Ali fills in for me.

“Let me get this straight. You gave me a really nice gift because you want to establish relations with me. Because you’re jealous of Roxley?” I frown. Such a line of reasoning seems just short of insane to me. Which is why I’m probably missing the point.

“Not jealousy. A maneuver to curtail Truinnar influence on this world. Your lands are the closest to the Duchess’s, which makes them strategically important. And then there’s you, Redeemer. Or is it Monster Bane? Or Duelist?” I frown again, and Wynn smiles. “Few have managed to gain so many titles without a higher Class. Even fewer are thrice-titled, especially in such a short timeframe.”

I grunt, shaking my head. A lot of my titles—Monster Bane and Duelist—are cheats. Since I was still progressing from one tier to the next, the System registered me as only having forty-three Levels, instead of what should be about double that. It means that those titles, while earned through blood, are nowhere as “true” as someone else’s. But I’m sure Wynn knows that, which makes his interest puzzling in a way.

“If you’re looking at hindering the Truinnar, won’t owning settlements be better?” I ask.

“Ugh, you’re embarrassing me, boy-o.”

“THERE ARE CURRENTLY TWENTY-THREE MOVANA SETTLEMENTS IN AFRICA, CENTERED AROUND EAST AFRICA. A MAP OF SUCH SETTLEMENTS HAS BEEN UPLOADED TO YOUR DATA FILES.”

“Well, the Guild is not part of the Kingdom,” Wynn says. “And as you know, we are not allowed to own settlements.”

“But you’re allowed to have Guild Buildings in other settlements,” I say slowly, realizing what he is alluding to. The Guild is as “independent” as a twenty-year-old who still lives at home and doesn’t pay rent to his parents. They’re still going to dictate a portion of his life, whether he likes it or not. So accepting the Guild into my settlements is a double-edged sword. It’ll piss off Roxley and the Truinnar, but potentially put me in the good graces of the Movanna. Or at the least, give them a direct and obvious way to spy on me. I tap the box after a second. “I take it your Guild didn’t pay for this then.”

“No.”

“Ah…” I sigh, tapping the gift. Then there are a lot more strings to this gift than I assumed. “Why tell me all this?”

“Because I feel it’s better to be clear about our objectives before we begin negotiation.”

“Don’t think it’d help your cause to hide it?”

“Not in the long run. And I—we—wish to ensure that this is a long-term relationship.”

I grunt, leaning back. Ah hell. For all the potential problems, they’re the only Tier II guild to make an offer, one that has significant enough reserves to make full use of our dungeon. We need them—their people, their Credits. If we can get a good deal…

“All right, talk.”

***

“Are you certain that Ms. Pearson and the AI will be sufficient for this negotiation?” Katherine says when we’ve shown Wynn out.

“Lana will be fine. They’ve got a framework of what we want in place.” In fact, I’ve mentioned to Lana that I’m willing to let them have both North Vancouver and Kamloops, if the price is right. “Who’s next?”

“Damian.”

“Show him in.” I sigh. This should be fun.

“You know, boy-o, you’ve gotten nearly as boring as my former Companion. And all he did was sit around reading all day.”

“Trust me, I’m not impressed either.”

Our mutual bitching about my life of meetings and talking comes to an end as Damian walks in. The ex-scavenger, ex-rebel, now bureaucrat leader like me seems slightly more harried than the last time I saw him. After a few quick greetings and pleasantries, we get down to business.

“My people are growing concerned about their safety. They’ve been having to deal with more and more monster attacks recently,” Damian says. “They’re also complaining about a significant drop in their income.”

“THOSE EARMARKED AS SCAVENGERS HAVE SEEN A TOTAL LOSS OF REVENUE OF 9% IN THE LAST MONTH WITH AN AVERAGE DECREASE OF 318.64 CREDITS PER INDIVIDUAL. THIS IS BASED OFF A DECREASE IN TRANSACTION VOLUME OF 2.81%.”

I stare at the notification, processing the data. “And what do you want from me?”

“More guards. We also want a timeline of when we can expect the other suburbs to be transformed into full-fledged towns.”

“Well…” I shake my head. I’m so not answering that one since I don’t have a good idea myself. “From the information I’ve got, it doesn’t look like it’s an issue of monsters or what you’re bringing back so much as a drop in your selling prices.” As Damian opens his mouth, I raise my hand. “Let me see if I have this right. Your men—sorry, people—are bringing in the same number of items, but demand’s fallen off. At the same time, they’ve had to go farther and farther out because nearby residences have all been hit.”

Damian shuts his mouth before nodding slightly.

“Right. Well, here’s the thing. You guys are either going to have accept it or change your occupation,” I say. “As more and more people Level and get Credits through their Skills and occupations, the demand for scavenged items is going to continue dropping. It won’t take long before inter-galactic tradeliners arrive, and then your market is really going to crash. Change now or change later, but you’re in a losing game.”

“Did you tell me and my people to suck it up and deal?” Damian’s eyes bulge, a little heat appearing in his voice.

“Yes,” I say, then consider. “What we can do is provide career counseling and advice. Purchasing the AI with the skills necessary to do the analysis isn’t that expensive. If we pick out a few buildings, we can spread the locations around the city.”

“Job retraining,” Damian says, disgust in his voice.

“Counseling. No one’s going to hold their hands,” I say, leaning forward. “Your people aren’t cowards, but they’ve gotten used to an easy way of life, of low risk and a decent amount of Credits. But things change, and they’re going to have to change.”

“And that’s it? That’s what you want me to go back to them with?” Damian says, anger thrumming through his voice.

“Yes. They can either change now and be ready for the future, or we can prop them up for a few months, maybe a year or two, and then have it all pulled out from under them. This world of Levels, it gives us a ton of options. But you have to be willing to take them.”

“So you want them to fight? Be like your Hakarta and Yerrick friends? Run your dungeon like everyone else?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “I don’t want anything from them. I’m just telling you how things are. They can decide to delve or change their Classes or hell, keep doing what they’re doing. It’s up to them. I’m just saying we’re not going to subsidize them or provide anything else.”

“This is unacceptable.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Anything else?”

“We’re not done speaking about this yet!” Damian almost shouts, fist hammering into the table so hard he cracks it.

“Yes, we are. Now you can move on to another topic or you can leave.”

When Damian gets out a short while later, Katherine is giving me the stink-eye.

“Do you think I’m wrong?”

“In what you said? No. In how you said it? Definitely,” Katherine says.

“It was the truth. A necessary truth.”

“But you could have been kinder.”

A feeling of déjà vu, a memory of a previous conversation. One between myself and my father, Katherine taking my place as I find myself echoing my father as he explained my lack of talent while I decried his tone.

“If I was kinder, he might refuse the truth of my words, holding himself to the tone rather than the intent. He can hate me, but at least he’ll have heard me.”

There’s something in her eyes when I say that, something I can’t understand. For a moment, I wonder if she knows why I said what I did, but then I dismiss the thought. Women can’t read minds—that’s just a fallacy.

“I’ll have Lana speak with him later then,” Katherine says instead.

I open my mouth to protest but decide against it. Having Lana soften the blow a little while reminding him of the truth is probably the best of both worlds. Good cop, bad cop at its best. “Who’s next?”

“We have the delvers.”

I groan, knowing what they want. I’m surprised they’re coming together, but at least their topic of conversation is known. They’ll want to discuss the Guild spot, their concerns about being pushed out, and of course, push for some benefits for themselves. It’s annoying, because the Guild could do us a ton of good, with quests and a ready market for our goods, but they’ll complain and bitch as if they don’t know all that just to get a little leeway. And even if I can push most of this to Lana and Kim as the negotiating parties, they still want to make sure I get my share of it too.

And sadly, I can’t tell them to bugger off. Because as much as it is politics, they might actually have a point somewhere in there that I haven’t thought of. Thankfully, today’s the last of my meeting days. After today, I’ll be mostly ready for my trip.

“Then let’s get this over with.”

***

“John,” Lana says softly after pulling away from the kiss the next morning.

“Mmmm…?” I say as I try to re-engage my brain. That was one heck of a goodbye kiss…

“Port me to Vancouver?” Lana says.

“Oh. Right.” I blink, waving to open the Portal.

The moment it does, Roland slips in, the only one to accompany us to Kamloops last night.

“And, John, stay safe,” Lana says, giving me one last hug before stepping away.

I watch her departing figure, sighing before shutting the inky blackness. “Now then, what next?”

“Mr. Lee!” a voice calls so loudly that it pierces the walls of the house we’re in.

When I turn, I blink and stare at KC through the living room windows, the Gunsmith struggling down the walkway with a pair of large metal boxes.

“KC.” I nod to the lady, glancing at the boxes as I open the front door.

“Ammo! I finally… ummm… worked through the… well, blueprints. Mostly have them in solid casings, but I, uh… well. I finished these two last night. Hollow points,” KC says, flushing under scrutiny and holding up the cases.

“Oh. Thank you!” I blink, taking them from her and storing them in my Altered Space. Before I can say anything further, KC’s pulling out even more cases from her inventory, dumping case after case on the ground. “How many did you make?”

“I, uhhh… lost track,” KC says ashamedly. “I was, ummm… Leveling so much that well…”

“You got carried away,” I finish for her, and she nods. “Well, no matter. I’m sure I can use it. Did you get the rest… ah, I see they’re here.” I nod, staring at the various other boxes, each carefully labeled. Boxes of explosives, marked and stored, make their appearance. “Just send me the bill. I’ll get it paid now.”

KC bobs her head quickly, and a moment later, a small notification pops up. I don’t even bother looking at the details, just glancing at the final amount and sending the Credits over, letting Kim handle the inventory issues. While he (it? her?) won’t be useful once we leave the settlement, for small tasks like these, he’s even faster than Ali.

“INVENTORY IS MISSING TWO HIGH-EXPLOSIVE MINES AND CURRENTLY HAS ONE EXTRA WHITE PHOSPHOROUS INCIDINERARY GRENADE. ALSO, THERE IS A PACKAGE THAT IS LABELED TO YOU DIRECTLY. I HAVE ASSESSED THAT THERE IS A LOW THREAT RISK AND HAVE NOT INVESTIGATED ITS CONTENTS.”

“Let her know by notification. No biggies.”

“Thanks again. You and your people,” I say. “Anything I should know?”

“Ummm… no… We’ve had a few visits from Artisans from other cities—villages? Towns?—uhh…”

“Cities is fine. I understand what you mean,”

“Right. Ummm… so, yes. They’ve been interested in… well, us… it’s been fun. One of the, umm… visitors was an… interior designer. Upped our efficiency by 1.6%!”

“That’s good.” I nod. “Nice speaking with you, KC.”

With one last nod, I pop open another Portal and step through. Time to get to work.

***

Since I can only open Portals to places I’ve visited—and only within a range of a 1,000 KM of me—I have a bit of a journey to make. While we debated having some of the team accompany me, between Sabre and my ability to Blink Step and open Portals, I should be relatively safe. Of course, I promised to drag my friends to me if things look dangerous and I was still in range, but none of us expect that. At least till Edmonton.

British Columbia during the height of summer is alternately beautiful sunshine and occasional days of rain. Up north where we’re going, the rainforest gives way to more desert-like terrain before changing again. Lucky for me, it’s mostly sunshine right now, which means traveling along the weather-beaten roads is satisfactory. It does make me wonder what we should do about upkeep—now that I own a bunch of settlements in the province, trade between settlements is slowly picking up. Outside of the main towns, I’ve avoided taking control of settlements unless it’s been requested, just because I don’t want the additional responsibility. Surprisingly, that’s happened more than once, especially since we have started regular patrols. As much as I might not want to be the local government, we seem to be falling into that role more and more.

Right now, between the lack of on-going transportation and the monster problems, trade caravans are done in an unscheduled, slipshod matter. And while the nitpicky part of me wants to get involved, the lazy part of me points out that this is what the capitalist economy is meant for. Let someone else who wants to earn the Credits organize things.

However, the roads are my problem. That’s what the government is for, after all—dealing with resources and projects that make no sense for an individual to undertake. That’s why we had governments in the first place—from the mayor of a village, who decided who and when people got to use the common grounds for breeding, to the United Nations, which had helped reduce world hunger and diseases. Still, like any government, I’ll admit, that last part is a bit shaky since the UN isn’t really a government technically, but whatever. The point is, we organise because we need to.

Unfortunately, I have to contend with that most limiting of factors—scarce resources. Putting Credits and manpower into building the roads and warding them meant I couldn’t buy land in the Villages. Focus on upgrading individual Villages and I’d miss the opportunity of upgrading Vancouver from Town to Large Town. Not purchasing specialized buildings means we aren’t taking advantage or encouraging specific economies. In Whitehorse, the introduction of the Arborator had provided employment and Credits for a ton of people, increasing our efficiency further. Could I afford to shift our focus from things like that to work on something like roads? Then again, could I neglect trade?

Thoughts like this carry me from Grand Prairie to Edmonton. I could have gone north and east from Kamloops, but that would have put me through a provincial park. And those, from experience, are a tough row to hoe. Not that I shouldn’t visit one, but right now, speed is more important than Levels.

Still, for all my desire for speed, I make the time to pop open Portals for those who need it. Small towns. Individuals unlucky enough to be caught in the middle of nowhere and yet lucky enough to still be alive. Groups of survivors swept up and thrown back into civilization. I have to admit, there’s a certain satisfaction in helping them all, even if it slows me down.

In time, forests and rolling hills—and a few mountains—give way to flat prairies. The sky opens up, making me both relax from the ease of picking out dangers and tense from being so exposed. No more mountains, no more shade, just the eye in the sky and the rolling plains that were once part of some farmer’s land. By the time I hit the prairies proper, the number of individuals I find diminishes to nothing, the survivors most likely having made their way to Edmonton.

Like most prairie cities, Edmonton doesn’t really “start” with a fixed boundary; you just find yourself rolling in where more and more buildings make themselves known. Abandoned, discarded, broken down, and bloody, residences and strip malls merge into office buildings. And then there’s a wall made of grey concrete and cinder blocks, built by Skill and Credits. And towers that host beam turrets and, perhaps most startling of all, a single man waiting for me.

“Howdy, stranger,” the man calls, cowboy hat, plaid shirt, and cowboy boots set against a pair of guns slung low on his hips and a shotgun cradled in his arms. “That’s about far enough.”

“Howdy? Goblin’s arse. I didn’t get any tobacco!” Ali chimes in, shifting his clothing to mock the stranger.

I’m too busy to answer the Spirit though, as I study the man before me.

Blair Kendall, the Rock of Edmonton (Level 28 Battle Seer)

HP: 3680/3680

MP: 2110/2110

Conditions: None

Holy shit. That’s an Advanced Level. He literally has the highest Level I’ve seen on a human. While he isn’t the highest Level human on Earth—I checked, and there’s some cheat Level character at Advanced 38—he’s the highest in Canada as far as I know. And probably explains why Edmonton has managed to stay independent.

“Afternoon,” I say while getting off Sabre slowly. I keep my hands well in sight, not wanting him to get any ideas.

“Nice ride there. Mind telling us why you’re visiting this little town of ours? Don’t get many strangers these days,” Blair says, a hand coming up to absently rub at a close-cut, curly beard.

“Passing through. Maybe a little scouting. Maybe a little chat with the people in charge.”

“Really. You’re pretty well stocked and armed for someone just passing through. Redeemer of the Dead,” Blair says.

I sigh. I really, really, hate that title sometimes. “Well, colour me surprised to have the Rock of Edmonton greet me. Now, if we’re done measuring each other, perhaps you can show me where an inn or empty residence is? Preferably one with a working hot shower? Cleanse spells work, but well, I’ve been on the road for a bit now.”

“We aren’t done,” Blair says. “I’m not letting a potential threat into my city.”

“Your city?” I raise an eyebrow, mentally prodding Ali.

“Can’t tell, boy-o. You can infer ownership, but you can’t actually tell. It’s one of the rules instituted by the Council in… blah blah blah year after owners kept getting assassinated. You can buy the events around a transfer, but they don’t show up on Status screens anymore.”

Ah. That’s useful. For me. Somewhat. Maybe.

“Fine. What do you want from me?”

Quest Received—Clear the Plains

A new plains dungeon has appeared near the city of Edmonton. You have been tasked with clearing the dungeon and destroying the Boss. Doing so will gain the favor of the Rock of Edmonton.

Reward: Entry to the town of Edmonton

Accept (Y/N)

“Really?” I grumble, staring at the quest information and the resulting marker.

“Yes.” Without another word, Blair walks back through the open gates, which shut behind him. Someone has the flair for the dramatic.

“Scout ahead, will you? Let’s get this garbage done.”

Nice thing about having access to an entire armory’s worth of explosives is that when you’re feeling particularly lazy, it’s a simple enough matter to overuse them. Since all the explosives were made by individual crafters, all of them are System-registered. With the help of my drones and a liberal application of explosives, clearing the dungeon doesn’t even require me to crawl through the tunnels.

I do wonder how he would have expected me to handle this if I hadn’t had my drones. After all, the tunnels themselves were barely larger than a man’s torso in most points. At times, they were significantly smaller. The only regret I have—and it’s a mild regret—is that I won’t get any Loot from all this. Even with the sheer volume of explosives, I could have looted the scattered remains if I had been willing to crawl in.

As it stands, the only loot I received were the hides of the dungeon Boss and his minions when they swarmed up and out of the earth at my continued provocations. Sitting at just above Level 30, the dungeon Boss didn’t take much to deal with, though his trick of sinking me halfway into the earth was interesting. Having an evolved gopher with shark teeth trying to eat my face from inches away was a new and unpleasant experience. It said something about my life that that didn’t even make it into the top hundred nightmares.

When I get the quest update notification, I make my way to the town as fast as I can. Maybe I should research a lava flow or napalm spell, something I could use to flood passageways next time.

The Rock of Edmonton is waiting for me again when I roll up to the wall as twilight falls.

“All done then, are we?” Blair drawls.

“Yes. Now can I go in for a bath?”

“Follow me,” Blair says, leading the way into the city. Within the city, a horse waits for him, which he straddles with practiced ease.

“Really?” I say, shaking my head. “A bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

“How did you get around, right after the change?” Blair says caustically.

I think back to my mad scramble down the mountain and shut up. Horses are practical and fast and this one at least looks as though its achieved some form of symbiosis with the System. Or else it’s just naturally a really pretty horse. I’ll admit, I’ve become inured to big animals after hanging out with Lana.

You have entered the Town of Edmonton

This is a safe zone. Contains:

- A Shop
- City Center
- Armory
- Adventurer’s Guild
- More…

“You have a Guild already?” I say, an eyebrow rising. That was fast. I mean, sure, Carcross had one before Whitehorse, but I’m still surprised they’ve achieved so much so fast.

All around us, the buildings slowly transform, growing higher as we make our way downtown on PAV and horse.

“Yup. They’ve been real helpful, they have,” Blair drawls. “I hear you just struck a deal with a crafter group for one of your settlements.”

“My…” My eyes tighten before I snort. “You were using the time the quest bought you to look me up.”

“I thought that necklace made things harder for people to buy information on me?” I ask Ali.

“For previous actions. And it doesn’t count if the Guild puts out a press release.”

“They did what!?!”

“Recruiting material, boy-o.” I can hear the exasperation in Ali’s mental voice.

“Seemed fair. There’s quite a bit of information out there on you, for cheap, Redeemer. At least until a few months ago. Then, the information gets a lot more expensive. Be curious to hear how you did that.”

“Har.” I shake my head, somewhat embarrassed at being called out on it directly. It’s not a time that I like to think about directly. Still, of all my titles, that one I earned fair and square, doing something few would have done. Not during the aftermath of an apocalypse at least. It’s a strange title, I’ll admit, and I’m still uncertain why the System gave it to me. Not the why of the action, but the greater why of how it chose. “Looks like you owe me a story then. Rock.”

“Not much to tell, not to someone like you. It came to me probably the same way you earned your other titles,” Blair says. “In blood and tears, in front of a smoking gun, over the corpses of friends and foes alike.”

“Where we going? And are you going to let anyone else speak to me?” I say, having yet to see a single person since the gate guards.

“Not yet,” Blair says with a matter-of-fact honesty. “You’ll be staying with me until I decide you’re safe enough. Hard to trust people like you.”

I would say something about his confidence in dealing with me alone, but I knew that ever since the gate, we’d been shadowed by four individuals, all of them with Advanced Classes. Not as high as Blair, but considering Edmonton must have a finite number of Advanced Classers, I was rather flattered. Hell, even Vancouver didn’t have that many—though that was as much the Sect’s fault as anything.

A few more gambits at drawing a conversation out of Blair gets me nowhere, so I give up and content myself to being led to his house. When we arrive, I’m somehow not surprised to find that it’s a modest duplex. I am surprised by how slovenly the place is—while it’s clean, clothing and other bric-a-brac are strewn about everywhere.

“Bathroom’s upstairs, around the corner at the end of the hallway.”

I grunt in acknowledgement before heading up, sending Ali to keep an eye on Sabre. Soon enough, I’m downstairs again, greeted by a carnivore’s dream of a meal. Conversation at dinner is nearly non-existent, consisting of a lot of gurgled beer, moans of pleasure, and chewing. Without the ladies around, I find myself returning to my more slovenly eating habits, including licking my fingers with gusto. When we’re done, feet up and beers in hand, we get around to the real talk.

“You’re here to set up that Portal of yours, aren’t you?”

“Setting some waypoints, yes,” I say, clarifying matters a little. “Also to make sure you guys are doing okay. We’re in the midst of improving our own towns, and part of that is figuring out what kind of friends we might have.”

“And you think we’re friends?” Blair sips his beer, tilting his head to the side as he looks at me. Without his hat, he looks much less like a caricature and more like a very tired man.

“I think we could be.”

“Even if you’re in a state of war?”

“And you kicking out the Grey Company was all kinds of amiable? Way I read it, your fight was a close thing,” I say. “And you’ve got a lot fewer people now.”

“Not much for mincing words, are you? Thought you people were all kinds of polite.”

“If your town council wanted a diplomatic response, they wouldn’t have sent you,” I point out. Even if my Chinese origins are mostly gone physically after the gene therapy, he knows my background. And that you people was a damn dig if I had ever heard one. Strangely enough, I find myself not that angry – getting another redneck being casually racist was so far beneath my list of worries, it wouldn’t show up even in a thousand years. “And just as an FYI, I grew up in Vancouver.”

“Not Richmond? Hear it’s a little Asia there.”

“Not anymore.”

“Ah…” The not-so-subtle reminder of the apocalypse shuts him down. “We aren’t ready to cozy up to you, but we’re willing to talk.”

I grunt, leaning back and nodding. “Fair enough. But I’m only planning to be here for a few days. After that, well, I’ve got a city to visit.”

“Calgary.”

“Yes.”

Silence descends while we savor the beer and our slowly settling stomachs.

In time, Blair tilts his head, his voice a relaxed drawl. “Might be there are a few interested in helping out. Unofficial-like.”

“We’ll take any help we can. Unofficial-like.”

Silence returns, and this time, it doesn’t leave. I find myself relaxing, content to just sit, knowing there’s nothing more for me to do. Tomorrow, I’ll be talking to politicians and bureaucrats, finding out about the city and trying to put a good face on things. But today… well, today, I get to sit in silence and that’s fine enough with me. Blair might be tough, but he’s a bit of a racist dick.

Chapter 7

“Sure you won’t stay a little longer? I figure you almost have them,” Blair drawls, leaning over the saddle horn of his horse as I straddle Sabre.

It’s been three days since I’ve arrived in Edmonton, and while I’m still restricted in where I’m allowed to go, I’ve made some progress. It probably helped that we got hit by a swarm on the second day. The display of controlled violence I put on was particularly well received. But still…

“People are weird,” I say, shaking my head. “And I’m on a timetable.”

Blair snorts but nods agreeably. A moment later, a five-foot, two-seventy-something man rides up on his bicycle, a rifle slung over his shoulder, a bicycle helmet on his head.

“Rufus,” I greet the man, who flashes me a grin.

“He’ll get you as deep as he safely can. But the rest is up to you,” Blair says, rubbing his chin. “I still ain’t sure about this plan…”

“Good thing it’s not up to you then.” I flash Blair a grin.

He shakes his head and waves us off.

The journey south from Edmonton is simple enough to handle, especially with a Messenger as my guide. I find it slightly amusing when Rufus explains that he used to be a postal worker, which resulted in him receiving the Class. Thank god I didn’t get a class called “Website Designer” or I’d really be screwed.

Rufus does his job well, leading me to Calgary with nary a problem that can’t be solved with a liberal application of violence. From there, he guides me to the current headquarters of the humans in the city—an abandoned furniture warehouse. Since I have his company, we get through their security checkpoints with a minimum of trouble, which is nice, since I played that game already in Edmonton.

That’s the thing I should have realized—Edmonton and Calgary have been working together for the last little while. It’s a partial explanation of why both parties have managed to hold out as long as they have—in fact, Edmonton’s state is partly due to the sacrifice of a number of Calgarians according to Rufus.

“Yo, this is John Lee. He’s from BC and just bounced from Edmonton, where he stayed with Blair. Blair says, and I quote, he’s ‘an okay sort for a slit-eyed fucker,’” Rufus says, looking somewhat uncomfortable saying those words. Truth be told, I’m not sure if it’s the swearing or the racial slur.

On the other hand, at least the introduction has the trio in the command room give me somewhat favorable nods. One is a First Nations man in his fifties with close-cropped hair and wearing Adventurer chic—an armored jumpsuit and holsters for pistols and knives. The second is a twenty-something weedy man who looks as if he needs a meal or three and a pair of glasses to go with his shirt and pants ensemble. The last is a Nordic blonde of the older persuasion. Her extremely tight blouse, artfully undone one button too much across an ample bosom, screams cougar. It doesn’t help that she certainly has the Charisma for it. Committed as I am to Lana, I can’t help but check her out.

“Mr. Lee, you’re from Vancouver then?” Trevor Badger, the First Nations elder, says after we exchange quick greetings.

“Among other settlements, yes.” I nod to him, a part of me wondering which tribe he’s a part of. After a moment, I dismiss that thought as unimportant to our current situation. Anyway, it’s not as if I’d remember a fact like that. I’d be lucky to remember any of their names by the end of this meeting, if not for Ali and the Status screens.

“Are you here to lend us help?” Donna Luff murmurs. I have to admit, her “Rachel” haircut suits her, but the way she’s smiling has my guard up. That and her occupation of Lawyer. Having dealt with Labashi, I’m not a fan of the Contract Skill she most likely has.

“Pretty much. Sorry it took so long. We’ve had our own things to handle,” I say, grabbing a seat without asking. “Now, I’ve got some ideas, but perhaps you’d care to fill me in. It’s been a little over a week and a half since I’ve had access to a Shop.”

“You didn’t…” Donna says, trailing off since the answer was obvious. No, Edmonton didn’t give me access to their Shops. All of them were connected to City Cores. “Well, we can certainly fix that. But maybe, Charles?”

Charles grunts, leaning forward, his voice as weedy and thin as him. “Well, I can give a wide overview, but of course details will take more time. Here’s where we are…”

Calgary has a total of three City Cores, areas that demarcate the portions of the city and give control of the city itself. Unlike Vancouver or Seattle, which spread its population across numerous adjoining cities, Calgary concentrated most of its population in its main city area. That means they have significantly fewer City Cores to deal with. Initially, humanity had all three Cores under their somewhat fractured control, but with the coming of the aliens, they lost two of the Cores at the cost of quite a few people.

The Kingdom of Peswin currently control a City Core in the southwest of Calgary, beneath the bow river, while the Uvrik are east of the river and humanity has the northwest. Of the three, the Uvrik corporation is in the most tenuous position, having to deal with the brunt of the fighting with humanity, while the halflings sit back and watch from the sidelines.

Those are the basics. The rest is a rundown on the kind of problems the Calgarians are facing. The Peswin currently had the lowest number of Advanced Classes in the city—about twenty or so, all low-Leveled—but had a much larger number of Basic Combat Classers. Uvrik went the other direction, having eleven very high Level Advanced Classers, about a hundred ten Basic Combat Classers, and a very, very large army of drones.

Most importantly for my plans, I got some information about our enemies’ current defenses. While everyone had settlement shields set up to stop simple probes, everyone conducted on-going attacks, which meant those shields dropped constantly. Unfortunately, that means that everyone has put a decent amount of funds into upgraded sensors. Still, for all that, everyone was on-board with the first part of my plan. Sneaking in and getting the lay of the land, especially with my ability, was uncontestably a good idea.

It was part two that got them riled up.

“You want to what?” Charles shouts, his reedy voice almost breaking as he squeaks his outrage.

“Talk to them,” I say. “Negotiate an alliance. Preferably with both but at least one.”

“Are you insane?”

“No. There’re either eleven really high Level Advanced Classers or twenty low Level Advanced Classers of the combat persuasion we have to fight. That’d be doable individually, but what happens if the other side hits us right after the fight?” I say.

“We know. Why do you think we’re holding off?” Donna says.

“That’s what we expect you and your men to help us on,” Trevor says pointedly. “Or are you just talk?”

“I can bring a bunch of fighters, enough that we’ll have a decent advantage and most likely won’t lose too many in a single fight. But not many doesn’t mean no one. I’m tired of digging graves and cremating bodies. Aren’t you?” When no one replies, I continue. “If we can find some common ground, maybe make an alliance, why don’t we?”

“Because they’ve killed our people!”

“It’s our land,” Trevor says.

“And how’d that argument work for you guys?” I say pointedly. When I see Trevor bristle, I hold up a hand, my brain catching up with my words. “Sorry. Too far. But getting an ally from another power is a winning strategy, if I recall my Canadian history.”

Trevor grunts, obviously still unhappy. I wonder if offering him a chocolate will help.

“What makes you think they’ll talk to us?” Donna says when the silence gets uncomfortable, leaning forward and giving me an eyeful.

“I don’t. But if we don’t try, we won’t know.”

“And if they try to kill us?”

“Then we’ll have their answer,” I say with a slight smile. “But I figure we could write up a contract to get a diplomatic talk going.”

Donna makes a face, while Charles gets ready to raise another point of contention. I sigh, settling in to continue the argument. We need allies not just for this fight but for all the upcoming fights. We can’t keep pissing off the entire Galactic System. I just hope that we aren’t embroiling ourselves too much into Galactic politics by creating these alliances.

***

Convincing them took hours, but eventually I received an agreement—after promising to scout out their lands and get moving on preparations for a knock-down, drag-out fight. I’m less than enthused by the idea of that, but between the help we can get from Seattle and BC, we should be able to win. We might even be able to do so without losing too many people, even if we get attacked by both sides. Thankfully, neither group in Calgary seem to be into the entire slavery or random torture business, which means we only have to overcome the basic prejudices and hurt feelings from fighting a constant skirmish for the last few months. Only.

I wish I could say scouting is more difficult, but the fact is, slipping in and causing havoc is just the kind of thing the groups have been doing for the last few months. Joining a skirmishing group when the shields fall is a simple matter, and after that, I limit my attacks. Mostly though, the group of us just run around, making sure I get as much land under my feet as possible.

The next day, we head straight into the Uvrik’s territory for a repeat. Unfortunately, a few hours in, we get caught.

The Uvrik have a somewhat different method of dealing with intruders. Their flying drones blanket the sky, dozens of them swooshing over our heads as they triangulate on our position. Much like Sam’s smaller drones, none of these do much damage individually, but together, they could easily become a problem. More importantly, these ones are focused on slowing us down, hitting us with oil slicks, insta-concrete canisters, and foam barriers. Area effect spells like Lightning Strike and Fireball sweep the skies, but they just keep coming.

“Move, we can’t keep staying here,” Iris, the titular leader of our group, screams.

The African Canadian woman matches actions to words even as she looses an arrow at a coming swarm. The arrow shimmers, becoming a dozen. Each ignites and accelerates into the sky, tearing apart the drones. The rest of us are right on her heels.

As we turn the corner of the next block, the four of us find ourselves faced by a wall of steel. Squat robots have shields held in front of their bodies, and the barrels of their beam weapons sticking out gleam in the summer sky, moments before they fire. The portable shield generator around my waist flares white, soaking up the damage as it teeters on the edge of failing.

“Shit!” A thin, young man ducks away as the ends of his long hair catch on fire. The ends burn away as he ducks and rolls. “You assholes! That cost me a hundred Credits to get fixed!”

“Told you you should have gotten the nanoweave!” his friend, Louise, cackles as she stands in the middle of the road, beams aimed at her seeming to bend as they near her form. The twisted flares of light strike the ground, buildings, and drones as she Warps Space.

I admit, I have to grin. It’s time for me to test out a few new spells I purchased just before we left. While I’m not earning as much these days—not having that much time to go hunting has put a crimp on my looting and experience gain—I can give myself a salary as the settlement owner. I’m not particularly clear about the formula used—it has something to do with the type of government, the on-going revenue generation, tax base and tax rate amount and duration—but it’s enough to replenish my empty wallet. It’s a pity I can’t use the settlement funds directly for myself, but if I could, royalty and other settlement owners would be truly broken.

“My turn,” I whisper to myself and raise my hand. A molten bar of fire shoots from my hand, melting the steel and punching into the robot behind the shield. I swing my hand sideways, lopping the creature and its neighbor in half before the attack fades. Even as the after-images of my strike fade, I dodge aside.

“What was that?” Iris pants as she draws a breath, her own attack punching a hole in a robot next to the ones I attacked.

Ali tosses her a description, since he has little to do in this fight, his orders being to stay hidden and undetectable.

Inferno Beam

A beam of heat raised to the levels of an inferno, able to melt steel and liquefy earth on contact! The perfect spell for those looking to do a lot of damage in a short period of time.

Effect: Does 150 Points of Heat Damage

Cost: 125 Mana

“Move,” I snap without thinking, dodging forward and sweeping my hands sideways as my next spell forms. Mud Walls rise from the ground, stretching to the sky before sweeping forward in a V formation, pushing and submerging the attacking robots as the walls create a pathway for us.

Mud Walls

Unlike its more common counterpart Earthen Walls, Mud Walls deals slow, suffocating damage and restricts movement on the battlefield.

Effect: Does 20 Points of Suffocating Damage. -30% Movement Speed

Duration: 2 Minutes

Cost: 75 Mana

Reacting to the tone of my voice, the group charges alongside me. Mana Darts form in my hand to attack more mini drones that block our way. I keep the pace down, making sure the team can catch up, spinning around after a hundred meters to lash out with another Inferno Beam as some of the robots get out of the mud.

“Mana consumption, boy-o. Remember, we don’t want to look too powerful,” Ali reminds me.

I grunt, pulling the beam rifle from my shoulder. With the team caught up, we get back to running, arrows, projectiles, and spells blowing away any obstructions as we try to get back to “our” part of town.

Luckily for us, our situation has been transmitted to the other teams, and after another couple of minutes of running away, we receive an order over the tactical net.

“Drop and roll in 3. 2. 1. Now!”

Some of my new friends do exactly as the voice commands, but Louise and I take the liberty to interpret the orders, hitting the ground in a long slide. We’re both angling to see what’s coming, and the extra effort—and a few road burns—is worth the effort. Prepared spells lash out, beams of purple, green, and yellow light that cut through drones are mixed with tiny homing missiles and the deep and continuous boom of a minigun. In seconds, the air behind us is clear of drones, the last lucky few pulling back to stem losses.

I grunt, standing, road rash mostly faded away as my System-assisted healing kicks in. It’s weird that I even got it, considering how much health I have, but I’ve noticed that the System likes to make us hurt. Higher health doesn’t mean an inability to take damage—just less. A lot less. Staring at the remnants of my armored jumpsuit, I sigh, making mental note to pick up a few more sets when we get back. Sometimes, I feel like these armor sets are like what pantyhose must have been for women—better to buy cheap and disposable than expensive and nice. Because you never know when the next damn thing is going to leave a tear in it.

We run back to the safety of our lines. It doesn’t take long now that we don’t have to worry about fighting through masses of drones. A part of me wonders how much all that cost the Uvrik, but I decide against asking. I’m not sure if I’d laugh or cry at the answer.

“You’re wanted,” Iris says once we’ve made it safely back.

I nod, turning to head to see the council members. That’s the only people they could mean.

“And John? I run the team.”

My step hitches slightly from a flare of anger, but I push it down. She’s right—I might have been a fraction of a second faster, but it didn’t matter. Not at that point. I should have let her give the command rather than do it myself. Having multiple leaders could cause trouble. I wave goodbye in acknowledgement before I leave, Sabre finding me soon after.

“Did you get far enough?” Trevor asks when I walk in.

I’d be annoyed at his abruptness, but it’s not like I knocked when I entered. “Good enough for government work.” I pause, struck by a thought. “We’re the actual government now, aren’t we? Crap.”

Donna snorts before she taps a projected holographic image. Ali floats over, waving his hand over the image and updating it with our path, a red line charting our progress through the city.

“Now, we ready to chat?” I ask when I realize the three, perched over the map, won’t be saying anything soon.

“We’ve made the requests,” Donna says. “We’ve yet to hear from them.”

I frown, considering if they’re telling the truth. In the end, I decide not to question them. Better to believe in them than not. “Anything you need from me?”

“The Kingdom’s been putting some pressure on us here,” Trevor says, pointing at a portion of the map. “They didn’t like us picking up those buildings. Our men could use some help, especially with that sensing Skill of yours.”

I grunt, nodding. While I’m still limited—as is Ali—by my Levels to pick up anything truly Skilled, that doesn’t mean we can’t be of help. Our very presence along that line will force the Kingdom to deploy more stealth-oriented teams, reducing the pressure those teams can bring elsewhere along the border. And since I’ve got nothing better to do, I head off. The only pity is that I’m limited in how much experience I can gain since killing too many of their people before we engage in “peace” talks is probably a bad idea.

***

Two days later, we get our first meeting. You’d think the Uvrik corporation would get on it faster, but hey, who cares about thousands of Credits destroyed, a little blood spilled, and a few worthless lives lost? It’s all part of the balance sheet of taking over a city, isn’t it?

I’m pacing in a circle, waiting for word of how the meeting went. It’s been hours since my presence was restricted to this room near the rest of the Council members. Within it are members of the fast-acting reserve team we’ve designed, ready to act if things go to hell. Most of them are lounging, reading, playing with weapons.

Hours of pacing, chewing on chocolates, and occasionally attempting to read. It’s frustrating, being stuck back here and waiting, but having me there would give away too many of our cards. I could calm myself, instill control over my emotions, suppress them so I can do something “productive,” but sometimes, it’s important to actually feel what you’re feeling, to deal with your emotions rather than suppress them. Or so I’m told.

When I’m finally called into the meeting room, I find Donna with the pair of aides who went along with her, all three relaxing over a big bottle of apocalypse ale.

“John,” Trevor greets me, his greeting followed soon after by everyone else’s.

“So?” I ask.

“They’re willing to talk. But they want you there for the next meeting,” Donna says. I blink, raising an eyebrow before she shrugs. “No, I don’t know how they figured you were in town.”

“Do you think the Kingdom…?” I ask, frowning.

“They still haven’t answered any of our missives,” Charles says, shaking his head.

“What do they want with me?” I frown, not understanding the request for my presence. I’m just a helper here, an over-powered troop carrier.

“The Manager I was speaking to didn’t know. Or wouldn’t say,” Donna says before looking at the other two. “But they’ve signed a Contract binding their corporation to a ceasefire to take effect in twenty-four hours. And guaranteeing us safe passage to meet with them. In their headquarters.”

“With me?” I say, my eyes wide. That’s insane. They can’t not know of my ability if they made that call. Unless they’re planning a double-cross. Which might make some sense. Crap.

“It’s a trap! Maybe.”

Trevor leans forward. “We have to do this. Even if it’s nothing more than to get John in…”

“They can block my Skills,” I say, holding up a hand. There are Skills, Settlement Upgrades, and even spells that can block my Portal Skill. While doing it for the entire town is expensive, for a single headquarters? That’s more than reasonable. Hell, I did it for each of the City Cores under my control.

“Still, that close…”

“And if they betray us?” Charles says, shaking his head. “No. Not at their headquarters. It’s too dangerous.”

Trevor turns to Charles, beginning a loud argument about strategic necessity. All the while, I stare at Donna, who’s spinning the empty beer bottle in a circle.

“What do you think?” I ask her softly.

“I think we should go,” Donna says. “You were right.”

“I like hearing that, but about what?”

“They’re willing to talk. Almost eager.” After a moment, Donna raises her voice. “We’re going.”

That leads to another round of arguments, but it’s good enough for me. I leave it to the trio, slipping out of the room. Guarantee or not, I’ve got preparations to make.

***

Our initial meeting place is in a small park, just next to a pair of residential apartments and some office buildings, nearly right between the shifting borders of our settlements. Theoretically, these borders were fixed in the settlement screens and maps, but in wars and battles, locations that are tactically and strategically sound to hold don’t hold to the vagaries of the System. Even with settlement shields that regenerate, having an irritating burr of an enemy team can make a huge difference. And so here we are, standing among summer green grass, overgrown and unkempt with last fall’s withered leaves because no one has time to care for such trivialities, waiting.

“What makes you think they won’t just kill us?” Donna says again, looking around as she sweeps a hand through her hair. Nanowoven, color-shifted to a dirty blond that suits her slim, carefully dressed business-formal figure. Even now, she’s chosen something somewhat impractical—a tightly woven suit to show off her figure, combined with dark blue high heels.

“Well, we did get a Contract. And you’ve got a pair of shields on you. You should be fine,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m still curious why it’s you and not anyone else.”

“Why the woman?”

“Why the Lawyer?”

“Ah, because of my Skills. Contract, Detect Motive, Detect Truth, Confidentiality Agreement, Binding Oath,” Donna chants. “All potentially of use in a discussion like this.”

“Way I understand the way these things go, there’s rarely an agreement on the first meeting,” I counter.

She bobs her head. “True. But this is the second one. And I did volunteer.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, surprised.

“I can assess usefulness as much as anyone. Charles is needed for the planning, administration, and running. He also has the greatest support from the Artisans,” she stumbles a little at the last word, unused to the term I’ve introduced. “And Trevor manages our defense. I fill the gaps. This. This is a gap.”

“I’d hope we are more than that,” a voice calls out before I can answer her. The voice is low and growly, holding a trembling timbre that a human voice might get after a twenty-pack-a-day habit. The speaker is just as much a surprise—a humanoid-looking foxhound walking on two feet toward us in a single-breasted tunic that extends to his knees in gold and brown.

Stafin (Level 34 Adjunct)

HP: 270/270

MP: 1080/1080

Condition: None

“Stafin,” I say, inclining my head, at the same time sending a thought to Ali while Donna makes her own introduction. “A single name?”

“Common among his people for commoners. They get another name for each notable clan that accepts them into their inner pack, or if they do something worthy among his people,” Ali explains.

“I have been requested to guide you forthwith. If you will…” Stafin gestures, big, soulful eyes fixed on us.

We glance at one another then nod, walking forward. After much discussion, we’ve kept our party small. If they do attack us, keeping Donna alive will be hard enough, never mind anyone else.

As we head deeper, I take the time to study the changes the Uvrik corporation has made to their side of the city. While their drones cluster around us, none of them seem particularly aggressive, most docked in the numerous charging stations added to buildings. In addition, I note that a number of the buildings have widened windows, glass removed and allowing the ever-present winds to blow through. Though I do note the slightest shimmer in front of those windows, which speaks of a secondary environmental shielding system to keep out rain and debris.

“Uvrik corp—are they all shifters like Stafin?” I ask Ali, realizing I never did check. Never really thought about it, since the fighters we deal with are, as usual, a wide-ranging mixture of Galactic races. And shifters are part of our culture, so they’re likely sources of bad Mana translation too.

“They aren’t shifters. They only have one form—and not all of them have the same form. The people you’ve been fighting, most of them are from the same planet. The Uvrik originate from the planet of Izu, where genetic modification is the norm. They’ve been mixing and matching genes, altering their base code such that if it wasn’t for the System, they probably couldn’t even reproduce normally,” Ali says, shaking his head. “That’s why they’ve got so many different forms.”

“Weird. What’s with the lack of glass?”

While I hold my mental conversation, Donna is engaging Stafin in a war of words, fishing for knowledge. It’s not a bad try, and listening to the pair verbally spar, I realize how damn far behind I am in some areas. But hey, I can punch out an elephant these days, so we all have our strengths.

“They’ve got all the enhanced senses and enhanced musculature that extensive gene alterations give you. Without the glass, they get to smell and hear more, giving them better awareness through the city.”

I can see that. Lana, for example, has extended senses over and above what an increase in Perception would offer. I’ve more than once noted her using those senses to spot monsters or unexpected guests early, saving us from injury or embarrassment in equal measure. Having no fixed address might seem free and easy and fun, but it also means that we catch our private time when we can.

“So how come you decided to chat with us? Thus far, the Kingdom has been a little on the slow side,” I ask in a break during the conversation between Donna and Stafin. My bluntness gets a look from Donna, but she keeps quiet.

“They will not answer,” Stafin says, shaking his head.

“Oh…?” Donna steps in, arching an eyebrow.

I’m sure she’s wondering, like me, why he’d feed us such valuable information. Or perhaps it’s a lie, but if so, it’s a stupid lie. Then again, if he’s right, it’s possible that that information doesn’t have any real value since we’ll learn of it soon enough.

“We attempted to speak with them concerning the city when they first arrived,” Stafin says.

“And you didn’t try to talk to us?” Donna says softly, though I can tell there’s a bit of an edge to it.

“At that time, the consensus was that it was unnecessary,” Stafin says, tilting his head toward me. “The appearance of the Redeemer in the last few days has altered the strategic environment.”

Well, that partly explains things. Not that we hadn’t figured it was something like that. Or that they’ll probably want to end up negotiating some form of access to my settlements. If they’re playing fair. On the other hand, it’s possible they’ve got other considerations. Thoughts about the potential reasons why I’m coming along and what our negotiation options are in light of this information keep me occupied till we’re led onto the roof of a parking garage.

What used to be a parking lot has been partly enclosed with force shields, all the vehicles removed, and the grey concrete cleared and replaced with white marble. What used to be dark and dingy sparkles with mana-imbued lighting that provides an open-air feeling. Only a few things—like the entrances and the sloping ramps—give a hint of what the building used to be used for.

The entirety of the roof of the parking lot has been transformed into an open air meeting area with green grass, small shrubbery, and comfortable lounging chairs. The grass itself looks familiar but subtly different, enough that I spend a moment assessing it. Seated in three of the seats are the heads of the Uvrik corporation in Calgary. The first is another dog-like variation, a weird mixture of beagle and huskie with long, drooping ears and an elegant pointed face. The second looks like one of those fish from the deep crossed with a particularly hairy caterpillar—a creature of angles, fangs, and nightmarish bristles with hands. And the third is the most “human,” if you ignored the extra pair of mammaries, the swivelling antenna, and the cascading greenish-purple hair.

Donna halts—and I admit, so do I—at the sight of the trio, our poor human brains attempting to process the peculiarity before us. Whether it’s due to a higher exposure to weirdness or just a higher Willpower, I find myself striding forward and extending a hand. For the first time, I kind of regret that the aliens have to, by common Galactic courtesy, use our greeting methods—I’m not looking forward to touching the spider-fish thing.

“John Lee,” I say, shaking hands as I’m introduced around.

Donna approaches and greets them as well, failing to suppress a shudder as she touches the creature of oceanic nightmares.

Rikard (Level 46 Urban Planner)

HP: 370/370

MP: 1280//1280

Condition: Trimark Link

Uwa Bima, Lord of the Sixty Third Chase of Balump (Level 17 Barrister)

HP: 670/670

MP: 1780//1780

Condition: Trimark Link

Quatta (Level 3 Security Consultant)

HP: 820/820

MP: 930//930

Condition: Trimark Link

“Trimark Link?”

“Similar to your Two are One. Except shared across multiple individuals. They’re all hooked up to two others.”

Smart. I’m actually happy to note they took such actions. It means they’re taking us seriously.

“Redeemer. Ms. Luff. Thank you for coming to speak with us. Do you care for refreshments?” Uwa the fish-spider takes the lead, a small thing I absently note.

Pity I didn’t have much time to study their culture and whether his taking the lead means they’re taking this seriously or if it’s just the way things work for them. After all, even on Earth, in certain cultures, the boss doesn’t speak much, working through their assistants for all but the most important bits. We quickly decline their hospitality, not just because of potential poison but because their idea of snacks is eclectic. Wasabi peas, dried shrimp, and raw, unsliced cucumbers aren’t exactly business meeting food.

“Lord Bima or Lord Uwa?” I send to Ali, unsure of how to answer him.

“Neither. Just Uwa. That’s not a noble name, just a title.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve all read the offer,” Donna says now that the initial pleasantries are over. Among the earlier correspondence passed was our one-page ceasefire offer.

“Yes. I believe you Americans prefer a blunt answer?” Before we can correct him, Uwa’s already continuing. “A peace settlement on your terms is unacceptable. The City Core we hold has already cost us a significant amount of resources.”

“But that cost is a sunk cost,” Donna says, leaning forward on the lounging chair. “Continued war will increase such cost, with little return.”

“But the cost to you is high as well. In addition, control of a City Core provides significant non-Credit advantages,” Uwa retorts.

I watch the pair spar, arguing for a few more minutes about what, to me, seems an obvious conclusion. They’re willing to do this, or else there’s no point in dragging us out here. Irritated, I fiddle with my inventory, pulling out some chocolate. I pop a piece into my mouth, only to get a slight smile from Rikard.

“Did our food not suit your needs?” Rikard asks, drawing the attention of the other three.

I swallow the chocolate, refusing to look at Donna’s glare. “Nothing like that. Call it a bad habit for when I get bored.”

“Bored?” Quatta breathes, her voice high and pitchy.

“Yeah. I’m not a big fan of arguing over what seems to be a given. You guys are willing to sue for peace. The question is, what do you want? Just tell us, rather than talking in circles.”

“But we are negotiating…” Uwa pauses, eyes focused a few feet in front of him. “Ah. I see. You are even more blunt than expected. I shall have to update our protocols.”

Donna hisses, waving her hands slightly while shooting me a glare. “Please, Mr. Uwa, don’t base your protocols on John. He is unusual even for us humans.”

I grunt, refusing to apologize or back down from my initial question. “So?”

“Very well. We are willing to stop aggressive actions against you. The corporation is not willing to expand hostilities with the Kingdom, and as such, we do not agree to aid you in attacking them. We will give up the City Core, giving you majority control of the city, but require adequate compensation. That includes land in your settlements, Redeemer,” Uwa says.

“How much land?”

“Well, that is a matter to be negotiated.” Uwa seems to straighten in his chair, frills and hair tucking closer to his body.

“Arse,” I mutter but don’t protest any further, gesturing for Donna to take over. Even I’m not dumb enough to think that we won’t have to talk about this a bit. Still, being the dumb, impatient hick means that this entire conversation had sped up more than I could have reasonably expected.

The negotiation continues between Uwa and Donna, the pair starting with the number of settlements then switching to specific settlements, lot sizes, building types, addresses, and more. Even I can tell that there are details that will need more time, more research to be completed. The fact that a good portion of this discussion includes my settlements also means that my people will need to get involved.

The conversation takes hours, and in the meantime, I’m giving Rickard and Quatta a lesson in proper meeting foods. Cheese, crackers, a wide variety of chocolates, and pork rinds appear as we talk.

Uwa and Donna call it as the day gets closer to the end. There are too many details to finish by themselves, but at least for now, a broad agreement has reached. As such, the trio leads us to the exit.

That’s when I grab my chance to ask a question that has been bugging me. “Why did you agree?”

“A simple calculation about the return on investment across the options provided. With your current settlements, especially Vancouver with its dungeon, we expect to see a significant return in the future for much lower on-going expenses if we can reach an agreement. If this agreement is successful, upper management has indicated that we might be willing to negotiate for additional locations,” Uwa says. “Obviously, that would depend on your continued expansion and success.”

“Of course.”

“Careful there, boy-o. That’s how the Yerrick lost. They kept giving out land, and they eventually found themselves bought out of their own cities.”

“I remember,” I say while smiling and saying goodbye. After all, there’s no guarantee that that is what the Uvrik corporation is actually considering. And pigs may fly.

Chapter 8

You’d think that something already agreed upon in principal would be fast to negotiate. Even with everyone’s earnest desire to get this done, the final peace treaty took weeks to complete. And that’s with significant cribbing by Kim and Ali from other Galactic agreements and Donna’s 24/7 work ethic. The woman even Leveled twice during the entire process. But in the end, we had a signed and vetted agreement that covered timing, penalties, land trades, Credit payments, tax exemptions, and more. Frankly, if we hadn’t used the Shop to get the entire thing vetted by a third-party Galactic Barrister, I’d have been afraid to sign it.

During this entire time, the Kingdom refused to talk to us. In fact, the little goblin-asses picked up the tempo of their attacks, forcing us to deploy even more people to their border. Since the damn halflings are refusing to talk to us and the Uvrik already know about me, there’s little reason for me to stay hidden any further. It’s even likely they’ve bought enough information from the Shop that they know I’m here. Finally, the council let me loose. That, of course, brought its own problems, including a couple of targeted ambushes. All those attacks were beginning to feel a little personal, but at the same time, it’s kind of hard to get really angry at people who are, like, three and a half feet tall. But trust me, they sure do try.

Which of course leads us to today and the attack we’ve planned. Now that we have a peace agreement in place with the Uvrik and no contact with the Kingdom, it’s time for us to finish this. Which leaves me on this blasted street, fighting off another damn swarm of halflings.

“Get. Off. Me,” I snarl, kicking and punting the halfling through the air.

I send a burst of projectile fire after the spinning body, and the impacts of the explosive projectiles throw the body on a new, bloody trajectory. Even as my attacker falls away, another little bastard charges me with a tiny serrated knife and plunges it into Sabre’s beleaguered thigh armor.

“Chain Fireball,” a voice intones behind me, all the warning I get before a sphere twice the size of a basketball flashes past me and splits into five smaller spheres which head off in different directions and explode. The explosion throws me and the swarm of halflings apart, making Sabre’s damage board flash red all over.

“Arse,” I snap, dragging the poor mecha back into my inventory with a thought.

Two hours into our attack on the Kingdom and my trusty mecha has seen better days. A part of me notes that it’ll likely come back with additional resistances against edged and fire damage, while another points out that there’s a reason why the previous version of the PAV had easily replaceable armor parts. It’s going to be weeks before Sabre is back in action.

“You good?” Chetan says, his Indian accent coming through even more clearly under stress, his fingers shifting as he hand-casts a healing spell on me.

Dealing with the Mages from Seattle is frustrating, since none of us are coordinated in our actions or decisions. I hate fighting with new people, but they’ve been assigned to me since they’re a decent stopgap while my team provides heavier firepower.

“Warning first, damn it!” I snarl.

When Chetan taps his ear, I realize the helmet is too damaged to transmit and I do a quick swap with another copy before repeating my angry answer.

Chetan Patel (Level 8 Life Mage)

HP: 301/340

MP: 1733/2830

Conditions: Gaia’s Embrace, Anaerobic Surplus, Mana Drip

“Sorry about that,” Daniel says as he walks up.

I glance back at the Vietnamese-born mage who—thanks to the gene editing purchase—stands shoulder-to-shoulder with me. Swirling around him are small fire elementals. I’ve seen those fire elementals flash forward and intercept beam attacks and rubble, absorbing attacks and leaving Daniel untouched.

“We needed them clear,” Daniel says. “The colonel has new orders for us. We’re needed at 45 St and 8th Ave. Southwest for both.”

Daniel Nguyen (Level 11 Fire Conjurer)

HP: 237/280

MP: 2803/3400

Conditions: Embrace of the Sun, Mana Drip, Roving Flames

“That’s right across the city!” I grumble, my map updating with the new directions. Our scouts, who’ve backtracked since we got held up by this ambush, wave us forward, and we comply. “Which idiot decided to name everything using numbers and compass directions?”

I get a shrug from the two Mages who match my pace. Thankfully for them, we’re forced to keep to a slower pace as our scouts try to get us around the fiercest of the fights. That, according to the damn colonel, isn’t my job. No, I’m just a giant transportation machine. Pulling a beam rifle from my inventory after a thought, I keep my eyes swivelling left and right in search of threats the scouts might have missed—or who, like the ambush party, moved in our direction since they left.

“We getting reinforcement for our team?” Chetan pants, his Stamina obviously not up to snuff. Running and fighting as much as we have done has obviously taught him to sink more points into Constitution the next time he Levels.

“No idea. Why don’t you ask?” Daniel suggests sweetly.

Chetan grimaces, knowing that he’d get another “we’re working on it” answer. “We’re Mages damn it, not tanks. We’re DPS at best, long-range support. They could have at least given us Mike.”

I grin, recalling the overweight programmer who had classed in as a Druid. The first time we released him, Mike had been in his dire bear form, a minibus-sized transformation that smashed its way through the Kingdom’s hardest strong point via brute strength.

“How’s your Mana?” Lancer 3’s voice cackles in my ear.

I admit, I had to giggle a little internally when he was first introduced to me as my point of contact. I’ll admit it’s juvenile, but calling the soldiers by Lancer 6 or Lancer 3 or the like just made me smile. “Okay.”

“Numbers.”

“Five eighty-seven and increasing.”

“Get it up to at 750 at least. We need you to open the Portal at 14 and 33rd, then we’ll need another Portal to the Saddledome from Westbrook Mall once the teams have done mop-up there. Coordinates are being updated on your map.”

I nod, reaching to my Mana Bracer and pulling out another fifty or so Mana. That should easily put me in the range they need before we reach them. Unfortunately, I’m realizing just how little an additional three hundred Mana is in such a long battle. “Do we join the mop-up?”

“If it’s not complete yet, yes. We need those troops over at the Saddledome.”

“And me?”

The Saddledome is where nearly half of our imported forces are. The high Level Basics and any Advanced fighters we brought are locked into a battle to free the dome and the City Core from the Kingdom. Unfortunately, the Kingdom seems to have dumped a ton of money into defenses on those buildings—never mind how big they are naturally—and our people have been bogged down.

“We’ll let you know. Over,” Lancer 3 says curtly.

“That—” I begin, then realize he’s already left. If he was talking to me directly, things must be urgent. A quick mental switch and I’m on the team’s frequency. “Let’s pick up the pace.”

***

We come in on 13th Ave to see Westbrook Mall wreathed in flames, the northern half crushed and mostly rubble. Explosions, gouts of flame, and a cyclone of debris greet us, the roar of spells, Skills, and explosives drowning out most of the screams as we hit 37th St. Most.

“Where’s the team?” Chetan asks, panting a little as we come to a stop.

“Get your asses under cover.” Wride fades in from the shadows near the corner, his crossbow held loosely in his arms, green army fatigues somehow blending in even in the grey concrete. We scramble to take cover, reminded to do so now that we aren’t running headlong, as he says, “Our targets are inside. The damn halfies are fighting inside the mall and blowing it up as our people push them back.”

Elliot Wride (Level 44 Apprentice Ranger)

HP: 1788/2300

MP: 450/450

Conditions: Urban Spirit, System Shadow, Eagle Eye

I crane my neck around, getting a hiss from Wride, but I ignore him. Anyone who wants to take a potshot at me will have to get through my restored Soul Shield. Still, I don’t hang my head out too long.

“We’ve got to get to them,” I say.

“Jess is scouting it now,” Wride says. A moment later, our maps update, new route markers appearing. I frown, staring at them, which makes Wride stop from moving off. “What?”

“We’re going around,” I say.

“Yes. We’re going to flank the halfies,” Wride says as he tilts his head to stare directly at me. “Is that a problem?”

Dots move on my minimap, red and blue, enemies and friendlies. I can see the force concentrations, the numbers. Hell, I can even see where the damn halflings are on the map. A few explosives into the wall, Lightning Strike, Chain Fireballs, and then a Blink Step in would finish this, with less of our people down. I could finish this fight in a minute. But then I’d have blown half of my remaining Mana and probably lose my Soul Shield, which would require me to refresh it, which would put me well below what Wier needs me for.

“Nothing.” I grit my teeth, shaking my head.

It pisses me off, not being able to help more. I feel helplessness as I condemn some of the fighters within to death just so that we can throw the survivors into the grinder again a few seconds later.

Miners nods then pops up, checking out the surroundings before he takes off, slipping from cover to cover in full view of us. I know he’s doing it to let us know where to move, annoying as it might be to be schooled like this. But he’s the expert. I just kill things.

***

By the time we get to the mall’s southern entrance, Jess has disarmed the traps laid across the entrance, dealt with the pair of watchers they kept out, and found us an entrance. Even as we slip in, I have to admire the Advanced Level Ranger and his effectiveness. The man might not be as tough in a stand-up fight as I am, but damn is he good at his job.

Together, Miners and Jess move ahead of us even as the sound of battle approaches. Within seconds, we’re in our ambush spots, the pair highlighting our positions in our maps. Not a moment too soon since the first of the halflings appear a moment later. Jess has us hold our fire even as the halflings take position a bare twenty meters ahead of us.

Absently, I twist the beam rifle in my hand, debating which spells I could use as I eye my designated zone of fire. The journey takes just over three minutes, returning another three hundred or so Mana to me. That’s good enough for a Blink Step in close and then Blade Strikes. Or an Inferno Beam into the biggest cluster. They’re too spread out for Lightning Strike to be particularly cost effective. I could Mud Wall them, but that’d be hard to move through later, so I nix that idea.

My thoughts are interrupted as the halflings lay down covering fire, another group rushing toward their prepared positions. I grin, knowing that Chetan’s spell and Kelly’s Skill are still hiding us from their own sensors.

“Now!” Jess snaps over the comms.

There’s just over fifteen halflings in front of us, most having barely gotten themselves under cover before we let loose. A beam of white-hot fire flies from my hands as Wride holds down the trigger on his crossbow, bolts slamming through the bodies of the halflings and piercing their defenses. Jess uses a more traditional assault rifle, System-registered bullets tearing into their backs. In his corner, Daniel goes for something a little more cinematic, an elemental fire wyrm that comes to life and whips around to lay waste to the halflings.

The initial shock sees us add a few of the injured to our kill count, but the halflings react well. They spin about, taking cover and returning fire, only to find that their initial attackers are charging them. After a moment, I realize that Jess probably warned the other team too, letting them coordinate with us. Rather than stand and fight, the halflings break, charging us in a mad scramble that our combined firepower is insufficient to stem. A few harried minutes later, with me resorting to my blade as the last couple manage to get into melee distance, we’re done.

The rescued team has barely caught their breath before I’ve got the Portal open to send them to their next fight. Ten seconds after that, we’re on the road again, feet slapping asphalt as we head to our next objective.

It’s not the kind of fight I like. But as I glance at the ground we’ve gained and the kill count Ali has been quietly updating, I realize it might be the kind of fight we need.

***

“All right, Redeemer,” Lancer 3’s voice comes an hour and a half later as I get ready to open another Portal for a group of weary fighters. I’d have done it already, but they needed a moment to sort themselves out. “You’re cleared to follow the squad.”

“To the Saddledome?” I say slightly incredulously. Finally!

“Yes. There’s an obstacle your particular Skills are needed for,” Lancer 3 says. I make a mental note to look at his Status and get his name next time. “You will be briefed when you arrive.”

“Got it,” I say, waving to the group around me.

A quick briefing and a shuddering passage through the Portal later, we’re a block and a half away from the Saddledome. The other team starts down a side street with their own orders while we follow the updated map details on ours.

The Saddledome is huge, a multi-hall complex that hosted the Calgary Stampede and other giant conventions. It’s not a single building, though the largest one has multiple halls that are joined together, allowing access internally. Even so, when we get through the entrance and spend ten minutes jogging, I’m pretty sure it’s never been this big.

“What the hell? This place wasn’t this big at FanExpo!” Chetan mutters.

“FanExpo?”

“Stan Lee signing.”

“Nerd,” Ali crows before he waves. “It’s a City Center building that’s been modified with a minor pocket dimension.”

“A pocket dimension?” Daniel squeaks.

“A minor one. Relax,” Ali says nonchalantly. “Come on, you think my team wouldn’t be able to blast our way through your tiny building by now?”

Chetan grunts, saving his breath while Jess and Wride wave us onward. Our passage through the empty, gaping hallways is only marked by the appearance of corpses, combat damage, and the occasional unexploded trap.

Oh yeah, traps. There are a lot of them. Everything from the classic pitfall to chaos mines, walls filled with high-explosives and ball-bearings and automated laser turrets. Most of them are destroyed, but a few have reset by now, which we either avoid or just destroy again. It’s annoying and occasionally painful, but it doesn’t take too long before we catch up with the vanguard.

The army boys make up the majority of the fighters here, most of them split up into groups of four and hanging together in a squad of two teams. Or in some cases, what’s left of two teams. The non-military personnel are more loosely organized, but even then, they mostly hang out in their parties.

“Miss me?” I say, sliding into the space next to a familiar redhead resting against a wall around the corner from the fight.

She cracks open an eye then grins weakly. Next to her, Anna lies, fur singed and missing two legs. I frown, eyeing the fox with mild concern. Anna was pretty old when she was first picked up by Lana, and the last year has added streaks of white to her light red fur.

“John.” Lana’s voice is filled with relief and exhaustion at the same time. She hands me a thermos filled with coffee, which I swig quickly after dropping my helmet, the Skill-produced nectar of the gods automatically adding a small Stamina and Mana buff.

“Thanks.”

“About time,” Sam grumbles from his spot a short distance away. He’s leaning up against the wall, fiddling with a drone in his hands as he attempts to fix it. He seems completely oblivious to the fact that they’ve been stuck in the same spot for the last twenty minutes.

“Mikito?” I say as I search for the diminutive Japanese woman. On the other hand, I do spot Laila with her afro and her team.

“Down the other hallway with Carlos,” Lana says. “They’ve got this menagerie there which has a never-ending supply of monsters, it seems. They’re desperate for healers.”

“Oh, I don’t get an inquiry?” Ingrid says.

I jump slightly, adrenaline from hours of fighting leaving my nerves slightly overstrung. It’s only a small portion of my lizard brain that remembers she’s a friend, allowing me not to put my fist through her smirking face.

“Gotcha,” Ingrid adds.

“Funny. And that’s why I didn’t ask,” I say. “So I hear you need me?”

“I do. If you’re done with catching up with your friends,” Captain Angus Tyrell says sarcastically from a few feet down, hunched over clear air with his aides. Of course, I know they’re actually staring at a shared display, one I’m not privy to.

I flash the captain a smile as I walk over, eyeing soldier-boy and noting the damage on his suit. Good, not someone who leads from the back. “What can I do for you?”

“There’s a chasm in the other room. There used to be a bridge, but they destroyed it when we arrived. Attempts at fording the bridge have met stiff resistance. We need you to cause a disruption while opening a Portal for our men,” Captain Tyrell says while indicating exactly where he’d like that Portal on the 3D map he’s shared with me. “We’ll be supporting you the best we can, but you’ll need to handle most of the fighting yourself to begin with.”

I grimace, eyeing the thirty or so dots. A quick thought and Ali highlights the Advanced Class fighters in the group, flashing me their details. I’m a bit grateful he’s removed their names for now, those details not something I require.

Gale Mage (Level 17)

HP: 303/320

MP: 2103/2480

Conditions: Shield of Air, Wind Blades, Mana Drip

Medjay Warrior (Level 29)

HP: 2868/3110

MP: 983/1080

Conditions: Body of Stone, Millicent’s Ever Healing Remedy, Sense of Shifting Sands

Tagma Rider (Level 7)

HP: 1455/1480

MP: 988/1070

Conditions: Linked Mount, Health of the Many

3rd Bone Ranger (Level 6)

HP: 1577/1680

MP: 781/990

Conditions: Dimensional Sight, Air Sense, Mana Drip, Wqq’s Blessing

Four Advanced Fighters. None of their Conditions are particularly surprising, mostly buffs for their abilities, regeneration or defensive spells or Skills. Nothing extraordinary, but there are four of them. Three of which are melee fighters. I exhale then blink as first green, then purple light washes over me, my own conditions updating as the nearby spellcasters throw buffs on me too.

Haste

Mana Drip

Yeller’s Patented Kinetic to Blood Regeneration

Plot Armor

…

The buffs keep coming, but after a while, I stop looking at them and focus on the way the changes make me feel while keeping an eye on my Mana. I’m nearly topped up and my health has never been better. Other than a quick swap of armor, I’m about as ready as I can be. I could spend the time assessing if the spellcasters are coordinating properly or just trust that they aren’t clashing their buffs, canceling each other out. After all, certain types of Skills and spells actually clash in their properties and it isn’t always the “better” Skill that stays in effect.

As I exhale and pop my head around the corner again, the conversation with Ali pops back into mind.

“No such thing as infinite buffs, boy-o. On average, you can get about three buffs for each of your secondary attributes, like Mana or Health. The first ups the related attribute, the second the regeneration, and the last the actual value. Spells or castable Skills that try to affect the same thing will often conflict unless the spellcaster is good. Or the Skill’s particularly unique.

“That doesn’t include passives of course. So your skill Body’s Resolve won’t clash with another regeneration spell, but a second spell of the same kind could if it was an active type. Of course, if you tried to get a second passive Skill, chances are you’d definitely clash. If you want, there’s a bunch of research on it, including the specific combinable Spells and Skills. But you ain’t a real spellcaster and…”

A hand slips into mine, pulling me back from my memories. I turn to see Lana holding it, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Worried?” she asks.

“Nope.” A single raised eyebrow and I chuckle softly. “Fine. Just a bit. It’s been a while since…”

“Yeah.” Lana nods. She understands. It’s been a while since I did something this stupid. But there’s no one else, is there? And so, what is is. She kisses my helmet on the side before she drops down again. “You’re wasting your buffs. Boy-o.”

I chuckle softly and take the gentle ribbing as the encouragement it is before nodding to the captain to indicate I’m ready. A second later, my backup opens up. Sam’s drones sweep out first, laying down smoke and beam weapon fire. A few seconds later, the rifle squads who have been hunkering down and trading potshots open up, tearing into their opponents, soon joined by the spellcasters who have been conserving Mana. We stream into the cavern, taking cover under the portable shields and mobile armor that litter our side of the chasm. For a moment, I take it all in, the metallic floor and walls, the cavernous drop-off with its ill-lit bottom, and the defenders on the opposite side, a bare two hundred meters away. Then I act.

Blink Step. Maximum range, five hundred meters. An easy flicker, especially as Ali has swung high to give me an even better vantage point, one not obscured by the growing wall of smoke. My first target would be the Mage, but an anti-teleport formation that Ali spots makes that impossible. So I pop into being right behind the Bone Ranger crouched over a metallic wall and firing his repeating beam rifle. It’s a simple thing to extend a foot into his bottom and let physics take over. The Ranger’s yelp of surprise makes me grin even as he flails and falls into the cavern. I doubt he’ll die, but out of the fight is just as good a result for now.

A polearm flashes, a blade cleaving through my Soul Shield to be stopped an inch into my shoulder. My eyes wide, I jerk aside even as my attacker rips the weapon away, his hands burning from a damage reflection buff. I keep dodging, my Soul Shield forming around the torn hole even as the pair of Advanced Fighters close in on me. The Medjay is tall, nearly our size, with a pair of javelins in hand and long, sweeping hair. The Tagma is a stocky halfling female wielding a beam-pistol-and-sabre combo.

A hand twists as my eyes lock on the empty point of space the captain requested. A moment later, a tear in space appears, a black hole that offers nothing. Before I can rejoice, I’m grabbed by invisible hands and thrown into the sky. A moment later, a javelin is thrown at me, smashing into my Soul Shield, then it defies common sense as it hangs suspended in air, spinning and drilling into my Soul Shield.

“Lightning Strike, boy-o!” Ali cries as he swoops forward in front of my hands.

Hands slammed together, I call forth my spell, electricity playing along the crowd, attacking the Kingdom’s men even as Ali channels his own Affinity through it, upgrading the damage. We sweep the attack across the ground before finding our angle of attack changing abruptly. A moment later, vertigo.

“What the…?” I snarl then realize that the air grip has thrown me over the chasm before releasing me. Before I lose sight of the Portal, I trigger Blink Step to pop back into the air and get ready to re-engage.

Left alone by himself, Ali floats, exposed. Already, spells arc toward the Spirit, who is dodging into the chasm while attempting to fade out of existence.

As gravity takes me back down, I land in a crouch, feet flexing as I soak up my initial momentum, knees aching from the impact. The Soul Shield lasts for a fraction of a second longer before another beam rips into it. A javelin pierces my chest a moment later. I fall backward even as the javelin tears through my body and exits, flying back into the Medjay Warrior’s hand. Before he can attack me again, a pair of halflings dogpile my crouching form, blocking his attack.

Since I lost sight of my Portal, it snaps closed to the accompaniment of a loud scream. Even as I roll and buck off my little assailants as they stab me with poison and frost-coated weapons, I’m calling forth the Mana needed to open a second Portal. A twist and flip gets me to my feet, one of the halflings behind my back.

A bone-shuddering thud from behind is accompanied by a flash of orange and black. Roland at least made it through, and the halfling’s body crunches under his massive teeth. A second later, the second Portal snaps open, just to the side of where a Marine crouches, firing his repeating beam rifle as he bleeds from the stumps of his feet.

“Chain Fireball!”

The screamed warning has me throwing myself forward, ending up behind the Portal as the flaming sphere traverses the chasm. Insane or not, more of our people throw themselves through the Portal into the middle of the exploding flames. Entire rifle teams exit and take station, the few healers—or designated healers—doing their best to buff the front-line fighters. Ingrid appears from the shadows, wreathed in fire, to tackle the Medjay Warrior while Jess and Miners bully the Tagma Rider. I take a moment to recover from getting cooked. Again.

“Keep the Portal up. We’re nearly done,” the captain’s voice cackles over the communicator.

I grit my teeth and nod, layering a newly generated Soul Shield over my form while taking potshots with my beam rifle. I can’t afford to take my eyes off the Portal again, so I keep my help to the minimum. But the team doesn’t need it. Lana and puppies charge out of the Portal to smash apart the last resistance at the hallway exit. With our people inside their lines, the tide of battle turns. More and more of our men stream in, the Kingdom personnel unable to slow us down. And just like that, the fight is pretty much over, support personnel streaming in seconds later through the Portal.

“So, magic school bus, how you doing?” Ali says over our mental connection.

“Magic school bus?”

“What? You’re yellow and transport children around.”

I pause, considering if I should be insulted or proud to be compared to a classic children’s book. Wait. No. Insulted. Very much so. “Go roll in some Goblin shit.”

“That’s my boy-o.” Ali chuckles, floating up from the chasm. He’s literally smoking, damage from spells having pulled his Mana-imbued form apart.

“Why all the racist shit lately?” I say, stretching.

“No reason.” Ali flashes me a smile. There’s something in it that I don’t understand but nags at my intuition. For all that he’s an annoyance, his sense of humor tends toward the bizarre and perverted, not racist and hurtful. Which makes his recent actions weird.

“Mr. Lee,” Angus speaks a moment later, making me look up. “Colonel Wier says you may continue to work with us or proceed with the additional deployment of our troops.”

“He’s giving me a choice?” I say.

Lana snorts, walking over to me as she stares at the hole in my chest armor, the skin beneath already patched up. “The colonel knows you need to Level too.”

“Ah.” I consider the offer. “I’ll stay with you guys. If there’s nothing else, I’ll join the vanguard.”

“That—” Angus shuts up, deciding not to protest further.

Dangerous or not, the vanguard is where the experience is. Flashing him a grin, I trot forward, Lana following me, flanked by the puppies.

Time to finish this then.

Chapter 9

“Where to next?” Lana asks a day later.

We’re curled up on a couch in a newly purchased building in Calgary, one that we picked up from our earnings in the fight. Down the hallway, Ingrid and Mikito each have their own apartments while Sam’s taken over the caretaker’s place and the parking lot beneath for his drones. Last I saw, the older man was muttering something about upgrading Mikito’s PAV further.

“Mmmm… I’m not sure,” I say softly. “Things have cooled down for the Americans in Washington. Or heated up. There’s a new entrant and it’s messing up everyone. So Wier’s been ordered to take things a bit slower.” I let that topic die before I continue. “How’re our settlements?”

“Your settlements,” Lana says, prodding me in the short ribs.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ve got a rough outline for a government. I’ll get Ali to send it to you. Basically, a constitutional monarchy, with a steward, captain of guard, generals, and the rest. The administration of cities will be left to the self-elected city councils, with those under me as a check against them. There’ll be a series of individuals, roaming judges if you will, who can override decisions and mete justice out too. But we’ll mostly let the cities do their thing. And once all this is done…”

“You’ll give it up?”

“Yup.” My lips twist in a half-smile. “Any other form is much harder to dissolve.”

“You’re asking people to trust you to give it back,” Lana says softly, eyes fixed on me.

“And you know what they say about power…” Ali cackles from his corner where he’s watching his latest binge TV show. As far as I know, he’s currently on a Dr. Who binge—including the lost seasons. I’m a bit confused about what those are, but really, that confusion is the least of my problems.

“I know,” I say. “We’re working on options to give you people a way around this. But I don’t think it’ll matter in time.”

“Oh…?” Lana arches an eyebrow.

I kiss her, just because she looks so damn good that way.

When I pull away, she murmurs, “Stop changing the subject.”

“Just a premonition about the future.”

When I refuse to elaborate, Lana drops the topic and answers my original question. “Vancouver’s doing well. We’re well on the way to meeting the Large Town requirements. The land purchase requirement is the problem. We’re trying to balance it with development in Burnaby to get it up to a Town level, but it’s still only at eighty-three percent right now. The parks are a tough nut to crack, but we’re getting there. New West, Richmond, and Surrey are next up, though Surrey seems like they’re going to get there by themselves.

“As for Kamloops and Kelowna, they’re both Towns, as you know. No real chance of them becoming Large Towns, not without a larger population…” Lana sighs and I nod. That isn’t possible until we can direct more people to them. With a minimum of twenty thousand population and a ninety-eight percent land purchase requirement, the Large Town status isn’t even worth considering.

“Sounds like things are in hand,” I say softly. “And the scattered other settlements?”

“We’ve pulled everyone who is willing to come out. There are still holdouts but…” Lana shrugs, and I have to agree with her. There’s not much we can do about those.

“What are we doing with the production spot for Vancouver?”

“Who knows? The damn Artisans keep arguing among themselves, so nothing’s happening. If I hear how ‘innovation is the only way forward’ one more time,” Lana growls softly. “Why do you think I made my way out here?”

I chuckle, giving the woman a squeeze. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So. Where next?”

I sigh, rubbing my face. My heart says to swing by and clear the prairies and keep going till I hit the Atlantic. Hopefully by that time, there’ll be enough people who can help that they’ll be able to free the Maritimes. Sense says dealing with the larger, more geographically close cities in the US is a better use of my time. We can free more people faster. Logic… well, hell. I haven’t actually looked at the information we have on the cities lately, so focused am I on Calgary and our potential alliances.

“Onward. Always onward.”

***

Later that evening, when Lana’s finally asleep, I have time to review my status updates. I have to smile slightly at the newly increased Levels, a smile that is wiped away when I recall why exactly I’ve gained these Levels. I exhale, pushing aside the mild guilt once more. Survivor’s guilt, that feeling of not being good enough, of not having sacrificed enough. It’s been more than a year now and still it lingers. For all my attempts at being more in touch with my emotions, I have a feeling certain things might continue to exist forever.

Glancing over my Status Screen, I note I’ve got another free Class Skill Point and nine free attributes to allocate. That’s a decent amount for upgrading, which means I should probably spend it. It’s strange, but at this point, those nine free points aren’t that huge a deal. That last battle was painful and once again showcased the need for more Mana and more Mana Regeneration. It’s one of the many reasons why I avoid picking up more passive Skills—too many of them harm my Mana Regeneration.

That being the case, Intelligence and Wisdom seem to be the best bets. Dumping three more points into Intelligence, four into Wisdom, and one each into Luck and Perception makes me happy. Now that we’ve got a larger sample size, I’m pretty sure that increases in Luck increase at the very least the number of Credits I get to take from those I kill. And money is good.

After that, I have to decide what to buy with my last Class Skill Point. And that’s a difficult choice. I’m not going to get many more from now on, so rather than make the decision, I put it on hold. Never know what I might need in the future.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Honor Guard

Race

Human (Male)

Level

46

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead, Duelist

Health

2120

Stamina

2120

Mana

1660

Mana Regeneration

129/ minute*

Attributes

Strength

112

Agility

199

Constitution

212

Perception

63

Intelligence

166

Willpower

164

Charisma

18

Luck

33

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

2

Blade Strike

2

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand blades

1

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal

3

Army of One

1

Sanctum

1

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footprints*

1

Tech Link*

2

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (II)

Greater Regeneration

Greater Healing

Mana Drip

Improved Mana Dart (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike

Fireball

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Inferno Strike

Mud Walls

As dawn breaks, Mikito and I have just finished a round of sparring. Ingrid’s on breakfast duty thankfully, while Sam continues to work on replacing his drones. Lana walks out of our bedroom, dressed but distracted as she swings her hand and mutters, working on one of her many projects. As hard as I work on building my combat skills, Lana probably does twice that in handling the various business and settlement interests she’s been given.

“What’s for breakfast?” Mikito asks, sliding into a seat. She eyes the stacks of omelets and the jars of honey, real butter, and jam, along with links of sausages and bacon. “Oooh, bannock!”

Everyone looks up, realizing what Mikito said. All eyes but Ingrid’s alight on the floury goodness on the table, our hands and bodies darting forward. Triggering Blink Step, I snatch four pieces of bannock before popping back to my seat, smirking at Sam, who is only just beginning to go for the fast shrinking pile. My smirk is wiped away a second later when Lana casually takes half of my share directly from my plate. When I move to protest, Lana cheats and uses big, puppy dog eyes on me.

“Thanks,” I mutter to Ingrid, eyeing the pot of boiling oil to see if she’s making any more. I’m not the only one.

“There’s no more,” Ingrid answers our unasked question. “You know I have to make these by hand. The Shop’s just isn’t right.”

I grunt, offering her a nod. Personally, I think it’s more of a matter of her personal skill at making it rather than the ingredients offered not being up to par. But as I stuff my face, I have to concede that I’m not exactly the expert on this.

“Portaling us back to BC today?” Sam asks when we’re all on our second—or in Lana’s case, third—plate.

“That’s the plan. Most of the fighters need to be back,” I say. “Kamloops first, then individual Portals everywhere else.”

“You ever going to do the Vancouver dungeon?” Mikito asks.

I grimace with regret. It’s rather stupid that I have a dungeon of my own and I haven’t even stepped foot into it. “Not yet.”

“Well, keep this up and we’ll catch up with you,” Mikito says, shaking her head. “Not helping anyone if you aren’t Leveling. Even another couple of Levels would allow you to extend your Portal range.”

“I know,” I snap then hold a hand up in apology. I could point out I could extend my Portal range right now, but I want to save that Skill Point like a squirrel with a nut.

Lana quietly pushes some coffee over while I get my irritation back under control. My temper’s getting better, but I have to admit, the stress of finding time to do everything is a bit of a killer.

“Nice one,” Ingrid says sarcastically, digging a dagger into my emotional vulnerability.

“Sorry, Mikito. Everyone,” I say, which gets Ingrid’s nod. A sip of coffee—plain coffee, not the magical brew from the Baristas—helps calm me down a little more. “I know I’m letting you guys down. Being the only one with the Skill is a bit stressful. The colonel keeps reminding me not to take risks, but at the same time, I need to be out charting new waypoints and leveling.”

“Why can’t you buy it for anyone else?” Sam asks, frowning.

“System limit,” Ali chimes in, happy to play the know-it-all. “You already know you can’t buy a Skill above your Class Skill tier, right? Well, Portal and a lot of the equivalent long-distance teleportation Skills are Advanced Class final tier. Even the spells including the teleportation rituals require at least Advanced Class casters.

“Even if you could get to that Level, you also have the problem of cost. John gets a huge discount because it’s his Class—just like you would in yours—but for others, they’d have to pay through the nose. Firstly, because it’s an Advanced Class Skill. Then again because it’s from a rare Class. Then for the Tier. We’re talking hundreds of thousands of Credits.”

“But John…?”

“Is a cheat character,” Ingrid says, quoting an old friend. “According to the System, he’s only at Level 43 Basic, even if he has access to his Advanced Class Skills.”

“That’s so unfair,” Sam mutters, shaking his head.

“Oh please, Mr. Swarm-of-Drones,” I say. “You barely get shot at because your drones do the work. And you get more assist experience than anyone I know.”

“It is rather useful, isn’t it?” Sam says with a smirk.

Before we can start another round of ribbing, a knock on the apartment door interrupts us.

“Come in.”

“Mr. Lee.” A young man strides in wearing an army uniform, greeting me when I turn to regard him. “Colonel Wier sends his greetings and requests your presence in his office. As soon as possible.”

“Is it something urgent?” I frown, tilting my head toward the window.

Lana shakes her head in my peripheral vision, indicating that she hasn’t picked out any sign of any large-scale fighting.

“No significant problems from the sensor net.”

“Yes, sir. He did mention ASAP,” the private says firmly.

I sigh, deciding I won’t be getting a third breakfast plate then. I’ll survive. “One second.”

I turned toward the group and glance at Mikito, who has grown quiet. I make a note to talk to her when I can, just to make sure we’re good. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, with how quiet she is.

Realizing I’ve forgotten what I meant to say and can’t recall it, I shrug and wave goodbye, using the same gesture to open a Portal. “I’ll see you all later.”

A moment later, I’m a couple of kilometers away from my apartment, the private dashing through the Portal as Ali snickers and follows. When the Portal snaps closed, I realize no one’s in the colonel’s office.

“Huh.” I frown, opening the office door and striding out.

The private scrambles after me, looking confused. We run into the colonel walking back with a cup of coffee and a breakfast plate balanced in his hands.

“Ah, that was fast. Well done, Private Keel. You’re dismissed.”

Keel doesn’t waste a second, leaving after saluting.

“I take it you Portalled into my command post?” Weir says.

“You did say it was urgent,” I say, not at all apologetic.

“Yes. It was. Is,” Wier says, gesturing for me to take a seat. “We have news that the Sons of Odin and a few other groups banded together and launched an attack on the Mages’ base. They were repulsed, but not without losses. Sit down. The fight has been over for over a day already.”

I grunt, sitting while guilt claws at me. I dragged the Mages to Calgary to help us, the entire group being one of the few willing volunteers. Now their people lay dead because those who should have been guarding them were helping me.

“We’ve already informed the Mages and hastened all preparations for our return to Seattle. However…” The colonel eyes me. “I cannot act against them.”

“Why?”

“Politics,” Wier says bitterly. “We’re not to act against US citizens except in self-defense. The Secretary, the acting president, has issued an order barring direct action against US civilians. My hands are tied.”

I grunt, my lips curling in distaste. Stupid orders, at least from my perspective. Except I can see how the Secretary might not want to set the precedent. Still, stupid. “You want me to help.”

“I cannot, officially, ask for aid from a foreign power,” Wier says softly. “But if my allies were to appear in Seattle and decide to do some scouting ahead of freeing up additional US cities, it would not be inappropriate for them to defend themselves or act humanely if they came across criminal behavior.”

Damn weaselly words. But for all that, Wier’s sticking his neck out a bit, telling us this and asking for help, albeit obliquely, while indicating he won’t act against us. Not that I’d say no to the Mages anyway.

“Fine. But you should have asked my team to come too,” I say, standing and waving to create a Portal.

Seconds later, I’m back in my apartment building, to the surprise of my team. Seeing their faces, I brace myself to explain what has happened.

“Right, who wants to go on a road trip?”

***

Staring at the blasted ruins that surround us, pockmarked earthen craters and the burnt remnants of trees and shrubbery, the desperation and scale of the battle fought here is clear. With System-assisted reconstruction, the extent that’s still damaged shows that there was even greater destruction before.

“Thanks, John. We’ll see you!” Chetan says as he scrambles away.

His reminder of social niceties gets a chorus of agreements and repetitions from the other Mages as they nearly sprint into the buildings, concern written across their faces.

“You’re not going?” Carlos says to Daniel, who is still standing with us.

“No. I’ll get a report later,” Daniel says, his face impassive. “You’re our guests, so someone has to show you around.”

“That’s not necessary,” Lana says, shaking her head. “You should be checking on your friends.”

“They will be fine. Or not. In either case, it’s too late,” Daniel explains. “Shall I show you to your quarters?”

“Uhh…” Lana’s obviously perturbed.

“Har! Between you and John, we could get a skit going.” Ingrid snorts and prods him with her elbow. “Show us the way, Mr. Robot.”

“I’m not a robot. I just don’t see the fuss about crying over spilt milk,” Daniel protests.

When I hear Ingrid tease him again, I tune out the words while gesturing for Mikito to fall to the back with me. Sam, seeing the two of us moving to have a private chat, swings away from the group even as he releases some scouting drones.

“Yes?” Mikito asks.

“Just wanted to apologize again. About snapping,” I say, rubbing my nose.

Mikito wrinkles her nose slightly. “It is okay.”

She’s obviously uncomfortable with me tackling my social faux pas directly. Sometimes, it’s hard to navigate the damn cultural channels—when should I not talk about feelings, when should I?

“Right. Good.” I nod.

Mikito speeds up, but just before she leaves easy speaking range, she adds, “I’ll take it out of you tomorrow morning.”

I blink at the tiny Japanese woman and feel a thread of fear run through me. Perhaps her hanging out with Lana and Ingrid is a bad idea.

***

We’re in a large meeting room. Charles, Chetan, Daniel, and the rest of the Mages are all clustered around a paper map of the city. On it, pins are placed for all the City Cores, and small, finely painted pewter miniatures indicate the various parties involved.

“A bit old school here, aren’t we?” Sam says, eyeing the map.

“You’re complaining about how we choose to display our information?” Charles says, staring at Sam.

“You guys are the tech geeks, aren’t you? I’d have expected, I don’t know, holographic maps. Didn’t think you’d be a bunch of luddites,” Sam rebuts.

“Hey! We have that in our real—” Chetan says and gets glared down by Charles. Mocha-colored skin flushing, he subsides with an embarrassed grin.

While Chetan is explaining that we’re not being allowed into their main conference room, I’m busy picking up some of the miniatures and admiring the paint job. Some are obvious—the infantry trooper for the US Army, the horned Viking helmet for the Sons of Odin, and the chainmail bikini warrior for the women-only group. Others require a little more thought, like the bardic figurine with a lute for the Baristas. Luckily, they’ve got a little note on the board indicating which piece is what.

“Boys.” Lana rolls her eyes. “Are we done yet? What are your plans, Charles?”

Charles nods, tapping the board. “All the figures with a red base belong to an enemy group that we know attacked us. The yellows are those we believe might be supporting these groups, but we aren’t sure. Greens are friendlies, of course—”

“Wait, why are greens friendlies? I thought blue was for friendlies?” a portly mage interrupts.

“We agreed on green for friendlies and blue for allies, Steven,” Charles says exasperatedly.

“Well, we’ve got no blues on the board, so we should use blue for friendlies—”

“Steven,” Charles says softly, anger tinging his voice. Daniel, beside Steven, elbows the portly man, who finally shuts up. Charles turns to us. “Sorry.”

“What do we know about our opponents?” I say while tapping the little Viking figurine.

“Actually, we thought we’d have you talk with this group,” Charles says, pointing at a smaller figurine.

I frown, staring at the location before looking at their helpful note. Oh, the suburban group with Desmond. “We can do that.”

“Problem?” Charles asks, hearing the uncertainty in my voice.

“Just not used to planning to kill other humans. Well, not much,” I say, recalling a few times when I’d done that. But the circumstances were different. Sort of. Maybe it’s just that we’re looking at a larger group, a bunch of people who used to be plain old middle-class suburban residents.

“If it’s too much…”

“No. We’re allies,” I cut him off but find myself shooting a glance at my team.

Mikito is impassive as ever. Ingrid and Carlos look slightly angry, while Sam is giving his usual stoic expression. By now, I know that’s his version of “I’m unhappy, but I understand we’re doing this.” It’s only Lana who looks as uncomfortable as I feel, but Lana gives me a firm nod. For all her empathy, the redhead knows how to push it aside. As for our healer, he just stays silent.

“We’re good,” I say.

“Thank you. Now, Daniel, your group is going to hit Ethan’s group,” Charles says.

With our marching orders given, I can keep quiet and watch, remembering the potential areas and stewing in my thoughts. Thoughts which revolve around having to kill humans. When they deserve it or not, I hate this.

“Now remember, we’re taking prisoners if we can, but don’t risk yourself. Attack only those on the list. A lot of these groups have non-combatants, just like we do, so be careful,” Charles says sternly. “I’m leaving it to you all on how to engage your groups, but do your best to keep the casualties down. But don’t risk yourself.”

A chorus of agreement meets his pronouncement, after which there are a few last things to sort out. The final thing is, of course, the registration of everyone who attacked the Mages on a bounty list, adding them as a potential Quest reward for turning in these attackers. With the Mages’ mysterious leadership team going after the strongest group—the Sons of Odin—cleanup of everyone else should be simple enough. When we finally split up, the final “go” time is still to be determined. Just in case our opponents are trying to get that information from the System.

***

“You going to be okay with this?” I ask Sam while Carlos and I lend a helping hand to the Technomancer.

Carlos tilts his head when he hears me speak but doesn’t say anything. Unlike us, Carlos has been fighting humanoid sentients for the majority of last year and is also a native, so he’s a little more invested.

“I’ll survive,” Sam grunts. “Higher please.”

I comply, lifting the covering of the larger drone higher. “Thought you were going for smaller drones?”

“Just doing some work for their mechanics. My drones are ready,” Sam said, rubbing his nose. “There’s a Skill called ‘Optimization’ that I can use if I work on a piece of advanced technology. Keeps the drone running at a seven percent efficiency increase for the next six hours.”

“Ah.” I nod. “You know, you can skip out on this if it’s an issue.”

“No. They attacked our allies. We have to hit them. And my drones will provide us more coverage and control of the non-combatants,” Sam says. “I’m not happy about this. But it needs to be done.”

“They’re assholes anyway.” At the looks he gets from us, Carlos clarifies. “My friends and I, we were part of Desmond’s group for a bit. We quickly found ourselves doing all their dirty jobs—night patrols, corpse cleanup, harvesting. Somehow, the whiter team that joined at the same time never got the same share of work.”

“They just assigned you guys?” Sam says.

“Nah. There’s always an excuse, you know? Why the schedule changed. Why the other team couldn’t do it. Someone got hurt. Somehow we’re more suited to harvesting than the others,” Carlos says bitterly.

Sam winces and murmurs some consoling words while I keep quiet, caught in my thoughts.

“Was this why you’re being a bit of a dick? Getting my walls up?”

“A bit. You’re a bit of a softie at times. And let’s just say that I picked up some chatter lately.”

It’s no real surprise. Even in Vancouver, I’ve seen some of the old prejudices rise up, though little of it was directed at me. Being insulated by position, wealth, and power means that I don’t have to deal with the same level of bullshit as before. But people like Carlos and his friends—who, I absently note, he’s only now mentioned—probably had it worse. Add the fact that the lines are drawn clearer down here, and well…

“Drop it. I don’t need your pop psychology. Been dealing with that shit my whole life. And from what Lana tells me, we’re going to have to deal with it more when we deal with the Galactics once we’re out of Earth.”

“You can lower it,” Sam repeats, and I comply, dropping the drone’s top as requested.

“Do you think Mikito will be fine with this?” Carlos says hesitantly.

“Mikito?” I say with a frown.

“Yes. She was so, umm… cold,” Carlos ventures.

“Ah. Yes, she is.” I lean back to consider my friend’s reaction. I’d just taken her lack of objection as acceptance, the young woman’s willingness to jump into our violent confrontations a given in my mind. “Mikito should be fine. She’s done this before.”

“Yes, but is she okay?” Carlos stresses the last word, trying to get his point across.

After peering at Carlos for a moment, Sam snorts while I frown, unsure of why the man is so insistent on that point.

“Oy, inventory of rocks. He likes her.” Ali’s mental thought is filled with exasperation, obviously cluing in on my lack of a clue. “And you, lover-boy, just talk to her.”

“Me? No, I didn’t. I’m not—” Carlos splutters a bit. We all chuckle, making the Latino flush. When we’re finally done laughing, he sets us off again with his next question. “Do you think she’d be okay with that?”

“Outside of Carlos’s interest, we actually got a plan for this?” Sam says, having pulled out various pieces of another drone to put together.

“Sort of. I was thinking of asking them real nice…”

A buzz precedes an announcement in my ear that notifies us it’s time to get moving. The attack is on.

***

“I get it now.” Mikito laughs behind her hand as she surveys the golf course grounds and clubhouse.

We all look at her askance, most of us having understood the barbarian with the club figurine used and not finding the hilarity in it that she does. All but Carlos, who laughs a little too hard.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sam mutters.

Since we still have to journey south to the actual city core after the attack announcement is made, I have more than enough time to brief the team on the “plan.” Calling it a plan is rather generous, but we out-Level these fellows enough that it shouldn’t matter. It’s part of the reason we’ve all got our helmets down, showcasing our faces. On the other hand, Lana’s pets are all farther behind, hidden behind invisibility potions and ready to back us up.

“It’ll be fine,” I say. “If we don’t take their City Core, we’d be forced to hunt their fighters down anyway. This way, they’ll do all the work for us by gathering here. We won’t even need to hunt them down.”

“And if they refuse to fight?” Lana asks as she cranes her neck and surveys the slowly gathering teams of enemy combatants.

Most of the fighters are streaming in from the various houses dotting the golf course, luxurious residences that once overlooked carefully manicured, pesticide-ridden grounds. Someone had actually spent the Credits to ensure the grounds were still manicured and cut, managed by the System rather than underpaid groundskeepers.

“Then they lose their Core. And the Mages can figure out who they want to kick out,” I say.

I have no intention of taking the City Core here. I have more than enough on my hands, dealing with the politics and development of the settlements in BC. There’s no need to invite even more trouble by getting involved in the US. Not yet at least.

“Mr. Lee, Mr. Turner.” Desmond walks to the forefront of the group, hand resting on the butt of his pistol. “What’s the purpose of your visit?”

“Your Core,” I say. “We’re here to take it from you. And there are a few people we’ve got a bounty to collect on. Ali.”

A moment later, the list of wanted personnel appears as a System notification for everyone present. Ali’s even been nice enough to sort the ones in this group to the top and highlight them for easy reading. He’s considerate that way.

“You’re just going to take a quest from those Mages? Do their bidding? I thought you were independent!” Desmond sputters.

“Well, it’s nice experience,” I drawl before I drop the act and let him see some of the anger in my eyes. “And you guys attacked first.”

“It has nothing to do with you!”

“Except they’re our allies. And you’re assholes,” I say then gesture to the team to walk forward.

We cross the space between us, Carlos and Sam tapping their helmets, the hardware shifting around their neck and forming around their face as asphalt crunches under our feet. Our opponents shift and ready weapons. I hear spells being chanted and buffs being added, but I don’t break eye contact with Desmond.

“You think you can beat us? There’s only five of you!” Desmond snarls, his pistol drawn.

From a hundred feet, we’re down to fifty, the slow, rhythmic thread of our steps not stopping. They have numerous spells held ready, but thus far, no one has attacked.

“Five?” Lana whispers.

“Ingrid’s gone again,” Sam mutters, his voice carrying to us via the communicator.

Without a word, Lana triggers her Aura of the Red Queen, her hair darkening into a blood red, her features growing slightly shadowed, her pale skin lightening. The beautiful redhead becomes so much more intimidating, the fear effect that the Aura triggers causing indrawn breaths and a few involuntary steps back.

“Tell me,” I call, raising my voice to carry to everyone around us. “Are you all willing to die for Desmond and his friends? Because the first person to shoot dies. I don’t know if you all agreed on the attack, but for those of you on the list, we’re not going to kill you. Neither are the Mages.”

“What… what are you going to do with us?” a voice shouts.

I chuckle softly. “I hear you guys are fans of serfdom—”

I never get to finish my sentence because Desmond opens up, the melee fighter with the sword and tower shield behind him moving next to him whilst glowing a purple color. Smoothly, another of his allies drops to her knees, brown hair billowing as she fires her plasma rifle. A mage snaps off a spell, and steel birds appear around the group, razor-sharp wings extended. All around us, a few of Desmond’s people open fire while others hesitate at the sudden onset of violence.

“Sam, Lana, crowd control!” I snarl, my sword appearing in my hand and cutting the plasma beam.

Of course physics doesn’t work that way and the beam, aided by a Skill, melts my sword partly and slams into my chest anyway, a fraction of a second before Desmond’s second shot manages to hit me. Even as my armor smokes and my skin bubbles, a soothing green light washes over me as Carlos gets to work. Rather than take another shot, I cast Soul Shield. I’d purposely left it off since I didn’t want to come in too hard—but perhaps I could have worded our earlier entrance better.

Damn Charisma.

Mikito, under her Haste Skill, ducks the majority of the birds as she runs to Desmond, only to be blocked by the wannabe-legionnaire. The pair exchange attacks, Mikito’s longer weapon leaving her mostly safe from the legionnaire’s gladius. However, each attack that he blocks seems to cast a red glow that drops Mikito’s health a little while the swooping metal birds force her to duck and dodge while fighting.

While everyone’s distracted by Mikito, Ingrid makes her appearance, her knives sliding into the steel mage’s back. His back arches and he gurgles in pain as she yanks the blades from his kidneys and restabs him in the shoulder blades. He sinks to his knees. Finally free to choose my target, I Blink Step above Desmond.

“Time to die,” I snarl, my sword dismissed and recalled to give it back its edge.

Even as I drop, I activate Cleave and Elemental Strike—Ice. I don’t even need my additional blades as my cut tears into Desmond, the blade sliding through his body with garish ease. Blood, bone, and muscle part, frosting over. Desmond chokes, his lungs compromised as he attempts to wheeze out a protest. He falls backward, ripping the blade from his body.

A moment later, the blood that escaped from the frozen flesh stops running, growing grey and firm. In a flash, the rest of Desmond’s body is covered in the same greyness and his mouth splits into a grin as he drops his pistols and launches himself from his feet with an uppercut.

“Got you,” Desmond snarls.

With a casual twist of my hands, I bring my sword across my body to block the attack. Rather than cut through his fist fully, it only sinks in a few centimeters before the surface of his newly hardened body punches through my defense and pushes me back.

Class Skill: Blood to Stone (Level 3)

Transforms lost hit points into defensive armor, increasing the defense of the user. Blood to Stone increases armor at a ratio of 1.2:1 for each health loss.

Cost: 200 Mana

Duration: 3 minutes

“Dream on,” I snarl, cutting at Desmond with my sword the moment I rush back to him.

He might have a better defense, but I’ve got a Soul Shield, so even when he does manage to actually hit me, it does no damage. Again and again we clash, blade against fist, and wounds open across Desmond’s body. A faked cross turns into a front kick which turns into a spinning backhand by Desmond, his attacks shattering my Soul Shield. In return, I duck under and cut his leg, slicing a line of grey damage. But even as I watch, his wounds slowly knit together, his chest wound nearly entirely healed.

“Lana, I’m marking his healers!” Ali sends over the party chat.

In a few moments, his healers are glowing. We’ve been avoiding attacking them since they aren’t direct damage dealers, but since it’s gotten this far, the gloves are off. At this rate, his defense is just going to keep creeping up, making my attacks almost utterly useless.

Shattered glass draws my attention and I’m forced to jerk my head back just a little too late. Gnarly, rough knuckles graze my jaw, tearing open surface wounds. From the shattered vials, smoke pours out, covering the battlefield.

-31 Poison Damage Taken (Poison Resisted)

The notification flashes in the corner of my eyes even as I find the poison burning my skin and exposed flesh. I would swear, but it’s the right call. The healing from Desmond’s friends drops as they lose sight of him. Forced to rely on his own regeneration and armor, he backpedals but continues to laugh softly as I keep hitting him, trying to drag down his health. He’s mostly on the defense for the moment, taking damage and dishing a little out before a fully drawn shoulder cut across his chest leaves just a white line across his skin.

“Thousand hells,” I swear.

“My Skill stacks, stupid.” Desmond laughs maniacally as he throws himself forward, disregarding defense at all.

I’m forced to backpedal, blocking, dodging, and occasionally eating a shot. Cleave should work, but only a little longer—his damage resistance keeps going up. I can slow him down with Freezing Blade, but it won’t kill him… slow him down…

I chuckle, catching a cut, then grab him, spin him around, and slam him into the ground. He’s good, but he has nowhere near my agility. And while he might have had some hand-to-hand training in the past, I’ve spent the last year and a half training with Mikito. My shift in tactics puts him down, his arm stretched across my chest and locked at the elbow and shoulder while I press his face into the ground.

“You can’t stop me!” Desmond chokes out, pushing upward for a second.

I know if he’s really willing to do it, he could dislocate his arm and get out, so I cast before he gets the idea. In the few seconds my spell requires to conjure, I look around to survey the situation.

A body falling from a rooftop shows Ingrid is dealing with some of our ranged attackers, her Shadow Form giving her the maneuverability required. Carlos is hunkered low with Sam and Lana in our original position, a series of defensive shield drones offering support as the group fights off a pair of attackers. The puppies are dealing with a cluster of ranged fighters on the left, Anna and Roland intimidating another cluster of surrendered combatants to the right. Mikito, having dealt with her attacker, is finishing off the female rifle-bearer.

That’s all the time I have before my spell forms. Shoving down hard, I jump and Blink Step away even as the Mud Walls form, slamming together to cover Desmond.

“Carlos, Ice!” I snap even as I cast Polar Zone on the Mud Walls.

A couple of potions—twinkling, periwinkle blue bottles of liquid—crash against the liquified earth, releasing their sub-zero contents and completing the freezing process. The sudden emergence of the mud and the entombment of their leader freezes our assailants, their ace in the hole neutralized. Hopefully.

“Is he dead?” Carlos says, staring at the newly created frozen, brown hill.

Just in case, I make a note to cast Polar Zone again once the cooldown is off.

“Nope. He might suffocate in a few hours, but his Constitution is high enough to keep him alive for a bit,” Ali says, peering at his screens.

“But he’s taking damage…” Sam says. Even from there, he can feel the unnatural cold radiating from the hill. “A bit cruel, no?”

I shrug, keeping my face impassive. Best to play cruel and uncaring. Truth be told, while I might have been able to kill the son of a bitch eventually, it’d have been a slog. Better to leave him stuck until the Mages come by and drag him away. His Skill was a nasty, overpowered one.

“Are we done?” I ask threateningly, letting my gaze slide over our shocked opponents. There are a few quick nods, a few faces turned away in shame. “Good.”

I wave, using up a large chunk of my remaining Mana and dragging a headache with it to open a Portal. The Mage team that’s been waiting steps through and heads into the building to take over the Core while Lana, under her Aura and with Ali’s help, sorts out the wanted figures. No surprise, not all of them decide to come peacefully once we lay hands on them. A few with stealth abilities even attempt to run away. Luckily, we have Ali and the pets around to corral the majority of those, though a few manage to get away during the fight or perhaps were never around. They’re a problem for later.

Five minutes later, as the Mage team comes back out of the building, an explosion attracts everyone’s attention. At this distance, all we hear is a low rumbling sound, but all eyes turn in that direction. Lana’s eyes narrow as a large plume of smoke rises from the downtown core.

“What is it?” Carlos says.

“Space Needle,” Lana says slowly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “It’s where the Sons of Odin had their headquarters.”

“The Mage leaders?” Mikito asks quietly.

“Yes,” Ali answers for Lana. “They decided to make a show of it and blew up the entire building.”

“Civilians?” I say with a frown.

Ali shrugs. He has a little more information than we do, but it isn’t as if he’s omnipotent. I make a mental note to have a conversation with our “friends” later about that. If the Sons of Odin were anything like this group, there might have been some innocents in there. Then again, there might not have been. Better not to jump to conclusions before I tear out someone’s throat. Still, this display puts another mark in the column of “don’t necessarily trust the Mages” portion of my brain.

An hour later, when the Mages have sent enough people to keep the peace and the crowd has dispersed, my team gathers again in front of the Core to be ported back.

“Are we really going to let them make them slaves?” Sam asks, looking at the bound and guarded group of prisoners awaiting transportation.

“Not exactly,” Lana says softly, shaking her head. “There’s going to be trial. Those who were just ancillary, they’ll be jailed for a bit then released with a Contract forced on them. Only be the ones who killed or took direct part will be made serfs and put under guard. And even then, there’s a time limit—well, a Credit limit.”

“What’s to stop them from adding fines and charging more?” Ingrid asks, eyes narrowed. “There’s a lot of loopholes in that system.”

“Because we won’t allow it,” Ali says firmly, meeting Ingrid’s eyes. “Lana, Katherine, Kim, and I have all gone through their documents. And we’re keeping an eye on it.”

“And they let us?” Sam says with surprise.

“Well, let’s just say that there’s more than one faction in play,” Lana says with a slight smile.

I blink, curious how the lady managed to get all this done. I mean, we’ve barely had a few hours all in.

The team reluctantly let the topic drop. It’s not real justice, but in this world, it’s the best we can do. For all that we might dislike the concept of slavery, they did start the damn fight. And tossing people, no matter how self-serving, arrogant, and idiotic, into prison would be a waste of resources when we desperately need all hands on deck. Prison would not just cost us the prisoners, but we’d need prison guards too. Better to use the System controls to get them to work for us. And who knows, maybe a little punishment might smarten them up.

And leeches might fly.

***

Later that evening, Lana and I are seated on the couch overlooking the large backyard in Lana’s house in Richmond in the Lower Mainland. Rather than sticking around the town, I Portalled us back to the large ex-farmland that Lana had purchased in the suburb for her use. The ample fenced grounds offer a convenient place for the puppies to stretch their legs. Considering their husky breeds, that’s a necessity.

“This is for you,” I say, waving slightly to pull the small cardboard box from my Altered Space.

Lana frowns, staring at the box before she opens it to reveal the small paper charm with words of unknown origin on them. “This is…?” Lana frowns.

“Pick it up,” I say.

When she complies, the item information appears.

Talisman of Teleportation (Tier III)

Upon use, the talisman will either transport user to anchored location or to a random, safe teleportation location within 5km of the user’s origin.

“How…?”

“Loot from Calgary,” I reply. “Congratulations, Beast Master.”

“Oh!” Lana flushes, smiling slightly. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

Lana Pearson (Beast Master Level 1)

HP: 420/420

MP: 620/620

Conditions: Bestial Senses, Linked x 4

“I did. Just didn’t have much time to congratulate you during the fight,” I say. “I take it you’ve switched the experience gain to something more balanced?” Lana nods, confirming my guess. “What’re the Skills like?”

“Different. Sort of,” Lana says with a shrug. “Three trees. The first buffs me—the usual but better increases to my personal Skills and survivability. There’s even an option to take control of swarms or hives in there. The other two options are divergent in their needs. I guess you could say the first is an evolutionary option. Here…”

Forced Evolution (Level 0)

Forcibly causes a pet to undergo an evolution. Evolution will (generally) be beneficial to the pet. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 5 permanently

“Not much explanation,” I mutter, dismissing the notice. “And the other?”

Biological Overdrive

Increases biology of pet by 300%. Attack, speed, defense, and damage values will increase during overdrive period. Pets will suffer a negative exhaustion effect after overdrive duration is complete.

Duration: 10 Minutes

Cost: 250 Mana per pet

“Is that title correct?” I frown, staring at the Skill’s title.

“Translation issues, boy-o,” Ali says, shaking his head. By this point, both of us have gotten used to the damn Spirit randomly floating in when he feels like it. Thankfully, after forcibly banishing the Spirit twice for intruding when he shouldn’t, he’s stopped coming in while we’re otherwise intimately engaged. “Not everyone has me cleaning up their UI.”

“The other Skills are similar,” Lana says, ignoring the byplay between us. “Basically, I can push my pets to be more powerful for a short period or chance evolutions and other changes on them, giving them longer-term effects. But they don’t seem to be as powerful.”

“Mostly,” Ali agrees. “It’s an option between long-lasting effects or guaranteed hard-hitters. Though you sometimes get a little of the second with the evolutions. They can get weird.”

I grunt. Considering some of the strange and less-than-successful evolutions we’ve seen—more often as corpses—I have to agree with Ali on that. Still, considering how much Mana and the number of evolutions that happened, the ratio of “good” to “bad” mutations is incredibly favorable. The fact that these evolutions don’t seem entirely random has generated a significant amount of discussion in my books, some of which I’d gained a few upgrades to my System Quest by reading. The general consensus is that either the Mana or the System self-selects for successful mutations, which lends to the belief of intelligent design behind these actions. A cruel intelligence though. There seems to be a small but significant number of random mutations that are neither beneficial nor benign but just weird.

“What did you choose?”

“I haven’t,” Lana says softly, doubt creeping into her voice. When I stay silent, Lana is forced to fill in. “I don’t want to hurt them. But…”

“But the evolutions could do that too,” I say, and she nods. Even now, the woman still visits the little girl we left Elsa with, when she can convince me to Portal her up. It’s touching, if a little worrying. Sometimes, I wonder how much more pain that big heart of hers can take.

“Yes,” Lana says, leaning her head against me again. “What should I do?”

I don’t answer, just giving her a squeeze. Even if I want to talk, to advise, I’ve learned my lesson and bite my tongue. Literally. Sometimes, women just want to talk.

It’s into that comfortable, if morose, silence that Kim’s notification appears.

“REQUESTING AUTHORIZATION TO USE FUNDS TO ASCERTAIN ALTERATIONS IN SETTLEMENT MARKETPLACE.”

“What?” I say out loud.

“REQUESTING AUTHORIZATION TO USE FUNDS TO ASCERTAIN ALTERATIONS IN SETTLEMENT MARKETPLACE.”

“I got that,” I snarl then draw a breath, forcing down my irritation. No point getting angry. It’s a machine. Sort of. “I meant, what alterations?”

“UNKNOWN. REQUISITION FUNDS TO…”

“We got that, bits-for-brains. Boy-o wants to know what alterations you’re seeing,” Ali says.

“RECENT PRICE FLUCTUATIONS IN QUANTUM STABILIZERS AND ANTI-TELEPORTATION SHIELDS,” Kim says.

A moment later, a graph pops up with so many lines on it, my eyes blur trying to read it.

“We got it, bits-for-brains. Authorized,” Ali says.

“UNABLE TO ACCEPT AUTHORIZATION FROM LOWER ELEMENTAL FORM.”

“I’ll give you lower—”

“Ali.” I cut him off before I say slowly, “Why are you tracking this? I thought you were limited to the settlement?”

“A REQUEST FOR INFORMATION FROM THE LOWER ELEMENTAL FORM WAS DEEMED TO OFFER AN ACCEPTABLE RETURN ON THE RESOURCES DEDICATED TO SUCH TRACKING,” Kim says. “REQUESTING AUTHORIZATION TO UTILISE SETTLEMENT FUNDS.”

Once I parse the answer, I shrug. “Do it.” Then I turn to Ali. “Explain?”

“Not much to explain, boy-o. You know what anti-teleportation shields are. Quantum stabilizers do the same, but they include things like your Quantum State Manipulator. There’re a bunch of variations of course, from single-activation stabilizers to on-going fields,” Ali says. “I figured since you’ve purchased the QSM again and are waiting for its delivery, and with your Skills, it’d be a good idea to make sure the cities we’re going into aren’t utilizing it. Don’t want to jump into a place that is quantum locked. It’d be real painful. Or deadly.”

“We can tell that from this…?” I say, frowning at the graph that hasn’t disappeared.

“No idea about the graph. I just bought some information on the next few cities,” Ali says. “Looks like bits-for-brains took it a step further.”

“DATA CONFIRMED. ASSESSMENT IS THAT SETTLEMENTS WITHIN NORTH AMERICA HAVE SEEN A SIGNIFICANT INCREASE IN PURCHASES OF ANTI-TELEPORTATION AND QUANTUM STABILIZERS.”

“John?” Lana says, frowning as she reads the information Kim and Ali have so kindly shared to her.

“It’s like this, Lana,” Ali says. “They’re taking steps to stop John from bouncing around inside their cities or dropping an army on their doorsteps. Skills that involve spatial distortions, like his Blink Step and Portal, are going to be seriously degraded. Depending on the level of interference, it’s either going to be impossible, seriously curtailed, or just painful to use.”

“Painful?”

“Certain quantum stabilizers only react on use of the Skill. They disrupt the actual teleportation, damaging those transported.”

“Nasty,” I say with a wince.

“Yup. They’re also the most common,” Ali says. “Cheaper to purchase an occasional trigger piece than a whole anti-teleport field, you know?”

“Yeah,” I say, rubbing my chin. This isn’t good news. Not at all. It looks like our actions have caught some attention. “How much damage are we talking?”

“Depends on the field. Anything from a couple of hundred health points to a few thousand.”

“So, no jumping.”

“No jumping.”

“We need to tell the colonel,” Lana says softly.

I nod. Ah hell, I bet he’s going to make me do the US next. Still, maybe Voodoo Donuts survived…

***

Wier takes the news with equanimity. Seated in his office alone, his table is bare but for a cup of coffee when we arrive. Soon afterward, his aide comes in to take notes while we inform him of the bad news. Since Sam had promised to work with the army’s mechanics on a new project, he tagged along when we went down, leaving Mikito and Ingrid to their solo adventuring efforts.

“I have news of my own,” Wier says after he digests the information. “Fort Irwin and Camp Pendleton both survived the System changeover and have contacted us. We have begun further coordination, though contact is via messenger. Forces around these bases have joined together, including the remnants of the Edwards air force detachment, the Marines of 29 Palms, and various navy services. Unfortunately, the navy were the hardest hit among our men, with significant losses in equipment and personnel. They are currently in battle with the local alien forces known as the Zarrie.

“In addition, our efforts at aiding Portland have resulted in significant progress at whittling down the enemy’s forces. We—I—expect to see a significant increase in pressure on the resistance in the next few weeks.”

“You want me to go down and tag their land, don’t you?” I state.

“Yes.”

“It seems like we’re reacting more than planning recently,” Lana says, frowning. “We did Edmonton and Calgary because John wanted to free them and they were close. You helped us because that was part of the agreement, our Skills and men in trade for yours. But now, instead of continuing down south from there or farther east, we came to deal with Seattle. Now we’re going down to Portland?”

“The battlefield is fluid, Ms. Pearson,” Wier says calmly.

“Maybe, but I’d think you would have more of a plan,” Lana says, an unspoken accusation in her voice.

“You are perceptive, Ms. Pearson,” Wier says then raises a hand to make a call.

In a few minutes, Captain Angus Tyrell joins us and the table hosts a projection of the map of North America. Friendly settlements are coded green, hostile settlements are red, and those currently contested are yellow. Pretty much the entirety of the eastern seaboard is red with dashes of yellow, while the Midwest is a mixture of reds and yellows. The western seaboard is obviously what we’re dealing with, and it’s a mixture of reds, yellows, and of course, our greens. Overall, the greens are extremely rare, with most of those located in smaller towns and one large clump in the southern USA.

Silence descends as Wier lets us peruse the map, and I spot some interesting notes. Woodbridge, Virginia, yellow. Ashland, Oregon—a weird half-green, half-red coloration. A quick perusal shows it’s Galactic-owned and neutral to humans. Meeker, Oklahoma, green. Hardin, Illinois, red.

“As you can see, most of our country—and yours—is held by others. Of these settlements, even fewer have an active resistance. You’ll note that Los Angeles and southern USA have the highest number of such resistance cells,” Wier says, waving his fingers down the map.

“Not exactly true,” Sam says, pointing upward to our Midwest, where many places glow yellow.

“Yes, but those settlements have smaller populations. Very small,” Wier says. “In addition, many of these locations with resistance are backed up by members of our armed forces, the national guard, and members of the police and security services.” A slight pause before a half-smile. “As much as there might be complaints about our armed forces and the militarization of our police force, in instances like this, it is particularly useful.”

“You want us to go through Portland, LA, and then back up to each of these resistance cities?” I say softly, flicking my gaze along them.

Sam is right, there are a few towns and settlements—including a few greens—that we could free in Regina and Manitoba. But their numbers don’t compare at all. If we punch east from LA, we could link up with a bunch of greens and yellows, rather than the frightening bloc of red farther north. I absently note that more than a few places in the middle of the States seem to host some really nasty monsters.

“We have more people. And well-trained ones. We can’t afford to wait. Our enemies are already reacting to our growing strength,” Wier says. “The faster we are able to grow, the safer we all will be.”

“And how about what’s happening in Ontario?” Sam asks.

“Ontario?” I mutter while Lana’s face grows fixed.

“It is tragic, but this is the most efficient use of our resources,” Angus answers.

“Efficient? Do you know what they’re doing? The Galactics in Ontario are worse than the Thirteen Moon Sect. At least those assholes played nice. These guys are just shipping people wholesale to other planets and importing their own instead. If we keep this up, in less than a year, they’ll have gotten rid of the majority of the population!” Sam snaps.

“And in Italy, the aliens are shooting anyone who tries to hide in their cities,” Angus says. “In Kenya, for fighting back, they sold the settlement keys so that there are no more safe zones at all, other than a few Galactic-owned ones. In Borneo, there’s less than 0.1% of the population left because the entire jungle has mutated into a Level 200+ location. What’s your point?”

I twitch, listening to the list of calamities. For all the good that we do, it’s a drop in the ocean. Ever since people got a little more funds, they’ve been picking up information about our world—real information, not rumors—and learning about the tragedies that await us. It’s something I’ve tried to avoid myself—an ostrich’s choice to keep myself sane. There’s nothing I can do about most of it, so I can only soldier on.

“We can save Ontario, unlike those places,” Sam says. “That’s my point.”

“And linking up with our men around Los Angeles will allow us to act on multiple cities at once. Right now, we have to stop and reinforce each city with nearly all of our men until things stabilize because we do not have enough. With more units, we can continue to our attacks,” Wier repeats.

“LA also has a large economy,” Lana pipes up. “If we can get access to their funds, we can divert some of it to building defenses in other cities, just like we’re doing in BC. We could even set up teleportation gates between each city, giving us a way to reinforce them that doesn’t rely on John.”

I grunt, knowing that’d be useful. It’d fix the issue about bad roads and logistics, though the upfront cost involved is staggering. Rebuilding the defenses, upgrading each city, and making sure the settlements work is important. While fixed defenses will never be as important or as good as trained personnel, that’s no excuse for leaving the gates open either. Especially in a Dungeon World.

“Fine,” Sam says, sitting back and crossing his arms.

I’m slightly amused, though I do my best to hide it. For all of Sam’s protests, it’s not as if this was his choice. I’m the idiot who has to drive everywhere to get the Portals set up. Still, I’m glad to see he’s passionate.

“Then we’re agreed. Portland is next,” Wier says with finality. “We’ll make sure you get briefed on the city and the others further below. I’m particularly concerned about the Zarrie in LA. They’re one of the worse groups from what we gather.”

“Thank you,” I say softly. Information is good. If we’re going to liberate this continent, the more information we can gather, the better. So yeah, Portland is next.

Chapter 10

It says something about humanity that we went through an apocalypse in which our libraries and schools burned down and our government institutions were trampled and lost, but this building that provides deep-fried, sugary goodness is the first thing we rebuilt. Biting into the mocha-covered donut of heaven, I survey the battlefield.

The fight for Portland was less of a grind than what we faced in Calgary. Rather than fight a running urban battle, the Movana clan that owned the city had focused their forces at each of the City Cores. So while each fight had been more brutal, with a higher number of losses than in Calgary, they had been more contained and gone faster. Once we managed to knock down a good portion of their forces, most of the Movana gave up. It helped, I think, that Ali and Kim had started sharing our serf-of-war conditions, stating the conditions and prices for buyback. Wier had muttered something about Italy and condottieri when he heard about it, but hadn’t directly objected.

“Are you going to share?” Colonel Wier asks then promptly helps himself to the box of donuts on the picnic table that someone dragged all the way here. The greying older man looks around for a chair and, finding none, settles himself into a standing relaxed posture.

Behind Weir, his bodyguards glance at the donuts longingly but don’t make a move.

“Looks like I don’t have to,” I say.

“Good. Because I wasn’t going to ask,” a jovial voice calls. A moment later, a delicate black hand grabs a donut before it’s slid into large, luscious lips. “If anyone makes a joke, I’ll personally beat them till they’re bleeding from all their holes.”

“Firstly, pretty sure you just made the joke yourself, Chief. And secondly, isn’t that police brutality?” I say, grinning at the uniformed officer of the law.

“I’ll put the report in myself. Pretty sure the DA will get around to it in a few decades.”

The chief grins and I snort, regarding the woman and her blood-splattered, burnt, and gooey uniform. It still fits her quite well, emphasizing the decent-sized bust and toned waistline. Considering it’s unlikely she got it fitted since the System, she must have been pretty fit even before the System added its cosmetic changes. Her hair woven into a series of braids, the African American chief seems to be reveling in the sugary goodness, even going so far as to lick the cream off her fingers.

After a moment, I cast Cleanse on her uniform, wiping away the blood and grime at least.

Danielle Fuller (Sargent of the Guard Level 7)

HP: 1230/1230

MP: 1380/1380

Conditions: Sense of the City

“Got to get that spell,” Danielle says with a smile, shaking her head. “Got to get the department the spell. Do those slackers some good.”

“Well, we are hoping that there’s a lot less of this,” I say, glancing around the city. There’s not much damage from our battles, but the on-going guerilla warfare that Danielle and her people conducted shows in the shattered buildings all around us.

“I’ve been dying to ask. Why are you all wearing your uniforms?” Ali says, shaking his head. “I mean, sure, Ingrid told you when we’d do this, but it’s not exactly useful.”

“Why shouldn’t we? We’ve been hiding who and what we are for the last year. I’ll be damned if I let my people hide a day longer. We’re not thieves. We’re the police,” Danielle says with sudden heat, making Ali blink and float backward.

After a moment, he raises his finger and points at the box of donuts. “You definitely need more sugar.”

I smack myself on the forehead, realizing that after spending all this time with me, Ali might have a warped notion of why humans get angry. “Ali, not every problem can be solved by the addition of sugar…”

“Just yours,” Lana says sweetly as she snags a donut.

I growl at her without any heat. “Out of curiosity, if we’re all here, who’s running the war?” I cock my head to the side to see if I can hear any additional explosions.

“That’s what I have subordinates for,” Danielle says with a sniff before she regains her seriousness. “It’s all mop-up right now. The elves aren’t even trying to fight back anymore. We just have to find them before they get away.”

“Good to know,” I say with a nod. Considering I’ve not been asked to shuttle anyone for the last half hour, I figured it was something like that. “What’s the butcher’s bill?”

“Within acceptable limits,” Wier says and, with a slight twitch of his eyes, indicates the surroundings and our audience.

Oops. Perhaps I’ll wait for the actual report later. Or just ask Ali. Part of hanging out and joking is to improve morale, to let people know that things are returning to normal. Either that or they really wanted the donuts.

An older, portly gentleman coughs to draw our attention before flicking his gaze to the box of donuts. “And mine’s twenty Credits.”

“Dear, I forgot my wallet…” Lana says.

I roll my eyes, mentally triggering the command to send the Credits over. Well, that’s another city down at least.

***

Hours later, we’re in a meeting room that’s been cleaned and cleared. Scorch marks and gaping holes are filling in at a rate that if you looked away and back after a little while, the change would be noticeable. Around the table, Lana, Sam, and myself are seated. On the opposite side, there’s the colonel, Captain Tyrell, and their aides, as well as a new addition—Romeo, a Combat Engineer. From what I recall, it was their people and their fortifications, along with Danielle’s core of officers, that kept the resistance in Portland alive. Danielle is here too, as the third spoke in the wheel, along with Portland’s current civil leader, an ex-deputy mayor. He’s dressed in Adventurer chic, auburn hair buzzed cut and eyes hard and weary from the battle. He was the one who was willing to lead from the frontlines, something I have to admire somewhat. Up in the Mages’ portion of the table, Charles sits silently by himself, content to listen for now.

“Did you have to destroy the shield generators and the quantum stabilizers?” Philip, the ex-deputy mayor, complains. “It’s going to cost us nearly as much to fix them as to buy them new!”

“Your techies were taking too long,” Wier says. “The entire plan hinged on our ability to shift our forces around swiftly.”

“But if we’d had another five minutes, we’d have finished!”

“Your people said that five minutes earlier. I made a military decision, as is my right,” Wier states, making Philip flush a bit. “Now, I believe we’re here to discuss our next steps?”

“We need you here for a few weeks more at least. Even if we do set up deals with a Guild, like you suggest, it’ll take them time to send their people over. And if the elves hit us again…” Danielle shakes her head. “We don’t have enough people, not alone, to handle them.”

“We can give you a few days. My men need to rest and refit,” Wier says. “But we need to continue our push. While my men can handle the smaller towns without significantly degrading our forces and the addition of Romeo’s sappers has been good, we need more trained men. Do you have any further leads about the armed forces?”

“Hey! Boy-o here can still kick any of your men’s butts,” Ali says challengingly.

“Mr. Lee is an exception. While we are still adapting our tactics to the System, trained soldiers can and will win against undisciplined warriors,” Angus replies for Wier, meeting the spirit’s gaze challengingly.

I groan silently as the pair start up again. Ever since they had a chance to actually talk, they’ve been like oil and water. “Ali…”

“Captain.”

The pair shut up before they can get truly started.

“Well, it’ll take me a few days to continue my sweep anyway. I’m assuming we’re still looking to link up with the bases and cities down south?” I say, looking at Wier.

“Yes. Any luck on expanding your radius?” Wier asks, leaning forward.

“It’s possible, but I’m leery of dedicating it right now,” I say with a shrug.

Wier purses his lips but doesn’t push it. After all, Skill point distribution is a private matter and something that has already developed a series of social taboos. Not pushing people into allocation is a big one.

“And purchasing it?” Angus asks.

“It’s viable,” I say.

In truth, it’s a lot more than viable. Since the System allows me to purchase the Advanced Skill because it’s part of my Class but still registers my Levels on the “basic” status, the pricing is infinitely cheaper for me than for anyone else. Truth is, I was getting it cheap if I bought the Skill. Relatively speaking. A mere sixty-five thousand Credits for the next Level and another seventy for the one after that.

“But you haven’t picked it up yet?” Wier asks with a frown.

“No,” I say. “None of your jumps have required it as yet, and we’re pretty sure information about my Status has been purchased a few times already.”

Picking up the next Level would give me a range of around five thousand kilometers, while the fifth Level would let me open a Portal anywhere on Earth with a range of over twenty-five thousand kilometers. After that, the numbers get even more ridiculous. My only concern is those anti-teleportation devices—the farther away the Portal, the easier it is to destabilize the transmission. There’s a formula that lets you figure out the potential additional cost of holding a stable Portal open against interference, but it’s the kind of math that they give to PhD students, not ex-web programmers.

“Then when will you be able to continue, Mr. Lee?” Wier says.

I find myself grimacing, knowing that what he’s asking is when can I get to the army bases in California so that he can set up some reliable and immediate communication. They can still run their people out the old-fashioned way, especially since my Skill is no longer hidden, but in terms of easy, fast communication and responsiveness, I’m the go-to guy.

“Give me a day,” I say after a moment. Ah hell, I always wanted to see San Francisco.

***

Of course, getting to San Francisco wasn’t a straight drive. There were a few cities on the way, places that I had to deal with. Salem was a battleground as the remaining Galactic holdouts from Portland pushed back against our people. Neither party was willing to throw down completely, so everyone took potshots at each other and called it a day. Rather than get too involved, I stayed to the outskirts, and even then, I got shot at.

For the next few towns, I do much the same, swinging inward enough to get the notification that I’ve entered their territory but never getting too close. Eugene is weird, run by an advisory council with a strange, peaceful mixture of about six different Galactic groups and three human factions. The Galactics are a group of crustacean-like creatures with pincer or pincer-like hands and shell coverings and a sponge monster. Two of their species can’t survive in the open air, using a mixture of technology and magic to keep themselves wet and alive. Luckily for me, the first group I meet in Eugene has a mixture of humans and Galactics, ensuring that we don’t start our relations in a violent manner. Once they work out that I’m not a threat, they make some introductions between the town administrators and me before leaving me with a short, bottle-blond twenty-year-old.

“And you’re okay with all this?” I say, glancing around the quiet restaurant we’ve taken over.

“Definitely. Portland might have problems, but Im’in’ee are cool. They be refugees from the third Dungeon World. They’re scrappers and runners. We be a good place to settle and chill, you know?” Oz says as he rubs his hands together, pleading with me to understand.

“Sounds like the Yerrick,” I say softly.

With all my anger against the Galactics and the System, it’s easy to forget that others have been crushed under the System’s relentless expansion, its heartless judgment of worth without a shred of mercy. We are all playthings under the System, cogs in a machine.

“The who?”

“Yerrick. Alien minotaurs,” I answer with a half-smile. “Nice, honorable group. If weird.”

“Don’t know about honor, but the Immies are real,” Oz says with a firm nod, almost daring me to contradict him.

“I get it,” I say, bowing my head to him. “But I’m just a messenger. I’ll open a Portal, let you speak with the ones you really have to convince.”

“Fair,” Oz says. “You got any deetz on them?”

“Just tell it like it is,” I say.

Not long after that, I make my way back to report on matters and pop open a Portal so that Lana and others can get involved. Even Katherine makes an appearance, my personal pair of eyes and ears and a precious note-taker in the upcoming negotiations.

***

Leaving others to deal with the negotiations, I keep driving south. There’s no real rush, but sitting around a conference table and chatting is my version of hell. I’m more than happy to leave it to others while I take the time to deal with any monsters and dungeons I run into. There’s no point in going fast, especially since my backup teams aren’t ready. Not yet.

After that, my journey is a passage of small town after small town, most of them feeder settlements for the bigger cities. Whether it’s the higher density of people that brought about the monsters or just bad luck, most of these settlements are worse for the wear. Many of the towns are abandoned, and those that aren’t are filled to the brim with refugees from other locations. Only a couple are actual Villages, their City Cores owned and managed by others.

Where there are no City Cores, I find myself opening up my Portal and sending the survivors to Seattle. We’re dumping them into the football stadium, a spot specially designated and upgraded to take newcomers. Wier even made me go all the way to Harbor Island in Seattle so that I’d have a place to Portal in unwanted guests if I’m ever forced to. He had a group of his people take the time to set up a minefield on the island, along with using Benjamin’s Architect abilities to create a sturdy, reinforced wall. All in all, it’s an idea that I had Ben steal for the rest of our settlements.

Since my goal is mostly to make my way south to give the colonel and his people more choices in their attacks, I’m trying to avoid getting into full-out fights. As such, while I’m not happy about locating a number of settlements owned by Galactics, I don’t necessarily step up to deal with them. Wier and his people will eventually take them, with or without my help.

When I’m passing near another tiny town whose name I can’t even be bothered to remember, I get jumped. A group of Pooskeens, nasty little dog-like creatures, dogpile me a mile out of the settlement. I find myself fighting for my stuff, Sabre doing donuts and firing the Inlin under my mental command while I alternately punch, kick, and stab at the small, furred monsters. For all their lack of size, their teeth are sharp and their knives even sharper.

“Hit me!” I snarl, fed up as I throw away one Pooskeen to just have another two jump on me.

Ali doesn’t even hesitate—that little asshole—before he throws a bolt of electricity at me. And keeps throwing it. With my Class resistances and my increased resistance from my Elemental Affinity, it hurts enough to make me scream rather than being the teeth-clenching, nerve destroying event it should be. Once I can focus, I Blink Step straight into the air and spin around to lob a fireball at the space where I used to be. Sabre cooks, but its flame resistance has gone up enough that it’s a minor thing.

After that violent introduction to the Pooskeens, I call Wier’s people and my team together and we conduct a little clean-up. There’s no quarter given or asked—the stripped bare bones and metal cages filled with humans hanging around town drive away anyone’s desire for such mercy. The soldiers and Carlos are left to keep the survivors safe while the rest of the team go hunting. We go through the town quick and violent, the swarm of defensive drones hacked and destroyed by Sam.

“John, southwest corner of the map,” Ali says to me as we finish with our latest batch of annoying rugrats.

“I see it,” I say, frowning. A half-dozen dots moving very fast.

“If I’m not wrong, that’s the settlement owner. High-Level Advanced fighter, a Pooskeen Red Fur and his people,” Ali continues.

The others tilt their head toward him, listening to our conversation.

“They’re running away?” I frown.

“Got it in one. You need to choose—take him and his people on or take the city.”

“Why can’t we do both?” Sam growls.

“Two reasons. You’ll need everyone to stand a good chance of winning. And the Red Fur’s set the power generators and shield to overheat. I figure you’ve got about three minutes to get to the City Core and fix it,” Ali says, grimacing. “But I wouldn’t trust my numbers. I’m not exactly the tech guy.”

“The city,” I say without hesitation. “Ali, can you highlight where Sam needs to go? Maybe he can fix the power generators directly. I’m assuming that’ll cause the most damage.”

“Oh yeah, send me to get cooked immediately,” Sam mutters softly. “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Probably,” Ali says, though he doesn’t sound confident. Still, a new glowing dot appears on the minimap while a second, less bright one appears on nearly the opposite side of the town. “Second one is the shield generators.”

“Sam, Ingrid, and Lana. You’re on the power generators,” I order.

There’s no wasted time as the pair and the puppies peel off while I hope that Ingrid is following. If not, I’m sure she’s off doing something useful. For a moment, my mind offers the image of Ingrid lazing around on a rooftop with martinis and a beach umbrella while we fight, making pithy comments, before I shove away the irrelevant thought. “Mikito, we’re going to speed things up.”

“Yes,” Mikito’s agreement trails along behind her as she takes off running, headed straight for the City Core.

I have to speed up to catch up with the Japanese woman punching her way through the weak resistance with ease. Even then, with my Thousand Steps and occasional Blink Steps helping cover ground, we’re nearly too late.

“Eleven seconds,” I say, shuddering.

Whether it was because the asshole Pooskeen has not read the Evil Overlord list or he is just a sadistic bastard, there is a giant countdown timer when we finally make it to the City Core. Luckily, actually deactivating the self-destruct sequence is easy. I just have to stand there with my hand on the City Core until it finishes registering my new ownership, then I cancel the orders.

“Eh, it wouldn’t be that bad,” Ali starts.

“THE SPIRIT IS CORRECT. THE DAMAGE DONE TO YOU WOULD ONLY BE SUFFICIENT TO REQUIRE A WEEK OF REPAIRS FOR SABRE. YOUR ALLIES WOULD LIKELY ALL SURVIVE.”

“And the human survivors?”

“COLLATERAL DAMAGE.” Kim answers.

“So how is it that you’re down here?” I decide to change the subject before anyone else picks up on it. While the notifications can normally only be seen by me and anyone else Kim decides to show them to, there’s no guarantee his notifications can’t be intercepted. While Kim can fake empathy, its occasional lapses can be jarring.

“UPGRADES AUTHORIZED BY BENJAMIN, THE COUNCIL, AND LANA TO YOUR SETTLEMENTS HAS INCREASED MY OPERATING CAPACITY AND LIMITS. WITHIN NORTH AMERICA, I AM ABLE TO ACCESS OWNED SETTLEMENTS AND AID IN THEIR DEVELOPMENT.”

“Nice,” I say. “Okay, well, start putting together a list of what we should upgrade here. I’m thinking the usual beam turrets, drones, and maybe a wall. Keep it within budget. I don’t want to be throwing my Credits into a pit.”

“CONFIRMED.”

“You know, they might not want to stay,” Ali says.

I grunt in understanding. Whatever, Kim’s a computer—it probably would only take a few minutes for him to get that information together.

“John. We need to get the survivors out. Now,” Carlos calls to me on the radio, his voice filled with rage and shock.

“I’ll be there in a bit. Just settling the city—”

“No. Portal here and create another for them. We’re getting them out immediately.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“They’re shell-shocked and on the verge of a complete breakdown. They don’t believe they’re safe,” Carlos replies. “And I don’t blame them. The survivors in the cage… they were being penned until they signed a Serfdom contract. Those who died from hunger or the beatings were eaten.”

“Eighteen hells,” I swear. That’s frightening. I stare at the City Core for a moment, wishing I had just sold it. “On my way.”

We spend the rest of the day cleaning up, stealing everything the Pooskeens left that’s useable and selling everything that isn’t. We aren’t going to leave anything here, even if we don’t have the time to deal with them properly. Lana and the council have begun organizing a trauma team that can help survivors deal with their problems. They even have a triage process that highlights those who are dangerously unstable for immediate treatment via the Shop. The worst cases I bring along with me, my access to a better and more immediate Shop critical.

***

“John?” The voice is liquid chocolate to my ears, my body clenching down below as my breath shortens. Damn it.

“Roxley.” I turn from staring at the doorway the child was taken through, too catatonic to move himself, and face the Truinnar.

The Shop has my tab, and Ali’s in the corner, negotiating with his friend for a group discount as we usher in more and more people. I can feel my Credits draining, but I can’t regret it, not really.

“You look well,” Roxley says with a purr, his eyes gliding over my body.

I admit, I check out that tall hunk of blackness for a second, admiring his form. I might still be angry with him over his betrayal in Whitehorse, but that doesn’t alter the fact that he’s pretty. Really pretty.

“What’s this about? You didn’t just turn up here by chance,” I say tightly.

One of the reasons why I rarely see other shoppers is because the time-space laws in this Shop have been messed with. A conversation about it with Foxy the salesperson left my head hurting, but he indicated that while it might seem that time moves differently here, it’s just them adjusting the timelines for when I arrive and leave. It helps keep things exclusive. And thus makes it nearly impossible for there to be a coincidental run-in.

“No.” Roxley takes a seat, staring at me and waiting.

Eventually, I walk over and sit in the lounging chairs across from him.

“I came to speak to you about your actions. And the Zarrie.”

“My actions?”

“You’re no longer a single fighter. You’re the owner of a large number of strategic settlements. It will not be long before your lands draw additional attention,” Roxley says softly.

“And…?” It’s not as if I didn’t know that. Part of the planning for the city includes building out the Tier I & II military / adventurer buildings to add security forces to the important settlements. As the other settlements upgrade to Towns and more, we’ll be adding additional buildings. On top of that, we’ve already started specializing the cities to some extent. Places like Kelowna are focusing on production, while Vancouver itself is fast becoming a hippy, urban dungeon delving / military town.

“And you’re seeking to begin a battle with a new Empire,” Roxley says, leaning forward. “One that is closely allied to the Movana. Your new allies.”

“My new allies?” I say with an eyebrow raise.

“Please. Do not act as if you do not know what your actions with the Burning Leaves meant.”

“And…?”

As I keep playing dumb, I see the flash of irritation in Roxley’s eyes, gone so fast that only someone who has spent so much time with him would notice. Time having dinner, talking, sparring, kissi… actually, not that last part. Dragging my mind back to matters at hand, I pay attention to the dark elf. A part of me wonders why I’m daydreaming so much, another says that it’s because it’s been a bit since Lana and I had some time together, and with the death I’ve seen… well, it’s a normal reaction to my hormones.

“You know that Earth is in the Truinnar’s sphere of influence. What you might not understand is how close you are to our borders. It is disputable if Earth lies with us or the Movana. That dispute was put to rest in the courts, and we were meant to take your planet when the System came online. But…” Roxley waves as if to encompass everything that has happened in the last year and a half.

“That didn’t happen. You suggesting the Movana did something?”

“I would not defame them in such a manner,” Roxley states primly. “My point is that as a Dungeon World, your planet is considered a neutral ground. All races, all species from the Galaxy may enter it. Of course, those whose borders lie close to your world are the most interested.”

“The Movana and Truinnar,” I say, nodding. “You’re still not explaining what this has to do with me.”

“You are beginning to swim in deeper waters, John, and your actions can have wider consequences,” Roxley says exasperatedly. “The Zarrie are traditionally allies of the Movana as their planet lies within the Movana’s sphere of influence. Acting against them sets you—and your settlements—at odds. It is unlikely to escalate to a full-out war, but your actions will have consequences. Trade blockades, assassinations, and yes, wars have been fought for less.”

“So I should what? Stop?” I say. “It’s interesting that you’re talking to me about it when the Movana haven’t.”

“I cannot speak for them. I can only recommend that you seek allies before it is too late,” Roxley says. “If you intend to act against the Movana, ally yourself with us.”

“Us. You. The Duchess.”

“My kingdom,” Roxley says, nodding. “We—I—have shown that while we might not be your ideal choices, we are significantly better than some alternatives.” Roxley pointedly looks at the door, making me grunt in acknowledgement. Roxley and the Duchess never went this far. The worse they ever did was set-up Serf contracts, and while I’m not a fan of them, they can be at least somewhat fair. For all the harm and financial finagling the Duchess did, even her Serf contracts at least played fair. “You cannot, your people cannot, continue to do this alone.”

“You expect me to trust you. After what happened,” I say.

“I did what was best for the city, and I will not apologize for that.”

I grunt. Rather than answer Roxley, I walk toward the exit.

“John…”

“I’ll think about it. But for now, I’ve got work to do.”

I open the door without turning around, feeling the anger boil inside me. Because while he might not have a reason to apologize for his actions, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t have apologized to me. But perhaps I’m being petty.

That’s the problem with dealing with Roxley. I can never tell where I stand or what I feel. And so rather than deal with it right now, I walk out. Because I am telling the truth. There’s work to do. There’s always work to do.

***

As bad as that day was, it has nothing on the next town a few days later. I find myself calling for help, bouncing the call through the limited use communicators we’ve purchased from the Shop rather than opening a Portal. The town of Clinton isn’t even on the No. 5 highway, but I’d seen the map and figured swinging out of my way by twenty minutes would make it easier for the teams when they arrive.

My first hint of something being wrong is the crucified bodies of Galactics dotting the fields and road in. Whoever did it was insistent that crucifixion was the way to go, ripping, tearing, and otherwise forcibly positioning bodies that had more than—or less than—four limbs into the appropriate poses. Worse, a few unlucky bastards were still alive, clamped still and constantly, unwillingly healing from damage as the System “helped” them survive.

“Goblin’s ass. This is wrong,” Ali says as he observes a bug-eyed creature involuntarily flap its wing and click in pain.

“No shit.”

“No, I mean, this is really wrong. Continuous torture without removing an individual from the System’s automatic healing is considered a Class A felony,” Ali says.

“And…?”

“It’s the kind of felony that gets you put on Galactic bounty hunter lists,” Ali says.

Even as he speaks, I’m directing Sabre to the cross and using the anti-gravity plates to get closer to the alien. When it clicks and snaps at me, I ignore it, focusing on the nails driven into its body and wings to hold it aloft. After a moment of hesitation, I conjure my sword and cut and pry the creature free.

More clicks. More trembles.

“What’s it saying?” I grunt, yanking stick-thin feet free.

“Don’t know,” Ali says with a shrug.

“I thought you could translate everything?”

“I’m old, not omnipotent,” Ali snaps. “Also, it’s not as if these guys are all that common.”

“These guys?” I say with a smirk while I pry the nails from creature’s arms, letting myself revel in the fact that Ali is stumped rather than focus on the gruesome task.

Each motion, each removed nail elicits more clicks and occasional whistles. Unfortunately, the poor creature has multiple nails driven through it, probably due to its higher-than-normal Strength factor.

Bent over the creature’s body, I can smell its dry, dusty, and acrid scent, a mix of desert air and sulphur that assaults my nostrils. Each nail I grip is sticky with black blood, stubborn in its refusal to exit without extracting another pound of flesh. Each movement brings forth another series of high-pitched chirps, but even with its arms and wings free, it makes no move to stop me. When I’m done, the creature falls to the ground and lies prone, body shivering as aftershocks ripple through it.

“How many left?” I ask, glancing around the forest of stakes.

“Two more of the bugs. There’s a Hakarta that’s barely hanging on—”

“Just the numbers, Ali,” I say, not wishing to hear a list filled with sorrow.

“Seven.”

Out of maybe fifty crosses. I wonder how they found so many Galactics, how they captured them all and did this. But it’s a small matter, unnecessary information.

I reach out my hand, calling forth streams of Mana and weaving it into the universe, tearing a hole that links one location to another. Moments after the Portal solidifies, a soldier exits, rifle held in guard as he scans for threats. I see his tension increase when he sees where I brought him, the rifle coming up further as he readies himself for trouble.

“Get the teams out here. We’ve got people to save and people to kill,” I order the soldier.

He nods and heads back into the Portal, disappearing within seconds. Rather than keep the Portal open, I close it and let the teams gather while I wait. A quick check with Ali indicates that none of the survivors are about to expire in the next hour, which gives us more than enough time.

“Incoming, boy-o,” Ali announces, and I look to where the Spirit points.

In the distance, a group of five are walking toward me, weapons out and ready for use. They don’t seem to be in particular hurry, but they aren’t lollygagging either.

“Levels?” I ask Ali. I could try to review each of them individually, but I’d rather stay focused. There’s no guarantee they don’t have their own little tricks.

“Mostly Combat Classers, all in the late thirties and early forties. Two Bandits, one Soldier, a Channeller, and a Biochemist.”

“Channeller and Biochemist?” I frown, hoping for more information. Problem with Classes that are too obtuse is it’s hard to tell what they might come up with.

“Magic user with continual cast specialization. Watch out for explosives and poisons from the Biochemist.”

The bug finally pulls itself together, its wounds closed, though it occasionally still twitches. Though I’m not entirely sure if that is due to the torture or just a facet of its biology. After a moment, the bug dresses itself using a slap-on, liquid-like fabric and pulls a small extending baton from its System inventory. Its thin hands extend again and it loops a string around its neck, the material a flexible plastic-like substance that glows once the final loop is attached.

“Thanks to be given, Savior of the Fallen,” the creature buzzes and clicks before being translated.

“Oh, you’re up. Good. Stay back,” I say quietly.

“Choice sub-optimal, Savior. One desires vengeance.”

I grunt, looking at the bug’s status again.

Ox’imm’qq (Level 31 Merchant)

HP: 593/1080

MP: 780/780

Conditions: Feared, Enraged

“Fine. But don’t get in my way,” I say with a sigh, then I raise my hand as the group ahead of us gets within twenty meters. “You can stop there.”

“I don’t think so,” the salt-and-pepper bearded man with the ball cap replies, his friends spreading out to give each of them a clear shot. They don’t even break step at my warning. “What are you doing damaging our stuff?”

“Did you just call him—it—stuff?” I say incredulously, watching as the two Bandits keep coming.

The leader has a rusted, spiked club in hand. The other Bandit wields a pair of knives that glisten with a greenish tint. The only Soldier drops to a knee, cradling his rifle against his shoulder. The Channeller stops as well, and with my Mana Sight, I can see energy gathering around his arms. Only the Biochemist follows the front line, staying a few steps behind the Bandits.

“You’re one of those alien lovers, aren’t you?” Beardface sniffs and spits to the side, grinning. “Well, don’t worry. We don’t kill humans. We’re just going to teach you not to touch what’s not yours.”

“Could you people be any more stereotypical?” I reply, keeping my hands out to my sides and empty. “And this doesn’t have to end in violence…”

Rather than answer me, Beardface dashes forward in a full-out sprint. As he does, his and his friends’ bodies blur, losing definition in their edges. He covers the distance between us in seconds, followed by his friend, who is only a few steps behind him. It’d be impressive if I didn’t spar with Mikito on a regular basis. I drop into a reverse lunge, left leg thrust out behind me as I summon my sword to catch the club on my guard. It’s not as effective as you’d think since the club is conical and spiked. The edges of a spike punch into the lightly armored bracers of my arm. On the other hand, the momentum of his sprint drives him fully onto my sword, the blade sliding through his ribs with ease.

I grin, twisting at my hips as I conjure a Blade Strike and rip my sword out of his body, sending an arc of power tearing through his body. His friend appears by his side, thrusting daggers at my exposed body. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch as the bug launches itself at Beardface, floating through the air as its crackling baton swings toward the Bandit’s head.

Rather than take the hit, I tap into Ali’s viewpoint. A thought later and I Blink Step toward the Soldier, my blade plunging into his body as I fall. As I land, my free hand snaps out sideways and the Portal opens right behind the Channeller. Too focused on his spell, the mage doesn’t see the Portal, his hands clapping as a black shroud falls over my body, trapping me within. It squeezes, attempting to crush me while robbing me of oxygen and my senses at the same time.

Seconds, maybe ten, maybe a hundred, within the inky blackness. It’s hard to tell how much time passes objectively, the only indicator the glow of defunct notifications in my helmet and the beating of my heart. Even my connection to Ali is muted, a buzz at the back of my mind that has fallen to a whisper. As suddenly as the spell took effect, it shatters, bringing too-bright light and the roar of battle.

Miraculously, my Portal is still open, the connection to it somehow having survived the spell. The Channeller is on the ground, bleeding from multiple gunshot and beam rifle wounds as Jess bayonets him. The asshole enemy Soldier I attacked is falling back, firing as two members of Jess’s squad hound him. Meanwhile, Roland and Howard tear into the Bandits and the Biochemist. Mikito and Shadow are crouched over the bug, teeth bared but not attacking as Ali hovers over them protectively.

“Up and at ‘em,” Sam says as he hauls me to my feet. Around him, his drones circle in a spiralling pattern, not taking part in the fight yet. “I’m already picking up activity in the town.”

“Keep an eye on them,” I say, glancing at the soldiers, including Jess, who has made his way to me. “Get your men on taking down the Galactics. Ali will mark those alive for you.”

“Copy that,” Jess says, assigning his men to the job immediately.

Others are sent to set up a perimeter for the incoming forces. Wride is among the perimeter scouts, jogging forward in an easy trot. Lana walks up to me, making a face.

“What are you guys doing here?” I mutter softly. I’m surprised to see the entire team here, since I figured most of them had better things to do than wait around for me to contact them.

“Luck. We were having lunch after Mikito’s and my meeting with Wier,” Lana says as if she’s afraid to raise her voice. “John, those bodies…”

“Yeah. We’ll deal with it. And them.” I nod toward the settlement where the gates have reopened.

From the gates, a small group of fighters step forward, armed to the teeth. Around me, the soldiers and my team regroup, ready for another fight.

***

Maybe it was the fact that we were just too angry, but the resulting battle was a lot simpler than I had expected. Once their main group fell to a combination of concentrated rifle fire and area effect spells, the town itself was devoid of any real threat, the few remaining high Level Combat Classers giving up the moment we stepped through the sundered walls. It’s only later, when we take control of the city, that we realize that the settlement owner and a few of his close allies had already absconded under the shadows of a Skill. This is fast becoming a thing. I make a mental note to get Wier and Lana to look into creating a team to help us deal with that. Until Ali and I upgrade our Skills, we definitely need someone who can pierce these concealment Skills more reliably.

Cleaning up the city, freeing the few rattled and some angry citizens is a simple enough matter. With only a couple thousand survivors, it’s a real question if we should keep the place at all. Between the kind of people involved and the settlement being located in this Level 30 zone that’s hours away from any real help, it’s a decent question. It doesn’t help that even I can tell our presence is resented. After some consideration, I make the smart decision and lob the entire problem over to Jess to hand to Wier, making him the settlement owner for now.

It doesn’t help that we find, in nearly the center of town, this.

“Are you sure the System will fix the damage?” Sam asks Ali for the umpteenth time as he carefully moves the rods into the newly created lead container.

“Yup. Radiation is a low-grade damage over time effect. Your natural regeneration is more than sufficient to fix it. You’d really only need to worry about kids and maybe some real suckers with no points in Constitution,” Ali reassures Sam. “And even then, a swig of Carlos’s potions should fix it.”

“Well, that’d also explain the lack of safety equipment,” I say helpfully.

“Stupidity also does the same,” Sam grouses, looking around the Alchemist’s lab. “Who the hell makes plutonium?”

“Someone wanting their own nuclear warhead,” Lieutenant Marco Sprouse says as he stands by, watching the entire operation diligently.

Outside, his rather relieved team is keeping an eye on the lab and ensuring we’re not interrupted. The Lieutenant was dragged out here from Portland, one of the combat engineers sent to “help” us contain radioactive material. I still find it amusing that Sam’s the one managing said radioactive material though.

“I thought it was pretty difficult to build nukes?” I say, frowning. I mean, didn’t it take the entire brainpower of the States to figure out how to do it in the first place?

“Well, as you’ve pointed out to the Colonel numerous times, everything is for sale,” Marco says and lets me draw the obvious conclusions.

I do, soon enough, my eyes widening. “Shit…” I look at the nonchalant-looking Spirit. “What? What am I missing?”

“Everything important,” drawls Ali. When my eyes narrow, he snorts. “You’re carrying a particle beam rifle over your shoulder, driving on an anti-gravity-driven Personal Assault Vehicle, and regularly throw around lightning while teleporting hundreds of feet. What makes you think a small nuclear explosion is that important?”

“Because they’re nukes?” Sam says as he finishes screwing the container closed.

“It’d destroy most non-System-registered buildings, but even a mildly reinforced System building should be able to stand up to the explosion if the nuke wasn’t System-registered. Most of what you’ve got are the equivalent of Tier IV weapons, dangerous for non-Combatants and Basic Classes—but that’s the same as most of your spells and Skills. I’ll admit, if you built the bomb from scratch and used your Skills, it’d have a little more of a kick—but nothing a good settlement Shield couldn’t stop,” Ali says. “At best, it’d be considered a Tier II weapon.”

There’s a long silence as our worldview takes a beating. The idea that a nuke—a weapon of mass destruction—isn’t really all that powerful in this new world takes some getting used to. Maybe a little more widespread in its basic destructive potential, but a single high Level Advanced Classer could probably tank the damage and dish out more damage over the longer run. Still…

“What happened to the US’s nukes?” I ask the Lieutenant, curiosity burning me.

“I’m not privy to such information,” Marco replies stoically.

“Would you tell me if you knew?” I ask.

“You would not be cleared for that information either,” Marco replies, which leads to an annoyed grunt from me.

Still, the non-answer leads me to believe that not only has the colonel learnt what has happened to most of the US’s nukes, it’s also well in hand. I can’t see him refusing to direct me to one of those earlier if that wasn’t the case.

“We’re going to have to track down the Alchemist who did this,” I say, changing the subject.

“I believe the colonel will agree with your assessment. I’ve requested that Sam use his drones to continue searching for our escapees.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Sam says grimly. “We’ve got a few Bounty Hunters and Trackers who’ll make finding these asses easy. And the military boys have their own police squad. We’ll find them, even if we have to issue a quest.”

“Just make sure they bring enough friends,” I mutter and get a nod.

Now that the radioactive material is safely stored away, the Lieutenant calls in his people to cart it through the newly opened Portal. Within seconds, people are streaming in to help settle the city as well. Getting all this settled will take a while, and for the time being, my presence is needed. It’s just another damn delay on the way south.

Chapter 11

Life never takes you to where you expect it to. After our last disturbing settlement, I’ve reached the Six Rivers, Klamath national forest reserves. Being drawn once more into the leafy embrace of tall, mutated trees is actually comforting. The few settlements that either border or are located within the forest reserves are mostly empty, the few survivors more than grateful to be Portalled somewhere safer.

I could almost believe that the rest of the trip down would be that simple. After all, the settlements nearest a big city get emptied as the survivors flock to the city for mutual support and safety.

It’s at Williams, California, a tiny little crossroads town hours away from Sacramento, that things change once again. The town itself is empty, abandoned buildings and broken-down vehicles telling the usual tale of the apocalypse. No bodies this time though. Not even the rotted remains we expect to find occasionally.

No, what I get is a real, live Galactic sitting in the middle of the crossroads, one with red skin, horns, pointed ears, and a tail. The fact that he doesn’t reach for a gun and is lounging on a bright red, bullet-shaped hovering vehicle clues me in that this will be a more social kind of confrontation. Unsurprisingly, that puts me even more on guard.

“Greetings, Redeemer.”

Dylan Pratma, Grandmaster of the Forge (Level 8 Executive Diplomat)

HP: 2830/2830

MP: 8940/8940

Conditions: Aura of Benevolence, Tier II Pheromones, Shield of the Stars

“Grandmaster?”

“Just a title. He is a Master Class though,” Ali says warningly.

“Greetings, Grandmaster Pratma,” I say with a smile, pulling Sabre to a stop and bringing my helmet down with practiced motions. “I’m going to assume your presence here is not a coincidence.”

“Forsooth, that is the truth of such matters,” Pratma says with a grin, running a hand along the silver-grey suit he wears. Seeing my glance at his clothing, Pratma smiles again. “The dress, the cloth that drapes across your kind’s bodies, speaks to the petals of my vanity, the dressings of success and opulence that man revels in.”

“That’s one of us,” I mutter.

I hate suits. It’s why I worked for a tech company. And what the hell is up with his speech pattern? I almost want to ask him, but I’m not entirely sure what the etiquette is with regard to botched language downloads.

“In this time of darkness, a moment of light is required, a time to speak and perchance come to an agreement of minds. We seek to speak with yourself under the greater aegis of the System and a bond of peace,” Pratma continues, his voice becoming almost rote.

“A… what?”

“Bond of peace. Exactly as it sounds like, boy-o,” Ali explains. “You both promise not to injure one another while you talk. Generally has a duration and other terms and conditions… ah, here it comes.”

I get a notification, one that makes my eyes glaze over. When I shoot Ali a helpless look, the Spirit laughs.

“Boy-o here hates reading. Something simpler would be best.”

I growl softly at Ali over the besmirchment of my good name, but he is effective. The next notification is much shorter, a simple agreement that promises that we’ll talk and not harm each other nor allow each other to come to harm during this conversation and an hour afterward. I agree to it, curiosity driving the decision more than anything else.

“How come the Uvrik didn’t use this for our meeting?”

“What did you think the Contract was? It’s all just variations on the same thing.”

“Gratitude is given to the Redeemer, he who sets to rest those who have fallen, who resolves the wishes of the forsaken and lost. We speak now, if the slayer of beasts will allow, about the peace that reigns in our fair cities and the coming clouds of war, of those who might be lost and those who might be saved,” Pratma says.

I stare at the devil again before coughing and waving for Pratma to continue.

“I come from the city by the bay, the settlement of golden gates, the abode of the fog children and the city of the blessed ritual in the hopes of peace, of an agreement between our two empires.”

“You’re from San Francisco and Sacramento,” I say. Memory of my briefings about the owners of the settlements come back to me, sparse as the details might be. The pair of neighboring cities had been taken and controlled by the same organization, another damn corporation. “You’re part of the Golden Water Corporation’s upper management, aren’t you?”

“In the manner of decisions, in the choices of the actions that the business of the golden liquid might take, it might be said I have some say. Some, those touched by the green-eyed beast, might say that I have more than some, but it is not for one to speak about such minor things. Such words are a hateful bile that erupts from my throat and wipes away all sweet words.”

“Okay…” I wave him on, wondering if we’ll ever get to the point.

“In the time since the coming of the System, since the approach of those starborn, the glimmering dihydrogen monoxide has laid claim to the lands of the golden gate and the blessed ritual. We have provided a shield against the night, a sword against the rapacious. We have given greatly and taken fairly, provided succor for the frail and training for the strong.

“But the clouds of time drift ever onward and the System comes fully birthed, extending its tendrils through all facets. Now, other starborn come in greater numbers, some with needs and desires that encompass all that they see, hear, and smell, seeking to only take from the wealth that flows from the blood of the Mana-evolved. And those native-born to your fair land strike back, seeking safety in numbers and under the glowing barrels of your guns. But it will be insufficient. For the starborn are numerous, like the kelp in the sea, the eggs of the kooma. If there is only blood and death in your path toward peace, only blood and death will you find.”

“And what does that have to do with you?” I say.

“A meeting of minds, an agreement among those more rational. We seek to show you our fine and fair intentions while swearing upon our good names and under the aegis of the System an alliance, one born from fair intentions and future Credits,” Pratma says with a smile, hands spreading to show them open and inviting.

I fall silent, considering what Pratma said. He’s not wrong—we can’t fight everyone. It’s why I pushed for us to talk with the Uvrik corporation in Calgary, why we have tried to come to some agreement with Galactics when we can. I know that the Americans aren’t happy with that, there being a very clear desire to “win” back their land, but Wier seems to understand the strategic implications of an all-out war. Even if we could beat the first wave—and that’s a big if—the second, third, and all the subsequent waves would win out eventually. There’re so many more of them than us that engaging in a constant acceleration of violence can only end in the devastation of our population. At the same time, we can’t afford not to take action, not to push back and acquire our cities.

What Pratma offers, what Roxley has in the North, is a potential solution. My biggest hesitation is the same one that afflicts me in BC right now—the various webs of Galactic politics being unknowable for us. The Movana and Truinnar, the Yerrick, Hakarta, and more. All of them have alliances and deals, and any one such deal we make could draw us into fights we want nothing to do with. Yet we need our people to deal with the real monsters out there. A memory of the previous human-run settlement comes to mind unbeckoned, disheveled survivors and starving children reminding me that the monsters aren’t just among the Galactics.

“This isn’t going to be an easy conversation, you understand? And I’m not likely to be the man you’ll want to speak with,” I say. “But I’ll pass your recommendation up the chain.”

“In the pursuit of peace, admonishments, anger, and abuse are but minor inconveniences. Among the dross and vitriol of words spoken in anger and overflowing emotions, one can find true orichalcum.”

“Ali, what are you doing?” I send to the spirit.

He’s staring at Pratma, hands held up in a small rectangle formation in front of his face. “Recording. This guy’s incredible.”

I roll my eyes at Ali’s answer but nod to Pratma, content to give him a non-verbal answer, partly in fear that he’ll start up again. With a gesture, a Portal appears next to me and I step through it to report on the latest change, Sabre following me. I’m sure someone has plans for this. In either case, having me do the negotiations is probably the worse idea possible.

***

“John…”

“Yes, dear?” I say with a smile later that evening, when we’re alone and picking through the remnants of our dinner. Mmm, barbecued mammoth creature slathered with Yurk butter.

“Why didn’t you warn us about him?” Lana says, just the slightest edge to her voice.

I can’t help but flash her a shit-eating grin, which gets me a pinch. Twisting away, I regret provoking the woman—and that Pratma insisted I stay, at least till a minimal agreement had been made. Something about my ability being a potential danger.

“Didn’t think it was relevant. He’s understandable.” Mostly.

“And the fact that he sounds like he’s from a badly written sixteenth-century play?”

“Is amusing. I’m kind of sad that the agreements are so…”

“Business like?” Lana snorts, shaking her head. “Imprecise, flowery language is not something you want in your alliance agreements. Even if they make for more fun reading.”

“Yeah…” I give her a hug. “Thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome. It made sense to ensure we had some oversight on this. Wier is nice enough, but his people are kind of like you.”

“Except that diplomat.”

“Peter? Yes. We’re lucky he survived. And kept his Class,” Lana says, smiling. “That Skill of his is quite useful.”

“Diplomatic Immunity?” I say. “Complete immunity to damage, targeting, and spells? It’s a bit broken, as Jason would say. If it lasted for longer than a few seconds, it’d be really broken.”

“Do you think we’ll get an agreement?” Lana says, a slightly wistful note in her voice. “It’d be nice to have a couple of big cities on our side, ones that we don’t have to protect. After the Uvrik gave up their portion of Calgary, we’ve mostly been taking over smaller settlements owned by the Galactics. If we can get what they promise—that the humans can help us if they want—we’ll receive a lot of help without the cost.”

“Aye. San Jose’s going to be problematic though,” I say with a grimace.

“Do you think it’ll throw off the negotiations?”

San Jose is technically a contested city, one that exists in an uneasy cold war with Pratma’s people. Whether we would give it up—if we even have a right to make that decision—is something that would be a sticking point in the negotiations.

“Maybe. Depends on how stubborn everybody is. If the Pratma give up on San Jose, it’d be great. Otherwise, they might have to learn to live with them. If it was just Wier, I’d be more optimistic.” I shrug. “But he’s in contact with his bosses now and I don’t know them. And there’s a lot of pressure to not give up any ‘American’ soil.”

At the last few words, Lana grimaced. We’ve both heard such sentiments more than once, sometimes with the American changed to Canadian. It’s no surprise really. No one wants to consider themselves conquered, but perhaps because we lived for over a year with Roxley as the “owner” of Whitehorse, it’s something we can accept. Needs must when the devil drives, and the devil’s on a German autobahn.

“Keep an ear out on this?” I finally say to break the silence and get a nod from Lana.

After a moment, to distract us from the conversation, I kiss her with my hands on her hips, a hand sliding along her waist. In short order, we’re not worrying about the state of the world anymore, our focus on much more immediate and intimate matters.

***

A week passes in a flash. The first three days I spend stuck in the meetings, forced to listen as they negotiate a basic agreement between all parties. Since I was there, I even signed it, putting the settlements I owned up north into the document. City and myself, all bound by a simple acknowledgement. Once again I shivered at that level of power, that ability to control the lives of so many with so little.

After that, I was allowed to roam while they hammered down more concrete details, like when the first trade caravan could come in, when the first group could visit the cities. Mostly, I spent my time driving around, finding the few last human holdouts, and Portalling them to bigger settlements. There were a few nice surprises. A First Nations—wait, Native American—tribe that had managed to survive by holing up in their casino, along with a bunch of their workers and high-rollers. It highly amused me that the casino was a “Gambling Fort” with some truly strange, chance-based defensive measures. There was a church whose preacher had sacrificed his own Class and Perk to register the building in the System, allowing it to become a sanctuary against the violence and saving the town that had grown up around it. His actions had saved hundreds of people, the megachurch more than sufficient to accommodate them all.

I even spent a day back in BC, taking the time to review my settlements and work with Katherine about new developments. Richmond and Burnaby were now full-fledged Towns, the outlying suburbs a short hop away. With two more Towns, I had the option of joining them into one major Settlement to ease administrative burdens. Of course, I would also lose out slightly on the option of having more ancillary buildings, but the loss wasn’t as great as I feared. Rather than having three, I’d only have two, which meant I couldn’t add another Adventurers Guild till we had at least one more suburb, as Labashi already had his Mercenary Corp in place. Still, after some consideration, I decided to push ahead with it, joining the City Cores of both of those suburbs with Vancouver’s.

Partly, that was to help the City Dungeon grow. Simply put, the City Dungeon fed off the ambient Mana of the settlement it was connected to, allowing refresh rates and size to be dictated by these changes. Since I’d now tripled the size of the settlement, the Dungeon had a much larger area to draw upon and would thus grow faster. There were other ways to develop the Dungeon of course—including dedicating more Mana to it directly—but this was the “cheapest” way to do so in the short-term. The requirements to get more ambient Mana from a fixed location were quite wide-ranging, including Credits, technology, and of course, more Mana. Since actual Credits were a crucial shortfall for our settlements, with a large portion of our on-going income dedicated to rebuilding basic infrastructure, this was the best option.

After that, I had to deal with a few interest groups and the various city councils when they realized what I had done. I let them argue for an hour in the conference room before telling them to suck it up and work out who was going to be in charge of what before I left. It wasn’t particularly nice but I didn’t need to be nice—I just needed it to be effective. In the long-term, it could cause trouble, but really, I wasn’t exactly planning to run the city in the long-term. Owning the settlements was a short-term solution, one that met my own goals but at some point, someone more competent and who actually gave a damn about running it would need to take over.

Visiting Kamloops was a lot more relaxed. Ben and the rest of the council had the city well in hand, and the smaller population meant that there were a lot fewer egos to stroke. While Ben’s current Class only gave him abilities to alter existing buildings and provide short-term boosts, he indicated that his Advanced Class would be able to permanently alter and boost buildings or potentially an entire settlement, depending on which way he went. After some discussion, we ended up assigning him as the Mayor of the Town in a bid to increase his experience gain, as well as potentially open up even more interesting Classes.

As for Kelowna—well, it was doing okay. The farmlands were doing well, and the Adventurer’s Guild had, as promised, provided a significant security force. Mostly, Kelowna was in the development stage, with the focus on clearing out monsters and reclaiming lands, so there was little to report.

The last thing I decided to deal with was a visit to the Shop. The fox was, as usual, attentive to my needs, even if most of what I was picking up was the usual. I did, however, take the time to purchase the upgrades for my Portal Skill and a few others. Doing that took out a large portion of my personal Credits, but considering I was getting further and further away from my settlements, it was a necessary expense. Since I was still waiting for the Quantum State Manipulator to arrive, the Class Skills were more important than picking up a few more toys. A quick glance at the Portal Skill once purchased reaffirmed my decision.

Portal (Level 5)

Effect: Creates a 5-meter by 5-meter portal which can connect to a previously traveled location by user. May be used by others. Maximum distance range of portals is 25,000 kilometers.

Cost: 250 Mana + 100 Mana per minute (minimum cost 350 Mana)

My last meeting of importance in Vancouver was with Wynn. The Burning Leaves guild master had invited me out for dinner, an offer that Katherine made sure I couldn’t refuse. If you’ve never had sushi made by a Sushi Chef with System-mutated ingredients, you are missing out. For most of the dinner, our conversation was benign, revolving around recent Guild-authorized quests and equipment sales. It was only toward the end that Wynn brought up the topic I had been dreading.

“Is there no way for there to be a peaceful resolution to your disagreement with the Zarrie?” Wynn says softly.

“Not the right person to ask. I’m just a hired hand.”

Wynn’s flat stare made me grin weakly. My threadbare excuse was as worthless as a teddy bear without a soul.

“Redeemer, you must understand, the royal family have traditionally been allied with the Zarrie. While the mutual defense agreements do not apply on a Dungeon World, there are consequences to such action.”

“You guys leaving?” I ask bluntly.

“No. The Guild is independent, as you know,” Wynn replies. “But unwarranted aggression against our allies does cast a bad light on your settlements.”

“Unwarranted.” I grunt, shaking my head. “The Zarrie are asses and you know it. They’re petty tyrants, and while they might not be doing the entire System slavery thing, they’re more than happy to beat, blackmail, and kill as they wish. They’re bullies.”

“Political realities often dictate distasteful bedfellows.”

“Good thing I’m not a politician then.” Before Wynn can say anything else, I hold my hand up and stare at the man. “We’ll work with those who are willing to work with us. Who are willing to conduct themselves with grace. Everyone else can burn.”

“And that is the stance of your settlements?”

“I guess it is.”

“Very well.” Wynn falls silent before he points at a purplish slice of sashimi streaked with dark yellow. “Have you tried the Quem fish? I was surprised to find that they are thriving in your English Bay. They are considered a Galactic delicacy…”

And with that, the topic is dropped. I still am not sure what, if any, the effects our attack on the Zarrie in LA will have, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. I am not going to back down. I’d rather have a few good, reliable allies than a bunch of political flakes. Even if a part of me considers that entire statement a naïve belief.

After all that, when the agreement with Pratma is finally signed, I am finally allowed to leave the town—under escort—to travel through the outskirts of Sacramento and head farther south. Lana and the rest of the small diplomatic team actually get to visit the settlement itself, with additional visits to San Francisco planned for later on. The goal, of course, is to verify the information we’ve purchased from the System. There’s nothing like actually seeing things with your own two eyes—especially when it’s possible to have the System “lie” for you with certain Skills. Admittedly, that is a rarer Skill, but it is possible.

Traveling with a pair of guards is interesting. Both have low Level Advanced Classes, but for the actual fighting of the various monsters we encounter, I am on my own. I kind of guess what they are up to, so I keep the use of my Skills to the minimum. Still, when Ali locates a new dungeon, the potential gain from clearing it outweighs any security concerns and I make sure to clear it, Blink Stepping and Inferno Striking through its interior. At the end of the smoking ruins, amid the stench of burnt fur and cooked flesh, I am truly grateful I don’t have to explain the canine and leonine corpses to Lana.

Once I am far enough away from San Jose, my silent companions leave me, allowing me to complete the rest of the trip by myself. The remainder of the trip is routine, filled with wandering monsters, displaced refugees, and the occasional enterprising bandit. Even the big cities like Fresno and Bakersfield are rote exercises in travel and rescue by now.

Thanks to Ali adjusting my Status, I don’t have much trouble entering the city itself. Fresno is interesting in that they aren’t exactly oppressing the humans, but there are more than a few signs of bias shown toward Galactics. Recalling my discussion with Wynn, I make a note of what I see before popping a Portal open for Ingrid and a friend of hers to do some reconnaissance. We’ll decide how far to take it once we have more details.

Bakersfield is more cut-and-dry, another one of those cities that need a helping hand dealing with a bunch of Galactic asses. Rather than fight for a settlement we can’t hold, I just pop open the Portal, drag a few fire teams through, and round up everyone we can before we leave. We leave a single team to stick around and round up anyone else with a short-range communication device to let me know when they need a pick-up. Interestingly enough, the Galactics don’t even try to really obstruct us, sending a few token drones and enforcers while we’re busy pulling people out. It is almost as if they are relieved to get rid of the stinky humans.

All these boring, easy trips change when I turn east and make my way to Fort Irwin.

Chapter 12

I have to admit, I was surprised to learn that Fort Irwin had been both an actual military base and a training center. That means that they’d had on-site housing and a fluctuating number of members on base at any time. Luckily for the base, a number of units had been undergoing training when the System hit, so they’d had a large number of trained personnel on-hand to deal with the monsters, even if our guns aren’t half as effective as they used to be. Unfortunately, they also got unlucky enough to get targeted with a monster drop. A couple of high Level sand worms were teleported around their base. For all that, the general in charge had managed to keep the majority of civilians and base households secure.

While Fort Irwin has nowhere near the numbers that Camp Pendleton does, it has the benefit of being nearby and fully staffed. In addition, they’re desperately in need of a restock. As a System-designated Fort, they’ve got a significant advantage over most random buildings, especially since the designation includes the entirety of the base. From what Wier says, they’ve even been able to gain limited access to the Shop through a few Quartermasters’ Class Skills. But access or not, they’ve been seriously limited in their ability to develop, which is where I come in.

For all that, you’d think I’d be greeted with open arms. Instead, first I get stopped and interrogated by a roving patrol in the 45° Celsius weather. If it isn’t for the fact that I’m mostly resistant to minor changes in temperature like this, I’d be pissed. As it stands, once they finish their not-so-subtle interrogation, I’m escorted onto base under armed guard.

The base itself is an interesting place. They’ve obviously laid out numerous mines around their shelter, the walls replaced and increased to nearly thirty feet high. Watchtowers made of reinforced concrete sit above the walls, beam turrets and rocket launchers arranged to cover the approaches. I absently note the shield that opens as we near the walls, the gate that rolls open soundlessly, and the armed guards that patrol the walls. It is, for want of a better word, a military fortification.

It doesn’t take long for them to bring me to meet the general in charge. He’s got a close-cut hairstyle, salt-and-pepper hair on a too-tanned face that emphasizes the wrinkles he’s not gotten rid of and a steely glare that dictates respect. The only thing that detracts from the professional look is the fact he probably should have shaved this morning. Or he might just be unlucky enough to need to shave more than once a day.

Richard Miller (Officer Level 16)

HP: 880/880

MP: 1290/1290

Conditions: Aura of Command

Mental Influence Resisted

“Mr. Lee,” General Richard Miller says as he stands and offers me his hand. I absently note the notification that pushes aside the aura, the briefest flare as my resistances and stubborn will engage and beat aside his low Level Class skill. “General Richard Miller, Commander of Fort Irwin.”

“General Miller,” I say, casting a quick glance at the others in the room.

I get quick introductions when my interest is shown, though I promptly forget their names as I’m interrupted by a floating, invisible Spirit.

“Isn’t that a drink?”

“Not now!”

“Thank you for coming. Colonel Wier informed me that we could be expecting you within the week. You’ve made good time,” Miller says with a smile.

“Not too bad,” I agree, tilting my head. “You know, if you pointed me at a suitable location, we could continue this talk while you get resupplied.”

“All in good time, Mr. Lee. I wished to speak with you before we began such an operation,” the general says with a smile. “Communication with the colonel has been somewhat difficult, our conversations limited. I was hoping you could perhaps detail a little about the situation in Seattle and your own settlements.”

I return Miller’s frank stare before nodding. At first, I start with talking about Seattle, but Miller’s incisive questions have me jumping backward again and again as I detail my own settlements, the Galactics I’ve come across, and the basic System knowledge we’ve gained. He’s particularly interested in Crusher’s little book, so I send the survival guide to him and his aides with a thought. Through the entire conversation, notes are taken, and before I know it, nearly half the day has passed.

“Well, that’s all been fascinating. But you’re right, we should really open the Portal to the colonel. I’m sure he can brief me himself,” Miller says as he stands, one hand sweeping low to beckon an aide closer. “Major Alvarez will show you where you can set up the Portal.”

“So I’ve passed?”

“Passed?” Miller says, playing dumb.

“Your assessment,” I say bluntly. Out of the corner of my eyes, I note that the soldiers who were clustered around the office have slowly dispersed.

“Yes.” Miller doesn’t apologize, which I can understand. Without access to the full Shop to verify how truthful I am, he’s only got Class Skills and his own intuition. Which, probably, is good enough, but probably doesn’t cut it when you’re in charge of so many lives. “If you’ll follow the major, we do look forward to getting our supplies.”

“Got it.” I offer him a wave, walking out of the door, followed by the major soon afterward.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see the general bending his head and falling into a deeper conversation with his people.

“This way, sir.” Alvarez waves a tanned hand.

I follow along, almost wanting to whistle a jaunty tune to break the seriousness they all seem to carry. Then again, they’ve been surviving in the arse-end of nowhere for nearly a year, fighting Level 40 plus monsters and hemmed in by even higher Level zones and Galactics. I’d be tense too.

***

Watching Wier and his posse of uniformed aides walk away to talk with the general, I release the Portal before it drains me completely. A moment later, I’m seated on a lounge chair pulled from my Altered Space, a bar of chocolate in hand while I wait for my Mana to recover. Alvarez stares at me for a second but chooses not to comment. Instead, we spend the time watching the small group of assigned personnel move the various pieces of equipment that were brought over during the few minutes the Portal was open, distributing them as needed.

Shifting goods via the Portal is weird—a large group from this side jumps through in a bid to make purchases at the Shop while another stream of individuals comes in from Seattle, all of them toting boxes double to triple their size and even more stored in their System inventory. The sheer volume moved is significantly higher than what it seems, especially since a few of those have Class Skills that let them carry more in their inventory than you’d guess. The ability to overstack slots in a System inventory is a bit of a cheat.

“What’s in the boxes?” I ask Alvarez after I finish my first bar of chocolate.

“Non-System-generated items we need,” Alvarez replies. When I glare at him, the man relents, probably deciding that replying is better than annoying me enough to stop opening Portals. “Fresh vegetables and supplements, new clothing, toilet paper, and umm… other sanitary equipment.”

“Pads?”

“It’s been an issue,” Alvarez says stiffly.

I chuckle softly, though I do recall more than one time when the young ladies in the team disappeared into houses and stores before stuffing said items into my Altered Space. I once asked why they just didn’t get their genes changed or something else and received a blistering earful from Ingrid about how the System cheats and reverts such changes quickly. At a guess, it’s a by-product of the entire damn “get everyone pregnant” directive.

“So what are the men requesting?” I’m rather curious to see what it is they, being stuck without the basics, might be after.

“Nothing they can’t live without,” Alvarez replies then relents. “Beer. Smokes. Deodorant is high on the list too. Disposable razors. System-registered knives.”

I chuckle and decide not to comment further. I’m sure there are other less savory requests, but considering the major is handling most of this in an official capacity, fulfilling those is likely to be done via less official channels.

“Fair enough.” I glance at my Mana gauge. “Another five minutes and I should be good to go.”

Alvarez nods. Upon spotting the still-lingering boxes, he strides away to have a quiet chat with the poor lieutenant in charge of storing the products. Rather than watch them, I lean back and chill for now. It’s going to be a long night of shuttling people back and forth as my Mana regenerates.

***

The next morning, I’m called into the newly restructured situation room, a place now filled with paper maps, floating blue System notification screens, projected maps of the surroundings, and more esoteric lines of information. A few people are in here, working and watching the screens, but I’m led straight to the main table where the general and Wier stand.

“Morning, gents,” I greet the tired-looking pair and their surrounding aides.

“Mr. Lee,” Miller says, inclining his head slightly in greeting. Wier follows with his own greeting. “We received some disturbing news late last night.”

“Oh…?”

“The Zarrie Kingdom in LA has received a large batch of reinforcements of Jaracks. Current estimates put it at a full brigade, but we’re still verifying data,” Miller informs me.

“Jarack?”

“You humans have them translated as were-jackals. Which is weird because they don’t actually transform,” Ali clarifies.

“What’s their force composition now of Advanced and Master Classes?” I say with a frown.

“Total combat Classes show three low Level Master Classes and forty-three Advanced Classes spread between Los Angeles and its surroundings,” Miller replies. “As you know, they had just over two-thirds of their numbers deployed against Camp Pendleton. That allowed the other resistance cells in Los Angeles to continue fighting. But with the reinforcements, we expect the balance of power to change drastically.”

The Marines in Camp Pendleton and the various other members of the armed forces have done a stellar job—out-Leveled as they’ve been, they’ve refused to back down and have kept up a string of harassing attacks. Once they Leveled up enough, they even managed to get a few of their old toys, like their tanks and artillery, back in action. So much so that the Zarrie have had to keep a significant armed presence near their borders to contain the Marines.

While a Master Class is powerful—scarily so—I’m given to understand that the Marines have shown a willingness to trade a lot of lives for a kill. It’s that willingness that allowed them to chalk up a Master Class kill and just over a dozen Advanced Classers. Swarm tactics aren’t uncommon—it’s why I didn’t get a world first for killing a Master Class individual on Earth. It’s also why most Advanced and Master Class individuals have escape Skills and spells on hand, but surprise and arrogance can often disarm even the best prepared. Levels help ensure that there’s a significant weight to the entire quality argument, but quantity still has a quality of its own. And no Kingdom is willing to lose a Master Class just to kill a few hundred Basics.

“Sounds like time’s running out,” I say, staring at the map and the small markers on the board. Amusingly enough, I think I understood the Seattle mages’ map better than this more “professional” one. But in the end, the truth they impart is the same. “You need me to speed up and head south now.”

“Yes,” Miller says, his head coming up. “Once you provide them the settings for our communication formation, we’ll be able to support one another with greater ease. We should also be able to achieve real-time communication between our two bases.”

“Are we changing the plan then? Go wide to reach Pendleton rather than through the city to create waypoints?” I ask. That was the initial plan. Between my stealth skills and the new Shrunken Footprints Skill, I should be able to sneak into the city itself. Due to the constant fighting, the areas around LA don’t have stable settlement shields that I have to concern myself about.

“Yes.” Wier traces a path south, elaborating on the challenges I can expect to face as best as they know.

I settle in to listen and ask some questions, though as always, I’ll make my own decisions when it gets right down to it. Being the man on the bike, that’s my responsibility. Still, in the back of my mind, I worry that all this talking means more lives are being lost.

***

“Major.” I greet Alvarez when he walks up, followed by a squad—I hope that’s the right term. A bunch of soldiers anyway—in a squat military machine with a big cannon on it seen in way too many Hollywood movies.

“Mr. Lee.” Alvarez nods to me. “The members of Staff Sargent Johnson’s squad will be following you. Their orders are to ensure that you make it to Camp Pendleton and to aid in the verification of your identity. That is, of course, secondary to the verification documents and passphrases you’ve been provided with.”

I grunt, recalling the rather specific talk Alvarez had with me after this morning’s meeting. He’d been particularly pedantic about it, ensuring that I recalled everything word for word and in the right order before he let me go. Luckily, a stupidly high Intelligence meant that when and if I concentrated, small things like that were easy to memorize. And I have to admit, I cheated and recorded the information in my helmet just in case.

“That going to last? Things are going to get rough,” I say, glancing at the vehicle. Even if they’ve changed out the engines to make it run, the fact stands that most vehicles made pre-System aren’t strong enough to take a solid whacking. Heck, I recall a particularly exuberant five-year-old putting a dent in an abandoned vehicle back in Whitehorse.

“This particular vehicle has been rebuilt entirely by our Machinists,” Alvarez answers, glancing at the vehicle with some pride before looking at me. “It will suffice. Staff Sargent Johnson and his team have most recently traveled the road you’re on, so please make sure to listen to them.”

“All right, let’s go,” I say and twist Sabre’s throttle. The bike slides forward without a sound, rolling out of the gates.

It’s only a few minutes later that I realize I forgot to actually talk to the sargent. Oops…

***

On the shorter route, it’s just under two hundred miles from Fort Irwin to Camp Pendleton. On a good day, that’d be a three hour or so drive, maybe less depending on traffic. Now, with monsters, destroyed roads, hostile settlements, and insane environmental factors, that three-hour drive could easily take a whole day. And we’re taking the long way around, cutting away from Los Angeles to swing by Joshua Tree National Park, Palm Springs, and the Cleveland National Forest. Any of those areas could easily force us to take much longer than a single day if we wanted to do this quietly.

Unfortunately, the option of doing things quietly has gone the way of the Zarrie reinforcements, and so we’re just going to do it fast. In a short period after we leave the base, the Humvee overtakes me to take point, kicking up dust while a pair of tiny drones fly overhead to provide overwatch. Neither of those are anywhere as good as Ali, but I don’t tell them that. Wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings.

We swing off the highway more than once, often because there isn’t a highway left, the pavement destroyed by fights or just the movement of a monster. In one case, the footprints are so large and reptilian that it seems as if the Midwest is about to be hit by a herd of immigrating kaiju. Off-road, we have to slow down, rolling up and over barren hills, dealing with sudden bogs and hidden monsters.

Palm Springs was once a resort town for the big Hollywood elites, a place where you could commonly see withered, old rich folk and Hollywood starlets within the same day. It had been pretentious, brown, and filled with marble, an oasis of rich snobbery and transplanted plants.

“Five hundred Credits per person.” The green-polo-shirt, white-shorts-wearing tanned Golfer grins at us, his titular clubs slung across his shoulder.

He and his friends found us as we tried to swing around the settlement, not wanting to stop at a human-owned place. A quick glance at their Levels shows that they’re a mix of mid 40s to low 30s, a weird assortment of Classes ranging from pure combat to well, Golfers.

I lipread Polo Shirt’s words as I stay behind the Humvee, Johnson having indicated that he’s in charge of this negotiation.

“We letting them shake us down?” I mutter to the soldier sent to babysit me.

He’s got his head on a swivel, checking behind us for potential problems, trusting his friends to do the same in their own zones of responsibility. I’m doing the same too, sort of. Ali is double-checking and verifying information on the sensor maps while I look around with my own eyes.

“We have an agreement with the settlement,” the soldier says out of the corner of his mouth. “We pay them for passage; they leave us alone.”

“They that tough to take down?”

“Not in my experience,” he says. “But I just follow orders.”

I grunt, watching as Johnson pays for our passage and gets a briefing on the most recent movements by our mutual enemies. Patrol routes, schedules, and sightings of new enemies are all part of the report. I have to admit, the information is useful, even if I’m not thrilled by the idea of being extorted. When we get back on the road, I find myself asking Johnson about the situation.

“The owner of Palm Springs is not particularly friendly with us. We’ve come to an agreement that allows us passage through their areas, but it’s tenuous.”

“Why do you let them stay?” I frown, considering the distances between Palm Springs and the base. It’d certainly give the base access to a Shop, which I know they badly need.

“They’re an American settlement,” Johnson says with a grunt. "Our job is to protect them, not forcibly conscript their lands.”

“Ah… politics,” I say.

I’m not entirely sure I agree with the general’s decision, but then again, I’m not a soldier. Living your whole life believing you need to keep the very people who are being piss-ass annoyances alive must create some kind of mental dissonance. It doesn’t help that these citizens can and probably will do significant damage in any fight. In the end, I’m just a helpful visitor here. While I like to think of myself as a citizen of the world, that’s less likely to be a viewpoint that’s agreed upon by the Americans. So all I can do is keep quiet and take it for what is.

***

The last few hours of our trip are a slow, agonizing process. Under the cover of Ali’s abilities and the Skills of a pair of the soldiers, we sneak in past the fluid battle lines surrounding Camp Pendleton. With such a large area to cover, the Zarrie can only use roving patrols, droids, and fixed sensor grids to keep watch. Unfortunately for them, all of those can easily be subverted, given enough time, patience, and Skill.

The Zarrie patrols are a mixture of desert-themed creatures. The Jarack reinforcements are jackal-faced humanoids with fur on their bodies and equipped with a mixture of high-tech and melee weapons. They act as the main frontline of the Zarrie while being covered by large, carapace-laden heavies who tote around oversized beam weapons and physical shields. Mixed in among that group are smaller, dog-sized creatures with a shiny, sac-like back that can spit out an acidic-poisonous mixture. Lastly, each patrol has a metallic, vehicular aid—whether airborne or ground—to provide AI-driven help. From what Ali tells me, they’re not the greatest help, but if you need to cart around corpses or scout out potential new problems, the drones did the job.

Mostly we try to avoid even seeing them, but while the information we’ve received is useful, it’s not complete, so we find ourselves hiding, trusting in our Skills and abilities as we sneak closer to our objective. Killing the patrols would be simple, but that would give away our position and if they decided to purchase more information, they’d know what we’re up to. In this case, secrecy is our shield. So we traverse mutated forests, destroyed roads, and deal with numerous bush fires, either trusting in our armor and Skills to keep us alive or swinging wide. It’s a hard call to make—sometimes those wild fires are fueled by Mana and System-enhanced plants, making them a danger even to me.

Again and again, we have to stop and start, our “short” journey lengthening as we swing around System-enhanced problems and the occasional firefight. Finally Johnson decides we’re close enough and makes contact with the base itself. After that, it’s just more waiting before we’re met by the Marines and led in at a breakneck speed.

As we cross the barbed wire fences that surround the buildings, I find myself relaxing. Even if we’re still under guard, being surrounded by humans and the mostly theoretical safety of the walls is comforting. Johnson and his men relax too, especially as we cross deeper into the base itself. Though we’ve all heard of the fierce fighting that has occurred, there’s little on the base to indicate that, all the buildings in pristine condition due to the System. Nothing to indicate a problem, except the way the soldiers move and the edge they all hold. They’re like live weapons, ready to explode into action at any time. The obvious presence of the military police as we head deeper shows that this state of constant battle readiness has taken its toll on the personnel.

Once we’re in, I’m led to a secure bunker where I’m interrogated—nicely—by the guards. As check after check is passed, I find my tension ratcheting up once again. Soon, I’ll be meeting the man in charge and opening a Portal for Wier and Miller. And then we’ll really begin.

***

“Thank you, Mr. Lee. For allowing us to have this conversation,” Sanchez says, the Puerto Rican marine colonel offering me a smile. There’s an edge to the marine, a hardness and a lurking pain in his eyes and a coldness to his smile that reminds me not to underestimate the man.

“You’re welcome,” I answer before glancing toward Wier and Miller.

They too offer their thanks before we get down to the meat of the meeting. The uniformed men aren’t the only individuals present at this meeting. The usual suspects like the mages from Seattle, the Baristas, and of course Lana and Mikito, are all present. In addition, Labashi and a few members of the Adventurers Guilds we’ve begun to work with are here too. In Labashi’s case, he’s here to fill a contract with Wier. The Guilds are here to set up Quests for their members once we’ve decided upon a plan.

“Thank you for coming,” Miller states once everyone’s settled. In the center of the meeting room is a projection of California. “As you know, we must finish this fight before the Zarrie can reinforce further. Of the seventeen City Cores highlighted here, we must take seven for the first phase to be considered complete.

“Due to the significant amount of scrutiny placed upon our forces by the Zarrie, our plans of operations cannot be discussed in any detail. What we are here to discuss is the timeframe the attacks will be conducted under, the requirements that each force has to be ready, the chain of command, and what, if any, concerns you might have about the attack and your group’s involvement.”

It’s kind of amusing, listening to all this. I was in on the earlier conversation between the three, the long talk that Miller had with the other two army officers, along with my interjections, about the System and the Shop’s ability to extract information. Wier, having had more interactions with the Shop itself, was able to provide further information and even shared a few of the documents and books he’d purchased detailing military tactics formed in the presence of the System. The meeting we’re having now is the result of that earlier conversation. However, a bold statement like that, among us civilians, obviously doesn’t garner many points for Miller.

“You’re not telling us the plan?” Charles says, an edge to his voice.

“We’re just civilians, you know.” Kaylee, the Barista, shifts her tone to one parodying the military, almost barking her next words. “We aren’t trusted with things like planning or thinking. Civilians would just mess it up.”

“Har. We’ve cleared more cities than these army boys!”

Labashi watches, his lips pursed. He’s obviously clear on the why, while the Guilds don’t seem too perturbed. In fact, I catch a few smiles. Because of the vagueness of the plans, the resulting quests’ expenses will be high.

“You prefer they tell you the plan now and change it midway?” Lana says, the voice of reason as always. “Because if General Miller is right, and I’ll bet that he is, any plans he actually articulates, puts into writing, or otherwise communicates is open to purchasing. Now, there are Skills and technology to make it harder or at least more expensive to buy that information, but that’s more expensive, not impossible. So being kept in the dark is the best way forward.”

“And if General Miller is assassinated?” Laila asks from her chair. I’m amused that she’s in a sleeveless pantsuit, one that shows off her tightly toned arms.

She looks almost as delicious as the dark-chocolate aide who sits by her side, his arms shown off in a sleeveless vest. For a moment, I wonder if it’s just coincidence or a case of well-designed uniforms before I pull my attention back to Miller.

“The chain of command passes from General Miller to myself to Colonel Wier to Mr. Lee,” Sanchez answers, waving his fingers and flicking over a document. In it is the new chain of command.

I’m surprised to note Lana’s and Sam’s names on it and relatively high, though we go through a couple more military personnel before it seriously switches around to non-military personnel.

“Why’s John so high up?” Kaylee asks, prodding the paper. “He military too?”

“No. Mr. Lee’s special Skills dictate his position in the chain of command. If he is still able to function at that point, he will be in the best position to ascertain the next steps for our attack,” Miller replies.

“Ah, he gets to decide if we run away?” Daniel asks, stating the obvious.

There’s more than a few frowns at the mage, but he ignores them all. Whether it’s a case of the programmer being entirely oblivious or not caring, he seems more than happy to annoy everyone.

“Or press the attack,” Miller says. “Our troops have been so informed. Now, we have much to discuss and not much time.”

The grumbling stills, at least for the moment, as we turn toward the minutiae of battle prep. It amuses me slightly since my own portion of this is done. I’ve got Sabre, Ali, and my sword. Everything else… well, that’s for others to handle. My people are in good hands. Once again, I’m the damn transport hub.

***

“You were pretty quiet in there,” Sam says to me later that evening where our team has gathered in the house we’ve been allocated.

Everyone’s here, including Carlos and Ingrid, which is a nice change of pace from the recent norm. Perhaps it’s because we’ve all lost our families that voluntary gatherings like this are all the more important, familiar bonds reestablished to offer comfort and succor.

“Didn’t have much to contribute,” I say with a shrug. “You and Lana have a better idea of what our men are like these days. Though I’m surprised you weren’t there.” I say that to Mikito, who sighs.

“Training. We’re closing in on clearing the fiftieth level zone of your dungeon,” Mikito says with a slight bite.

“Ah, right.” I blink and duck my head, recalling that I was the one who had mentioned we should try to clear the dungeon ourselves. We never got around to it, mostly because I’m too busy running errands. Truthfully, outside of pulling the team in for the occasional clearance of a newly found, uncleared dungeon on my route, we haven’t had much fighting time together recently.

“Leave him alone, Miki,” Carlos says. “He’s busy doing hero stuff. We’ve got the dungeons covered.”

“Miki…?” I do my best to hide my astonishment at the lack of naginata protruding from Carlos’s body at the use of a nickname.

“Lazing around and road-tripping,” Mikito mutters grumpily, though mostly good-naturedly.

“That does raise the question—when are we taking the rest of Canada?” Ingrid says, leaning forward. “Not that helping the Americans isn’t important, but you know…”

“National pride,” I say with a half-smile. “After this. I’ll be porting up to Calgary and heading east once the battle here is over and things have settled. Wier has promised more help from his people. With the Marines clear, they’ll have enough people to make an actual push of it by themselves once they settle LA. Calgary’s pretty secure now and Edmonton is raring to go, so we’re next on the agenda.”

“Good,” Sam grunts.

I glance at the older man, recalling his concerns over Ontario.

“We’re pretty settled up in BC too. The mountains farther north are an issue, but things are beginning to settle. The negotiations with the sirens in Vancouver Island are nearly over,” Lana adds, shaking her curly red hair. “Though I’m not entirely sure we’ll get many immigrants from there.”

“Men,” Ingrid says with a snort.

“Good,” Carlos says happily, returning to the initial topic. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind helping them but…”

“It’ll be good to get started,” I say, nodding. “Any news on the Rockies?”

A few faces are made at that question.

Ingrid answers without hesitation. “Level 80 to 120 depending on the zone. No survivors. Our scouts have indicated a series of flying monsters ranging from gargoyles, griffins, and drakes to elemental rock hounds and creatures we don’t even have names for. And that’s at the edges.”

“Sounds like the passes up north are the way to go, unless there’re a few lower Level zones down south,” I say.

It’s frustrating, but we’re also lucky. As the latest Dungeon World, we’re still considered “new,” and while certain zones have a higher level of ambient Mana than others, we’re nowhere close to the levels of older Dungeon Worlds. Over time—measured in years and decades, thankfully—the amount of ambient Mana on Earth will rise too. In fact, the introduction of Earth as a Dungeon World has helped the other Dungeon Worlds significantly, slowing down the Mana saturation in their worlds. The continual increase in zones and Levels in older Dungeon Worlds is what makes City Dungeons so damn popular. The City Dungeons themselves are much more controlled and it’s why we haven’t seen a rush of new Galactic Adventurers. While the rewards in experience and loot is better in a Dungeon World, City Dungeons are just safer and more accessible for those at the lower end of the scale. It’s like travelling to a new country to take a degree – sure, technically possible but it’s expensive and risky. Of course, not a rush is relative. When you’re talking populations of hundreds of billions, fractions are still huge.

“The scouts are working that route right now, but it’s slow going. Between the Galactics streaming in, the need to locate and work with survivors, and the lack of a base, I don’t expect there to be any major developments,” Ingrid says. “They’ve asked for funds to build up a Fort they located, but it’s pretty broken right now.”

“Done. Talk to Kim. He’ll arrange for the Credits.” I trust the assassin to know and vet the scouts. While she isn’t directly in charge of their operations—it’s a tad too much responsibility for the lady—I know she’s interested in the process. It’s almost like stepping into a new world each time you explore a new region these days. “The Americans giving them a hard time?”

With the border down, there’s little to separate our countries except an imaginary state of mind—certainly, we don’t have a giant wall to demarcate the difference. But the walls we build in our minds can be harder to break than even a diamond-studded wall in reality.

“Not too much. Many of them are happy to see just about anyone. The few who aren’t… well, our scouts are some of our highest Level Combat Classers,” Ingrid says. “Anyone who objects too pointedly gets the point.”

“Badoom-Krash!” Ali shouts, playing imaginary drums to go alongside the sound effect.

“And that’s enough of that. On another note, there’s been talk about reclaiming some of the other settlements,” Lana says. “Some of the survivors have indicated a desire to head back home. Others just want to explore. We’ve been able to keep it in check mostly, or at least redirect them to one of our smaller Villages in BC, but it’s not just us. Alberta’s indicated the same thing—people want to go home. Even if that home is now owned by a seventeen-foot-tall green man.”

“That’s an oddly specific example,” Carlos says.

“It is, isn’t it?” Lana says sweetly.

“What do you want me to do about it?” I say with a frown.

“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do, but you remember how the System called us NPCs? Like we were just background to their lives?” Lana says, and I nod. “Well, I wonder if that’s because it’s true. Once we start populating the other settlements, we’ll need the Galactics to help keep order. To keep them settled. We don’t have the population anymore to keep all our cities going.”

“You think they knew. That they planned for this.” At her nod, I glance at Ali. The Spirit nods and I sigh. Time to let the team know the truth I’ve already read. “They did. It’s common practice for the Galactics. We’re not the first, the second, or the hundredth world to be taken over. The only reason they’ve only got twelve Dungeon Worlds is because at a certain point, most Dungeon Worlds self-destruct. The ambient Mana pushes the monsters to a point where it’s impossible for all but the most Legendary individuals to visit. Many of the core worlds among the Galactics aren’t very different from those Dungeon Worlds by now.”

My words make the group blink—not at the words themselves but at the Quest Notification they receive. For the first time, Carlos gets introduced to my private obsession—the System Quest. All of them receive a little experience as they uncover another secret of the System. And as always, there’s no way to tell why or how this piece of knowledge and not another is important enough that the System will award us.

“Thanks for the experience. I think,” Carlos says, his brow furrowed as he reads the quest log.

“Don’t worry about it. John’s obsessed with it. He even reads books,” Ingrid says the last mostly teasingly but with just a hint of derision in her voice.

“Enough of picking on John,” Lana says, frowning. “His book reading is actually useful. If we know what they’re planning, maybe we can do something about it.”

“Like what? Not die?” Ingrid says with a snort. “The problem is we don’t have enough people. And I’m not sacrificing my body to put more babes in the cradle.”

Sam snorts, almost choking on the drink he was sipping. Ingrid grins evilly, making it clear that was on purpose.

Even if she doesn’t, the number of babies that have popped out and that are due is staggering. Probably a quarter of the female population is expecting or will be expecting. It’s not natural, but from the conversations I’ve lipread, the pregnancies are all going extremely well—much better than previous experiences. No morning sickness, no cramps or swollen feet or overheating. It’s a dream pregnancy, if it weren’t for the fact that in many cases it’s a surprise.

“I’m not sure how,” Lana says, not bothering to rise to Ingrid’s bait. It’s never worth it with her. “But at least we know the Galactics are pushing us to work with them. So maybe we have more of a bargaining position than we thought.”

Ingrid snorts but doesn’t rebut Lana. I nod, content to let the redhead work on this problem too now that I’ve put the bug in her ear. I have my own thoughts on the matter, but as always, they diverge somewhat.

As Lana falls silent, Sam takes it upon himself to switch topics to something lighter, a recounting of finding some old rock band that survived the apocalypse in their retreat and is having an upcoming concert. Even in the worst of times, there’s always a silver lining.

Chapter 13

Six days. It takes six days for preparations to be complete before the first major steps are taken. Of course, with my Skill, I’m privy to the majority of the changes, including the process of transporting hundreds of Marines to Fort Irwin. By the end of that week, I am sick of the often-repeated snarky comments and gloating by the Marines about how they were all “Marines,” unlike the other non-Classed generic soldiers. The Marines are just the start, of course. After that, I port over fighters from settlements all across the country.

Six days. And in those six days, I manage to catch up with Lana, Mikito, and Sam and even get to know Carlos a little better. The Hispanic man is an interesting mix of confidence and sudden attacks of doubt, at times certain of his place in all this and other times completely out of his depth. Then again, perhaps he’s just easier to read than most. Six days and we even manage to sneak in a full day of dungeoning, making a speed run through the majority of the buildings in Vancouver’s City Dungeon to grab loot and experience. It played out well, with some modest loot that sells for good Credits and very decent experience gains.

Six days to get all our preparations sorted. At that thought, I pull out my character sheet, staring at the screen and the latest series of upgrades I’ve made. Upgrades. So weird to think of myself like a computer that gets its RAM switched out, my hard disk defragged, or new peripherals added.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Honor Guard

Race

Human (Male)

Level

48

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead, Duelist

Health

2240

Stamina

2240

Mana

1740

Mana Regeneration

135 / minute

Attributes

Strength

116

Agility

207

Constitution

224

Perception

63

Intelligence

174

Willpower

170

Charisma

18

Luck

33

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

3*

Blade Strike*

3

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand blades*

3

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal*

5

Army of One

2

Sanctum

2

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footprints*

1

Tech Link*

2

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (II)

Greater Regeneration

Greater Healing

Mana Drip

Improved Mana Dart (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike

Fireball

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Inferno Strike

Mud Walls

Having gotten over my hesitation about “buying” Skill Levels, I spent my most recent earnings on upgrading Thousand Blades twice, adding two new blades to my arsenal. Luckily, the Skill increases also let me set how many new blades I call forth, since actually wielding five swords, four of them free-floating, is rather difficult, especially with my butchered Erethran Honor Guard style of appearing / disappearing blades. It was only after playing with them a bit that I realized I desperately needed to increase my Perception to help aid my sense of where those blades are.

I also upgraded Mana Imbue and Blade Strike with the last of my funds, increasing my attack power in my stalwart combat Skills.

Mana Imbue (Level 3)

Soulbound weapon now permanently imbued with mana to deal more damage on each hit. +20 Base Damage (Mana). Will ignore armor and resistances. Mana regeneration reduced by 10 Mana per minute permanently.

Blade Strike (Level 3)

By projecting additional Mana and stamina into a strike, the Erethran Honor Guard’s Soulbound weapon may project a strike up to 30 feet away.

Cost: 30 Stamina + 30 Mana

The decrease in my Mana regeneration sucked, but the increase in base damage helped. Over time, I’ve realized how powerful this unresistible increase in base damage can be. Sure, it might seem small when compared to the thousands of hit points an enemy might have, but it’s base damage. That damage is multiplied by where and how well you hit the individual, after which of course armor, dodging, and other passive skills take effect. In the end, a few points increase in base damage can make a big difference, especially when that amount isn’t reduced by resistances.

All this is, of course, a minor addition when stacked up against the huge gain in my attack power when it’s multiplied by Army of One. As tempting as it was to use both of my free Skill points to upgrade it again, I instead purchased another point in Sanctum. Surviving takes precedence, no matter how much fun it is to kick ass. Having an ace in the hole, an “ignore all attacks” card is something I can’t ignore.

Sanctum (Level 2)

An Erethran Honor Guard’s ultimate trump card in safeguarding their target, Sanctum creates a flexible shield that blocks all incoming attacks, hostile teleportations, and Skills. At this Level of Skill, the user must specify dimensions of the Sanctum upon use of the Skill. The Sanctum cannot be moved while the Skill is activated.

Dimensions: Maximum 15 cubic meters.

Cost: 1,000 Mana

Duration: 2 minute and 7 seconds

The upgrade for Army of One, on the other hand, was slightly disappointing. For another point, I somehow expected a little more.

Army of One (Level 2)

The Honor Guard’s feared penultimate combat ability, Army of One builds upon previous Skills, allowing the user to unleash an awe-inspiring attack to deal with their enemies. Attack may now be guided around minor obstacles.

Effect: Army of One allows the projection of (Number of Thousand Blades conjured weapons * 3) Blade Strike attacks up to 300 meters away from user. Each attack deals 3 * Blade Strike Level damage (inclusive of Mana Imbue and Soulbound weapon bonus)

Cost: 750 Mana

Overall satisfied with the upgrades and the way I had spent my accumulated Credits, I flicked over to my sparse equipment sets. The Mana bracer is fully filled, which gives me a nice Mana battery to reach for. Even after all this time fighting other sentients, I’ve yet to find a better ring. Since multiple rings can cancel each other out, I’m stuck with someone’s engagement ring. It’s a bit morbid, but considering they were here to enslave and kill us, I’m mostly over the ethical issues.

I’m still wielding the same beam pistol and rifle, along with Sabre, as when I first started. Most equipment that we’ve found is only marginally better, and marginal increases aren’t worth it. I’ve come across a few rifles that would have been better quality if they hadn’t been destroyed, but unfortunately, my fighting style has a tendency to leave a lot of things in pieces. And while I could have bought myself a better rifle, spending the Credits on such a thing rather than say, a Skill, just seems wrong. Equipment can be wrecked or changed eventually. Skills stay forever.

The biggest upgrade I have is actually a small technical module that takes a slot on my Neural Link. It’s taken a little bit of time to get used to it, so I haven’t seen its effects well until our most recent dungeon dive, but now, it feels right.

Perceptive Filter

The perceptive filter interacts with the user’s senses to highlight specific sensory inputs. While unable to expand the range of the user’s senses, the perception filter is able to note specific, potentially useful, sensory inputs that the user has ignored and highlight them for the user to note.

Effect: Variable. Currently provides a +4 to Perception

Requires: One Neural Link Slot

It’s a weird little technological upgrade, but in the dungeon, twice it highlighted a hidden doorway that we nearly missed. The first time was due to a slight scarring on the floor which had flashed red in my vision, the second via increasing the smell of the monster lurking behind the door. Overall, I’m quite pleased by the little find, and it made yanking the neural link out of the Galactic’s head worthwhile. It went a small way to rebalancing my Perception requirements at least.

Six days. I’ve been brought into a few more strategy meetings, gleaned a little more from the casual talk among our people and the way men have been distributed or the locations I’ve been led to to set up Portal locations. As much as we try to keep such information compartmentalized, some of it is easy enough to grasp, even for one as untrained in the art of war as I am.

Three Master Class enemies need a counter. They’re walking tank divisions, powerful enough to turn the tide of battle in any location. You can kill them if you throw enough Basic Classes at them, if you’re willing to stuff people down the exhaust pipes till the tracks are gummed up and they can’t move or see. Or you can counter strength with strength.

Seven teams, each rated to take out a single Master Class Galactic. I know the goal is to use a minimum of two teams for each Master Class. They’re all situated in the back of the line, waiting for me to Portal them in. Lana and company are one such team. Two Hakarta teams of eight men apiece, a pair of Special Forces teams from Fort Lewis, and two squads of Marines make up the remainder of the Master-Class killers.

Throughout the main fighting force, smaller elite groups are scattered. Our non-military fighters have naturally broken themselves into fighting parties, people they know and trust. Adventuring parties mixed with infantry fire teams, all of them backing each other up with appropriate allocations of Skills and spells. Each squad has been graded and ranked, ranging from the Basic to Master Class killers, some teams larger than others. Within each combat rank are additional grades. And based off these grades, the Officers, Commanders, and Tacticians can allocate help as needed to tackle threats.

Six days to break down, calculate, and tag each group. And during that time, the few resistance groups doing battle with the Zarrie continue to die, without news, without hope, without aid. Knowing that we could do more for them and yet we aren’t guts me. We can’t, not without letting the Zarrie know that we’re making a move, that we’re getting closer. That’s one of the lessons from Wier’s books. You can’t fight a war as if the enemy knows all your moves, but you can’t afford to discount it either. And so we leave them to fight and die, battling over neighborhood blocks that hold no meaning and City Cores that change every few weeks.

Six days, and finally, we’re ready.

***

The sight the next morning is something to behold. Soldiers and Marines, civilians and police officers, Galactics and humans in all shapes and sizes exit Fort Irwin. I watch as the myriad of figures, transported on everything from pony-sized puppies to futuristic armored personnel carriers, upgraded tanks, and Bradleys trek forward, an army of mish-mashed individuals with one will, and I marvel at the weirdness of the System once more.

Our first step is to take the cities that lie between Fort Irwin and Los Angeles. While I can Portal people directly into combat, I’m still one man with a limited window on my Portal. There’re only so many people I can safely and quickly transport.

Barstow is our first stop, followed by the urban sprawl that makes up Hesperia, Victorville, and the rest. After that, we’ll probably skip the Angeles National Forest and its myriad Level 80 monsters and clear part of the way through San Bernardino. Luckily for us, the entire San Bernardino county is a battle-ridden ground filled with pissed off Californians and Galactics in equal measure. San Bernardino itself seems to have done really well, with nearly half of its City Cores held by its residents. I guess living in a crime-ridden, poverty-stricken city has some benefits when the apocalypse comes. Fact is, they’d have done even better if they weren’t so busy fighting each other and selling one another out, but that’s humans for you.

Those are the easy marching orders to discern, even if no one has said as much. Still, for now, it’s Hesperia and on coming battles while we wait to see if and when the Zarrie react.

***

While the core zones of LA and its surrounding areas have settlement shields in place, the various towns and cities that encompass the San Bernardino valley have none of those defenses. Most of their City Cores and regions remain blasted ruins, areas that have suffered from the initial apocalypse, the monsters that have grown up in the city, and later, the sneak attacks by the Marines and the army.

As settlements have a strict financial management policy—otherwise, settlement owners would be tossing Credits in and drawing them out willy-nilly—the lack of development isn’t surprising. I actually do need to do more research on why these Credit management policies in settlements are in place, but that’s something for future John to do.

Idle thoughts I’m able to have because, like the Master Class-rated teams, I’m benched from the fight around Hesperia. The less our enemies know of my presence, the better off we are. That’s about the biggest drawback to purchasing information from the store—it’s always a time-specific purchase. I can tell where someone is at the moment I purchase their location, but it offers no System-guaranteed tracking. It means for someone with the innate mobility I have, they can only rely on technology and Skills to keep track of me.

Staring out of the window of the In-n-Out burger shack that’s been taken over by the Master Class teams, I watch the smoke rise from the sprawling cities and try to convince myself that the smell of burnt flesh and overheated metal is coming from the kitchen. Sam and a couple others have the grill fired up, tossing hamburgers and making fries as they cheat physics and entropy to make the mundane cooking equipment work once more. It’s a good distraction and a better use of time than my own brooding.

“And that’s the last Core,” Major Alvarez informs me as he walks over from the small command post he and his fellow minders have set up in one corner.

“Good.” Seeing that that’s all Alvarez has to say, I realize I still don’t have any marching orders. “Losses?”

“Minimal. Six Basic teams, one Advanced-ranked team were complete losses. Two Advanced teams have lost significant numbers and have been combined,” Alvarez replies.

Considering an Advanced Class team of Galactics was holding each of the Cores, I’m pleasantly surprised.

“Mr. Lee, I have a question if you have a moment,” Alvarez says. “For you and your Spirit.”

“He’s got a name you know. Ali. Like the boxer,” Ali says with a snort.

“Go ahead,” I say, ignoring Ali, who is floating beside me and pulling together strands of data.

I almost wish Kim was here, but since I don’t own any of these settlements, he (it?) is currently out of reach. Still, the AI’s data processing capability is better than Ali’s and would be useful, even if he doesn’t have the right knowledge sets.

“Like us, most Galactics seem to adventure and do battle in teams. Thus, the numerous teams of Advanced Class fighters we’ve met,” Alvarez says. “But we’ve yet to meet any Master Class teams.”

“What? You want to meet some?” Ali says tauntingly. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Why ask me?” I ask.

“Your propensity for reading is well known. And you’ve got certain advantages in acquiring additional knowledge.” Alvarez says the last part while shooting a glance at Ali.

“Less than you’d think,” I say with a smile.

“Hey!”

“But to answer your question, there are. In fact, there are more Master Class teams than solo adventurers who ascend to that level. However, the teams rarely stay together after that,” I say, shooting Alvarez a glance. Seeing that he’s still listening, I continue. “You understand how the experience requirements keep rising each stage, right? Thus, it costs you roughly fifty thousand experience points to go from Level 1 to 2 when you’re an Advanced Class. By the time you hit Level 41, you need roughly two hundred fifty thousand points. Now, double that again when you’re starting out as a Master Class. You see the problem?”

Alvarez blinks, his jaw working. He’s doing the math quietly, thinking of his experience gains recently, his eyes slowly widening.

“That’s right. Group experience distribution rules while killing monsters means there’s less total experience distributed than if you fought solo. When you need that much experience to go up a single Level, you can’t adventure with your team. In fact, adventuring and ‘grinding’ for experience isn’t even that smart anymore.”

“Then what is?”

“Quests. We don’t see a lot of it here, mostly because we don’t have the set up, but in properly established Galactic worlds, there are numerous quests available.” I shrug. “It’s also why you don’t see many Master Classes running around here. They’re too busy Leveling to bother with things like this. Of course…”

“Of course…?”

“Well, not everyone wants to Level after they reach that point,” I say. “It’s why the ones we find are normally lower Leveled.”

“Ah, except couldn’t protecting the settlements be part of their quests?” Alvarez asks.

“Yup. It probably is too.” I pause, considering how to answer simply. “Quests, well, they gain in experience as the need and duration they aren’t completed increases. So say a quest to pull a tooth from a live dragon isn’t completed in a year. The experience it gives goes up every day, and by the end of the year, the experience gain from completion is probably worth double what it was. A ‘protect’ quest like this, well, it isn’t particularly old, so it probably isn’t very good experience. Not for a Master Class.”

“Oh…” Alvarez nods in thanks. Before he can ask a follow-up question, he stills, his eyes glazing over as he listens and reads a notification only he can see.

Without saying goodbye, the major walks off, muttering to himself. I could listen in, but I don’t, willfully ignoring the man.

“Not going to point out that you’re a giant cheater?” Ali sends.

I snort quietly. No, I’m definitely not going to point out how, because of me skipping an entire Class Level, I need significantly less experience to Level than what I just described. Even if, right now, it means my last few Levels have been a grind.

“Animal style?” Carlos asks, holding a platter of burgers in front of me. I stare at him uncomprehendingly, wondering if we’ve switched to talking about fighting techniques. “Animal style burgers? You know what, never mind. Just eat it.”

I shake my head, grabbing the tray and putting it on the table next to me. Americans are weird. In a moment, Lana joins me, snatching a stuffed burger with cheese melting off the definitely-not-beef patties, and I push the thought aside, starting in on my meal before it all disappears.

***

San Bernardino itself is a trickier nut to crack. By the time we get to it a half day later, the damn city and most of its surroundings are on fire. The constant battles and the lack of upgrades to the county and its surroundings have all but guaranteed that wild fires are a constant danger. It doesn’t help that the System replaces the burnt-out brush within days each time. This wildfire seems to have really gotten out of hand though.

“Bet you it’s some mage who’s gotten hold of a new fire spell,” Sam mutters as he directs drones to dump more fire retardant on the smoking hillside.

“No chance. Fire mages are smarter than that. It’s probably one of you non-mages,” Chetan says with a bite. He weaves his hand slightly, guiding a whip of flame to cut into the earth and burn the grass on it to create a firebreak. Either that or he’s just looking for the chance to burn something.

“We need a temperature drop over here,” Ingrid’s voice cackles over the communicators.

“Got it,” I say.

I almost pop open a Portal by reflex before remembering I’m not supposed to and Blink Step my way over to the lady. Mostly, I’m thankful that I don’t have to listen to Sam and Chetan’s argument, since it’s one that I’ve heard numerous times. Stuck as we are on the surrounding hills, we can barely even see San Bernardino. But at least this time, we get to do something.

“Isn’t this kind of pointless?” Ingrid says to me when I’m done casting Polar Zone over the area, the assassin standing with one leg cocked and relaxed.

“Aren’t you working? And what do you mean?” I say.

“The System regrows everything super-fast anyway. So all this, it’ll just regrow in what? A week? And I’m waiting for my spell cooldown to come off. It’s not as if I have that many useful spells, you know,” Ingrid says.

“Sure, it’s a waste of time,” Ali answers Ingrid with a smile.

“Stop smiling at me. It makes me worried when you do, you pervert,” Ingrid says while raising her hand to cast a cone of cold at another piece of ground. A few seconds later, she throws a rain cloud over another spot.

“Rain?” I say.

“Soothing rain. Mana regeneration and a mild healing regeneration increase,” Ingrid answers. “It’s from a ring.”

“Huh…”

“I’m waiting, Spirit.”

“What? There’s nothing to worry about. Let it burn. Let it burn again. After a while, you’ll just get fire-resistant grass, fire elementals, explosive plants, and other creatures that either thrive on the burning and promote it or, you know, creatures that can just ignore it,” Ali says with a shrug. “It’s all good.”

“Explosive plants?” I say.

“Sure. What better way to promote fires?” Ali says.

“Right. More water.” Ingrid nods firmly.

The desert is already tough enough, with the Mana-enhanced sandstorms, crazy-ass winds, and mutated animals. We don’t need even nastier forms of plants and creatures coming along.

***

The conquest of San Bernardino was messy, destructive, and ultimately, successful. Luckily, we only lost a few Advanced Class team members, the majority of our losses being focused around our Basic Classes. There, we lost a lot more, including the complete wipe of five teams. It was a painful loss that left our people reeling. Rather than push ahead, Miller called for a break. Various scout groups kept moving ahead while the logistics and backend helpers came along to shore up the city’s defenses.

The Zarrie hit us the next morning as we near LA. They let our scouting parties past, the main body of our fighting force stretched out as we deal with a giant, shifting canyon that moves without rhyme or reason, creating caverns and gaps. It doesn’t help that ginormous beetles crawl from the ground at random intervals, launching themselves at our teams and attempting to drag them into the earthen gaps.

I’m working my way through the canyon, using my beam rifle to pick off threatening beetles while sitting safely on the floating PAV. The Zarrie attack hits us from the northwest, to the right of the broken-up road and canyon, as the latest attack from the beetles recedes.

The Zarrie lob the System-equivalent of artillery shells at us—high explosive high-tech weaponry, kinetic impact spells, traditional chemical explosive shells, and spell-enchanted weapons. Amongst all the explosive destruction comes waves of poisonous gas and quick-solidifying chemicals, the enchanted smoke obscuring our vision.

Long hours of combat and in some cases, training, kicks in after the initial shock. Teams pull in close and tight, hunkering down and guarding each other as they trigger additional static defenses. Unfortunately, the screams that reverberate through the canyon speak to the futility of that defense.

“Ali, go high.”

“On it.”

The spirit must have been moving already because within moments, I get a secondary feed from his vision, a slightly disorienting moment as I “see” through his eyes. It’s not a clear vision, partly because my mind still struggles to parse both visions at the same time and partly because our link isn’t that powerful. Yet. It’s still more than enough for what I need. In the relative safety of the shields I’ve already conjured, I have a few moments to assess the battlefield in peace.

In the northeast, there are no friendly dots left. All our scouts, all the men tasked with keeping that flank safe are gone. Even the dots that were there before have disappeared, some replaced with red and others gone as if they were never there. Now, the ridge is filled with Galactics shooting into the obscuring smoke, laying down suppressive fire as another group rushes in to engage us in melee combat. As Ali spins around, I spot the teams that haven’t been caught in the initial trap blocked off, walled away from the fight by a Skill that creates a towering, translucent wall that constantly shifts in size, sending out spikes to lash out at our men.

“Boy-o…” Ali highlights one particular figure on the cliff, flashing him in a rainbow outline repeatedly.

The distance is a bit too far to make out details beyond its raised hands that just look wrong and a tail. One thing I do note is that next to him is a team of spellcasters forming a ritual circle.

“Master Class?”

“Either that or he’s got one hell of a spell. That wall is his,” Ali states.

As he speaks, I watch a spike erupt from the wall, punching through the chest of the female melee fighter who’s been whaling on it with her mace. A moment later the spike enlarges, tearing the woman apart in a shower of gore, splattering all those around with her innards.

“Asshole,” I snarl. With a thought, Sabre transforms around me even as I traverse the smoke-filled terrain. “Jump lines, Blink, Portal,” I mentally command my helmet, the software over-layering cylindrical domes ahead of me to indicate the max distances for my Skills. It’s a minor adjustment that I came up with since Calgary, a little advantage to help my spells. Before I trigger either of my Skills, I check that both shields are fully activated.

Once ready, I use Ali’s viewpoint to Blink Step into the air above the smoke, giving me a moment to view the battle fully. As I fall, I thrust out a hand and launch a fireball into an approaching team of Galactics, Ali swooping past me as he attempts to close the distance to skip ahead again. Not that I need it—the Galactics are barely a few hundred meters away.

An icon flashes on my helmet—a lock and a figure stepping through a doorway. Before I can consciously understand what it means, I’ve triggered Blink Step to put me close to the cliff face. It’s a mistake. As I use Blink Step, a molecular grater is taken to every cell in my body, leaving tiny tears all over my prone form.

“Quantum lo… never mind.” Ali’s warning is just as late as my own realization.

My body curls up in shock while nerves scream and limbs twitch.

“Redeemer, we’ve identified a Master Class individual on the field. Details have been forwarded,” Alvarez’s voice cackles over the communicator too late. Not that he’s slow—it’s only been a short while since this has started.

I have no time to complain about my codename or explain my side of the story, the flicking danger signal showing that the Galactics haven’t ignored my mistake. Spells and explosions slam into me again and again, and with a force of will, I roll and twist to get away.

“Kill him!” The roar from above tells me I’m definitely targeted.

“Time to go, boy-o,” Ali mutters.

“Trying…” I grunt, then trigger the sonic pulser and a quartet of mini-missiles.

Those missiles don’t get far, the barrage of explosives tearing them apart. Luckily, they’re loaded with one of Carlos’s concoctions, a mixture of alchemical poison and high-density, signal-retardant smoke. Scrambling aside, I trigger Thousand Steps, boosting my movement speed for a few precious seconds.

“Redeemer, I have reports that you’re under attack. Help is on the way. Teams one and four are waiting on the Portal,” Alvarez’s voice cackles over the communicator again.

“Can’t,” I growl, scanning the notification as I scramble away while laying down my own covering fire and refreshing my Soul Shield. “Quantum lock. Spell. Advanced Class team.”

“Copy. Artillery is ranging. Brace for splash in five. Over,” Alvarez says, entirely too calm.

While I’m not a soldier, I can understand what he means by context and I’m not happy. On the other hand, the Galactics are significantly less, so when our men recover from the sudden attack, they return fire with our own version of artillery. Which in some cases is actual artillery and mortar shells.

The rippling explosion throws me backward, putting me into a backward roll that is aided by the spherical shield surrounding me. Sabre’s shield is down, only the newly refreshed Soul Shield saving me from further injury. Even under the protection of the sound dampeners in my helmet and the Soul Shield, my ear rings and my body throbs in sympathy with the explosions. For all that, the quantum lock continues to hold.

“Redeemer. Results? Over.”

“Lock is still on.”

“Teams two and five are en route to your position. We have released eight Advanced Class teams to deal with the surprise attack. Communication and visual surveillance of the vanguard has been compromised. Do you have further updates?” Alvarez calls.

In the corner of my mind, I’m sure Wier and Miller are dealing with the rest of the military forces, but I’m a touch busy to tune in there.

“Ali…”

“Updates are all routing to you and Sabre. But their smoke is throwing up some real interference. All I can say is, hurry!”

“I’m feeding you what I can. Ali says the information’s unreliable. Just hurry,” I say, dancing backward as I spot three teams braving the still-falling artillery to advance on my position. “Got to dance. I’ll Portal people in once I can.”

“Understood. Out.”

Watching the three teams rush me, spells, projectiles, and other killing attacks reaching for me, I make a quick decision. With my higher Agility, Thousand Steps, and Sabre’s anti-gravity plates and jets, I could stay away from the teams and pull them apart by letting the faster fellows chase me while I blast them. Kite and kill. Except they’ve got healers and I don’t and their range damage dealers could probably do some real damage if I let this go on too long. And let’s face the facts. Running away just isn’t what I do.

Rushing my attackers, I open up with more mini-missiles, watching my stock of pre-loaded missiles drop again. Still, the explosives do their job, throwing the group into disarray as they dodge, close their eyes, and overall attempt to ride out the blast. Two steps to the right leaves me bypassing the lead group, dodging between the trio while I drop a couple of grenades behind me. Chaos grenades sow salt water taffy, a gremlin, and a block of solidified magma in my wake.

Then I’m among the other pair of teams, dancing through them and firing the Inlin whenever I can while swinging my sword. The first Jarack dodges then breaks into a wide grin as it realizes my diagonal cut will miss him. What he doesn’t realize till too late is that the four blades trailing along behind all have his name on them. Even a last-minute dodge is insufficient for him to escape damage.

In the midst of the group, I dance, blades appearing and disappearing as I cut and twist, leaving a trailing array of flying blades behind me. Spells and Skills are triggered as fast as I can, Cleave cutting apart a spellcaster and sending it flying into its friends. Fireballs targeted at the epicenter of the group wash over me and them, dealing pain and confusion in equal amounts.

The teams I’m fighting are dangerous, high Level Basic fighters that chip and damage Sabre. I have to pull the mecha back after a while, scared that the PAV will be wrecked before we start the real war. In my armored skinsuit, I fight, Blink Stepping and calling forth Lightning Bolts even as the teams attempt to kill me. I’m constantly throwing up my Soul Shield as it shatters, drawing upon the Mana Battery recklessly while I fight.

And all along, I get glimpses of the larger battle. The smoke from the initial attack is slowly dissipating, reinforcements shattering a hole in the transparent wall and additional Skills holding it apart. The Zarrie pull back as the tide of battle turns against them while ranged spells fall against their prepared position. Another ritual spell is enacted when the majority of our enemies have fallen back, the spell completed a second after the quantum lock is released. And then our attackers are gone.

At that point, the remainder of the team I’m fighting throws down their weapons, as do the rest of those left behind. Their surrender leaves us with no outlet for our wrath as the mangled remains of our friends remind us that this time, we lost.

Chapter 14

Hours after the attack, we pull the army together and get moving. We change the way we do things, with the scouts on our flanks significantly increased and more frequent check-ins. In addition, each team is now able to watch each other, the zones they’re scouting reduced to allow this to happen. And there are more changes, drones and Skills put into place while we recover from the attack that took out nearly a third of the vanguard. Too many damn teams, too many people.

For all that, when Miller makes the call, I’m not surprised. The Portal back to have the conversation in person is quick.

“General,” I greet Miller, who is bent over the System-generated map, muttering orders to his people.

“Mr. Lee. Thank you for coming,” Miller says as he walks over to me. “It looks like the next step of the operation must begin earlier than we expected.”

“Sounds good,” I say, flashing him a grim smile. “If I knew what it was.”

“Ah, yes.” Miller shrugs unapologetically and waves me over to look at the map. “We’ll need you to leave the teams for now. For the next step, you’ll need both your team and Sargent Johnson’s.”

“I thought they were part of the Master Class kill groups.”

“They were,” Miller says. “Now, you’ll need them to help you get into LA itself. The following route is what we’d recommend…”

“Miller…” I say warningly, unhappy about how obtuse he’s being. I understand the need for it, but he’s asking me to bring my friends into the middle of the lions’ den. And as we have learned, they are more than ready to deal with my Skills.

“Mr. Lee, you are skilled. High Leveled. A veritable god of war on the battlefield from what my men say,” Miller says, meeting my eyes. “But right now, you’re a soldier. Now, you can decide to be an officer, to make the decisions and run this battle. And if you do, I’ll step aside.” I see more than a few of his men shift, obviously uncomfortable with his words. “Because there can’t be more than one commander, not at this time. But you chose to step aside earlier, and I cannot, will not, have more of my men risk their lives if you are going to change your mind in the middle of the operation.”

I grit my teeth, my temper flaring as he calls me to the carpet. A part of me wonders why he didn’t do it somewhere else, somewhere more private. But mostly, I’m thinking. Thinking of what he said, of the decisions I’ve made. Miller’s right. Stepping aside to let the army personnel run the fight was a deliberate choice, one based on the belief that they know what they’re doing better than I do. Now, we’re bloodied and hurt and our people have died. And maybe I could have done something better, and maybe I couldn’t have. But here I am, jostling his elbow because now he’s putting the people I care about in danger. Now, I’ve got to risk more than my life, and I realize that doubt is eating away at me. Not knowing, not understanding is making me question when I shouldn’t.

I can either accept that he’s in charge or I can take over. What is is. Choose or not, but I can’t keep coming back to it. Once again, I go over the reasons why I stepped aside. My lack of training. My lack of people skills. My lack of knowledge of the Skills and people involved. The crushing responsibility and guilt for all the lives that will be lost. And perhaps most importantly of all, my final goals. Running the war, running each battle in the USA is not important. Not for me.

I exhale raggedly, pushing aside the anger and the petty jealousy. The desire to be the one in charge. The doubt that we’re being hung out to dry. My personal doubts about authority. There’s a war to fight and me questioning Miller is not helping. “Sorry. Tell me what needs to be done.”

“Good,” Miller says.

He gestures to one of the aides, who hurries out of the room, before he turns back to the table, a glowing green line appearing at his gesture. The line charts where he wants me to go, the locations I need to hit. While I upload the data into my HUD and memorize the route, I also spend time assessing it, making mental notes for areas of particular interest. A hill here, a tall building there, a dam another place.

Before I can ask any questions, I’m interrupted by the presence of three new individuals. They’re all entertainers—two Actors and a Performer, I realize. I frown, curious, but Miller shakes his head.

“Give them your hand, Mr. Lee.”

I grunt and do so, watching as the first touches it. I feel a surge of Mana wash over me, one that is mostly benign in nature. Rather than resist it, I let it penetrate me, knowing that Miller must have a reason. One after the other, the entertainers touch me, step back, and nod to Miller before they are dismissed.

“I’m not getting an explanation, am I?”

“No.”

“Figured,” I grumble slightly, intrigued but silent for now.

***

You’d think that a single settlement shield, a piece of technology that lays a wall of force across the entirety of a region, would be sufficient to stop stealthy incursions. If you did—and I did—you’d be wrong. After all, why bother with sense when the System is in play?

“Move,” Johnson hisses at me.

I jolt forward, ducking through the glowing hole in the settlement shield that one of his soldiers has created. I’m not even sure what kind of spell it is that can breach a settlement shield without alerting anyone, but I make note to find out. And to perhaps institute regular in-settlement patrols on our own settlements.

As I duck through, I skitter out of the way of the window, being careful of where I place my feet on the unsteady floor while the quantum lock notification appears in my HUD. The settlement shield was generated in a sphere, one that cares not for minor non-System-developed features like commercial buildings. As such, we’re breaching the settlement shield from the second floor of a squat commercial building that once housed a clothing store below and a dental office above. I’m somewhat amused that the ladies took the seconds to shove a few particularly pretty handbags into my hands for storage and that the settlement shield bisected the entire store neatly in the middle. Even so, the building seems to be mostly intact, which is why it was chosen.

You Have Entered the Village of Pasadena

Mana flows in this area are stabilized. No monster spawning will happen.

This Safe Space includes:

- Village of Pasadena City Center
- The Shop
- Tier IV Settlement Shield

The team streams in after me, the puppies the only ones who have trouble squeezing through the opening. Once through, the hole slowly shrinks, leaving us trapped with hundreds of our enemies. Of course, if we do end up fighting them, we’re doing something wrong.

Ingrid and another soldier disappear after a moment, the pair heading out to scout, while Johnson sits with us, his own Skill—Shadow Cloak—hiding us from technological and Skill scrutiny. Or so we’re forced to assume. With nothing to do and unable to tap into our Skills or spells, we’re forced to wait in tense silence. Even speaking is discouraged, since the possibility of an individual with enhanced senses is a major concern.

Seated next to the air filter, I find myself leaning against the wall and thinking about the progress of the war, Lana leaning against me and working on her businesses in her own System windows. Even though I know this is how she’s dealing with the stress, I almost feel guilty about not checking up on my settlements. Almost. But first things first, we’ve got to survive this war.

We’re a couple of settlements ahead of the main fighting force from Fort Irwin, and if the plan goes well, we’ll be sneaking through this suburb into the next, making our way slowly into LA itself. Cutting through the Angeles National Forest and its higher Level monsters gave us a way to sneak in that would be much more difficult for the larger army. Over the following few days, the Fort Irwin army will take over the settlements in the way, going on a slow and steady route rather than a blitzkrieg approach. That should reduce the likelihood that the Zarrie ambushes succeed, even if we give them more opportunities to do so. At the same time, I know that Camp Pendleton will step up their own attacks, pushing the Zarrie in the south and threatening their settlements there, forcing them to fight a battle on two fronts.

There’s a danger to that of course—the Zarrie could easily concentrate their forces and hit us hard, a term that I believe is defeat in detail. But that’s where the other aspect of the plan lies, the one that I’ve begun to realize is Miller’s goal. If we can get in deep enough, we can cause real trouble for the Zarrie while their men are busy. They’ve shown the ability to teleport large numbers of their men, more than we can. But it seems to require a significant number of individuals and cast time, something that we don’t need. If they can teleport in, we can teleport out. Or better, teleport our people in to where they expect to be safe.

And that’s what I think we might actually be going for, a location where the Master Classes will be. It’s why we’re trekking all over with Johnson’s people, checking out different spots. Because it’s not enough to take over the City Cores—those are, at best, temporary victories. While controlling them ensures that last-minute reinforcements via teleportation pads and instantaneous System-assisted communication is removed, it isn’t a guarantee of victory.

No, what we need to do to win is to destroy their ability to fight back. Their forces. And in that sense, the three Master Class Combat Classers are the main targets. Taking them out will reduce the Zarrie’s ability to wage an effective war, leaving them with only their non-Combat Master Classers within Los Angeles itself. A group that we can defeat as we take the City Cores.

In the world of the System, wars aren’t about land or resources. Or perhaps people are the resources of import. A single Master Class individual can change the face of a battle with a single Skill.

Which is why we’re moving in deeper than ever. We’ve already crossed most of the areas where the army will fight, close enough that I can wield my Portal Skill to put us there if a Master Class appears and I’m ordered to do so. Of course, we’d have to break the quantum lock that the shield has in place, but I’m certain that if I’m called, those will go down. But…

But meeting the Master Class individuals in battle, in a time and place that they know of, is a bad idea. They haven’t gotten this far by being stupid, and not having at least a few modes of retreat would be the definition of foolish. No. We need to hit them where they don’t expect it, which is why we’re sneaking in deep. If we can hit them when they’re not expecting it, when they’ve retreated or are resting, we might just have a chance.

Of course, the fact that I’m not at the various battle grounds might be a bit of a tip-off. Which is where the entertainers come in. Really, it didn’t take a genius to realize what they were for once I actually took the time to think about it. Hopefully though, since none of them had a conversation with me nor did Miller discuss matters directly, the actual plan to use them hasn’t been compromised. Once again, we’re relying on the exactness of information gathering in the System to launch our sneak attack.

Exhaling slowly, I find Lana looking at me with a cocked eyebrow. I shake my head, unable to tell her my thoughts and uncertain of what to say really. It is what it is. Either this gamble works, or we’re going to get stuck fighting in close quarters against more people than I’d like. Rather than answer me verbally, Lana flashes me a smile and hands me a bar of chocolate before turning back to her interface.

***

Tension mounts as one day turns into another. Cut off from any news, we can only move forward, sneaking from building to building, hiding from patrols and civilians in equal measure, working our way in deeper. We rely on a mixture of our scouts’ abilities, Sam’s drones, and the pets enhanced senses to give us warning. Even then, it’s slow going.

As I hunker behind an abandoned dumpster, its contents well past ripe and moving into that rarified sphere of rancid, I find myself holding my breath as an unanticipated Jarack Bounty Hunter saunters down the street, his black furred head turning side to side. The brown stripe running across its face gives it a weird, patchy look. Occasionally, the Jarack cocks its head to the side, sniffing loudly as it attempts to catch new scents.

Across the street, holding on to the wall by his fingertips, is Sam, his face red with the physical strain and his held breath. He’s barely ten feet off the ground, a vertical jump that took him out of the direct line of sight of the Jarack, but he’s vulnerable to the creature’s nose, even under the effects of Carlos’s scentless potion. Our scents have been diminished, not erased. It doesn’t help that I’m certain that the damn Jarack has a Skill that expands its senses.

Again the Jarack snuffles, its head tilted before it takes a few steps forward. Then it stops, cocking its head and sniffing again. I almost growl in frustration. A sudden crackle of sound from its communicator, set to speak softly but so loud in the silence around us, almost makes me jump. The Jarack growls and whines, its language translated in text for me by Ali.

“At Y 45, Z 38. Smelled something. New smell. Human. Not native. Beam weaponry. Old blood. No. No trace. Yes. I hunt runners. Six hundred Credits. No. Six. Five. Yes. No. I no want. Four five. Okay. Deposit half.”

The creature seems to smirk, its lips widening, then it looks around once more. It speaks after a moment, this time in English. “Lucky prey. New job pay more than stragglers. I have scent. I come back later. Best run. Run fast…”

Cackling to itself and us, its half-laugh half-howl setting our hairs on edge, the Jarack drops to its hands and lopes off. I blink, not having seen any others do that. Then again, this particular Jarack seemed more animalistic than others.

“Gods,” Mikito whispers next to me after the Galactic has been gone for five minutes, making me jump.

I stare at her, wondering when she managed to creep up on me. I must have been too focused on the damn monster.

“Johnson says move. No more daydreaming.”

Grunting, I scan the buildings one last time, an action that makes Mikito almost prod me in the back before I skitter forward. By this time, Sam’s already dropped down and disappeared down the alleyway, moving to the next point.

***

A day later, Ingrid comes back in the evening, armored jumpsuit torn and a slightly wide look in her eyes.

“Time to go.”

“Ingrid?” I say with a frown, already crossing to her.

Carlos beats me to it, a healing spell washing over her form, it’s tell-tale colors muted as Carlos pays the extra Mana to hide the illumination.

“Caught the bounty hunter sneaking up on us. He’d already caught Malik when I got there.”

“Malik?” Johnson asks concernedly.

“He’s fine. Watching the exit. We used Carlos’s goop potion on the body too,” Ingrid clarifies.

Johnson nods, relief flashing across his face. Without a further word, Ingrid steps aside, and the rest of the team crosses to the door toward our exit route. By now, this is all routine.

Chapter 15

Days of sneaking, creeping from one block to another. Our progress is agonizingly slow, our scouts forced to divert around clusters or, in some cases, push us through them at a run. And all the time, we make our way deeper, following the roughly mapped route.

Now, we all can see why. A simple piece of information, bought from the Shop. Because all that knowledge that can be bought cuts both ways.

After days, even if all the other areas we’ve been to haven’t panned out, we’re here. Overlooking the former mansion, now refurbished and upgraded to suit Galactic tastes. Plants that none of us recognize lie around the well-kept lawns, the only visible defensive measure. Gold and brown, its walls reflect the desert sunlight while misters keep the inside cool. A weird mixture of high-tech and low, but who am I to complain?

My first sight of two of the Master Classes comes a few hours later. First is a Jarack, a staggering nine-foot-tall monster, its fur doing little to hide the rippling muscles that make up its animalistic form. It walks out of the house and lounges on a chair, a haunch of barely cooked meat in its hand. After the haunch is mostly done, the creature tosses the meat to one of the cactus-like plants that lunges forward, its spiky body opening to clamp shut on the bone.

W’mee of the Three Sands, Heretic of the Dawn, Slayer of Grayak Scorpions and Master of the Yellow Pit (Level 18 Singer of the Thrice-Dipped Blades)

HP: 4280/4280

MP: 1780/1780

Conditions: Skin of Basalt, The Sands Blessing

“Sands Blessing?” I send to Ali, getting a mental shrug back. I almost want to growl at him, but without a direct connection to the Shop, Ali’s a little more limited in his research possibilities.

Still, after a moment he sends more information. “Probably an overall damage reduction buff.”

A thin, obsidian-skinned female clad in nothing but her birthday suit walks out soon after. A moment’s view and I realize that she doesn’t look dark, she literally is dark—a creature made of fleshy stone that shifts unnaturally as she walks. It’s almost as if she doesn’t have a skeleton. Standing next to W’mee, the woman speaks in the Jarack’s language. We’re too far away for Ali to hear and translate, so I can only consider the creature before me.

Km, Mistress of the Purple Pit, Slayer of Goblins, Hakarta, Jarack, Minaa and Griffons (Level 8 Obsidian Oracle)

HP: 980/980

MP: 7830/7830

Conditions: Skin of Obsidian, Earthen Link, The Stone’s Memory

We watch in silence for a time. Km returns to the residence before W’mee does an hour later. Without anything further to hold our attention, most of us fall back, leaving a single scout to watch and report. As much as we’d like to attack, we have to wait to give the others time to get in position.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Johnson says, his voice soft, “but you only get Slayer titles when you’ve killed a large number of individuals, right?”

“Yes,” Ali answers, frowning. “Total numbers vary depending on the creature—after all, otherwise it’d be real easy to get a Slayer of Ants or Goblins—but we’re looking at thousands at the minimum.”

“Balls…” curses one of the soldiers, his hair closely cut in an attempt to hide his balding top spot. Ian something. Redford. A quick glance at his name confirms it. “She’s a stone-cold killer, that one.”

Groans erupt. Somehow, the image of a cursing, punning soldier never made its way into collective media. Probably for the best.

“We’re thinking close combat build for the jackal?” Johnson says, pulling our attention back to business. At the nods and words of agreement, Johnson continues. “We’ll need teams three and five on him then. In the short term, Ms. Pearson—”

“Lana,” Lana reminds Johnson, who shrugs.

“Km looks to be specced as a Mage. She should be our first target,” I say, rubbing my chin. “I don’t like that Earthen Blessing—it could be a damage reduction or damage shifting Skill. If that’s the case, she’ll probably be a lot harder to kill than her health actually indicates.”

“If you boys open up on her, I’ll finish off the job,” Ingrid says from her position against the wall, where she’s carefully cleaning her nails with a knife.

“Not a bad plan,” I say. “We still got the last Master Class to handle.”

“The Bastion, right? Defensive caster?” Mikito says.

“Closer to Mike,” Ali corrects. “A Paladin-like build—good healing, good area control, and high defense.”

“Teams One and Four then?” Johnson says musingly.

“Four to six,” I reply. That’ll put one Hakarta team and the Marines on him, which means mostly long-range fire and overwhelming explosions. It should, with care, at least push the Bastion to stay on the defensive and out of helping his teammates, allowing us to finish the fight.

“And you, Mr. Lee?” Johnson asks, his head tilted.

“I’ll throw in where I’m needed, but I’ll start on the mage once everyone is Ported here,” I say after some consideration.

Better to finish her than to wait. Johnson and his team, while strong, aren’t really suited for the all-out combat we can expect. It’s why we’re going to be pushing his people to the outskirts to guard against reinforcements when this finally kicks off.

After that, we sketch out the battle plans a bit more. There’s no guarantee we’ll fight all three of them at once, even if that is our goal. We have no concern about being overheard—after all, if they know enough to ask those kinds of questions, they know enough to find and end us.

***

Two days pass. Two days because there was no good way to estimate how long it’d have taken us to get in, so we’re working on an estimated timeline for everyone else to get into place. And so we find ourselves watching the Master Classers. It’s rare for all three of them to hang out at the same time in the same building. I would have expected them to stay by themselves, but whether it’s because they’re an old team, forced to work together, or some other form of politics, they’re all sticking to the same residence. That makes our life easier, since we know where they are. Theoretically. Problem is, they’re rarely home.

That fast becomes the major concern. That one day when the two Master Classers were together was an anomaly. Often, the mansion is empty of them all; other times, only a single Master Classer is around. It’s no surprise—the armies must be pushing forward, and the Master Classers are their most powerful weapons. While it’s not a good idea for them to always be on the front—and I understand the politics involved mean that they aren’t likely to follow orders that closely anyway—they probably have other, closer, resting areas. When they do come back to the mansion, we get to see some of the after-effects of the fights—a scorched tail here, a slightly different body configuration on Km there. And still, we wait.

This morning sees the return of Km, the mage looking as though she’s been put through the grinder. Instead of smooth, shiny skin, its scratched and marred, pieces chipped away and some dark fluid leaking out. The damage is surprising, since injuries under the aegis of the System heal within ten minutes mostly. I squint, calling up her Status.

Km (Level 8 Obsidian Oracle, Mistress of the Purple Pit, Slayer of Goblins, Hakarta, Jarack, Minaa, Griffons)

HP: 631/980

MP: 7830/7830

Conditions: Skin of Obsidian, Earthen Link (Disrupted), The Stone’s Memory (Corrupted), Chipped * 3

“Chipped?”

“Like it? I figured that’s the closest explanation I could find. It’s the Ez’s equivalent of losing a… hmmm… finger? Fingers? Since they’re fluid in their construction, damage for them is a bit longer lasting. She’ll need to rest to heal, but she will heal.”

“They did good,” I mutter softly, my voice muffled by the helmet.

Once she’s gone, we settle back into our usual routine of waiting. For a moment, I regard my friends, wondering if any of them will fall today. Ingrid’s in her corner, playing with her knife and a System-generated screen game. I still can’t see her Level and I’m fast believing that I never will. Still, I’m pretty sure from conversations I’ve overheard that she’s at least over Level 10 in her Advanced Class.

Mikito’s downstairs, going through her forms with a pair of soldiers, training as always. Between her constant training and dungeon delving, she’s the highest Leveled of our team at Level 17. Lana, on the other hand, is the lowest, barely crossing Level 4 now that she’s stopped splitting her experience. She’s busy on her screen, reading for pleasure now that she’s caught up on all her paperwork. When I asked Lana earlier what she was reading, she showed me the cover of a bodice ripper by someone called Georgette Heyer. Not surprisingly, I backed off pretty fast, though the predatory glint in her eye made me wonder if she was getting the wrong idea.

Both Sam and Carlos have caught up with Lana, having spent more time dedicated to their actual Classes, and are at Level 9 and 10. They’ve taken over a floor upstairs after having promised to be careful about the kind of experiments they’ll do. They’ve roped in a couple of Johnson’s men, when they aren’t on watch, to help with their experiments.

Me? I just curled up and got back to reading.

… to work around the low sample size of Master Class subjects, we used a large number of specialized Advanced Classers, many of whom have dedicated their unassigned attributes to enhance assigned attributes. As such, we were able, as you can see in the following graph, to gather a statistically significant sample size of individuals with attributes above 500. This researcher does understand that the limitation of insufficient Master Class subjects might alter the results of this experiment, but believes that, following research done by Re & Makow and the Vuu Institute, such differences will be minimal.

Initial results from the experiment (see attached charts 42, 43, 44) indicate that overall increases in abilities do not progress in a highly correlated fashion. Overall trends do indicate a diminishing return upon reaching attribute levels over 100 (approximately, see additional discussion by Wexq, Fre, and Immik for attribute level progression). However, when examined from the perspective of species traits, a closer direct relationship between levels may be found.

It is advanced in this paper that it is due to some of the inherent features in a+ species that dictate the level progression in attributes for an individual. By understanding and conducting further research on each individual, it might be possible to ascertain the specific increases and alterations that increases in an attribute might create on a physical, mental, and molecular basis.

Hours creep by as I work through the dense scientific paper, jumping from one article to another, following the rabbit hole of information. Sometimes I have to put down a note, as I’ve yet to purchase those papers or referenced books. Other times, I find myself jotting notes about mistakes or areas I disagree with.

I’m so caught up in what I’m doing, I barely notice the heat of the California sun beating down on the un-air-conditioned room we’re in or when Johnson hisses at us. I turn, and he raises a single finger, pointing at the window. It doesn’t take me long to see the Bastion sauntering back with a grin. Once again, I reflect on the three-fingered, mildly-scaled figure with its long tail, wondering where exactly they came across the lazy special effects guy to do his makeup. Seriously, how “non-human” he looks is as bad as some old sci-fi TV shows, other than the too-realistic fingers and tail.

S'hu’mma, Defender of The Sixth Oasis (Level 16 Sand Bastion)

HP: 4880/4880

MP: 4190/4190

Conditions: None

A second later, a chirp comes from Johnson’s earbud. He stiffens, tilting his head as he listens. My lips press together, knowing that there’s only one way he’s getting any information—single-use extra-strong communication options from the Shop. They’re single-use since Miller bought the best they had. We have no clue how strong the disruption fields the Zarrie have are, so we limited each team to two communications devices.

Johnson listens before he nods and looks up. “Gather up.” Within seconds, we’re all gathered around the Sargent. “We’re a go for Operation Barracuda. We take the Bastion first, then the Oracle. Redeemer will hold back.”

I grunt, eyeing the quantum lock in the corner of my eyes. There’s barely a murmur from my friends or the soldiers as they pull back, Lana stopping for a moment to squeeze my shoulder. I notice one of the soldiers exit, obviously to alert the rest of the team.

Within seconds, the group have gathered their belongings and left the building, leaving me alone. I turn back to the windows to watch, unable to do anything as yet. Bastion has stopped moving forward, his head cocked, a readiness through his body that was not there before. Obviously, Johnson’s message was noted. From my vantage point, knowing what to look for, I can see my team moving forward, using cover like the pros they’ve become.

“Come on…” Ali mutters, staring into space.

A flicker in the lock, and a few seconds later, a low rumble from the east. So soft I would never have heard it before the System and the increase in my Perception. For the puppies and Lana though, it’s clear as day, from the way they shift and stare before turning away. Bastion obviously hears it, his lips pulling apart, but he makes no move, continuing to stand in the middle of the streets. A flicker of movement in the mansion that holds the Ez is all the indication I get about her. Thankfully, the vast majority of the houses around here are empty, the humans having congregated around the Shops and the Galactics having either done the same or gone out fighting.

I force myself to breathe as my chest tightens, anxiety creeping up on me as time crawls by. Minutes of stasis is broken by Bastion snarling and walking toward the mansion. As he does so, I spot another group approaching. A quick dial-in of my helmet gives me some details. Ali provides more.

“All four Advanced Classes. Three fighters, one spellcaster,” Ali says.

Meeting Bastion right outside the mansion, the Advanced Classers jabber and yowl away. I snarl slightly, realizing that our team is running into more trouble than they counted on. But there’s nothing I can do.

The battle starts with a barrage of spells, beam discharges, and grenades targeted on Bastion. The first few land on him, unobstructed by any Skill, and he staggers, light cuts running across his body. Within seconds, the barrage stops hitting as a shield forms around the four. The Jarack Advanced Classers spin around—two pulling rifles, another a giant axe, while the healer buffs the group—moments before the close combat fighters attack, exploding from behind the hastily thrown wall.

Ingrid stabs the healer, putting her knife into its throat and ripping sideways. It gurgles, not dead but disabled, clutching at its furred throat. As it falls down, Roland appears from the shadows and pounces on it, jaws clamping on his head and crushing while its feet claw at the body. I know that strike, Massive Pounce, and it adds a stun effect, along with massive bonuses to damage. A part of me pities the healer. A very, very small part.

Meanwhile, the puppies target the Bastion. Shadow goes low, ripping into ankle and knee, while Howard goes high, clamping its jaws around a hastily thrown up arm. Strong as the Master Class might be, physics still have a say in this world, and he gets taken down to the ground. As the Bastion struggles, Anna lashes out with her flames at the Jarack Advanced Classers, her attacks reflecting off the remaining shield and cooking them from within.

Caught outside the fast-created shield wall, Mikito and Lana are attacking it with fury, doing their best to wear it down while Carlos stays back, his gun held ready to deal with reinforcements. Without the Master Class controlling it, the shield wall seems to be lacking its offensive abilities, which is good. Redford is working his magic, ripping a slowly growing hole with his magic while the others get ready to scurry in. The tiny hole is sufficient, allowing Sam to send in drones to lay down additional cover fire.

Surprise keeps the Galactics on the backfoot for a few precious seconds, but soon enough, the Galactics recover. The puppies get thrown aside, blasted away by the Bastion with a Skill. The Master Classer stands up, looking only mildly damaged after having been chewed upon. While searching his surroundings, he bats Roland out of the air when the tiger pounces at him. Smartly, the First Nations woman has disappeared already, her job with the healer complete. Unfortunately, the remaining pets aren’t as lucky. The Advanced Classers turn their attacks on Anna, who takes a beating, her fires doing little to ward off the blades and beams.

Lana screams, watching as Anna is hurt. Carlos and one of Johnson’s men focuses on the fox, doing their best to prop up the pet’s health. But it’s a losing cause with so many attacks focused against the creature. A final swing sends the fox flying, her body nearly severed in two, limp and bloody. Still, her sacrifice was not for nothing. Johnson and his men spill into the gap, turning the Advanced Classers on them. Mikito darts in soon after, headed straight for the Bastion.

As the Master Classer turns his attention to the assailants outside, a spike erupts from the wall, intent on tearing apart Johnson’s shield breaker. Another of his men steps in, holding forth his hands and stopping the spike cold. There’s strain on the soldier’s face as his Mana shield diverts the attack, but he can do nothing as another plunges into Lana’s side, ripping open her shoulder.

A rumble, this time much closer to us, distracts everyone for a moment. At the same time, the teleportation lock disappears and I bare my teeth. Barely a minute has passed since the attack, but already Km is on her way out. I decide to put a stop to that, as well as trigger my side of this desperate plan. I step backward then rush the wall, springing at full speed.

Blink Step. Once. Then again.

Vertigo rushes through me at the sudden shift of space again and again, but it disappears as quickly as it comes, allowing me to use my built-up momentum to slam into the newly emerged Oracle. A part of me notices that she seems to still be slightly damaged, but I’m mostly focused on my sword, the newly formed blade twisting in her body. Surprisingly, it only gets a few inches deep. A moment later, Thousand Blades is activated, blades forming next to my hand as I twist the sword, forcing the newly formed blades to arc toward her body. Surprised or not, she flips backward, gracefully avoiding my attacks while a rock shelf lifts me into the air.

Twisting while airborne, I focus. Not on her, but on the Portal I need, creating it so that the waiting teams can stream in to help, splitting my focus between Ali’s and my views. Flying through the air as I am, the hastily cast Portal hangs two feet above the air and slightly canted, but that doesn’t stop the Hakarta who are waiting.

“Teams Two, Three, Five, and Six are scrambling. We need the Portal for four minutes, Redeemer,” Alvarez barks over the newly restored communication channel.

Rock wraps around me, quickly engulfing my body. I grunt, feeling my connection to the Portal waver a little, and I’m forced to rely solely on Ali’s view and our connection. As the rock constricts me, my concentration wavers before I bite my lip and focus. Armor, meant to stop projectiles and beam weaponry, does nothing to stop the attack as she compresses my body, crushing bone and stealing air from my lungs. My health drops and I realize I have no shield. I curse my carelessness, having paid so much attention to the fight and my friends’ situation that I neglected my own preparations.

I focus through the pain, biting my bottom lip as my attention splits. Spells form, boosting my regeneration first. Then healing to fix bones that are slowly being crushed, skin that sizzles as the Oracle adds heat to the liquid rock around me. But still, I stay within her attack, forcing her to concentrate on me as the Portal spits out our friends. Trading pain for people.

Of course, like me, the caster can split her attention. Many of the first Hakarta to jump in are now engulfed in thigh-high mud, trapped. But rather than let it stop them, the Hakarta are grabbing and tossing incomers out of range of the spell, accepting the pain to allow their friends to engage the Oracle. Seeing her attacks failing to stop them, she falls back, a pair of rock elementals flowing up from the ground to slow her attackers.

“Move, move, move,” chants one of the Hakarta. Galactics or not, it seem certain words are universal.

In the shield, Mikito and Ingrid are sparring with the Bastion, forcing him to pay attention to them while Roland sneaks in to land his occasional attacks. The puppies and drones have joined forces to harass the Advanced Classers, the drones throwing out beam attacks, napalm, and flash bursts to confuse and hurt, as well as the occasional vertical shield to block attacks and jar bodies. Meanwhile, Johnson and the remnants of his team in the shield are picking off each Advanced Classer, pouring fire and flame while Carlos does his best to heal everyone. Already, the soldier who had guarded the hole opener is on the ground, unmoving.

“Boy-o, she’s not channeling anymore,” Ali informs me, bringing attention back to my own condition.

I realize he’s right—the rock’s no longer crushing, just sizzling. I Blink Step and pop up behind the Oracle.

“Boo,” I whisper hoarsely. Not that she can hear me, not through my helmet.

Once more, I thrust my sword forward, lunging into full extension. I use Cleave and Elemental Strike at the same time, adding to my attack. The blade, empowered by Skill and physics, plunges through her empowered, buffed body.

Blade Strike. Twisting with my hips, I rip the sword out sideways, the initial edge of my attack burrowing through her body to aid my movement. My blade catches, barely shifting a few inches in her body, but the scream of grating rock and the fresh, oily liquid that flows from her speaks of grievous injury. Even as I recover, a Hakarta in what I can only describe as spiky football armor tackles her away from me. He’s closely followed by his entire team, each of them piling onto her, the rubble of her stone elementals a testament to their effectiveness. As I move to join them, a razor cloud of dust and shattered earthen flooring rises, cutting into exposed skin and blinding those within it. Reflexively, I stagger backward.

“Redeemer!” Johnson shouts, dragging my attention back to the shield.

I grunt, surprised to see that the Bastion is not only still standing but managing to float away with little damage, his shield now constricted around his body. Globs of energy form around the shield, shooting forward once in a while to attack the gathered Advanced Class team members, forcing them to block the attacks. He might be mostly unharmed, but not so the Jarack Advanced Classers. Mikito, unable to reach the Master Classer, has thrown herself against the unfortunate Galactics. The last member falls, unable to get his footing under the combined assault of the Samurai and the puppies.

I glance at my Mana, snarling as I assess the fight. Not enough. I will Sabre to activate a Greater Mana Potion and feel the hypodermic needle punch into my skin. The liquid rushes through my body, increasing my Mana. Another thought has me drawing upon the Mana Battery to fill my empty tank. It’s a rush, but it makes me shudder slightly too, as it always does. But it’s enough, more than enough.

“Foolish. You bugs will not survive,” the Bastion hisses, his voice slithery and cold, beady gold eyes glittering with malice. He’s confident, safe in the protection of his shield.

“Not today,” I say, raising my sword above my head.

I call forth the Skill, stepping forward and cutting as I do so. Around me, twelve ghostly swords appear and repeat my attack, Blade Strikes arcing out from the newly formed swords to smash against the Bastion’s shield, each strike thrice the size and intensity of any I’ve conjured before. It smashes into the Bastion’s already weakened shield, shattering it and cutting into his flesh.

Moments later, Carlos fires his little grenade / potion launcher directly at the Master Classer. The Bastion snorts dismissively, seemingly undamaged from that attack, his body already visibly healing. Other attacks from the team bounce off him, but then a look of surprise flashes across his face.

“Ikaaaaaaaaaaaa?” the Bastion screams as he plunges to the ground, gravity reasserting itself on his floating form.

“He can’t use Skills for the next few seconds!” Carlos shouts, alerting us of the opportunity he’s given us.

Without coaching, the rest of the long-range attackers open up, throwing Spells and Skills at the prone form. Everyone opens up. Behind me, I hear the continued battle as Teams Two and Three keep the Stone Oracle busy, shattering walls and setting the dried ground on fire as that tempest of rock howls.

I’d help, but reeling from Mana loss, I find myself sitting down. I’m not completely out of Mana, but with barely a hundred left, it’s close enough that I feel sick. Mana sickness from overuse and overdrawing of Mana is a major issue for those of us with high Mana levels. It’s a weird phenomena since even a year ago, this level of Mana would have been my maximum. The loss of Mana is almost like drug withdrawal, or what I think a drug withdrawal would feel like.

By the time I recover, drawing on my Mana Battery to fill the hungering void in my body, the battle is nearly done. Tough as the Bastion might be, without his protective Skills, his health falls like a waterfall under the combined assault of our teams. Even the close-range fighters like Mikito have long-range attacks which they add to the pile, wiping away the Bastion’s health. As I raise my hand to attack, a notification pops up.

Level Up!

You’ve reached Level 49 as an Erethran Honor Guard. Stat Points automatically distributed. You have 3 Free Attribute Points and 1 Class Skill Point to distribute.

One nice thing about this world is that if you pay attention, the System clues you in when someone is well and truly dead. Small things like experience gains—though just by being part of this war, I’m getting a small trickle of experience constantly—and sometimes, bigger notifications like this one. I push the notification away, looking for the Oracle. Instead, I see the two teams tasked with her attack coming back. Half of them split off to deal with the carnivorous cactus inside the compound.

“Report,” Johnson says to one of the other soldiers.

“Sir, the last target is currently engaged southwest with the Marines,” the soldier replies. “General Miller informs you that you and the Redeemer are on independent command for now. Forces from Fort Irwin are recovering from the attack conducted by the Oracle and the Bastion.”

Johnson’s lips tighten, obviously understanding what the soldier’s implying. If they’re recovering, it means the two Master Classers must have laid on the hurt. Still, there’s nothing much to be done about it now, and if there is revenge to be taken, we’ve certainly done so. The smoking corpse that Ingrid is busy looting is more than testament to that fact.

“We dealt with the Oracle?” I say, frowning as I turn back. A flicker of shame crosses the faces of the teams designated to handle her—at least those not covered by full-face masks. “What happened?”

“She created a series of stone simulacrum. Simulacra? Your English is very imprecise. By the time we destroyed them all, she’d slipped away,” one of the Hakarta answers. “Probably an Earth Movement Skill or Spell.”

I grimace, hating that we didn’t manage to finish off both the Master Classes. That was the point of our attacks after all. Now, we’ll have to track her down again. If we can.

“Redeemer. By your leave, I’ll take my men and attempt to penetrate the next settlement to remove their shield. This settlement shield still needs to be destroyed and its City Core taken,” Johnson says, offering his “recommendation.”

“Sure. Team Two, hit the shield generator. Team Three, we need communication back. Johnson, get us a way into the next settlement. The rest of us are going to hit the City Core. We’ll keep hitting them until they turn around and hammer us. And remember, we’re the distraction now, not the main event,” I say, glancing at the teams. I get nods all around, and I find myself smiling grimly. “Good. Move people. We’ve got work to do.”

Chapter 16

Hours later, we’ve managed to take down the shield generator and take the City Core for the section of town that comprises Alhambra and parts of south Pasadena. A part of me is amused by the first, thinking more of a classic board game than desert-baked avenues.

“Anything?” I ask as we walk out of the Core room, Kim already patched in and feeding me settlement data.

Ali and Kim feed much of the relevant data to the teams still in the settlement, directing them to the last few holdouts we can locate. Luckily, it’s something that can be done in the background, leaving me mostly free from the buzz of conversation.

“Nothing,” Alvarez says, shaking his head. “General Miller indicates that they’ve pulled back all forces to the north and south. Both armies are advancing with minimal resistance and casualties. Scouts have yet to ascertain the enemy’s gathering point, but it’s believed to be somewhere in south Los Angeles.”

“You thinking they’re looking for a knock-out fight?” I say, frowning.

If they’re willing to give up land to concentrate their forces, whichever army they hit will suffer unless we can join forces. Theoretically, once we’ve got all our people together, we’ll have the advantage of numbers. But it doesn’t matter if they hammer us to pieces while we’re gathering.

“If they’re smart, sure,” Alvarez replies. “The general is leaning toward that, so the armies are moving to link up in Anaheim.”

A few additional words of clarification and a borrowed map gives me an idea. Within the next few hours, the Fort Irwin army should be at south LA, hammering on the settlement shield. The Marines will take longer, possibly as long as a half day since they’ve got at least two settlements to punch through. Of course, they could go around, but there’re dangers in that too.

“We moving to link up?” I say with a frown.

I hate giving back the City Cores, especially after we’ve paid for them with blood and tears, but as I glance sideways, I note that the soldiers and my team are already interfacing with the local resistance, who’ve come out of the woodwork. A slightly bitter part of me wonders where they were during the actual fighting. I have to chide myself for that uncharitable thought—the resistance has been conducting hit-and-run tactics for the last year, so it’s no wonder they weren’t exactly set up for a final push. As it stands, their need to hide has keep their Levels suppressed—which is probably another reason they’ve survived so far. Still, they’re numerous and enthusiastic which, all things considered, is the best we can do.

“Yes. Once everything’s settled.” Alvarez adds leadingly, “But we don’t require you or your team at this time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I should get going,” I say. “Though communication will be a problem if I leave.”

“Here.” Alvarez reaches out, a small boxy contraption in his hand.

I take it, my eyes lighting up slightly as I read the notice.

Joola Communication Booster (Tier II)

Military Grade Communication Booster able to deliver your message where and when it needs to be. Joola Tech is the only way to go when what you need to say needs to be heard!

Effect: Disregard all communication interference from shields, communication scramblers, Skills, and Spells below Tier of communication booster. Fifty percent chance of breaking through equivalent tier blockages (chance decreases dependent on proximity to emanating blockage)

Requirements: 1 Hard Point

“Nice…” I stare at the box, unsure of how to use it.

“Slot it into Sabre, boy-o,” Ali says.

I sigh, transforming the mecha. That’s when I run into the next problem. I’m out of slots. After a moment’s hesitation, I extract the Monolam Temporal Cloak, pulling it into my inventory, and slot in the communication booster. There’s a little hum, some movement as Sabre alters itself and the box to ensure that it works. If I’m going to be blaring my position away anyway, there’s no point using the Temporal Cloak.

A few hasty goodbyes and one much less hasty kiss and I’m on the move, headed to meet up with Johnson and his team. They’ll help me breach the necessary shields, hopefully only requiring me to use the damn communication booster once. It’s not exactly a good feeling painting a target on your back.

***

“Redeemer,” Wier greets me, shaking my hand as I stop outside the impromptu command center set up in the midst of a mall.

“Colonel,” I say, looking around at the organized chaos. “What’s up?”

“We’re entrenching,” Wier says, waving to encompass the hurried work. He doesn’t lead me in, which makes me frown, but I don’t say a thing. I’m not running the war and… “We need you to set waypoints through the line if you can.”

I grunt, knowing he was about to say that. It’s not hugely surprising, since we own this settlement now. Being set up right across from south LA, where we’re pretty certain the Galactics have gathered, we’ll need to be ready. Still, before anything else, I pull a Portal open to drag over Lana and company. When the teams are through and the Portal shut, I get back on Sabre, only to be stopped by Lana.

“Where are you going?” Lana says with a frown.

“Got to set some waypoints along the line and through the city.”

“Then I’m coming,” Lana says. “The boys need a run anyway.”

“That’s…” I frown, and she glares at me. I shut up, deciding that I could use the company. Or perhaps it’s her who could use it.

We take off, Wier having updated my map with his recommended path. At first, we ride in silence, the only sound the soft pad of furred paws, the crunch of walls being torn down, and the distant bark and hiss of firearms.

As the silence grows brittle, I turn my head sideways, speaking to her over the communicator and on a private channel. “How are you doing?”

“I’m healed.”

“I mean, well, you know. Emotionally,” I say. “Ann—”

“We knew it was a danger. We had to take the healer down first, and none of us could get any closer. It was a calculated risk to get Ingrid enough time,” Lana says softly, shaking her head.

“I understand,” I say. “But I didn’t ask if the plan was good. I’m asking how you’re doing.”

“I’ll survive. After this. After it’s all over, I’ll make you stop and we’ll find a place and I’ll cry my eyes out. And you’ll hold me. Afterward,” Lana says softly, her words almost an order to put an end to this conversation.

I feel my chest constrict, the ache at the raw, suppressed pain making my eyes blur for a second. Damn it.

***

Thankfully, without the infamous Los Angeles traffic in play, the entire process takes only a few hours. I make sure to swing wide, patrolling along both the border and where the teams have dug in and a little behind, letting my “map” for where I can drop people off build. After that, we get directed to a nearby apartment building, the highest vantage point available where the rest of the strike teams have gathered.

Not that we have to wait long. I’ve barely got my feet out from under me and a second plate of food in my stomach when the call comes. The Zarrie are on their way, and this time, they’re not playing around. Once they actually cross their settlement shield, we get a direct feed from the drones.

Galactics, so many of them I can’t even count them. It’s not as if I ever learned the skill of mass counting, but it has to be hundreds, maybe thousands. The way they move, I’d be surprised if they weren’t organized in teams like us, flitting forward across the roads and around the buildings. The Galactics are a mixture, nearly half consisting of Jaracks, but there’s Ez, the carapaced fighters, lizard creatures like Bastion, and a scattering of other Galactic types. As always, they’re dressed in a mixture of weaponry and armor, from melee weaponry to modern armor, though most lean toward the last. For a long time, I scan, searching among the faces, before I’m interrupted.

“Got you!” Sam crows.

A moment later, the video feeds shift and split. Highlighted in green, in the midst of the crowd, is the Jarack Master Class and the Oracle. I frown, almost wanting to ask if he’s sure. I hate to say it, but the Jarack and Ez, most of them look similar to me. If not for Ali’s help, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

“Ali…”

“Marked.”

I grunt in thanks, watching as they near. An idle thought of opening a Portal to toss a few spells on top of the Master Classers pops into mind, but I discard the thought just as fast. I doubt we’d kill them. And truthfully, I wouldn’t be surprised if the teams next to the Master Classers are there to act as bodyguards. We’ll have to deal with them, but surprise won’t count in this equation.

Alvarez, as always, is with us, having made his way here by now. He walks over to where we’re staring at the main projected screen and squats next to me before he speaks. “We’ll be updating your map with where we need the Portals. But your feedback on which Master Class to target first is sought.”

“The Ez,” I say. “Oracle’s a spellcaster or wide-area Skill user. She’s more dangerous to more people. She’s also shown the ability to run away and the willingness to do so. W’mee’s a brick. He’ll keep going and going, but he ain’t going to be doing much damage overall. Take her down first, focus on containing him.”

Alvarez smiles slightly, nodding. “That’s what we thought too.”

“But—”

“But they’re likely going to be expecting that.”

“Did you just use me as the dumb man’s plan?” I ask slightly. Alvarez, of course, doesn’t reply, so I grunt, waving him to continue.

“We’ve got other plans for the teams,” Alvarez says. His hand shifts, my map updating a little before he outlines the updated plan.

I grunt and listen, turning my head to stare at the remaining members of the teams. We’ve all taken a beating, most teams having at least one member and some more than one. These guys are the cream of the crop, people who have shown not just good Levels but an ability to adapt in combat. And yet, the losses are clear. I cannot help but imagine what it’s like for those unlucky enough to be on the frontlines. And a feeling in my gut says that it isn’t the end of our losses yet.

***

When the armies clash, we watch. The men from Fort Irwin are as dug in as they can be, but the Marines have yet to make their way up. By the time they do, this will be over.

Initially, it’s a series of probes, weapons, and spells lobbed at each other at a distance, artillery—or the System equivalent—lobbed at each line as the Galactics push ahead. Without the Bastion, the Galactics are using a mix of Skills and technology to shield their lines, much like us. The temperature rises as fireballs bloom and beam weapons rip the sky apart in flashes of azure light. Ozone permeates the air, along with the unmistakeable smell of cooked human flesh. Galactics all smell different too, burnt fur biting at the nose and alien blood bringing a fruity smell.

So damn much blood. It doesn’t help that the System regenerates it, allowing creatures with legs that have been blown off to crawl forward as they “heal” from the damage. The ground grows soggy, earth churned up under repeated assaults, sewage and other lines exposed to the sky. We can feel it, the searing heat on our flesh, the bitter cold that washes over us as a spell is formed, the wind constantly swirling as different spells take effect.

A woman stands to fire her crossbow and is impaled by a spear. Another mage scrambles forward in front of a fallen friend, his hands crossed as he takes the brunt of an attack, his Mana Shield tearing apart under the stress. A group of Galactics rush the line, the carapaced tank holding forth a shield made up of shield generators and solid Galactic steel. They push forward, fur burning and carapace shattering as area effect attacks hammer them, ivy leaves grasping and tearing. An Advanced Class soldier steps forward, his body glowing, and tears apart the shield with a single exhalation. A moment later, the soldier falls, his shoulder ripped from his body by a whip of flame. All of these moments are but a small portion of the heroics that happen all across the line.

And still, I watch, my stomach clenching as I desire to be out there, doing something.

“Alvarez…” Mikito says softly, asking the major where, when, can we act.

Alvarez shakes his head, his concentration still on the channels and orders he hears.

“This is just the opening,” Sam says softly, his eyes hard. Of us all, he’s got the most experience, the most time seeing the battles up close and personal with his drones. Mikito and I might have been on the front-lines, but he sees it all from above. “They’ll need us when it gets hot. When the Galactics are stuck in. We’re the cavalry.”

Hate it or not, Sam’s right. The vast majority of the army has yet to arrive. No, better for us to wait. Miller has the same clues, the same vision. And when it’s time, he’ll call on us.

***

“Redeemer. Updating map.” Alvarez’s voice breaks my focus. “Portals at the green. Team leaders, your maps are updating too.”

Affirmatives are voiced all around while I conjure, going by the numbers. I punch out the first Portal as instructed, ten feet above the air so that it can form. No forming Portals inside people or objects. Sort of like appearing in other matter when you shift from one quantum state to another. It hurts. A lot. And sometimes ends in violent explosions. And when I say sometimes, I mean more likely than most. There’s an entire Galactic channel dedicated to those who don’t take that warning seriously.

I watch the first team rush through the Portal, tossing explosives and potions in before them to clear the way. Seconds later, they’re piling through, Skills and spells activating in a flurry as they land on top of the group that has breached our lines, filling the gap and giving the reinforcements time to arrive. No time to watch them though. The Portal slams shut and I focus to open the next.

Again and again, Portals open, depositing teams on the frontlines. Hitting crucial areas to give us an edge. Once a short distance away from the front to reinforce a weakening area. Another time right on top of a group of healers who’ve been doing a stellar job. Lana and company drop among a team of spellcasters, Mikito and Ingrid tearing into the group while the puppies and Roland corral them and keep back the reinforcements. Sam rolls in right behind in his armored drone, ready to reinforce, his beam cannon firing. Carlos rides behind it, his potion /grenade launcher in hand.

Within minutes, I’m nearly out of Mana and forced to rely on a Greater Mana Potion. Blessings and buffs reinforce my regeneration, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough. Alvarez watches me, lips pursed as he waits for me to drop the last couple of teams. I pull a little from the Mana Bracer, but the need isn’t crucial yet, so I only take a little. In the meantime, all we can do is watch the screens.

Our reinforcements make a difference, smashing the groups they’ve targeted and shifting the tide of battle. Lana and company jump on the puppies, riding them through the fray to return to the line, shields flaring as they try and fail to allay the damage. Meanwhile, the Hakarta jump team dealing with the healers have triggered sonic pulsers, stunning those around them as they leapfrog back. Their greater mass lets them pick up and throw their opponents aside when blocked. I even see one particularly large Hakarta pick up a carapaced enemy and use the unlucky bastard as a shield.

“Whoa! And there he goes,” Ali exclaims, pointing.

I tilt my head and blink, seeing a twenty-foot-tall creature where W’mee used to be. Though his titular name makes sense now, the creature wielding a flexible, three-bladed whip-sword in one hand. Each strike reaches tens of meters backward, cutting into flesh and armor as though its soggy newspaper, leaving sprays of blood and mashed meat behind.

“What happened?” I growl.

“Mages have been keeping him penned in with multiple disruptive spells. He’s been doing some damage, but the line’s been falling back and reforming to keep him and his men boxed in. Looks like Pee-Pee decided he’d had enough,” Ali explains.

“And…?”

“Transformation Skill. Must be part of his Master Class Skill set. Those things have a limited duration though. If we can keep him penned, once it’s gone, he’ll be weakened,” Ali says.

“How long?” Alvarez asks urgently.

“No idea.” Ali shrugs. “Might be ten minutes, might be an hour. Depends on the Skill, the rarity, and of course, how many points he’s put in.”

Alvarez snorts and relays information. Obviously, I’m not the only one caught by surprise. I absently wonder if they’re about to purchase the information from the Shop. If they have the time. Turning my head, I search for and find Km, the rock-creature pushing back the defenders she faces. Luckily, prior experience shows. Instead of facing her directly, the teams have stacked as many shields as they can, along with drones, guardians, and long-range fighters, in front of the Oracle. Only a few elementally resistant fighters stand directly in her way, taking the pounding and being healed constantly by a brace of healers who themselves are supported by others. Behind Km, other Ez are flowing forth, their skin reflecting different types of rock—granite, brick, clay, and others I don’t understand. Luckily, they seem content to take their time and follow her. Still, the Ez’s advance, while slower, is across a much wider area than the Jarack’s.

“Ready,” I say, raising my finger.

A few moments later, the next Portal slams shut and we’re sitting in silence again. One more team, just another few minutes. But in a battle, a few minutes can be a lifetime and the team I dropped to slow down the Jarack is getting hammered. The tank, a lanky soldier who looks as if he could come apart in a single hit, keeps getting up no matter how many times he’s hit. His blood flies as the whip-like blades flick through the air, cutting into the tank and a few brave souls.

“This is bullshit, boy-o,” Ali says softly, pointing at the screens. “They’re getting their asses creamed. Which is weird to bring food into your posteriors…”

“Never mind that,” I say as the Jarack grabs the lanky gentleman and sticks him in his mouth, worrying the shoulder with those powerful jaws. And still, the tank fights on, somehow still alive. Beside the struggling pair, the healer keeps casting spells, pouring in everything he has while the others attack and cut, trying to do their best to hurt the Jarack and failing, forced to dodge as the three blades swirl again. “Enough.”

“Redeemer?”

“I’m going in. You guys are going to have get there yourselves. I recommend running.” I stand, eyeing the distance.

Ali’s already flying forward as fast as he can, understanding what I intend to do. Hopscotching my way there is faster and cheaper for me. A thought and the Mana Battery floods my body, dumping hundreds of Mana points into me for the upcoming fight.

“Redeemer, you can’t do this. We need you—” Alvarez says.

“You need me out there,” I interrupt, waiting for Ali. “Your men can’t take him. I can. Throw the rest at the Oracle. I’ll slow him down at the least.”

“Your orders—”

I don’t answer, instead activating Blink Step when Ali hits the maximum distance. I land and run, Sabre boosting my movement speed as I cover the distance to my target, intent on conserving as much as I can. Four hundred plus Mana right now. Barely enough to do anything.

“Redeemer! You are defying your orders—”

The communicator cuts off with a thought and I Blink Step to get closer. I’m moving as fast as I can. No more worries, no more concerns and half-doubts if I’m doing this right. Just the run, the necessity of battle.

***

The soldier is tossed aside, his body halved but still alive. He’s screaming, struggling to crawl back to his body, when the Jarack crosses the distance to the healer and mage. Blood keeps blossoming from the wounds across W’mee’s body as bullets tear open wounds, beams burn flesh, and spells cut into him. But it’s all surface, nothing going deep. He’s torn into our defensive line, well behind where our teams have dug in. The remaining members of the shattered line fire against those who try to take advantage of the gap while W’mee keeps the reinforcements from arriving.

W’mee of the Three Sands, Heretic of the Dawn, Slayer of Grayak Scorpions and Master of the Yellow Pit (Level 18 Singer of the Thrice-Dipped Blades)

HP: 39403 /42800

MP: 283/1780

Conditions: Skin of Basalt, The Sands Blessing, The Desert’s Son (Transformation)

“W’mee!” I roar, punching the volume up on my speakers as I finally arrive.

The Jarack pauses, staring at me as I stride forward, slowing down now that I’ve gotten his attention.

“Redeemer!” he howls, ignoring the others as his eyes narrow on me. He runs forward, taking my challenge as he laughs in his cackling, insane way.

“I need information on that Sands Blessing.”

“On it, boy-o. I’m getting data now, I’ll get you my guesses when I can.”

Three blades against my one. I could conjure the other five, but I never keep them up for long, the cost on my Mana Regeneration too high. Better to use them and make them disappear, fight in bursts. I need to keep him busy, distracted. I start the dance with the sonic pulser and mini-missiles loaded with grey goo, all meant to slow down my opponent. The pulser makes W’mee growl, the missiles are cut out of the air long before they reach him, and the couple that do land are unable to do much to slow him down.

“All combatants in this area, back off. I don’t want to get shot,” I snarl over the comms as a couple of shots graze by me, one bouncing off Sabre’s shielding.

The shooting slows down, then he’s here, blades whistling. My first block is wrong, catching the attack too far from the tip and allowing the whip to wrap over my sword to hammer into the Shield. My shield drops by nearly a third from just that aborted attack. The last blade luckily lands on the ground, missing me and my Shield by inches.

I see his hand swing sideways and I throw myself into a jump, spinning away before I’m wrapped up by the blades or have my foot chopped off. Within seconds, the blades are spinning again, coming back toward me as I land and dash forward. A side of a building is torn apart, the blades ripping through unenhanced stone and steel with casual ease. Even as it does so, W’mee changes the angle of his cut, catching a sniper and killing him.

No time to think, I form blades from my Skill, spinning my arms and setting up their angles, my eyes tight with focus. A calm settles over me. A battle calm, where my mind runs clear and clean, while around it, the raging fires of my temper burn. Clarity, anger, and speed. I grin beneath my helmet, feeling alive as I dance on the edge of oblivion.

The Jarack’s blades clash with mine, slithering and twisting as he attempts to cut through my floating ones, his movements hampered by their arcs and their sudden appearance and disappearance. But I can’t get close to him either, those blades twisting and turning like a blender blade around his body.

“What is this…?” W’mee howls, flicking his hand.

Three blades ripple, dancing and lashing out like snakes even as fires form and are expelled by their tips. I’m long gone, stepping aside and discarding my summoned weapons. All the while, I’m firing the Inlin and my missiles every moment I can. No grenades though. Nothing that would hide me and take away his focus. That’s not my job, not right now.

The Sands Blessing

Effect: Passive Buff. Provides a 11(?) increase in regeneration and 43(?)% increase in resistances while in suitable, desert-like atmospheric conditions.

“I’m barely scratching him,” I snarl at Ali.

My biggest gun is gone, my Mana potions unable to be used further to give me a boost. A missed block, a blade sneaking between my wall of swords, and my shield drops by a quarter. I fire the Inlin, armor-piercing bullets digging divots into his flesh. Another cut and yank, my sword ripped from my hand. I let him have it, calling another as I duck forward.

“I’m working on it!” Ali says, his voice tinged with a touch of desperation.

“Redeemer, hold him for one more minute. Reinforcements incoming.”

A quick step, one that I didn’t anticipate, and W’mee kicks me, throwing me into a building and out. My shield flares, Sabre showing nearly eighty percent loss of shield integrity. I’m good and he’s obviously not used to the Honor Guard’s fighting methods, but I can’t stay on the defensive only. Even as he crashes through the building, playing ugly brown monster to the building’s structure, I’m desperately trying to figure out what to do.

“No can do,” I grunt, making a decision.

I run forward as he exits the crumbling building, the momentary rush through the structure forcing the Jarack to stop swinging his blades. Just long enough for me to get close as he starts up those metallic shredders.

He snarls, blocking my first swing. Then the second. And the third. I stick close to him, taking clawed attacks on the shield, on Sabre’s armor when it fails, as I refuse to let him gain distance. I twist and dodge, stabbing his arm and legs, my blades hovering around me as he keeps attempting to back away. I’m doing little to truly hurt him, but each blow, blocked or successful, leaves a tinge of blue ice.

Freezing Blade, each attack slowing down the asshole. But it’s not enough, not by far. Even after ten strikes, he’s only a third slower. With a snarl, he glows, heat radiating from his body. Thankfully, the ice along his wounds does not dissipate. Instead, the heat burns Sabre’s armor, making me squint and sweat as asphalt liquefies. But it doesn’t kill me, doesn’t slow me down. Resistances cut both ways, and like him, I can take it. Ali, in the corner of my eyes, shoots straight up as he attempts to avoid the Skill, his Spirit body crisping while less fortunate, less mobile souls burn.

Body of Sun

Effect: Channels the power of the desert sun through the caster’s body. Deals 200 base heat damage per second.

Duration: Channeled

Red lights scream as Sabre seizes up, joints and armor melting away. The Jarack bounces back and away, finally free of me, his blades flicking close to lick at the mess that is my PAV. I snarl, making the decision to store the mecha once again. The action, the sudden change, and a twist of my upper body saves my heart, leaving a light wound across the chest. The moment the mecha is gone, along with my helmet, the temperature soars and the accumulated sweat evaporates as my skin blisters. Even as I shield my eyes, his blades plunge into my body, tearing it apart and sending me sprawling.

Thankfully, the Skill cuts off, though the remaining heat is still high enough to cook my flesh as I peel myself off the ground. So few blue dots in my minimap. His Skill might be over, but I’m too far away from him now to attack. I can’t hold him, not much longer…

“You did well, Redeemer,” W’mee says, cackling. “But you are no match for me.”

“No…” I cough, my throat dry, my head pounding as I realize my Mana reserves are barely more than a hundred. “No, I’m not.”

W’mee’s hand drops, the weapon swinging down, three blades glowing red with fire coming to end me. I can’t beat him. I never could. But that was never the point. As the blades whistle through the air, I Blink Step, taken high above by Ali.

Spells and artillery, mortars and potions fall. The combined attacks of dozens of stragglers, of people called from battle all around, splash against his body. I spin, twisting to look down at the fast-approaching body, my sword held out before me.

This fight was never just mine. It couldn’t be. No matter how strong a single person can be, a hundred scratches are enough. He knows it. Should have known it. But in the heat of battle, fighting someone who refuses to back down, who refuses to fall, who uses skills and Spells he has never met before, W’mee forgets. Blade plunging through the creature’s shoulder, mass and momentum driving it through the monster and sending us to the ground, my shin and arm crack under the sudden pressure. The other conjured blades follow, plunging deep into the monster, one accidentally punching through me and pinning us together.

Pain, as we struggle. The sword pinning us together is dismissed before it tears me apart as the Jarack twists and attempts to scramble away. I hang onto my original blade, stubbornly clinging to it as the creature’s high health now works against it, the blade unable to rip free. I keep him pinned, focusing on keeping him still as the attacks fall. Pain. More pain as flesh tears, bones crack, and blood boils. And blessed relief, as healing spells reach me, a never-ending torture as my body seesaws between the two.

Pain, in my body, in my head as I drain my strength, my Mana, my stamina to the extreme. The attack cuts deep, focused within the creature and unable to escape. As it twists, the sword slips and turns, facing away and finally pulling free. No more time, so I take the risk and release one last Blade Strike, my Mana insufficient and so the Skill takes from my flesh, my body. An explosive blast from another spell tears through me, cutting through my weakened body and throwing me away, my arm severed.

Then the ground, gooey and melted and hot. I skid, body creating a wave of asphalt that sticks and hurts and burns. And then darkness.

Chapter 17

New arms are weird. Having them regrow my lost arm in the Shop was the most expedient way of getting myself fixed after I came to, but it doesn’t feel right. Standing to the side of the Shop interface, I roll my shoulders again while I wait for the arm to feel better. Says something about the things the System probably does to us that after a few hours, even a completely new arm is forgotten and accepted.

Fighting the rest of the battle, once I woke up, with one arm was a new and interesting experience. Thankfully, the main fight was over by that point, the Oracle forced to pull back after she was once again severely injured. This time around, she triggered a short-range teleportation, most likely bought from the Shop. It wasn’t long after that we learnt that she left the planet. I guess no matter the level of loyalty, watching two other Master Class individuals die was more than a sufficient deterrent.

Once their Master Class support was down, the Zarrie pulled back, intent on fighting again another time. That’s when the other portion of Miller’s plan kicked in, the resistance fighters, the members of the 1st Special Forces group, and the vanguard of the Marines making their presence known. Pinned between the three forces that were quite happy to rain long-range destruction down on the Zarrie, things got pretty bloody, or so I was told. Rather than risk even more loss of life, Miller let the Zarrie forces call a ceasefire when they sent a banner of truce.

I later learn that the Marines had an even nastier time in their own fights. With the lines drawn for so long, their initial push was through entrenched positions. If it wasn’t for the fact that the Marines seemed to have geared their squads for hard and fast fights with specialized melee, ranged, and mage teams, they might not have managed to push through.

For all that we might have disagreements, Miller is a damn professional. It’s only after the fight, during the ceasefire, that I learn that the Zarrie had sent more than a few assassins after him and the command structure. Luckily, the one thing California isn’t lacking is actors. I’m still not sure I’d have made the call he did, but it certainly allowed him to run the battle without major interference.

One of the few silver linings is the sheer volume of titles being awarded. Ali had a good time telling me about them. Some of the more memorable ones include Mikito’s Blood Warden, a couple of Last Stands, a Lord of Guts and Glory, and amusingly, Murphy’s Law Incarnated.

Right now, Miller, Wier, and a bunch of other politicians and interest groups are busy talking it up. Since we’re just allies, they’ve declined our participation in these talks, leaving Sam to listen in. Lana’s presence was declined, a few groups citing her unfair use of Charisma to influence matters. Rather than kick up a fuss, we stayed out of it. Luckily, Major Ruka has arrived, happy to be paid to play Galactic consultant.

“Still don’t see why they wanted a Hakarta and not me,” Ali grumbles, staring in the direction where the meeting continues to be held.

“Probably because they could do without your sarcasm.” Grunting, I shake my head and stretch, feeling my muscles shift as I marvel at the lack of pain.

In the corner of my eyes, I once more stare at the slowly blinking icon before I decide to acknowledge it.

Congratulations! You’ve reached Level 50!

Attributes automatically assigned. 3 additional attributes available to be assigned.

You may now choose a Master Class.

Would you like to do so?

(Y/N)

Finally. I’m tempted to look at the list, but doing so will start a process I can’t halt. Frustratingly enough, I’m unlikely to have a chance to choose anything really special, anything that will give me an edge, like the Honor Guard Class. But as Ali pointed out, I’m already broken enough as it is.

“John?” Lana calls, reappearing behind me.

She smiles slightly when I turn to face her, somehow having managed to not only change into new clothing but clean up. The simple cream blouse and yoga pants do wonders to show off her voluptuous form, making me drink in the view. It’s only the second calling of my name—or maybe third—that I answer her.

“Sorry. What?”

“How’s the new arm?” Lana says, wrapping an arm around my waist and sneaking in a kiss before I can answer. There are still shadows under her eyes, a tightness in the hug that speaks of her holding back grief.

“Good. Feels a little strange still, but it’s fine.” I give her another squeeze.

Still, for how relaxed things are, something feels off. Frowning, I tilt my head from side to side, wondering what’s bugging me. Lana’s the one to voice the problem first.

“Where’re the pups and Roland?” Lana speaks softly, eyebrows drawing together. For a moment she focuses then steps away from me, a hand materializing her shotgun as she opens her mouth to say something.

“Well, I am glad to hear that you are better…” The woman who walks over is seven feet tall, purple hair slicked back in a pixie cut that shows off coral-like ears and slitted yellow eyes. Her nose is almost non-existent, just a pair of nostrils with the slightest almost beak-like overhang.

Ayuri d’Malla of the Dawn, Breaker of the Sixth Legion, Hero of the Sixth Kumma Wars, Mistress of Knives, Bloodflower, Slayer of Kumma, Goblins, Mizza… (Level 42 Erethran Champion)

HP: 9830/9830

MP: 4740/4740

Conditions: Buffs. LOT OF BUFFS.

“Ali…?” I note the sudden flash of information above her, the lack of full disclosure as Ali translates the information quickly.

Behind Ayuri comes a pair of just normal Erethran Honor Guards, though both are close to hitting the Level cap. A single male and female companion to Ayuri.

“Redeemer of the Dead. What an interesting title,” Ayuri says, tapping her lips.

“What did you do to my pets?” Lana growls, stopped from raising her shotgun by my hand on her arm.

We don’t stand a chance, not against Ayuri herself and definitely not with two of her friends. Better to play nice. Especially since they don’t seem to be directly aggressive. Yet.

“Oh, they’re fine. We had to put them in stasis as they refused to let us in,” Ayuri says with a smile to Lana, her eyes flicking to the woman before dismissing the redhead as a threat. “We’re not interested in your petty squabbles.”

“What are you interested in?” I ask, knowing the answer even as I do so. There’s only one reason for the Erethran to be here, considering we’re nearly at the opposite end of the System Galaxy. Even for a new Dungeon World, they aren’t going to send a Champion all the way out here. At least, not just for the Dungeon World.

“You, of course, Redeemer. Imagine our surprise when we began to receive updates about how a member of the Honor Guard was gaining titles on the new Dungeon World. Even more so when he kept gaining Levels at an astounding rate. And then of course, he became a settlement owner…” Ayuri shakes her head. “Well, it was such an interesting piece of news. Considering the few we authorized to visit were still on the first ships.”

“Well, about that…” I pause as Ayuri’s initially benign, if slightly intimidating, visage changes, going flat.

“No need to explain, Redeemer. We know what happened. What we’re interested in is what will happen,” Ayuri says, closing the distance between us so fast I don’t even see her move. Even Mikito with Haste isn’t that fast. Androgynous body inches from mine, she looms over me, those tiny pupils judging me. “Were you perhaps considering becoming a Champion? Or an Honor Guard General?”

“You can’t be a Champion, boy-o, but the General is available,” Ali sends to me urgently.

“I can’t be a Champion—” I start.

“Quiet, Spirit. Speak again and we will banish you,” Ayuri hisses to where Ali is, flicking a glance backward to one of the Honor Guards. That Guard fixes her gaze on the Spirit, whose mocha skin loses color. “And how are we to believe that, Redeemer? You have already stolen the honor of our Empire once.”

“I—”

“Once a thief, always a thief, I say.” The voice that emanates from the last Honor Guard member is droll, bored as a Yukon summer day is long and deep.

“Enough,” I growl, my temper flaring after getting interrupted so damn often. Interrupted and subtly threatened. “Either let me answer in peace or fight me, because this lack of manners is getting damn tiring.”

“He barks.” The woman—Unilo—chuckles softly. “Perhaps I shall stop its whistling.”

“Whistling?” Lana mutters, uncertain.

“Do your dogs not whistle while they bark?” Unilo says, tilting her head.

“Uhhh, no,” Lana says firmly.

“Har. What weird creatures.”

Ignoring the pair, Ayuri stares at me till I break and speak. “What?”

“You have not answered my question. What Class do you intend to take now?”

“Well…” I say softly, playing for time as my mind spins. There’s something here, something nagging me about this entire encounter. “What does it matter to you?”

“About two moves,” Ayuri says with a smile.

“You’re threatening me.” I state that flatly, my hand to the side as I get ready to call my sword.

“Stating a fact. If you were to choose a Class that besmirches our honor, we would have to resolve the matter. Immediately.”

“I see.” I give in finally to the lead-in. “And what Class wouldn’t?”

“Why, none of them that you have now,” Ayuri states. When she gets no reaction from me, she turns toward the man. “Mayaya, you won the bet.”

“Yay,” Mayaya intones, still in that same bored tone. “I shall drink in pleasure.”

“So. Class?” I say again while Ali spins in a circle, obviously aching to speak but unable or unwilling to do so.

Lana looks perturbed, but I shake my head to her and she lets me lead this conversation. For now.

“You understand our position, of course. You cannot be a General. That would compromise too many things. And any Class below that is well, insulting,” Ayuri says, shaking her head. “So now we must kill you. Unless…”

“Go on,” I growl softly, getting tired of her playing this game and letting my impatience run through my voice. Now that we’ve been talking for a bit, I can sense her damn glee underneath all the threats. She’s having fun, and it’s pissing me off. Dangerous as she might be, I’ve just been through an entire war. Having her continue to play is testing what little patience I have.

“Unless you choose to take up a Class Quest. One that is only open to certain members of the Erethran Empire.”

“I see. And the catch is…?” I say.

“It’s a good Class Quest. Very powerful. Very popular to try. But somewhat lethal.”

“Somewhat?”

“Always!” Ali shouts, shaking his head as he finally can’t hold it in anymore. “No one’s succeeded in the last two hundred years.”

“Two hundred twenty-three years. Galactic standard,” Unilo says flatly then waves her hand.

The next moment, Ali disappears with a scream as he’s banished. Lana and I stare at Unilo, who shrugs as if that display of power was a minor thing. Which, I guess, for her it is.

“I see.” I hold up my hands as if weighing the two options. “So. Death by your hands or an impossible quest.”

“Yes,” Ayuri says with a wide smile, baring too-sharp teeth.

“John…” Lana says softly, her eyes doing murder arithmetic as she judges the trio.

“It’s fine,” I say to Lana, holding a finger up to the three while turning to the redhead and giving her a quick kiss. “Looks like I’m going on a trip.”

“You’re not leaving me.”

“Sorry, human, but this is a single-person Quest,” Ayuri says.

“I’m not happy about this,” Lana says, gripping my shirt tightly. Tears form at her eyes, her fists clenched white. “We can beat them.”

“No. No, we can’t,” I whisper, placing a hand over hers. I meet Lana’s violet eyes, which swim with unshed tears, my own vision growing slightly blurry. “And even if we could, we shouldn’t. I need to do this.”

“Why?” Lana says, her voice heartbroken.

“You know why.” As she shakes her head in denial, I continue. “I need more strength. More power. And all the other choices, they aren’t good enough. If it’s impossible, it’s definitely a powerful Class.”

“And you could die.”

“And that matters?” I shake my head, realizing those are the wrong words. “No. It matters. But I could die here too. I nearly did. This way, I have a chance. A chance…” I can’t say the rest. Can’t. Won’t. Not here, not with them beside me.

“I know,” Lana says, burying her face in my shirt as tears flow. “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

In her voice, I hear all the pain, all the losses she’s suffered. Her puppies, Richard, Anna. Friends who fell in Whitehorse and others on the way. It kills me to do this to her, but I have no choice.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

She half laughs, half sobs at my answer. Before we can say anything else, Ayuri harrumphs. Bored by our goodbyes, the Champion grabs my shoulder, pulling me away from Lana and leaving the redhead clutching the shreds of my shirt.

“Mayaya!” Ayuri calls, hoisting me up in the air as Mayaya opens a Portal.

Lana steps forward and is blocked by a Soul Shield, one warped to block her movements. “John!”

With a single flick of her hand, Ayuri tosses me through the black oval of space. I spin around in the air, watching the intimidating blackness approach at speed, offering me no clue of what is to come.

“Glad you agreed. Don’t die. I bet on you this time!” Ayuri calls as I enter the Portal.

My atoms rip apart, the transition wreathing me in pain I’ve never experienced before. Even as I land, I hear the last words Ayuri says as the Portal shrinks.

“Right then. Take me to your leaders!”

And then the Portal snaps shut, stranding me in darkness. Alone.

World Unbound

An Apocalyptic LitRPG

Book 6 of the System Apocalypse

Chapter 1

A tear in space, black and empty, devoid of all light, snaps shut behind me as I exit the Portal. I stagger, my body shuddering as I deal with being transported thousands of light years in a second. Nerves fire constantly, muscles clench, and my ears ring. Coughing to clear my lungs, I grimace and straighten, wobbling as my body readjusts to the lower gravity on Earth. A deep breath fills my lungs, and I marvel at how even a minor increase in the oxygen content can feel so good. But no matter how much I enjoy being home, years of violence on another world means that I’m still on alert.

“Ali?” I call to the olive-skinned, orange-jump-suited Spirit hovering beside me.

He bobs up and down, his body reforming as he joins me in the clearing in the middle of the forest we picked as our entry point. Once again, I cough as the earlier pain subsides. I twist my head around to take in my surroundings, double-checking for potential problems.

“Working on it, boy-o,” Ali growls, fingers darting from side to side as he plays with the screens and notifications only he can see.

While the Spirit is busy, I glance up to check out the minimap created by my own Skill Greater Detection. It isn’t as powerful as the information Ali can provide, but he’s busy patching himself back into Earth’s subversion of the System and dealing with the numerous notifications we’ve accumulated over the years. The world we spent the last four years on was in the Forbidden Zone—an area so Mana saturated that the System actually broke down.

Rather than bother the harried Spirit, I check for potential threats on the minimap. Already, the System has populated a series of dots on my minimap, mostly greyed out to indicate these monsters are no threat to me. No real surprise, but better to be careful.

While I wait and watch, I marvel at the differences I can feel, the changes compared to the world I was in. Lower—significantly lower—Mana density on Earth. Lower gravity, higher oxygen content, no trace poison in the air. But more than that, the gentle caress of the wind brings familiar smells, of new pine and clean water, the muskiness of an animal having passed through a few hours ago, and the creak of old wood. It’s familiar and comforting, and a tension I barely noticed slowly fades. I’m home.

“Ready!” the Spirit says without preamble.

Then the flood of notifications begins.

You have completed your Class Quest

Achieved Master Class: Paladin of the Erethran Empire

Delayed experience gain now distributing.

Experience decay alert! Some of the experience you have gathered has decayed.

Multiple Level up alert! Some of the experience you have gained has been penalized due to multiple Level ups.

Decayed and penalized experience has been banked. Future experience will accrue at a greater rate until bank depleted.

You have Leveled up to Erethran Paladin Level 14

Attributes automatically assigned. You have 98 free attributes to assign. You have 7 Class Skills to assign.

My body twitches, pain and ecstasy coursing through it as the sudden increase in attributes hits me like a steamboat going over the Niagara Falls. Normally, my attributes are so high that Level increases are minor changes, so little that I can’t even feel them. But I’m getting fourteen Levels at once—fourteen Master Class Levels. My body shudders as it’s hammered by the changes, my perceptions visibly expanding even. Muscles twist and twitch, tendons and fibers multiplying and hardening even as they grow more flexible. My nervous system gets ripped apart and put together again and again. It all happens within seconds, an eternity of pain before it’s over and I’m myself again.

Thank the gods increases in attributes are on a logarithmic method, one that takes into account a vast variety of areas outside of the simplistic terminology used. Strength, for example, not only alters my own physical strength, but also how I affect the world around me, the System allowing me to manipulate and even “weaken” the bonds between an object as I hit it. It’s why I can still be cut by a knife and yet can take a bullet to the chest without a problem. If this was a pure physical strength increase, I probably would have exploded from the Level ups themselves.

The moment I recover, more notifications appear before me.

Congratulations! You have gained a new title - Explorer

For traveling to, surviving, and returning from a forbidden planet, you have achieved the title Explorer. Your bravery and foolhardiness will henceforth be known all over the world.

Rewards: All mapping and sensory Skills have gained a 10% increase

Congratulations! You are the 18th member of the human race to leave the Solar System and return.

Rewards: +20,000 XP, +5 in Perception, +1 skill Level (Mapping), access to Fame and Reputation menu

Congratulations! You have gained a new title Slayer of (&%@@##** - error!)

For killing over (error! error! error!) (error! error! error!) you have gained a new title! All (error! error! error!) will fear you and your presence will subtly disturb them.

Rewards: (error! error! error!) (Please see Administrative functionary. Error has been logged and sent to support. Thank you for your patience!)

“Ali?” I say softly, then twist my head as I note the little orange-clad Spirit twitching, his body glowing with color.

My eyes narrow as he continues to glow, brighter and brighter till I can’t look at him directly. With a resounding pop, he reappears.

“Leveled up?”

“Just about,” Ali says, patting himself down. He’s no longer floating, instead standing on the ground. Which is good, because he’s now 5’ 8”, portly, and still clad in an orange jumpsuit. “Har! Still smaller than I should be, but this is so much better.”

“You look a lot more solid now…” I say with a frown.

“Yup, I’m here. For real. Body and all,” Ali says with a smirk.

“Shit.” I frown. I’ve grown used to Ali being a scout.

As if he knows what I’m thinking, Ali rolls his eyes and shrinks again, all the way down to a foot, his entire body becoming slightly transparent again. “This what you want? A floating fairy?”

“Maybe not the fairy part. I take it you’ve got control?”

“Not much of Level up if I didn’t, would it?”

“Fine,” I say with a shrug.

Now that he’s made his point, Ali pops back to full size again. His hands twitch again almost immediately as he taps into the System, filling in details on my minimap and expanding its range without a word. While he’s doing his thing, I peruse my new Class for the first time.

Four years and change, and for the first time, I get the chance to actually see the details of the damn Class I’ve fought, bled, and nearly died for.

Class: Paladin of the Erethran Empire

Unlike champions or Generals, the Paladins of the Erethran Empire have a special social standing in the Empire. Like their namesake, Paladins are not part of the chain of command, answerable to no one but the Empress herself. And not even then at times. Their actions are dictated by their honor, their judgment guided only by their wisdom, and their only support their strong right arm.

+1 in Luck per Level. +4 in Strength, Agility, Perception, Intelligence, and Charisma per Level. +5 in Constitution per Level. +6 in Willpower per Level, +7 Free Attributes per Level.

Mental Resistance Increased to 95%. All other Resistances increased by 10% (stackable).

Damage received reduced by 10%

+1 Class Skill per every two Levels

I stare at the description and whispered conversations and the clash of steel come back to me. Memories of my tutor, my mentor, she who finally entrusted me with this Class, rush back, bringing the taste of blood and an ache in my bones. For a moment, I find myself quailing at the knowledge of what is to come before I straighten. What will be, will be. For now, what is, is.

The increased resistances are a given, the stat bonuses the same. I’m a little surprised by the damage reduction and briefly wonder at what point the damage is reduced—before or after all the other Spell and Skill reductions are used—then dismiss the thought. Not as if this is a game where I can sit and calculate damage taken before I go into a fight, knowing exactly how much healing I’ll need after each attack, what kind of armor or skills to use for each and every attack. This world, for all its game-like characteristics, is all too real.

For now, a slight thought is all it takes for the Class Skill page to pop up. I eye the Class Skills hungrily, even while knowing how foolish it is. These Skills are a sham, an uneven patchwork of powerful abilities created by the System to hide a deeper truth. My time away gave me a deeper glimpse, one that I’ve been struggling toward, but it’s only that, a glimpse. Even so, I can’t help but consider how much easier my life would have been with these Skills in the last few years.

Like most Classes, the Paladin’s Skill tree is broken up into three different areas that reflect the Paladin’s areas of focus. Unlike the Advanced Skill tree, I’ve only got three tiers this time around. That’s a good thing actually. The lower number of tiers means that I have to diffuse my precious Class Skill points less to get to the more powerful Skills. It’s an advantage certain Classes have. Or, mostly an advantage. A few Classes out there, at the Basic level, have only two tiers, but they have mostly useless Skills. Those Classes are often considered “waste” Classes, though they can be powerful secondary Classes if combined properly.

I shake my head, pushing my wandering thoughts back to the matter at hand. The first column showcases personal combat Skills; the second, the Paladin’s effect on the greater battlefield as champions; and lastly, the third column exemplifies their role as judge, jury, and executioner. Within the tree itself are additional Skills, combined abilities that provide even greater strength.

For all that, I scan through each of them quickly, mentally planning out my options and what I will need before allocating a single point to each of the first unlocked tiers. The other tiers will have to wait till I unlock them when I reach their required Levels. Still, past experience has me saving my extra four Skill points. After all, now that I’m back where I can actually Level and get Quests, I’ll hit Level 20 soon and gain access to my second tier and their more powerful Skills. Until then, the basics will do. It’s not as if I’m not OP enough, as Jason might say.

Class Skill: Penetration (Level 1)

Few can face the judgment of a Paladin in direct combat, their ability to bypass even the toughest of defenses a frightening prospect. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 5 permanently.

Effect: Ignore all armor and defensive spells by 50%. Increases damage done to shields by 100%.

Class Skill: Aura of Chivalry (Level 1)

A Paladin’s very presence can quail weak-hearted enemies and bolster the confidence of allies, whether on the battlefield or in court. The Aura of Chivalry is a double-edged sword however, focusing attention on the Paladin—potentially to their detriment. Increases success rate of Perception checks against Paladin by 10% and reduces stealth and related skills by 10% while active. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 5 Permanently.

Effect: All enemies must make a Willpower check against intimidation against user’s Charisma. Failure to pass the check will cow enemies. All allies gain a 50% boost in morale for all Willpower checks and a 10% boost in confidence and probability of succeeding in relevant actions.

Note: Aura may be activated or left off at will.

Class Skill: Eyes of Insight (Level 1)

Under the eyes of a Paladin, all untruth and deceptions fall away. Only when the Paladin can see with clarity may he be able to judge effectively. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 5.

Effect: All Skills, Spells, and abilities of a lower grade that obfuscate, hinder, or deceive the Paladin are reduced in effectiveness. Level of reduction proportionate to degree of difference in grade and Skill Level.

Well, that was interesting. Master Skills are frightening, but of course, they have to be, considering how difficult it is to get them. It does help that I’ve got an extremely rare, almost unique Class, which results in better than normal Skills too.

Still, the Penetration Skill effectively doubles my combat ability. Doubling my attack against Shields is impressive—probably the most common method of defense these days—but reducing other, more passive defenses by fifty percent is even scarier. Certainly monsters that rely on their natural defenses will be in for a hell of a shock if I ever hit them.

With the slightest twitch of my mind, I call up my new Status Screen.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Paladin

Race

Human (Male)

Level

14

Titles

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

Health

3020

Stamina

3020

Mana

2340

Mana Regeneration

213 (+5) / minute

Attributes

Strength

176

Agility

271

Constitution

302

Perception

119

Intelligence

234

Willpower

263

Charisma

74

Luck

47

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

3*

Blade Strike*

3

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand Blades*

3

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal*

5

Army of One

2

Sanctum

2

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footsteps*

1

Tech Link*

2

Penetration

1

Aura of Chivalry

1

Eyes of Insight

1

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (IV)

Greater Regeneration (II)

Greater Healing (II)

Mana Drip (II)

Improved Mana Missile (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike (III)

Firestorm

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Improved Inferno Strike (II)

Mud Walls

Perhaps one of the biggest changes that occurred within the Forbidden Zone was the vast increase in the effectiveness of my spells. With the incredible increase in my Mana regeneration rate due to the sheer volume of Mana available on that planet, I started using my spells significantly more. I even spent some time upgrading my most used spells, making them significantly more powerful. While I still know the older, less powerful versions of the spells, rather than clutter up my interface, I just had them relegated to another section. It’s not as if I’m ever going to cast Mana Dart again. Hell, I barely even use Mana Missile. In truth, I’m looking forward to speaking with Aiden about magic now that I’ve been forced to learn it the hard way.

As I stand there, contemplating my character sheet for the first time in four years, I’m grateful that I chose to be Ported into the middle of nowhere. With my own ability, I can get home easily enough now that I’m back on Earth, but I wouldn’t want to go over my new Skills while dealing with the fallout of being away for a few years. Not that I had any choice about leaving. And talking about choice…

“Took you long enough,” I drawl, tilting my head to stare at the trio of Honor Guards walking out of the underbrush. Or Honor Guards and champion to be exact.

The trio of Erethrans are each over seven feet tall, their hair colors ranging from simple purple to outlandish, vibrant yellow-red. Each of them have coral-like ears and slitted eyes whose giant yellow pupils seem particularly startling set against the almost non-existent nose with that hint of a beak-like overhang. They’re all clad in an armored pants-and-tunic ensemble, sporting the exclusive Erethran royal family’s colors—purple and silver.

“I believe that was my line,” the champion says with a half-smile.

I regard the champion for a moment, reading the status information Ali is able to pull up. Interesting. She’s gone up a few Levels since the last time I spoke with her. Impressive even, considering how hard it is to Level at the stage she’s in. At least, unless you’re a cheat character like me.

Ayuri d’Malla of the Dawn, Breaker of the Sixth Legion, Hero of the Sixth Kumma Wars, Mistress of Knives, Bloodflower, Slayer of Kumma, Goblins, Mizza… (Level 43 Erethran Champion)

HP: 9990/9990

MP: 4342/4780

Conditions: Buffs. LOT OF BUFFS.

“That sounds like a lie, considering you never expected me to survive,” I say with a smile. There’s no malice in my voice, not anymore. A quick scan of her friends shows that they’ve Leveled too. Impressive as well, obviously.

“No recriminations or anger over throwing you in?” Ayuri says, dark eyes regarding me as she weighs my reaction.

“I’ve had four years and a lot of monsters to work out my anger,” I say. “Not that you’re forgiven. But you’re not looking for that, are you?”

“No.”

“So. What now?” I’ve played this discussion through my mind so many times, workshopped the various ways this could go. But at the end of the day, it comes down to what the woman wants. The fact stands that it would have, should have, been easier to just kill me to remove the stain of my presence on their honor. That she didn’t means she has plans for me. Now, it’s time to find out what.

Or not.

“Now? Nothing. In time, I expect we’ll speak again,” Ayuri says.

My eyes narrow slightly as I consider the champion. There’s a lot I can say—a refusal to play her game, a question about her motives, or even a query about what has happened recently. In the end, I speak none of those words.

“Okay.” I nod, shifting away slightly.

I take my time, keeping an eye on the trio as I wait to see what they’ll do. Appearing here, in the middle of nowhere, was also a check to see if I had to deal with the Erethran Guard in a more violent and permanent way. Yet the trio looks utterly bored, happy to let me raise my hand and form a Portal.

Only when it’s fully opened and I’m at its threshold does Ayuri speak. “If you’re looking for your friends, you will not find them there.”

“What do you mean?” I say, my eyes narrowing. “Vancovuer…?”

“Still yours. As are all your other settlements. Can’t contact Kim from here, but there’s no change in your ownership.”

“Just that your friends are currently engaged in another location. Almost all of them actually,” Ayuri says.

“Where?”

“Well, why don’t we take you along? We’re supposed to make an appearance too,” Ayuri says with a smile.

I find myself annoyed by the casual way she’s speaking. Still, I give her a nod as I release my Portal. Within moments, another, much larger Portal appears, its dark inkiness showing nothing of what awaits me. As soon as it fully appears, the trio travels through it without hesitation, and I join them with only the barest of hesitations. This could be leading to who knows where. But if that’s the case, I might as well get it over and done with now. I tell myself to have patience, but I do take a moment to layer a Soul Shield on myself. Even if they’re deliberately provoking me and playing with me, all will be revealed.

And if not, I’ll show them what happens when you survive four years in a Forbidden Zone.

Chapter 2

Daylight disappears and twilight appears. My eyes adapt immediately, though I wish I still had my helmet. That was gone, what—fourteen months ago? Something like that. Made using Sabre quite difficult actually, since the helmet wasn’t part of the nanomachine calibration. In fact, I hadn’t even pulled my mecha out in months. The poor thing was so battered and smashed, I often just left it in storage.

As I’m thinking useless thoughts, I’m taking in my surroundings, scanning for trouble both via my Skill and my senses. Green grass has given way to sand, the flat terrain replaced by a dune. No more giant rainforest trees. Instead, a group of smaller, scurrying organic creatures appear before me, heaving and thrashing like living waves. It only takes a moment to register that there are three sides in the conflict before me: monsters, Galactics in all shapes and sizes, and humans. The scale of the battle is surprising—tens of thousands of figures fighting it out before me.

Bright beams of light, the roar of gunpowder and other chemical explosive ammunition, and the never-ending stink of clotted, iron-rich blood fill my senses. Winds, kicked up by continuous roar of explosives, swirl around me. Sand, salt, and particalized organics cloud the air even as screams and grunts of pain punctuate it all. They’re far enough away that it’d be impossible to see them normally, but my boosted Perception seems to make seeing through the smoke a snap. One part of me is taking in the war, categorizing fighters and sides, while another is snapping Skills and spells in place, boosting my body into its best combat-ready state.

“What is going on?” A few years ago, I might have rushed in, taking part in the battle without thought. A few years ago, I’d know who was right, who I had to protect. But now…

“Just a minor field battle,” Ayuri says. “Your friends are participating, with everyone contending for the Field Boss.”

“Field Boss?”

“Alpha monster who has become a locus for Mana flow. Rather than creating a dungeon, it powers up the monster, giving it significant boosts. Some of the oldest even respawn like monsters in a dungeon.”

I don’t need to ask who it is. The giant glowing pink arrow that follows the creature’s movement is more than sufficient. It’s a weird, ten-limbed scorpion-like monster with thin, grasping arms in the front and a second, humanoid body where its tail would be. Even without the arrow, years of battle have trained my eyes to see the telltale shifts, the flow of the battle, and spot the centers of activity, the linchpins. On the monster side, it’s the Field Boss who, even under the barrage of modern, futuristic, and magical artillery fire, is barely bothered by the damage. Its health bar shifts a miniscule amount.

On the human side, there are dozens of smaller centers of activity. A ten-gallon-Stetson-hatted man two-steps through monsters, pistols blazing. A pair of puppies and a tiger run amok through the Galactics, guided and occasionally helped by a redhead on a griffin. Between both groups of attackers, an armored individual in ghostly medieval Japanese armor holds both groups aside while wielding a polearm. A pair of Guardians back her up, one with a metallic silver fist and another with swirling, tiny shields that protect against attacks. In the back, a party of Mages alternately dispel and cast spells, protecting the humans and their allies. And I do say allies, because I’ve spotted two anomalies.

Holding up one corner of the human army facing the Galactics is a force of Hakarta. They’re easy to spot with their uniform armor and green facial tusks that stick out of their helmets. The Hakarta have a series of force shields locked in place at the front of the line, guarded by a group of plasma-spear-wielding Hakarta, while other members of their mercenary Corp lob grenades, spells, and other attacks over the defenses. Higher up on the sloped hill and behind the lines, snipers and other long-ranged fighters add to the carnage.

In another section of the human army’s line of combat, a group of blue-and-silver-armored individuals in eight-foot-tall mecha are facing off against the monsters. Each mecha wields the equivalent of a minigun, spraying enchanted bullets downrange at a ferocious rate that barely stems the monster army. Beside each mecha, other members of the troop lay down more careful fire or work to reload the mecha. Between the towering metal behemoths, smaller figures use magic and melee weapons to deal with the few monsters that trickle through the gaps.

“That’s the Erethran Army down there, isn’t it?” I say, gesturing to the group with the mecha. The green and yellow piping a dead giveaway too.

“Yes,” Ayuri answers.

I grimace, wondering what the story is, but discard that line of questioning. Another time. For now, I’ve got a good enough idea of the situation. I gauge distances, consider my Mana, then speak up.

“One last thing. I’m going to need to borrow another Portal…”

***

The black hole opens in space high above the monster army, taking in a backwash of lightning as a spell is deflected upward. I ignore it as I jump through the Portal with a pair of channeled firestorms ready, appearing high above the group. I release the spells as I fall, the fire appearing so quickly, the monsters below have no time to brace. When fire erupts all around you, not much you can do but burn.

I drop through the flames, my Soul Shield burning up as the flames eat away at its integrity. With a crash, I’m on the ground then back on my feet, dashing forward even as experience notifications pile up in the corner of my eye. Feet kick off the ground as I rush the now-clear Field Boss. It roars, its skin mildly blackened from the firestorms. Its health bar has barely moved. Even as I move, previously launched spells and artillery fall, making my Soul Shield tremble.

Aqrabuamelu Alpha (Field Boss Level 129)

HP: 13380/15380

MP: 9804/10230

Conditions: Greater Regeneration (IV), Field Advantage

I hate these kinds of monsters. I really do. Smart enough that they could almost be considered sentient, but without the level of conscience or morality that would make them viable members of society. They wield magic and savageness with equal fervor, though their spells are closer to innate Skills. The Aqrab glares at me, fingers shifting as the humanoid part begins a spell. Instinct has me throwing myself to the side as a rainbow stream flashes past my body. Even as I roll to my feet, the front body sends another spell on its way from its thin, weird hand/tentacles.

Blink Step. I’m beside the front body the next second, my sword cutting into one thin limb. It catches, barely scratching it, but that’s okay—the following Skill-generated blades are on their way. Freezing Blade reacts as each blade contacts, layering a cold spell on the Boss and slowing it even as I’m moving. A twist of my body has me rolling across its broad back, one hand twisting and forming the spell Mud Wall that floods upward from the ground even as I throw a second cut at the tail-body.

The monster snarls, leaning backward to dodge the attack. While it does so, it struggles to free itself from the Mud Walls. With the boss trapped by the movement of my blades and the Mud Walls, I dismiss the sword in my hand and point both hands at the body, casting Inferno Strike. Beams of plasma fire erupt, tearing sizzling holes in the body as I walk along its torso. Before I can keep channeling and tear its body apart, its reinforcements arrive, forcing me to kill the spell prematurely.

A female lion-mutant, sleek and golden-furred, pounces at me, jaws distended and a green liquid dripping from its fangs. For a second, I see down its throat. Tattered flesh hangs from needle-fang teeth the size of daggers. Then my hand catches the monster by the underside of its neck and I slam the creature into the ground, the audible crunch of bones breaking echoing through the battlefield. A back kick takes care of another monster before I toss the lion into another group. Even if the damage done isn’t great, it’s a show of power that is hard to miss. Especially with my Champion’s Aura turned on fully, attracting everyone’s attention.

Another lesson from the planet? Sometimes, it’s not the damage but controlling the battlefield that matters. In previous mass battles, I focused on killing as many as possible, as fast as possible. But now, now, I have another goal. With a stomp, I flip off the Field Boss as it lashes out with a series of guided bolts of pure Mana. Landing on the ground before it, I eat some of the attacks.

I grasp its front arm, gripping tight as a rising kick throws the body upward under the effect of my System-enhanced strength. Because the points don’t just mean a change in physical strength but also in how I can make such strength manifest in the real world. And I’ve had a lot of practice learning to use these points properly. The creature flies into the air, held down only by my arm. Then I dance, swinging the giant Field Boss bat as a weapon, even as my Soul Shield falls under repeated secondary attacks.

Blood flows, small cuts and damage accumulating as the Boss lashes out with spells, and artillery shots land around us. But the battering ram of the Field Boss clears a wide area around me, one that I keep widening as I dash through the crowd. Along the way, I use my floating swords to add to the carnage. I create disruption and confusion, breaking morale and formations while layering damage and obstacles.

The change is small at first, the morale factor of my sudden appearance boosting the human army’s fighting form. Then the distraction and damage to the Field Boss’s subordinates kicks in, removing orders and support actions that were meant to take place. Weaknesses in the monster’s line become breakouts as reinforcements do not arrive. And now, with the Field Boss unable to add additional orders, the monsters are split apart further. Mud Walls hamper movement; Polar Zones damage and slow down susceptible monsters as they rush around. Gaps appear and increase, and the experienced human army acts on it, targeting Elites and Alphas with a vengeance. It’s a waterfall effect.

But it doesn’t go all my way. After a minute, the Aqrab takes action, slicing off its own arm to free itself and using the force of my latest swing of its body to fly into the distance. It takes me a little bit to weave my way near it again, bashing apart monsters as I heal my body and close in on the Boss. Rather than repeat the attack, I switch to monster bowling, using the hardy Field Boss to shatter lines.

In the corner of my vision, Ali is dashing alongside me, his Spirit body fully materialized. He’s still clad in his orange jumpsuit, but magic dances from his hand. Through our connection, the Spirit has use of the full range of spells I have learned, along with a few innate spells and abilities. But here, he’s mostly focused on using Improved Mana Missiles, Enhanced Lightning Bolts, and the occasional Mud Wall while continually buffing me with healing spells. Together, we rampage through the monsters’ back lines, causing death and mayhem as the Field Boss’s health shrinks ever so slowly.

“Boy-o, Mana’s at a quarter,” Ali quietly reminds me.

I snarl, snatching up a monster and tossing it aside before booting another away. Then I focus, drawing on the stored Mana in my Mana Bracer, draining it completely. Time to end this. A rhinoceros-like creature charges me, trampling over a smaller carapace-clad monster in front of it, and I grin.

“Just in time.”

My mind shifts, counting down the seconds even as I cut apart another creature. A second, two, then I jump upward, my feet lightly touching down on the charging monster’s singular horn. Another push with my feet and I’m in the air, boosted by the creature’s angry bellow and charge. I laugh, the thrill of fighting rushing through my body. Gods, I’d forgotten how fun it could be bullying lower Leveled monsters.

In the air, I spin and twist, locating the Field Boss, who has recovered from my latest bowling attempt and is scurrying away. Even as it does so, it’s manifesting another spell, hands waving in unison as a weird, rising chant fills the battlefield. Too bad Spells take a bit of time to manifest. The more powerful the spell, the longer it takes—dependent on skill and ability—which is why I tend toward simpler spells in combat. When I’m not using Skills. Because Skills just require a moment of concentration and willpower.

Around me, an even dozen identical copies of my sword appear. I raise my hand, the original sword in my hand shining with light as I gesture downward, the action copied by the dozen blades as beams of concentrated energy tear the air apart to impact the Field Boss. A few unlucky monsters get in the way of the strike and are torn apart like wet newspaper. Each enhanced blade of energy rips through the monster, their penetrating power doubled due to my new Master Skill. Long tears appear on the Aqrab’s body, thousands of points of damage appearing in a single strike.

Army of One. The damn Skill name says it all.

I land on the ground with a grin, striding forward as the Aqrab struggles to stand up, a pair of feet so badly damaged that one lies on the ground next to it. Blood dribbles out from its wounds, a sulphuric smell rising from its wounds even as its buffs attempt to heal the damage.

Thanks to my Aura and the sheer intimidation of having their leader nearly mashed flat, none of the monsters charge me as I finish the pitiful creature with one last stab of my blade. The moment the Field Boss dies, its body collapsing entirely into the ground, a ripple goes through the crowd of monsters. They break apart and flee, the bond keeping them here broken.

In their fear, the monsters still know better than to come near, circling round the corpse of the Field Boss and me. No surprise then that my friends arrive soon afterward. First to arrive of course is Lana, the redhead flying over the monsters on her griffin, the creature dropping to the ground to deposit its voluptuous rider with a blast of sand.

Without a word, the redhead throws her arms around me, hugging me tightly. I return the hug, holding her close while the rest of the group finds their way over. In a short while, the rest of my friends, my team, arrive. While the battle continues to rage around us, while the remainder of the monsters are mopped up, we hold our first meeting in four years.

I can’t help but grin as they cluster around, my eyes taking in the changes among them all. The new lines on their faces, the greater confidence in their stances, the much larger health and Mana bars. The big, wide, grinning faces. I take it all in, savoring the moment before I finally speak.

“What took you so long?”

Chapter 3

Cleaning up after the Field Boss dies takes only a short while. The Hakarta and Erethran army help clear the monster corpses, stacking up bodies for transportation and cleaning later. Interestingly enough, looting is conducted under a somewhat different scenario than normal, as everyone is in an army-based super-group, making looting simpler. Everything will be stored and divvied up later, rather than each individual having to find the corpses they killed.

The Galactics we were fighting ceased fighting us the moment the Field Boss fell, their interest extinguished like the creature’s life. It takes a little explaining, but it seems the entire battle was more of a ritualized competition than a desperate race for resources. With the Field Boss down, there’s little point in continuing the contest and the Galactics cease hostilities. They work alongside our people in picking up corpses of their fallen and looting bodies of those monsters they’ve killed. Still, I do note that we mostly allow the Erethrans to interact with them. No surprise there—the Galactics are probably more used to switching from a desperate battle to non-aggressive stances than we humans are.

Of course, except for when I quickly loot the Field Boss, as requested by Lana, I’m busy with other, more human things. I don’t even have time to do more than absently note that I’ve Leveled again.

“Yes, I’m alive.”

“No, no communication possible. There was only one, semi-functioning Shop.”

“Yes, I got my Master Class.”

“No. I can’t say where it was.”

“Yes, it was hard. I missed you guys too.”

“Yes. I did have to grandstand like that.”

“Yes, I did see your new Levels. Congratulations times ten. Or twenty.”

“No, I haven’t checked in on Vancouver yet.”

And on, and on. The shouted questions, the exclamations of surprise and joy, the hastily blurted answers and explanations take up the next hour before we finally make our way back to the temporary camp. That the camp is well-organized and made up of almost-permanent-looking structures, formed by Skill and Spell, is somehow less surprising than its sheer size.

Unsurprisingly perhaps, the conversations and questions continue to come as we adjourn to the mess hall and congregate around a pair of picnic tables, supping on an extensive buffet of food. Amelia and Mike join us, while others that I barely know, like the Calgarians and Seattle members, leave us alone after they welcome me back. Even then, I notice more than a few glances shot our way by the curious, but none intrude.

“Is it just me or is this really good?” I say, speaking around a mouthful of delicious barbecued monster. It’s a mix between the succulent fleshiness of beef and the intense gaminess of lamb, with a delectable series of spices that mixes heat and sourness.

“It’s very good,” Mikito answers me with a smile. The Samurai has advanced incredibly in four years, sitting at Level 41 in her Class. It’s a frightening increase and probably the largest jump I’ve seen among the group, even if she had the aid of others and full access to Quests and Shops in a Dungeon World.

I kind of feel cheated by the sheer amount of experience I lost, though I mentally comfort myself that it’s only temporary. I’ll “earn” it all back in time.

Of course, it probably helps that the tiny Japanese lady has been at the forefront of the majority of fighting in the last four years, shouldering the burden that had been mine. Her Title is a good indicator of exactly how important my old friend has become.

Title: Spear of Humanity

The owner of this title has gained significant fame and popularity amongst the remnant members of the human race for meritorious acts against monsters, member races of the Galactic Council, and other humans in defense of Earth.

Effects: title owner gains a 15% bonus in statistics when acting in defense of humans or when on Earth. +10% bonus in experience gain on Earth. Humans have a -10% debuff on attributes when attacking title owner.

I’ll admit, I’m really jealous about the title. It’s one of the most impressive titles, in terms of bonuses, I’ve ever seen, but the fact that it’s probably one of a kind and based off worldwide fame contributes a lot to it, from what I understand about the System. After all, the damn leech of a System tends to draw from the masses to benefit the individual. And itself, of course.

“We often bring a Chef or three with us on these campaigns,” Lana says, gesturing to where the cooking stations have been set up.

I find myself blinking, the contrast between our hurried and mostly combat Classer-based campaign four years ago and this more urbane affair giving me mental whiplash for a second.

As if she can read my mind, Lana continues. “As they’re part of the official Warparty and providing an actual service, they can leech off the experience gain to advance their Levels. And the use of the exotic meats also increases their non-combat skill Levels too.”

“It’s a pretty common tactic,” Ali adds from behind the five-plate-high stack of food he has spread before him. In his larger form, the Spirit seems to have decided to gorge himself, somehow managing to put away more than twice as much food as anyone else. Which is impressive when you realize we’re almost all combat Classers. “There’s a bunch of Artisans running around camp too, making themselves useful. They get experience, first pick of the scavenged loot and employment. Outside of a few groups—like the Erethrans—this is a very common setup for large scale campaigns. Cheaper too, since you can fire the idiots at any time.”

“Got it,” I say to Ali and look over at Lana. I wonder if it’s my increase in Charisma or Perception, or just the fact that I’m paying more attention, but I’ve noticed a few things since I’ve come back. The hug. The fact that she’s seated near me, but on the opposite side of the table. How she’s speaking less and avoiding looking me directly in the eyes. In my gut, I know the answer, even if I don’t want to acknowledge it yet. I push that thought aside for now. “So where’s the rest of the team?”

Silence descends over the table. Amelia and Mike, the ex-RCMP officers and now Guardians, fall silent, staring at Lana, who is forced to answer via peer pressure.

“Ingrid no longer works with us exclusively. She flits around, playing mercenary assassin. She calls these large-scale battles idiot lines. Carlos is back in Vancouver. He retired from the front lines a year ago, after Beijing, and now runs an alchemy corporation. He still comes out once in a while, but his wife—” Lana shoots a glance at Mikito, who acts as if she doesn’t notice. “Well. He’s busy. Sam… we lost him at Beijing to an assassination.”

I wince, looking down. Damn it. I liked the old man. After a moment, I meet Lana’s eyes, asking softly, “Who else?”

The list comes quickly. Some I haven’t seen since our journey to the States. Humans from Whitehorse and BC, names and faces that float upward from the depths of my memory with little effort. Many are a brief memory. Elder Badger from Carcross—dead in her sleep. Chetan, the Healer-mage from Seattle, torn apart by a Master Class fighter in Austin. Aron Hauser, the Yerrick, fallen while running a dungeon that had overrun its resources. More names, more faces. Fewer than I had feared, but still too many. Sometimes they speak of others that I don’t recall, individuals they’ve met and befriended and lost. But eventually, they run out of names.

Perhaps it’s the listing of the dead in its entirety. Perhaps it’s just the reminder of what happened and the losses faced. Or perhaps it’s just the realization that for all that has happened, all that we have faced together, our time together was, in the end, brief. Shorter than the time I was away. A lot has happened, a lot has been lost, and I’ve been nowhere to be found. I am a stranger to their lives.

A somber air takes over our table, one that is deepened as my friends take turns outlining what has happened in the last few years, filling me in.

Perhaps the least surprising aspect is that after my disappearance, the push to free human cities eventually slowed down. The first six months saw significant momentum in the United States, but they faced greater and greater resistance as time moved along. Many of the major powers that had been taking their time started acting, outright purchasing settlements from other Galactics—and a few humans—before directly transporting over masses of their people. And these weren’t Basic Classes that arrived but swarms of Advanced Classes and a few Masters.

To combat the ever-increasing speed of reinforcements from the Galactics, Miller and the team switched to an opportunistic approach in aiding settlements. Using smaller, specialized human teams, along with help from the Erethran Army and the Harkarta’s Sixty-Third Division, a series of focused campaigns were carried out on settlements that were ready to be freed. On top of that, of course, Miller’s combined army continued to push east.

Unfortunately, each battle wore down their army, losses continually mounting. Each new settlement taken needed guards, men to watch over them and build up the settlements. Reinforcements were sparse, coming from individuals who trickled in from other locations. The breaking point in the States was when we lost—and regained—Denver in a period of two weeks. Rather than push forward, Miller decided to call a stop to the expansion to train and reinforce newly retaken settlements. While guerilla warfare continued—and continues—the results have grown significantly less promising. In effect, we seem to be in a state of cold war with the remaining Galactics.

On a personal level, all my settlements continue to belong to me and thrive. In fact, due to skillful management under Lana, Kim, and Katherine, the west coast of Canada has become an important Leveling hub. With a trade and transportation agreement in place with Roxley and one of the few “safe” overland routes to Alberta and to the high-Level zones in the Yukon, we experienced a significant northern migration from the States. While Alberta and the prairie provinces have finally been—mostly—freed, the losses and delay in setting up Towns saw a slower growth factor.

Unfortunately, a two-part alliance among a pair of Galactic powerhouses has stopped us from taking over the majority population centers of Ontario, their ruthless tactics, including the massacre and relocation of the entire Montreal population, have forced us to put a pause on our expansion. A constant stream of refugees and freed Serfs escape to the west, with the prairie towns bearing the brunt of retaliatory attacks for continuing to accept our humans. In the meantime, the combat forces Lana has gathered train and Level in ritualized combat, like the most recent battle.

As for the States, fractured by politics, the United States is united no longer. Instead, the west coast, the south—including much of New Mexico and Texas—and the area around Washington DC have all formed into three separate blocs consisting of freed human cities and a few allied Galactic cities. They call themselves variations of the “legal” representation of the real government of course, with regular political negotiations occurring as they attempt to patch the country back together.

As for the rest, including the so-called flyover states, their settlements are owned and run by the Galactics, with a few scattered human warlords and monster-infested hellholes. The Truinnar make up the largest portion of the owners in North America and South America at the moment, which has placed our own settlement in an interesting political position with friends on both sides.

On a global scale, matters are somewhat less depressing. Perhaps due to their large populations, India, Brazil, Pakistan, Japan, Nigeria, Korea, and China all managed to keep control of the majority of their cities. Of course, many of the borders that we knew have been redrawn, with many of the larger countries fracturing into smaller governments. Local warlords rule their four-, five-, six-city empires with a diverse number of rules and regulations. Not surprisingly, negotiations continue as visionaries and despots attempt to stitch together larger countries.

While Europe was densely populated, it seemed to have been adversely affected by a significant Galactic presence. No one knows why, but it seems many larger Galactic corporations decided that western Europe was a wonderful location to first set up shop. Humans, in the grand scheme of things, became nothing more than pawns, forced to flee while the Galactics battled one another. The Movana in particular hold a significant portion of western Europe. Unlike our knockdown, drag-out wars though, the Galactics seem prone to smaller-scale, ritualized combat. Mike is happy to regale me with the story of how Eindhoven was won after a single battle between a pair of Master Class individuals, which left both parties battered but alive.

Ironically, the increased number of European refugees into northern Africa actually helped stabilize human settlements there, giving us a band of powerful helpers in that region. It’s where many of the members of the army around us come from actually. Outside of that, Africa is a hodgepodge of settlements and interest groups, with few “powerful” blocs in charge of more than a half-dozen cities. But Africa’s a big place, and empty as it might be at times, a few major governments have arisen. Frighteningly enough, Africa has some of the greatest concentrations of high Level combat classers in the world.

As for Australia… well, the less said about that pitiful continent, the better. It certainly lived up to its moniker of the most poisonous continent. The few humans who survive there are holding on by the skin of their teeth.

“So basically, humans being humans and no one joins together?” I say with a grimace. Unfortunately, while we might band together in the short term, in the long term, self-interest often wins out.

“Not completely. Some groups have started forming,” Lana says with a sigh. “With the Planetary Voting Platform happening every month, it’s forced a certain amount of macrolevel grouping. Quite a few of the interest groups are geography-based, but some are champion-based.”

“Champion?”

“People like our little Mikito,” Lana says, inclining her head as Mikito flushes slightly in embarrassment. “People who have become famous enough that they’re a significant political force by themselves.”

“I don’t do politics,” Mikito grumbles and points at Lana. “She’s considered a player too.”

“Only because of John’s—your—settlements,” Lana says firmly. “Which we’ll need to talk about.”

“We will,” I assure the redhead. There’s so much to catch up on. So much to understand. We haven’t even scratched other topics that puzzle me, like the presence of the Erethran Army.

But before we can dig deeper into the past, others break in. As much as they might be my friends, they’re also people of import and they have duties, important duties, that have been put aside for long enough. One by one, they’re dragged off to deal with problems that only they can solve. And eventually, I find myself alone but for Ali.

Again.

***

“Redeemer.” The low, gravelly voice with a British accent takes me out of the notifications Ali has been piling in front of me.

Left alone, I was taking the time to catch up on what has been happening, with Ali sorting and sending me relevant pieces of data. I might have received an overview from my friends, but four years leaves a lot to cover.

“Major Ruka.” I look up, grinning at the big, ugly, tusky Hakarta. Damn, I’d forgotten how ugly they are up close.

“Colonel now,” Labashi says with a touch of pride as he sits down next to me without asking.

“Ah. Congratulations. It’s your command here then?” I say, tilting my head toward where the Hakarta continue to clean up.

“Yes.”

“Nice.”

“I wanted to come by and congratulate you on your promotion and return. And thank you. The contract we established has been extremely lucrative,” Labashi says.

“M̀h'sái” I wave aside his thanks. “I understand you’ve been a lot of help. You and the Erethrans.”

One thing I like about Labashi is how smart he is. He picks up on the hint immediately. “Ms. Pearson and General Miller made arrangements after your disappearance. Earth is now an official training ground for the Erethran Army. Earth—your people—pays the long-range teleportation fees for the army. In turn, they provide support during such engagements.”

Huh. I consider how that works. I doubt the Erethrans are at the pure beck and call of our people—it makes no sense for them to make such a deal—but I don’t bother asking Labashi. It’s unlikely he knows, and if he does, it’s unlikely he’d tell me. After all, I have a much better and more reliable source of information for this, and his revelation of such knowledge could be considered rude. No one likes having their allies spy on them.

“And your contract…” I say, leading him on. I might as well figure out the details on those.

Labashi flashes me another grin and leans forward, and suddenly, I’m reminded of our first meeting so many years ago. But this time, we’re finally on an even playing field, our Levels nearly the same and both of us having something the other wants.

An hour and a half later, Lana finally finds us, our conversation mostly over. The new contract is ready for inspection and for details to be hammered out. This time around, I refused to let Labashi push me into signing it immediately, allowing people like Lana and Katherine to review our new agreement in more detail. Still, the outline should be fine—increased presence of the Hakarta in our cities, using them as additional security forces for minor concessions in terms of buildings, access to the dungeons—which we now have four of—and of course, Credits.

Overall, I feel quite smug. Until Lana comes over, a thunderous look on her face.

“John. We need to talk.”

***

We walk in tense silence, headed out of the campgrounds. Ali, smartly, disappeared the moment Lana showed up. Of course, he’s floating right beside me, lounging in the air at full size—which is a really disturbing sight, by the way—but Lana is unable to see him.

As we pass the first set of guards, I finally open my mouth. “Lana—”

“Not yet,” Lana says curtly.

I follow, tight-lipped as we walk into the dark desert whose temperature is already dropping. From the shadows, I catch glimpses of the puppies and Roland as they spread out to deal with any potential threats. I look up but don’t spot the griffin, which reminds me that I know very little about those animals. The true ones and not the Mana-corrupted legends we have. After five minutes, I try again and am hushed.

Only when we are a couple of kilometers away from everyone does Lana stop. From her storage, she pulls and sets up a simple, metallic scepter. In the darkness, I can see the slight flush in her cheeks, the tension in her shoulders.

“Now we can speak,” Lana states. When I open my mouth to do so, I find a finger up in my face. “What the hell were you thinking you were doing?”

“Talking—”

“Negotiating! With Labashi,” Lana snaps.

“You make it sound like he’s an enemy.”

“He’s a mercenary. A friendly one, but a merc,” Lana says fiercely. “And you had no right to negotiate with him. None!”

“Actually—”

“Don’t give me that settlement owner garbage,” Lana snarls, waving her finger in my face. My eyes narrow, her words igniting the anger inside me as she plows on. “You’ve been gone for four years. Four! We’ve been taking care of all of it in your place. The negotiations. The politics. The endless meetings and assassination attempts. And you’ve never even once contacted me!”

I open my mouth to protest, to explain, to shout back. But at the end, there’s a slight hitch in her words, a hiccup. I stare, the anger doused as understanding sweeps through me. Then I step closer, ignoring her finger, and wrap my arms around the redhead, hugging her tightly. She struggles at first, but I’ve always been stronger than her. And eventually, she stops and just cries, her hands gripping me with nails digging into my back as she sobs.

“Damn you. Damn it…”

Lana eventually regains control, pushing against me more insistently. I let her go and she steps back, staring at me for a long time.

I can’t help but smile slightly. “You’re not going to slap me, are you?”

“If it wouldn’t hurt my hand more than your face, I might,” Lana says grumpily. “Baka.”

I chuckle, glad to hear Mikito’s trademark insult for me. When Lana sighs again, shaking her head, and steps back and away from me, I realize it’s nearly time for the real talk.

“John…” Lana says hesitantly.

“I know. You’ve got someone else,” I say softly. I feel a flash of pain, a deep ache in my chest and stomach that I ruthlessly quash. Not right now. “Anyone I know?”

“No. We met in South America…”

I shake my head. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not know. Not right now.”

Lana looks hurt for a second then smooths out her face, nodding in confirmation. “About Labashi. You really shouldn’t have done that. He’s a friend, and the deal you made isn’t bad. But there’s more in play than you realize. There are factions who want, need, that space.”

I consider what she said and I sigh. She’s right. I tried to take some of that into account while negotiating, but what’s available to Ali is significantly less than what is probably held in Lana’s head.

“Sorry. I did leave the deal unsigned,” I say, gesturing slightly and sending over the details. “I’m sure we can adjust it, if necessary.”

“It will be,” Lana mutters, staring at the document for a second before she dismisses the notification. “It’s… later. I’ll deal with it later.”

“And about the settlements…” I consider what to say. Eventually, I go with the simplest. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Lana stares at me for a moment then steps forward to give me a hard hug, murmuring into my chest, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“So am I.”

***

After that, we end up speaking about other things, just catching up. Even if our lives revolve around the System and the changes that have happened, we’ve still got lives. Hopes and dreams. Or at least, Lana does—and it’s her who ends up speaking mostly, gossiping about familiar friends, about changes in the settlement and mutual acquaintances. I find out that Jason and Rachel now have a trio of kids, the ankle-biters incredibly cute. Based on the videos that I view, I swear, all three of the kids must have specced Charisma.

I learn a lot about the world I left behind and the changes that have happened, the growth of the settlements. And perhaps one other thing—the deep pride Lana holds over the settlements, their growth and improvement. Vancouver’s a Large Town now, well on its way to being a city.

Hours pass quickly, and I can almost forget the last few years and think we are back. But there’s a distance between us now, a change in our relationship that neither of us dares prod or push too far. When I consider it, it leaves a dull ache in my heart, but it’s dull. Perhaps because I always dreaded this, always feared something like this for when I returned. Or perhaps I’ve just pushed down the pain.

We talk, and eventually we part when we hit the second sentry group, the guards offering quick nods to us. Lana heads deeper into the compound while I stand at the edge, repressed thoughts and emotions churning.

Logically, I understand what happened—I was gone for years, with little guarantee that I’d be back, and we never had the relationship conversation even when we were together. We’d been working toward something more permanent, but we had both been hurt. And busy. So damn busy. Then I disappeared right after she lost Anna, leaving her to pick up the pieces of my settlements and an alliance that had relied on my Skill. Is it any surprise that she eventually found comfort somewhere else? If I hadn’t been stuck on a barren rock filled with murderous monsters and aliens, I might have succumbed too.

“John,” Mikito greets me as she walks up, the Japanese lady completing her perimeter walk. “You okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” I say, looking at her.

“Then stop standing at the perimeter without moving. You’re scaring the guards,” Mikito says.

I frown, wondering why, then realize I’ve been standing here for minutes. Huh. “I…”

“Come on,” Mikito says, gesturing for me to start walking.

I frown but follow her, curious about where she’s taking me before realizing it’s probably just to have another chat. A part of me wants to decline, to back out. Heart-to-hearts are draining. But…

“On the platform.”

I blink, realizing we’re standing in the middle of a clearing dominated by a small glowing platform that looks like Star Trek’s teleportation array, bracketed by gleaming steel pillars. I frown, but Mikito’s already walking onto it and looking at me impatiently, so I join her.

“Where are we going?”

“To work.”

Lights flare, growing so bright I have to squint before the world lurches, sending my stomach and senses spinning. And then the world disappears.

Chapter 4

“This.” Stab. “Is.” Pivot. “Not.” Kick. “What.” Cast. “I.” Cut. “Was.” Lunge. “Expecting.”

I recover and look around at the dead bodies of the monsters we’ve been fighting littered all around us. I do a mental tally and relax slightly when the number of half-dismembered heads and corpses equal the number of attackers I counted. The minimap agrees, but my time in the other world has made me rely on it much less. Too many ways for it to be tricked or be wrong.

For a moment, I regard the monster remains. Truly weird, these Penangallan. They start the fights with their full bodies, but if they aren’t killed immediately, they detach halfway through the fight and float their now tougher and more impervious heads and innards to attack us. That they use a combination of magic and an acid spit attack makes them even more annoying. As it stands, the pitted and scarred concrete and marble hallway is evidence of how hard they fought.

With a growl, I shake my head and glance out the hotel hallway to stare at the abandoned remnants of the city of Davao in the Philippines. Luckily, the teleportation managed to get us close to the city center, allowing us to meet up with the rest of the team here, rather than fighting through the monster-infested city.

“Does he always complain like that?” Hugo Karlsson, the six-foot-eight-inches, blond-haired, blue-eyed ubermensch asks.

I glance at the Level 21 Winter Ranger and find him staring back at me challengingly. Once again, I break eye contact first rather than push things.

“Come now, Hugo, you are being unfair. Mr. Lee has helped us clear this dungeon much faster,” Jamal Naser, the Level 39 Desert Seer, says to defend me. The native berber from Morocco nods at me, the older man with the rectangular face and dusky skin standing up from the corpses he has finished looting to wipe his left hand clean. Thankfully, I’ve got Ali to do my looting for me.

“Faster. But not needed,” Cheng Shao says.

“True. But I didn’t ask to join you,” I say to Shao, wondering what I did to annoy the black-haired Metal Mage.

Unfortunately, from the moment Mikito portaled us to this city, we barely had time for more than a few words of greeting before we launched our attack. Even at a glance, I can tell why we’re here—this dungeon is about to overrun its boundaries. We’ve got a ton of monsters to kill, making the trip through the space-altering, gravity-defying hotel floors even more annoying than normal. That the monsters are all at least Level 80, with some elites hitting Level 100, doesn’t make our fight any easier. It says something about the team we’re working with that we’re still cutting through the dungeon like a five-year-old with cake.

Then again, Shao and Hugo are both Master Classes. I admit, it was a bit of a blow to my ego to realize I’m not that special. After all, when the System came, others managed to luck out with their Perks and skip a Class level like me. And really, it’s a good thing for humanity that there are others who can kick ass.

“We can understand that,” Jamal replies to me, since no one else does. “But you’ll also understand that being pulled away from our normal duties for an unscheduled delve can be frustrating. We all have responsibilities.”

“Photo ops,” Mikito says with a sniff. “Speeches.”

“Not all of us crave the front lines,” a wide-hipped, curly-haired, short black woman with a strong Southern accent replies. Jessica Knox, Level 37 Cat Burglar and our scout for this little delve. I have to admit, she’s a looker with curves that go on for days, dark skin, and dreads to keep her curls in place.

“Move please.” Rae, the last member of the team rolls up in his mecha as he speaks, smaller mechanical arms whirling and buzzing as the arms exit the enclosed cockroach-like vehicle-cum-armor. Within seconds, the body next to me is dismembered, the mechanical arms pulling out the important parts and storing them away.

Normally, I’d put the bodies into my Altered Storage space, but I’ve yet to visit a proper Shop to sell four years’ worth of valuable corpses. Anyway, mecha man is getting all the expensive bits.

“Map update incoming,” the robotic voice says.

I grunt, getting the new notification from Rae. Just Rae. No last name, no indicator of sex. Other than the fact that he or she is a Level 42 Silver Cyborg, I’ve got nothing. And discreet inquiries to Mikito has yielded no further information. Rae doesn’t leave its robot—if it can. In fact, outside of such campaigns, Rae doesn’t interact with the rest of the champions. Still, their Skills and abilities are useful.

Using its skills, Rae attached a bug to Jessica for when she scouts. That bug then gives us a map of the areas the Burglar has explored, along with the monsters she’s seen. The level of detail in the updates is higher than anything I ever got from my drones—or Sam did from his—which is pretty impressive. It’s another reason why we’re kicking this dungeon’s ass. That Rae’s bugs can punch the basic updates to us through the dense Mana cloud inside the dungeon is even more impressive.

“All I’m saying is that we’re wasting good XP on this newcomer,” Hugo says.

I almost grind my teeth but push the anger aside. After all, Hugo was just a kid when all this started. And even if I don’t agree with the trend of seeing our new world as a game, he’s obviously made it work for him. And again, I remind myself, I’m an outsider here.

“This is a working introduction,” Mikito says simply, pointing with her naginata down the curved hallway. “So let’s work.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be here,” Shao says, her eyes glittering with contempt. “What has he done? I’ve never even heard of him.”

“Explorer. Monster Bane. Duelist. Master Class,” Rae’s metallic voice chirps from the trundling mecha. “Significant achievements.”

“And no fame,” Jessica says, shaking her head. “You know he won’t be accepted by the public.”

“Who cares about that?” Jamal says with a snort. “I’m happy to have another reliable body clearing these dungeons. Or on the front lines.”

“I do,” Jessica snaps. “I’ve got sponsorship deals to worry about here.”

“You know, no one’s asked if I want to be part of your little book club,” I say, frowning at the surge of dots coming.

I raise my hand, forming an Enhanced Lightning Strike then punch it out without a word of warning. The Lightning darts forward, formed through the connection and channel I’ve created. The bright streaks of light hurt our eyes in the enclosed space. The Penangallan that get caught scream, twitching in agony as the lightning cooks their innards. It doesn’t take long before the other members add their area effect spells and Skills, tearing up the next wave before it reaches us.

“We’re the champions,” Jamal says, as if that statement is sufficient.

I guess, for many, it would be. After all, not to mention the fame and Credits they earn, the experience gains from running higher Level dungeons on a consistent basis would be very attractive. In this new world, Levels are power, just like money used to be in our previous world. It doesn’t matter where you are, Levels talk.

As for Jamal’s presumptive statement, I stay silent. It’s not my job to correct his misconceptions and overblown ego. While they might see this as a protracted interview, a testing ground to see if I’m worthy to join them, I’m taking it as a nice way to let loose a little. Not all the way, since I’d like to keep a few cards hidden, but enough to work out some of the frustrations that have been boiling up inside me. Juvenile perhaps, but hitting things is therapeutic. Stuck as I was, I’ve learned to take my stress relief where I can, even if it’s in the middle of a battlefield.

My continued silence drives the group to turn to other topics. Discussions about Skills, spells, and equipment dominate at first, with tactics and weird monsters leading. I keep an ear out, especially since most of these creatures sit around my target range. It’s kind of nice to be around people who can relate. But eventually, the topic shifts as we ascend the hotel floors.

“Hey, Cheng, were you able to get those tickets for KMC?” Jessica asks pleadingly. “You promised!”

“It’s Shao. I’ve told you before,” Cheng Shao says. “And their manager has promised us VIP passes. But they might have to delay the concert.”

“Again?” Jessica says grumpily.

“Soo-yi hasn’t managed to Level yet. They’re planning to hit that new Level 70 dungeon north of Seoul first,” Shao explains as her hands move, enchanted knives darting through the air to intercept and stab the Penangallan that attempt to swarm her.

“Oh, come on, you’re going on about that band again?” Hugo groans.

“And why shouldn’t we? Their music is great!”

“It’s manufactured and sterile. It’s no wonder they can kill with their songs. I’d die if I had to listen to their music again,” Hugo says grumpily.

“Please, you’re still bitter we won that bet.”

“Bet?” I mutter to Mikito as I duck, grabbing twisted intestines and slamming the body into a nearby wall.

“They made us listen to the band’s greatest hits on a delve. On repeat. For eight hours,” Mikito says with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh.” I stare at the disgusting bunch of intestines that the System considers “loot” from the Penangallan before handing them to Mikito.

The samurai doesn’t even blink as she stores them away. It’s Credits. Even if my culinary preferences are broad, I’m not entirely sure I want to know the eventual use of those. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss when it comes to gastronomic delights.

“The band runs dungeons?” I say with a frown, considering what I’ve overheard.

“Yes. They’re an Advanced Class team, sixth highest ranked in Seoul’s Adventurer Team chart,” Jessica burbles happily. “Of course, not all the original members of KMC survived, but most did. And they all have the Class Siren.

“At first, they Leveled up from a variety of Basic musician and entertainer Classes, but their manager had them run a dangerous Advanced Class dungeon. The surviving members all got the Advanced Class Siren, and their ‘Song of Redemption’ can boost stats up to ten percent for six hours. And it’s partially stackable!”

At first, I attempt to stop the gush of information, but when I realize that the talk is actually annoying Hugo—and somehow, not stopping Jessica from doing her job—I leave her to it. It’s a bit disturbing that she manages to project her voice from kilometers away to continue chattering while scouting, but Skills are weird.

Eventually, after numerous wrong turns, we make our way to the end of the dungeon. At one point, Mikito stops to deal with the fallout of stealing me away in the middle of the night, making muttered promises to return me over her communicator. But the violence is useful, giving me time to not only assess Earth’s best but also to vent. Not that every single one of the “champions” are here, but the majority of them are.

When we finally put down the dungeon boss—a fight that had little suspense and fewer surprises beyond the wide-scale Iron Whirlwind spell cast by Cheng Shao—the group quickly loots the various corpses before reaching the objective of the mission. Davao’s City Core also serves as the Dungeon Core.

“Whose turn is it?” Jamal asks, none of the group moving to touch the Core that glows quietly in the middle of the once-immaculate ballroom.

“Mine,” Jessica says before placing her hand on it.

We all get the notification, and for the next few minutes, things get busy as the monsters go into a frenzy, intent on driving Jessica away from the orb. Unfortunately for them, we’re fighting a defensive battle here, which makes things significantly simpler. The monsters, on the other hand, have multiple floors to ascend and a chokepoint to force their way through. It’s a slaughter.

The moment Jessica takes over the settlement and dungeon core, she banishes the dungeon settings, which leads to an exodus of Mana from our surroundings. That’ll cause its own set of problems in the city as the Mana searches for a way to purge itself. Eventually, a new dungeon will form. For now, Jessica purchases upgrades to the building we’re in, reinforcing the steel doors and adding a few automated sentinels on this level and the bottom one, making the entrance to the core more difficult.

“That’ll do for now,” Jessica says, eyeing the giant steel doors that now block off access to the City Core. “We’ll be teleporting guards in once I’ve reported back.”

At those words and the obvious dismissal, the team splits up. Shao and Hugo activate communicators, pinging their location to their people before they’re teleported away. Rae rolls out, headed for the roof. Ali sends me an image of the reinforced blimp-like flying vehicle that is slowly floating toward the hotel, ready for a pickup. Jamal, on the other hand, stays behind with Jessica in the City Core. That leaves Mikito and myself to walk down the stairs alone, in thoughtful silence for a time.

“So I’m guessing I failed?” I say, a sardonic grin twisting my lips.

“No. They’re just uncertain,” Mikito says. “Once your reputation rises…”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t joking when I said I wasn’t interested.”

“What did you think?” Mikito asks, and there’s a plaintive tone in her voice that makes me pause.

I actually consider the question properly, reviewing in my mind what I saw. “They’re good. They all understand how to control their Skills, Mana, and Stamina drain. I don’t even recall anyone using any potions. Well-coordinated. Could be better, but considering you guys probably don’t fight together all the time, more than adequate. No one’s left alone to run out of Mana or Stamina. This wasn’t the hardest test, but they passed it with flying colors anyway.”

“We’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Yes. But…” I consider how to put this. How to explain some of what I’ve learned, what I’ve had to expand on. “They’re too reliant on the surface. They use the basics of their attribute gains, their Skills, and don’t dig further.”

“What do you mean?” Mikito says with a frown.

“Our attribute increases aren’t linear. There’s some overlap between each individual, but the differences between races are significant. Well, part of that is because we’re not looking in the right places,” I say softly. “Strength is the simplest example. A ten-point increase in it doesn’t just increase your lifting power. It affects how that lifting power affects other System-registered entities. It lets you ignore a portion of their defense, of their health, if you know how to tap into it. It allows you to do this.” I push off with a toe, flinging myself into the air and against a nearby wall, then I push again with a finger when I hit it, flinging myself toward the ceiling. Each of those movements leave the floor and wall untouched, but when I reach the ceiling, I exert my Strength in a different way, shattering the ceiling tiles as I push myself toward the ground, only to land without disturbing the floor. “And this.”

Mikito’s eyes widen, staring at the four spots I’ve touched, even as the dust from my example falls around us. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction—except when it doesn’t. We’ve all kind of accepted that the System breaks “normal” laws, but what I’ve learned is that it doesn’t. It’s just that we aren’t seeing the other forces, aren’t understanding the whole picture.

“It’s just the start,” I say, tapping my head. “Willpower gifts us Mana Regeneration and ways of dealing with manipulation spells. But it can alter and shift how Skills like Auras and Charisma work. It can even make the information we feed the System more obscure. Willpower dictates your pain resistance and your recovery rates. It even, from what I can see, deals with things like PTSD if used correctly. Every attribute has a different application than we think, but we don’t use it.”

“Is this what you learned? When you were gone?” Mikito asks softly, staring at my solemn expression. I nod before she huffs, “Guess you weren’t on the beach.”

“No. And I’m not going to be lazing around here either. I’ve got a lot to catch up on and playing hero isn’t my goal. Certainly not for fame or Credits.”

“Isn’t it?” Mikito says, stepping forward and looking into my eyes. “Wasn’t that what we were doing? Before you left.”

“No. We were doing what was necessary.”

“Necessary for what?”

I come to a stop as I realize that Mikito never did ask. Not the entire time we worked together. She accepted my lead, following where I pointed. For a time, I stand there, blinking as the realization hits.

“John…?”

“Sorry.” I shake my head, dismissing the thought. “Necessary for us to survive. And for me to get the settlements so I could vote.”

“The Planetary election,” Mikito states.

“Yes,” I say, nodding firmly. “We need to get on the Galactic Council.”

Mikito purses her lips, tilting her head as she considers me. “That will help Earth?”

“Yes. We’d have more say, more options. We’d be able to put rules in place once we’re officially registered. We’d gain status.”

“The difference between a System-registered town and one not,” Mikito says, floating the sentence for me to confirm. When I do, she nods firmly. “What can I do?”

“I’m not sure. Not yet,” I say.

“Ask.”

I offer her a nod in confirmation.

“And when that’s done? What’s next?”

“Then I leave. The Council, the galaxy. There’s a lot more going on, out there, than the fight for a single planet. Our world, our losses, they’re a drop in an unimaginably large ocean,” I say.

Mikito purses her lips, staring at me as she considers what I’ve said. In the end, she gestures to the side. “Portal back, please.”

“Sure. I’m going straight to Vancouver though,” I say even as I open one back to the army camp.

Mikito pauses before she steps into the Portal, the black oval swallowing her without a ripple. I’m left in the red carpeted hallway, the damage to the ceiling slowly but visibly patching itself up, alone once again with the silence and my thoughts.

That last silent look… I draw a deep breath, wondering how much she guessed. Because there is another reason why I—we—need to get on the Galactic Council. I need to get out there, to see and learn more. There are answers to my questions in the wider world, answers that cannot be found on Earth. As I stand in silence in the dimly lit hall, a memory surfaces.

“These questions about the System, they’re dangerous,” Ka’lla d’Mak says. Butt-length yellow-green hair spills down his back as he walks ahead of me, heading deeper into the cave system we call home. “I was forced to live here because of them.”

“But the answers are out there.” I limp along, dragging the eight-ton, ninety-foot-long corpse.

“Some answers aren’t worth your life,” Ka’lla says.

“Some are.”

“Then be wary who you ask. And how you ask. For everyone under the System may be your enemy.”

“Yes.”

Memory. I push it aside, staring around me as the sense of paranoia and wariness I thought had disappeared comes back. That’s right. Earth isn’t mine anymore. Or me, its.

With a gesture, a Portal opens and I step forward. Time to get to work.

Chapter 5

“Mr. Lee. Welcome back.” Katherine greets me from behind my—her?—desk as I step through the Portal into my office. Or her office. If you leave a place for four years, do you lose it? Even if my ownership has been kept, it’s not as if Katherine and Lana haven’t been running my settlements for me.

Coming through the Portal, I had Ali slide in first to make sure I didn’t have to worry about anything. Thankfully, I didn’t. I’ll admit, I would have been annoyed if I wasn’t pre-approved to Portal into my own settlements. The last thing I want to do is have my atoms torn apart while Portaling home.

I offer a quick nod to my assistant as she stands and moves swiftly and calmly from around the desk. The older ex-secretary is dressed in a finely cut office suit, one in pale grey that suits her figure completely and sets off the light grey in her hair well. I absently note that she’s got a rather distinctive necklace, which I’m pretty sure is enchanted. A brief viewing of her via Mana Sense confirms that intuition, and furthermore that her earrings, belt, and a bracelet are all enchanted. An impressive amount of magical equipment for an Assistant. Then again, other than Lana, she was—is—the individual in charge of one of the largest settlement groups in North America. Or would you call it a country?

Katherine Ward (Level 18 Settlement Manager)

HP: 410/410

MP: 1023/1480

Conditions: Ablative Shield, Pre-cognitive sense, Settlement Link

Well, I guess she’s not really an Assistant anymore. Her rise in Level is a bit surprising, as is her new Class. But I guess being officially hired and running my settlements has done wonders for her experience gain.

“WELCOME BACK,” Kim, my settlement AI answers.

Almost immediately, I get a notification that my AI has upgraded since I left, going up a Tier and increasing its processing powers significantly. Since we left Kim linked up to the Vancouver settlement City Cores, I’m not surprised that the AI had been upgraded along with the city. Notifications pile up in the corner of my eyes, most of which I ignore for now.

“UPDATING NEURAL LINK WITH SETTLEMENT INFORMATION ALONG WITH NECESSARY SECURITY PROTOCOLS, PASSES, AND DATA. PLEASE WAIT.”

“Oy, bits for brains, you keeping our settlements running?” Ali says as he stands in the middle of the office, acting like a crazy person talking into empty space. Thank the gods I learned how to mentally chat with him a long time ago, or else I’d really look insane.

“WITHOUT ADDITIONAL ORDERS TO THE CONTRARY, I HAVE BEEN AIDING MS. PEARSON AND MS. WARD IN DEVELOPING THE SETTLEMENTS. AN UPDATED REPORT ON ALL CHANGES HAS BEEN UPLOADED,” Kim notifies us via blue notification tab that he / her / it speaks in. One day, I swear, I’ll land on a sex or designation for Kim. But I think it is probably out. It just feels so inhumane. Which, I’ll admit, is technically correct. “I HAVE ALSO TAKEN THE LIBERTY TO INFORM THE SECURITY FORCES OUTSIDE TO STAND DOWN.”

“Thank you, Katherine. Kim,” I say, ignoring the last line. Not as if they’d actually shoot me. Would they? Actually, maybe having random people who Portal into my office without a direct invitation get shot as a matter of course is good protocol. “I’ll review the data later. And I’m glad we won’t need to switch out the furniture here.”

“Just the furniture?” Kim asks and I grin wolfishly. I’m pretty sure I could contain the destruction if needed.

“Do you not consider our security forces sufficient?” Katherine asks.

“To deal with me? A pair of Level 17 Advanced Bodyguards?” I snort. “Even before I left, it wouldn’t be sufficient. Though they probably could buy you the time you’d need to activate that teleport beacon you’ve got stashed behind the desk.”

Katherine raises an eyebrow, the only indication of surprise she allows herself. I don’t elaborate on how the moment Ali swung in, he was already ripping information about the building from the City Core and sending me the relevant bits. Or how here, in the center of my own settlement, I basically have any information I want or need only a thought away. The degree of information I have access to is rather scary—and makes me realize how badly I underestimated how great an advantage Roxley had whenever I visited him. With the massive increases in Intelligence that I’ve gained, I can now do things like subconsciously download all those notifications Kim is pushing at me, something I could never do before my little trip.

“May I know what is the agenda for today?” Katherine asks, changing topics.

“You tell me. What were you going to be doing if I had not interrupted you?” I ask.

“I was about to spend the next hour reviewing and answering the correspondence left for me overnight. Next, I have a committee meeting with the integrated Vancouver council about the latest updates on our build cycle and zoning for additional industries and infrastructure. There has been a significant push to increase the available space for our marine salvage and hunting operations, with a request for a second butchering yard. Of course, there is concern that the additional refuse from the butchering yard and its ancillary industries will provoke additional marine threats.” Katherine stops as she must see my eyes glaze over.

From what I can tell, her day is basically a series of meetings. It’s just who she meets that changes—from the mayors of the other towns to Galactic Guilds, Corporations, or local ones, it seems like she’s basically spending the day either in meetings or reading paperwork.

“Right…” I shudder slightly, considering delving back into all this. And then, I consider that I actually haven’t been needed for the last four years and decide there isn’t a point. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to continue doing these meetings. I’m going to throw up a notification video and watch and listen in while I catch up on, well, everything. Fair enough?”

Katherine nods, accepting my words without complaint. At least for the moment. I’m glad because after my talking to by Lana, I figure it’s better for me to get caught up before I mire myself in the running of my settlements. The fact that the settlements, together, really make up a country, even if we don’t designate it that way, is just another reason to stay out of it.

“Ali, got a few jobs for you.” I send the thought to my Spirit as I take a seat behind the desk.

The Spirit startles slightly, guiltily putting back the pear he picked up from Katherine’s desk, a neat bite marring its surface. Katherine perches on a chair opposite me, her eyes glazing over slightly as she returns to reading her notifications on screens only she can see.

“Shoot, boy-o.”

“You’ll like the first one. We need to dump my inventory and the corpses in my Altered Space. Think you can handle that?”

“Easy. I’ll make sure to not fleece them too hard,” Ali sends back, a slight smirk in his voice.

Good. That deals with clearing out my storage and getting some actual Credits, and this way, his new physical body can be put to good use. The corpses of the Level 120+ monsters that I kept in my Altered Space can easily increase the Levels of any Butcher, Skinner, or other Artisan who works on them, so it’s best to get those out ASAP. And making some Credits and Leveling my people was the whole point of dragging them all the way back.

With that taken care of, I focus on the next steps. Getting to know my own settlements.

Summarized Settlement Status

Current Population: 498,308

Total Number of Settlements: 13

Combined Settlement Treasury: 4,314.87 Million Credits (+12M per day)

Combined Settlement Mana: 333,412 Mana Points (+981 Mana per day)

Taxes: 10% Sales Tax on Shop

Facilities of Note: City Dungeons (3), Tier II Guilds (1), Tier III Guild Buildings (9), Military Complex (2), Mega Farms (3), Tier III Butchering Yards (4), Tier III Weapons Workshop (1) Teleportation Pads (Short Range * 11, Long Range * 2), Artisans University (1), Hyperlink (3—see map for link)

Enchantments of Note: Mana Collection Fields (3), Mana Shield Resistance Enhancement (6), Field of Clarity (1)

Defenses of Note: Settlement Shields (Tier II * 1, III * 8), Quantum Lock (Type 2 Static, Type 4 Dynamic—see map for coverage), Sentries (Tier II * 3, III * 4)

“Thirteen settlements, Kim?”

“IT WAS DETERMINED, TO BE MORE EFFICIENT, TO LINK CITY CORES FOR GREATER VANCOUVER, VICTORIA, KELOWNA, AND OTHER LARGER CITIES. THE TOTAL NUMBER REPRESENT THE NEW STRUCTURE,” Kim replies. “DO YOU REQUIRE A LIST OF SUCH SETTLEMENTS?”

“Map will do.”

“DONE.”

I stare at the map of the province with its glowing dots, my lips pursed. Vancouver is the largest dot of course. Victoria, Kamloops, and Kelowna rival each other in size, with smaller settlements like Prince George, Golden, and Fort Nelson surprisingly large now. It takes only a single query to explain why—high Level zones nearby have boosted the Adventuring population around these cities, pushing their growth. Of interest to me as well is the fact that the quantum lock doesn’t just include the cities but much of the land between the settlements on the mainland. Right now though, the lock doesn’t include Victoria, leaving the city covered by its own little bubble. I’m interested by the little lines that create a triangle of high-speed transportation signifying the development of the hyperloop. A part of me wonders how they’re keeping the monsters from wrecking it.

Oh. They aren’t. That’s why it’s not been pushed out farther. I sigh, shaking my head. A part of me wonders who ever considered putting a delicate piece of technology in the field where random monster spawns could wreck it. A part of me wants to curse the rather wasteful use of my Credits, but another part points out I wasn’t here. In the end, I settle for making a note to Kim that this is not to happen again. At least it’s not a complete waste—it seems the hyperloop churns out a nice and repeatable series of Quests for both combat Classers and Artisans.

For a time, I stare at the stored Credits and Mana and briefly daydream about the kind of things I could do with that amount of funds. The sheer volume and variety of Skills I could buy… then I shake my head and dismiss the thought. Thankfully, it isn’t possible to transfer settlement Credits into your own pocket—outside of some specific salary caps—or else the oldest kingdoms and corporations would be impossibly dominant. Not that they don’t already have a nasty advantage over the rest of us.

“How many days of Mana and Credits is that? If we don’t generate any additional,” I ask, curious to get an idea of how we’re doing.

“THE SETTLEMENT MANA BURN RATE IS NINETEEN DAYS. CREDITS ARE SIX.”

“That’s not good,” I mutter.

“What isn’t, Mr. Lee?” Katherine asks, looking at me.

“We don’t seem to have much in reserve,” I say, waving at the screen she can’t see and realizing that only after I do so.

“Are you looking at the financials?” When I nod, she continues. “It was a decision made by the council to emphasize growth over stability at this time, with the attendant risks.”

“Nineteen days though?” I can understand that reasoning, but why is the Mana reserve so much higher?

“Researching and applying appropriate settlement-wide enchantments have been slow. Our next scheduled update will see the addition of a Mage’s College to the Artisans University,” Katherine says.

I nod. A good decision overall. I fall silent, prodding the screen a little more and getting confirmation that the settlement notification is hiding anything below Tier III. It means that most generic upgraded buildings like residences, System-registered retail stores, or workshops are left out.

I dig into the settlement screen, pulling up specific information for each city as I try to get a better understanding of the state of affairs. Katherine leaves with a soft goodbye to head for her meeting down the hallway, a simple gesture getting me the in-house video feed. I lower the volume and split my attention as I continue reading.

Interestingly enough, unlike my previous decision, they’ve integrated the other cities around Vancouver into a single collective settlement. Burnaby, Surrey, and the like still have their own Cores, but they aren’t City Cores anymore, instead earmarked as Neighborhood Cores. One of the main advantages of this setup is that a Neighborhood Core can be taken over like any City Core, but it only removes access for the original owner. It does not confer upon the conqueror any of the abilities of the Core, which is basically in a “shutdown” mode until the main City Core is taken. Of course, there are negatives, including a loss of Advanced building spots. It’s not a complete loss since the System uses a calculation based off population, area, and number of Cores to ascertain the number of such spots, but it is a significant number.

It’s kind of weird in a way, if you think about it. Most “normal” Galactic cities grow from a single Core, their development dictated by the population and buildings that are constructed, with tiers locked behind Mana and Credit thresholds. For Earth though, we had a bunch of these City Cores designated, forcing us to eventually sell, destroy, or consolidate the Cores to make our settlements viable with our new populations. In some cases, rather than having settlements located in optimal positions—near higher Level zones for Adventuring or in a low Level zone for agriculture and farming—we’ve basically built our population centers around existing areas and done our best to work around the realities of a Dungeon World. It's why some of our smaller towns are growing so quickly, and why one of Katherine’s meetings is another discussion about tearing down a tiny settlement to get at its settlement key to create a more useful one.

Still, it is what it is, and for all that, we’re doing well. Continuing on with some of my initial objectives, many of the settlements specialize in production. Kamloops is fast becoming a major trading hub and Artisan center for weapons production, while Kelowna continues to churn out highly valuable, Galactically-desired agricultural products. It helps that the Artisan Guild based in the city has lent their expertise, increasing the variety of products they produce and making the city another jump-off point for Adventurers attempting the high-Level Rockies.

Vancouver acts as a hub for now, with our City Dungeon, training facilities, and port all important centers of interest. It is also the center of governance and where most of our hard-hitters live, the easy access to our long-range teleportation pads allowing us to react to monster hordes and regional Quests with ease. Victoria, on the other hand, is the redheaded stepchild of the settlements, its position on Vancouver Island making it mostly self-sufficient. In fact, I notice a report indicating we’re seeing a slow, but steady, decrease in the human population there. On the other hand, we’re also seeing a rather sharp increase in Galactic immigration, especially among nautical-favored monsters. Discussions on what to do about these changes have dominated a number of meetings, which is kind of amusing.

“Kim. What are Regional Quests?”

“ALSO KNOWN AS KINGDOM QUESTS, REGIONAL QUESTS MAY BE GENERATED BY EITHER THE PRESIDING GOVERNMENT OR BY THE SYSTEM. WOULD YOU LIKE A CURRENT EXAMPLE?”

“Hit me.”

“DEPLOYING SENTRY.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” I say, my voice rising. Then a slight hiss and cackle make my eyes widen. “You gained a sense of humor.”

“IN A WAY. AS MS. PEARSON HAS NOTED.”

“Uh-huh. Quest.”

Western British Columbia Regional Quest: From Ashes

As a fast-growing population center, the WBC Region is on the brink of developing into a truly significant regional power. Help (or hinder) the local government with this quest.

Requirements: 2 Cities, 5 Large Towns, 8 Towns

Rewards: Will vary depending on aid (or hindrance) offered.

Accept Regional Quest to receive additional sub-quests.

Western British Columbia Regional Quest: Untamed Wilderness

No government can last while their population faces constant, encompassing fear for their existence. At the minimum, the general population should not fear being driven from their homes by uncontested monsters.

Requirements: 30 Days with 0 Beast Waves

Accept Regional Quest to receive additional sub-quests.

I admit, I’m tempted to add both to my Quest list. A few quick queries confirms a nagging fear though—the type of quests I would receive is dependent on my Reputation and Fame, and due to my long absence, I don’t have much of either. Even if no one else can see these attributes, the System is tracking it all.

Once I have a clearer idea of the status of my settlements, I make sure to check on how Katherine’s doing. Katherine—and Kim in silent support—is handling the meeting well. Better than I would anyway, so I ignore their meeting for the moment. Well, beyond making a note to visit the harbor at some point to see if I can murder a few nautical beasts. From a secure and stable piece of ground. Somewhere along the way, my higher Willpower significantly reduced my phobia for water without me realizing it, but I still won’t go swimming with a batch of whale-sized monsters if I have a choice.

I glance at the two notifications that sit quietly awaiting my inspection.

Dropped off the bodies. Expect to get remainder Credits in a few weeks.

+138,950 Credits

Visiting the Shop to sell System-registered loot. You should visit too—you need to update your Skills.

As I was finishing up on the last notification, a smaller notification flickered up, startling me slightly.

+1,238,194 Credits

My mind stutters to a stop when I see the numbers. This is more money than I’ve ever had. Sure, I knew we had filled out my not-inconsiderable inventory and Altered Space and the monsters we fought were particularly high Leveled, but this was somewhat ridiculous. I find myself staring at the information for a long time, daydreaming about what I could spend my sudden wealth on. More Skills. More Spells. Maybe a significant upgrade on my poor mecha. I go so far as to pull out a notification screen that shows some of what can be purchased via the Shop.

“A CHANGE OF WARDROBE WOULD BE APPROPRIATE.”

I look down, staring at the torn, patched, and re-patched armored jumpsuit I’m wearing and chuckle. Right. Perhaps a new wardrobe.

“Thanks,” I mutter to Kim then dismiss the windows. Shopping later. First, I have to look at the results of the past Planetary Election.

To get registered as a voting member of the Galactic Council, a planet has to be able to send a “member with significant authority” to it. This member is determined via voting on the Planetary Voting Platform at regular intervals. However, there are caveats. Firstly, the candidate has to gain over eighty percent of all registered votes. Furthermore, for the Planetary Vote to become active, the planet has to reach a few threshold numbers—a minimum of five percent of its planet’s surface area has to be under active management and surveillance, and a minimum population threshold has to be reached.

“Isn’t five percent a bit low?” I say out loud to Kim.

“THE AMOUNT OF SURFACE USE WAS REGISTERED AS A COMPROMISE TO DEAL WITH MORE VOLATILE PLANETARY CENTERS. IT SHOULD BE NOTED THAT THE MAJORITY OF REGISTERED SETTLEMENT VOTES FOR EARTH ARE ONLY ON ITS LANDMASSES. TOTAL LANDMASS ON EARTH CURRENTLY COMPRISES ONLY TWENTY-NINE PERCENT OF PLANETARY SURFACE.”

Right… huh. So that five percent is actually quite high, if you think of it that way. That’s nearly one sixth of all land on Earth, which includes areas like the Arctic and giant swaths of desert. Digging deeper, I realize that Earth only barely managed to achieve the second requirement recently—and that’s due to the liberal use of Forts to cover more ground. Without our use of Forts and the additional new settlements that various Galactic parties built in the more inhospitable regions, we’d not have reached that minimum number.

That areas like the Arctic and Antarctic have actually seen a minor boom in number of settlements, as Galactics who prefer such environments take advantage of the lack of competition from us natives, amuses me. I even make a note to visit one of them sometime, if I ever get a chance.

Problem is, even if we do qualify for a Galactic Seat, we don’t have enough votes for one specific person. I flick up a few different notification screens to get a better idea, parsing the publicly available information about who owns what, with Kim’s aid to understand the situation a little better. In the end, the answer is simple.

Humans are idiots.

***

When the first settlement survey was held just over six months after the end of the System integration period, humanity had just over sixty percent of the total number of potential votes. Of course, since Earth did not have the requisite land use percentage, the vote was put on hold for another six months. And six months after that again and again and again until three months ago. Regret rushes through me for a second as I realize that if I had been around, if I had taken over more cities, we might have had a chance before this.

Of course, the vote three months ago didn’t amount to anything. With a flick of my hands, I bring up the previous year’s results once again.

41.2% Human-Controlled Settlement Votes

8.8% Movana and associated allies

17.6% Truinnar and associated allies

3.8% Ares Corporation

21.64% Miscellaneous kingdoms and associations

6.96% Unclaimed Settlement Areas

At the last vote, no one received over twenty percent of the vote. The closest were the Truinnar, where Roxley received nearly twelve percent of the vote as the members of his race backed the dark elf. It was no surprise that most individuals consolidated their votes along species lines or just voted for themselves and called it a day because there was no chance this was ever going to pass. But not humanity. No, we split our votes. I spot the three top human candidates and dig into their details a bit further.

Bipasha Chowdury is a Weaver who seemed to generate most of her votes from the Indian sub-continent and, surprisingly enough, is a member of the champions. Interesting that she wasn’t at the last fight, but the group is more a loose coalition than a formal organization.

Rob Markey is an American, the ex US Secretary of Agriculture and now leader of the largest of the three American governments.

And lastly, there’s an African who has managed to garner nearly fifteen percent of all the votes, including the majority of the African ones, named Ikael Tafar. I’ll need to speak with and meet all of them at some point.

Outside of that, the political lines are easy enough to discern for the Galactics. The Movana have no desire for the Truinnar to gain another Galactic Seat. Their first option is to obstruct, the second to ally. The Truinnar, of course, believe that since Earth is technically within the scope of their territory, we’re “theirs.” Even if this is a Dungeon World, they aren’t exactly known for being a kind and sharing bunch and aren’t likely to agree to us having the Galactic Seat ourselves. Which makes working with them difficult at best. Luckily, I know their leading candidate. Obviously, since the Truinnar and the Movana don’t like each other, there’s no way to get both of them on board with the vote.

As for the Ares Corporation…

“ARES CORPORATION, THE SIXTH BIGGEST ARMS MANUFACTURER GALACTIC WIDE AND THE LARGEST IN THIS QUADRANT. THEY HAVE CLAIMED NUMEROUS SECONDARY SETTLEMENTS IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO LARGER, MORE ESTABLISHED LOCATIONS. ARES HAS UNDERTAKEN TO PROVIDE RESOURCES, SERVICES, AND TRANSPORTATION FOR THESE SETTLEMENTS, AS WELL AS ALLOCATING PRODUCTION FACILITIES.”

Secondary settlements, huh? I guess that makes sense. If you’re looking to have a place you can control, going smaller rather than larger makes sense. You’re less likely to have to fight for the settlement, and infrastructure build-up is significantly easier. In addition, if you’re an arms manufacturer, focusing on production in these settlements while staying close enough to transport the loot and butchered materials from the larger settlements would be a massive cost savings. After all, teleportation costs fluctuate based off distance. Of course, none of that actually helps with figuring out how to make them vote for us.

Dismissing that thought for now, I dig into the Miscellaneous section. After all, even if I somehow manage to get all the major players to agree to what I want, we’ll still need help. That, or take over more settlements.

Unfortunately, after an hour of fruitless research, I realize a simple truth. I don’t understand Galactic politics or factions well enough. Names and species, clans, corporations, and kingdoms, they’re just words. Even with Kim feeding me the Galactic equivalent of Wikipedia, there’s only so much that I can grasp in a short period of time. Not that it stops me from trying, but even my stubbornness has a limit. Once I acknowledge that fact, I consider my options. I need help. The question is where I’m getting it.

Firstly, there’s Lana and Miller, both of whom I guess have a better idea of this kind of politics. Or at least, Lana would theoretically since Miller’s likely running around killing things - or organizing people to kill things as the Army Commander for the States. Then again from the little I gathered from Lana during our conversation indicated that she has been focused on keeping the settlements together. While she probably has some knowledge, some probably isn’t enough. Katherine probably has the same issue as Lana, a too tight focus on our own settlements and a lack of greater understanding of the Galactic world. That removes all the humans who might be useful unless someone has taken up a new hobby since. Which, I’ll admit, isn’t entirely impossible.

Next up would be the Galactics. There’s obviously Labashi and Capstan. As a mercenary and adventurer respectively, both of them would likely have a rough idea about the Galactic political ecosystem. Unfortunately, from what I recall, Capstan actively attempts to stay below the radar. And Labashi probably would charge me for any information I could access. As for the third option, well… Never mind.

“What would it cost to upgrade you with a Galactic political subroutine and the knowledge?” I ask Kim as a thought crosses my mind.

“…”

“Kim?”

“ASSESSING.”

Interesting. Considering Kim’s an AI—one that literally runs much of the background processes and day-to-day of all my settlements—the pause seems to be somewhat long. There’s no logical reason for it to take the AI this long.

“A TIER III POLITICAL SUBROUTINE UPGRADE WOULD COST EIGHTY-SEVEN THOUSAND CREDITS. PLEASE NOTE THAT SUCH AN UPGRADE WOULD ONLY BE VIABLE TO BE RUN ON CURRENT SETTLEMENT RESOURCES. AN UPGRADE ON YOUR NEURAL LINK OF ONE HUNDRED NINETY-SEVEN THOUSAND CREDITS WOULD BE REQUIRED TO HOST MSYELF AND THE SUBROUTINE.

“ADDITIONALLY, ANOTHER FOUR HUNDRED FORTY THOUSAND CREDITS WOULD BE REQUIRED TO ACQUIRE THE NECESSARY INFORMATION LIBRARIES. A FURTHER RECOMMENDED FOURTEEN THOUSAND CREDITS PER THIRTY-FOUR POINT THREE DAYS SHOULD BE DEDICATED TO NEWS AND POLITICAL FEEDS TO ENSURE THE LIBRARY STAYS CURRENT.”

I wince, doing the math quickly. That’s a lot of money. Credits. I’ve got a ton right now, but it’s still more than I’d like to spend. As I hesitate, another notification flickers up on my screen.

“LORD GRAXAN ROXLEY HAS SENT A MESSAGE REQUESTING YOUR PRESENCE AT THE FIRST AVAILABLE OPPORTUNITY.”

Right. And that’s the other Galactic I was very carefully not thinking about. Unfortunately, outside of some of the acquaintances I had—including a rather loquacious Galactic down in the States—I can’t imagine anyone else who can provide a better overview of Galactic politics. But as always, Roxley comes with his own bag of problems.

“Ali.”

“Yeah, boy-o?”

“Ah. You’re back.” I grin, thankful that he’s done with the Shop. You never know how long the damn Spirit is going to take haggling. But come to think of it, with the time differential in the Shop, it’s not that surprising he’s back. “Do me a favor. Buy Kim the political upgrades and knowledge he needs. Once that’s done, I need both of you to get together and review the voting information. I want to know who’s working with who, who we can potentially turn, and who we can make a deal with. If you need to, get Lana involved.”

“What are you going to be doing?”

“Shopping. Then I’ve got a date with Roxley.”

“Ooooh….”

“Not that kind,” I send the last thought back rather heatedly.

I just get a mental chuckle, which makes me grit my teeth. As I stand, getting ready to go to the Shop myself, I notice a rather heated discussion in the viewscreen focused on Katherine’s meeting. A quick thought has the volume increase.

“I understand. Ms. Weingard, but—” Katherine says placatingly, only to be cut off again.

“But nothing. It’s been five years now and our children are amok, acting like little barbarians. We’ve been promised a proper education system for our taxes and we’ve seen nothing!” Weingard snarls, slapping a wrinkled hand on the table.

I frown and double-check her Level, noting she’s only a Level 31 Baker. No real danger to Katherine. Well, physically at least. Unless she accepts a baked treat. Or goes into a gingerbread house.

“That is an exaggeration. The children are being taught in a secure environment using the System tools, many of which have been designed to encourage learning in both areas of individual strength and weaknesses of the child,” Katherine rebuts calmly.

“Blue screens and homework that no one but an AI sees. And the class sizes are outrageous. Fifty children per teacher. How are they expected to learn anything?” Weingard snaps. “When I was a teacher—”

“We are struggling to find more teachers, it’s true. I’d be happy to include you in the roster if you wish,” Katherine slides in. I detect the slightest twitch of her lips when Weingard flinches. “But the teachers are only part of the teaching apparatus. The children are all coached directly by the AI teaching assistants during classroom time. When they are undertaking physical classes and activities, we have a significantly smaller ratio and expect to have one teacher to ten students by the end of this year.”

“Let’s talk about that. They’re being taught to kill,” Weingard snaps. “How can you condone that?”

“Self-defense is only one of the many physical activity classes. And only for the older children,” Katherine says frostily. “Physical education for younger children is focused on other, less directly dangerous activities such as sprints, gymnastics, and dodge ball.”

Weingard snarls, ready to rebut, when the older man beside her places a hand on her shoulder. She calms almost immediately.

The older Indian man speaks. “We understand that you are doing the best you can, but our organization is concerned at the nature of the schooling being provided.”

“Oh?” Katherine says.

“For example, there are content concerns. One of our members’ sons came back from class, discussing and showing pictures of the various injuries that poisons may incur. It was very disturbing for the parent,” the gentleman says.

“That seems a particularly useful piece of knowledge in this world,” the portly auburn-haired man next to Katherine butts in. A quick query shows that Cory Gentile is the bureaucrat in charge of this entire program.

“At six? They should be studying their alphabet at that age!” Weingard snaps.

“The child in question was given access to this knowledge during his free play time for completing his language studies,” Cory says.

“Still, we have heard your concerns. We will undertake a review of the current open curriculum for younger children. Now, I’d like to speak about the early experiments with the apprenticeship program. It is, we believe, a significant success at providing skills to children, and early indications shows that graduates have a higher number and stronger Class variants after completing the program,” Katherine says, cutting in and getting the meeting back on track.

I lower the volume now that the likelihood of violence has dropped. Well, that was interesting. I vaguely knew that we’d set up a mass schooling system where we provided food and a secure environment, but I’d never dug into it while I was here, allowing others to run the situation. And it seems since then, it’s been expanded. Still, I’d have thought they’d have found more teachers by now.

The answer that Kim provides makes me chuckle wryly. We did find more help—but the vast majority of them have been dedicated to where our highest children population numbers are—those five years and younger. Between natural biological inclinations and the System’s ability to promote pregnancies, we’ve seen a giant population boom. Right now, the settlement is straining to keep these overpowered, System-assisted children in check. I tap my lips, considering what to do, when I get a slight beep of a new notification.

“LORD ROXLEY IS REQUESTING AN ETA.”

I grunt, glaring at the notification before dismissing it and my earlier thoughts. Right. I have a job to do and so do these people. As much as I’d love to get involved in sorting out an incipient problem, it’s neither my area of expertise nor where I can contribute the most. In the end, I’m a failed ex-computer programmer who’s very good at kicking ass in this new world. The big questions are best left to the professionals.

Chapter 6

For the first time in years, I find myself back in the Shop. For a moment, I get a sense of déjà vu as I look around the bright yellow interior, the fox-like attendant coming up to me with a wide smile.

“Redeemer! It’s a pleasure to see you once again,” Foxy says. “I have a room prepared for you, if you’ll follow me.”

“Of course.” I let myself be guided without protest, curious to see what he’s got ready for me. A part of me is wary that he’s looking to exploit my newfound wealth, though another part notes that Foxy hasn’t tried to pull a fast one since the first time. Still… “I need a refill of my original loadout. But let’s upgrade it all.”

“Of course. I understand your Personal Assault Vehicle has suffered significant damage? Do you wish to repair or replace it?” Foxy says, hands clasped.

After hesitating, I say, “Neither for now.”

As much as I’d love to, Sabre’s usefulness in its current form has long since passed. I’d get more bang for my buck if I picked up a normal bike. Heck, I could probably borrow a vehicle from the Settlement’s fleet if necessary. While I might be able to have them upgrade and fix Sabre from the settlement funds, I’m actually not sure if that’s viable with the way the Credit rules are set up. And if it is, I have a sneaking suspicion Sabre would no longer be mine. No. I’m probably better visiting Kamloops and dropping it off with the Artisans there to see what they can do with the mangled remains of my PAV. Worse case, it’ll get them a few Levels and Skills while they work on it. Best case, I might actually get Sabre back better than ever.

“Ah, before I forget. This was left in our care on the off-chance you might visit us,” Fox says and flicks his hand. In it is a small, shiny bracelet.

I stare at it, confused for a moment before recollection hits me. “Talk about déjà vu.”

I take the bracelet and slap it on my arm. A moment later, I get a notification that my Quantum State Manipulator has come online and is available for use. I chuckle, recalling how useful this little gadget was when I first started out. The ability to semi-shift to another dimension let me sneak, fight, and kill creatures well above my Level. These days though, nearly all the settlements have Quantum Locks of one form or another, making the gadget a lot less useful. Hell, I even met a few monsters in the Forbidden Zone that had the very same ability.

“Do you require anything further from me, Redeemer?” Foxy asks, and I nod.

“You have contacts with Enchanters and other Artisans able to layer spells, no?” I say, getting a nod back. I pull a dozen throwing knives from my storage.

Foxy inclines his head while miming taking the knives. At my nod, he picks up one and studies the small, dark red and black throwing knife I crudely shaped from a Level 140 monster’s tooth.

Toothy Throwing Knives

Handcrafted badly through the use of improper and inadequate crafting tools, these throwing knives come from the rare drop of a Level 140 Awakened Beast.

Base Damage: 180

“Amazing material. The craftsmanship is sub-standard but there is sufficient material to reshape it I believe. We can certainly reach out to our contacts,” Foxy stares at me for a moment. “For such material, I would be loath to have anyone but a Master craftsman undertake the enchantment. However…”

“They’re expensive. How much?”

When Foxy offers the quote, I almost choke. It’d wipe out the majority of my recent windfall.

“And the enchantment…?”

“Many Master craftsman are… hmmm… artistes of the highest order. They will not guarantee the type of enchantment till they see the material and item they are to work on and inspiration has struck.” When my eyes narrow, he continues placatingly. “But many powerful, famed weapons have resulted from such expenditure. At the least, I am certain they will add a Return enchantment to these.”

I nod slowly, pondering my options. These weapons served me well in that other place and are my first—and only—attempt at creating my own tools. I always promised myself to upgrade them if I could, and here, I have a chance. I just have to get over the fact that I’ll be beggaring myself again. Well, relatively speaking—especially if you add in my other upcoming expenditures.

“Do it.” I sigh, handing over the other knives and pulling out a couple of larger, foot-length knives of the same material. “Now, I’m going to need some new clothing, better armor—perhaps something with a nanoweave and self-repairing function—and additional Skills and Spells. I’m thinking…”

Foxy nods, dark eyes glinting with barely hidden avarice as I list the Skills and Spells I want. Foxy only interrupts me occasionally to make a suggestion when he considers my choice sub-optimal. A part of me wonders if I should have brought Ali for the haggling, but decide that I can let the Spirit loose later if it seems I’m getting too raw a deal.

***

An hour later, I’m alone in the private room, slowly coming down from the repeated mental and spiritual injections of information. It seems picking up Advanced Class Skills—the highest Level Skills I can get that aren’t part of my own Class Skill tree—is a bit more wearing than purchasing Basic Skills. If it weren’t for my frankly outrageous Willpower and Intelligence attributes, I’d probably have to take these integrations slower. Though that does raise the question of why I could integrate previous purchases of Advanced Skills from my Class so well. Perhaps it was due to the fact they were my own Class—did the System somehow imprint and prep the body for those Skills? More questions that I have no answers for. At least, not yet.

Dismissing the thought, I go through the slew of notifications that have been waiting for me since I started this process.

Analyze (Level 2)

Allows user to scan individuals, monsters, and System-registered objects to gather information registered with the System. Detail and level of accuracy of information is dependent on Level and any Skills or Spells in conflict with the ability. Reduces Mana regeneration by 10 permanently.

Truth be told, this Skill is unnecessary so long as Ali is around. But as experience has proven, my Spirit will not always be around—especially now that he can materialize and is liable to getting banished. As smart as he is, Ali’s not much a fighter and has a bad tendency to get distracted in the middle of particularly intense battles.

Harden (Level 2)

This Skill reinforces targeted defenses and actively weakens incoming attacks to reduce their penetrating power. A staple Skill of the Turtle Knights of Kiumma, the Harden Skill has frustrated opponents for millennia.

Effect: Reduces penetrative effects of attacks by 30% on targeted defense.

Cost: 3 Mana per second

Quantum Lock (Level 3)

A staple Skill of the M453-X Mecani-assistants, Quantum Lock blocks stealth attacks and decreases the tactical options of their enemies. While active, the Quantum Lock of the Mecani-assistants excites quantum strings in the affected area for all individuals and Skills.

Effect: All teleportation, portal, and dimensional Skills and Spells are disrupted while Quantum Lock is in effect. Forceable use of Skills and Spells while Skill is in effect will result in (Used Skill Mana Cost * 4) health in damage. Users may pay a variable amount of additional Mana when activating the Skill to decrease effect of Quantum Lock and decrease damage taken.

Requirements: 200 Willpower, 200 Intelligence

Area of Effect: 100 meter radius around user

Cost: 250 + 50 Mana per Minute

Elastic Skin (Level 3)

Elastic Skin is a permanent alteration, allowing the user to receive and absorb a small portion of damage. Damage taken reduced by 7% with 7% of damage absorbed converted to Mana. Mana Regeneration reduced by 15 permanently.

Elastic Skin is probably the most expensive of the Skills I purchased as it’s an exclusive Skill from another Class—the Burrowers. It’s also really expensive in terms of my Mana Regeneration, but the combination of damage reduction and Mana replacement is useful. Most other Skills I browsed were either pure direct damage reductions or had minor benefits in other areas. Like Stoneskin, which makes you slightly more impervious to fire and has a higher damage reduction against abrasive type effects. At 7% of 7%, the actual amount of damage absorbed and converted to Mana is, like, point five percent of the damage taken, which is rather pitiful. But it’s better than nothing.

Overall, the entire shopping spree’s focus on Skills was to shore up some of my major weaknesses and make me harder to kill. While I still feel I don’t do enough damage, I figure being harder to kill means that I have a longer period of time to really put on the hurt. It does mean that I’m losing eighty points of Mana Regeneration per minute from all these Skills, but since I haven’t spent my free attributes yet, that’s an easy fix. I split two-thirds of my ninety-eight free points between Intelligence and Willpower, increasing both to new highs.

I also picked up a few spells, some of which I’d call utility spells—like Earth Shape, Mend, Speak to Chlorophyll, Oxygenate, and Chill—on the off-chance that I ever get abandoned in the middle of nowhere again. Others are variations of my existing spells, like Ice Blast—an almost word-for-word equivalent for Inferno Strike. While I’m not a huge fan of spells because of the length of time and focus they require for casting, my higher Intelligence and Willpower means that I can do both and fight with minimal issues. Still, I much prefer instant-cast Skills.

For all that, I did pick up a few interesting new spells, spells that I desperately wish I’d had before.

Create Water

Pulls water from the elemental plane of water. Water is pure and the highest form of water available. Conjures 1 liter of water. Cooldown: 1 minute

Cost: 50 Mana

Scry

Allows caster to view a location up to 1.7 kilometers away. Range may be extended through use of additional Mana. Caster will be stationary during this period. It is recommended caster focuses on the scry unless caster has a high level of Intelligence and Perception so as to avoid accidents. Scry may be blocked by equivalent or higher tier spells and Skills. Individuals with high perception in region of Scry may be alerted that the Skill is in use. Cooldown: 1 hour.

Cost: 25 Mana per minute.

Scrying Ward

Blocks scrying spells and their equivalent within 5 meters of caster. Higher level spells may not be blocked, but caster may be alerted about scrying attempts. Cooldown: 10 minutes

Cost: 50 Mana per minute

Improved Invisibility

Hides target’s System information, aura, scent, and visual appearance. Effectiveness of spell is dependent upon Intelligence of caster and any Skills or Spells in conflict with the target.

Cost: 100 + 50 Mana per minute

Improved Mana Cage

While physically weaker than other elemental-based capture spells, Mana Cage has the advantage of being able to restrict all creatures, including semi-solid Spirits, conjured elementals, shadow beasts, and Skill users. Cooldown: 1 minute

Cost: 200 Mana + 75 Mana per minute

Improved Flight

(Fly birdie, fly! - Ali) This spell allows the user to defy gravity, using controlled bursts of Mana to combat gravity and allow the user to fly in even the most challenging of situations. The improved version of this spell allows flight even in zero gravity situations and a higher level of maneuverability. Cooldown: 1 minute

Cost: 250 Mana + 100 Mana per minute

I also picked up two mobility spells, though I’m not sure if I’ll ever have use of them. While Haste as a spell is useful, it’s also costly in terms of Mana. And my own speed is significant already. Still, on the off-chance I fight another speedster, being able to keep up would be useful. And Improved Flight, well… it’s flight. While I’m not one of those people who dreamed about flying, there’s still some appeal there. At the very least, I can repeat what I did with the Field Boss without having someone Portal me in.

Overall, much of what I purchased patches holes in my defense and gives me a wider range of options—mostly when I’m not in combat. In combat, having a few extra spells that specifically suit the monsters I’m fighting is theoretically useful. Yet I know from experience that I’ll probably end up relying on a few tried-and-true Skills and spells. As a more famous Lee once said, don’t fear the man who has practiced a thousand kicks; fear the man who has practiced a single kick a thousand times.

My thoughts are broken by a knock on the door. At my invitation, Foxy walks in and lays out my more mundane purchases. I admit, I jump at the new clothing, almost chomping at the bit to get changed. I hadn’t realized how much I missed new, undamaged clothing till Kim mentioned it. Even if I had stored a bunch of extra stuff in my Altered Space just because I could, I’d long ago used up all my supplies on the damn planet I’d been exiled to.

Once all my purchases are laid out on the ever-expanding table, Foxy bows to me slightly, smiling. “Is there anything else?”

“No. I’ll probably return once I’m done here. Pleasure seeing you again,” I say.

Foxy returns my farewells. I watch the alien walk out, mentally chuckling at the thought that I’ve yet to get his name. Then again, he’s never offered it.

Clothing first. I take the simple expedience of sending my clothing into my inventory. A simple use of Cleanse gets me clean again, then I get dressed. The armored jumpsuit goes on first, a skintight covering that provides ballistic and energy protection without hindering my movement. This particular suit alters with a subtle thought, shifting its simple grey coloring to a more sleek black with silver highlights. I take a moment to pull up its stats.

Ares Platinum Class Tier II Armored Jumpsuit

Ares’s signature Platinum Class line of armored daily wear combines the company’s latest technological advancement in nanotech fiber design and the pinnacle work of an Advanced Craftsman’s Skill to provide unrivalled protection for the discerning Adventurer.

Effect: +218 Defense, +14% Resistance to Kinetic and Energy Attacks. +19% Resistance against Temperature changes. Self-Cleanse, Self-Mend, Autofit Enchantments also included.

Cost: 89,399 Credits

I’ll admit, I’m slightly amused that Ali translated the term to jumpsuit. But otherwise, it’s worth every Credit I paid. The additional defense and additional comfort is particularly important, though the increased resistances are a nice addition. Sadly, they don’t stack with my own innate resistances, so they’re less useful. Even then, I store the second jumpsuit in my inventory, just in case this one gets destroyed.

On top of the jumpsuit, I slide on the armored jacket that looks like a slightly less bulky version of a motorcycle jacket. While not as expensive, due to its bulk, it adds nearly as much defense. The nano-enhanced retractable helmet comes next, bringing a smile of relief. I’ve missed having easy access to the visual, auditory, and olfactory tech the helmet provides. I adjust my neural link immediately, connecting with the helmet and feeling the light click as data feeds into my mind directly. I reach deeper, touching my Tech Link Skill, and remove my connection to Sabre. The action feels like tearing off a foot-long scab in my mind. Another thought has the Tech Link attach itself to my helmet, making my connection even clearer.

Once that’s done, I dump the additional clothing, including some cheaper, less apocalypse ready formal clothing, into my inventory and go over the other purchases. A beam rifle and pistol start out the arsenal clustered before me. On top of that is more projectile weaponry, including a modified assault rifle with a grenade launcher attachment, the necessary ammunition in various color-coded magazines, and a smaller pistol of the same type. All of the above are higher-end, Gold Class Tier II weaponry of course, which makes them System-registered and somewhat more powerful than a mass-manufactured weapon of the same sort.

Once I’ve belted on the beam pistol and placed the remainder long-range weaponry away, I pick up the pair of high-end steel knives. I didn’t bother buying anything too expensive here, knowing I’ll get my enchanted weaponry back. That, and if I ever really need to cut anything, my soulbound sword is on hand. I don’t even have to ever worry about it breaking, which is all kinds of useful. The number of times it shattered on that planet… with a gesture, the sword appears in my hand, lightly resting in my palm as I analyze it again.

Tier II Sword (Soulbound Personal Weapon of an Erethran Paladin)

Base Damage: 307

Durability: N/A (Personal Weapon)

Special Abilities: +20 Mana Damage, Blade Strike

That’s a really nice bump up in base damage, probably from the fact that I increased my Class Level. Still Tier II though, which is annoying, but I guess that’s fair enough. I dismiss the sword and focus on the other tools I bought.

First up, the batches of grenades and mines. Most are cheap, though I’ve picked up a few higher-Tiered and crafted explosives. These are, for the most part, useful for adding confusion and uncertainty to battles but little else. I’m hesitant to invest too greatly in this area—as consumables, they’re expensive to purchase if used in large quantities. And the kinds of monsters I’m going to fight are unlikely to find most of these explosives that distracting. So while the pile is huge, relatively speaking, they’re cheap.

Once that’s done, it’s just the usual series of tools like tents, bedrolls, rope, lights, and potions. Lots and lots of Mana and Healing potions. Most of it gets stored in my Altered Space, a part of me wondering if I should increase its size again. But really, what are the chances I’ll be abandoned on a planet again?

“Yes?” Foxy says, walking in.

“Nothing…” I cough, moving my hand from the piece of wood I was knocking on.

“Of course.” Foxy’s eyes show the slightest twinkle of amusement.

I watch the door close before I open my Status Screen, curious to review my data one last time.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Paladin

Race

Human (Male)

Level

15

Titles

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

Health

3070

Stamina

3070

Mana

2710

Mana Regeneration

225 (+5) / minute

Attributes

Strength

180

Agility

275

Constitution

307

Perception

127

Intelligence

275

Willpower

300

Charisma

78

Luck

48

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

3*

Blade Strike*

3

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand Blades*

3

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal*

5

Army of One

2

Sanctum

2

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footsteps*

1

Tech Link*

2

Penetration

1

Aura of Chivalry

1

Eyes of Insight

1

Analyze*

2

Harden*

2

Quantum Lock*

3

Elastic Skin*

3

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (IV)

Greater Regeneration (II)

Greater Healing (II)

Mana Drip (II)

Improved Mana Missile (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike (III)

Firestorm

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Improved Inferno Strike (II)

Mud Walls

Ice Blast

Icestorm

Improved Invisibility

Improved Mana Cage

Improved Flight

Haste

Huge. I consider how to trim it down, what to adjust in terms of the points. I still have thirty-two free attributes, but right now, I’m not entirely sure where they’d go. Or what I need. I need more time in this Level, fighting against those who can challenge me, before I can tell.

With that thought, I select the exit option and feel the world fade away as I’m thrown back into “normal” reality.

***

“WELCOME BACK. ABOUT LORD ROXLEY’S REQUEST…”

The notification from Kim is the first thing I notice when I port back from the Shop, making me snarl slightly. “Are you upgraded?”

“YES.”

“Then get to work with Ali. I’ll want a report when you’re done,” I say, then decide I’ve been avoiding answering the damn AI and Roxley long enough. “Tell him I’ll visit him soon.”

“SOON?”

“Soon. This evening,” I say.

“INFORMED.”

I growl, stomping away. I make it halfway out of the office before Lana catches me, a slight smile on her face.

“Problem?” Lana says.

“Nothing major.” I draw a deep breath. Fine. Maybe I’m a little annoyed at being pushed to talk to a man I haven’t seen in ages. And whose motives I’ve never really felt I understood.

“Good. Because I’ve got one for you,” Lana says and falls into step with me. I frown at the redhead, a sign that she seems to take as an indication that it’s time to continue. “Word has started to get out that you’re back.”

“Didn’t think I was trying to hide it.”

“No, but some issues we’ve managed to delay have bubbled up. Like your ownership of these settlements,” Lana says.

“Oh?” I tilt my head and stop us from walking further, leaving us hanging in the middle of the brownstone, glass-filled hallway. Thankfully, this floor is mostly empty. “Who and what do they want to change it to?”

Lana looks mildly uncomfortable before she answers my question. “Well, there are a few groups. Some lead by the older Vancouver council, and other established groups. We’ve mostly been having them argue about how to solve ownership to head them off, but with your return, they’re more focused on removing you from power.”

“And…?”

“And putting me in as an interim replacement.” When Lana notes I’m not even angry, she raises an eyebrow. “John?”

“It’s fine. Actually somewhat expected,” I say, smiling slightly. “I was surprised you left me in charge for so long and didn’t just remove me.”

“The fact that you were alive was a useful deterrent,” Lana says. “Your reputation, your Titles, made a lot of things easier. And so long as the Cores weren’t freed, we knew you were alive. I knew.”

I notice the slight hitch in her voice and swear internally. A part of me hates the fact that this happened, that what we started was abruptly shattered. Perhaps if we’d had more time… what is, is. Sometimes though, you can’t help but ask what if?

“So you, eh?” Do I trust Lana? If you’d asked me four years ago, I’d have undoubtedly said yes. Now… now I have to think about it. But the fact stands that I’ve left her in charge of the settlements, a job she’s done without complaint. Her personality, her knowledge, and frankly, the fact that she doesn’t mind working with people makes her a better choice than me. But… “Let me think about it.”

Truth is, I’m not sure why I’m holding on to the settlements now. It’s not as if she can’t hold them herself. She has a ton of powerful helpers, people she can rely on. Perhaps it’s the hoarder in me, the skinflint who would rather eat instant noodles than go out for dinner, but giving away something of mine is hard.

“Of course.” Lana places a hand on my arm, looking at me seriously. “I wasn’t asking for the settlements. I just wanted you to know.”

“I know.” I sigh. “It’s…”

“You’re looking ahead to the vote. And what happens at the Galactic Council,” Lana says, drawing her own conclusions. In truth, I told her that years ago. Now, I’m not so sure. She bites her lower lip, hesitating until I raise an eyebrow. “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“This. All this,” Lana says, gesturing all around. “You’re barely on Earth for ten minutes before you’re throwing yourself at a Field Boss and clearing a dungeon. Then the moment you’re done, you’re in here, working through the past four years of history, trying to work out how to wrangle a seat onto the Galactic Council. What drives you?”

“This…” I look away for a moment, taking in the passersby outside. Going in and out of the library-cum-center of governance for the city, moving to the other office buildings as they undertake their lives. It’s so busy, such a far cry from before. “There’s a concept in Taoism called wu wei. It translates—badly—as action-non-action. It’s about doing, without thinking, because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Like charging an army?” Lana says, and out of the corner of my eyes, I catch her lips quirking up slightly.

“If it’s the right thing to do at the time, yes,” I say, refusing to turn away from the window. I’m not sure how to explain it without sounding like a fool.

We have so little choice in our lives. We have no choice when we’re born. Where. To whom. We don't get to choose so many of the unexpected joys or tragedies that fall upon us, the pain inflicted or the love gifted. Fate’s will or Lady Luck’s kiss showers upon our heads with equal impartiality. That makes the choices we have, the few and the daily, all the more important. To stand or kneel, to fight or feel. To believe in something, no matter how foolish, how naive and mistaken.

“Doing this? It feels right,” I say. “It’s no worse a decision than any others. Or better. It’s just mine.”

Lana stares at me for a time, brows drawn downward as she studies my form. I turn toward her eventually.

The redhead shakes her head. “I don’t envy you that. What you’re doing, it’s not a fight I’d choose.”

I blink, surprised at the confession. “You never mentioned that before.”

“It wasn’t important back then. But, John, we’re not all willing to throw ourselves at dragons. Some of us, we’re content to take on the ogres. To give those who come after us the tools to fight the dragons.”

I chuckle at the metaphor that could only happen in this time. “Fair enough. Dragon killing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be anyway.”

“Dragon…” Lana’s eyes narrow, but I refuse to expound on it. In the end, she switches topics. “I’ve got to go. I have to catch up with Katherine. Kelowna’s asking about adding a third Guild building again. And Kamloops wants you to swing by their Armory. There’s a young lady who wants to see you…” Lana says teasingly.

I roll my eyes at her tone and her attempt to lighten the atmosphere. “I’ve got another meeting tonight. And there’s a city dungeon with my name on it.” I roll my shoulders and raise a hand, pulling on my Mana to form a Portal. “Got to test out some new Skills.”

“Have fun!” Lana calls as I step through that oval of darkness and I’m tossed into nothingness.

Chapter 7

Exiting the Portal steps away from the edge of the City Dungeon, I’m greeted by a new sight—a grey concrete wall. I frown, tilting my head as I note it’s right on the edge of where the dungeon starts.

“Kim, I’m looking at a giant wall here,” I mutter softly.

“IT WAS BUILT AFTER THE DEATHS OF A NUMBER OF UNDER-LEVELED TEENAGERS ENTERED WITHOUT PROPER PREPARATION.”

Right. I rub my chin, shrugging, and jump over the ten-foot wall to land inside the dungeon. Immediately, I get a notification. The first part of the notification is the same as before I left, though the Level of the dungeon has grown again. The addendum, on the other hand, is new.

You have entered the University of British Columbia City Dungeon

This dungeon is designated for Levels 10-80. Please check with the local Dungeon Keeper and their attendants for map of zone Levels and further information.

Addendum: All visitors should report to the Dungeon Keeper or an attendant. Failure to do so will result in censure, including loss of dungeon privileges and Credit fines—UBC DK

Oh right. I’d meant to appoint one of those before I left. Obviously Lana or Katherine actually got around to it in the interim. I frown, realizing that I have no clue how to get hold of this Dungeon Keeper or his assistants, nor do I see any obvious methods for me to contact them. Then I shrug and walk in. Whatever. Rules are for the peons.

Rather than waste my time dealing with low Level monsters, I switch on my Aura. While not as outright intimidating as others, it is more than sufficient to scare away low Level monsters that would have been wary of me anyway. It’s a bright search light, a forest fire that says danger to these creatures, leaving me with the ability to stroll deeper along the forest-lined broken asphalt to reach the higher Level zones. Memories from our only time here leads me past the golf course—a Level 30 zone with insane mutated gophers, squirrels, and a creature that shoots elemental water balls—and residences and toward the actual faculty buildings.

“Kim, need a map of the zones.”

“UPLOADED.”

“Thanks.”

A moment later, I’ve got the map uploaded to my own minimap, overlaying the information. I’m kind of missing Ali’s better updates, but what I have is more than sufficient. And even though I’m strolling, with my upgraded attributes, my stroll is the equivalent of an all-out sprint for your average pre-System person.

When I finally make it to the first campus, the zones creep up to a decent Level for experimentation. The first monster I encounter is a tiny Gribble with long fangs, sharp fur, and giant eyes. It could almost be considered cute if you squinted really hard. And ignored the poisonous cloud enveloping the creature. It charges me, moving so quickly that it looks as if it’s teleporting with each little hop it makes.

Gribble (Level 41 Monster)

HP: 381/381

MP: 833/833

Conditions: Enraged, Poisonous, Damage Resistance

I draw my beam pistol, firing from the hip and catching the creature mid-leap. While attacking it when it stops might seem to be the best option, if you can perceive, track, and hit the damn creature when it’s in the air, it can’t dodge. The first shot catches the Gribble’s fur on fire and tears muscles and skin. A second shot hits it as the creature lands with a stumble, while the third finishes off the monster as it recovers and attempts to run. I holster the pistol with a frown and make a note that the pistol takes a moment to recharge. Rate of fire was significantly lower than my ability to pull the trigger. Which, really, isn’t surprising. In fact, that’s part of the reason why melee weapons are favored by some—as attributes continue to creep up, high-tech weapons can’t keep up. A PAV like Sabre could actually be more a hindrance to movement than a help.

I stop briefly to loot the corpse before going deeper, wary of other attacks. A few minutes later, I stumble across the reason why I’m not being swarmed more—a trio of adventurers fighting in a triangular formation against a horde of Gribbles. All three of the adventurers are clad in adventurer chic, armored jumpsuits with a series of webbing for easy access injectors and smaller melee weapons. In fact, they look like one of any hundred groups I’ve seen—thin, muscled, and young. Quietly and switching off my Aura, I watch the trio fight, automatically finding a dark corner under a concrete overhang to watch.

For the most part, the group is rather boring—a DNA Mage, a Shieldsman using a sword and shield, and a Hoplite wielding a spear. Of course, they have their array of Skills to use, blasting out shock waves of energy, beams, and fire as well as cutting and thrusting. They have their own flari though. The spear-wielder has a flexible tail that wields a blasting rod, and the mage seems to be literally sucking the blood from the corpses around them to power his spells. All around the trio, a small cyclone swirls, pulling the poisonous cloud into the air above the trio and dispersing it. A quick glance at the trio’s Status shows that they’re poisoned but not dangerously so.

After verifying that the team is able to handle the Gribbles without my help, I begin the slow process of sneaking around the group. Kill stealing is considered bad form, and even if I don’t want to, these Gribbles are enraged and liable to attack me if they sense me. While moving, I note how the monkey man twitches and glances in my direction at one point, though he doesn’t stop wielding his spear. I’m nearly across the square outside the still-sealed faculty of dentistry when a roar attracts all our attention. As if the roar is a signal, all the Gribbles fall back.

The trio don’t take advantage of the Gribbles’ retreat, their attention—and mine—drawn to the much larger threat padding forward. Eyes glowing red with swirls of purple within, fur fluffed to make the monster look larger than the van-size form it already has, the Queen Gribble howls again, its voice pitching higher and higher till even my ears are bleeding, the roar continuing without stop. The trio are worse off, weapons discarded as they clutch their ears. The Shieldsman is on his knees in pain, his afro sticking out around the helmet and his fingers.

Queen Gribble (Level 65 Alpha)

HP: 1411/1411

MP: 980/980

Conditions: Enraged, Poisonous, Damage Resistance, Pack Aura

“Arse…”

The Gribbles that have fallen back rush the trio, intent on finishing the group while they’re incapacitated. Even as I swear, a part of me is focusing and reaching outward to the System and inward to my own body as I adjust my hearing. If higher attributes are good, why would a higher Perception make you more vulnerable to sensory-based attacks? It’d make no sense—and they don’t. In fact, one of the upgrades in a higher Perception attribute is an unseen resistance to such attacks. But because it’s unseen and hidden, it’s not used by most to the maximum effect. After being forced to fight with nothing but my frozen attributes for four years, I’m no longer part of the majority. With the barest of thoughts, I touch on the System and push my defenses to the maximum. The innate resistance of my Advanced Class already shunts much of the damage away; this makes the remaining damage less incapacitating.

89 Sonic Damage Taken

Auditory perception checks receive a -11 modifier for 9 seconds

Stun Resisted

A spell flows from my hands, a paired casting as I push up Mud Walls around the trio. A second later, the Mud Walls surge outward, catching the Gribbles. Earth Shape follows soon after as the ground under the trio sinks downward, providing additional defense.

The Queen Gribble turns toward me as its howl comes to an end. It snarls, shaking its body, and suddenly its body exudes a purple gas that flows not outward unrestricted, but in a dark tide toward me like a wave. I kick off the ground, jumping backward as I toss an Ice Blast downward at the Queen. The spell freezes chunks of the monster’s fur, and even the gas in its path freezes, solidifying the poison. Polar Zone erupts from my hands. But I’m focusing too much on casting, my mind split along the numerous lines of the spell, and I end up ignoring the smaller Gribbles. I pay for it when one slams into my newly landed form and bites my thigh.

I frown, the Gribble’s sharp teeth punching through the nanoweave and injecting my leg with a numbing poison, even as its airborne toxin attempts to close down my throat. A stab and twist with a knife pries the Gribble off my body even as I jump again, purposely exploding the ground beneath my jump to add to the Gribbles’ confusion as I fly through the air.

You are Poisoned!

-2 Health per second for 11 seconds

Polar Zone seems to be working, slowing down not just the Queen Gribble but also the flow of her poisonous gas. Even so, the flow of the gas seems to follow my new trajectory even as more of it pours from the Queen’s body as well as all around its body, the less dense amount moving toward the slowly recovering group.

“So damn weird.” I grin then test out my next spell.

Mana Cage snaps into place around the Queen Gribble, trapping the creature in its glowing bands. The Queen Gribble snarls and snaps, slamming its body against the bars, but they hold, keeping the Queen inside, if not its poisonous gas. Damn, maybe I should have bought Mana Prison—but the Mana expenditure on that improved imprisonment spell was significantly higher.

Absently, I conjure my sword and cut a pair of leaping Gribbles apart before I land. A hacking from the direction of the trio of Adventurers reminds me that I’m not fighting by myself and I stop playing around. I can test my Spells further when I’m alone again. Rather than waste Mana, I raise my hand and conjure a series of Mana Missiles at the Queen. The Mana Missiles are an upgrade of my old mainstay Mana Dart, just improved to do more damage. A series of a half dozen Mana Missiles, each over a foot long and spinning, drill into the Queen’s body. Without the ability to dodge, the Queen soon becomes a heavily bleeding pincushion, one that nearly manages to tear apart my Mana Cage before it expires. Once the Queen expires, cleaning up the rest of the Gribbles is simple with the help of the trio of recovered Adventurers.

“Thank you,” the Swordsman says to me as he discards the health injector.

I frown slightly at the littering but keep my mouth shut for now. Still, my presence annoys the monkey Hoplite who snarls at me.

“What are you doing here? We’re the only party scheduled for today,” monkey man snarls as he levels his spear toward me.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, nodding to sword and shield wielder and ignoring monkey man.

At my blatant disinterest in him, monkey man steps forward but is restrained by the DNA Mage who shakes his head. On closer inspection, I realize the mage is actually probably older than me—in his forties at least. I absently consider recommending adding a few more points in Charisma and probably a good dye job to deal with my thinning grey hair.

“I’m going to report you to the Dungeon Keeper,” growls monkey man.

I just wave goodbye to the group, stopping only long enough to loot and deposit the Queen in my Altered Space before heading to my final objective—the Medical Faculty.

“Hey, that’s a Level 70 zone,” a new voice calls behind me—the older man’s, I guess.

I wave in acknowledgement without turning around. A part of me wonders about how the faculty of medicine’s unsealed but dentistry isn’t. Then again, I guess more people fear dentists than doctors, possibly because we’ve all suffered under the hands of a too-rough dental hygienist.

Stepping into the building, I scan the insides for threats while dismissing the notification informing me of the increased zone Level. A skittering noise alerts me to the incoming monsters long before I see them. A half dozen humanoids come out, most dressed in hospital gowns but a few in scrubs and casual wear, their skin grey and pallid. They alternately lope forward on all fours, fingernails unusually long and black, and walk, their backs hunched slightly. Even their eyes are rheumy and yellow, showing little signs of intelligence. A quick scan shows that they’re nearly all the same.

Diseased Revenant (Level 71)

HP: 3488/3488

MP: 0/0

Conditions: Diseased, Undead, Burst

My nose wrinkles slightly at the sight, but the humanoid, undead creatures are the perfect training dummies. And dummies the Revenants are. They launch themselves at me with little finesse but a ton of aggression, only savage cunning guiding their tactical decisions, like attempts at flanking me. What they lack in brains, they make up in an inability to feel damage, an unrelenting aggression that’d make an angry hornet look like a lovely butterfly, an innately high resistance to damage, and prodigious health.

Firestorms are my first attempt at dealing with them, the upgraded Fireball spell forming a whirlpool of flames that expands from my body. System-reinforced walls burn, creaking in agony as the temperature spikes. Wooden counters turn to cinders within seconds and the Revenants cook, flesh crisping and splitting to showcase tight muscles and leaking, evaporating fluids. Yet they don’t stop.

A twist of my hands and a Mud Wall flows from the floor in a wave, smashing the monsters backward, but the pair that split off to flank me attack now. Two quick steps intercept one, a hand clasping its arm and body to twist and toss it against the second, before an Ice Beam strikes the pair. Their bodies twitch as they attempt to free themselves, frozen flesh and limbs shattering under their exertions and the over-heated air. Even my own health is dropping, if only briefly before my regeneration replaces it, from the remaining heat.

I grin as I hear, in the darkness, additional movement as the Revenants’ howls echo down the hallways, drawing others of their kind to them. Good. I’m going to have fun with this.

***

Hours later, I finally jump out of the top floor of the building, landing lightly before ripping the embedded claw of the Revenant’s Zone Boss out of my arm. I grimace as blood flows out, dripping to the ground even as the wound visibly closes, while a dark greyness spreads around the flesh. Diseased. Such a nice status effect—reduces an ever-increasing amount of attributes before it peaks and the attributes begin to recover. While the disease statuses don’t stack among the normal Revenants, the Boss and Elites carry around another form of disease which is a lot longer lasting and which even my increased Constitution and Resistances can’t remove within minutes.

Revenant Alpha Claw (Level 79)

Crafting material. May be used by an experienced crafter to make equipment.

“I see you cleared the zone. In record time too. That deserves a drink.”

The voice of a thin, weedy man breaks my train of thought. I glance over as the long-haired man in a waist coat tosses a bottle to me. I catch the bottle, chuckling as I read the label—good old Apocalypse Ale, brewed up in cold Whitehorse.

Rodolfo Stone, the University of British Columbia Dungeon Keeper, Wayward Son (Level 21 Dark Son)

HP: 480/480

MP: 1610/1610

Conditions: All-Seeing Eye, Dungeon Link, Simulacrum (x2)

“Thanks.” I take a sip and raise an eyebrow as the rich, dark ale takes a cudgel to my taste buds, reminding me what good alcohol is like. Obviously the Brewers have Leveled up again.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Lee,” Rodolfo said. “Now I got to tell you you’re suspended for the next two weeks. Can’t have you skipping the line, you know?”

“Really?” I say. “You do know who I am, yes?”

“You’re the boss man. But the rules are the rules, dude.”

I chuckle but don’t push the matter. There’s something more interesting to pursue. “You know how long it took me to clear the building?”

“Yes.” Rodolfo flicks one hand, and a moment later, I get a notification with a series of numbers on it. Mana and stamina consumed, the ratio and percentage left at any time, the number of times I zeroed out either—none—number of monsters killed, the average, longest, and fastest amount of time to kill each monster, the spells and weapons I used, and more. It’s a huge list of data, information which runs on and on, about every aspect of my fight. “I also got the rest of your trip, but this is the good stuff.”

“You have all this information on hand?” I say, somewhat startled as I read through it all. “Do you give this to everyone?”

“Nah, just those who pay.” Rodolfo gestures again and a bottle of Apocalypse Ale appears in his hand. “Got to buy the Platinum package. But you know, you’re the boss man, so I figured you’d want to see this. Pretty cool build there.”

“Thanks. What else do you offer?”

“I give advice on gaps, but you’ve got a pretty solid build. Skill use, training options within the dungeon to cover areas of weakness. The usual, you know.”

“What do you think my build is?” I ask. It’s not as if I haven’t given it much thought. Even if I hate the way it makes our life feel like a game, the idea of proactively determining what you want to be isn’t wrong.

“Endurance build. You ain’t a duelist or adventurer. What you got there is meant for a grind and pound. Not enough damage to do a one-hit kill against an equal Level opponent, but your Stamina didn’t even dip into the low sixties. You’re like a giant energizer bunny of Stamina. If anything, I’d add more Willpower or Intelligence to up your Mana and regen rates.” Rodolfo waves the bottle of Apocalypse Ale between sentences to punctuate his words. “You also need to smooth out your spell chaining too.”

“I just bought them,” I say, offering up the tidbit of information.

Rodolfo nods. “Gotcha. Well, I’d still work on chaining them. But unless you’re going for a utility build, I’d stick to what you know. Been watching some of the arena fights they’ve started piping in, and at your Level, a fraction of a second hesitation gets you dead.”

“Arena fights?” I drain the bottle in my hand.

When I look around for somewhere to put it, Rodolfo snorts. “Toss it. The dungeon will clean it. And I got no one coming through this section before it’s done its job.” He suits action to words with his own bottle. “The Galactics got a real Roman thing, you know? It’s their hockey.”

“Right,” I say and make a note to look into these arena fights. It’d be good to see what the Master Class fighters are like at my Level. “One last thing then. Mikito mentioned you get some of the other Master Classers grinding here sometimes?”

“The champions? Yeah, I get them to test my new zones before I open them up.”

“Good. I’ll want their stats,” I say.

“No can do, boss man,” Rodolfo says. “Client privilege.”

“It’s my dungeon,” I say softly, the friendliness gone from my voice as I meet his gaze. I trigger Champion’s Aura too, but Rodolfo doesn’t even blink. I guess one of those Status effects of his is blocking the Aura.

“And if you fire me and take the job, you can get it,” Rodolfo says. “But you got to fire me first.”

“You sure you want to do this?” I say, the threat ringing out.

“Sure as donuts have holes.”

“Okay.” I raise my hand, tapping the air.

Rodolfo shrugs and pulls another bottle from his storage before sipping on it.

A moment later, I sigh. “Damn. Portal’s not opening.”

“Can’t Portal out from here. Or in. You should know better,” Rodolfo says with a sniff. “I’d bounce you out, but I’m about to be fired and I’m not feeling particularly charitable.”

I shake my head. “I’m not firing you over saying no to me. I just wanted to make sure you were the kind of person who deserved to know that kind of information.”

“And you thought threatening was a good way of doing that?” Rodolfo snorts, a look of pity on his face as he turns on his heels and walks off.

“Hey, about the port…,” I call to the dungeon keeper.

“Walk!”

I guess I deserve that. Still, as I turn toward the exit and run, I chuckle. Looks like Lana and Katherine did a good job with Rodolfo. Even if he’s a touch obstinate.

As I run, I clear up the less important notifications I’ve received.

Congratulations! You have reached Level 16 as an Erethran Paladin

Attributes automatically allocated. You have 39 additional free attributes and 5 Class Skill points to assign.

I’m a little surprised to see how fast I Leveled. With a mental command, the experience notification messages are pulled up and I scan through them. Let’s see—a bonus for being the first to clear the Level 70 zone. Bonus experience for doing it alone. A long list of things which I’ve killed, including the zone boss. All those notifications I skip over. And of course, the bonus experience from fighting with the champions and clearing the dungeon, including the first clear bonus there. Oh, and I’ve been steadily accumulating a small amount of experience every day for actually doing my job as a settlement owner. It’s discounted since I don’t have the Classes for it, but since it’s based off total population, it’s still a significant boost.

Huh.

The experience gain from being a settlement owner is a bit of a realization. While I’m sure I used to get it, with the lower population, settlement level, and my lack of involvement, it has been seriously discounted. Still, the experience is evil. But also sensible, since otherwise royalty, which is never allowed to get too down and dirty in dungeons, would never be able to Level up.

After a brief consideration, I decide that with five free Class Skill points, I’ll be able to get a point in everything if I desire, so I dump another point into Penetration. Always good to hit a little harder.

Chapter 8

Whitehorse. Such a small city—Town now—in the middle of nowhere. Even before all this, it didn’t even have thirty thousand people in it. These days, between those we saved and the new immigrants, it’s nearly back to its former peak. Even if the vast majority aren’t humans. Truinnar in formal tunic-and-pants suits whose color reflects their dark skin, Yerrick with their horns and fur, the Kapre towering over everyone, nude but for their bark-like skin, cyborg-like creatures, and monsters straight out of fantasy books all mix on the rune-covered streets, Mana lights providing illumination on this cloud-covered night. Everyone and everything’s armed, moving in small groups as they get ready for another day of adventuring.

Walking down Main Street, I look at the towering silver building which looks so out of place among the historic, frontier town architecture of Whitehorse’s Main Street. Adventurers stream in and out of the tower, heading upstairs to the Shop, checking on newly designated Quests, and complaining to the various administrative personnel. I ignore them all, slipping past the groups to head toward the back of the building, once again noting how weirdly distorted space is here. Ceilings too high, corridors too wide, and the building somehow longer and wider than its outside appearance would indicate.

At the bank, the single elevator slides open to allow Ali and myself to step within. It moves smoothly, the acceleration barely perceptible as it takes us to my appointment. I grunt, feet tapping as I adjust the hem of my jacket.

“Chill, boy-o. It’s just a date,” Ali says with a grin.

“It’s a meeting. Not a date,” I growl softly, and the olive-skinned Spirit chuckles.

“Wasn’t talking about you. Figured I’d chat with Roxley’s AI, see if she’s up to anything…” Ali waggles his eyebrows.

“You know, I’ve always wondered. She’s an AI, you’re a Spirit. I mean, how do you guys…”

“Bang?”

“Talk.”

“With great care.”

Before I can press Ali for a real answer, the doors slide open. The room within is all too familiar, the long metallic table and pair of chairs, the plates and dishes set for the first, cold course. In the corner, Roxley’s personal chef hovers, its spherical body ready to roll—and roll out—the next course.

“Damn him,” I mutter to myself.

“For feeding you?” Roxley says in reply while walking out from his office. The dark elf smiles at me, gesturing to the table. “I recall you enjoyed dinners here before. I would be remiss if I didn’t feed a guest.”

I stare at the Truinnar, his wide shoulders and trim waist set off by the black-and-silver tunic in his house colors, the well-cut pair of pants outlining every inch of his muscular legs. The smile that is always on his lips but sometimes relaxes a little when Roxley actually finds something funny for real. The now-electric blue-hair contrasts with his white eyebrows where a piercing gaze interrogates me and my body. As I stare at the Truinnar, Ali elbows me in the side to get my attention.

Immediately after, the Spirit steps forward and bows slightly. “I shall take my leave then?”

Even as he does so, I see a new notification.

Mental Influence Resisted

Now get your act together, boy-o

“Dinner is fine. I’m sure it’s lovely as always.” I nod to Roxley’s chef, taking a seat while Roxley sits across me in his own, and I bury my irritation. I do need to eat, the food is good, and I know the man well enough to know that this is part payment for what I’ll ask of him. “But I do want to know what you so urgently needed to speak to me about.”

“Of course. But first, a toast.” Roxley raises the wine glass, a pale yellow drink with flakes of squirming dark matter within. “To your Master Class.”

“Thanks.” I sip on the drink. It’s sweet and fruity and smooth and the next thing I know, it’s gone. Too fast for me to remember to have scanned it, which is a damn shame.

“Jumma summer wine. Summers last nine years, but the only time the vegetation can fruit is within the first and last month,” Roxley says.

“Thank you,” I say. “And congratulations on your new title. Count now, is it?”

“Yes.” Roxley stares at me, presumably looking for the anger or resentment I showed so many years ago. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, more time to consider what he did. And while I still don’t agree, I no longer hold a grudge against him for his choices. Perhaps he sees that, for his lips relax, his smile growing more natural. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did—Roxley has always been more perceptive than I am. “We’ve managed to stabilize many of the dungeons around the city and the territory. Our results have made the Duchess extremely happy. Now, we should eat before the food grows too cold.”

I take Roxley’s diversion with grace, digging in. I recall that the Truinnar hate speaking about business at the dinner table. Even the little he’s done shows that Roxley’s gone native a bit, adapting to our customs slightly. Dinner, as always, is a gourmet’s wet dream. While the vast majority of food served is nothing that I recognize, years under the System has acclimatized most people to not asking where and what kind of beast their latest meal is coming from. At least, not if they don’t have an iron stomach. Armed with that knowledge, it’s a lot easier to just enjoy the wide range of tastes that dance across one’s tongue.

We avoid sensitive topics, catching up on how things have gone for many of my acquaintances, the Town as a whole, and some of my remaining business interests as well. Of note, the local brewing company has expanded again, taking up nearly an entire block as it attempts to meet Galactic demand. In addition, Dawson opened up a year ago, the city retaken by a trio of ambitious adventuring teams. Now, the Guild the teams are a part of have their headquarters in the newly reclaimed city and are raking in Credits as their members tackle the high-Level zones all around the newly rebuilt Town. If there’s one sour note, it’s that there’s not a single living human in that town from before. It is very much a Galactic settlement. Way I hear it, even Ingrid hasn’t visited.

Time passes swiftly and I find myself laughing and relaxing, the conversation flowing as easily as the drink. It’s only after dinner, after we’ve made our way to Roxley’s study, that the tone and air of the meeting changes. Sitting across from each other in plush chairs that conform to our bodies, we stare across the intervening space, unwilling to break the moment of camaraderie. But business must be spoken and so I push ahead.

“You wanted to speak with me.” I say.

“Yes. Your new Class complicates matters,” Roxley says as he leans back. “But you’ve never not complicated your life, have you, John?”

“Don’t know about that,” I say with a shrug. “Just did what I wanted. But why’s it a problem?”

“You understand what your Class entails? What it means for the Erethrans?” Before I can answer, he continues. “You are the only active Paladin in the entire Empire. You stand outside of all command structures, reporting only to their ruler.”

Huh. I guess he doesn’t actually know the details of my Class. I do note how Roxley says “active,” but I keep my own face smooth.

“You may, by tradition and right of arms, judge and execute any and all in their Empire with the exception of the queen. You are, furthermore, considered a representative of their beliefs and their will.”

“I know,” I say. “And…?”

“And you are human. With no political or social backing. Your authority carries only the weight of tradition behind it and what you, yourself, are able to bring to bear. You have authority but no power,” Roxley says and leans forward. “And as such, you are a pawn. One that many will eye in hope of using against the Erethrans.”

“They may try. But if this is what you wanted to speak of, you could have saved your breath. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Interesting.” Roxley leans back, steepling his fingers. He peers at me over the aqua-colored nails. “I was lead to believe you were not given much time to consider your Class Quest and its implications.”

“I wasn’t,” I say. No use hiding what is common knowledge. None of what happened to me is hard to ascertain.

“Then tell me, John, what do you intend to do?”

“The usual,” I say, smiling slightly. “Whatever needs to be done. Which, at this point, is getting Earth its Galactic seat.”

Roxley lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “Still focused on your impossible quests, are you John? And so, my invitation was accepted.”

“Yes. You understand Galactic politics better than I do, and probably have a much clearer idea of how all of it is affecting Earth. From what Kim’s analyzed, about six percent of the unclaimed City Cores will be very difficult to claim on a permanent basis in the short term. For the remainder, it will take no longer than four months for them to be claimed. If I’m not reading that wrong, we’re going to run out of areas to contest very, very soon. We either need to make enough friends, fast, or we’re going to have to start kicking ass.”

“Which would be foolish,” Roxley says sternly.

“Because we can’t win a long-term fight?” I nod. “No. We can’t. Four years ago, we might have been able to bulrush the powers out. Hit them hard enough and fast enough and take over enough City Cores that we could use the rights and planetary powers to mitigate their retaliation. Now, there are too many Master Class fighters on this world to make it viable even if we wanted to try it.

“At least not alone.”

Roxley stares at me and shakes his head. “I cannot commit my Duchess to such an action. Not without her prior approval. Not even for you.”

“But you can advise me on the political environment, can’t you?”

“I can.” Roxley waves and a screen appears, hovering between the two of us. It’s a simple pie chart next to the map of the world. I frown at the map then realize why it’s bothering me—it’s not the usual one we see but a different one that rebalances the landmasses to their actual sizes. The Peter’s map. And yeah, it’s my higher Intelligence supplying stupid facts dredged up from a West Wing episode. “This is how I would break the votes you seek up.”

41.2% Human-Controlled Settlement Votes

8.8% Galactic Edge

17.6% Irvina

8.6% The Fist

2.14% Artisans

14.7% Miscellaneous powers

6.96% Unclaimed Settlement Areas

“Huh,” I say and stare at the more detailed breakdown of the “miscellaneous powers.”

“The Galactic Council is made up of four main and two smaller factions. Now, while what I speak of is in generalities, it is wise to remember that these are generalities. Not all races and individuals will ‘fit’ within these categories. Still, it’s a useful shorthand.” When I nod, Roxley continues. “The first major faction is the Galactic Edge—a group dedicated to expansion in System-registered planets for additional resources. You’ll find many of the more recent additions to the System part of this faction, including races like mine. The Galactic Edge is the third largest faction in terms of seats on the Council.

“The Irvina—named after the main solar system and planet from which the Council operates from—is the largest faction by number of seats. They consist of a limited number of races, however, as they consist of races introduced to the System the longest. They include the Movana, a few active dragons, and your dwarves. Obviously, their close allies are all included in the displayed number.”

I frown at his words, trying to recall the image of the Galactic System. “But don’t the Truinnar have as much space as the Movana?”

“Space, yes. But like your world, we face the issue of votes on many of our planets. We either have not covered sufficient landmass, in many cases, or are forced to deal with interlopers or split votes. My people are not very altruistic, and as such, politics can be dangerous on our home planets,” Roxley says.

“Right. So geographic space and number of worlds aren’t the same as number of seats,” I say softly.

As the Movana are older, they have more seats because they’ve managed to concentrate power without giving up their settlements. It makes sense then that the older races manage to get away with it too—even if older planets become uninhabitable due to the flood of Mana, they have the existing resources to flood a new city with people and Credits and establish their dominance. And it’s not as if the all-out fights happen as much on non-Dungeon-World-designated planets.

“The third faction has a long, cumbersome name which will not translate well. Most know them as the Fist. They are made up of individuals and particularly warlike species and kingdoms, like the Hakarta and your Erethran Empire. Their goal is to push for further exploration into the Restricted Zone near the Mana Spring, designate more Dungeon Worlds, and increase support for combat Classers in general,” Roxley says.

“Were they the ones pushing for our conversion?” I ask softly, my eyes narrowing in anger.

“Yes. As were the Irvina,” Roxley says. “You must understand, each new Dungeon World relieves the level of Mana buildup in every other world, slowing down the process.”

“I know. So why don’t you just open a dozen more?” Having been stuck on a Restricted Planet for the last four years, I can understand why they’d prefer to slow down Mana buildup. Dealing with the ever-increasing monster hordes at ever-increasing Levels is an impossible task for a society. It’s one thing when your average monster is Level 20 and increases to Level 30. It’s another when same increase is to 130.

“System limitations and politics,” Roxley says. “Like most things, opening a Dungeon World requires a significant amount of resources and also specific circumstances. It’s only possible to designate a Dungeon World when a planet is first introduced to the System. The world should also be pre-inhabited, preferably by a sentient species, to handle the increased Mana load which will be directed to the planet. Failed integration will result not only in the loss of the world to the System but also a loss of all the resources dedicated to its creation.

“And, of course, the entire Council must contribute to its establishment. As the greatest benefits of the Dungeon World are seen by those closest to it, it can be politically difficult to justify such an expenditure, even if it is best for all parties.”

I grunt, making a mental note. Those two factions are on my shit list.

“The last major faction is the Artisans. They’re the second largest, with numbers close to the Irvina, though their individual power is somewhat limited by their lack of Combat Class Masters and higher. The Artisans do receive significant support from various corporations, so it would be foolish to underestimate their strength,” Roxley warns me. “As for the two minor factions, the Technocrats seek to explore the limits of pre-System technology—your ‘normal’ physics and chemistry—within and outside the bounds of the System. They’re a small group but have a pair of members on the Inner Council, giving them a greater level of prestige than they would have otherwise. And lastly, the Systemers are not an official faction, but their religious belief in the System is widespread among the Galactic System.”

I nod slightly. The Technocrats are a known group for me—many of the writers I read in my continuous quest for knowledge about the System come from the group. It seems the Venn diagram of Technocrats and Questors has significant overlap. They’re also known to be one of the few groups who would voluntarily leave the radius of the System, venturing into the deep unknown to explore, learn about non-System technology from before the System took over, and test older technology. Overall, they’re considered kooks of the highest order—but dangerous and useful kooks.

“As you can see, the Artisans have little presence on Earth. Of those here, they’re not truly organized, their presence more based on individual desires rather than a group effort. Of course, the Fist has significant presence, with Ares and a few other Corporations and the Hakarta Legion owning the major cores,” Roxley says, gesturing to the hanging notification.

“This makes a lot more sense.” I tap my lips, doing the math in my head. “But we need eighty percent of the vote, and that means we’ll need the vast majority of the people on the board to vote for us. Including getting the majority of those you labeled independents, assuming I’m missing out on either the Truinnar or the Movana.”

“Yes. It is possible, I believe, for you to gain either of the pair’s backing for your endeavor, but not both.”

“Figures,” I mutter, shaking my head. The way the numbers read, I’m not even sure there’s a way to make this work. Getting so many independents would mean speaking with a large number of disparate organizations. “Why are they indies anyway? Doesn’t it make sense to join together with the factions?”

“While there are four major factions, there are numerous other, smaller groups. Some are allied with the major factions on major topics, but not on others. Others have too-contrasting beliefs or just are not interested in joining the larger factional politics on a regular basis,” Roxley says, smiling slightly. “Some prefer to be independent, no matter the cost.”

“Ali, make a note to have Kim filter for objectionable moral and cultural practices, will you? If we’re going to have to stomp on some ankles to get our votes, might as well make it count.”

“You know, boy-o, Kim’s upgraded enough for you to tell him yourself. At least up here,” Ali sends back.

I grunt, sending the note directly to the AI. I get a confirmation, though I send a reminder for Ali to double-check the list. While Kim’s smart, he is still a program and I’m not entirely sure his views on morality line up with mine. For that matter, neither do Ali’s at times, but he’s been with me long enough to understand my intentions.

“Knowing all this, you still intend to continue your quest?” Roxley says, leaning forward as he places his hands on the armchair rests.

I find myself nodding even as I twirl my now-empty glass. Roxley shuts his mouth as the drone servant comes in to pour refreshments for both of us. Afterward, it leaves, gliding away silently on its anti-gravity jets.

“And you wish for our help?”

“If your Duchess will offer it. I’m assuming there are others I’ll need to speak to within your kingdom?” I say. While they might all be the same race and kingdom, the Truinnar are rivals to some extent, peers fighting one another.

“May I make a suggestion?” At my nod, Roxley continues. “If my liege agrees to your request, it might be best to allow her—or specifically, myself as her representative—to speak with the others on Earth. Your time is limited and your understanding of the politics limited.”

And of course, it also means we’ll end up owing a much larger boon to the Duchess. But the offer is tempting. Roxley’s right. We are short on time here, if I want to meet the deadline of the next vote.

“Very well. If she’ll agree to help us,” I say.

“Good.” Roxley taps his lips. “You will find it hard to gain support from most without some concessions. I won’t ask what you are willing to give up, but it is something you must consider. The Fist, for example, would be raring to have you in their camp. It is not an all-too-disagreeable notion for the Edge, as we vote together quite often.”

“But doing so will put us at odds with the Artisans,” I say, running my fingers along the edge of the wine glass. “And they’re the second most powerful group who might be willing to work with us. Certainly one of the most economically beneficial for humans.”

“Yes,” Roxley says. “Though the Edge has some additional benefits. For example, have you considered the benefits of colonization?”

I blink at Roxley. I’m about to protest about the sheer number of hurdles involved in a proper colonization effort before I realize the System wipes out so many of these problems. Hell, given enough Credits and Mana, it’s possible to terraform a planet in days instead of decades. Never mind the fact that our bodies can handle a much, much wider variety of environments with minor issues under the System.

“Touché,” I say.

“One last matter, John,” Roxley says. “Have you even confirmed your support among your race?”

“No. I needed a better understanding of the situation first,” I say before shrugging. “They’re next on my list.”

“Then you’ll understand why a minimum prerequisite for us to take any action officially would be for you to gain their agreement?” Roxley says, and I find myself nodding. Roxley smiles before he waves his hand toward the notifications, pulling up the independent list. “Then in the meantime, there are a few groups I feel you might be able to work on.”

I glance at Roxley’s list, making mental notes of the names as the Truinnar speaks. Still, while he talks, I make note of how he says what he says. Because while I know he is unlikely to lie, where and at whom he points us is suspect. For all the friendliness he and I might share, the Truinnar always has more than one goal.

Even so, I listen. Because any information is better than nothing. And I’ve got about four years’ worth of local and thousands of years of Galactic history to learn.

Chapter 9

When I walk out of the building later that evening—much later—I find the city still humming with activity. Between tech, Skills, and spells, there’s little to stop an ambitious adventuring team from working through the night. In fact, most nighttime quests pay significantly better than daytime quests, no matter the type. Part of the reason is that nocturnal monsters are generally tougher, but it’s the loss and inconvenience which probably keeps nocturnal-based quests better paying.

As I stare at the scurrying adventurers, I touch my lips absently. Sometimes, I really wish I was like these others. Able to focus on simple tasks, simple quests. Go out, collect a dozen claws. Kill a few monsters, clear a couple of dungeons. Escort a bioorganic researcher who wants to check out how the Mana overflow has affected our ecosystem. Simple. Easy. Uncomplicated.

Not like planet-wide politics. Not like running a settlement. Or a handsome dark elf kissing you on the lips as you leave, then shutting the door on you.

Simple.

“So, Paladin, are you done?” Ayuri says.

I blink, tilting my head to see the champion standing beside me. I frown, prodding my memory and realizing she’s been there for minutes now. A slight shiver runs through me at the thought that I’d let someone this dangerous so close to me. But there are no indications of danger from her, none of the subtle signals one learns to pick up on to indicate killing intent. In the end, she was just standing there.

“For now.” I sigh and drop my hand. “Why are you here?”

“It was pointed out to me I was a little hasty,” Ayuri says, glaring backward at Unilo. The female Guard waves at me in greeting, slitted purple eyes dancing with ill-concealed humor. “Just because you have the Class means little.”

“I see,” I say, shifting slightly as I eye our surroundings.

Just over a score of people are out and about on the streets, most of them adventurers thankfully. Any collateral damage from Skill use is probably survivable. Blink Step down the road to the other side of the river will pull them out of danger too. So long as I head left after the Blink Step, away from the hospital, I should be able to pull the resulting battle away from most civilians. Of course, the Kapre live there, but they’ve got their own protections.

“Come.” Ayuri points at a gaping black Portal which offers no information about where we’re going next.

“You know, it’s been a long day already…”

Ayuri drops a hand on my shoulder and guides me to the Portal. Her strength is significantly higher than mine and continuous, as inexorable as tectonic plates shoving me forward. The Portal widens even further, allowing the two of us to walk through side-by-side. We’re followed by Unilo and Mayaya, who is looking as bored as ever.

“Plenty of use you were,” I send to Ali as he pops into existence over my shoulder just before I step into the Portal.

I could fight this, but my gut says that whatever their intentions, it doesn’t include putting a bullet in my head in front of a self-dug grave. The mental shrug I get back from Ali is insouciant enough to put my teeth on edge as the darkness takes me.

***

The other end of the Portal is in a small settlement, somewhere on the North American continent as we’re still on Earth and the sun still hasn’t risen. I look at the buildings, dismissing those with Galactic architecture and spending time staring at the 1960s brick-and-wood construction for clues. All of it is written in English, so Canada or North America. The air conditioning units makes me guess somewhere down south. Well, that and the lingering heat from the day. Of particular note though is the population striding around the town, many still dressed in their uniforms.

“Yours?” I ask Ayuri as she releases me. The happy nod she gives me makes me grunt, but I follow her passively down the street, heading for a newer Galactic building. “Don’t recall seeing the Erethran Empire on the list of settlement owners.”

“It’s because it’s not. It’s owned by Unilo directly,” Ayuri says.

When I look at Unilo, she smiles sunnily.

“We’re still waiting for the requisitioned Credits for the space,” Ayuri adds. “Since Unilo’s a d’Cha, she’s got the Credits to spend on this till my requisition comes through.”

Ali chuckles, floating alongside us in his pint-sized form. “Galactic bureaucracy. The same wherever you go.”

“Except the M453-Xs the Gnumma, the Vassalee, the—”

“Okay, okay, fine. Not universal,” Ali says grumpily and glares at Mayaya, who continues to ignore the Spirit.

I chuckle softly, letting the pair distract me as we walk into the building. Within, it’s surprisingly spacious and empty, hosting but four shimmering blue cells. Within one of those cells, a pair of Erethran grunts spar, one wielding a knife and the other what looks like brass knuckles. The pair are Basic Classes and not particularly skilled from what I can see.

“You going to put me in there to fight a bunch of your men?” I say, taking a guess at her intentions. I’m hoping it’s this option, because the other one is much more painful.

“Of course not. What would the challenge be there?” Ayuri says with a snort. “No, I’m going to fight you.”

***

Standing across from Ayuri in the middle of the reinforced fight ring, I feel my heartbeat slowly speeding up. All four shield walls have been allocated to our single cell, providing the ever-growing audience greater protection. Crouched slightly with my hands by my sides, I watch the purple-haired Erethran casually stretch across the ring.

“Rules?” I say to break the silence as Ayuri continues to ready herself.

“No leaving the cell,” Ayuri says. “Five taps, audible indication, or five percent remaining of your health is a loss. The building is tracking our health. There’ll be an auditory and visual cue to stop fighting.”

“Okay.”

I could protest, but truth be told, a part of me is looking forward to this. It’s been four years and a lot of experience since we met. Now, I’m curious to see what the gap is. Ayuri isn’t like me, having skipped an entire Class. She has over eighty Levels’ worth of attributes and Skills as an advantage and countless years of experience. In a straight duel like this, I have no realistic chance of winning. But still, I find myself grinning in anticipation even as I activate Mana Sight. Because this is going to be fun.

“On your signal, Unilo,” Ayuri says.

There’s a tense silence as Unilo stares between the two of us, a silence which grows as the seconds tick by without a signal. “Now.”

Ayuri reacts first, appearing behind me, but it’s a move I’ve anticipated. I’m already dropping and kicking backward even as I conjure a Soul Shield around my body. My attack connects as Ayuri refuses to dodge, bouncing off her Soul Shield. It’s only when I’m rolling away that I catch a glimpse of Ayuri’s soulbound weapon. The short, flame-bladed sword flicks downward, sending a Blade Strike that I barely dodge by continuing to roll. The shorter blade allows Ayuri to swing the blade back, sending another successful Blade Strike at me even as I recover. The single strike drains nearly half of my Soul Shield, making my eyes narrow. Christ, she’s put a ton of points into the attack Skill.

She blurs, charging me as I watch the streams of Mana collect and swirl around her body. Haste. A Basic Class Skill that speeds up her movement at the cost of a tremendous amount of Mana and Stamina while active. She crosses the distance between us in seconds and I find myself blocking the flurry of thrusts and cuts with my own sword.

Even as I fall back, I call forth my Thousand Swords Skill, adding the floating blades and complicating the space between us. Now, not only does she have to work around my initial attack, she also has to move around the flowing follow-up blades. Each block cuts off an area of attack, each additional blade reducing her angles of attack. Rather than avoid the angles though, Ayuri blocks and beats aside my floating weapons, forcefully opening up angles. The ring of blades, the shuffle of our steps, and the harsh grunts of exertion fill the room as we clash. Within seconds of our clash, I’ve been hit a half dozen times, leaving my Soul Shield with a sliver of health. It’s only when I have up the Haste spell that things begin to stabilize.

The champion twists her hand as we clash again, triggering a Skill and breaking my grip on my sword, disarming me. I block the next thrust with my left forearm, the last of my Soul Shield dying in a flare as the blade opens up my forearm. But the sacrifice pushes the blade away from my chest and gives me time to point and fire my beam pistol at her face. The attack flares as it impacts against her Soul Shield, but more importantly, it blinds her for a second to allow me to scramble backward.

“Your sword skills have improved,” Ayuri praises me with a grin. She tosses the wavy short blade from hand to hand as she stalks me around the ring, giving me time to replace my Soul Shield.

“You ready to get serious?” I say.

“You noticed?”

“Obviously.”

“Good. I’m coming then,” Ayuri says, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Even before her words end, she’s on me, Blink Stepping to cover the short distance.

I throw a reverse lunge, dropping to one knee with my back leg extended and catching her directly in her chest. Her Shield bursts, the momentum of her charge and Blink added to my own Skills and attack shattering her protection. But it doesn’t stop her. The champion uses the momentum of my attack to spin around, a hand trailing along the edge of my blade as her other hand conjures another sword. I retrieve my sword into my left hand to block her attack, but she twitches her original hand and tosses her short sword at me directly. Behind the attack comes another and another.

Within seconds, she’s pulling copies of her soulbound blade and throwing them at me, cutting through my blocks by sheer volume, each blade unerring. Under repeated assault, my Soul Shield fails again, the newly conjured blades breaking past my hasty defenses. Even as the first blade plunges into my shoulder, I trigger my Skill.

Blink Step.

Beneath me, Ayuri spins around then looks up, spotting my falling form. She smirks, already throwing knives to intercept me and the grenades I’ve thrown. Falling as I am, I can see when recognition catches up with instinct, just before her first blade pierces the first grenade.

A chaos grenade.

Fish explode from the grenade—barbed, slimy fish that rain down around us. Another grenade detonates, consuming her conjured blade and leaving a small hole in space. A third grenade lands by her feet and a horde of sizzling, molten fire elementals manifest. Ayuri lets out an involuntary yelp as she sinks, pushed deeper into the swarm as she blocks my falling attack. Already, I can see her Soul Shield flaring as the elementals eat into it.

“Chaos grenades?” Ayuri snarls, gripping my arm as I recover from the fall and blocked attack.

She twists and tosses me away, dodging my follow-up blades at the same time, her movements barely hindered by the elementals. I spin through the air and slam into the side of the cage. By the time I recover, she’s cast an Ice Storm, slaying the newly formed elementals and catching me in the back blast.

Even as I stagger, the Soul Shield reforming with a thought, Ayuri is stalking forward. With a thought, I trigger the mines I laid when I dropped, the expanding Tier II foam surprise only barely catching the fast-moving champion at the edges. Long enough for me to cast a Freezing Blade on my sword.

“Freezing Blade. Good choice.” With a shrug, Ayuri snaps the restricting foam. “But useless.”

I snort, ignoring her taunts as Ayuri darts forward more cautiously. Our blades clash once again, the ice creeping up along her hand with each attack. But as fast as they connect, the blades are dismissed, the freezing barely given time to act upon the champion. And what does appear on her hands seems to be dismissed by a swirl of Mana around her body. Another Skill—probably one that removes Status effects.

She shatters my defense in a few strikes, my Soul Shield failing once more. A Disarm opens up an avenue of attack, allowing Ayuri to snap an elbow strike at my temple. I stagger backward, a cut opening above my eye even as I try to move away from another flung blade. I twist, throwing a half-formed Blade Strike to push her away. I split my focus for a second, throwing Blade Strikes without care as I attempt to buy time to finish forming my spell. It works and Mud Walls forms, rushing upward ahead of me to block her view.

“You’re getting your ass kicked, boy-o,” Ali says, chortling.

“No shit. I barely have time to use my Skills.”

Through Ali’s viewpoint outside the ring, I can see Ayuri casually dodging my last Blade Strike before smirking at the Mud Walls. She raises a hand, forming a glowing ball of power in it—a charged Skill, it seems. I’m vaguely curious if it’s a Master or Basic Class attack, but mostly, I’m focusing on the flow of Mana as seen by Ali. It’s not as effective as viewing it directly, but it’s good enough.

When she releases the attack, I Blink Step, appearing behind Ayuri. Immediately, I cast Army of One, hammering her with everything I have. The blades send slashes of power into her back, blood erupting from her body as the attack tears through her Shield and defenses. The champion immediately twists and dodges some of the attacks. My Master Class Skill makes a difference here, making her numerous defensive Skills useless. Ayuri is sent spinning into the Mud Walls, her health plummeting as each attack shaves off a visible chunk. By the time the attack is over, the champion has lost half of her health and I’ve lost the element of surprise.

“That hurt,” Ayuri says, her bloody smile widening. “Now I’m really going to kick your ass.”

***

My head slams hard against the floor and I slide backward, slamming into the sparring ring’s force fields. The first two have dissipated from the concussive force of Ayuri’s last attack. The third shatters as I’m forced into it, piles of rubble building up around my sliding body and being turned to dust under the force. The last and strongest field holds though, leaving me bloody and shattered. The room is dyed red, a warning klaxon shattering the air as it marks the end of our sparring match.

For a moment, I focus and cast a Major Healing on myself, pushing through the pain. The spell is insufficient for the sheer amount of damage done to me, but it fixes the major problems, stemming blood loss from ruptured organs and open wounds. The force field drops, and more healing magic descends on my prone form.

“What… Skill?” I send the thought to Ali, barely coherent even as my body patches together.

Rather than answer me directly, Ali flashes me the Skill information as a reminder from the Champion Class information we purchased.

The Will of the People (Erethran Champion Class Skill)

Drawing upon the trust and respect earned by a champion, the user unleashes a single devastating attack to remove all threats to the Empire.

Effect: Attack form and damage done dependent upon user and the amount of Reputation the champion has developed in Erethra. Each 10 points of Erethran reputation deals an additional point of damage.

Cost: 1000 Mana

I snort slightly and regret it immediately, the motion making my chest ache as broken ribs grate upon one another. A single attack my ass. Ayuri formed a million and one separate, spinning decahedrons of blades with the Skill, each of which honed in on me when fired. And a hundred reputation points seems like nothing until you realize the damn Erethran Empire is a multi-system, multi-planet juggernaut. Even a mild level of fame for a champion makes this attack ridiculous. If Ayuri hadn’t purposely held back the vast majority of her attack, I’d be dead, even with my damage reduction and Spell resistances. As it stood, the final attack had actually increased my Mana by an appreciable amount.

As the spells rumble through me, I have a sudden urge to cough. Twisting over my side, I hack and cough, pain ripping through my body at each motion, but eventually, the misplaced, shattered bones and mashed tissue comes out. I stare at the bloody mess, my nose wrinkling as my sense of smell comes back, bringing with it the harsh scent of melted concrete and roasted flesh. A Cleanse fixes some of dirt and smell even as a last spell lands on me, leaving the longer-term healing pulses and my own regeneration to finish the job.

“Damn. You just keep ticking, don’t you?” Ayuri says as she strides up to my prone form. “Were you trying to get me to use my ultimate Skill?”

“Pretty much.” I peel myself off the floor, stare at the tattered remnants of my clothing, and chuckle suddenly.

“What?”

“Just a funny cultural realization.” With a shrug, I tear off the remainder of the armored jumpsuit as it is doing nothing for my modesty and get dressed in something new. None of the Erethrans even blink. Then again, considering how uncovered I was before, they had more than enough time to get over their shock.

“What did you learn?” Unilo asks, her head cocked to the side as she watches me. After a moment, she brightens. “Oh! You are speaking about your embarrassment of being nude! We are too.”

“You are?” I look at the shreds of my clothing as I pull on my new jumpsuit.

“Yes. But only among those of the same species.” Unilo makes a face. “Who’d care about what other species wear? It’s not as if you’re biologically compatible.”

“Unless you’re Truinnar or Movana or Dwarven or boy-o—”

“Not. Now.”

“Right,” I say out loud.

Unilo continues, oblivious. “It’d be like watching a cruppa and being—”

“Cruppa?”

“Domestic animal.” An image flashes up in front of me, a six-limbed, furred on the top and scaled on the bottom creature who is about knee height with a barbed tail. “Erethran equivalent of a dog.”

I flush slightly, glaring at Unilo, who continues to blather on without noticing the look I shoot her.

“Embarrassed. Or worse, aroused. We actually don’t condone that kind of perversion on Erethra, though I know on some of the other planets… well, it’s a bit more uncivilized.”

“Unilo.” Ayuri’s single word cuts off Unilo’s ramblings.

Ayuri gestures for the exit, and as I’m now presentable, I’m happy to comply. We stay silent as we push past the crowd, my head cocked to the side as I read lips and listen to the whispered Erethran-filled conversations all around me.

“You sure he’s a Paladin? I hear they’re even worse than champions—”

“Never saw anyone take more than a twentieth of the Will before. His damage reduction must be insane!”

“Well, he did have two-thirds of his health. His regeneration rates were ridiculous. And he kept on buying time with the Soul Shield.”

“You think the d’Quam are going to let him live?”

“He got her down a quarter health. Shit, I think I’m going to have to buy his profile from the Shop.”

“Krell’s nipples the Shop. I got a broker for that. Get you a real deal—”

Ayuri stays silent until we enter a new building and enter what I presume to be her office. It amuses me how, even with a mostly paperless society, Ayuri has managed to clutter her office with junk. I see knickknacks everywhere, from snow globes, lava lamps, a bagpipe, and numerous magnets to other, less identifiable Galactic souvenirs. And trophies. Lots of monster part trophies. As Ayuri slumps in her chair and puts her feet up on the table, I gingerly move aside the half-shattered skull of a particularly large Goblin.

“Hob,” Ayuri says, as if it’s an explanation. “I was trying to make a cup out of his head and well…”

“Cup?”

“Well, you humans have this interesting saying—”

“Hyperbole. It’s hyperbole!” I say, waving.

“Oh. Huh. That’d explain it,” Ayuri says. “Well. You passed. Barely.”

I nod slightly, my eyes narrowing. She didn’t need to drag me all the way here to tell me all this. In fact, she didn’t even need to bring me to this town. Any relatively empty zone would have done just as well. Except, of course, her objective had never been to test my combat ability.

“We’re done. You should go eat. Unilo, get him some chow,” Ayuri says and gestures for me to get up.

I blink, staring at Ayuri then back at Unilo. Oh. Right. “Grub?"

“No, we do not eat insects, but we could find some for you,” Unilo says as she leads me out of the office toward what I assume to be the officers’ mess.

It takes the rest of the walk to explain the misunderstanding. It takes another few minutes for me to find something to eat, and I’m not surprised when Unilo joins me. Or when Mayaya, who has been quietly shadowing us, drives away the few other patrons.

“The settlement vote,” I say after we have both dug into our food for a bit.

“It’s yours,” Unilo says, then cuts me off when I open my mouth to thank her. “On one condition.”

“Of course there’s a condition,” I say grumpily.

Ali, who’s hovering above Mayaya invisibly, rolls his eyes at me.

“It’s a simple one. Just a minor favor,” Unilo says.

“A favor.”

“A minor favor.”

“Some help here?” I ask Ali.

“Erethran nobles trade favors. Trivial, minor, major, blood, life, and family in order of importance. A minor favor is generally considered an action which does not significantly inconvenience or danger you. A single vote, an appropriately Leveled dungeon run.”

Unilo waits for me to answer, digging into the noodle-like substance before her with a weird utensil that adheres to the noodles with the barest touch. I bury my face in my food, barely tasting it even as my newly healed body craves the calories, while my thoughts spin. So. I’m paraded around, my Skills and Class shown off to a group of Erethran soldiers. Obviously the information about who and what I am is now public knowledge for the kingdom. And now, I’m being not so subtly forced to take a deal.

The problem with traps is that even if you recognize them, sometimes you have no choice but to spring them. Sometimes, the best way of dealing with a trap is to bull your way through it. And a trap that is known can sometimes be an opportunity.

“A minor favor. Only after a successful vote,” I say, laying down my own conditions.

“Sounds like an open-ended deal on your part,” Unilo says.

“Not entirely true. You’ll lose this settlement at some point, and I’ll lose my vote.”

Unilo’s lips twitch upward as she cocks her head. “Ah, couldn’t slip the time limit past you, could I? Well, okay. Deal then.”

I wait, and wait, and eventually frown.

“The food not to your liking?” Unilo asks as she finishes her dinner.

“There’s no System notification,” I say, frowning.

“For our deal? It’s not System-registered, no.”

“What’s to stop me from welching?”

Unilo’s eyes glaze over for a moment before she flashes me a smile. “Welching. What a nice word. And if I cannot trust a Paladin to keep his word, well, the Empire is in grave danger.”

For a moment, I sit there, somewhat disoriented by the statement. Is she assuming my Class forbids me from breaking deals? Or is there something in my Class that stops me from welching? Are there Classes like that? Or is this a cultural artifact? A belief that anyone who is a Paladin can’t break a deal? Or a deeper understanding of me?

I shush the inquisitive, almost panicky thoughts while another corner of my mind points out that I might need some rest. Getting beaten to a pulp can’t be healthy, no matter how many resistances I have.

“Fair enough,” I say with a sigh then look at Mayaya. “Mind giving me a ride home?”

Mayaya doesn’t answer directly, but the next thing I know, I’m falling through a Portal that opens up right beneath my feet, taking me and my chair with it.

Right. Don’t ask him for a favor again.

Chapter 10

After I recover from being so ignobly deposited back in Vancouver—and return the chair, hopefully directly on Mayaya—I spend the next few hours sleeping. Between the constant rush of the past couple of days, I’ve barely had time to catch my breath and it has been over twenty-four hours since I had time to rest. While my higher Constitution allows me to function quite, quite well with no sleep for days on end in normal conditions, normal is not what I’d call my last day. And so, by the time I get up, it’s nearly three in the afternoon.

Over the next few days, I spend my time studying. First, there’s the delayed meeting with Ali and Kim to receive their findings and research. While it’s significantly more detailed than what Roxley provided, the gist of it is familiar. It does, however, provide a few settlements we could target for objectionable actions if I’m so inclined. Sadly, just taking over the City Cores is insufficient. I need people to guard the core and make the settlement actually work. As experience has shown, leaving a City Core unguarded has a bad tendency to create city-wide System-created dungeons if given enough time.

Afterwards, I’ve got Lana and Katherine in large chunks, bothering me with questions and details about the settlement. I suffer through those discussions as best as I can, mostly because they at least provide me some context to the world. We tackle numerous issues, ranging from zoning and building applications to judicial rulings, all of which require more than knee-jerk decisions. It’s frightening how much power I have as a settlement owner, a minor feudal lord who rules by right of might. And so, I spend my time studying and learning, doing my best while I wait.

Because the next big step is talking with the champions, but due to their busy schedules, I’ve been forced to cool my heels for a few days till their “regular” meeting.

Their meeting time finally arrives, and I find myself porting with Mikito to Hong Kong, appearing on top of the Bank of China tower to survey the city. A quick glance at the notifications informs me the settlement has managed to develop into a full City, a remarkable achievement in the short timeframe. Especially considering only seven percent of their population survived. High population density and a high Mana density combined to create an explosive growth of monsters that trimmed their numbers in the first year. Even from my view, I can see the gaps where entire neighborhoods were razed, their buildings shattered by titanic monstrosities and the battles to subdue them.

“Welcome, Mr. Lee,” a voice calls to me in Cantonese, and I turn to meet the gaze of a tiny old man.

Grandmaster Chang Jing Yi, the Iron Gate of Hong Kong, Seventh Dragon of South China (Kung Fu Master Level 2)

HP: 4310/4310

MP: 1080/1080

Conditions: Iron Shirt, Iron Bones, Heaven-and-Earth connection

“Tai Tsifu Chang,” I greet the man in Cantonese while bowing slightly. “If you don’t mind, I don’t believe Mikito understands Cantonese?”

“Baka. Of course I do. I visit here often enough,” Mikito says, speaking up before Grandmaster Chang can say anything. “But you didn’t need to meet us yourself.”

“I wanted to meet the famous Redeemer of the Dead,” Grandmaster Chang says. “His recent exploits have been quite eye-catching.”

While Mikito and the Grandmaster speak, I bug Ali for an explanation. Especially for the place-specific titles.

“They’re reputation- and achievement-based titles. Available only if you manage to gain both the achievements and the reputation. Similar to Capstan’s First Fist. As for his Heaven-and-Earth connection, it’s a flowery translation for a unique awareness Skill.”

“You do me too much honor,” I say to Grandmaster Chang in response to his earlier comment. Huh. I wonder if that’s the right word—would face be better? Mien is more commonly used. But it’s not exactly the same. This is why I hate talking to old school or China Chinese. Being a damn banana, I’m always second-guessing myself. At least my higher Intelligence seems to have increased my versatility with the language. “My achievements are small compared to yours. I didn’t kill a water dragon with my bare hands in the early years.”

“It was a small one and I had help. A lot of it,” Grandmaster Chang says with a smile and gestures for us to follow him toward the fire exit.

“Still, I’d love to hear about it,” I say.

With a little more prompting, I manage to extract the story of the Grandmaster’s fight with the water dragon that had preyed on Hong Kong during the early part of the apocalypse. It’s quite a thrilling tale, and one that keeps me riveted until we reach the meeting room. At the door, the Grandmaster leaves us with a bow.

“How come he’s not part of the group? He’s got the Levels,” I say, gesturing to the Master Class Grandmaster’s retreating back.

“Not everyone who has the Levels is accepted. Or desires to tramp around the globe,” Jessica says as she fades into being right next to us.

Mikito starts slightly, a hand flexing as she begins and dismisses calling her weapon. As for myself, I smile at Jessica. It’s not as if my new Class Skill hadn’t helped me pick her out of the shadows a while ago.

“I thought you were a grouping of the most powerful on Earth?” I say with a frown.

“Not exactly,” Mikito says. “We’re the ones willing to join and have been accepted. A lot of settlement owners and others who might have the strength—like Grandmaster Chang—aren’t interested. Or available. Not all settlement owners are as hands-off as you are.”

“Ah. So you’re what? The spearhead? Or the figurehead?” I say.

Jessica laughs at my description, pearly white teeth flashing across dark skin before fading. “Yes. Come on, we’re the last.”

She pushes the two of us in, a hand on each of our backs. I follow the urgings of the Southern girl, glancing around to see that she is correct—everyone I know is here. And two others I’ve yet to meet.

“Bipasha, Graham, John Lee,” Jessica introduces the two newcomers for me while Mikito stays silent, eyeing the room. “Bipasha’s a Weaver and focuses on healing and restricting attacks during combat. She’s also the driving force behind BP Fabrics, one of the largest-growing clothing corporations on Earth.”

“If you ever want a custom-designed costume, do let me know,” Bipasha says, flashing me a smile.

Her long black hair, a slightly prominent nose on top of a large, inviting smile, and gorgeous brown eyes have me stopping for a second, reminding me that it’s been years since… well. Since. That she’s dressed in a stylish pink-and-cream Indian-inspired variation of the armored jumpsuit is a good reminder that not everything has to look the same. I’m suddenly not surprised that she’s managed to garner such a following—a successful businesswoman intelligent enough to use her non-Combat Class Skills to undertake missions at this Level and with enough Charisma to bowl over a blind man.

“Oy! And what am I? Chopped liver?” Graham Speight, the Level 40 Prop with the New Zealander accent, protests. The mid-thirties man is built like a brick shithouse with arms as big as my thighs and a glower that would intimidate a lesser man.

“Well, you are just a prop,” Jamal says, and groans explode from everyone.

Jessica winks at Jamal. “That never gets old.”

“It really does.” Graham complains, glaring at Jamal, who smirks.

“Anyone mind explaining the joke to me?” I ask.

“Rug—” Graham begins and is cut off by Hugo.

“What is he doing here? We haven’t voted him in,” Hugo asks, arms crossed as he glares at me.

“I would like to know too,” Shao says, fixing me with a considering look.

“Don’t worry, not here to join your little club. I actually invited myself along because I need to speak with Ms. Chowdury,” I say, nodding to the young lady who flashes me a smile.

“You want to talk about the Planetary Vote,” Jamal says, an aggrieved tone filling his voice. When I raise an eyebrow at him, he snorts. “What, you think we all don’t get hit up on that topic? Most of us own a settlement or two. And those who don’t, know most of those who do in our countries.”

“Or continents,” Shao says, crossing her arms.

“Oh good. That means you’ll be useful to getting the vote passed.” When I make that statement, I watch for the champions’ reactions, trying to judge who is open to the idea and who isn’t. Unsurprisingly, Jamal looks pained, Rae is an unreadable hunk of metal, and Jessica and Shao look slightly interested. As for Bipasha, she’s unreadable but charming.

“As if we haven’t tried that,” Hugo says with a snort. “But you need eighty percent of the vote, and that’s an impossible number if you don’t own the entire planet. Hell, we don’t even own fifty percent of Earth. It’s bullshit politics.”

“You’re right,” I say, my admission taking the wind out of Hugo’s sail for the moment. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

“Waste of time,” Hugo says with a huff. “You can talk to Bi once we’re done. But we’ve got real work to do here.”

“Of course,” I say and step out of the door.

With the initial bait thrown, I’m sure Bipasha will find me next. And if I’m not wrong, Shao and Jessica will at a later date. As for Jamal, the man I need to speak with to get in contact with Ikael, well, I’ll just have to track him down later.

***

When Bipasha finally finds me, I can’t help but sigh in gratitude. After leaving the conference room, I’d meant to take a look around the newly remodeled Hong Kong and perhaps even visit their City Dungeon. Instead, I was intercepted by Grandmaster Chang and “invited” to have tea with him and his friends. For the last couple of hours, we’ve been seated in their favorite tea shop, drinking tea, eating fried donuts and steamed buns, and swapping war stories. Or in my case, listening to war stories.

“Bipasha!” I wave to the young politician urgently while standing and bowing to the group. “Thank you so much for your time. But I should speak with my friend.”

“Of course. See you again.”

The group of seniors sends me on my way, though not before I make sure to pay the bill. There’s an intrinsic terror involved in dealing with the elderly, especially if you’ve been brought up, like me, to respect them. It’d be too impolite to interrupt them, and so you get stuck in a never-ending series of stories.

“Mr. Lee.” Bipasha looks around the restaurant at the jade-inlaid faux windows and the wooden chairs, a lip quirking slightly as she spots the mostly elderly customers. “I did not expect to find you in such a place.”

“I was invited,” I say, taking hold of her elbow and guiding her down the stairs. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we?”

“Of course,” Bipasha says.

Outside, I feel some of the tension disappear from my shoulders. “Is Mikito…?”

“Off on another delve. There’s a dungeon on the outskirts of Monaco that is threatening to spill over. The settlement owners haven’t been able to clear it and offered the team a Quest to deal with it for them,” Bipasha says.

“Ah… I hope I’m not keeping you from that then,” I say.

“No. My Skills would be of little use. It’s an aquatic dungeon,” Bipasha says as if it explains everything.

I just nod, deciding to pursue questioning about her Skills later. We walk through downtown Hong Kong, the streets achingly empty for a once overcrowded city.

“That’s good,” I say, then gesture for us to head toward the coastline. I’m curious to see the fishing industry I’ve heard much about. “So you’re attempting to have yourself voted as our representative.”

“Yes,” Bipasha says. “And you?”

“Not my style.”

“Kingmaker, are we?” Bipasha asks as we cross over to the nearby railing overlooking the harbor. We stare at the waters lapping against the ground, the occasional bobbing jellyfish monster that floats along the shores, and the numerous small boats that work the harbor and the monsters for parts.

“No. Yes.” I shrug in resignation when I decide to just go with it. “We need to get on the Council. How we do so…” I frown, shaking my head. “Well, I won’t say it doesn’t matter, because even I’m not that naïve. But I’m willing to concede a lot to get it done.”

“And why is it so important to you?” Bipasha asks, her eyes narrowing at me.

“Self-interest.” I look around us. “Every planet, every species, that lacks a seat on the Council are second-class citizens. They have no say in the politics, in the direction of the Council. They barely even get notifications.”

“Sounds like governments everywhere,” Bipasha says, playing devil’s advocate.

“Maybe. But once we have the seat, Earth also gains access to the Planetary System, allowing us to tax everything that happens on Earth. We can levy duties on specific industries. We can set up visitor fees and even channel the growth of settlements and dungeons.” Channel is, of course, the right word, since doing so is akin to building rocks in a river—the water still flows, but at least you might divert a little bit of it here and there. “But why am I telling you this? You obviously know it all.”

“I do,” Bipasha says. “But it’s always good to understand the motivations of your allies.”

“And are we? Allies that is,” I ask, tilting my head to the woman.

“Perhaps. You haven’t decided to support me yet,” Bipasha says.

“I don’t even know you,” I say with a slight smile.

“And you haven’t met the others either,” Bipasha says. “But you should know, Shao has managed to convince the Chinese to back me.”

I blink, doing some mental math. That’d put her at nearly the same number of votes as Ikael. “Interesting. How’d you manage that?”

Bipasha smiles then. “It’s contingent on there being an actual vote that matters, but Shao didn’t want it. Their golden boy was never going to get the vote, not after he ran in Beijing. And no one wants the Americans to have it.”

“No one?” I say, cocking my head to the side.

“Ah…” Bipasha pauses, as if she’s suddenly remembering that I’m from Canada. Yet a part of me doubts that a consummate politician like her would make such a mistake. No, she wanted me to know that. Wanted me to understand the antipathy she and the Chinese and probably a bunch of others have against the Americans.

“Why?”

“Did you ever wonder what happened to the Galactic Envoy?”

“I think I’m about to find out,” I say. A part of me is already guessing Area 51. It would make sense…

“The Envoy teleported into the middle of small-town Kentucky. And then the farmer who came out shot the Envoy. And since the Envoy didn’t look remotely human, he skewered it, hung it up, and took photos,” Bipasha continues. “You can see the photos in a few tabloids. The first real sign of alien life, and some backcountry hick shoots it, strings it up, and takes photos before gutting the corpse and selling the parts for money.”

“Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t have worked out any better in most places,” I say, protesting the rather rude characterization. Frankly, why the heck would it teleport to Kentucky?

“Teleportation was meant for New York—the UN building. Someone interfered with it.”

“How do you know?”

“What do you think I do when you’re playing kissy-face with Roxley?”

“I’m not…” I send a mental growl while Ali sends a chuckle.

“Maybe. But they’re the ones who brought this hell on us,” Bipasha says. “And many are tired anyway, of the Americans lording it over us all. Almost anyone would be better.”

“Almost?”

“Well, Ikael isn’t much better.”

“Seems like he’s got a lot of support,” I point out, recalling the large number of votes he’d managed to engender. Well above her own.

“Bought and paid for, all of it,” Bipasha scoffs.

“And you’re above that?”

“No. But what he’s promised is destructive. Corruption at that level is impossible to sustain.”

I blink, staring at the Weaver, piecing together her meaning and the underlying beliefs. Then again, she is Bangladeshi—the level of corruption she’s probably run into over her life is significantly more than I have. Which, probably, means she’d be open to bribes and allowing corruption in her own government. But… well, if it works, who am I to complain. Once more, I find myself weighing my own morality against the pragmatism required to keep the damn world running and find that I just care enough. Not over something like this.

“Well, good to know,” I say for something to say.

“For now, understand that I’m willing to work with you. With your settlements and your prestige, along with mine and the influence of Mikito and other champions, I believe we can sway a large number of the undecided,” Bipasha says with a smile. “The benefits could be significant. For all of us.”

Bipasha lays a hand on my arm—briefly, but I can feel the lingering heat, the sensation that manages to take away my breath.

Mental Influence Resisted

Right. But like with Roxley, I’m not entirely sure if it’s a by-product of her high Charisma or something more focused.

“I’ll let you know, after my other meetings,” I say eventually.

Bipasha offers me a nod and waves goodbye, pulling away and leaving me standing there on the dock, overlooking the bay and the numerous fishing boats. As I stare, I spot one particular fisherman tug on a glowing blue rod, his boat rocking dangerously as he struggles against a monstrous fish, the pair of them battling for dominance. An empathic flash rushes through me uncharacteristically. But for a moment, I’m not entirely sure if I’m the fish or the fisherman.

Chapter 11

“Mr. Lee, a pleasure.” The man who offers me his hand looks no older than I am, somewhere in his mid-thirties, with few lines and close-cut, light brown hair. But there’s a look to his eyes that speaks of having lived for much longer than a mere thirty years. It’s no surprise. The ex-Secretary of Agriculture had been old before all this happened. If not for luck and the work of his security detail, he would have never survived the first month.

“Mr. Markey,” I say, shaking his hand.

Behind him, one of his aides twitches, his lips tightening.

“Rob. For someone who has done as much as you have, Rob will do,” Rob says, and I nod. Ex-Secretary turned acting President, now duly elected President. It’s an impressive rise, if you don’t consider the number of deaths that it required.

“I’m surprised you recreated this room,” I say, glancing around. Not that I’ve ever been in the actual building, but I’ve seen enough movies to figure that this recreation of the Oval Office looks pretty close. Up to and including the large rug.

“It was recommended,” Rob says with a self-deprecating smile. “It helps with the public and reassures them that we’re continuing to hold to our ideals. Even if the actual building is a dungeon.”

“Level 120 I understand?” I say, rubbing my chin. It’d be fun to try to run the dungeon, though I’m sure certain historic resonances might occur if a Canadian ran amok with sword and flame.

“Level 120 Elite dungeon, yes,” Rob says. “The champions tried clearing it once, when it was only 100. They managed to make it a quarter of the way in before the rose bushes got them.”

“Rose bushes?” I say.

“You should ask Ms. Sato. It’s quite the story,” Rob says. “But you didn’t come here to speak to me about that.”

“No.” I cock my head to the side, surprised he already wants to get down to the brass tacks.

“I was never much of a politician. The posting was, well, horse trading and a goodbye gift. I’ve always preferred to be blunt,” Rob says with a slight downward gesture of his hand, as if pressing down or cutting something beneath his body. “And General Miller has indicated you are quite blunt yourself.”

“Blunt.” I shoot the general a look where he sits with new stars on his shoulder epaulets. Five stars. Pretty sure that’s as high as you can get. Not that I begrudge the soldier his accomplishments. I note that another thin, dignified African American man is here, listening to our conversations. The Secretary of State, as Ali has informed me. “That’s one way to describe it.”

“So. The Planetary Vote,” Rob says. “You want to know if I intend to run, and if not, if you can convince me to influence those under me to vote for someone else.”

“Pretty much,” I say.

“The simple answers are yes and maybe,” Rob replies. “I feel, we feel, that the seat should be held by me. But as it stands, we do not have the votes. Ikael and Bipasha have managed to engender significant global opposition to us. And the difficulties even if we did manage to achieve human majority is significant.”

“The Envoy,” I state flatly. “Is it true?”

“Of course,” Rob says with a wry half-smile. “What use is it lying about something so simple? Especially when the truth is so effective. But I fear many of the policies of my predecessors alienated many others before that.”

I grunt, shaking my head. Nope. Not touching geo-political history with a ten-foot pole. Still, I’m glad that my intuition—augmented with Eye of Insight—was correct about the Envoy. I’m still getting a feel for using that new Skill, since the Skill only removes other Skill effects and not “normal” lying. Of course, my own intuition and ability to sense when others are lying are significant after all this time, especially with my Subterfuge Perk.

“You said maybe?”

“Yes, my apologies. I sometimes get distracted,” Rob says again, flashing me that good old boy charm. I don’t even need the notification to tell me he’s Charisma stacked, or that he’s using it—consciously or not—against me. I’m even willing to admit that some of that charm might just be intrinsic to the Maine politician. “As you know, my position is precarious. We are still attempting to gain the agreement of other breakaway cities and states to rejoin us. Many of the settlements that have joined us would be loath to vote for a non-American.”

“But you can force them,” I state.

“It is within the amended Constitution to give me that power. But it is not something I would use lightly.”

I sigh, bracing myself mentally. In other words, and as much as he might protest not being a politician, he’s looking for the right trade. I can feel a small headache coming along, one that grows as we get down to discussing the details. It’s only now, when we’ve gotten past the initial pleasantries and into the horse trading, that the new Secretary of State gets involved.

***

Hours later, Miller and I end up walking out of the room together, the president left to do his own thing. The walk is silent at first, the pair of us making our way past the numerous guards and bureaucrats that make up the nation’s bureaucracy.

“Thank you for getting me in,” I say to Miller after a time.

“No need. I just greased the wheels. It was your actions and reputation that did most of the work,” Miller says.

“I somehow doubt that,” I say with a snort and a smile. “How’s Wier?”

“Well enough,” Miller says. “He’s in LA right now, dealing with the border. The dungeon along the border—the Wall—keeps growing. We constantly have to blast it apart, but so far, we’ve yet to find its center.”

I grunt, shaking my head. Sometimes I get the feeling that the System has a sense of humor. Or perhaps a sense of irony. Of course, the scientific reasoning was that the System was using a resonant concept to create dungeons, forming them based off ideas, concepts, and ecological niches. Thus the living libraries with their flying attack books or the giant border wall that keeps growing.

“Glad he’s doing okay,” I say.

“He’s a good man.” Miller’s lip twitches slightly as he spots my hesitation. “And the president is doing the best job he can. But he was underplaying how tough things are. He’s spending as much time talking to those within the union as those who aren’t, all to keep us together and out of a civil war.”

I nod slowly, grimacing. “Anything I can do to help?”

Miller chuckles. “No. In fact, it’s best if you stay out of it entirely. Having a Canadian come in and save our asses—well, it hurt more than a few egos.”

“Okay,” I say, clapping Miller on the shoulder. “But if you need me to send down some polar bears and maple syrup, just let me know.”

Miller rolls his eyes, stopping at the entrance hallway. “I will. And John, be careful about the kind of deals you make. Ikael… he worries me.”

I offer one last nod as we reach the designated teleportation zone where the quantum locks around the settlement ease. As I look back after casting my Skill, I see Miller frowning and lost in thought already.

In my office, I flop down in my chair and put my feet on the desk, grateful that Katherine has given me back my old office. She’s moved to the office next door, leaving me alone to stare at the wood-paneled interior.

“What do you think, Ali?”

The Spirit lets himself appear, floating backward at a forty-five degree angle. He’s still in his traditional orange jumpsuit, though he can conjure almost anything else. But really, jumpsuit, mankini, or plate armor, it all shares the same defense rating for the Spirit, so it’s just a matter of convenience and looks. “About what?”

“The meeting. You think he’d be someone worth backing?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. Can you get others to back him?” Ali says with a snort. “Or can you get the others who back Rob to back someone else? Way the votes played out, he got most of your first world countries to vote for him, at least those who were voting for anyone not themselves.”

I grimace, nodding. Ikael drew his support from around the African, Middle Eastern, and South American settlements, as well as a wide range of single-city settlements. Bipasha basically had southeast Asia and the Indian subcontinent. Outside of China and Siberia, which had mostly done their own thing. Most of Russia and eastern Europe had split their votes between themselves and Ikael, while Australia had lost so many of their settlements that they weren’t even worth talking about.

“Eh, you humans are strange. Still clinging to your old concepts of countries and nations, to old grudges,” Ali says with a shrug. “The vast majority of the people who had any say over things before are dead. But you’re all still complaining about Western domination and oppression, about shaking off colonial ties. As if you aren’t being colonized by Galactics right this second.”

I chuckle, mostly because if I don’t laugh at it, I’d have to cry. The Spirit isn’t wrong. But I can see everyone else’s concerns. It’s not as if the States and the other western powers hadn’t used a very heavy hand for a very long time to keep other countries in check. It was only in the last few decades that the other countries were pulling themselves together.

Now, in many ways, the sheer population numbers and an arguably better ability to cope with the change has led to a higher number of surviving settlements and an overall stronger position in non-Western countries. Few people are willing to give up the power they’ve earned, especially a position of power earned over the corpses of friends and family.

Whereas the Galactics have it easier. For many, they understand the need to work together, to ally with existing factions. And many of those factions are already culturally set, already guaranteed. Through race or creed, the settlement owners who have come to Earth often have a game plan. We’re so busy fighting everyone, we’re slowly losing, no matter how hard the champions fight.

The scary thing? I can see it all, read it all, in the histories of other species.

“Fine. We’re idiots,” I say, echoing my thoughts out loud. “But they’re my idiots.”

Ali nods and I rip open a Portal, stepping through to move to the Shop.

***

Locating Cheng Shao took but a single expensive trip to the Shop. Teleporting to her took even more money, especially considering I had to port in to where the woman was grinding a hundred miles west of Hainan. It kind of amused me that no matter where you went, if it was up high, the zones were higher. You’d think that Mana would pool lower down, but nope. It was the mountains and deep caverns, the extremes, that generated the differences in zones. Outside of certain notable plains and deserts.

“Mr. Lee.” Cheng Shao stares at me as I walk up to her.

I opted to teleport a kilometer away so that I could make the rest of the journey on foot. I figured that’d give her more than enough time to notice me, compared to appearing right next to her. Certainly, it’s a somewhat less hostile maneuver.

“Why are you stalking me?”

Okay, maybe not.

“I wanted to speak with you. I come in peace,” I say, holding up my hands while giving her a hopefully disarming grin.

Unfortunately, Cheng Shao doesn’t return my smile at all. “I am training.” She turns away. “Perhaps another time.”

“Look, it’s about the Planetary Vote—”

“Training.”

“Ms. Cheng.” I pause then growl. “I just need to know if Bipasha’s telling the truth. Will the Chinese settlement owners support her?”

“I do not comment on the Party’s decisions,” Cheng Shao states flatly while speeding up.

I hiss in frustration as the woman throws up a wall in front of me when I attempt to follow. I could break it or Blink Step through it. But I can’t actually make her talk to me, so I stand there, glaring at the metallic silver wall.

“What Party is she talking about?”

“Do you never read anything we give you? The Communist Party of China. The same one that was around before your System. One of their leaders managed to get the Mandarin Class. Utterly useless for direct combat, but it has a wide range of buffs for everyone below him. Between that and having a few bodyguards with good Combat Classes, they managed to hold things together in Beijing and expand from there. It’s not really a Communist Party anymore, but like the Americans, they’re keeping the same name. For now.”

“And doing the same old terror campaign shit, eh?” I say softly, looking at where Cheng Shao has disappeared over the ridge.

I consider blinking over to her, but Ali flashes some of the dots on my minimap. Of course she’s being watched. She might be able to get away with certain things because of her strength, but personal strength means little if you’ve got friends and families to worry about.

“Damn it. Now what do I do?” I need confirmation of what Bipasha has said, but I don’t actually have any contacts in the bureaucracy.

“If you’re thinking of walking in and demanding an audience, that might not work out that well.”

“Was not.”

“Uh-huh. I think this is a Katherine problem.”

I roll my eyes slightly but have to agree. The woman probably is the best option to get confirmation. Between being a banana and a North American, I’d probably be looked down upon even more than Katherine.

“I hate wasting my Credits.” I let the wind take my words before I open a Portal to the nearest city to tackle the next damn human idiot.

***

Of course, meeting Ikael isn’t as easy as Portaling into his office and demanding a meeting. For one thing, I don’t even know where he is. For another, I have no waypoints in Ethiopia. Which is why I find myself bouncing from long-range teleportation portal to long-range teleportation portal till I finally end up being pulled apart molecule by molecule and reformed in Addis Abba.

“Off the platform,” the guard orders me immediately.

I follow his orders without complaint, craning my head back to take in the view. I’m surprised to note more than a few guards hovering in the sky, guns pointed down at the rectangular teleportation platform, flanked by even larger beam cannons. In fact, I spot more than fifty guards on the ground, each of them armed with at least Tier II beam weaponry. I absently note the increased ambient temperature and the higher humidity, but neither is a major concern. They’ve set up the teleportation platform in what looks to be an old football stadium, though the grass is rather trampled and worn from all the traffic. All around us, hovering trucks and cranes pick up and deposit teleported goods with crisp efficiency while labourers sort goods like chipmunks on speed.

“Are you deaf?” the first guard snarls at me, bringing my attention back to him. “Newcomers are to report to an intake officer immediately.”

“Sorry.” I move to the area as directed by the first guard.

Thankfully, the line isn’t long, so it only takes me a short while to find myself in front of one of their intake officers. Standing in front of the new guard, I notice one of his eyes gleams with internal light. The slightest tracing of metal around the iris indicates this might not have been the eye he was born with.

Dark skin slightly flushed against the pale brown army uniform, he puffs up before he speaks. “Reason for visiting Tafar?”

“Tafar?” I frown.

“You’re in the Republic of Tafar,” the guard snaps, eyes narrowing. “Do you not read your notifications?”

“Haven’t had the time,” I mutter. I call back the notification, watching as other newcomers stroll right past the intake area. Either my tardiness drew the ire and attention of the guard or they’ve got a way to tell who is a newcomer or not.

You have entered a Safe Zone (the City of Addis Abba)

Mana flows in this area are stabilized. No monster spawning will occur in this region. Runic enchantments have increased skill growth by 1% in safe zone.

This Safe Zone includes:

- City of Addis Abba City Center
- Shop
- City Dungeon

- Guilds (Tier III * 4, Tier IV * 2, Tier V * 14)

- Armory

- More…

You are now in the Republic of Tafar

Current reputation with the republic: 04 (0 local + 0 regional + 4 global)

Current fame: 222 (0 local +11 regional + 211 global)

Do you wish to review the local laws & ordinances? (Y/N)

“What is the difference between fame and reputation?” I send the thought to Ali. I haven’t dug into that entire area, which I really do need to.

“Well, make time,” the guard snarls. “Now, reason for visiting?”

“I’m looking to speak with Jamal. Or better, Ikael,” I say, deciding to not beat around the bush.

Instead of angering the guard, my words make him burst into laughter, which is joined by his friends when he repeats my words to them.

I sigh, waiting for the group to fall silent. “My name’s John Lee.”

In the background, Ali answers my question. “They’re Galactic measurements. Reputation indicates their favorability toward you, mostly affected by the Contracts and interactions you have with an individual or corporations. Fame is an indicator of how well-known you are. They’re like your skills—reported numbers on factual data. A stock ticker for your reputation and fame rather than something that directly affects reality. Put another way—what you do makes it go up, versus your Skills which go up and then change the way the world works. Not that you have any Skills that make use of either of these figures.”

“That supposed to mean something?” the guard says with a snort.

“Looks like it does to some people.” I nod over the guard’s shoulder.

The guard turns and sees his boss waving him away from me even while muttering orders to another of his subordinates.

“Report this to Kofi immediately,” I lip-read the officer’s order before he strides forward and takes the blowhard guard’s place. He flashes me a smile, his pearly white teeth a stark contrast to his almost obsidian skin. “I am Lieutenant Amadi Worku. I have informed my superiors about your arrival. Would you like to wait in some place more appropriate?”

I nod, and the close-lipped lieutenant takes me to a small waiting room, making sure I have cold tea and snacks to nibble on while I wait.

I take the time to bug Ali. “And my numbers?”

“You’ve entered a few Contracts or facilitated the signing of a few. In addition, as you’re a ruler, you automatically get reputation points for, well, governing effectively. Local reputation adds up to give the number on your sheet, but local reputation is significantly decreased when taken out of its geographic bounds. Basically, it’s less effective away from where you generated the reputation. In addition, the change in reputation is dependent on the respective fame and reputation of the individual or organization you conduct deals with. Since you’re outside North America, your local reputation translates down to that four. As for your fame, do I need to explain that?”

“No. Is there Galactic reputation then? Or Solar System level?”

“Yes, but they’re pretty much zeroed out. Earth isn’t connected enough on a planetary scale that Galactic reputation has started crossing over significantly. Or that your Galactic reputation would affect matters locally,” Ali says.

I grunt, poking at the Fame and Reputation bars and, after a while, find where it’s located in my sheet. I barely glance at it these days, especially things like the giant list of skills that are mostly hidden, so I’m not surprised to find that I haven’t even noticed the new tab for the two statistics. There’s no real surprise in any of the information, so I shut the entire thing down. Though I do have one question.

“Why was it locked till I left and came back?”

“No useable Skill, remember? Also, it’s a Galactic achievement thing for those who don’t have a use for it. No point in making it available for the hicks who never leave their neighborhood, you know? Or the ones who don’t survive their first trip to another world,” Ali says. “If you aren’t smart enough to survive a pleasure cruise, you aren’t worth wasting the Mana on.”

“Pleasure cruise?”

“Eh, most Galactics don’t visit a Forbidden Planet for their first inter-planetary trip. As usual, you’re all kinds of special.”

I can’t help but chuckle at the teasing tone in Ali’s mental voice. To pass the time, I pick up one of the snacks, taking a bite of it, and wince before placing the dessert back down. Right. They’re trying to kill me with sugar. On second thought, I wave my hand and deposit the entire thing in my Altered Storage. Maybe Lana…

My brain hitches and I pause, my hand over the now-empty plate. Right. Katherine. Katherine might like this.

“Would Katherine have access to a Skill which could see the Reputation and Fame of others?” I send to Ali to distract myself.

“Definitely. Be hard to be a good gatekeeper if you can’t tell who’s reputable or not, no?” Ali replies. “I’d bet her new Class gives her other Skills too. Probably an upgraded Contract Skill which allows her to use her higher Reputation to enforce the contract. I could dig into it…”

“No. That’s good.” I was just looking for a distraction. No reason to spend good Credits when I can just ask her.

I settle down in my chair and slow my breathing, taking the small break to meditate.

Breathe in. Take the tension, the stress which is flowing through my body, and wrap it up.

Breathe out. Let the world and the stress fall away.

Repeat. Ad infinitum.

Chapter 12

It takes hours before they finally let me out of the luxurious cell they have me waiting in, long hours that I spend meditating and letting the information I’ve been gathering settle. I’ve gained a lot of data recently, and while my increased Intelligence has let me gather the information and even process it to some extent, it’s something else to grasp it on an intuitive level. Sometimes, letting things settle and allowing your unconscious mind to do the thinking is the best option.

When the door opens, they find me awake and refreshed. There’s a whole guard troop here, but nothing in their body language—no overt tension, no angling of bodies to give me a smaller target—indicates what I’m seeing is anything more than an honor guard. Within minutes, we’re in an armored and luxurious hover car and being flown over to Ikael.

They show me into his office, an ornate thing with gold décor, gold trimmings, and yes, even a gold lamp. If not for the expensive wooden table and the green plush chair—outlined in gold—the entire place would have been truly too overbearing. As it is, it’s just painful to look at.

Seated in the chair till I enter, Ikael can only be described as solid. Dressed in a white-and-grey checkered silk shirt, he has numerous chunky gold rings on his fingers and a shaved head. Ikael’s welcoming smile does nothing to hide the predatory look in his eyes.

Ikael Tafar (Level 41 Aksumite Leader)

HP: 1380/1380

MP: 2170/2170

Conditions: Aura of Command, Coin of the Empire

“Aksumite?”

“Can’t offer you much. It’s a semi-unique, culture-based Class. Closest I’ve got is like a Celtic Warrior or Roman Counsel, something the System registered a while ago and he somehow decided to choose. Base Skills are definitely more combat-oriented. His Advanced Class here is more kingdom-driven. Coin of the Empire, for example, gives a minor boost to tax collected in his settlements. It literally generates Credits from the System.”

Mental Influence Resisted

I grunt, my eye twitching slightly as his Aura clashes with my own mental resistance. I’m surprised at how strong it is. The man must have put quite a few points into it. I feel it push against my mental boundaries. Push—but not win.

Sometimes I wonder about those who use Auras all the time. The more and more people I encounter with the Skill, the more I’m forced to wonder about their effects. Not just on those around them in the short term, but on the long-term effects on interactions. After all, constantly warping the minds of those around you can’t be healthy. Earth has a long history of emperors and celebrities changing by being constantly surrounded by yes men. How much worse would it be when even the most ordinary interaction is infected by a Skill like this? And yet, so many decide to leave it on.

Once the initial introductions are done, I take the seat I’m offered. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“I’m happy to speak with other settlement owners, especially one who has access to a number of high Level zones,” Ikael says, smiling widely. “The wild flame pine sap your settlement produces is quite a useful herb.”

The name sounds familiar, but nothing comes to mind. “Ali?”

“Kelowna’s third most valuable export. Useful for basic and medium fire resistance potions.”

“Well, I’m sure we can discuss an increase in trade between our settlements.” I pause as I get ready to switch topics.

“Oh, how forgetful of me. I had a gift for your visit,” Ikael says in the gap I left. He drops a small ivory-inlaid box in front of me.

I smile slightly at the box, a memory of Mikito mentioning that elephants are no longer on the endangered species list surfacing briefly. It seems those gentle giants are no longer gentle. In fact, there are numerous zones where the Alphas are mutated elephants.

Perhaps mistaking my smile, Ikael’s lips twitch slightly as he pushes the box to me. I take it, curiosity warring with mild disgust at the bribe. Still, I’m involuntarily impressed by what I see within.

Ring of Greater Shielding

Creates a greater shield that will absorb approximately 1000 points of damage. This shield will ignore all damage that does not exceed its threshold amount of 50 points of damage while still functioning.

Max Duration: 7 Minutes

Charges: 1

I stare at the small box and the ring within, picking it up and turning it over. The ring itself is made of bone, a curious, almost brittle-looking bone that refuses to bend even under significant pressure. All around it are small glyphs, letters, and drawings I cannot understand. A mental prod makes Ali drag further information about the ring from the System, and my initial guess pans out. This is an Earth creation.

“This is a very generous gift. And an amazing piece of work,” I say. “The Artisan is highly Skilled.”

Ikael beams while gushing, “He just managed to reach the third Tier of his Advanced Class. It’s taken a lot of resources, but Marcus can produce work like this once a week now.”

I’m not much of a crafter, but my talks with Lana and others have indicated this would be a brutal workload. Creating enchanted works is difficult, prone to failure, and requires a high Level of Mana. Each inscription, each enchantment requires more than a hundred times the amount of Mana to cast a similar spell or Skill. At the very least. Layering multiple enchantments or more powerful Skills adds to the cost in ever increasing amounts.

“Well, thank you. And him.” Under Ikael’s urgings, and after verifying there’s nothing to be worried about, I slide on the ring. It’s not exactly my style, but it’s still a powerful accessory. “I don’t really control any of my people, but I can certainly see items like this being useful for our police or security force. If you have a list of what you can offer, I can make sure my people send the information to the right people. I’m sure they’ll be happy to have a more local customer.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Ikael says, his smile wide. “And there’s another thing I was hoping to speak with you about.”

“Oh?”

“The Planetary Vote. Your settlements took little part in the previous vote. Your orders, I presume,” Ikael asks cunningly.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. In fact, at the time, Lana was looking into how they could potentially put enough votes together. But with the weight of the entire settlement on her shoulders, she and Katherine had decided the task was too impossible to handle. So they’d taken the most minor of actions, gathering information rather than actively participating. “I was incommunicado at the time.”

“For a long time, I understand,” Ikael says. “It is dangerous for one of us to go away for such a long period. It’s amazing you were able to hold on to your settlements, even after such time. Your people must respect and fear you greatly.”

I shrug at the statement, unsure of how to answer him. Fear me? I rather hope not, though it might be a tad naïve to think so.

“Then, if you are not looking to abstain, perhaps I can convince you to vote for me.”

“You could, but it seems to be a pointless move. There’re no benefits to having more votes, not unless we can get the Galactic Seat,” I say, leaning back to stare at Ikael. Interesting how Ikael hasn’t asked me why I came, instead happy to guide the conversation to his own desires. But if he’s willing to talk, I’m willing to listen.

“I see you understand the matter,” Ikael says, pounding on the table slightly. “The aliens have taken too much of our land. But it is a small detail. I’m already moving to secure additional votes—including from the aliens.”

“Oh?” I say softly, curious if he’ll elaborate. He disappoints me though.

“Yes. While I don’t expect to win during the next vote, I expect a strong showing will convince even more humans to side with me. I might even manage to get the American to vote for me. I know he’s in desperate need of more help,” Ikael says with a smirk. “I’m sure with my army, we could convince some of his more stubborn members.”

I blink, turning over his words in my head. As I do so, I freeze, my heart rate spiking as a sense of danger shoots through me. In another second, I see a shadow-cloaked figure step out of a gap in space and slam a blade into Ikael’s back. His force Shield flares, blocking the attack, but the assassin doesn’t stop, her movements a blur as she strikes again and again, each attack tearing apart layered Shields.

“Assassin!” I yell, standing swiftly and lunging forward.

The reaction is automatic but predictable, and shadow tendrils grab hold of my feet, yanking me off balance and pulling me back to the end of the room. Strong as I am, the attack catches me entirely by surprise and it takes me a second to tear the shadows apart. As I do so, the door slams open, Ikael’s guards pouring in.

The assassin doesn’t stop. A swift twist of her body cuts into Ikael’s flailing arm and pins it to the desk as the last of his defensive Shields go down. As I raise a hand to throw a Soul Shield around Ikael, his guards are opening up their attacks. A projected Power Strike, a Molten Beam, and more lash out at the assassin. Before the Soul Shield can take effect, the entire room plunges into a darkness that even the beam rifle’s attacks cannot disrupt.

“Ali! How is Ikael?”

“Nearly dead. But uhhhhh… boy-o…” Ali’s voice is hesitant, almost confused.

Another second and a new notification pops up.

Ingrid Starling (Level 43 Shadow Assassin)

HP: 643/2780

MP: 754/2330

Conditions: Shadow Body, Death God’s Embrace, Shadow Doppleganger * 2

“What…?”

My surprise is more than sufficient time for the other notification floating in front of me to flatline. Ikael’s dead, slain by an old friend of mine. Right in front of me. I kneel there, blinking in surprise even as the guards scream and shout, attempting to pierce the darkness. In a minute, the darkness fades, revealing the headless body of Ikael, stripped of his rings and other enchanted items.

Within seconds, I find guns and hands pointed at my face. A few hasty guards even take potshots at me, which bounce off my Soul Shield and do little other than shake me free from my surprise. The guards shout and scream orders at me and finally, rather than cause any further issues, I comply.

Thankfully, my Soul Shield keeps the rough handling to a minimum. Still, I’m treated like a dangerous prisoner, one forced to sit in the middle of an empty courtyard where they’re able to point field cannons at me and cluster multiple Advanced Classers as guards. I absently note they’ve strengthened the quantum lock around me, shutting down my escape options.

Through all their barked orders, I comply. I play the good guy, the polite and self-effacing Canadian who definitely did not assassinate or take part in assassinating their leader. And all the while, I’m chatting with Ali.

“How the hell did I not see her come in?” I ask Ali.

My answer comes in another notification.

Shadow Plane

User is able to travel through the shadow plane, a dimension that exists between most other dimensional planes. Quantum lock and other dimensional-locking effects are less effective against users of the shadow plane, for shadows exist everywhere. Spending too much time in the shadow plane can have adverse effects on an individual and attract unwanted attention from residents in the Shadow Plane.

Effect: User may enter or exit the Shadow Plane. Dimensional-locking Skills, spells, and technology have a 50% reduction in effectiveness.

Cost: 500 per entry / exit

“So she wasn’t sneaking in, she just walked in through another dimension. And paid the extra cost to punch through their lock. Must have been where she lost her health too,” I say, musing to Ali.

It makes sense. I’d noticed the quantum lock they were using in the city was a disruptive one, rather than a stasis lock. It’s the cheapest quantum lock method, but anyone willing to take the damage can punch through such a lock, unlike a stasis lock which basically blocks all such movements. Of course, the negative of stasis locks are that if you have enough Mana or strength, you can pierce them and appear without incurring any further damage.

“Good day, Mr. Lee,” a small, wiry Caucasian man in a full light-grey suit and tie comes up to me, conjuring a chair and a table before sitting across from me. “I’m so sorry about the delay, but I’m sure you understand how busy it’s been?”

“Of course,” I say, inclining my head.

A servant comes up with a jug of iced tea and a pair of glasses, which he sets down between us.

“I’m Inspector Jacques Lamar,” Jacques says, flashing me a smile as he fumbles in a pocket, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. He grins at me slightly then nods at the jug. “Do you mind? I’ve been talking non-stop…”

I blink, then shrug and pour the man a glass and myself one too. I push it toward him and watch him drink before I sip on mine. No poison then, or truth drugs. Of course, neither of those things are something I’m terribly concerned with, with my resistances, but it’s always something worth noting.

“Thank you so much,” Jacques says. “And again, for your patience. Now, I understand you arrived four hours ago?”

After glancing at the clock, I say, “Five and a quarter.”

“Right, right.” Jacques scribbles on his notepad and begins to question me seriously.

I note that he keeps bouncing back and forth, asking questions sometimes out of order or returning to previous points, but eventually, he drags the entire story out of me. I hold nothing back. After all, nothing Ikael or I spoke of was particularly surprising or secretive. In one of the breaks between questions, I find time to ask my own questions.

“Why don’t you buy all this from the Shop? I can’t believe you can’t afford it.” I say, my brows drawn.

“We tried. Unfortunately the assassin has a Skill which makes such purchases extremely expensive. As a mere inspector, I cannot approve an expense of such magnitude,” Jacques says with a self-deprecating smile.

“And Ikael’s successor?”

“Has yet to do so,” Jacques replies. “He is extremely busy right now.”

“There’s rumblings of a civil war, boy-o. I’m picking up quite a few skirmishes going on outside of the compound, and data sieved about the kingdom’s status shows substantial swings in all tracked statistics from Credits to safe zone areas. I’m guessing they’re losing territory,” Ali supplies.

Question done, Jacques moves on to the trade deal, probing into the details of our discussion. Of course, since we had barely even begun speaking about it, I don’t have much to say. That becomes a long-winded explanation about how I’m a lazy-ass settlement leader who leaves the real work to his subordinates. Which of course leads to another question.

“If you aren’t involved in the settlement affairs, why did you come? It doesn’t sound like you were looking for a trade deal.”

“I wasn’t,” I answer truthfully. “I was hoping to speak with Ikael about the Planetary Vote.”

“Ah,” Jacques breathes the word, scribbling on his notepad.

I wait while he scribbles, patiently until the inspector looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“What?” I grump at him.

“Nothing. I thought you had something more to say on the topic,” Jacques says.

“Nope,” I say with a shrug. “I’m trying to understand where everyone else stands on it.” A beat, then I decide to be fully truthful. There’s little reason to hide it. “I want us to win a Galactic Seat, but we need to sort out the votes.”

“Eighty percent, yes?” Jacques says after flipping backward in his notebook. I absently note how he goes well past the point where he began writing at the start of our interview to find this information. Obviously this has come up before. Though I have to wonder the context and reason.

“Yes.”

“But Ikael would never agree to anyone but him being on the seat,” Jacques says, his voice neutral with just a little hint of curiosity. Charming, without the Skill. A subtler use of his attributes, a self-effacing manner rather than an overt push with his attribute. But I see the notification that he’s actively using it to affect my emotions and thoughts. “How did you intend to convince him otherwise?”

I consider his question and the context of our interview. Right. Motivation. From the outside, this looks like really good motivation. Crap. I take a moment to be more careful about what I say and how I say it, but I note the slightest tightening around the eyes as the inspector processes my hesitation. Crap.

“I didn’t. I hadn’t thought of it. I wanted to talk to him first, get an understanding of the man himself,” I say. “Maybe he would have been fine to be the person on the seat. If so, I’d throw my backing behind him.”

“You didn’t want it yourself?”

“Not my style,” I say, shaking my head. “The settlements are more than enough work as it stands. I just want Earth to have the seat.”

“Why?”

“You should know why,” I say.

“Indulge me?”

“Taxes. Duties. Control of the Mana flow. Access to information,” I say, chanting the answer I’ve given to everyone else as if I’m bored by the topic. Which, truth be told, I am. But it also helps conceal the other reason, the most important reason for me, for Earth to get a seat. Access. Access to Irvina, the capital of the Galactic System, which has gated entry. Sure, if I receive sufficient Galactic reputation or fame, I might be able to get in. But the likelihood of that, in the short term, is incredibly low.

“Ah, a patriot then,” Jacques says with no derision in his voice, even a touch of admiration. But I’m fast realizing the inspector is smart and gifted. He’s an interrogator who knows he’ll get more information playing nice, taking his time and asking questions rather than trying to strong-arm his way through this.

“No. A humanist maybe,” I say with a smile.

“Then you’d be happy to inform us who it was who killed Ikael.”

“Sorry. Information was blocked,” I say.

“Really? Because your Spirit is known for being able to call up such information,” Jacques says, suddenly going on the attack.

“He is. But the assassin’s skill was good enough to stop him. It was a bit hectic in there.”

“Really? Because the guards said they could get some information on his Status.”

“Well then, why ask me about him?” I say, playing along.

“Because the information they got from her wasn’t complete,” Jacques says, flipping backward a few pages.

“Her?” I frown, cocking my head to the side. “I thought you said him.”

“Oh, yes. I did.” Jacques shrugs before sipping on his iced tea.

I can’t help but chuckle at his antics, even as I look around the area and note how the guards are being changed out again. They’ve been rotating portions of the guard around me this entire time, keeping their people rested on the off-chance I’ll do something.

“Well done, boy-o.”

Interrogation resistance skill increased

Deception skill increased

I blink away the notifications, chuckling within as Ali shows off the results of my hours-long interrogation. It’s not something either of us bothers to directly track on an on-going basis since skills—unlike Class Skills—are statistics tracked about actual skills I possess. While my Perk Subterfuge allows me to develop certain skills—like the above deception, interrogation, or stealth skills—at a greater rate than normal, it seems more an ability to accumulate experience faster rather than a sudden surge of information which gets planted within me. So instead of taking say a month of classes to learn something, I only need a few weeks. It’s a gradual change over time, but the actual statistics of where I am don’t matter. I’m kind of glad there’s no weird information download. It’d be even weirder Leveling up something like dancing and finding myself able to do the cha-cha even though I’ve never taken a class.

On second thoughts…

“Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Lee?” Jacques says, interrupting my musings.

“Just thinking about when this is going to be over.”

“Do bear with me. I have just a few more questions…” Jacques says, and I don’t even bother hiding the roll of my eyes.

But I stay seated, happy to play along for now. The last thing I need is to be associated with an assassination attempt while trying to get other settlement leaders to meet with and vote for me.

***

The interrogation continues for another couple of hours, but eventually Jacques gives up on getting any further information from me. He shows an amazing amount of Willpower and commitment, but I somehow get the feeling the entire interview process isn’t much different than what he’s used to. Unfortunately, the interrogation ending doesn’t mean I’m released, so I get to sit in the courtyard for a few more hours.

As I’m guided out of the courtyard, I receive a rather sternly worded statement that boils down to “Your presence is not wanted” before I’m sent back to the teleportation portal to be bounced out. They don’t even bother paying for a long-range teleportation, dumping me at the nearest settlement outside their borders. It’s a bit annoying actually, considering it probably cost them nearly as much to drop me in a non-padded location as it would have to send me back properly. It’d be a major inconvenience if I didn’t have my Skill.

For a moment, I stare at the notification that informs me I’m in the Town of N’Djamena with the usual listing of facilities. A quick perusal of my map shows I’m pretty much in the center of Africa, my sudden appearance already attracting the attention of the locals.

“About time,” a familiar voice drawls, making me crane my head to the side and back to spot the First Nation woman and ex-party member.

“Ingrid. Are you the one who got me deposited here?” I say, putting two and two together.

“Yup. Amazing what happens when your entire society is built on corruption,” Ingrid says with a smirk and drops from the squat building she was sitting on, landing beside me. “Hungry?”

“I could eat,” I answer, eyes narrowing as we walk toward the conveniently located restaurant. The paranoid part of me points out that this could be dangerous, but I push it aside. Ingrid’s a friend.

“Thanks for not interfering too much,” Ingrid says as we get a seat. She holds up a hand as I look to speak, instead ordering in rapid-fire French. “Hope you don’t mind me ordering. Their Chef here is amazing, but limited.”

I wave to dismiss her statement, instead wanting to focus on the more important part. “Why did you, well, do what you did.” I pause, realizing we’re still in public. A part of me winces as well, considering everything we could say could be purchased. But she’s got her Skills and I’ve got my necklace. So it should be fine. Right?

“Relax. I didn’t just choose this restaurant for its food,” Ingrid says, seeming to read my mind.

Sometimes, I really hate how the women around me seem to be able to do that with such ease. Then again, maybe I should stop worrying about the obvious things and trust my friends.

“The owner has a Skill that blocks information gathering in this restaurant.” When I raise an eyebrow at Ingrid, she smirks. “I’m pretty sure he’s connected. If you know what I mean.”

I grunt, waving her on and ignoring her bad mob talk.

“Right. Always so impatient. It’s simple really. I got paid,” Ingrid says.

“Paid. You a merc now?”

“With the mouth.” Ingrid smirks then sobers up when I don’t react. “Yeah, not funny. Real pity he died… but yes, I do some jobs when I’m free.”

“Who paid you?” I ask, a slight amount of heat in my voice. “And how did you manage to do it when I was right there?” The level of coincidence involved seems way too high.

“Firstly, don’t know. And even if I did, wouldn’t tell you. I do everything via cut-outs,” Ingrid says, tapping her fingers. “Safer that way. Secondly, it wasn’t a coincidence. Well, not exactly. I’d been planning this job for days, waiting for him to use that office. That isn’t his usual one—his other office is even more secure but a lot less pretty. When you showed up, I knew he’d be meeting with you in his show office, so I made sure to sneak in while they kept you waiting.”

“Just my luck that I showed up instead of someone else,” I say, grimacing. “How many days?”

“About three,” Ingrid says.

So after I got back and started making my presence known. Interesting timing, but there’s not much I can do about that, beyond keeping it in mind.

“Any guesses on who?” I ask.

“I don’t make guesses. Bad habit to get into,” Ingrid says. “But the people I take jobs on? Most of them have a very long list of enemies. A very, very long list. Even if you take out those who can’t afford me, it’s still a lot of people. My targets are really not nice people.”

I smile slightly, glad to hear that Ingrid’s still got some form of morals. I’m actually a bit surprised at myself that I’m not angrier or more upset at her. Perhaps it’s the apocalypse, perhaps it’s the time on the other planet, but I find little outrage in me at her actions. A trace of disappointment, but even that fades at her proclamation about her targets. I know some might discuss the sanctity of life, of how important giving people a chance is, of allowing karma or a higher power to mete out judgment. But the truth is, there’s been so much blood on my hands that I find it hard to throw stones of any kind. So long as she isn’t coming for me or mine, I’ll give Ingrid the benefit of doubt.

I wish she hadn’t killed Ikael. After all, his murder set his entire kingdom aflame and destroyed the coalition he had been building. That leaves me with having to contact the numerous individuals under Ikael’s banner individually. It’s a waste of time, one that frustrates and angers me. I push down the frustration and anger, reminding myself that what is, is.

“Fair enough,” I say. “Any particular kind of list for Ikael?”

“Political enemies. Sons, daughters, fathers, and mothers wanting revenge. Workers tired of being forced to work overtime for no benefits. Frustrated businessmen.” Ingrid shrugs. “And that’s just those in this kingdom. Ikael’s been making noises about a war against some of the other settlements nearby. Galactic and human. Anyone who wasn’t willing to play ball.”

Before I can speak further, the dishes arrive. The cuisine is a range of high-falutin’ French cuisine and more traditional African fare with beans, mashed meat, and vegetables I can’t even name. Potentially because they might be Galactic. We dig in, our discussion turning to less contentious subjects. Ingrid fills me in on her life while I was gone, one that mostly encompasses a lot of fights, occasional assassinations, and even more scouting missions.

“Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

“Things have changed a bit since you’ve gone,” Ingrid says as she shifts peas around on her plate, separating a single pea before stabbing it with her fork. “Cheaper and more effective to deal with a single asshole and make him an example than to go in and take over entire settlements. You can always do that later if they haven’t learned the lesson.” The fork shifts, separating another pea. “Or you can just repeat the process if they don’t get the lesson. You’d be surprised how many don’t.”

I cock my head to the side, considering what Lana mentioned to me about Ingrid hanging out with Miller more. Sounds more like what the CIA would do than the army, but without the CIA any longer, I wonder if Miller’s taken over those tactics. Or maybe I’m giving them too much credit. There’s no reason Ingrid isn’t picking these targets herself with this idea in mind.

“Well, this was enlightening,” I say finally when the dishes are finished.

“And you?” Ingrid asks, then points at Ali, who’s taken a seat at the bar and is imbibing glasses of spirits like a college student on St. Patrick’s Day. “I see the Spirit got bigger.”

“He did. Consequence of my new Master Class.” I consider what to say about my time away. I haven’t spoken of it much. Not to Lana or Roxley. Not to anyone. But somehow, I have a feeling that Ingrid might understand. Her experience in the last few years parallels mine, being lonelier and bloodier than most. “It was difficult. I was thrown into a Forbidden Planet…”

I outline the basics. Long years of fighting, of not Leveling. Of having to learn to use my abilities in ways I’d never considered before, of upgrading my spells because I had to learn to manipulate Mana without the aid of the System. By the time I’m done, it’s late and we’ve finished another pair of bottles of wine.

“And that’s it…” I say when I see Ali yawning, floating off his chair and staring at a pair of visible System screens. This time, it’s a baking reality TV show. “I guess we should get going.”

“Hold up.” Ingrid twists her hand and a watch I had last seen on Ikael’s wrist hours ago appears.

“What is that?” I frown.

“Ikael’s dimensional storage chain and AI,” Ingrid says, tapping the watch. “The storage is locked, but it can be broken.”

“And the AI?” I ask, curiosity getting me. If Ikael used the AI anything like I did Ali, this could be a huge boon.

“Maybe,” Ingrid says with a shrug. “I can’t. Sam… might have been able to.” We fall silent at the old man’s name, his death still a little raw. But soon enough, Ingrid looks up. “But I’m almost certain the details of the settlements he had deals with are in here.”

“What do you want?” I ask with a frown. It’s obvious that she mentioned all this with a purpose.

“I can have it cracked, but you’ll owe me,” Ingrid says. “One request at a later date. No questions asked.”

“No. I don’t do open-ended favors like that.”

“Really…?”

“Hush, you.”

“Just ask me,” I say to Ingrid, meeting her gaze directly.

She grimaces, not meeting my eyes for a time. Eventually, she looks up with a harsh exhalation. “Fine. I want to join you. On the trip out.”

“Trip?”

“To the capital. I want to be part of the entourage,” Ingrid says, glaring at me. “Deal?”

I consider her question then raise a finger. “One thing. No killing anyone I don’t agree to other than in self-defense on the trip.”

“Deal.”

I nod and point at the watch. “Then get it cracked and we’ll see what we can do about getting that seat.”

Ingrid flashes me a smile and I return it. Curiosity bids me ask though…

“Why do you want to go?”

“Why not?” Ingrid says with a shrug. Something dark flashes through her eyes before she looks at me, her lips twisting slightly. “I know you’re not going to go sightseeing. I figure if there’s violence to be had, you’ll bring it. And those bastards, they need to be paid back.”

I know which “those” she means. And truth be told, I agree with her. Damn Council. For a time, I stare at my friend and see the shadows of the past, the losses she’s suffered. We’ve all lost friends and family, but Ingrid lost her entire town, her entire tribe. She’s the last survivor of Dawson City, maybe even the last of her people. For a moment, I see the gaping hole she covers up with sarcasm. Then she smiles and stands, making the watch disappear, followed by herself.

“Now what?” I ask the open air, considering what more there is to do.

Ali appears beside me, picking at the remnants of the meal. “The usual of course, boy-o. Just more work. You’ve met the human players. Now it’s time to talk to the Galactics.”

I let out a low groan, but Ali’s right. Still, I decide to push it aside for a bit. Better to Portal home first. There’s going to be some fallout from this assassination. And truth be told, there’s an elf I need to speak to in Vancouver, if I want to speak to the Movana.

“Home.”

Chapter 13

As I guessed, the fallout from the assassination spreads almost immediately. While others have been killed before, it was always cross-species or smaller fry. Ikael is the first true leader to be killed by another human, and the new threat throws everyone into a tizzy. It takes me ages to convince Katherine and Lana firstly, to take additional precautions, and secondly, that I don’t need any additional security measures. It’s not to say I think I am invincible, but my particular Skillset as an Honor Guard gives me significant defenses against an assassination attempt. It would be really, really tough to lock me down long enough to end me, not unless they throw the kitchen sink too.

Once matters calm down, the next few days are spent on the phone, if you will. Long-range communication towers have been set up all across Earth, linking City Cores to one another. While communication is still limited to City Cores, at least now humanity is once again connected. It makes everything, from commerce to relationships, so much simpler.

My job, over the next little while, is extending a friendly hand to these human settlements. Truth be told, it isn’t even my plan. Within a few hours of my return, I receive one call after the other. It seems that a side effect of being involved in Ikael’s murder—however peripherally—is that I have become significantly more popular among the more spineless settlement owners. In their minds, it makes more sense to befriend me than face a possible assassination.

“Then we’ve got a deal. I’ll have a pair of bodyguards sent to you once the Contract is finalized,” I say to the dark-haired, big-nosed gentleman who smiles nervously.

“Good. Good. I’ll have it signed right away. I’m sure your bodyguards will keep the assassins off,” the man says.

“They’re all very well trained. We’ve doubled down on training with both ex-members of the US Secret Service and members of the Erethran Honor Guard. I’m sure they’ll do well.”

A few more words of pleasantries pass before the man fades away. I slump back in my chair as I stare at Ali, who is seated across from me, feet up on my table.

“I believe a major export of ours has become bodyguards,” I say, chuckling. “Good thing Ayuri agreed to let her people train ours.”

“You’re not exporting bodyguards. You’re exporting peace of mind,” Ali says. “I’m proud of you, boy-o. You’ve even got that insinuating silence down to an art form in the last few days. Dropping Ingrid’s name once in a while is doing wonders. Let’s just hope she doesn’t take a job on any of them.”

I snort. No surprise, but Ingrid’s identity was eventually revealed. Of course, I then had to deal with demands to come back for another interrogation, which I refused. I knew the investigator had a Truth Tell Skill of some sort, otherwise he’d never have let me go. And so I repeated my denials of having anything to do with the murder. But somehow, no one believed me. It didn’t help that the actual source of the contract is yet to be found.

“What are we at?” I ask Ali while Lana strides in, looking at the pair of us, the bowl of snacks on the table, and the mess of carvings I’ve left on it.

“Eight point seven percent. Another four percent are wavering from Ikael’s people. They’re probably waiting for an actual bribe,” Ali says, ticking off on his fingers. “And the rest of his supporters are actually angry at you. I doubt you’ll get them. Not directly.”

“Good thing I’m not looking for them to vote for me directly then. I’m sure Bipasha and Roy are making their own moves too,” I say before turning to Lana. “Problem?”

“No,” Lana says, shaking her head. “But we do have a visitor. Wynn’s here.”

I grin slightly. Finally. The damn elf has been off running a dungeon delve for the last few days, which is the other reason I’ve been stuck waiting. “Show him in.”

“Of course.”

“And stay, if you can,” I add.

Lana smiles at me at the invitation and disappears around the corner.

While we wait for Lana to get Wynn, Ali looks between the door and me. “You guys doing okay?”

“Of course,” I say softly. “I’m a big boy. She’s moved on. It’s more than fair, especially since, well, you know.” I point upward.

“I notice you haven’t asked anything about her boy toy,” Ali points out.

“Don’t need to know that,” I say snippily and then exhale, shaking my head. “Just because I’m okay with her moving on doesn’t mean I need the details.”

“If you say so,” Ali says doubtfully.

As footsteps near, Ali fades, turning invisible once again rather than be forced to actually participate and pay attention to this meeting.

“Wynn,” I greet the Guild Master with a smile as I stand.

Wynn a Maro is the Vancouver Guild Master of the Burning Leaves, a powerful Tier II Guild whose members originate from everywhere but who are headquartered in the capital of the Movana Kingdom. They might not be directly backed by the Movana Kingdom, but they certainly draw a large number of their people from the noble class. In fact, the surnames of their Guild leadership could read like a Who’s Who.

“Redeemer.” Wynn bows, smiles, and takes the indicated seat.

Lana slides into one too, angling the chair so that we each sit in one corner of a triangle.

“You wished to speak with me?” he asks.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” I say. “I’m looking to get enough votes for Earth to gain a seat on the Galactic Council. To do that…”

“You’ll need the support of many Galactics,” Wynn says. “But I’m surprised you’re speaking to me and not your Lord Roxley. I am, after all, only a minor guild leader.”

“I have,” I say flatly. “But I’m an equal opportunity opportunist. If your people can and are willing to work with us, I’m willing to talk. And you can drop the garbage about your position. We both know you’re more than just a minor guild leader.”

“It is troublesome,” Wynn says simply. “Your actions against the Zarrie before you left angered some. Your close relations with the Truinnar are another concern. Even if I were to open lines of communication, it would be extremely troublesome.”

“But if you work with us, you can help decrease our reliance on them,” I say, offering him a half smile.

Wynn returns it and doesn’t directly contradict my words.

“Earth is caught between your kingdoms,” Lana says, drawing Wynn’s attention to her where she sits demurely, hands crossed on her lap. “But all we want is the right to choose our future. We’re willing to work with whoever is willing to help us achieve that goal. And we’d love to have the Movana as an ally.”

“And the addition of humanity as allies is something I wish for,” Wynn says, laying a hand over his heart. Which, in Movana is actually more toward the right and down than in humans. “I’ve grown to like your people in my time here.”

“And for that, we are grateful. If you can speak with others,” Lana says beguilingly. She’s not simpering, that’d be too weak, but it is a pointed and heartfelt request. It’s enough to make Wynn nod slightly, unconsciously. “And help us pitch our hopes.”

“I shall do what I can, Lady Pearson,” Wynn says, smiling back at her.

“Just Ms.”

“Not in my eyes,” Wynn replies, and I almost roll my eyes. “But I cannot make any assurances. I can only speak with those in power here.”

“That’s all we can ask for,” Lana says.

I watch Wynn preen and I wonder if he’s even realized he’s fallen for her. Or if he does, if he cares. After a few more pleasantries, Wynn takes his leave.

Lana returns to the office after showing the Movana out, slumping in a seat next to me. “Are you sure you want to go with the Truinnar?”

“Pretty boy making you think they’re a better choice?” I say.

“I don’t know if better is right, but have you done any research about either group? Beyond the people you’ve met?” Lana asks.

“I have. For all their bitching, they’re actually very closely aligned. No surprise, when the Truinnar are just a branch that decided to run off a millennia or so ago. The Movana are a little looser with their noble structures, more free-flowing with those who move up or down their society. The Truinnar are more stratified in theory, but their entire army division allows the ambitious a respected and serviceable method to gain influence and position.

“Geographically—if that’s even the right word when we’re talking about star kingdoms—the Movana have fewer solar systems under their control but higher populations and higher build-out. The Truinnar have a more scattershot approach, with a large number of so-so areas. Roxley’s old domain was one of those scattershot areas, great at first and then, well, not so much. Economically, the Movana are better off, but the Truinnar have a stronger standing army. Not that it matters as much to us. Of course, the last few decades have seen the heating up of their old cold war.”

“And they support different factions, which means it’s unlikely they’ll ever work together,” Lana adds. “And one of those factions probably made us a Dungeon World.”

“The Movana,” I say. “Sounds like a bad option to give them what they want then.”

“Except for the fact that if they’re willing to send more than six billion of us to hell, what makes you think they’d let you do what you want?” Lana says.

“I’ve considered it,” I say, looking at my hands, framed as they are by the dark walnut wood. I shrug, giving her a half smile. “But they’ll find out I’m a lot harder to kill than they think.”

“Maybe. But I don’t trust the Truinnar either. You know they’re willing to backstab to get what they want,” Lana says. “Roxley might be trustworthy, but he’s not acting alone.”

“True. In the end, we’re just waiting anyway,” I say with a grimace. “If neither group is willing to work with us at all, this is just theoretical.”

Lana nods, but her troubled look doesn’t go away. Not even when we switch to more productive topics. As the redhead walks out, I can’t help but consider that maybe she’s right. But in the end, I’ve got to try.

***

Movana and Truinnar done, I need to hit up the other Galactic groups. Amusingly enough, the warmongering, weapon-building Ares Corp is the easiest to handle. Almost immediately from the initial call, I’m put forward to their planetary head of operations. And after that, it just becomes a matter of horse trading. Thankfully, I drag Katherine and Lana into the actual negotiations, since I find myself well out of my depth within seconds. After all, tax structures, preferred supplier status, and duty rates are all things I have no real experience at. In a surprisingly short amount of time, the entire negotiation is wrapped up, a contract in place and signed. When it’s done, the three of us share a glass of champagne around my office table.

“So. Did that seem a lot easier than it should be?” I say, staring at the contract notification floating in front of me.

Lana glares at me, running a hand through her hair. Even with her bountiful Constitution and Charisma, she looks slightly frazzled after the umpteenth marathon negotiating session. “Easy? You didn’t just spend the last three days in continuous negotiations.”

“It did,” Katherine asserts, denying Lana’s assertion. “And that last request…”

“Something tells me that was the whole point of the negotiation,” I say.

“Are you sure you’re new at this?” Katherine says, her eyes narrowing.

I shift uncomfortably, uncertain of what to say. It’s true that I wasn’t apt at managing office politics in my previous life, but I’ve had time to reflect on my past mistakes. And between my Intelligence and Willpower attribute increases and my Subterfuge Perk, I have a feeling that some information is leaking in. I’m beginning to get a weird intuitive sense for backstabbing politics. Underhanded dealings, those I can handle. I have a feeling I’d be floored if I ever had to deal with an honest, upstanding politician. Thankfully, the Galactic variety are similar to ours—they exist, but they’re rarer than hen’s teeth.

“New enough,” I answer, breaking off from my musings. And my, somewhat justified, concern about what exactly is leaking in under the influence of the Perk. “In either case, we agreed to it. I need to speak with the Fist anyway, and this is as good a time as any. I’ll be back in a few days.”

Katherine offers me a nod while Lana grimaces, tugging at her messed up dress.

I stand, considering. “Think Mikito would be up for a trip?”

***

The answer was yes. Once we contacted the Samurai, she managed to catch up with us at the teleportation pad. Of course, part of that was because Lana took an hour to catch a cat nap and change. Mikito looked almost eager to be coming, a light smile on her lips as she gives Lana a hug before playing with the various pets. Once the requisite greetings and licks have been dealt with and a discreet Cleanse cast, Mikito turns to us with a smile.

“It’s almost like old times,” Mikito says, looking around. “Now if Ingrid was around and Carlos could be dragged out…”

“Huh. I think you’d have better chance with Aiden,” I say. “He seems to have gotten over his fears.”

“A bit,” Mikito says, shooting a look at Lana. “It might have been because Lana kept bugging him while wearing a tank top a couple of summers ago.”

“Mikito!” Lana says, apparently scandalized at first before she breaks into a grin. “If you’ve got them…” She gives a pointed look at the tiny Japanese’s rather flat chest.

“Low blow,” Mikito says with a growl, crossing her arms reflexively.

“Who says Ingrid isn’t here?” I say, looking about and heading off the dustup by changing the topic. “Not as if we could ever tell.”

“Har. No. She’s too busy making Credits to hang out with us,” Lana says with a frown.

I hear the slight bitterness in the redhead’s tone and mentally grimace. Damn it. Topic change—fail.

“Come on, we’re holding up the line,” I say eventually, waving up the group.

It amuses me how the pets go first. All of them, including Lana’s griffin, are transported before the three of us get on board. A slight shiver, a twisting in the folds of space, and we’re suddenly there. I snort slightly, noting the usual greeting notification and the now prevalent icon indicating a quantum lock in space.

You have entered a Safe Zone—the Town of Scarborough

Mana flows in this area are stabilized. No monster spawning will occur in this region. Stamina and Health Regeneration increased by 2% in this zone. Please note that unauthorized teleportation is forbidden.

This Safe Zone includes:

- City of Scarborough City Center
- Shop
- Arena
- Armory
- …

“Duelist Lee. Spear Sato. Mistress Pearson,” the apelike, barrel-chested creature who greets us uses our titles.

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone called Lana by her title—abbreviated or not—of the Mistress of Flame and Beasts, but obviously, it means something to these people. Which is interesting, since most combat titles are rarely used in greetings. From what I’ve gathered, it’s a bit of a social faux pas.

“Champion Emven,” I greet the Galactic while making sure that Ali remembers to send his Status information to my friends. Not that they probably don’t have their own Skills, come to think of it.

Emven Iz, Champion of the Purple Sands, Greater Meatshield (Shield Guardian Level 38)

HP: 5430/5430

MP: 870/870

Conditions: Vulcanized skin, Organ sheath, Reflexive Shield

“Good call, boy-o. The Fist care more about combat titles than anyone else. Frankly, your Redeemer title holds no weight here. Though I’m getting an inkling of what we can expect,” Ali says.

“Well, spit it out.”

“Nah, this will be more fun,” Ali sends back with a smirk.

And despite repeated prodding, Ali refuses to divulge anything further. All the while, I’m listening to Emven as he leads us through the reconstructed city where the looming, giant oval structure dominates the city. Emven waxes lyrical about the many historical battles fought over Tobago in its Earth history, and most recently, by the Galactic colonists. I find it all quite interesting, but the big building even more so.

“Where are we going?” Lana asks during one of the few breaks.

“Ah, we walk toward the arena. The governor is holding court there as usual,” Emven says. “He also felt warriors like you would find it of great interest.”

“Really now,” I say, looking at the looming building. Cheers echo out from the open air building. Loud. So very loud, the clash of blades and the hiss of spells ringing through the air, almost as if a heavy metal band had taken to the stands with their amplified instruments. “Sounds like there’re a lot of people there.”

“It’s the major form of entertainment. And training,” Emven remarks. “There’s normally between five to six thousand, but today, the governor made sure to have a few favorites show up to spice up the regular lineup. I hear we’re at nearly ten thousand.”

Lana cranes her head from side to side, noting the numerous pedestrians and the busy hum of vehicles which float along the street below and above us. Even at a glance, it’s clear Scarborough is as busy as Vancouver, even with the large audience in the arena.

“Mostly humans out here,” I send to Ali, judging the difference between the settlements.

“Want to bet the Galactics are at the arena?” Ali says with a smirk.

“No bet.”

I get a chuckle from Ali as we are led inward. There’s only a brief moment of awkwardness as we deal with Lana’s various pets. Eventually, the security personnel compromise, allowing Roland to accompany Lana within while the rest of the pets get housed with other pets and mounts. Grey corridors made of a stone-like substance, marked with light green and blue trimming, encompass us as we go up, finally ending at the skybox. A part of me is amused how certain architectural strictures are the same no matter the culture—give the important people luxurious space, a high viewing area, and privacy. I’m sure there are species who would abhor some of these concepts, but here, it’s the same.

“Welcome, friends! You are just in time for Umma of the Two Blades and Whirlpool Donnie. The Whirlpool is one of your compatriots and a very entertaining fighter.”

The jovial greeting hits us the moment we walk into the room. The speaker is a sight to behold, standing just over eleven feet tall and nearly as wide, his body a mass of firm grey fat, large long ears hanging down his elongated face, and tiny, beady eyes. For a moment, I wonder if anyone ever considered the concept of a werehippo, which is what the speaker looks like.

Asgauver Heindra, Boneshaker, Master of the Sands, Lord of the Fell Reaches, Survivor of the Marrik Raid, (more) (Level 21 Absorber)

HP: 13980/13980

MP: 1230/1230

Conditions: Altered Gravity, Healer’s Wrath, Force to Bone, Flayed Nerves

“Thank you,” I say and shake Asgauver’s hand. For the first time in a while, I feel tiny, my hand disappearing in the werehippo’s larger one.

The thirty-by-thirty room is filled with probably the widest array of Galactics I’ve ever come across in a non-violent fashion. A rolling ball of cables and tentacles, a siren, a sylph, Truinnar, Movana, Hakarta, and Yerrick are all easy to spot. There are other, less commonly seen Galactics in the crowd, including a pair of little grey men.

“What is he?” The notification pops up in my interface, tagged Lana.

“Kudaya Delta. Interesting world—there were four separate species on it when the System arrived, just starting out as agricultural civilizations. Each species is designated by a number type after the planet name. Nearly all their technology is Galactic owned. The Kudaya just decided to abandon creating their own technological culture and focused on being the best damn warriors they could be,” Mikito sends back almost immediately.

“How’d you know that?” I can’t help but send.

“Know your enemy.”

“Sit, sit.” Asgauver waves us to a trio of scaled down seats next to him. I absently note that instead of a chair with backing, Asgauver uses more of a leaning apparatus whose structure supports his lower back and butt. “Did you wish to place a bet? If so, you must do it quickly.”

“Uhh… maybe later,” I say even as Mikito adds a yes.

I blink as the usually reserved Japanese lady waves over at the attendant with a tablet. A few seconds of interaction later and the attendant moves away. Lana watches all this with a light curl on her lips, stroking Roland, who’s curled up next to her. I wonder what she thinks of all this.

Directly ahead of us, the window screens flash, shifting to showcase the pair of fighters entering the arena. Immediately, the din of conversation drops off as everyone focuses on the fight. Now that Asgauver and the Galactics around me are a lesser concern, I take in the arena. Perfectly white sand surrounds the otherwise empty arena, whose borders are protected by expensive and nearly perfectly clear force shields. Stadium seating goes up around the arena with a second layer of flying, floating, hovering, and otherwise airborne Galactics watching the fight. As we guessed, there aren’t a lot of humans in sight.

The fighters themselves are interesting. Like her name hints, Umma is a Movana who wields a pair of glowing short swords. One burns red hot, and the other seems to freeze the air around it. A plain black armored jumpsuit is covered by a gaudy yellow tactical vest where a series of smaller blades sit. On the other hand, the Whirlpool—short for Elemental Whirlpool—is a short, tanned human with shocking pink hair, a rapier at his waist, and a single glove on his wielding hand. Contrary to his appearance, the man is actually Classed as a Battle Mage. In terms of Levels, both of them are within a couple of points of each other, giving no clear advantage.

At the slug-like referee’s signal, the pair battle. Like the rest of the viewers—with the exception of Lana—Mikito is leaning forward, watching the battle with rapt attention. Umma dashes forward immediately, blurring across the ground. Donnie responds by conjuring waves of water. When Umma attempts to jump over the waves, tendrils of the liquid grip her legs, pulling her downward. Immediately, the water twists, transforming into the Battle Mage’s namesake.

“Ah, so fast!” Asgauver says, his tone full of disappointment.

“Har! Don’t count your Credits yet. My cousin is not so easily dealt with.” A Movana walks up to us, his smile wide and relaxed. “Care for a side wager?”

“Twenty thousand Credits,” Asgauver offers.

The Movana nods, the pair tapping their left shoulders to seal the deal in what looks like to be pure reflex.

“But this is rude. Friends, will any of you take on Quityan’s offer as well?” Asgauver asks.

Lana shakes her head again while Mikito visibly considers the question before shaking her head.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Quityan o’Shea,” Quityan says.

It doesn’t take us long to introduce ourselves to the Forest Ranger, who then turns back to the fight. During this period, the elemental water conjured has transformed, icicles forming as they cut at the helpless figure within. Yet Quityan does not look concerned at all.

“Boy-o, focus on the body in the whirlpool with Mana sight.”

I call forth the ability, frowning slightly as the colors shift and change. Instead of the heatmap-like viewpoint a normal body would provide, what I see is a more solid figure, one which glows a light yellow.

“Doppleganger?”

Even as I finish asking the question, the body abruptly disappears. The real Umma appears behind Donnie, her blades slicing downward. They shatter against an invisible Mana Shield, one which absorbs both impacts but sends the Battle Mage staggering away. The Battle Mage’s reactions and recovery are amazing though, as Umma’s next attack is met by the rapier. Within seconds, additional tendrils of water and fire appear, joining Donnie’s defense as the pair duel at close quarters.

“A new Skill is it?” Asgauver says, contentment lacing his voice even as it looks as though he might lose the bet.

No one answers Asgauver, not that one is needed. The battle rages on, Donnie managing to pull away a couple of times, but never far enough to completely disengage from Umma. Eventually, the Mage’s greatest weakness tells and his Mana bottoms out, leaving him defenseless against Umma’s blades.

“Damn. A pity,” Asgauver says then gestures toward Quityan, who inclines his head after his gaze goes faraway. “Next time.”

“Not much of a Battle Mage,” Mikito grumbles, her arms crossed. But I note the bouncing in her foot, the way she’s leaning forward slightly as the next fight is announced.

“I believe none of you have visited us before, have you?” Quityan asks.

“No,” Lana answers him with a polite smile.

“Then I look forward to your fights,” Quityan says.

“What fights?” Lana says.

“And here we go, boy-o.”

“It is customary for first-time visitors to the arena to fight in it,” Asgauver says, then looks toward Emven. “Did you not inform our guests?”

“My apologies. I must have forgotten,” Emven says. His wooden delivery almost makes me choke with laughter.

“Well, as punishment, I’ll have to have you fight them,” Asgauver says, shaking his head.

“Of course.”

“Why are they doing this?” Lana sends the notification to all of us, and I shrug.

“Probably because they’re battle-crazy idiots. If you want a treaty with them, you’re going to need to be ‘worthy,’” Ali sends.

“I’m not so sure about that,” I send back.

Something about this setup doesn’t sit well with me. I can see Lana is perturbed, the slight crease in her eyebrows and the slightly longer look she gives Asgauver the tells. Nothing anyone who didn’t know her very well would notice.

“I’ll be your first opponent,” Mikito says, bouncing up from her seat and staring at Emven.

Lana and I are somewhat startled, staring at the little Japanese who looks ready to start the dance right this second.

“Ah… I’ll make arrangements,” Asgauver replies then looks at the pair of us.

“Lana’s here at my request. And while she can fight, I’d like to make a different offer,” I say, a coil of anger running through my stomach. They want to manipulate us and make us dance, make us fight for their entertainment? Fine. We can play.

“Offer?”

“I’ll fight you.”

Silence spreads at my pronouncement, the guests within the skybox turning toward our group. Asgauver gapes at me before bursting into a long, rumbling laugh that shakes the chair next to me.

“Done! Emven, make the arrangements.”

“Of course,” Emven says and taps his left shoulder before walking off.

A sharp pain erupts from my left ankle and I turn to look at a furious Lana.

“I don’t need you to protect me!”

“Wasn’t about you. I just don’t intend for them to get their way entirely.”

“I got to admit, boy-o’s got it right. The Fist are all about strength. This, this is strong.”

“So long as he wins.”

“I’ll win.”

“Show-off,” Mikito says, crossing her arms grumpily and staring at me. I laugh at her words, and she cracks a slight smile. “Baka.”

***

It takes an hour for Mikito’s fight to be arranged. In the meantime, the unlucky Samurai ends up losing all the matches she bets on. At Asgauver and Quityan’s urgings, Lana and I eventually partake in the betting after receiving contradictory advise from both Fist members. Toward the last couple of fights, Lana and I just decide to bet against Mikito’s choices, much to the mock outrage of the Samurai. If it wasn’t for the fact that some of the duels are multi-party free-for-alls, this might have been a winning strategy. It’s Ali who does the best, the Spirit quietly placing bets and winning a large number of his wagers.

While we wait, a few aspects of the arena battles which had puzzled us are explained. For one, use of grenades, portable shield generators, and drones are disallowed for most Classes. There are exceptions made for those who are not direct combat Classes, to make the fights a little fairer. Another thing we learn is while the arena can and does change its geography and features, providing everything from semi-permanent urban structures to even an aquatic environment, for today, a more sterile approach has been decided—a mano-o-mano fight. Unsurprisingly, many long-range, rifle-, and bow-wielding fighters have declined to fight in this kind of boring terrain. Without cover, portable or pre-made, they are in danger of being rushed by the melee fighters. And in this System-enhanced world, it is all too easy to close in on long-range fighters. My Blink Step is only one of the many teleporting abilities available.

All of this and the various safety procedures are explained to us while we wait for our friend’s fight. Eventually, it arrives.

Mikito walks out on the sand, her naginata already summoned and in her hands. She’s changed into a simple red-and-white armored jumpsuit, one that provides her full coverage and flexibility, with a simple helmet covering her face and hiding her long hair. Surrounding her body is the Ghost Armor of her Skill, giving her another form of protection similar to my Soul Shield, if more Mana intensive.

I stare at my friend, curious to see her really let loose in such a setting, before looking at her opponent, the shield guardian wielding a halberd-and-shield combination. Except the long blade of the polearm glows with an ominous light.

“What kind of Skills are we looking at with the Guardian?”

“In their main Class, mostly defensive Skills obviously. Two major builds that split along passive and active. Emven has a passive build, so while he’s got a significant health pool, he has a really low Mana pool and regen rate. He’s going to be able to soak up damage like a troll eats rocks.”

“I see you have bet heavily on your friend,” Asgauver says. “An admirable show of support.”

“I was looking more at taking you to the cleaners,” I say.

“Har. A nice thought, but he is not a champion for no reason,” Asgauver says. “She is good but young. Inexperienced. All of you humans are.”

Before I can answer, the referee signals the start of the fight, focusing everyone’s attention. Unlike Umma, Mikito takes her time edging toward the other melee fighter. Emven hunkers down low, his body clad in bulky, plate-mail-looking armor. Without warning, the champion fires a beam of brilliant purple energy from the head of the halberd. To my surprise, Mikito swings her naginata at the beam, cutting the attack apart and leaving the diffused beam to splash harmlessly against her armor.

“What the…?” I stare. It doesn’t make any sense. You can’t cut light.

Even with his initial attempt failing, Emven is willing to try again, firing another pair of blasts. Interestingly enough, just before the beam reaches Mikito’s attack range, they twist in mid-air, curving. Mikito casually cuts the pair of beams apart, her polearm spinning with blinding speed. As if deciding she’s had enough, the Japanese woman darts forward, seeming to appear beside Emven in a moment. My eyes widen slightly as she displays her Flash Step ability. She swings her polearm immediately, each strike somehow being blocked by Emven.

“What is that weapon?” Asgauver hisses, leaning forward.

I hear the whispered threads of conversation growing louder as Mikito’s repeated attacks begin to tell, each strike leaving larger and larger gouges on the shield, almost peeling back the reinforced shield.

“Mikito’s. I believe it’s soulbound,” I say, lying with a straight face. Inside, I’m sweating a little. Her weapon is more than soulbound—it’s a growth weapon. One which can gain strength over time. While we’ve taken steps—and I’m assured she has too—to hide the nature of it, there’s only so much you can do in a System-run world. If she attracts too much attention…

“Impressive. She has at least two Skills improving the weapon itself, but to do so much damage against Emven’s shield is astounding,” Asgauver says. “I have seen Master Class Skills do less damage.”

“Cleave and Reaver if you’re wondering. Though I’m pretty sure the second is actually part of the weapon,” Ali says.

I say nothing, though a thread of worry grows in my stomach for Mikito. The Soul Drinker Skill of her naginata means it will, eventually, become an Artifact. It’s the kind of weapon people get killed for owning.

“I have a feeling… there,” I say, watching as Emven gives up on waiting for Mikito to exhaust herself and attempts to fight back.

Shield Bash, Shield Charge, Disembowel, Vortex Swing. The names of the Skills he triggers pop up in tiny notifications from Ali, each attack thwarted. But as Mikito ducks the spinning tornado that Emven’s last attack created, the Shield Guardian stomps, creating a minor earthquake. The attack only unbalances Mikito for a fraction of a second, but it’s sufficient for Emven to land a Shield Bash, disrupting Mikito’s balance further and stunning her.

The champion chains his attacks, each blow timed perfectly with a step, his movements keeping his body right next to the stunned Samurai. Her Ghost Armor bleeds light, cracking under the assault even as wide open wounds send splashes of crimson blood to the white sand.

“Inexperienced, as I said,” Asgauver says, almost smug satisfaction in his tone.

“Come on, Mikito,” Lana whispers, leaning forward and gripping her knees tightly.

I place a hand on hers, giving it a quick squeeze for reassurance. “I wouldn’t count her out yet.”

The halberd rises and comes crashing down, caught by Mikito’s naginata. But as she recovers, the shield is moving, smashing the body of her naginata into her body. A leg steps forward, striking the tiny Japanese woman’s knee and knocking her off balance, forcing her to block another strike. This one sends her tumbling to the ground, where she recovers with a roll. As Emven steps forward, an explosion of sand and smoke makes him blink, flame blinding him. When he recovers, Mikito is standing unsteadily, her weapon held sideways above her left shoulder.

“A good move. But not enough,” Quityan remarks.

Mikito’s down to five hundred Mana and barely four hundred health. Not enough, normally, for a powerful Skill. Of course, Emven’s Mana is in the low hundreds too, but his health is still two-thirds full.

I stay silent as Emven moves forward cautiously, Mikito holding still. It’s a stillness that sets the hair at the nape of my neck tingling, a tension which tightens my chest as primal fears rise up. Emven sees it, moving cautiously, but he can’t delay too long. Each moment allows Mikito’s greater regeneration levels to top up her Mana. And so he nears her, his halberd moving forward in low feints which elicit no response.

With a roar, the champion stabs the halberd forward, the weapon shooting its beam of purple energy at Mikito. The Samurai moves then, flashing forward as her naginata arcs downward, cutting through Emven’s shield and armor in a single motion. Emven staggers backward, his arm and halberd clattering to the ground as gravity takes hold and he slumps. Mikito herself sways, her health down to fourteen percent as she sacrifices her life for Mana.

The crowd exclaims around us, in multiple voices and languages.

“It is called Gi,” Asgauver says, surprise tingeing his voice.

“The first tenet of Bushido.” I lean back in my chair, a little of the tension I felt for my friend draining away as I read the details of the Skill Ali displays.

Gi (Exclusive Skill)

The Samurai exemplifies commitment with their next attack. A single strike, without hesitation or doubt, with full commitment must be made. If completed, the Samurai can deal significantly more damage in exchange for their own life.

Effect: Doubles Base Damage of attack. Health of user may be traded for damage dealt to recipient at a 1:1 ratio, but user must decide on amount of health traded before attack is made.

Cost: 200 Mana

Asgauver laughs, roaring in amusement, followed by everyone else. The group cheers, chatting about the battle. Lana stares at those around us, her eyes wide.

“Aren’t you worried about your friend? He lost his arm,” Lana says.

“Better than a head. They’ll reattach it and he’ll be ready for battle in a few hours,” Quityan says, waving away her protests. “Pity it’s a friendly match though. In a title fight, they’d continue until one really lost.”

“He lost his arm!” Lana sputters.

“Emven can fight without it,” Quityan replies unconcernedly. “He’s an elite member of the Fist. If he couldn’t fight without an arm, he wouldn’t deserve to be on the team.”

Lana shakes her head, looking toward me for support. I smile slightly at the redhead, shaking my head. She looks disappointed by my reaction, and truth be told, I am in hers. But then, she hasn’t spent the last four years in a Forbidden Zone. I can’t even count the number of limbs I’ve lost over the years.

“I find myself looking forward to our fight now,” Asgauver says, his wide mouth pulling apart to show those large teeth. I can’t help but notice that he probably could fit my entire arm in his mouth without a problem.

“Me too.”

***

No surprise our fight is at the end of the day, as the sun begins to set. Attempts by Lana and Ali to bring the discussion toward the reason for our visit—to an alliance or agreement for their vote—are firmly and politely rebuffed. After her return, Mikito is swarmed by the attendees, many requesting to see her weapon. All are rebuffed. None take offense, understanding the reluctance of a warrior to show a personal weapon, which is for the best. We can only hope that they’ll be fooled by the information we have left public, assuaging their interest in the weapon when they buy it from the Shop. If they do.

With no progress on the actual point of our visit, I find myself standing on the sand, knowing it’s likely the results of this match will dictate how much progress we make today. The arena is surprisingly quiet, the roar of the crowd a muted buzz in the background. The light within is just right, diffused and soft so that it never gets in the way. The sand gives way slightly, a bit more unsteady than I’d prefer but nothing so loose as to make purchase impossible. And the smell… well, the smell is of old blood, sour sweat, spent adrenaline, and other, more exotic chemicals.

I find myself raising my sword to my head, offering Asgauver a salute. It suits the mood; it suits the stadium. And it obviously suits the audience, as roars erupt. The werehippo before is big, tough and a Master Class with more years at fighting than I have. Odds of me winning are an astounding nine-to-one. Odds of me lasting one minute is seven-to-one. Barely better.

Pity I can’t bet on myself.

The chime, the slight shift in light and the referee’s voice is all the signal which is needed. Asgauver dashes forward, his movement so explosive a hole is left behind him as his strength is focused on approaching me. The giant monstrous hippo is here before I can dodge, but then, I wasn’t trying to. A single step takes me within the arc of his torso-sized fist and I raise my own, palm out. It hits his giant nose, squishing it slightly as my legs flex and I’m forced backward. A part of me reaches out backward, reinforcing the sand I’m standing on while my body braces against his attack. On a pure point basis, Asgauver probably has a higher Strength stat than me, but he doesn’t know how to use it, doesn’t know how to apply it fully. In the air, my arm extended before my body, Asgauver slams into the equivalent of an unmoveable object and bounces backward.

The hush from the stadium is gratifying. I grin, shaking my hand slightly while keeping my face smooth. The shake also hides the minor trembles going through my arm as over-abused nerves and a cracked shoulder joint slowly regenerate.

“Impressive!” Asgauver roars as he rolls himself upward, laughing as blood pours from his two large nostrils. He swabs at the blood with one hand, stomping the ground as if to set himself. A second later, his fists shimmer, fields of energy wrapping around them and setting my teeth on edge. “But a trick is trick.”

“Then let’s dance,” I say and salute him once more.

When the werehippo approaches again, this time it’s with a lot more caution.

***

“Done. Yet?” I say as I husband my breath. A flick of my sword sends droplets of blood flying, recoating the white sand with the Kudaya’s blood.

“And stop all this fun? Never!” Asgauver says but ends up coughing and spitting a gob of blood.

The damn hippo is covered in cuts and stabs, my attacks having scored and torn at the monster again and again. But his Class is an upgrade of your typical Guardian, a tank which can absorb punishment and turn it into Stamina, Mana, and yes, even Health. He’s a juggernaut who just keeps ticking, no matter how much I damage him. His health keeps sliding upward, now at sixty percent, yo-yoing with his Mana.

The last thirty minutes has seen me go from using Spells and Skills to cut him down to a more husbanded approach. None of my Spells harm him, not even Enhanced Lightning. His resistances are high, his Class Skills making the little damage that leaks through negligible and even helpful to him. Next, I switched to more mundane attacks, backed up with the Thousand Blades. He ran through the blades, using his greater bulk and defenses to punch his way through them.

And punch he can. His Title is not for show. Boneshaker. His fist, encased in a wall of sonic attacks, hurts even when I block or dodge. My entire body feels as if it’s been holding on to a jackhammer for the whole day, my tongue a mess after having been accidentally bit so many times I almost consider a ball gag. My health is down to about forty percent, my Mana doing better at seventy. But Mana’s useless because my attacks just don’t do enough damage, not against him.

“Fine,” I growl and beckon the Kudaya on.

He rushes forward and I meet his fist with blades, a pair in hand as I dance and duck, my teeth and bones shuddering at near misses, my blades cutting into tough flesh. I have to use bigger motions, twisting and pushing against Asgauver’s Skill that robs my attacks of momentum, that threaten to stick my blades. I have to duck and dodge, stabbing and moving, my Stamina slowly grinding down, along with my health.

I fall for a feint of a retracted straight, the hand returning and dropping straight down. I get my sword up in time, but it doesn’t matter. The hippo drops his body, crushing me beneath his bulk. The earth flattens beneath me, a depression forming as Asgauver activates a Skill which triples his weight. I cough out blood, crushed and trapped.

And I have him exactly where I want him.

As the Kudaya pins my arm with one hand, the other rising to crush my face, I focus. Portals take a few precious moments to appear, the time required depending on the distance. And the interference at the other end. In this case, the other end of the Portal isn’t far. Just a hundred fifty feet or so. Directly above me. And the first one is directly below me.

We fall through the Portal and appear above where we were, above the arena and its exclusion from the quantum lock surrounding Tobago. Pain erupts through my body as molecules which were meant to align after teleportation get shifted ever so slightly, the System helping to fix the damage after having enforced the initial damage in the first place. We fall, picking up speed, and I fend off one more punch before Blink Stepping away from the damn Kudaya, just a couple of feet away so that I can nudge him back into the center of the Portal.

“Give up?” I shout.

“Never!”

Asgauver falls, twisting in the air, and hits the open Portal and reappears high above the arena to take damage again. And drops downward as gravity takes effect, falling through the Portal again to reappear above, his speed ever increasing. As for me, I stand to the side of the open Portal and focus, keeping an eye on the stubborn hippo’s health, occasionally using my spells to bounce him back into the center.

Once again, the silence through the stadium tells me I might have stunned the crowd. This time, when the noise comes back, it’s more muted, less boisterous. I might win, but I obviously didn’t win the “right” way.

***

“I told you you needed more movement Skills,” Quityan is saying to Asgauver.

The giant hippo is less boisterous now, arms crossed, his lips twisted upward in what I would call a snarl while the jaws move, masticating food. Once the Kudaya had finally been deemed too damaged to continue, I closed the Portals. Since then, the Kudaya has yet to say a damn word to me.

“You might have overdone it,” Lana says, elbowing me in the ribs. “You could have given up after putting on a good show.”

“Bugger him if he can’t take losing,” Ali says, playing with a string of glittering little spheres on a vine before he pops one into his mouth. “He shouldn’t have mocked boy-o.”

“He’ll get over it,” I say semi-confidently.

Whether he likes it or not, the System seems to agree that the win was mine, dumping a ton of experience onto me. It’s one of the facets of an arena which makes it popular. Everyone watching within the arena makes a minor experience donation. It’s generally pretty low per person, but with so many attendees, the amount stored and distributed is significant. As the headline act, the two of us receive a large chunk of the experience siphoned off during the day. As the winner, I get an even larger portion, enough so that I skip two Levels, putting me at Level 18. I’d assign my attributes and Skills, but it’d be considered rude to do so right now. No rush really.

Mikito nods, then grins slightly. “John could always beat him into it anyway.”

I cough as Quityan shoots us a look, obviously having heard Mikito. But she has a point. This is the Fist after all. In fact, I probably should have just wagered their vote on the fight, but truth be told, I hadn’t been that confident I’d win. If he had a Flight or other movement spell he could have used in mid-air, he would have been fine.

Lana rolls her eyes but stops when she sees another well-wisher come up. As usual, they greet Mikito first then me, congratulating us on our arena battles. Once again, I feel the undercurrent of disrespect, a dislike for my methods. By the time he’s gone—after extending another invitation to Mikito for a fight at a later date—Quityan is next to us.

“My apologies. Asgauver does not like losing. He’ll be better after he’s healed. His Skill takes a lot from him, no matter what he says,” Quityan says, looking back at the large hippo with a tenderness in his eyes that I didn’t expect.

I blink, thinking back to the casual touches, the body language… huh. Well, how would it work? After a moment, I wish I could scrub my brain.

“At a later date. If you’re willing?”

“Pardon?” I say, shaking my head. I rewind his words in my brain and catch up. “Oh. Yes, definitely. We do need your votes.”

“And you’ll have them. For a few small considerations.” There’s a slight pause before Quityan adds, “We seek little from your world, but individuals are interesting. Your strength, your experience in the Forbidden Zone…”

I nod slightly, mentally wincing. Right. I know now where this is going. They’ll want details, explanations of monsters and my experiences. Might even want me to go on a trip with them to a zone, just to power-Level themselves once again. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he speaks.

“Of course. Tomorrow then?” I say.

“Tomorrow,” Quityan says. “If you’d like, I can have you shown to your rooms. You must be tired.”

Murmured agreements ring out. Lana begs out too, indicating a desire to take her pets for a run. Her words elicits another delay as others offer to show her to a nearby dungeon. In the midst of the hubbub, Mikito and I extract ourselves, glad to leave the fight-crazy Fists alone.

“So how’d you do?” I ask. “On your wagers.”

“About forty thousand Credits down,” Mikito says happily. “Be better if I had bet on you winning like I thought you would.”

“You bet on me losing?” I groused.

“Well, I didn’t want to jinx you,” Mikito replies, eyes twinkling.

Silence extends between us before we break out in laughter, the attendant showing us the way to our temporary accommodations staring at us as if we’re crazy. The look the attendant gives us only drives us to laugh harder.

Chapter 14

“When you said you wanted to spend some time together, I was thinking a nice gastropub. Or maybe a yoga session,” Aiden, the skinny-jeans-wearing, goateed, manbun Mage, mutters. His hand twists and a lamppost bends and catches the flying monkey creature in mid-air, crushing it. At the same time, his other hand swings a wand, carving runes of light in the air, which float away to stack up in front of him.

“This is a lot more fun,” I say, impaling another downed monkey.

Hitting open settlements and dungeons have become a thing in the last couple of weeks, between conversations with panicked humans and snooty Galactics. I’ve stepped back somewhat from negotiating with settlement owners while I wait for more information, letting Lana and Katherine take the lead. Part of the reason we’re out as often though is because many of the completed deals have included helping out with dungeon population control, monster swarms, and sweeping areas to develop new land. So going out and killing monsters has actually helped strengthen our negotiation power as we show we’re not all talk. I do get moments of déjà vu though, when I Portal in another attack team to another strange city before traveling to the next damn location to do the same again. At least this time I’ve got access to much faster transportation.

All this fighting has provided a nice boost to my experience bar, gaining me another Level. In many ways, my Leveling speed is a bit ridiculous, but I did just spend four years fighting over-Leveled monsters on an on-going basis, so the resulting banked experience is significant. At some point, the banked experience will run out, but for now, I won’t be complaining.

“Your definition of fun needs work,” Lana calls, shotgun in hand. She hasn’t shot it yet, mostly because the Aura of the Red Queen which surrounds her is sufficient to keep the monsters away. That, and her pets do a bang-up job of taking down anything that even remotely threatens her. Her griffin is particularly frightening, though right now, the griffin’s fighting a pair of flying snake-like creatures.

“Come on, this is a walk in the park,” I say.

“I have a Fireball,” Aiden says, holding up his hand.

“I do not understand,” Capstan growls between taking shots at the flying monkeys. They mostly bounce off the temporary force shields the Yerrick have erected around our Portal site, only a few managing to make their way through the gaps the Yerrick have positioned.

Every second, more Adventurers are streaming in from Vancouver, parties gathering and receiving their marching orders from Capstan’s people while Carlos hands out small bags filled with his latest creations.

“We’re in El Chaten, which is located in Los Glaciares National Park. John was punning with the idiom,” Aiden says, his left hand still not stopping. “Nearly…”

“What are you casting?” Lana says, cocking her head to the side.

“A localized teleportation spell which is anchored here and linked to my life signs with a secondary healing and regeneration component,” Aiden says as he jabs the wand forward.

The last rune floats into the air, coalescing into a giant ball of spinning light before it splits into two parts. The smaller portion strikes Aiden in his chest, the larger sinking into the ground, where it disperses and embeds itself, leaving runic marks that slowly fade away.

“Whoa…” I say, looking at Aiden with admiration. “We can do that?”

“I can,” Aiden says, shaking his head. “It’s a ritual spell which takes about a week to cast. What you saw was just the engagement process.”

I blink, scratching the spell off the list of things I needed for regular dungeon runs. Still impressive though.

“Mikito not here?” Aiden asks.

“No. She’s running another dungeon.”

“With the champions?”

“No. Americans,” Lana adds unhappily. “Howard says the borders are secure. Nothing major in the next few blocks, though he smelled something disturbing on the other side of town. Howard’s insisting someone else do the killing as he doesn’t want to bite it.”

Her words gets a chuckle from Capstan before he barks a few orders. A party of Yerrick run up and are soon sent off to meet with the reluctant pony-sized puppy, Ali helpfully supplying everyone with coordinates. The Spirit is standing next to the Portal, tagging all the newcomers and sharing updated information maps. It still amazes me how smart Lana’s pets have gotten. It’s rather frightening the Level of power she can wield. Each of her animals is nearly the same strength as an equivalent Leveled individual, making Lana a walking party by herself. It makes her Class over-powered in some ways, but also a bit lopsided. It’d take a single semi-skilled assassin to take her out.

While everyone else is busy, I’m just holding the Portal open, so I take a moment to look around. The earth and our surroundings are all dusty brown, dry in the Argentinian summer. The mountains which ring the tiny town have the lightest of remnants of snow, a stark contrast to the unceasing whiteness of the Yukon this time of year. Most of the—few—buildings around us are broken down, missing windows and occasional walls, weird pitted holes and half-dissolved bricks opening up the interiors. Even the asphalt is damaged, torn up and melted, giving further clues as to the cause of destruction. Monsters. Lots of monsters.

While the town itself hasn’t become a dungeon, it’s a Level 80-plus zone out at the borders with obviously higher Level zones as you move further in. The town once thrived post-apocalypse but made the crucial mistake of not consistently clearing the surrounding alphas and dungeons, leading to a monster swarm which promptly killed everyone. Since then, no one’s taken the town, leaving it unclaimed. It probably didn’t help that there’s literally nothing connected to it for hundreds of kilometers. Of course, the lack of access is partly why it’s the perfect settlement for us to claim back.

“You sure about this, Capstan?” I say again, frowning at the big minotaur.

He chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder. “Whitehorse cannot hold all three clans which have arrived. With support from you and Lord Roxley, we should be able to develop this Village quickly. And I understand the Spear will be leading the champions to clear a few dungeons next week. We will be fine.”

“Fine,” I say. A moment later, I get the all-clear from our last entrant into our game of whack a monster. I drop the Portal, glancing at my slowly regenerating Mana, and tap Aiden on the shoulder. “You’re with us.”

“Dungeon clearing?”

“Yup. There’s a Level 90 dungeon which needs clearing,” I say and point in the right direction.

Aiden grumbles, more out of habit than actual objection it seems, as he follows along. Capstan and Nelia fall in with us after Capstan finishes speaking with the other Fist—a shorter female minotaur who wields a whip and Gatling gun. Lana refuses to come, busy running her puppies and coordinating with the new settlement owner.

Our tiny party makes it about a hundred meters away from town before Ingrid makes her appearance next to us, letting the others know of her presence.

“Ms. Starling,” Aiden exclaims. “I did not expect you here. Lana said you weren’t coming.”

Ingrid sniffs. “Lana’s stuck-up and judgmental. I figured I’d hitch a ride quietly. It’s been ages since I’ve done a proper dungeon delve.”

“You’re welcome to come along,” I say with a chuckle, my invitation echoed by the Yerrick.

With Ingrid settled, we pick up the pace, headed for the dungeon. Should be a breeze, with the group as it stands.

***

One of the things any Adventurer learns about dungeons is that they don’t hold to the normal laws of physics. Given enough Mana, dungeons have a tendency to warp the space around them, like a heavy metal ball on cheesecloth, stretching it under its weight and density. The dungeon we enter is a simple cave from the outside, but inside, it transforms to something truly immense, large enough to rival the Mammoth Cave system perhaps. As we delve, the initial few rooms are filled with poisoned fungi, warped insects, and mutated bats. Easy kills. Pedestrian even. Afterwards, things get disgusting.

“Acid slimes,” I announce, swiping the dripping mucous-like substance from my Soul Shield.

The corpse of the slime slowly dissolves, its Mana core destroyed.

“Flammable oil slimes here,” Aiden says, floating as he sprays his own opponents with a burst of freezing cold from his arm. Beneath him, the slimes twist and stretch in an attempt to reach the mage.

“Acid,” Nelia calls, her hands shifting as roots explode upward from the ground, piercing the slimes and draining them of their fluids, leaving crystalline remnants and Mana stones.

“More fire slimes,” Capstan growls. The large Yerrick looks to be the most perturbed, his usual loadout less than useful against these gelatinous opponents. Even so, he brute-forces his attacks, slamming his axe on a slime and using the concussive force of his attack to blast the slime’s body apart.

“Gah. I feel like I’m in a bad Japanese porn video.” I shake my head and cast a Blade Strike to rip apart a trio of slimes who drop from the ceiling right above me. Positioned as I am in front of everyone, I’m being swarmed, the slimes preferring to go for quantity over quality. As my Soul Shield keeps ticking down no matter how damn many of these things I kill is a good sign it’d work if we gave them enough time.

“Think you’re repeating yourself there,” Ingrid says with a chuckle before fading out of sight to reposition.

“Repeat?” Capstan swings his axe and sends out a burning energy strike from the head of it.

“Girlie means there ain’t no good Japanese porn. Repeating bad and Japanese, see?” Ali explains happily.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Aiden,” I call to the mage, ignoring the byplay.

The Mage rolls his eyes but turns toward me, casting Polar Zone centered around my body. I watch as he does so, my Mana Sight wide open as I study the way the spell twists and shapes Mana in front of me, altering the temperature in my surroundings. Aiden abbreviates some of what would be the normal casting method, short-cutting sections and replacing it with knots in other areas, the final spell-form different from that which I purchased. Different and so much more powerful.

The temperature drops by dozens of degrees in a second, the spell sweeping over all of us. Acid slimes freeze from their edges inward, their struggles shattering their gelatinous bodies and exposing unfrozen parts to the cold, speeding up their demise. Within tens of seconds, the monsters are dead and Aiden cuts the spell. Not a moment too soon—my own Soul Shield has fallen, exposing me to the full effects of the Spell. Not that I can’t take the damage.

“Damn…” Ali says, eyeing the numerous, fallen Mana stones “Someone’s been working out.”

“Thanks, Aiden,” I say, grinning at the Mage. It was the right decision, conning the man into coming along. His wide-scale area effect Spells will be useful against the wide variety of slimes that have been reported in this dungeon.

Once Nelia drops a drone to do the pickup of the Mana stones, we head in deeper to hunt down the remainder of the monsters. And of course, the dungeon boss.

***

“That’s not a slime,” I say, staring at the dungeon boss.

“Well, it technically is,” Aiden mutters, his eyes narrowing. “Those crystals that make up its body are slime cores. We’re going to need to shatter or separate each of those cores. I’d also assume that a large enough portion broken from the main body would still be functional.”

“So. Weird,” I mutter.

Crystalline Slime Hive (Dungeon Boss Level 94)

HP: 18318/18318

MP: 7337/7868

Conditions: Hivemind, Ablative Armor, Dispersed Core

“Har. Better than a titan slime,” Yerrick says with a snort, hefting his axe. “My sire fought one of those before on Regis III. Burnt off all his fur, ate his hand and one horn before he blasted it apart.”

I shudder at the description, my mind considering what a slime thirty or forty feet tall would be like. The maintenance bill of dealing with one of those things must be ridiculous. Especially if it ate you.

“So, recommendations?” I ask while the party splits apart.

Nelia stays close to Aiden, her hands weaving as she piles together new roots and earthen walls to protect the pair of them while Capstan and I flank the creature. I’m assuming Ingrid’s somewhere around, waiting for her chance to do some real damage.

“Hit it hard, shatter it. Then we’ll use area effect spells to mop up the shards,” Capstan says after a moment’s consideration.

The creature is just standing there, little pools of slime swirling around its body.

The moment he finishes speaking, Ingrid drops out of the shadow plane to launch her attacks with her blades. Each strike digs into the body, shattering a core, but doesn’t penetrate. As she finishes her first flurry, the slime rises from the ground and wraps tendrils around her body. Ingrid throws herself backward, breaking free briefly, though the remaining pieces of slime continue to burn her legs. I eye the monster’s health and wince, noting how Ingrid’s barely done more than a few hundred points of damage. This could take a bit.

Capstan charges, using the distraction my Blade Strikes generate to close the distance and smash his axe into the creature’s side. It pierces a foot into the creature’s torso before it gets stuck. As Capstan tries to yank it backward, the Mana stones shift, trapping the axe head.

“Mine!” Capstan growls, his body glowing red. But the increased Strength from his Skill is insufficient, and already the pool of slime is attacking him like it did Ingrid. Wisps of smoke rise from his feet.

“I’m feeling neglected here,” I mutter and form more blades with a thought.

I get ready to swing a massed Blade Strike when instinct has me duck. From all around the cavern, globules of slime fire from the wall, splashing against shields, bodies, and the ground.

“Owww!” Aiden snarls, his casting interrupted as one globule somehow manages to make it past the Mage’s Mana Shield.

He raises his hand, reforming and reinforcing his shield, while Nelia works her magic to plug up holes in their joint defense. The wide-ranging, indiscriminate attack also hit the stealthed Ingrid, her body forced out of the shadows, smoking and bleeding.

“Someone kill that thing!” Ingrid says as she ducks another shot.

Worryingly, some of the Mana stones that were initially chipped off from Ingrid’s and my attacks are forming new slimes, each of which turn to attack us.

“Working on it,” I growl and skip the upgraded attack to go for the ultimate—Army of One. The formed blades shift automatically, giving themselves more space as beams of force shoot outward. Thirteen strikes, each of them twice as powerful as normal, hammer into the body of the giant Crystalline Slime Hive, shattering pieces off it. I can’t help but smirk, noting how much more damage I can do with my Penetrate Master Skill added to my attacks.

“My turn,” Aiden says. Instead of attempting a single large-scale spell, the mage flicks and twirls his wand again and again. Small fireballs fly, each about half the size of the one I cast. In seconds, dozens are hovering before the Elemental Mage.

“Don’t!”

Ingrid’s panicked shout reaches our ears, but no one has time to answer the Assassin. We’re all throwing up our own defenses or activating defensive Skills as we ready for the oncoming blast.

When the fireballs land, the flame-filled explosion rocks us during the initial hit and again when the walls of the dungeon compress the explosion inward. And then outward again, the concussive force finding few escapes in this enclosed cavern. My newly recreated Soul Shield fails, my armor barely useful as my flesh cooks and my hair burns off. Even through my resistance, I see hundreds of health points drop, my body burning for what seems like eternity.

Then silence.

“Everyone still alive?” I cough around the smoke, my throat dry.

A low pair of rumbles from the Yerrick indicate their well-being. Ali pops back out of the semi-dimension he’s used to and I realize my instincts failed me this time. Having not used the Quantum State Manipulator for so long, I’d forgotten I even had it. I frown, realizing that both Aiden and Ingrid are silent, which is a bit concerning. Less so with the former, since it was his spell. But…

“Oops,” Aiden croaks, his clothing smoking slightly as he pushes his way out of the earth-and-ash fortress. “Forgot we were in a cave…”

“Baka!” Ingrid reappears behind Aiden, smacking him on the back of the head.

The Mage staggers, rubbing his head, and blinks. “How did you do that?”

“Reaper’s Touch. It’s a Skill that lets me ignore Shields.”

“New?” I ask, and Ingrid nods.

“It’s an exclusive Class Skill, but it’s worth it.” The Assassin’s eyes grow dark as I recall Ikael’s assassination.

His layering of multiple Shields thwarted her first flurry of attacks, putting her in greater danger than normal. With this Skill, she could bypass some of the problems. How much, I don’t know. Since it’s an exclusive Skill, the details aren’t exactly on the public System net, which means I’d have to buy it if I was really curious.

Ali, smirking at the pair’s antics, says, “Oy! I haven’t received an experience notification that the Boss is down.”

“What?”

We spin back toward the smoking center of the cavern where it’s true, Mana Stones smoke and hiss but are intact. As we watch, a few roll back together, joining into smaller clumps. As everyone aims their weapons and spells at the ground, I note something more disturbing on my minimap.

“Incoming!” I warn. Dozens of fast-moving dots are converging on us in my map. With a thought, the minimap in my vision enlarges, giving me a clearer view of the surroundings, but it’s of little use since the damn slimes seem to be moving through the walls as far as the map is concerned. “A lot of incoming. Get away from the walls.”

Everyone moves to comply, Nelia using a solid earth equivalent of my Mud Walls to sweep the slime cores aside as we rush forward. Simultaneously, the first of the slime reinforcements appear, many of them splattering as we blast, cut, and freeze their bodies apart. Surprisingly, the cores which have survived race toward the largest concentration of slime core shards and join together with them.

“It’s regenerating,” Ali says, wonder in his voice. “I’ve got to record this.”

“Record later. Electricity now!” I snap, raising my hand.

Ali ignores me, which annoys me, but I don’t have time to focus on him. Instead, I pull on my Mana, the spell formulae and the Mana forms twisting around in my mind and around my extended hand as I cast Lightning Strike. It’s my own modification of the Spell, an Enhanced version, as I reach outward and inward at the same time for my Elemental Affinity.

Electromagnetic Force, one of the four principle forces that form our universe. While the System might break the rules, while Mana seems to be the fifth overlying force over everything, the laws that they break still exist. My affinity, gifted from my Link to Ali, allows me to sense, feel, and yes, manipulate it. In the four years I was away, I explored the use of this affinity even further, but in this instance, the basic Enhanced Lightning Strike is sufficient. I let it rampage a little more than normal, expanding its range of motion by relaxing the pathways I normally control and increasing the differences in charge at the slime cores.

I play the lightning across the ground, feeling the electricity jump and ground, burning and crisping even as my Mana drops and drops. But it’s working—the Slime Boss is taking damage faster than it can recover. It works. Until the ground under us gives way, cutting off my spell and dropping us in a pool of goop.

“Ugh!” Ali says, safely in the air. He stares as the rest of us floundering in the suddenly formed pool of slime, our skin burning as the slime grips our bodies and attempts to drag us deeper.

By the time Nelia manages to use her spells to drain the slime and reinforce the newly created crater’s walls to ensure we aren’t surprised again, the Boss has reformed.

“I’m really beginning to hate this dungeon,” Ingrid says as she pours a bottle of Greater Healing across her face, the enchanted potion healing the red and raw skin while neutralizing the slime.

“Agreed,” Capstan growls.

I look at the now nearly nude monster, his fur repeatedly burnt and scorched off. Even as I watch, patches grow out as the Yerrick’s regeneration kicks in.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to win this quickly. I will conserve Mana for a long battle.” Neila suits action to words as she casts a Group Healing Pulse on us all, a long-term healing spell.

“Ditto.” Aiden waves his hand, a small floating blue ball forming above his head. When a slime core rolls closer toward us, it sends a single Mana dart at it. A few seconds later, the Mage has cast a second sphere as he begins to ring our new defensive position with these spheres.

“And I’ll…” I shrug and jump out of the pit, realizing I’m out of witty things to say. “Kill it.”

***

Later on that evening, we’re seated at the newly rebuilt City Center with Carlos, Lana, and the rest of the settlement team. Capstan is regaling those interested with the story of our fight, seeming to take great pleasure in emphasizing the disgusting aspects in particular. As for me, I’m seated in my own corner, tucking into the slab of Auroch ribs the Yerrick have kindly supplied me with, along with the bowl of mashed potatoes that have been drowned in gravy.

“May I join you?” Lana says, gesturing to a seat across from me.

Ingrid, who is seated beside me, looks at Lana and nods companionably if slightly coldly. The redhead returns the nod, but I can tell there’s a distance now between the two. Still, at my assent, Lana sits down without seeming too discomfited.

“It should take the Yerrick about a week to get settled and meet the Town requirements,” Lana says. “I believe that puts us at just over twenty-two percent of the vote. We’re still working on some of the other settlement owners in Africa, but our ability to field a focused and effective fighting force and our ties to the Hakarta, Erethrans, and Yerrick have convinced many we can provide the security they’re looking for.

“But we still haven’t heard from Roxley. Or Wynn. And Rob and Bipasha are at loggerheads over the candidacy. If the situation continues, we might need both Roxley and Wynn for any chance at this.”

“Wynn has requested more time. And Roxley…” I frown, shrugging. “He’s been quiet so far, but he did get us those two votes from the Okres.”

Lana makes a face, obviously less than impressed. I am too, since the Okres were basically a group of slightly more civilized ogres. But at least they don’t eat their enemies, and right now, we need every vote we can get. It’s a compromise which grates, but it’s one I’ll live with. At least this way we’ve managed to get them to banish their human criminals to us rather than the wilderness. It’s not a perfect solution, since a good two-thirds of their criminals are real asses, but the third we save for not finishing all their food or not training in the town square every day makes it worth it. Or so I tell myself.

“Nothing like the actual votes of the Movana,” Lana says before she puffs out a breath. “We won’t be able to get all the human settlement votes on our side. We need to speed up our discussions with the Galactics.”

“I’m assuming you have a recommendation?” I say.

Lana nods. Her hand shifts and a list is sent to me. “I’ve spoken with Kim and Ali as well as Ayuri. Based on their information and analysis, this is how I recommend we tackle it.”

I look over the list, then I note Ingrid is staring at us instead of blankly into space. With a mental twitch, I share the information with the Assassin, who flashes me a smile. Lana’s eyes narrow slightly but she doesn’t protest, so I don’t bring it up. I don’t have time to deal with the pair of them.

“You’re handling the Artisan faction?” I say, looking at the meeting scheduled two days from now. “Should I be there?”

“No. Katherine and I are the better options,” Lana says. “I’ll bring Carlos too. They’re more likely to listen to those of us not active on the battlefields.”

“Like appreciates like?” I say with a smirk but shrug, accepting her analysis. It does leave me with a ton of individual meetings, most of them via telecommunications towers, though I see a few in-person meetings marked as required. “I assume Kim’s going to brief me before these?”

“Yes.” Lana sighs. “You know, this will be a lot easier if you could make up your mind between Rob and Bipasha.”

“I know.” I scan down the list and frown as something jumps out. “This doesn’t cover everyone.”

“No. Some are grouped, but the greyed names at the bottom, we won’t want to work with. Or they just don’t want to work with us,” Lana says.

Ingrid hums, tapping a few of the names and sending it over to us. “I know these asses. Want me to kill them?”

“You’re talking about murder,” Lana says coldly.

“When a state does it, it’s called good policy.” Ingrid grins at me. “Right, boss?”

I want to shout about not being dragged into this, but… “Can you?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I couldn’t. But I will need some help,” Ingrid says.

Lana looks upset, crossing her arms over her ample bosom.

“Done. Talk to Kim,” I say, making a note which will download to Kim when we’re back in range.

Ingrid nods while Lana stares at the pair of us before she walks away without a word.

I watch the redhead disappear, my lips pursing slightly. “Maybe we should have had this talk another time.”

“She’ll get over it. Lana understands, but she’s still a middle-class white girl at heart,” Ingrid says, lips twisting wryly. “She still thinks, deep down, we can play nice. We’ve tried to keep her from getting her hands dirty, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t need to know it’s happening.”

I switch my attention back to my food, which suddenly has lost its luster. A part of me wonders what happened to the innocent, quiet programmer I used to be. But another, more honest part of me knows I was never that empathetic. It’s perhaps my greatest strength and flaw in this world. I care, in the abstract.

Chapter 15

“We want another settlement,” the mantis-like creature on the opposite side of the projection demands for the umpteenth time.

“And we can help you take an open settlement. But you can’t hold it,” I say, folding my hands across one another.

“You will help.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Then we will not vote.”

“Okay,” I say and kill the connection with a thought.

“I think now’s when you come back with a counter-offer,” Ali says helpfully and sarcastically.

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “They’ll call back. It’s called playing hard ball.”

“And if they don’t?”

“They will.”

“And if they don’t?” Ali repeats.

“Then I find someone else, perhaps one of their neighbors, who wants two new settlements. And we kick their asses together,” I say heatedly.

“And time! Bits for brains, delay all calls,” Ali says. “Boy-o needs a blood sugar transfusion.”

“Oh, come on…” I growl, but Ali’s raised eyebrow makes me subside.

I sigh, fishing out some chocolates while Ali makes arrangements for a snack to arrive. Just because I’m angry doesn’t mean my blood sugar is low. I learned to regulate my blood sugar levels and those issues with the enhances in my Constitution a long time ago. A good thing too, since I ran out of chocolates in the first two months on the planet.

“Want to talk about it?” Ali says.

“No.”

“Good. I didn’t really want to listen.”

We sit quietly for a time before I finally break. “I hate this. The horse trading, the negotiations. It was so much easier earlier. When it was just our swords, our spells, our Skills. And I can see it in them, the greed, the desire to take everything they can just because we need it, I need it.”

“Way of the world, boy-o,” Ali says.

“Maybe. But I don’t have to like it,” I say softly. “And I don’t like how far I’m willing to go.”

“But you’re not going to change.”

“No.” I meet the Spirit’s eyes. There’s a shared understanding there, one we cannot speak about. Not here, not where others might learn of it. We both saw what would happen, could happen in the Forbidden Zone. The consequences of being too liberal with our knowledge, our goals. The price of failure. And the disastrous future which awaits every race, every planet. A world, racked with Mana, where even the callous benevolence of the System is missing.

“Eat,” Ali says softly. “Then we’ve got another four calls. Afterwards, we’ll run a dungeon for the evening till you grind that last level.”

I nod, staring at the thread of my experience bar. Just a little more, then I’ll hit Level 20. Just a little more. But first, a snack.

***

“I can have your settlement added to our trade list and the teleportation portal’s coordinates. We’ll also designate a minimum of two tons of the brew for your settlements,” I say, tapping my fingers slowly. “But you’re going to have to guarantee delivery of at least six tonnes of that Limehouse Barley you have there.”

“Five,” chirps the bird-like creature.

I’ve given up on names by now, beyond the usual glances at the floating information when I need to actually name it. It doesn’t help that Chirp here has a name I actually can’t say.

“Done. Contract will be on the way.”

***

“No. We won’t ban the Hakarta from this world.”

“They are untrustworthy and deceitful.” A merman speaks now, floating in inky darkness, illuminated only by the light of the communication screen. One thing they don’t tell you about the ocean is that it’s pitch black down there, if you get down far enough.

“Those words mean the same thing. But they already have a deal with us,” I say. “And three settlements.”

“Useless. I knew you were our enemies like them. We will burn you humans out!”

“Feel free to come after me. Or my settlements,” I say, leaning forward as my voice grows cold. “But touch a hair on any innocents and I’ll be coming for you.”

“You think I fear a new Master Class like you? We are the rulers of the ocean!”

“Maybe not today. Or tomorrow. But in a year? Two? You’ve seen my Leveling speed. How long do you think it’s going to take for me to become a real threat?”

My threat shuts up the merman, gills at the side of his neck opening and closing as he flushes water out. Rather than speak—and really, it’s more of a mental command to an integrated communicator in his head—the notification cuts out.

I lean backward, huffing out a breath as I shake my head. Idiots. “Let’s add one of their settlements to the hit list, will you?”

“DONE.”

“Cancel that, bits for brains,” Ali says and crosses his arms, glaring at me. “You are not starting a war with the mermen. Not over one phone call.”

“They only have six settlements,” I say grumpily.

“Right now. Unless the Waz or the Loom arrive in greater number, they will have full run of your coasts. And unless you intend to go swimming constantly, there’s little you can do to slow them down,” Ali points out.

I can’t help but let out a little shudder. Months underwater? Ugh… “Fine. We’ll look into another way of dealing with them.”

“Good. And they were the last one,” Ali says. “But overall, well done.”

“No comments about how I handled myself today?” I blink, finding the sudden turnaround surprising.

“None from me,” Katherine speaks up from the door.

I blink, realizing I must be more tired than I thought to have missed her. Or else I unconsciously file her away as a non-threat.

“I’m surprised,” I say, scratching the side of my head. “I figured I was playing it too rough.”

“Do you think every party should be handled the same way?” Katherine smiles slightly as she walks forward. “Negotiations are multi-faceted, and the tactics employed differ depending on the party. Some, a more genteel approach is required. Others, a longer, slower, and more circuitous route”—Katherine places a hand on her chest as she makes the last statement, almost as if indicating that’s her specialty—“while others need a firm, some might even say aggressive, approach to get the best results.”

“You split the list to me for people I could pound on,” I say, my lips twitching upward slightly.

“Crudely put, yes. Though I would recommend some moderation. We are seeking allies, not enemies.”

“Fair enough.” I stand, stretching. “Did you need anything or…?”

“Just the casting portal at your desk. Kim informed me you intend to train?”

I nod and slip aside. Katherine walks over and casts a Chill spell on my chair before she sits down and adjusts it to ensure the vidcaster catches her just right. I smirk slightly at her vanity, then realize perhaps it’s not vanity. After all, looking good might actually be important. Or perhaps, giving off the right impression rather than looking “good.”

As I muse about the line between vanity and practicality in diplomacy, I wander out, headed for another dungeon and more violent concerns. Time to grind.

***

I spit out a tooth, grateful that one of the advantages of a greater-than-human Constitution is the replacement of teeth. Otherwise I’d be walking around with dentures, clicking them at little children on the street and giggling as they run away screaming. Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad…

“You can stop kicking it,” I say to Ali, the Spirit growling as he wails on the dead Ice Drake.

We’re near the edges of my domain, in the northern part of British Columbia where the Rockies meet, helping to trim down the number of monsters. Unfortunately, the dungeon I expected to find had actually been cleared by an enterprising group of Adventurers. Still, the Level 90 zone has enough regular monsters for me to get in some decent training.

“You overgrown pair of boots. You’re supposed to eat the human!” Ali growls, kicking the drake one last time before he makes it disappear in my Altered Space.

I get a notification a second later, laughing as I read Ali’s comments.

Wannabe-Dragon Hide (Drake Hide)

4 * Good Quality Pieces

11 * Damaged Pieces

Perfect for making a pair of high-quality boots

Wannabe-Dragon Teeth (Drake Teeth)

2 * High Quality pieces

Only desired by crazy alchemists and tasteless collectors.

“I figure that’s it?” I say, cocking my head at Ali.

The Spirit disgruntledly waves at me, and my notification belatedly blooms.

Congratulations! You have reached Level 20 as a Paladin of Erethra

Attribute gains automatically assigned. You have 67 free attribute points and 6 Class Skills.

Perfect. This time around, I look at my Class Skill options first. At Level 20, I get access to the second tier at last, which is all I’ll have access to till Level 40, when I’ll get the third and last tier. In some ways, having fewer tiers of Skills is actually better for me, since I’ll be able to focus my Class Skill points rather than having my Skills spread out like in my previous Class. It’s a good combination, versatility in my Advanced Class and more focus in my Master.

I still dump a point into every Skill available at this newly unlocked tier. Just because I want to focus doesn’t mean I don’t want a taste of everything first.

Beacon of the Angels (Level 1)

User calls down an atmospheric strike from the heavens, dealing damage over a wide area to all enemies within the beacon. The attack takes time to form, but once activated need not be concentrated upon for completion.

Effect: 1000 Mana Damage done to all enemies, structures and vehicles within the 20 meter column of attack

Mana Cost: 500 Mana

I’m rather tempted to toss another point into the Skill, but I’m a little concerned the attack might be limited to certain environments. Of course, this is the System, so while the Skill describes the attack as coming from the heavens, it might just port the attack into the center of a dungeon without tearing through the surroundings. It’s something I’ll have to check out, but I finally have my first area effect Skill. This is perfect for dealing with large groups of enemies. Especially since the damage is direct Mana damage, which bypasses most resistances.

Eye of the Storm (Level 1)

In the middle of the battlefield, the Paladin stands, seeking justice and offering judgment on all enemies. The winds of war will seek to draw both enemies and allies to you, their cruel flurries robbing enemies of their lives and bolstering the health and Mana of allies.

Effect: Eye of the Storm is an area effect buff and taunt. Psychic winds taunt enemies, forcing a Mental Resistance check to avoid attacking user. Enemies also receive 5 points of damage per second while within the influence of the Skill, with damage decreasing from the epicenter of the Skill. Allies receive a 5% increase in Mana and Health regeneration, decrease in effectiveness from Skill center. Eye of the Storm affects an area of 50 meters around the user.

Cost: 500 Mana + 20 Mana per second

Aura of Chivalry makes everyone look. Eye of the Storm makes everyone charge. It’s a nasty on-going taunt, though it’s not as powerful as a direct taunt Skill would be. But considering it’s on-going, does damage, and affects a wide area, I’m not complaining at all. It also has the side benefit of boosting health and Mana regeneration, though I do note there’s no indicator it can be stacked. That generally means it either won’t, or the benefit will be significantly lower. Better than nothing though.

Vanguard of the Apocalypse (Level 1)

Where others flee, the Paladin strides forward. Where the brave dare not advance, the Paladin charges. While the world burns, the Paladin still fights. The Paladin with this Skill is the vanguard of any fight, leading the charge against all of Erethra’s enemies.

Effect: +30 to all Physical attributes, increases speed by 50% and recovery rates by 30%. This Skill is stackable on top of other attribute- and speed-boosting Skills or spells.

Cost: 500 Mana + 10 Stamina per second

My first major Skill that uses Stamina. Most of those I purchase don’t use Stamina since I like not running out of breath and being too tired to move my arms in a fight. It’s amazing how many monsters and individuals go for the burst damage approach, then they get caught out after a few minutes and realize they can’t finish off their opponent. Vanguard is a nasty, nasty burst Skill, giving me a ton of benefits which can be stacked on top of other Skills and spells. But at the rate of drain, it’s something I only want to use in short bursts. It’s perfect for shattering a battle line, getting behind your opponents, and then getting down to business.

Society’s Web (Level 1)

Where the Eye of Insight provides the Paladin an understanding of the lies and mistruths told, Society’s Web shows the Paladin the intricate webs that tie individuals to one another. No alliance, no betrayal, no tangled web of lies will be hidden as each interaction weaves one another closer. While the Skill provides no detailed information, a skilled Paladin can infer much from the Web.

Effect: Upon activation, the Paladin will see all threads that tie each individual to one another and automatically understand the details of each thread when focused upon.

Cost: 400 Mana + 200 Mana per minute

This is another of those Skills which I’m going to have to spend some time exploring. Thankfully, I can attempt to figure out what the heck it does outside of a dungeon. Though I’ll admit I’m curious to see what it does in a dungeon. I mean, do dungeon monsters have a social web? If so, what would it look like? But I picked up this Skill on a hunch it could be of use during the negotiation process rather than any expectation it’ll help me Level.

In truth, I’m finding that more of the important parts of my life are revolving around political and social battles than the next settlement or dungeon I have to clear. Sure, those are important, as my ability to kick ass and take land are the pillars which reinforce my ability to negotiate with political parties. They are not, in themselves, the orbit of my life anymore. In some ways, I’m grateful for the de-emphasis in violence in my life. While I’m scarily skilled at dishing out damage and calculating the flow of a battle, I spent too many years recently being nothing but a kill-monger. My future, our future, cannot be one soaked in blood.

With the Skill points allocated, I dismiss the Skill information. I still need to figure out what to do with my extra points, but I want to see the effects of these Skills first. Afterwards, assigning attributes is a simple enough matter. I’ve got such a large surplus of free attributes now, I can use them to iron out some of the areas I feel are lacking.

I start by adding a few points into Luck, Perception, Intelligence, and Strength. Luck because the gradual effect on loot drops generally pans out. I’ve noticed the difference between the quantity and quality between myself and Ingrid or Mikito, who both have focused on other Stats. It’s not exaggerated, but an extra high quality material or two every couple of drops does eventually add up.

Sadly, Luck, much like Willpower, is one of those attributes I’ve yet to understand how to manipulate. It’s a failure of knowledge and understanding, of course. While I can, say, push my Perception to increase or dull my senses as needed, I’m not sure what I’m doing with Luck or Willpower. And I’ll admit, I’m a bit concerned about testing out either.

Perception is easy enough to understand. In the middle of combat, I rarely have time to adjust how I’m shifting the emphasis of my attributes around, which makes a higher base stat important. It lets me keep up with speed builds like Mikito and, heck, my own body. As for Strength… well, if fighting the damn hippo was anything to go by, I still need to hit harder.

Once I’ve allocated over ten points to each of those attributes, I dump the remaining four points into Willpower because I desperately need more Mana Regeneration. All my recent purchases of Skills have seriously hampered it. In fact, I sometimes wonder if I would be better off increasing my Willpower more.

Once done, I pull up my character sheet to admire myself for a moment.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Paladin

Race

Human (Male)

Level

20

Titles

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

Health

3320

Stamina

3320

Mana

3100

Mana Regeneration

229 (+5) / minute

Attributes

Strength

215

Agility

295

Constitution

332

Perception

160

Intelligence

310

Willpower

334

Charisma

98

Luck

65

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

3*

Blade Strike*

3

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand Blades*

3

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal*

5

Army of One

2

Sanctum

2

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footsteps*

1

Tech Link*

2

Penetration

2

Aura of Chivalry

1

Eyes of Insight

1

Analyze*

2

Harden*

2

Quantum Lock*

3

Elastic Skin*

3

Beacon of the Angels

1

Eye of the Storm

1

Vanguard of the Apocalypse

1

Society’s Web

1

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (IV)

Greater Regeneration (II)

Greater Healing (II)

Mana Drip (II)

Improved Mana Missile (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike (III)

Firestorm

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Improved Inferno Strike (II)

Mud Walls

Ice Blast

Icestorm

Improved Invisibility

Improved Mana Cage

Improved Flight

Haste

“Now what, boy-o?”

“Find me another drake or two,” I say, grinning as I bounce on the balls of my feet. Best to test out my new attributes and get used to them now.

A look at the night sky which still shroud the mountains indicates I have maybe another couple of hours before dawn. Enough time to trim the population a little more.

***

“I said one or two,” I send to Ali as we crouch low, staring at the family of five drakes sleeping in the cavern. Damn Spirit even hid most of their signatures till I had sneaked into the cave, revealing the other three once I was within.

“Whine, whine, whine.”

I don’t bother answering the Spirit, rubbing my chin in thought. These aren’t shadow drakes, they’re astral drakes. From what I recall, they have lower hit points but are even sneakier, able to shift dimensions and attack while half-corporeal. It makes them incredibly tough to see when they’re active, making them powerful ambush predators. They even have a ranged attack of sorts, an attack which basically sends disruptive energy from the Astral plane into this world. The attack ignores most defenses, which makes it even more dangerous. A single astral drake would be a tough fight for any Advanced Class team.

Unfortunately for them, I’m not an Advanced Class any longer. And they’re asleep.

Step one, test Beacon of the Angels. Since the drakes chose a relatively high and steep cave to rest in, it makes the amount of earth the Skill has to blast through—if it does come straight from the heavens—minimal.

Rather than potentially wake the monsters with the use of Mana, I skip activating my usual complement of buffs. Instead, I focus within and reach into the new bundle of knowledge in my mind, caressing the information for a moment before I activate it.

Mana surges through my body, pulled from my pores in such a violent fashion it churns the air around me and reveals my location. The drakes wake even as my mind is cast thousands of meters into the night sky. I float, seeing the formation of the beam of light, and a part of me suddenly understands. I can let it come down like the wrath of a Greek god, a column of fire and flame, of the inexplicable force that is Mana, and let it destroy everything as it does. I can be flashy and make a statement, which is how a Paladin should do battle.

Or I can adjust the Skill, the attack coming from the heavens but manifesting only when it nears the ground. In this way, the attack will bypass the stone and trees and strike through terrain without damaging what is between, all for a minor loss in effectiveness. Subtler, but useful in an indoor fight.

I choose the latter of course. It all takes less than the blink of an eye, knowledge understood and decision made. The Skill manifests as a cylinder of pure energy, a column of destruction which burns and tears as it strikes. The drakes scream, thrashing as the Mana rages, while I channel a firestorm.

When the Beacon is over, the drakes are only just beginning to recover from the surprise attack before the firestorm lands, sweeping them up again in further hellish flame. Fast as I am though, a pair of drakes disappear into the Astral Plane.

I snarl, Blink Stepping into the center of the cavern, appearing on the shredded wing of one miserable, semi-conscious drake. I feel the space around me then shut it down, locking everything into place with the Quantum Lock Skill. The strain on my mind is incredible. The necessity of understanding and holding every single aspect of reality together is almost enough to make me buckle. Almost.

The pair that escaped are forced back by my Skill, reappearing in meat space halfway toward my ex-hiding spot. But I’m busy, chopping at the neck of the nearest drake, cutting into its burnt and dried flesh, blood dribbling out from the wounds and hissing in the volcanic heat of the cave. I spin, savaging its neck and moving within the periphery of its body, allowing the injured drake to block the attacks of the others. I grunt, staring at my dropping Mana bar.

I need to finish this. Fast. With a grin, I call upon the Vanguard of the Apocalypse. Immediately, I feel my attributes increase, my strength and speed growing even as I see each movement of my attackers even clearer. I can sense where attacks are going, almost chart each movement, as my sword appears in one hand and a beam pistol in the other.

The injured and enraged drakes, too angry to run and forced to fight in the cramped quarters of their cavern, are no match for me. I jump, run, and spin, cutting and stabbing with one hand and blasting with the other. It’s a dance through the dark, the cavern fitfully lit by the remaining flames from my previous attacks, the walls and floor of the cavern the canvas for my painting of blood and violence.

When it’s over, I’m left panting and on my knees, my Stamina drained, my Mana the barest sliver left. But I’m grinning. Because for all the pain and sorrow this world has brought, it’s also brought an understanding which I would never have received in the previous world. Among the winds of the apocalypse, I have found my place.

***

I use a full hour to test myself, pushing my body and my new Skills to the limit. For all my bitching at Ali, he’s right. The only way to improve is to push the boundaries, to test myself. Not with a single drake or two, but with a flight. To push and push until all there is blood and pain, because it’s at the limits where you find yourself.

But as much as I might wish to train, to indulge my penchant for violence, the dawn comes. Time and responsibility grind inexorably onward, ignoring the needs and desires of pitiful mortals. After I pack up the Mountain Giant’s corpse, I look around the snow-covered land one last time then gesture, opening a Portal back to civilization and responsibility. Time to go.

Chapter 16

I Portal in, not back to my office but just off Granville Street in downtown Vancouver. The once-vibrant main street has become so again, shedding its mixture of hipster bars and sex stores for a more eclectic mixture of stores. Gyms cluster on the top floors, training grounds for those looking to brush up the edges of their skills. Everything is taught, from human martial arts to newer Galactic combat forms that focus on the development and integration of Skills. Below, retailers hawk their System-integrated wares, offering anything from monster-hide leather armor to combat and utility drones. I see a Potioneer flashing passersby as he hawks his wares from within his trench coat while a Busker plays for an appreciative audience of people who tip and wait for the buffs to take effect.

The street bustles with life, both Galactic and human. A small metallic ball rolls alongside a towering Yerrick, his green-skinned Hakarta date leaning into his arm with a smile and eye-popping cleavage. In a clothing store, a mother smacks her child’s hand, casually disarming him and taking away a newly bought survival knife. All around, Adventurers bustle and get ready for their next great expedition while others run their mundane routines, buying groceries and clothing, offering Skills and skills.

“Quite a difference, eh?” Ali says, walking beside me with a slight smile.

I cock my head to the side, considering his tone. I’m surprised to hear pride. Huh. Who’d have thought?

“WE HAVE SEEN A 14.3% INCREASE IN ANNUALIZED GDP IN THE LAST MONTH.”

“Nice…” I have nothing to say to Kim’s statement. It’s not as if I really understand what it means, beyond the obvious signs before me.

“Why’d we Portal back here, boy-o? Not that I mind getting out of the office, but…”

“Skill training,” I say. A moment of focus and Society’s Web activates. All around me, glowing threads erupt, stunning me for a second. There’s so many, in such a wide variety of colors and sizes, it looks like a knitter’s stash after a barrel of kittens and a tornado had been let loose.

“Oy! I’m walking here,” Ali roars as he is nearly squished by a landing hover taxi.

My little brown man gets into a spirited argument with the driver while I stand stock still, taking in the new view. I admit, I struggle as I attempt to grasp the intricacies of my new Skill. The Skill is strange, with some individuals bursting with threads, some so thin they’re no larger than a spider’s web and others as wide as a door. The child has few threads, her thickest to her mother and a few other large ones spreading out of sight. All but one other—a thin, light grey thread which runs from her to me.

I look down and realize tens of thousands of these grey threads lead to my body. They overlap with other, brighter-colored threads that lead to me, but thankfully, when I concentrate, the grey threads become more prominent, pushing the colored threads to the background. Some of the grey threads are as thin as the child’s, others as thick as my wrist. With a shift in perception, I push away all the grey threads and focus on the others. I frown, focusing on a dark-red-and-green beam of light about three inches thick which moves toward the northeast.

Lana Pearson

Love, lust, debt, gratitude, jealousy, guilt, joy, confidence, pain…

I see, I sense the words, the emotions which I hold for her and her for me. I sense the long string of obligations incurred and the aid she has given me over the years, the unspoken social contract we’ve indulged in. Love, lust, guilt, and hurt. Favors traded, time employed. Kisses given and tears shed. It all comes to me, the weight and depth of our connection, stunning me as I realize something.

Thousand hells.

I’m an ass.

The thought is enough to pull me away from her beam of light, for me to regard my body. I cock my head to the side, one particular shiny black thread catching my attention. There’s a darkness to it that draws me close, forces me to focus.

Un Bair

Contract. Obligation. Death.

I shudder, feeling the coldness that radiates from the thread, and look to the side. My eyes widen, seeing the thread disappear into nothingness a bare foot away.

Then a pair of knives plunge into my chest, stealing my breath.

You are Poisoned!

47 Health per second

Duration: 8 Minutes, 9 Seconds

You are Poisoned!

Mana and Health Regeneration reduced by 18%

Duration: 11 Minutes, 12 Seconds

Dimension Locked

All movement skills which require teleportation are blocked

Mana Lock

Mana flow in your body has been disrupted. You are stunned for 3.8 seconds (resisted)

I stagger backward even as the daggers come out and plunge toward me again. The second attack hammers into the Greater Shield I trigger from the enchanted ring with a mental command, an act I can still take. It buys me a second as the blades skim and shatter the Shield before they pierce my chest again. The Poison notifications flash on my interface, resetting the clock as even more of the poison floods my system. Pain erupts through my body as my nerves finally catch up, even as the daggers are taken out again, flipped overhand, and plunged into the ball sockets of my shoulders. I scream as much as I’m able to, muscles locked as the Skill keeps me frozen.

Crippled!

You have received a crippling blow. You will not be able to use your arms until you are healed.

Three seconds might seem like a blink, but in a fight, it’s an eternity. As the blades rise again, his hands crossing as he moves to behead me, I feel a hand yank me away. Too slow to avoid the attack entirely though. The blades cross across my neck, leaving me gurgling on my blood.

Bleeding!

You have received a bleeding debuff. You will lose health so long as the wounds are not treated.

-3 Health per second

Warning! Health below 15%

“Oy!” Ali shouts as he pulls me away with one hand while he thrusts forward with the other.

The assassin doesn’t hesitate, a dagger punching toward Ali’s glowing red hand is wrapped with bolts of lightning. The attack lands, forcing the Spirit to lose control of the spell. The ensuing explosion of raw plasma released into air throws all of us apart.

My body tumbles, crashing into a pair of passersby. I try to push myself up, but my arms aren’t working and I uselessly flop to the side as I scramble to my feet. A hand grips my shoulder, hauling me to my feet while a green light bursts upon my body, healing wounds. I blink, tilting my head to see the mother with her child held behind her, bleeding from a head wound but focused on healing me.

“Come on there, no lying down on the job.” The rough hands which grip me belong to an older Adventurer, his face cragged and lined, his vest filled with potions of healing and stamina.

A part of me is trying to figure out why these people would risk their lives to help me, to step up when it’d be easier to hide. The other is scanning the surroundings, searching for signs of the assassin. I see nothing, not that I did before.

“Ali?”

“Son-of-a-Gremlin! Youch!”

“Master Class?”

“Definitely.”

I snarl, staring around me, waiting. But no matter where I look, how I look, I can’t see him. It’s obvious his stealth Skill is stronger than mine, even as I layer Soul Shield on myself.

Quantum Lock released.

I exhale harshly then Blink Step directly upward. A moment later, I’ve ascertained his thread leads off into the distance, fading away in the horizon. I briefly consider going after him as I fall to the ground, triggering my Flight spell to land lightly. I absently note the healing light has cut off, probably shaken by my abrupt motions. Better not follow him. If he’s as good as I think, I’ll be walking into a trap.

“Anyone hurt?” I say, looking around.

The older man stares at me as blood drips from my numerous wounds. The pain is pushed to the back of my mind, a part of me but not hampering my motions. The mother ignores my silly words, again bathing me in healing spell after healing spell. I incline my head in thanks while casting a Major Healing on myself too, pushing my health up to a quarter and giving me some movement in my arms.

“Other than me,” I clarify.

But I can see the answer is no. The violence, abrupt and explosive as it was, is taken in stride by many. Already, the hole in the ground is being patched by the System. Many others are brushing off their clothing, casting healing or cleanse spells or waiting for the System’s regeneration to fix them. It’s frightening how even the “civilian” population of my city has such a blasé attitude toward violence. Only a few glance at me curiously, and I can’t even say if it’s because I’m their technical settlement leader or the target of the attack.

“Thank you. Both of you,” I say.

My words get shrugs and muttered words of acceptance before they leave. I try to press Credits, gifts on them, but the pair refuses. As the mother guides her daughter away, I see the child look back and flash me a comforting smile. It’s a bit of a thunderbolt, that smile, one which pierces through the self-delusion I’ve created.

The lonely hero, perched above the throngs of humanity, their guardian and savior. The all-seeing protector is such a common depiction even I had taken it for truth. I’ve molded myself around the image, pursued the idea as if it were a truth I needed to grasp. I set myself apart from the members of the society that I wanted to protect. And only now do I realize what a lie it was. Because you can’t protect what you can’t understand, and you can’t understand without taking the time to know. And being above it all doesn’t just give you perspective; it makes you miss the details. In the end, it’s the details that are important.

The child who can smile after a moment of scary violence. A mother who will step forward to protect others even while her child stands by her side. The couple fighting and making up, their passion burning so bright it makes others mock them silently in jealousy. The daughter crying over the loss of her parents. The politician turning down a bribe. The good and bad which make up who we are.

Somewhere along the way, I’d forgotten this, missed it because I was too busy playing the cool, aloof hero. And only now do I understand. They don’t need another remote hero, a lord who oversees them all and gives nothing but cold reassurance. These people, they need someone who cares about them, day in and day out.

***

“You called?” Lana says, finding me in the most guarded place in the city a minute later.

“Yes. Give me your hand.”

Lana frowns, walking toward me and cocking her head to the side. I take her hand and place it on the core, stopping the automatic jerk the Beastmistress makes when I do so.

“What are you doing?”

“What I should have done from the start,” I say and release her hand once the notification appears. Luckily, I turned off the global notification option. Otherwise, everyone in all the settlements would be getting this warning.

“John…”

“You’re the right person for this. Always have been,” I say softly. “I was being greedy and selfish. And perhaps a little scared.”

“I’ll take the first two, but the last?” Lana says, her voice forcibly light. But I note she doesn’t move her hand away from the City Core.

“Scared that I couldn’t trust you. Or anyone else.” I sigh. “Scared that somehow, if I didn’t do it, no one else could. That I’d be giving up control to another person who would make a mistake. But it’s stupid, isn’t it? Because you’ve been in charge this entire time anyway. So… sorry.”

Lana nods then she opens her mouth and says slowly, “John, this gift…”

“Has nothing to do with us. The us that… well, you know. And it’s no gift. Shackles maybe,” I say, my lips twisting wryly. “You’ve earned it either way.”

“Oh. Real nice.”

You have lost your settlement of Vancouver voluntarily. Would you like to transfer all owned settlements to Lana Pearson?

(Y/N)

Of course. In for a penny, in for a pound. While I’m confirming, double confirming, and then triple confirming that yes, I really, really wanted to do this, Lana goes over her own notifications.

“Why am I only now receiving a report that there was an assassination attempt in the middle of Granville Street?” Lana’s voice has an edge to it, and I wince.

“Would you believe I forgot to mention it?” I say, giving her my best wide-eyed look of innocence.

“Am I being put out as bait?”

“What? No!” I glare at the woman, my hands on my hips.

The redhead breaks into a little giggle at the sight of my face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t even have asked. But it was too good an opportunity not to.”

“Truth be told, I think they’ve been waiting for boy-o.” When we look over at the Spirit, he continues. “Kim and I have been going over footage from various security cameras, searching for his attacker. At best, I’d say he’s been around for just over four days. But since boy-o either Portals himself to wherever he needs to go or directly to the heavily guarded teleportation station…”

“No opportunities.” I say, frowning. It makes sense. My office is significantly reinforced against assassins, including multiple shields, sensors, and even a teleportation circle which has been triple reinforced. Heck, the entire City Center building has a security system. Even if my assassin managed to kill me there, getting away might be significantly more difficult. “Why’d he run?”

“Probably didn’t expect me or other people to aid you. He probably expected to get you on the first pass,” Ali says. “Assassins gear their Skills toward a quick attack, doing enough damage to kill in one strike. Once you survived his first pass, he probably figured it was time to go. He probably didn’t realize you’d picked up a number of damage reduction Skills on top of your health pool.”

I nod slowly, deciding to accept the explanation for now. It sounds a little shallow, but since I have no other suggestions or evidence to prove otherwise, I can’t argue.

“Am I going to have to worry about this?” Lana says, concern tinging her voice. Not as though she hasn’t already been targeted, but there’s a difference between an Advanced Class assassin and a Master Class one.

“Possibly,” I say. “Your pets should provide significant protection, but you might want to consider letting your bodyguards know. And upgrading your defensive enchantments.”

“Do you know who hired him?”

I shrug. I have a few guesses, the Movana being highest on my list. They have, after all, the greatest motivation to ensure I don’t succeed. The name I had noticed drew a blank from the System. It likely had been altered by a Skill. Ali wasn’t able to get any further information from the System either. Even the attack designations we were provided just had a series of question marks for personally identifiable information. In the end, the reason you hire a damn assassin is to stay hidden.

Before we can continue the discussion, Katherine walks in, hands on her hips, and glares at me. “It would really be useful if you informed us before you took such actions.” I open my mouth to apologize, but Katherine’s already turned to Lana, offering her a slight inclination of her head. “Congratulations, Ms. Pearson. It’s about time. I look forward to the development of these holdings in an orderly and efficient manner once again.”

“Hey, I’m right here!” I protest.

“Yes.” Katherine sniffs at me then relents, inclining her head while offering me a slight smile. “You have done well with the resources at your disposal.”

“Sassy. Been repressing much?” I say with a smile.

“It looks like I’ve got a lot of work to do in the next little while. But this change, it’ll affect how we’re going for the seat,” Lana cuts in before we get into it.

I don’t miss the amused glint in Katherine’s eyes before she turns all business.

I rub my chin while answering Lana. “Not a lot. We never qualified who the vote would be for. In fact, some might assume I’m looking to be voted in, no matter how much I protest. They might even side with us because of that. Who knows, it might also make things easier. I could just pay a visit to anyone who’s really being an obstructionist…” At the pair of glares and overdramatic sigh from Ali, I wave. “Kidding. Mostly.”

“Well, I can use you as the rebellious caveman,” Lana says. “But Rob and Bipasha will need reassurance.”

“Fair point. I’ll make sure to visit them.”

The ladies nod, then both twitch as their eyes glaze over. With hurried farewells, the pair head off, leaving me alone in the City Core room.

“MY LORD. MAY I ENQUIRE ABOUT MY CURRENT STATUS?”

“What… oh. Right. What do you want to do?” I say, realizing the awkward position Kim is in.

He’s a settlement AI after all—with politic upgrades perhaps, but still a settlement AI. But while he’s been running the settlements, I purchased him directly to give me more control.

“I AM PROGRAMMED TO CONDUCT SETTLEMENT SERVICES. IF I HAD A PREFERENCE, IT WOULD BE TO CONTINUE TO WORK WITH MS. PEARSON.”

“Done,” I say and take a few seconds to transfer ownership. “Just keep feeding me politic updates and tips and we’re good.”

“OF COURSE. MS. PEARSON HAS INDICATED THAT IS ALLOWABLE.”

I chuckle softly and dismiss the notification, leaving me with Ali. Even with my new resolution to stop being an ass and think I’m doing all this by myself, there are certain things only I can do.

Chapter 17

“Mr. Lee,” Bipasha greets me, standing with a smile.

I absently note her addition of a couple of silent guards, individuals in business suits and shades. Which almost makes me want to smack them over the head since we’re indoors. But then again, those shades are probably high-tech ones with toys like flash suppression and auto-targeting. Or at least, I hope so for the Weaver’s sake.

“Thanks. And yes, tea would be great,” I say, nodding to the assistant who comes in to serve us. After I let go of my settlements, I spent a full day reassuring everyone I was still alive, that I would take more precautions, and no, Lana had not decided to launch a coup. Or, in some cases, that the redhead hadn’t snapped. “I thought I’d swing by to talk to you about recent events.”

“I’m grateful for your consideration. But I hadn’t realized we were that close.” Bipasha’s eyes glint with humor and a slight barb.

“We aren’t, but I should have come by sooner,” I say, leaning back in the plush chair. “Things have been hectic.”

“Gathering the votes.”

“I’ve also been considering who might be hiring assassins to knock off the competition. And it made me realize, you know, you and Rob have good motivation to do so.” I stare at the woman, seeing if I get any reaction.

“I have no hand in the attack on you,” Bipasha says.

Eye of Insight doesn’t even twinge, so she’s not using any Skill to conceal her words. Well, nothing beyond the usual array of charm-based passives. Then again, Eye of Insight’s not like Nelia’s Skill, which can ascertain the actual physical truth of a statement. All I have is my own skill and intuition.

“I am still waiting for your answer.”

“About who I’ll support?” I say softly. Instead of answering her, I pick up the cup of tea and blow on it while activating Society’s Web. Hundreds of threads run from her. I’ve realized many of the thinner ones are from her ownership of the settlement. Lana gained so many more in the transfer, the additional responsibility multiplying the already exhaustive threads. Yet for all that, I’m getting the hang of this Skill and find myself sorting through them with one part of my mind while continuing the conversation with the other. I’ve stopped reading the individual information pieces but instead “feel” the threads. “Still haven’t decided yet.”

“Do you intend to wait till the day of?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m holding off till I know we have a chance. I’m still waiting for word from the Truinnar and Movana.” My hands open slightly, as if a shrug. “Till we get either or both of them, we have no chance.”

“True. I had hoped your relationship with Lord Roxley would be of use there,” Bipasha says.

“Me too.”

“Assuming this goes through, we have yet to speak about what you wish for your help,” Bipasha says. “Unless you are doing this for the betterment of all?”

I hear the lightest derision in her tone at the last line, a hint of what she thinks of the idea. And perhaps for those who might act for others? Hard to say. Still, I do note a trend among the threads. The largest and strongest threads lead to many whose names I know, some of whom I’ve actually spoken to. They’re all individuals of power and import in this new world. The feel of those threads is mostly cold, analytical. A weighing of debt and obligation, of resources traded and favors gained. I find a few—very few—threads which glow with emotion, but I almost choke on the intensity of those emotions. When and to whom she feels, she feels with passion.

Thankfully, I’m not one of those. When I finally find the thread leading to me, it’s thin, barely larger than many of those leading to her staff. There is no great emotional baggage related to me, no hidden desires. As far as she’s concerned, I’m just another business transaction.

“No, I’ll want something. But as an acquaintance once said, let’s leave it be for now. Call it a favor for later.”

“A favor.”

“Nothing which will harm you or your settlements. It’ll be within your grasp to grant, and it won’t be too onerous,” I reassure her.

Huh. She has a thread to Lana. Again, not much, though there’s a touch of jealousy there. Envy. But respect too. And another for Mikito, this one tinged with similar feelings as she has for the other champions. Those threads are all thick, deepened by their repeated interactions and numerous times saving each other. Nothing untoward there. Another one to Roxley. Again, a business relationship, though there’s a touch of lust there. I feel a twinge of jealousy which I squash by locating another thread, this one for Ingrid. It’s not thick, but contracts and obligations abound. Interesting.

“Well then, I’ll just have to take your word on it.” Bipasha’s lips curl upward and she leans forward, her armored jumpsuit pulling tighter against her chest, outlining her body. “Tell me, Mr. Lee, am I that beautiful?”

“Huh?”

“Well, you have been staring at me fixatedly this entire conversation. If you would like time alone…” Bipasha says, touching her lips gently. “You are not entirely hard on the eyes either.”

In the corner of my mind, I hear Ali laughing. The damn Spirit is invisible, floating around and inspecting the surroundings, occasionally sticking his tongue out at the guards who cannot see him.

“No. Nothing like that,” I say, shaking my head.

“Oh? Pity.”

I pause, realizing that my automatic rejection might have been idiotic. And then I realize that I’m thinking of sleeping with a woman who might have ordered my assassination. The incongruity of it all breaks my concentration and I let my Skill drop, allowing my Mana to recover while I stare out a nearby window at the changes to Dhaka.

“You’ve done great work here. I’m surprised so many of the Galactics have integrated their designs so well to your architectural theme.”

“I imposed no theme,” Bipasha says and gestures outward, encompassing the many Galactic buildings that have stuck a variety of domes, detailed carvings, and tall towers to their buildings. “The Galactics appreciated some of the local designs and copied it. At least it’s better than the wave of slum architecture.”

I raise an eyebrow and Bipasha gestures, a series of notification images popping up. Four-, five-story buildings with radical overhangs, balconies, and a cluster of faux air conditioners dominate the images. All of the design elements contrast with the silver-grey sheen of System-enhanced material and the alien-required modifications like too-wide or too-tall doorways, filtered window shades, and the like. Buildings that look sleek and elegant under Galactic architectural now look ugly and distorted, a mockery of what came before.

“Oh…” I make a face while Ali laughs softly, muttering something about damn noveau riche idiots.

“Bad enough I’ve been trying to convince the council to repurpose those neighborhoods for agriculture, but now we’ve got Galactics saying we need to preserve it for historical and cultural reasons,” Bipasha says scornfully. “As if anyone actually wants to live and work in those areas anymore. They’ve all moved into the center.”

“All?”

“All but a few fools,” Bipasha says with a dismissive wave. “Sentimental fools.”

I keep silent. Watching Bipasha at work, airing her beliefs, is interesting. It gives me insight into the woman, but I have no place to comment. After all, I ignored such issues in my own settlement, leaving the final resolution to others.

“But that’s not what you came to speak about,” Bipasha says with a smile. “And while this has been interesting, I do have other work. Unless there is more…?”

“Just one. What would it take for you to support Rob? Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, I might agree if there was an arrangement to rotate the seat,” Bipasha says. “And I’d have to have a Contract outlining what he’d be allowed to do, on-going reports of his actions and the meetings he conducts, and of course, political, economic, and military support for my expansion.”

I fall silent, considering her words, and call up the map of the country once again. Bipasha has, between herself and her allies, conquered a large number of settlements in Bangladesh and its neighbors. There are glaring spots Galactics have managed to hold on to through a mixture of military or diplomatic maneuverings. But somehow, I have a feeling it’s the non-aligned human settlements that Bipasha is eyeing in a bid to solidify her hold of this area. Certainly, from what I’ve learned, her leadership has been significantly compromised by the simple fact that she’s a woman. It’s a misogynistic viewpoint and one that ignores the reality of the System, but old habits die hard.

In the case of some of her ex-enemies, very hard—or so it’s rumored. That is, perhaps, one of my major concerns of any long-term alliance with this woman. Even if the rumors had reached me before, the insight I’ve gained through my Social Web has underlined that fact. But perhaps a cold, merciless, and ruthless leader is what we need. Is Rob, someone who literally stumbled into his position of power, any better?

“Good to know,” I say. “I’m glad to hear that there’s some leeway to discuss things.”

“Some. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt that you seek a better future for us all. Do not push that too far,” Bipasha says.

With that warning, the meeting comes to an end. For all that I’ve learned of the woman, I can’t help but consider that she has been extremely frank with me thus far. At least on the surface. A nice change, compared to some of the more obscure political maneuverings I’ve had to deal with.

God damn Truinnar.

***

Next stop, China. I appear on top of the Bank of China once again, looking over the high rises of Hong Kong. I’d Portal into the teashop, but sadly, I’m blocked. Annoying, but in truth, it isn’t that far. A quick elevator ride and jog later and I’m ready for my meeting with Grandmaster Chang.

“Mr. Lee,” Grandmaster Chang greets me.

“Grandmaster.” I take the seat before I pick up the teapot and top off his cup, then I pour myself one, taking the time to regard him with Social Web. I split my mind as I consider the various threads and carry on the initial pleasantries. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Not at all. Food?” Grandmaster Chang asks, gesturing at the waitress.

Over my protests, a series of snacks are ordered. I sit back, flicking my gaze away from him occasionally so that I’m not as obvious in my use of the Skill.

“Thank you. I actually came by to speak with you about the Chinese,” I say.

“There are a lot of us.”

“Yes. There are,” I say, acknowledging his point. Interesting. Obligations, contracts, a chain of responsibility flows from his chest further west, into China. There are a few, but one is certainly larger, more prominent by far. “And that’s why I’m surprised that Bipasha is being supported.”

“I do not indulge in politics,” Jing Yi says firmly.

My lips tighten as I recall Cheng Shao’s flat denial as well. “I am not asking you to. I’m just trying to understand things. And you are much closer to the matter than I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not the subtlest of analogies,” Ali says.

“But it works.”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand.”

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

“Thank you. And good luck.”

“You too, Mr. Lee.”

***

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

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

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

“Tick-tock?”

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

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

“If necessary.”

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

“Nope.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have made your decision then?”

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

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

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

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

“How…?”

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

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

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

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

“John…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? A battle maniac and a cheat?”

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

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

“Which are few.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you care to join me for dinner?”

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

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

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

You Are Quantum Locked

“What!?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How many?”

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“You’ve met one before?”

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

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

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

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

“Did he win?” I ask.

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

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

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

***

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

You have entered Paris City Center

Facilities available:

- City Core

- Shop

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re being too generous,” I say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing…?” I say.

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

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

“He got a speech impediment or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 18

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then who sent the assassin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Settlement attacks,” Mikito says.

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

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

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

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

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

Ingrid grins at the offer.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter Steele (Level 38 Planetary Diplomat)

HP: 980/980

MP: 1780/1780

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It went well, I hope?” I say.

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

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

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

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

“You’ve had four years.”

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

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

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

“It is,” Peter says, smirking.

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

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

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

***

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

After swallowing, she says, “Want one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have a title?”

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

Settlement Killer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With what?”

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

“But you never asked?”

“Yeah.”

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

“No!”

“Good,” Ingrid says and continues to stare.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oops.

I’m sure she’ll be fine.

Chapter 19

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready when you are.”

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

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

“Now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need help?” I send to Ali.

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

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

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

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

“Feel like an assassin,” I growl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

Gods, but I hate politics.

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

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

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

HP: 16894/17210

MP: 279/750

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

“Try,” Ooi says with a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. No, I’m not.” I cough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why…?” the Juggernaut manages to ask.

“Or do you want stupid to get you?”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“Any word from Ingrid?” I say softly.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

Sishin Narato (Level 6 Legionnaire)

HP: 1890/1890

MP: 1080/1080

Conditions: Buff, Rallying Presence, Impeccable Taste

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

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

“Working on it, boy-o. Stall them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sishin shrugs.

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

“That’s idiotic.”

“But effective.”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Puppies?”

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

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

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

“Huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. I’m glad. You know…”

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

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

***

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

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

“What are you looking for?”

“Eggs.”

I stare at the Beast Master and shudder slightly.

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

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

Kraken Egg

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

Effect: It hatches. Maybe.

Oh hell.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“Well done,” I congratulate the group.

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

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

Chapter 20

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

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

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

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

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

HP: 980/980

MP: 3780/3780

Conditions: Spatial Awareness, Domain, Gravity Shield

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

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

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

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

Title: Star-born

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Roxley,” I say and incline my head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Lee.”

“Redeemer.”

“Sir.”

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

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

HP: 1280/1280

MP: 980/980

Conditions: Shielded, Poison Resistance, Fate’s Kiss

“Interesting Class,” I say to Fang Lei.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any idea about the kid?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which is the point of today, after all.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 21

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

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

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

“Ingrid,” I say frostily. I briefly wonder how she could be here and then realize the answer is real simple—
we never did take her off the entourage list for Lana.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About that…” Ingrid hesitates.

“What?”

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

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

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

“Yes?” I say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If it’s weak?”

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

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

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

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

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

The smiles the pair give me offer little hope.

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

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

“Any news?” I mutter softly.

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

“About this?” I say with a frown.

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

“Exactly what do you want me to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty sure the score’s 1-0, ugly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No…”

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

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

“Desire?” I cough.

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

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

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

Three hours to the vote.

***

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

“Evening,” I greet the man.

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

“Pretty sure it is somewhere,” I say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We do what we can,” I say.

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

Chapter 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boy-o…”

Your Planetary Governor: Bipasha Chowdury

Your Planetary Deputy Governor: Fang Lei

Your Planetary Vice-Deputy Governor: Rob Markey

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are Dazed!

6 Seconds Remaining

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Here I am.”

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

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

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

“Ingrid…?” I say in surprise.

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

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

“Can’t hold on much longer, boy-o.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You will not win!” Asgauver howls.

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

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

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

I push against her still form. “No!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ali, have everyone leave.”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 23

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Rob?” I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“John…”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“Pardon?”

“President Markey called—”

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

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

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

“India and China?” I ask softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Duh.”

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

“Katherine.”

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

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

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

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

“So. What now?” Mikito asks.

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

“What do you think of bannock?”

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Calling in your favor?” I say.

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

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

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

“You are?” I exclaim.

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

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

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

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

“More assassinations?” I sigh loudly.

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

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

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

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Paladin

Race

Human (Male)

Level

23

Titles

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

Health

3470

Stamina

3470

Mana

3220

Mana Regeneration

272 (+5) / minute

Attributes

Strength

227

Agility

307

Constitution

347

Perception

172

Intelligence

322

Willpower

352

Charisma

110

Luck

68

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

3*

Blade Strike*

3

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand Blades*

3

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal*

5

Army of One

2

Sanctum

2

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footsteps*

1

Tech Link*

2

Penetration

3

Aura of Chivalry

1

Eyes of Insight

1

Analyze*

2

Harden*

2

Quantum Lock*

3

Elastic Skin*

3

Beacon of the Angels

1

Eye of the Storm

1

Vanguard of the Apocalypse

2

Society’s Web

1

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (IV)

Greater Regeneration (II)

Greater Healing (II)

Mana Drip (II)

Improved Mana Missile (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike (III)

Firestorm

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Improved Inferno Strike (II)

Mud Walls

Ice Blast

Icestorm

Improved Invisibility

Improved Mana Cage

Improved Flight

Haste

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

“What for?”

“Hiring me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

“What are you planning?”

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

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

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

What the hell is the System?

###

The End

For now.

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

Author’s Note

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

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

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

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

Hopefully, that gives everyone some context.

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

Follow John’s continuing quest in:

-          Stars Awoken (Book 7 of the System Apocalypse)

There is a new short story available in the System Apocalypse Universe: Blue Screens of Death. Read for it free on my website!

In addition, please check out my other series, Adventures on Brad (a more traditional LitRPG fantasy), Hidden Wishes (an urban fantasy GameLit series), and A Thousand Li (a cultivation series inspired by Chinese wuxia and xianxia novels).

To support me directly, please go to my Patreon account:

-          https://www.patreon.com/taowong

For more great information about LitRPG series, check out the Facebook groups:

- GameLit Society

- LitRPG Books

About the Author

Tao Wong is an avid fantasy and sci-fi reader who spends his time working and writing in the North of Canada. He’s spent way too many years doing martial arts of many forms and having broken himself too often, now spends his time writing about fantasy worlds.

For updates on the series and other books written by Tao Wong (and special one-shot stories), please visit the author’s website: http://www.mylifemytao.com

Subscribers to Tao’s mailing list will receive exclusive access to short stories in the Thousand Li and System Apocalypse universes: https://www.subscribepage.com/taowong

Or visit his Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/taowongauthor/

About the Publisher

Starlit Publishing is wholly owned and operated by Tao Wong. It is a science fiction and fantasy publisher focused on the LitRPG & cultivation genres. Their focus is on promoting new, upcoming authors in the genre whose writing challenges the existing stereotypes while giving a rip-roaring good read.

For more information on Starlit Publishing, visit their website!

You can also join Starlit Publishing’s mailing list to learn of new, exciting authors and book releases.

Books in The System Apocalypse Universe

Main Storyline

Life in the North

Redeemer of the Dead

The Cost of Survival

Cities in Chains

Coast on Fire

World Unbound

Stars Awoken

Rebel Star

Stars Asunder

Broken Council

Forbidden Zone

System Final

Anthologies

System Apocalypse Short Story Anthology Volume 1

Comic Series

The System Apocalypse

Glossary

Erethran Honor Guard Skill Tree

John’s Erethran Honor Guard Skills

Mana Imbue (Level 3)

Soulbound weapon now permanently imbued with mana to deal more damage on each hit. +20 Base Damage (Mana). Will ignore armor and resistances. Mana regeneration reduced by 15 Mana per minute permanently.

Blade Strike (Level 3)

By projecting additional Mana and stamina into a strike, the Erethran Honor Guard’s Soulbound weapon may project a strike up to 30 feet away.

Cost: 30 Stamina + 30 Mana

Thousand Steps (Level 1)

Movement speed for the Honor Guard and allies are increased by 5% while skill is active. This ability is stackable with other movement-related skills.

Cost: 20 Stamina + 20 Mana per minute

Altered Space (Level 2)

The Honor Guard now has access to an extra-dimensional storage location of 30 cubic feet. Items stored must be touched to be willed in and may not include living creatures or items currently affected by auras that are not the Honor Guard’s. Mana regeneration reduced by 10 Mana per minute permanently.

Two are One (Level 1)

Effect: Transfer 10% of all damage from Target to Self

Cost: 5 Mana per second

The Body’s Resolve (Level 3)

Effect: Increase natural health regeneration by 35%. On-going health status effects reduced by 33%. Honor Guard may now regenerate lost limbs. Mana regeneration reduced by 15 Mana per minute permanently.

Greater Detection (Level 1)

Effect: User may now detect System creatures up to 1 kilometer away. General information about strength level is provided on detection. Stealth skills, Class skills, and ambient mana density will influence the effectiveness of this skill. Mana regeneration reduced by 5 Mana per minute permanently.

A Thousand Blades (Level 3)

Creates four duplicate copies of the user’s designated weapon. Duplicate copies deal base damage of copied items. May be combined with Mana Imbue and Shield Transference. Mana Cost: 3 Mana per second

Soul Shield (Level 2)

Effect: Creates a manipulable shield to cover the caster’s or target’s body. Shield has 1,000 Hit Points.

Cost: 250 Mana

Blink Step (Level 2)

Effect: Instantaneous teleportation via line-of-sight. May include Spirit’s line of sight. Maximum range—500 meters.

Cost: 100 Mana

Portal (Level 5)

Effect: Creates a 5-meter by 5-meter portal which can connect to a previously traveled location by user. May be used by others. Maximum distance range of portals is 10,000 kilometers.

Cost: 250 Mana + 100 Mana per minute (minimum cost 350 Mana)

Army of One (Level 2)

The Honor Guard’s feared penultimate combat ability, Army of One builds upon previous Skills, allowing the user to unleash an awe-inspiring attack to deal with their enemies. Attack may now be guided around minor obstacles.

Effect: Army of One allows the projection of (Number of Thousand Blades conjured weapons * 3) Blade Strike attacks up to 300 meters away from user. Each attack deals 3 * Blade Strike Level damage (inclusive of Mana Imbue and Soulbound weapon bonus)

Cost: 750 Mana

Sanctum (Level 2)

An Erethran Honor Guard’s ultimate trump card in safeguarding their target, Sanctum creates a flexible shield that blocks all incoming attacks, hostile teleportations and Skills. At this Level of Skill, the user must specify dimensions of the Sanctum upon use of the Skill. The Sanctum cannot be moved while the Skill is activated.

Dimensions: Maximum 15 cubic meters.

Cost: 1,000 Mana

Duration: 2 minute and 7 seconds

Paladin of Erethra Skill Tree

John’s Paladin of Erethra Skills

Class Skill: Penetration (Level 2)

Few can face the judgment of a Paladin in direct combat, their ability to bypass even the toughest of defenses a frightening prospect. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 10 permanently.

Effect: Ignore all armor and defensive spells by 55%. Increases damage done to shields by 110%.

Class Skill: Aura of Chivalry (Level 1)

A Paladin’s very presence can quail weak-hearted enemies and bolster the confidence of allies, whether on the battlefield or in court. The Aura of Chivalry is a double-edged sword however, focusing attention on the Paladin—potentially to their detriment. Increases success rate of Perception checks against Paladin by 10% and reduces stealth and related skills by 10% while active. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 5 Permanently.

Effect: All enemies must make a Willpower check against intimidation against user’s Charisma. Failure to pass the check will cow enemies. All allies gain a 50% boost in morale for all Willpower checks and a 10% boost in confidence and probability of succeeding in relevant actions.

Note: Aura may be activated or left-off at will.

Beacon of the Angels

User calls down an atmospheric strike from the heavens, dealing damage over a wide area to all enemies within the beacon. The attack takes time to form, but once activated need not be concentrated upon for completion.

Effect: 1000 Mana Damage done to all enemies, structures and vehicles within the 20 meter column of attack

Mana Cost: 500 Mana

Eyes of Insight (Level 1)

Under the eyes of a Paladin, all untruth and deceptions fall away. Only when the Paladin can see with clarity may he be able to judge effectively. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 5.

Effect: All Skills, Spells and abilities of a lower grade that obfuscate, hinder or deceive the Paladin are reduced in effectiveness. Level of reduction proportionate to degree of difference in grade and Skill Level.

Eye of the Storm (Level 1)

In the middle of the battlefield, the Paladin stands, seeking justice and offering judgment on all enemies. The winds of war will seek to draw both enemies and allies to you, their cruel flurries robbing enemies of their lives and bolstering the health and Mana of allies.

Effect: Eye of the Storm is an area effect buff and taunt. Psychic winds taunt enemies, forcing a Mental Resistance check to avoid attacking user. Enemies also receive 5 points of damage per second while within the influence of the Skill, with damage decreasing from the epicenter of the Skill. Allies receive a 5% increase in Mana and Health regeneration, decrease in effectiveness from Skill center. Eye of the Storm affects an area of 50 meters around the user.

Cost: 500 Mana + 20 Mana per second

Vanguard of the Apocalypse (Level 1)

Where others flee, the Paladin strides forward. Where the brave dare not advance, the Paladin charges. While the world burns, the Paladin still fights. The Paladin with this Skill is the vanguard of any fight, leading the charge against all of Erethra’s enemies.

Effect: +30 to all Physical attributes, increases speed by 50% and recovery rates by 30%. This Skill is stackable on top of other attribute and speed boosting Skills or spells.

Cost: 500 Mana + 10 Stamina per second

Society’s Web (Level 1)

Where the Eye of Insight provides the Paladin an understanding of the lies and mistruths told, Society’s Web shows the Paladin the intricate webs that tie individuals to one another. No alliance, no betrayal, no tangled web of lies will be hidden as each interaction weaves one another closer. While the Skill provides no detailed information, a skilled Paladin can infer much from the Web.

Effect: Upon activation, the Paladin will see all threads that tie each individual to one another and automatically understand the details of each thread when focused upon.

Cost: 400 Mana + 200 Mana per minute

Other Class Skills

Frenzy (Level 1)

Effect: When activated, pain is reduced by 80%, damage increased by 30%, stamina regeneration rate increased by 20%. Mana regeneration rate decreased by 10%

Frenzy will not deactivate until all enemies have been slain. User may not retreat while Frenzy is active.

Cleave (Level 2)

Effect: Physical attacks deal 60% more base damage. Effect may be combined with other Class Skills.

Cost: 25 Mana

Elemental Strike (Level 1 - Ice)

Effect: Used to imbue a weapon with freezing damage. Adds +5 Base Damage to attacks and a 10% chance of reducing speed by 5% upon contact. Lasts for 30 seconds.

Cost: 50 Mana

Instantaneous Inventory (Maxed)

Allows user to place or remove any System-recognized item from Inventory if space allows. Includes the automatic arrangement of space in the inventory. User must be touching item.

Cost: 5 Mana per item

Shrunken Footprints (Level 1)

Reduces System presence of user, increasing the chance of the user evading detection of System-assisted sensing Skills and equipment. Also increases cost of information purchased about user. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 5 permanently.

Tech Link (Level 2)

Effect: Tech Link allows user to increase their skill level in using a technological item, increasing input and versatility in usage of said items. Effects vary depending on item. General increase in efficiency of 10%. Mana regeneration rate decreased by 10%

Designated Technological Items: Neural Link, Sabre

Spells

Improved Minor Healing (IV)

Effect: Heals 40 Health per casting. Target must be in contact during healing. Cooldown 60 seconds.

Cost: 20 Mana

Improved Mana Missile (IV)

Effect: Creates four missiles out of pure Mana, which can be directed to damage a target. Each dart does 30 damage. Cooldown 10 seconds

Cost: 35 Mana

Enhanced Lightning Strike

Effect: Call forth the power of the gods, casting lightning. Lightning Strike may affect additional targets depending on proximity, charge and other conductive materials on-hand. Does 100 points of electrical damage.

Lightning Strike may be continuously channeled to increase damage for 10 additional damage per second.

Cost: 75 Mana.

Continuous cast cost: 5 Mana / second

Lightning Strike may be enhanced by using the Elemental Affinity of Electromagnetic Force. Damage increased by 20% per level of affinity

Greater Regeneration (II)

Effect: Increases natural health regeneration of target by 6%. Only single use of spell effective on a target at a time.

Duration: 10 minutes

Cost: 100 Mana

Firestorm

Effect: Create a firestorm with a radius of 5 meters. Deals 250 points of fire damage to those caught within. Cooldown 60 seconds.

Cost: 200 Mana

Polar Zone

Effect: Create a thirty meter diameter blizzard that freezes all targets within one. Does 10 points of freezing damage per minute plus reduces effected individuals speed by 5%. Cooldown 60 seconds.

Cost: 200 Mana

Greater Healing (II)

Effect: Heals 100 Health per casting. Target does not require contact during healing. Cooldown 60 seconds per target.

Cost: 75 Mana

Mana Drip (II)

Effect: Increases natural health regeneration of target by 6%. Only single use of spell effective on a target at a time.

Duration: 10 minutes

Cost: 100 Mana

Freezing Blade

Effect: Enchants weapon with a slowing effect. A 5% slowing effect is applied on a successful strike. This effect is cumulative and lasts for 1 minute. Cooldown 3 minutes

Spell Duration: 1 minute.

Cost: 150 Mana

Improved Inferno Strike (II)

A beam of heat raised to the levels of an inferno, able to melt steel and earth on contact! The perfect spell for those looking to do a lot of damage in a short period of time.

Effect: Does 200 Points of Heat Damage

Cost: 150 Mana

Mud Walls

Unlike its more common counterpart Earthen Walls, Mud Walls focus is more on dealing slow, suffocating damage and restricting movement on the battlefield.

Effect: Does 20 Points of Suffocating Damage. -30% Movement Speed

Duration: 2 Minutes

Cost: 75 Mana

Create Water

Pulls water from the elemental plane of water. Water is pure and the highest form of water available. Conjures 1 liter of water. Cooldown: 1 minute

Cost: 50 Mana

Scry

Allows caster to view a location up to 1.7 kilometers away. Range may be extended through use of additional Mana. Caster will be stationary during this period. It is recommended caster focuses on the scry unless caster has a high level of Intelligence and Perception so as to avoid accidents. Scry may be blocked by equivalent or higher tier spells and Skills. Individuals with high perception in region of Scry may be alerted that the Skill is in use. Cooldown: 1 hour.

Cost: 25 Mana per minute.

Scrying Ward

Blocks scrying spells and their equivalent within 5 meters of caster. Higher level spells may not be blocked, but caster may be alerted about scrying attempts. Cooldown: 10 minutes

Cost: 50 Mana per minute

Improved Invisibility

Hides target’s System information, aura, scent, and visual appearance. Effectiveness of spell is dependent upon Intelligence of caster and any Skills or Spells in conflict with the target.

Cost: 100 + 50 Mana per minute

Improved Mana Cage

While physically weaker than other elemental-based capture spells, Mana Cage has the advantage of being able to restrict all creatures, including semi-solid Spirits, conjured elementals, shadow beasts, and Skill users. Cooldown: 1 minute

Cost: 200 Mana + 75 Mana per minute

Improved Flight

(Fly birdie, fly! - Ali) This spell allows the user to defy gravity, using controlled bursts of Mana to combat gravity and allow the user to fly in even the most challenging of situations. The improved version of this spell allows flight even in zero gravity situations and a higher level of maneuverability. Cooldown: 1 minute

Cost: 250 Mana + 100 Mana per minute

Sabre’s Load-Out

Omnitron III Class II Personal Assault Vehicle (Sabre)

Core: Class II Omnitron Mana Engine

CPU: Class D Xylik Core CPU

Armor Rating: Tier IV (Modified with Adaptive Resistance)

Hard Points: 5 (5 Used)

Soft Points: 3 (3 Used)

Requires: Neural Link for Advanced Configuration

Battery Capacity: 120/120

Attribute Bonuses: +35 Strength, +18 Agility, +10 Perception

Inlin Type II Projectile Rifle

Base Damage: N/A (Dependent Upon Ammunition)

Ammo Capacity: 45/45

Available Ammunition: 250 Standard, 150 Armor Piercing, 200 High Explosive, 25 Luminescent

Ares Type II Shield Generator

Base Shielding: 2,000 HP

Regeneration Rate: 50/second unlinked, 200/second linked

Mkylin Type IV Mini-Missile Launchers

Base Damage: N/A (dependent on missiles purchased)

Battery Capacity: 6/6

Reload rate from internal batteries: 10 seconds

Available Ammunition: 12 Standard, 12 High Explosive, 12 Armor Piercing, 4 Napalm

Monolam Temporal Cloak

This Temporal Cloak splices the user’s timeline, adjusting their physical, emotional, and psychic presence to randomly associated times. This allows the user to evade notice from most sensors and individuals. The Monolam Temporal Cloak has multiple settings for a variety of situations, varying the type and level of dispersal of the signal.

Requirements: 1 Hardpoint, Tier IV Mana Engine

Duration: Varies depending on cloaking level

Type II Webbing Mini-Missile

Base Damage: N/A

Effect: Disperses insta-webbing upon impact or on activation. Dispersal covers 3 cubic feet.

Cost: 500 Credits

Shinowa Type II Sonic Pulser

Base Damage: 25 per second

Additional Effect: Disrupts auditory sense of balance on opponent during use. Effects have a small chance of continuing after use.

Joola Communication Booster (Tier II)

Military Grade Communication Booster able to deliver your message where and when it needs to be. Joola Tech is the only way to go when what you need to say needs to be heard!

Effect: Disregard all communication interference from shields, communication scramblers, Skills and Spells below Tier of communication booster. 50% chance of breaking through equivalent tier blockages (chance decreases dependent on proximity to emanating blockage).

Other Equipment

Ares Platinum Class Tier II Armored Jumpsuit

Ares’s signature Platinum Class line of armored daily wear combines the company’s latest technological advancement in nanotech fiber design and the pinnacle work of an Advanced Craftsman’s Skill to provide unrivalled protection for the discerning Adventurer.

Effect: +218 Defense, +14% Resistance to Kinetic and Energy Attacks. +19% Resistance against Temperature changes. Self-Cleanse, Self-Mend, Autofit Enchantments also included.

Silversmith Mark II Beam Pistol (Upgradeable)

Base Damage: 18

Battery Capacity: 24/24

Recharge Rate: 2 per hour per GMU

Tier IV Neural Link

Neural link may support up to 5 connections.

Current connections: Omnitron III Class II Personal Assault Vehicle

Software Installed: Rich’lki Firewall Class IV, Omnitron III Class IV Controller

Ferlix Type II Twinned-Beam Rifle (Modified)

Base Damage: 57

Battery Capacity: 17/17

Recharge rate: 1 per hour per GMU (currently 12)

Tier II Sword (Soulbound Personal Weapon of an Erethran Honor Guard)

Base Damage: 218

Durability: N/A (Personal Weapon)

Special Abilities: +20 Mana Damage, Blade Strike

Kryl Ring of Regeneration

Often used as betrothal bands, Kyrl rings are highly sought after and must be ordered months in advance.

Health Regeneration: +30

Stamina Regeneration: +15

Mana Regeneration: +5

Tier III Bracer of Mana Storage

A custom work by an unknown maker, this bracer acts a storage battery for personal Mana. Useful for Mages and other Classes that rely on Mana. Mana storage ratio is 50 to 1.

Mana Capacity: 350/350

Fey-steel Dagger

Fey-steel is not actual steel but an unknown alloy. Normally reserved only for the Sidhe nobility, a small—by Galactic standards—amount of Fey-steel is released for sale each year. Fey-steel takes enchantments extremely well.

Base Damage: 28

Durability: 110/100

Special Abilities: None

Brumwell Necklace of Shadow Intent

The Brumwell Necklace of Shadow Intent is the hallmark item of the Brumwell Clan. Enchanted by a Master Crafter, this necklace layers shadowy intents over your actions, ensuring that information about your actions are more difficult to ascertain. Ownership of such an item is both a necessity and a mark of prestige among settlement owners and other individuals of power.

Effect: Persistent effect of Shadow Intent (Level 4) results in significantly increased cost of purchasing information from the System about wearer. Effect is persistent for all actions taken while necklace is worn.

Ring of Greater Shielding

Creates a greater shield that will absorb approximately 1000 points of damage. This shield will ignore all damage that does not exceed its threshold amount of 50 points of damage while still functioning.

Max Duration: 7 Minutes

Charges: 1