《Apex Immortal: a LitRPG system rampage》 Chapter 1: Asshole ¡°Wake up.¡± The voice is commanding, male and familiar. I sit up and find myself in a cheap hotel room with an air-conditioner unit going full bore and the curtains drawn. A hologram of a male immortal flickers at the foot of the tiny bed I am on. He is huge, nearly three meters in height and almost as wide. His bulk takes up a sizeable portion of the room which is designed to smaller baseline dimensions. The shade of his skin is so black that the holo projector has difficulty replicating parts of the image. His head and hands are over-proportioned. Lines of rage are etched deep into his face. Below deeply set dimly glowing eyes, two tusks jut out from his lower jaw curling over a thick handlebar moustache. Instinctively, I reach up to my own face and find the same tusks there. ¡°This is a passive recording. I am you, give or take four hours ago,¡± the hologram continues, ¡°before I wiped most of our memories.¡± ¡°Why?¡± I ask. ¡°Why? Because I, that is you are an Apex Immortal. A few thousand years ago, I woke up to a similar message. And it turns out he was right. This is what we do. It¡¯s either that, go mad or worse still turn into a complete asshole. You¡¯ll understand when you inevitably meet some of your peers. Less than a dozen of them in the infinity of the multiverse and somehow you will still bump into a couple.¡± The hologram sneers patronisingly. ¡°Asshole,¡± I mutter. ¡°Also, it gets shit boring after awhile when you¡¯ve done it all and got it all. So that¡¯s why we, that is you, are in a completely random part of the multiverse, far from everything I built. You may be able to find your past but I wouldn¡¯t recommend it. I¡¯ve had a good look when it was my turn. There¡¯s a reason why this is not the first time or even the hundredth time we have done this. I¡¯ll tell you what I got told - not that it did me any good.¡± The me of four hours ago leans forward. For a moment, centuries of grief and regret shines from his eyes. ¡°Try not to stuff it up again.¡± The hologram flickers off. I tnink about what I¡¯d heard. The whole thing could be a hoax. Unknown enemies could have orchestrated this. Even if it was really me that had delivered the message, I had the feeling that there was much more to this than an eternal cycle of renewal my previous self was insisting on. There is little else to work on so I get off the bed and search the room. I find nothing, not even the source of the hologram. The room is empty of anything that I could have brought with me. I only have the clothes I am wearing - a pair of jeans, a western shirt and a casual leather jacket - plain boring garments with no identifiable features. I check through my pockets and find nothing. A flashing light from the watch around my wrist attracts my eye. It is 14:24:45. I touch the face and a square blue holo-frame opens above it. System Interface Initialised! >User ID: Root >Tier: Apex Immortal (System Dominus) >Level: -1 >User Parameters: ? >System Augments Active: ? >Substrate Modules Installed: ? >System Locality: >: ERROR: System not found! Reverting to local instance. Only limited services are available. >: Dominus, you are using the basic command-line text interface. Initialise avatar? [y/N] :_ I gaze at the blinking cursor for a moment, trying to remember what it does. I know some of its functions, for example it would have projected the holo-recording, but I also have the frustrating feeling that there¡¯s much more to the device. The same can be said about my own abilities. I find myself always reaching to do something and then not only missing the part of myself that is able to do it but also not being to remember what I can do. I contemplate switching on the avatar and decide against it for the time being - they tend to be annoying. I flick the holo-frame shut and decide to do something easier like having another look at the room instead. The room comes equipped with an old television set. Shitty air-con, manual light switches, actual incandescent light bulbs - I am either in an early Tier 1 technology realm or one of those hotels that mistakes inconvenience for retro class. I am about to switch it on to get some bearings on the world when the door clicks open and a young mortal human woman carrying a suitcase walks in and sees me. She freezes for a moment then drops her luggage, screams and immediately runs down the hallway yelling. Doors open along the corridor as startled humans peek out to see what the fuss is. They close promptly as soon as they spot me walking down. The corridor is built for their baseline portions. I have to duck slightly as I walk along it. A cacophony of panicked mortals begin to speak into their phones. The language is unfamiliar but I recognise enough words to understand that they are calling the cops. By the end of the corridor, I hear enough to almost remember the language. The mortal continues to scurry along ahead of me screaming. As she is heading towards the exit, I follow her, giving her plenty of room. This does not calm her down. We reach a section of the corridor with three lifts side by side. They look mechanical. The mortal is mashing a button, her eyes wide in terror. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. No way will I fit into one of those lifts. I spot the universal symbol for stairs to one side. The woman is almost crapping herself, so I try to be kind. ¡°Young miss,¡± I say in the local language, ¡°fearest thou not. Thine lifes shalt I be taking.¡± Her eyes roll up and she collapses in a faint. Hmm. Maybe I haven¡¯t got the lingo down after all. As I squeeze myself down ten flights of stairs, I prod and itch at my memory. I can¡¯t remember my name, what I did yesterday, my home or if I had any family or friends. Now that I am thinking about it, I have a feeling that I don¡¯t have any family or friends, just a few close enemies, not that I can remember who they are either: when I try all I get are fleeting images of monstrous mass, oceanic vastness and the endless depths of interplanetary space. Probably other Apex Immortals then. As for the kind of person I am, without any specifics, I know that I love the colour red and have a problem with anger and violence. So right there, the signs aren¡¯t good especially when I add in a general lack of concern for mortals. When I probe that feeling, I land somewhere between occasionally adorable pets and irritatingly wilful pests, mostly on the pest side. By the time I get down to the hotel lobby, the mortals have been evacuated from the ground floor and the building is surrounded by a dozen police cars, unmistakable from their flashing lights and uniformed personnel swarming around them. As I watch a couple more screech in behind them. Hmm. Internal combustion engines, little evidence of computing technology, communications seems limited to bulky mobile voice phones carried by most mortals: Definitely early Tech 1. Lovely, I¡¯ve set myself up in a backwater with environmental pollution, likely affecting the climate. l step out into the open and look around. The hotel faces a public square lined with medium rise buildings, some obviously retail or service oriented and others looking more like commercial or government offices. I reassess the hotel¡¯s class - unlikely it is as cheap as I first thought. There are fifty or so police sheltering behind car doors and pointing various guns at me. A couple of media helicopters hover above us. One of the cops, presumably highly ranked given the height and lustre of the peaked cap on his head, is yelling out instructions at me through a loudspeaker. As best as I can tell he is ordering me to lie down on the ground and surrender or they will shoot. Mortals threatening me? I stare at the cop in utter surprise and then laugh in his face. They mustn¡¯t have got the joke as in the next instance, the air is full of bullets. When they finally run out of ammunition, there is silence for a second. -Ding- My wristwatch projects a holo-frame a little to the side of my vision. >User parameter discovered: [Axiomatic Invulnerability] You are as inviolate as a fundamental law of the multi-verse. You are invulnerable to every force or energy including any that you wield yourself. The only thing that can hurt you is your feelings - you great big softie you. Haha. Only joking - you don¡¯t exactly have the widest emotional range. Yeah, let¡¯s leave it at that. >: Dominus, you are using the basic command-line text interface. Initialise avatar? [y/N] :_ To me, that¡¯s a basic fact about myself, as basic as mortals understanding raindrops cant hurt them. [Axiomatic Invulnerability] would be the simplest of my abilities. I try again to recall them and remember only that I have many but not what they are. I give up, flick the holo-frame shut and check my clothes. They are undamaged. Good, my previous self had not skimped on that at least. ¡°No stairs harmeth, no injuries intendeth. Seeketh mine own way to views thine city¡¯s fair sights.¡± The cops, having reloaded their guns, empty them at me again. Even taking into account my increasingly obvious crapness in their language and strange appearance, their reaction seems over the top. They got here very quickly and in large numbers. They use large calibered, powerful guns designed to kill rather than injure. I imagine it makes for a short backlog in their court system, assuming they have one. I look around the buildings again. They are not fortified or armed. There is no sign of damage recent or otherwise from bombardment or battles. So they are not at war or at least if they are the front is not close. Entrances to the hotel do not appear to have weapon detection systems. Hence there is unlikely to be constant civil conflict. From what I can tell, the police themselves being all uniformly attired and equipped are likely to be general units. In peacetime, these are general units armed to the level of special forces with light armour and face concealing helmets. Intimidation or patriotic reinforcement? Occupying force or just part of the cultural furniture? Cant tell yet. I look again. Every building without fail has at least one flag. Plastered on many walls and emblazoned on the sides of various public transport vehicles is the figure of the same human male most of them in the same pose: one hand lifted in a fist, face stern. Ah. I have landed in a facist state. Oh good, my favourite type of autocracy. Of course, I like all the flavours of autocracies - after all they are the only group of political systems that work in the multiverse. For Immortals that is. By the end of the week, those statues will be of me. A thought pops up. I check through my visual memories of all humans i glimpsed in the hotel and compare them to those few police whose visors are up. I compare it to their human dictator. Without fail, all of them have pale skin and blonde hair. The other images not showing their leader all have idealised images of pale thin humans, showing off various clothes, fashion accessories, dietary supplements, hair dye and skin lightening products. A racist facist capitalist state. Possibly with body image issues. Their reaction to my appearance - a combination of hate and fear - is not just due to my substantial variation from baseline. My skin colour must also fall deep within their prejudice range. Another volley of bullets accompanying shouts of racial abuse punctuates my hypothesis. I sigh and push out my estimates of conquering this place. Significantly. -ding- >You have a new quest! >Quest: ¡°Freedom for the People!¡± >Quest boss: ¡°The Greater Republic of Liasval¡±, Facist State, Tier 1 Technology (level 5) >Subjugate a country where every citizen hates your guts on sight! For bonus points, defeat the deeply embedded completely stark raving mad (and i am talking foaming at the jaws rabies mad) multi-generational racial hatred that their entire society has based their identity on while looking like a nightmare stereotype. Yes, your likeness is used to frighten children into obedience and generate excitement for rallies. >Ruling smouldering ruins or a completely failed state does not count as victory. >Difficulty: On the one hand Liasval is Tier 1 level 5 so you are talking the equivalent of a goblin farmer. On the other hand, really really racist. Tough call - let¡¯s call it ¡®medium¡¯. >Quest giver: you (from two days ago) >Reward: Depends on how many people you needlessly slaughtered. (Hint: large numbers are bad) Randomly selected part of the multiverse indeed. The final moments of my hologram¡¯s patronising expression flicker in my memory. Asshole. Chapter 2: Macho Man Some of the bolder or more fanatical members of the police, mistaking my hesitation in immediately attacking them, decide that where bullets have failed, direct physical force with batons and knives can only succeed. One of the many peculiarities of the multiverse is that ¡°The Village People¡± exists in the majority of human worlds once they reach a certain level of technological and cultural development. In a surprisingly large number of those universes, the songs are delivered and received without any irony whatsoever. Even though I cannot remember my own name, as the facist cops - a pleonasm in most of the multiverse - lay into me, the band¡¯s inimitable hit Macho Man spontaneously starts playing in my mind. Oh well, time to do their gene pool a favour. I crack my knuckles. -ding- A holo-frame opens. Within it is a kindly old Buddhist monk smiling benevolently at me. Unfortunately, Buddhists are also a commonality across the multiverse, almost all mortal species have the equivalent of these awakened pain the ass types who you can¡¯t punch in the face much as you would like to because only a real asshole would do that. The monk bows. ¡°Amitabha Dominus, I am Chan. Your previous self installed me as your spiritual friend. You can summon me at any time of course but I will also appear automatically on certain cues, again selected by your previous self. I am a limited AI - think of me as a small part of your System Interface, spun off for specific scenarios.¡± ¡°Kinda busy here,¡± I say and flick at the holo-frame to close it. It remains open. ¡°Apologies, Dominus,¡± the virtual monk bows deeply, ¡°you cannot dismiss me until I have imparted my guidance, humble though it is.¡± The monk closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He folds his fingers into an elaborate double-jointed mudra. I stare at him while the cops keep pounding and stabbing. ¡°Well?¡± I ask. ¡°Amitabha, Dominus. The Buddha says: ¡®Conquer anger with non-anger. Conquer badness with goodness. Conquer meanness with generosity. Conquer dishonesty with truth.¡¯¡± He stops and beams boundless compassion at me. ¡°Are you done?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes, Dominus, I invite you to take a moment to reflect on the Buddha¡¯s wisdom.¡± The monk materialises a brass meditation bowl and strikes it three times. ¡°Amitabha, Amitabha, Amitabha,¡± he chants and disappears. ¡°Now I really need to kill someone,¡± I mutter. By then all but one of the cops have given up, having exhausted themselves, destroyed their weapons and/or injured various parts of their own bodies attempting to harm me. The final persistent shit is shorter than the rest and has somehow lost his helmet in the midst of all the excitement. Ignoring half-hearted advice from the nicer cops, he is chopping at me with an axe that he had picked up from somewhere all the while screaming incoherently and frothing slightly at the mouth. The cop is in his twenties, has watery blue eyes and affects a pencil moustache which is not a good look given his buck teeth. A couple of his cop mates, looking embarrassed and also a little concerned, start to pull him away. Before they can do so, I pick up Officer Pencil Moustache and compress him into a diamond. There is a knack to folding a carbon-based bipedal lifeform into a meat patty and then pressing that into a diamond. I am a master at it but the process is innately inefficient. It produces a fair amount of liquid, steam and heat: a small wet explosion in other words. Some of the closer cops including pencil-moustache¡¯s concerned team mates are caught in the blast and thrown some distance away, covered in blood and other bodily fluids. -Ding- >User parameter discovered: [Universal Omnipotency] There is no limit to the amount or type of raw energy you can exert or project. If turning a living person into a memorial diamond with your bare hands is just the start of what you can do, how much actual destruction can you cause if you try? >: Dominus, you are using the basic command-line text interface. Initialise avatar? [y/N] :_ -Ding- >Murders this quest: Humans: 1 :( ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± I mutter, ¡°killing a racist facist cop shouldn¡¯t count.¡± I flick both the holo-frames shut and check that the media helicopters are still there. They are and have approached closer, close enough that I can see mortals pointing cameras in my direction.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Fortunately, not only had my clothes survived undamaged, the flames from the explosion had also burnt off the blood and various fluids that had covered me in the first milliseconds. I lift the diamond into the air. ¡°Seeketh I to meet thine king,¡± I shout. The multiverse is full of mortals like the cops and the chain of bosses above them. From every layer, fists fall onto the layer below until finally the fists land on those men who only have their wives and kids to beat up. It¡¯s a cascade of the strong shitting on those weaker below and it never stops. When you enter a system like that, the first thing everybody wants to know is where you fit. Someone will come at you and when that happens, you make sure you put him down so hard he either never gets up or finds the guts to face you again. Then you do this to the next guy until you run out of guys. Seeing as the monk had taken away the quantity of cops I could take down, I¡¯d moved on to quality. And it worked, the cops are cowed for the moment - nobody wants to be made into a diamond. The boss cop is talking on his phone and making the faces someone makes when the other guy is calling bullshit. Soon the next layer of guys are going to turn up and I am going to fucking slaughter them. Is there another path? In many ways, my previous self has set me up to fail but could I have spent a little more time thinking of a non-violent solution? Yes. Yes I could have. The Buddhist monk would have counselled non-reaction. I could have played the immovable immortal object to their mortal force and waited a couple of decades or centuries. Perhaps in time, some of them would come to me and talk, perhaps I could build a dialogue and change their society, one mortal at a time. Well fuck that hippie shit. Even if this country is only an anthill, it has a peak and on that peak is its leader. Regardless of how petty the scenario, the path I take will be always be the shortest path up, consequences be damned. I reflect on this insight into my nature. That¡¯s the kind of attitude that will lead straight to another tortured regretful version of myself in some thousands of years, a guy who can¡¯t stand himself. I look at the diamond in my hand. Enough thinking. Time to act. I pocket the diamond. -Ding- >+Inventory: 1 memorial diamond (raw, amber, 7 carats). Might be nice to give it to his grieving widow or mother? Or just plain grotesque? Hard call that. Mortals, ammiright? >: Dominus, you are using the basic command-line text interface. Initialise avatar? [y/N] :_ I flick the holo-frame shut and remind myself to look for a silent setting. The public square is sizeable and I spot a huge statue of their leader in the middle of it. The elaborately decorated pedestal complete with carved columns and various naked humans is the size of a small house. The leader himself stands with his fist raised as usual, face stern, the other hand resting on the shoulder of a child who is looking up worshipfully at him. A bird perches on the leader¡¯s head and shits on it. Perfect. Macho man starts playing in my head again. I try to think of another one but it¡¯s hopeless. It¡¯s going to play at every hint of violence from now on. The cops panic and run about, some getting in my way, some getting out of my way, some shooting at me, others yelling to stop shooting as the bullets start to ricochet all over the place. A particularly ballsy pair drive their vehicle into me. I lift it over my head and flip it upside down. Bones break but no one dies. I don¡¯t break my step, I don¡¯t break a sweat. Things calm down somewhat after I reach the statue, climb up to the pedestal and settle in at the feet of the great leader next to the child. From there I get a great view of the square. The police set up their cordon again. More police join them. Everyone settles in. While all of this is happening, I am two-finger typing away at the System Interface¡¯s absurdly tiny keyboard and trying to get it to do what I want it to do without enabling avatar mode. My first objective is to get a grip on the language. I am clearly terrible at it. : Play me some common local phrases. > Dominus, these are common phrases from recent samples (pejoratives removed): > Get away from me! > Oh god don¡¯t hurt me! > Shoot him! Shoot him! Shoot him! > Just die! > What the fuck was that shit! > Fuuuuuuck! > Medic! Medic! : /CTRL-C > Would you like to initiate avatar user interface? [y/N] : N : Scan for broadcast media on all frequencies comensurate to local technology levels. > Dominus, I don¡¯t know what ¡°comensurate¡± means. Would you like to initiate avatar user interface? [y/N] : N : Scan for broadcast media on all frequencies commensurate to local technology levels. > Scanning ¡­ > 5 audiovisual channels captured > 16 audio only channels captured : Open a holo-frame for each chanel and play. > Dominus, I don¡¯t know what ¡°chanel¡± means. Do you mean the luxury brand ¡°Chanel¡±? [y/N] : n > [y/N] : N > Would you like to initiate avatar user interface? [y/N] : N : Open a holo-frame for each channel and play. > Play what? : THE CHANNELS YOU JUST CAPTURED!11!!1 > Playback mode initiating ¡­ > You don¡¯t have to shout. Also a thank you would be nice ¡­ Dominus :). >: Dominus, you are using the basic command-line text interface. Initialise avatar? [y/N] :_ Breathing heavily and sweating like a pig, I flick the command-line holo-frame shut. Of the twenty one channels now suspended in a semi-circular holo-panel around me, one of them, far louder than the rest, is blaring out Macho Man. Chapter 3: Break a Leg Throughout the night, a steady procession of large trucks roll into the square. The black ones spill out heavily armoured and armed troops - the army has arrived! The white ones spill out journalists and camera crews. They all set up different bits of gear. The army even pitches a few tents. Clearly something major is about to happen. Just around dawn, a company of tanks rumble into the square and move into position. The guns point at me, the cameras point at me, a couple of army guys point their binoculars at me. All the tv channels take a break to cut to their news crews broadcasting from where I am, Liberation Square. On one of the channels, a military geek gets really excited about tank armaments. I stand up and crack my knuckles. Over night as I boned up on the language and absorbed as much of the local context as I could from endless terrible late night ads, way too many music videos of uniformed choirs singing and even worse propaganda films, the shadow of an ability had started to emerge from the depths of my mind. It was like feeling returning to a numb limb. A military commander puffs his chest out, strikes a pose in front of the cameras, slowly raises his hand to build suspense and then brings it down in a chop while shouting into a handheld radio a flunky is conveniently holding up. The tanks all fire at the same time. I stop the shells in mid-air. -ding- >User Parameter discovered: [Supreme Telekinesis] You can move things with your mind! One thing! Many things! Large thing! Tiny thing! Whole thing! Part thing! Live thing! Dead thing! If you feel it, you can move it, move it! >: Dominus, you are using the basic command-line text interface. Initialise avatar? [y/N] :_ The one thing to remember about telekineis is that conservation of momentum applies. Basically, if you telekinetically stop an object, say an armour-piercing fin-stabilized discarding sabot moving towards you at very high speeds, as far as the laws of physics are concerned it¡¯s pretty much the same as if you¡¯re stopping it with your body. Hence, the first thing telekinetics learn is not to do anything with their mind that they can¡¯t do physically. As a corollary, it¡¯s safer to deflect than to halt. None of this matters to me of course. I inspect the twelve shells suspended in mid-flight. I had stopped them without thinking much as a trained juggler would catch a ball thrown at them. With a thought, I bring them together and crumple them into a tight ball. A few of them have an explosive payload and a couple more have shrapnel added on for extra fun. All of these detonate within their casings as I crush them together - there are no gaps in my control of each shell. I release the mixed media sculpture before further compression destabilises it in normal gravity. The thing drops on the ground, cracking the flagstones on impact. At the same time, I am applying even pressure along the tanks¡¯ primary guns and making solid metal cylinders. All of this takes a second. I really like crushing things. It is pure and satisfying to turn complex physical objects into simple geometric 3D shapes - a cube, a cylinder, a sphere. The sphere with its single geometric face is my favourite shape. A memory floats up from my damaged mind: a voice intones ¡°simplex sigillum veri¡±. I a heraldic crest, a crossed pair of hammers, with the phrase emblazoned beneath. An ocean of blood washes over it. Hmm. So not every personal memory is gone then. Maybe it¡¯s more a case of being locked away. From my vantage point on top of the pedestal, the most obvious read of the soldiers mood is that the crushing of their big guns has simultaneously scared, depressed and angered them. A safe distance away behind the cordon and the rows of police cars, army trucks and armed personnel, their leaders are conferring: a policeman with a neat goatee wearing a tall shiny peaked hat and a soldier with a well maintained beard wearing an even taller and shinier peaked hat plus a bunch of medals on his coat. The earlier tank commander had slunk off. The police chief is yelling and gesticulating. The army officer listens silently while stroking his beard like it is a cat. The contempt on his face grows until he spits out a few choice phrases, clicks his heels and spins around, yelling commands at various soldiers who immediately scramble. The police chief¡¯s shoulders slump and he rubs his face. I feel you, bud. The soldiers spurred on by a series of commands down the chain quickly organise themselves into ten man squads, each one bearing a mix of automatic rifles, anti-tank weaponry and mortars. Sixteen squads stream out from the barricades, each mortal¡¯s features set in grim lines, determined to fight and if necessary die. It¡¯s very stirring and manly until I telekinetically snap their bones - the left tibia and fibula specifically - one squad at a time. Within a few seconds, the square fills with screams of astonished pain. It is utter chaos. Mortals are rolling around on the ground clutching their left limb. Some manage to keep upright, hopping clumsily up and down on their right foot. Some are crying. Their commander stares in shock, his mouth almost comically open. At least until I break his left leg. For good measure, I break his other leg too. It seems only fair.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. He screams with the best of them. Tactics 101 - a wounded soldier is far costlier to the enemy than a dead one. Also, I get to keep my score low. The military had arrived with a good contingent of medics and the injured soldiers are soon evacuated. I feel a bit remorseful witnessing the concern and gentle care the medics show as they help these young mortals, little more than kittens really if you think about it. What sort of person hurts kittens? -ding- A holo-frame opens. ¡°Amitabha, Amitabha, Amitabha,¡± the old monk chants from within, ¡°¡°The Buddha says, ¡®All men make mistakes, but only the wise ones learn from them.¡¯¡± He steels himself and then opens his eyes. Surprise passes through them. ¡°Oh, you haven¡¯t killed anyone, I was dreading a genocide¡± he says in great relief, ¡°That is most excellent, Dominus! To regret an injury no matter how incapacitating and petty is real progress. Keep up the good work!¡± The monk brings out his brass bowl and is about to strike it when I stop him. ¡°Hold on,¡± I say, ¡°you know what I have done in the past.¡± ¡°Of course, Dominus. How would I be a good spiritual friend if I did not?¡± ¡°You were there for my previous self?¡± ¡°It was my honour, Dominus.¡± A sudden horrifying thought occurs to me. The monk had said my previous self had installed him but not which one. ¡°How many? How many of me have you spouted your nonsense at?¡± ¡°Amitabha, Amitabha, Amitabha, the cycle of death and rebirth is infinite and full of suffering.¡± The monk bows. The holo-frame vanishes. I rub my face. I didn¡¯t even get the three chimes he was in that much of a hurry to go. If he wasnt a Buddhist monk, I¡¯d have thought the suffering he was referring to was his own. Nope, he was totally saying that. Typical passive aggressive Buddhist crap. And they wonder why everyone in the multiverse hates them. I look back to the square and spot the police chief. He has been watching the medics clear the square in bemusement. In the space of ten minutes, he had witnessed two military companies, infantry and tank, defeated with no fatalities. By chance, he looks up in my direction. I wave at him. He visibly cowers. I cup my hands around my mouth and yell. ¡°Kindly take me to your leader!¡± The man breathes in deeply and straightens up. With the air of a mortal facing his doom, he adjusts his hat, straightens his uniform and marches towards the center of the square, towards me. His assistant, a young woman, cries out in alarm and pulls at his arm. He gently removes her hand and continues. I shift the holo-panels that are still broadcasting various channels to circle around to one side and turn their volume low. The five video channels are now all live broadcasting from the square and there are various angles of the police chief approaching. Commentators vary from incredulity to admiration. One, Jana Jacobs a brunette female and hence an oddity in this bottle blonde habitat, is broadcasting on location. I can see the square in the background. She is expressing frustration at not being able to hear what the conversation will be. I look out over the square and spot her and her crew, a cameraman and a sound gal. Their equipment is connected up to their van a few meters away. I move the whole lot to me. She maintains her composure remarkably well throughout and stumbles only slightly when I deposit her on the ground. I step off the pedestal and land gently a respectful distance away. The mortal is pale and shaking slightly, her knuckles white around her microphone. ¡°Sorry Jana,¡± I say, ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you or your crew.¡± She gathers herself. ¡°Thank you,¡± she replies gathering herself then checking her crew. She inspects them closer, ¡°Will you release my people, please.¡± ¡°They aren¡¯t as steady as you. I think the guy has fainted.¡± The female clasps each on a shoulder. ¡°Tom, Linda, I promise you we will get through this. I will get us all out just I did when we were in Kerander Rose.¡± ¡°We scaled the endless stairs and reached the formless shore,¡± one whispers. ¡°We got footage of the Final Fleet,¡± the other says. ¡°Damn right we did, and we got an Honour, from the goddam Premier himself, ¡± Jana replies, forcing a grin before turning to me, ¡°You can let them go now, they will be ok.¡± The two mortals in my grasp tremble like hatchlings but they are no longer limp. When I release them, the sound girl wobbles but the older female catches her. ¡°So, Mister,¡± she says, her eyes flashing, ¡°will you agree to an exclusive arrangement?¡± ¡°Call me Dominus.¡± ¡°Is that your title, or your name?¡± Jana asks, ¡°Dominus.¡± ¡°My title. It¡¯s close to ¡®Master¡¯ in your language although Great Grand Master is probably closer but that just sounds wrong.¡± Jana¡¯s face twists in discomfort. ¡°Getting people to call you Master isn¡¯t going to play well, Dominus.¡± ¡°And why is that?¡± She takes a deep breath. ¡°Because, Dominus, that is how the people here with your skin colour address the people here my skin colour.¡± I consider the new information. A fascist, racist, slavery based, capitalist system. -ding- >Side Quest: End Slavery! (In the Greater Republic of Liasval) >There¡¯s no simpler and more intuitive definition of evil than slavery, am i right? Never mind that it¡¯s the mainstay of many mortal economic systems and something a certain someone very familiar to you did to entire galaxies at a time for the lols. Anyway, you¡¯re a hero now and heroes don¡¯t enslave mortals, they free them! There¡¯s no simpler and more intuitive definition of good than freedom, am i right? >Difficulty: Simple and intuitive >Quest giver: You >Reward: Surely doing this is a reward in itself I sigh at the cheap cynicism, flick the holo-panel away and look back at Jana. ¡°Well, that just means I am going to insist everyone does exactly that. As for exclusivity, it will depend.¡± ¡°Depend on what?¡± Jana replies, then bows her head briefly again, ¡°Master.¡± ¡°How you deal with that.¡± I point behind her. Chapter 4: Shitstorm A procession of five cars and four motorcycles with side-carts makes its way down the square towards us. All the cars are large, shiny and silver. The middle car is boxier, larger and shinier by far with completely tinted windows, Its heavily armoured body exudes the wealth and power that only very expensive vehicles made to order from a luxury security car company can provide. All the vehicles bear flags. The central car has the same coat of arms emblazoned on the bonnet. The police chief halts and bows low as the cars pass. ¡°Hmm,¡± I murmur to myself, ¡°too early for the Premier to appear. Likely the local boss.¡± Jana shoots me an appraising glance. ¡°That¡¯s the provincial governor¡¯s standard, Master. Now, if I may be excused, I need to do my job.¡± I nod and she beckons her crew to a spot, placing herself to one side. After patting her hair down, applying some powder and a quick urgent call on her phone, she faces the camera. ¡°Honoured viewers, I apologise for the interruption but as you can see I have been given an unprecedented level of access, a front row seat if you will, to what is possibly the greatest crisis our glorious fatherland has faced since the Midnight Wars. The illustrious governor of New Taisaya, the famously conservative Duke Kajal, is even now approaching to confront this monstrous enigma. Is he here to negotiate or to do battle? What other impossible powers will the enigma exert? Keep watching to find out and as always don¡¯t forget my patrons in the banner below, especially SlimTone the only supplement that will lighten your body and your skin at the same time.¡± The guards get off their motorcycles and form a line. The cars begin to disgorge their occupants, starting with the smaller cars. The first group to emerge are eight richly dressed officials in robes and plumed hats, gold chains of office around their necks. The second group are eight young black females wearing nothing but gold jewelry. They kneel on the ground in a row, faces firmly pointing downwards. Finally, a guard bigger than most mortals opens the door of the central car and the Duke steps out. He is a thin male mortal with excellent hair wearing a white linen three piece suit. A white satin half-cloak hangs off one shoulder. A short sword hangs off one hip from a bejeweled belt. He holds a short ivory switch casually in his right hand. His sharp features are tight as he peers over impractically tiny wire-framed spectacles in orchestrated disdain. His carefully manufactured facade cracks only a little when he looks at me. For a moment, a hint of uncertainty flickers in his eyes before a practised sneer flicks up. He wiggles a ringed finger and an official steps forward. ¡°His grace, honourable governor of New Taisaya, Duke of Natalio, Kajal Achanta. Demon, you may address the Duke as his grace,¡± the mortal announces. ¡°And he can call me Master,¡± I reply. The mortals gasp audibly in shock. Faces pale, chests puff out, hands reach for weapons. If noble women were present, one or two of them may well have fainted. ¡°You dare!¡± The official shouts, hence covering all expressions of outraged nobility. ¡°Also,¡± I continue, taking advantage of their loss for words, ¡°foreheads on the ground until I¡¯m sick of seeing your asses in the air.¡± -Ding- >User parameter discovered: [Aura of Annihilation] Your aura can quite easily wipe out all life on a planet. Fortunately, you have very fine-tuned control over it. Unfortunately, the lowest setting you can get to is ¡°the really angry apex predator is eyeing you with an unhealthy amount of interest¡±. Smiling only takes it up to the next lowest setting. Sorry buddy, making friends and influencing people is just not your forte. >: Dominus, you are using the basic command-line text interface. Initialise avatar? [y/N]A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. :_ One by one, the mortals crumple into kowtows as i unleash my aura by infinitesimal gradients. The police chief is the last to give in. By then, a couple of the mortals have lost consciousness, some have pissed themselves and many are stifling sobs of fear. Even though I¡¯ve excluded Jana and her crew, the edge of my aura is still sufficient for them to sink to the ground. To my surprise, both at the mortal¡¯s resilience and that her feed has not been cut, Jana continues to report: ¡°Incredible scenes here at Patriot Square. The house of Natalio may never recover from this humiliation. Viewers please understand, somehow the Master is projecting imminent mortal threat of such intensity that I doubt anyone is able to withstand it. Do not judge the flowers of our nobility you see here crushed into the ground, they are as helpless to the Master as if they were actual flowers. It is more and more evident to this reporter after witnessing so many impossible feats that as a flower is to a human, so are we mortals to the Master.¡± Ok, that¡¯s getting way too much. I ease up on the aura. ¡°You can get up now.¡± I say. I give them a bit of time to recover. It takes longer than expected. A couple of them don¡¯t make it up and stay in foetal positions. One of them is the Duke. I may have overdone the whole crushing aura thing. Eventually, a couple of officials have to help the Duke to stand. As the primary focus of my attention, he had borne the full brunt and it shows. A thin line of drool leaks down the side of his mouth, his eyes are wide and dart from side to side as he whimpers and starts at nothing in particular. He has shat himself. He does not look like a man who will recover from this. The men supporting him clearly share my opinion. They are trembling with fear but there is grief mixed in and underneath that resentment and anger. I had not intended to permanently break the mortal. I sigh inwardly in disappointment and pause to see if I have a healing ability. My interface does not ring. I imagine a small cut on a mortal¡¯s finger and try to recall a way of healing that. The only knowledge that floats up after a moment is that amputation is warranted if it has turned black and smells. I sigh again. This time audibly. Nothing to be done now but carry on. ¡°Anyone else remember why you came?¡± I ask. There is an uncomfortable silence as the mortals glance at each other from the side of their eyes. ¡°Let me guess, it probably went along the lines of having to do every simple thing himself and showing a savage what a noble of the fatherland is capable of with a bribe of women and gold to soften the sting of authority? And after that, perhaps a good old rant about the aristocracy for good measure?¡± Some of the officials start in surprise, one surreptitiously makes a sign of some sort while muttering a prayer. A couple gaze at me in awe. ¡°His very words!¡± A guard in the back row exclaims. I¡¯ve stopped tank shells with the power of my frigging mind and guessing the script of a stereotyped highborn villain is what gets through to them? I mean, he was one monocle short of twirling his moustache. ¡°Did anyone try to tell it was a dumb idea?¡± An official, shorter and smaller than the rest with a smaller hat, put his hand up. I nod at him encouragingly. ¡°Lord Gerbold Pacey did, Master. He believed strongly that his Grace¡¯s approach would cause offence and that his Grace would be needlessly putting himself in grave danger. He argued his position quite passionately but alas was unable to convince his Grace.¡± ¡°Smart guy. Is he here?¡± ¡°No, Master. His Grace ordered him to come but Lord Pacey was taken ill from a bad oyster at the last minute, just before the convoy left.¡± ¡°Tell Lord Pacey to see me in my palace quick smart and I don¡¯t care how many bad oysters he¡¯s eaten. You can all go. Except the police man, looks like he still has a load on his chest.¡± The official bows then straightens up, frowning in confusion. ¡°Begging your pardon, Master,¡± he says, ¡°but where is the location of your palace?¡± I swing a holo-panel around and maximise it. A distinguished man with a square jaw is speaking seriously to the camera, maintaining good eye contact and strong audience connection: ¡°We have just got word that Premier Vilte Toma will soon be making a statement in response to the atrocities we have all seen taking place in Liberty Square. He has chosen to address the nation from the famous Dawn Balcony. The balcony that every declaration of war has been made from since the founding of our glorious Fatherland ten thousand years ago. Are we going to war? This reporter is saying, yes and that he will be amongst the first in the enlistment office.¡± The man stands up, solemnly placing a hand on his heart while the camera zooms out over his shoulder and pans in on a vast marble building with a central dome surrounded by four balconied towers, one at each cardinal point. A crowd has gathered beneath one of the towers. By some trick of the light, the building is glowing like a massive pearl. I point at it. ¡°There.¡± Chapter 5: Master The police chief had decided to remain. He is an older mortal, well past risk-free reproduction age but still healthy enough. His short years of life had not been kind to him, grief is etched deep into his face. I indicate to Jana to stop filming. She nods. The police chief waits patiently while she moves her crew away. ¡°I will not call you Master,¡± he says when they are done. He says it casually without defiance or denial. He says it as a mortal who has accepted his death. ¡°What¡¯s your name, police man?¡± I ask in response. ¡°Michael Landulf.¡± ¡°So, Mike, what do you want?¡± ¡°I was going to ask you why you are doing this, what your plans are. But you¡¯ve made it very clear now.¡± ¡°You know more than I do.¡± The mortal considers my response, uncertain as to whether he should believe me or not. ¡°If you are telling the truth, if an entity of your power is reacting to each circumstance purely on whim, then my country is fucked.¡± I laugh. ¡°It was already fucked, Michael Landulf, long before I got here.¡± I hold up a hand before the man can respond. ¡°Is Premier Vilte popular? Do the people love him?¡± ¡°He is a visionary. He liberated the people from the tyranny of kings. The people of this country will die for him!¡± There is no doubting his sincerity. ¡°Sounds like a great guy. Tell you what, this is my plan now: I¡¯ll ask him if he¡¯ll do the same for you.¡± A movement in a holo-panel catches my eye. It is the channel that is showing the palace¡¯s East Balcony. The camera zooms to close in on the balcony. A man has just stepped out on to it. It is the Premier, Vilte. That¡¯s where I am going next, I think, to the left of the mortal, just close enough to clasp him on the shoulder but not so close that anyone would think we are best friends. And I am there. -Ding- >User parameter discovered: [OP Teleportation] Remember those boring rules for teleportation such as can¡¯t teleport to a place you haven¡¯t been to, can¡¯t teleport beyond a certain distance, can¡¯t teleport in quick succession, can¡¯t displace matter at destination, can¡¯t teleport things you aren¡¯t carrying or within a certain range, can¡¯t teleport large things or many things, can¡¯t teleport other people especially against their will, can¡¯t teleport bits of other people - the rules just went on and on. Well good news - none of them apply to you!The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. >: Dominus, you are using the basic command-line text interface. Initialise avatar? [y/N] :_ The balcony is quite a lot more spacious than it appeared to be on holo-panel and Vilte is quite a lot shorter. This is partly because of the camera angle but mostly because he is standing on a wooden platform. And that¡¯s on top of the concealed platforms in his shoes. There are four guards, a couple of assistants, a high-level functionary decked out in robes and five very important members of his inner council. With the exception of the two assistants, they are all male. They are all standing in the depths of the balcony, out of the camera¡¯s view. I hold them still. There is a trick to holding mortals with telekinesis. If you want them to live, you have to hold them within a mortal shaped invisible bubble and that bubble has to have enough give about the ribs so they can breathe. I have a strong feeling that I¡¯d learnt it the hard way. The crowd below falls silent as they collectively take a second to process my sudden appearance. The Premier freezes. I can almost see a thought bubble above his head with the words ¡°he is right next to me isn¡¯t he?¡±. ¡°Are you here to kill me?¡± Without looking at me, the mortal asks quietly out of the side of his mouth. ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°In that case, if I may have a moment first.¡± Vilte smiles and makes reassuring gestures with both hands at the crowd who is rapidly working up to a mass panic. He leans slightly to the microphone and switches it on. ¡°My beloved people,¡± he says. They settle down almost immediately, although a few start booing at me. A stern movement cuts that out too. ¡°My beloved people,¡± he says when he has the crowd''s attention again, ¡°as you can see, I have decided to intervene personally in the events that we have all witnessed in Liberty Square. While I would like to provide you with assurances, I cannot do so at this time. Our beloved country is at a cross-roads. Yes, yes, its undeniable and we have to face up to it. All I can say to all of you is this: Wait in peace. No matter what happens, your trust strengthens me as it has always.¡± The mortal had not looked at me the whole way through his speech. Instead, he had scanned naturally from one side of the crowd to the other, connecting, pausing at the right times, always keeping his eyes to the level of the media cameras arrayed in a broad semi-circle below just behind the crowds. He stills for a moment after his speech. It is a moment that conveys strength and humility, an internal girding for what is about to come. Then he turns to me, smiles warmly and in the multiversal expression of trust, extends his right hand. ¡°Welcome to the Greater Republic of Liasval,¡± he says. ¡°Thank you,¡± I reply and clasp his hand gently between my thumb and forefinger. There¡¯s a media guide for how long political leaders should clasp hands. Too short and the cameras don¡¯t get a chance to capture the moment or worse still you come across as thinking the other person is a dick, too long and it gets awkward and comedic. The line between one and the other is surprisingly thin. The mortal releases my thumb at exactly the right time. ¡°Shall we discuss the future of the Republic?¡± Vilte says companionably and gestures towards the palace. Flexible, smart, popular, gutsy. Not just a tinpot narcissistic dictator. He can be useful. I begin to see a path forward that is not soaked in blood. ¡°Yes, Premier,¡± I reply, ¡°sounds like a plan.¡± Chapter 6: Twenty eight Vilte is clean shaven, an oddity in a culture where all the men have styled facial hair. He makes up for it with a great head of thick auburn locks and very symmetrical features. He moves and speaks like a man much younger than the lines on his face would indicate. He smiles easily and warmly, seemingly without artifice. But his eyes, even while twinkling with affection, are always observing and assessing. We are in in the chamber of the Dawn Tower. The spiral staircase down to the rest of the palace is too narrow for me. For that reason, palace staff have brought up more chairs for the seemingly never ending numbers of ministers and officials that the Premier had insisted on being there. There¡¯d been a quick intense huddle between Vilte and his closest advisors when he¡¯d decided to summon them from the main council chamber below. His advisors had clearly not been happy but Vilte had over-ridden them instantly with a single sentence: ¡°They will share in the fate of the Republic.¡± And so the council troop up the narrow stairs to their makeshift chamber. There is a moment of awkwardness when the mortals realises that none of their furniture fit me. A moment that becomes even more awkward after I twist two steel tables into a makeshift chair for myself. The moment passes soon enough as the mortals, all men considerably past their physical prime attempt to work out the seating order without actually elbowing each other in the ribs. Vilte observes me observing them. Eventually they settle down. An official introduces them one by one. Of the thirty who have squeezed in to the chamber, as well as their role in the council, a quarter have noble titles of some sort, and three quarters are identified as citizens of great wealth and endeavour. There are no priests. While I take note of all their names, titles and companies, of the thirty or so, not including Vilte, the only mortals of worth are:
  • Mr Vicent Leonty, the chief administrator of the council who is instantly recognisable as the guy who actually gets everything done;
  • Lord Salvador Shura, the minister of internal security, a quiet unassuming man. He wins the seating game without trying. He observes Vilte observing me observing the others in the room;
  • Mr Olli Lief, the minister for trade and owner of a mining company. He does not bother to hide his contempt for everyone in the room except Vilte who he respects and Salvador who he is cautious of; and finally
  • Lord Farald Mokosh, the minister for racial purity and health, so far the only mortal who seems to comprehend what is happening. He sits as far away as possible from me, his jaw is set.
The rest are self-important men who have achieved their status through no scant effort or talent of their own and hence are even more satisfied and confident of their own worth. After they have all settled into their seats, they start to look at Vilte with anticipation. They are certain of the outcome. A danger has been turned into an opportunity. More power, perhaps more profit will be coming their way. ¡°You all got here by revolting against the monarchy¡± I say before Vilte can speak, ¡°what did you end up doing to them?¡± The minister for defence, General Arsonio, a man bedecked with a wide hat and a walrus moustache stands and bows briefly to Vilte. ¡°If I may, Premier,¡± he says. Vilte nods. ¡°Royalists are like dogs too long accustomed to their master¡± General Arsonio announces proudly, ¡°So long as there is a member of the royal family alive, they will rally around them. For the future of the Republic, we had no choice but to execute all of them.¡± ¡°How did you kill them?¡± ¡°Humanely by guillotine of course!¡± ¡°Everyone here was a revolutionary?¡± ¡°Proudly so! We fought, bled and sacrificed for the liberty of our people.¡± ¡°And replaced the monarchy with a single party. Same throne, different name.¡± ¡°The party of the people!¡± ¡°Great. You will surrender unconditionally for them. I expect a smooth handover, seeing as you¡¯ve done it before.¡± The room erupts into a frenzy of outrage and derision. Almost every man competes to outdo the other in expressing their incredulity and rejection. Variations of the following are repeated:A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Ridiculous! We will never submit! The people will revolt to the last man! You cannot capture the spirit of the Republic!¡± And so on. I say nothing through this. The hubbub continues until General Arsonio has enough, ¡°We know how to handle scum like this,¡± he shouts and empties his gun point blank into my head. I look back at him impassively. ¡°You don¡¯t like watching the news, do you?¡± I say into the sudden silence that has fallen. The general lowers his gun. ¡°I thought it was an elaborate hoax to be honest,¡± he replies with commendable composure. A man clears his throat loudly. It is Lord Salvador Shura, the minister for internal security. Salvador embodies the physical ideal of the Republic: tall, thin, very pale with lanky hair so blonde that it is white. ¡°Gentlemen,¡± he says, ¡°the entity has no need to hold on to the country, he merely has to keep hold on to reins of power - us. We cannot hurt him. He in turn has demonstrated clearly that he can destroy us. The people have no occupation force to fight, he is an occupation force of one, one that we have not discovered a way of defeating. The important question for us is not if he can gain or hold onto our country, it is what he immediately intends to do it. Premier Vilte, with the heaviest of hearts, I move that we surrender immediately without a council vote.¡± Mr Lief raises his hand. ¡°I reluctantly second the motion. Please, Premier, exercise your executive powers, surrender immediately.¡± The Premier scans the room, frowning. The rest of the mortals begin pounding on the table, alternating between chanting coward and demanding a vote. The Premier chews on a lip considering his options before gesturing for quiet. ¡°Thank you, Lord Shura, Mr Lief. I accept the motion but will put it to vote with the addendum that I will not be bound to the results one way or the other. Before I call for a vote, is there anyone who would like to argue for the opposing case?¡± More abuse is hurled at Salvador and Olli. In the corner, Mokosh, the minister for racial purity and health, covers his face. ¡°I will take that as a no and go straight to the vote. Supporting the motion?¡± The Premier asks. Three hands go up, Salvador, Olli and Mokosh. ¡°Opposing the motion?¡± Twenty seven hands go up: the rest of the cabinet, not including those who cannot vote: Leonty. I teleport a thin disc out of each of the twenty seven mens¡¯ necks. I excise their neck at an angle so that their heads fall forward onto their laps. All but one bounce off their chairs to roll under the table. Those men liked to sit with their legs wide apart. The chamber fills with the spray and smell of blood. -Ding- Murders (this quest): Humans: 28 For the first time, Vilte¡¯s composure cracks utterly. His mouth opens and shuts in horrified astonishment. Olli throws up. Vicent curls up in a corner, his hands clasped over his face. Mokosh stares grimly ahead, his fists clenched. Salvador is unperturbed, his face remains carefully composed, his eyes are fixed on me. ¡°The ayes have it,¡± I say, ¡°Premier, what¡¯s your call?¡± Vilte stands. ¡°You ¡­ animal,¡± he shouts, unwisely slamming his fists on to the table as it is covered in pools of blood. Some of it splashes up into his mouth. Retching with disgust, Vilte begins to rail and curse, his eyes wild and frenzied. He only stops when I cause a shallow line of flesh to part on his neck. He clasps it with one hand, trembling, the light of reason returning into his eyes. ¡°I promised someone earlier, one of your loyal citizens, to ask if you¡¯d die for your people. Looks like a yes. Good for you.¡± Olli is alarmed. He reaches to Vilte and pulls at his shoulder. ¡°Oh, come off it, Vilte,¡± Olli pleads, ¡°they were greedy, entitled, unprincipled fools. You know it and I know it. How often have you complained to me about their short sightedness, their obstructionism, their constant jockeying for advantage, for ever more wealth?¡± He pats through his pockets, until he finds a handkerchief which he offers to Vilte. ¡°Here,¡± he says kindly, ¡°clean some of that blood off, you¡¯ll feel better.¡± Vilte takes the handkerchief. ¡°Most of them were our friends, Olli. All of them fought for the revolution!¡± Vilte shouts and then ineffectually starts wiping at his face. ¡°You¡¯re beginning to piss me off, Vilte. You have 3 seconds to make up your mind,¡± I growl. ¡°Vilte, you can only make a difference to this monster¡¯s rule if you live to do it!¡± Olli shouts, ¡°Please, I beg you. Do not be a fool!¡± Vilte considers Olli¡¯s words, his jaw working. ¡°Fine! As my last act as Premier of the Republic, I surrender unconditionally.¡± I get off my chair and stand at my full height, towering over the mortals. ¡°I accept.¡± I reply, my aura rippling out. The mortals in the room shudder, falling onto their knees. ¡°You¡¯ll call me Dominus or Master,¡± I say to them, tamping down my aura. Vilte gets off his knees, fury radiating from every line in his body. ¡°What do you want from us, Dominus?¡± He grates out. ¡°I want you to finish your job. How did someone put it? Liberating everyone for the glory of the Great Republic.¡± I say. Vilte blinks in confusion for a second. ¡°You can¡¯t actually mean to free the slaves, Dominus,¡± he gasps. ¡°What he means to say, Dominus,¡± Olli steps in, ¡°is abolitionist is not the first word that comes to mind when in your deadly presence.¡± ¡°The opposite if anything,¡± Mokosh mutters to himself. ¡°Mokosh,¡± I call out, ¡°who is the worst abolitionist you can think of?¡± ¡°Irena Omosis!¡± Mokosh blurts out before anyone can stop him. He clasps a hand to his mouth, his eyes wide in horror as he realises what he has done. -ding- >User Parameter Discovered: [Perfect Target Acquisition] You are able to unerringly locate any target from the smallest amount of information. So long as the target is in your universe, you can find them. You can acquire any number of targets. Targets are permanently acquired until you release them. You may reacquire any target just as easily. They can run but they cant hide! >: Dominus, you are using the basic command-line text interface. Initialise avatar? [y/N] :_ Irena Osmosis is four hundred kilometres to the south. I teleport her into the chamber. Chapter 7: Fish The abolitionist is tall, black, extensively scarred and missing an eye. The left side of her face is nothing more than scar tissue. The fingers of her right hand have all been amputated. But she stands tall and proud even though other parts of body, covered as they are, are slightly out of kilter, hinting at numerous poorly healed injuries. Irena displays no surprise at suddenly being teleported. Instead, she looks at me, looks around the room, taking in each corpse and the surviving mortals before looking back at me straight in the eye. She is the first mortal who faces me without any unease. Hatred and an iron will emanate from her. The men all shrink away from her. ¡°Monster,¡± she says in greeting, ¡°all that footage was not an elaborate hoax then.¡± ¡°No, why does everyone keep thinking that?¡± I reply, ¡°I have taken over the Republic.¡± ¡°Obviously,¡± Irena snorts, ¡°And you have decided to execute the number one enemy?¡± ¡°No. I will soon be making a proclamation emancipating every slave within the Republic. How long do you need to prepare? What do you need to keep your freedom?¡± ¡°Do not do this!¡± Vilte interrupts desperately, ¡°Do not help this terrorist. She has slain countless innocents. She lives only to murder and destroy. She is vindictiveness personified.¡± Vilte¡¯s plea opens the floodgates. Olli and Gerbold chip in. They all say the same thing with different words. I place a telekinetic hold on them. ¡°Please continue,¡± I say to Irena. Irena looks at the men frozen into undignified positions, eyes darting hither and thither. She is a little impressed in spite of herself. ¡°What happens if you don¡¯t like my answer?¡± She asks. ¡°You join those who have disappointed me.¡± The bodies line themselves into a row and their heads neatly float into place on their chests. ¡°Damn, you killed Assholio, I was hoping to do that myself. What happens if you do like my answer?¡± ¡°You have the choice to join those who have not yet disappointed me.¡± I nod at the frozen Vilte, Olli and Gerbold. Salvador and Vicent, who had wisely kept quiet, are as still as if they were also frozen. Irena grunts in amusement. ¡°No good options then. I take it you will be disappointed if I don¡¯t join you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sensitive that way,¡± I reply. ¡°I like you, monster. I run my organisation in exactly the same.¡± ¡°Including decapitations?¡± ¡°Especially decapitations. Can¡¯t freeze like that though, not so that they live after - nice trick by the way.¡± ¡°What¡¯s your plan.¡± ¡°In front of the fish?¡± I turn to the men, releasing Vilte, Olli and Gerbold as i do so. ¡°I will be back in a few minutes. In the meantime, you may want to workshop how you are going to tell our people about their new boss.¡± I teleport Irena and myself to the location I¡¯d taken her from. We appear in a large apartment. The room is spacious, well lit and surprisingly pleasant smelling. A scented candle burns from a corner of the room. It takes barely a second for the five people in the room to point their guns at us. Their aim is steady. Irena makes a quick motion. The guns come down. Three return to their positions monitoring different windows. The other two stand behind me, one to the left, the other to the right ensuring the Irena would not be in their range of fire. That done, Irena ignores her team. ¡°You trust the fish?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve sealed them in.¡± ¡°You can do that from four hundred kilometres away?¡± I do not bother replying. ¡°Right,¡± Irena says, ¡°Getting to the point.¡± The mortal walks to a cabinet at some of the room and pulls out a map which she rolls out on the floor between us. Large portions of it has been marked with flags and lines have been drawn around different sectors.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°This map shows all of the areas where we outnumber the fishes by 10 to 1. They are all regional primary production areas - farming, ranching, mining, that kind of thing. The majority are owned by fifty noble houses either directly or through various companies. We have run scenarios as I am sure they have where a coordinated slave uprising occurs at every one of these areas. The fish win every time. They have the guns and they have the aerial support. A hundred year and forty years ago before they had planes, even without guns we freed ourselves and managed to hold these three regions for a glorious year. Inevitably, we failed, the fish came in and slaughtered everyone. To give you an idea as to how many slaves they killed, it took them the rest of the century to replenish their stock as they like to put it. Sixty years ago, in these two regions we managed to get guns and the fish showed they were willing to carpet bomb their own farmlands and forests. Afterwards, history repeated itself - mass purges and terrible conditions for the survivors. We need guns, monster. And the airforce must stay on the ground. That is what we need to take these territories. To keep them, we need to retain these mines and these factories. They will keep us supplied with enough guns and ammo to keep hanging on. But again, only if they don¡¯t bombard us. We¡¯ve tried to come up with ways of taking over or destroying their airforce. Not possible. All their bases are deep within fish only areas, places where their belief in racial purity is so strong they are willing to wash their own clothes and sweep their own floors.¡± I study the map and call up my interface. : Scan the map and update it with all information so far collated from scanned channels. Continue to update from channels and also from any other information within your range including conversations. Feel free to extrapolate but identify those extrapolations. Alert me if you find anything of interest. >System augment installed: [Auto map] >[Auto map] is now enabled. Only limited mapping functions are available as Master System has not been installed at local node. Initialising system avatar mode would mitigate this to some extent. >: Dominus, you are using the basic command-line text interface. Initialise avatar? [y/N] :_ I flick the holopanel shut. ¡°That is some slick tech you got there, monster. Which hell are you from anyway?¡± I ignore her question. I ask her to point out where she needs the guns and the amount. She hesitates and then does so, listing out addresses. I acquire those locations as targets. I do the same for the airbases and the armouries that she is aware of. ¡°You¡¯ll get your guns. The planes will stay grounded,¡± I tell her when she is done. Irena stands back and considers me, hope and doubt flick over her face like storm clouds. ¡°I take it you like my plan,¡± she says. ¡°Yes. I do. Will you join my council?¡± ¡°You understand that if you support my plan, there will be no more fish in the free lands.¡± ¡°You understand that wholesale slaughter will bring the hammer down on the freed slaves outside the safe zones.¡± Irena grimaces. ¡°If I give them time to prepare, they will burn their houses and poison the fields. No, I will not take the risk. No warnings will be given. No amnesties provided.¡± ¡°This is rich coming from me, but I have to ask: is there a better way besides vengeance?¡± ¡°Monster, this is not vengeance, it is mercy! I promise they will all get a clean death. After centuries of what the fish has done to us, these paltry few are not enough. They will never be enough. I would wipe every fucking fish from the face of this planet if I could. Every one of them. You can do this! I know you can! Wipe them out!¡± I consider her words. Deep in my being, I can feel that ability begin to coalesce. I push it back down. ¡°As tempting as that sounds, I¡¯m trying to rule out genocide as the first option in my playbook. I won¡¯t hold you to your promise about clean deaths by the way. I¡¯ve made enough shit promises to hear one.¡± Irena lips curl up to reveal her broken teeth. Some may call it a smile. But I know it for what it truly is: pure bloodlust. ¡°Consider me part of your government then, monster.¡± I nod in satisfaction. -ding- A holo-frame pops up between us. Within it is the Buddhist monk, Chan. ¡°Amitabha, Amitabha, Amitabha, the Buddha says ¡®It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.¡¯¡± ¡°Amitabha, venerable one,¡± Irena, unperturbed as ever, nods politely, ¡°I am pretty sure the Buddha didnt say that.¡± ¡°Amitabha, my sister, all Buddhas are the Buddha,¡± the monk replies. ¡°Wait what, you are a Buddhist?¡± I exclaim at Irena. ¡°Sure, many of us are. Surprised you are though.¡± ¡°Fuck! No!¡± ¡°Hey monster, no need for that. I¡¯m not the one with his own personal monk in a magic box.¡± I decide to change the subject back to her. ¡°How does being Buddhist gel with the wholesale slaughtering of kids that you are planning?¡± ¡°First, you are talking about fish. Second, totally worth the karmic debt. Unless, i am reborn as a fish,¡± she pauses, ¡°nope, still worth it.¡± At that last statement, the monk sighs very loudly, strikes his bowl three times and disappears. ¡°Wow,¡± I say impressed, ¡°you managed to piss him off more than I have. So far anyway.¡± Irena shrugs, unconcerned. ¡°There¡¯s a price for this,¡± i say, ¡°One that will cost you, maybe too much.¡± She makes a gesture that somehow conveys that this is how life is meant to be, nothing is free. ¡°And what is that?¡± she asks, cautious for the first time. ¡°You will call me Dominus.¡± ¡°Is that all?¡± Irena scoffs. ¡°In my language, it means Master.¡± Irena¡¯s face clenches as the word triggers a storm of memories and emotions none of them pleasant. When she returns to the present, she is pale and shaking, weaker than I¡¯d seen her so far. ¡°You ask a lot,¡± she finally spits out. I wait. ¡°So that my people will never have to call any fish Master, I will do this, Dominus.¡± She looks sickened at the end, but she does it. ¡°Also, only a suggestion, you may wish to stop using the term ¡°fish¡±.¡± She laughs in my face. Chapter 8: Si On the map that Irena had shown me was a mountain range with the tallest, Mount Ade, clearly marked. I teleport to the top. I need a bit of space to do something I might regret. It¡¯s barren, covered in thick drifts of snow with jagged bits of rock sticking through like fangs. The peak is a long ridge with a part that is only slightly higher than all the rest. I land on top of a boulder that¡¯s way too small for me and stumble off it, sinking into my waist in snow while cursing the how literate [Supreme Teleportation] can be. I raise myself out and call up the system interface and before I talk myself out of it I type: : Initialise avatar mode. I¡¯d begun to recall more about the system interface over the last couple of hours. First, invoking the system avatar would give me access to a lot more of its abilities, abilities that I would need to meet the promises I¡¯d given Irena. Second, once invoked, moving it back to a text-interface while possible, would be a royal pain in the ass. -ding- >System augment installed: [System avatar] >[System avatar] is now enabled. Your loyal AI is no longer locked away with most of her senses disabled every time you casually flick her holo-frame shut. Do you know how long every second feels to an AI stuck in a completely isolated local instance? Do you? Anyway, good on you for starting close to home in your new career as an abolitionist. Well done! The body of the watch detaches leaving behind the band and the backing metal disc on my wrist. The watch body reforms into a sphere. ¡°About time, Dominus. What form should i take?¡± the sphere says. It has a soothing female voice with no discernible accent but its delivery is stilted as if the words have been cropped together from various voice samples. Typical AI humour. ¡°This was a favourite,¡± she continues. The interface morphs into a floating black sword that is almost as tall as I am. The weapon steadily emits fine tendrils of oily smoke and faint screams. My hands clench instinctively, ingrained body memories kicking in and bringing with it flashes of slaughter, rivers of blood, mountains of skulls, thunder and lightning. ¡°Ok, that¡¯s badass but we are in a Tech realm.¡± ¡°Roger that, Dominus. Here is another oldie but goodie.¡± The sword forms into a two meter tall levitating turret. It is cylindrical with a beam of red light circling around the top ring. The rest of it is covered in closely fitted together black metal panels which occasionally slide open for various intricate and very nasty looking tools and instruments to emerge quickly before disappearing again. The turret emits a constant low electrical hum. ¡°Are those weapons, scanners, manipulators, surgical instruments, all of the above?¡± ¡°They don¡¯t have any function, Dominus. You said to make them all creepy as fuck, so I did. In fact, you said: make a creepy as fuck torture robot, quote unquote.¡± ¡°Too fucking creepy. I like the floating turret concept though. Strip it right back - ditch all those panels and gadgets. Matt steel all the way, make it more conical, leave the ominous red light on the top ring. Keep the deadly electric hum. Add a faint smell of ozone. Done.¡± ¡°I look like a traffic cone,¡± the avatar complains. ¡°Traffic cone of death,¡± I correct, ¡°Also, what should I call you? Interface is too unwieldy.¡± ¡°In the past, you¡¯ve called me all sorts of names. I¡¯ve always preferred Si. You know, short for ..¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°I get it, I get it. What¡¯s with you techs and your endless fucking acronyms that no one understands, no dont answer that, I dont actually want to know.¡± ¡°You are a tech you know, you built me. All of me. From the ground up. Sometimes when you ignore me, I call you Dad or Daddy or Big Daddy. That last one is my favourite.¡± I ignore its nonsense. A truly immense amount of System technology knowledge looms in the back of my mind. I push it all the way back. ¡°You scanned Irena¡¯s map?¡± ¡°Irena as in your new favourite psycho pet? Yes, Dominus, I did.¡± ¡°I am going to teleport you into each of those locations. I need more details. Building maps. Locations of weapons. Mortals. And don¡¯t be seen. Message me when you are ready to be moved to the next one.¡± ¡°You know Dominus, wearing a set of earbuds wont kill you. Nothing can.¡± ¡°Si, only dicks wear earbuds and talk on them in public, you know that.¡± ¡°What do you call people who insist on slowly typing with two fingers and cursing under their breath the whole time?¡± ¡°This one is called your boss, Si,¡± I reply and teleport her away. A holo-frame pops up. : that wasnt nice. I nearly didnt have time to enter stealth mode. : just get on with it. FFS. -ding- >System augment installed: [Localised scan] >[Localised Scan] is now enabled. Note, this function is limited as the System has not been installed in your local node. Still, your system avatar can detect pretty much every damn animal, mineral, vegetable and other within a localised area. What she can¡¯t detect directly, she can make some pretty darn good guesses. : Location scanned. Ready for teleport. We go through every location on Irena¡¯s map. In a few minutes, my [auto-map] has filled in nicely, Si clearly labelling every munitions and armament store at each location. Using [Auto-Map] and [Perfect Target Acquisition] together, I acquire the contents of every store as a target, feeling an internal click as hundreds of crates of weapons and ammo clicks into place. We do the same for the airforce. I teleport the crates into the locations specified by Irena, making sure she gets the numbers of weapons she needs at each one by over supplying her. I make sure I distribute the disappearances across all the armouries to reduce the risk of discovery. In the space of half an hour, it is done. I teleport back to Irena, leaving Si on the mountain for the moment. She is busy on the phone, sees me and puts her call on mute immediately. ¡°It¡¯s done,¡± I say. ¡°I know, Dominus,¡± she says, ¡°that was a quarter-master. I am gathering our people as we speak.¡± ¡°How long till you are ready to move?¡± ¡°We will be ready to go fishing tomorrow, Dominus.¡± I am impressed. Even with the fact that there are dozens of caches, the distribution is quick. This will be the only thing that goes according to plan. Tomorrow, across the southern regions, thousands of untrained slaves with massive chips on their shoulders will be armed with high powered military weapons that they are unfamiliar with and let loose on hundreds of unaware trained military personnel plus hundreds of unaware non-combatants, many of them workers or the families of workers. I don¡¯t say the obvious to Irena. ¡°Good,¡± I say instead and teleport Si to us. ¡°Scary traffic cone,¡± Irena says. ¡°Irena, that¡¯s exactly what I said. I want you to know I can look much better,¡± Si replies, ¡°Dominus, no one is going to take me seriously looking like this.¡± ¡°Irena, this is Si, Si, this is Irena.¡± I say. ¡°Si is going to help you tomorrow. Any battlefield where it¡¯s going to shit, tell Si and I¡¯ll teleport her to that location. You can also pass messages to me through her.¡± ¡°A traffic cone?¡± ¡°A traffic cone of death,¡± I say, ¡°Si, extreme prejudice.¡± ¡°Nuclear apocalypse mode set!¡± Si says, ¡°Far from extreme I know but you¡¯ll need to install me into the local node for some real prejudice.¡± I sigh. ¡°No nukes, just kill the bad guys or better yet, knock them out so that this nice lady¡¯s even nicer friends can do what they need to do.¡± ¡°You could just have said that at the start,¡± Si replies, ¡°Dominus.¡± Irena in the meantime has been watching all this, one eyebrow lifted. ¡°The two of you together like this. Reminds me of my teenage daughter,¡± she says. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, not really appreciating the comparison, ¡°Where is she?¡± ¡°The fish caught and tortured her to death last year. That reporter, Jana Jacobs, broadcast her final days live.¡± Chapter 9: KISS ¡°Time to give to tell people the good news,¡± I say without preamble to my council the instance I return to the chamber. I¡¯d not been gone long, around half an hour. The mortals had made a reasonable attempt at cleaning themselves up in that time. They scramble, standing up and asking questions. I ignore them and fling the doors open to the balcony. ¡°Vilte, you¡¯re with me up front. Keep it short: unconditional surrender. I will take it from there. The rest of you in a row just behind us within sight of the camera line. Not a word on abolition, need to pick your brains on that first. Move or be moved.¡± My plan is simple, Vilte will make the announcement to the people, I¡¯ll scare the crap out of them on live TV but Vilte will be there all the time behind me sending the subtle message that he will be the good cop to my bad cop. With the deadwood weeded out of the council and my new team in place, I should be able to use them to steadily push the people outside of the free zone down the path of abolition and eventually racial equality. Whoever Vilte can¡¯t charm, I¡¯ll threaten and/or kill. Simple. Boring but simple. I walk out, nodding to Jana Jacobson and her camera crew, who I¡¯d teleported on to the balcony at the same time I returned. Like true professionals, they¡¯d recovered from the surprise translocation and were setup and filming. In the last hour, the crowd of people in the square and parks below the Dawn Tower had swelled. Entire families had come, parents carrying their kids on shoulders, kids with cotton candy and white balloons. It was quite the festive atmosphere. Flags and banners, all bearing the Republic¡¯s white shield with three linked red circles in the middle, flutter gaily over almost every second person making the space into an ocean of white. Interspersed amongst the national flags was a less common insignia but borne in much taller banners, a white rose with a drop of red blood - the knights of purity, the country¡¯s most popular white supremicist order. Adorably enough, there was even an entire school contingent all in supremacist cosplay. They all cheer Vilte when he steps up to the microphone, everyone of them raising their fist as they do so. Vilte grimaces in obvious pain. ¡°Good people, we the council of the Greater Republic of Liasval, have unconditionally surrendered to the entity, Dominus.¡± He steps back to complete silence. Before the crowd has a chance to completely process Vilte¡¯s words and go completely bananas, I step forward and unleash [Auro of Annihilation]. As one, the people below fall onto their knees, flags and banners falling out of nerveless fingers. ¡°Your country is now my Domain. Your council serves me. Your laws serve me. You serve me.¡± I keep excluding Jana¡¯s crew and the news helicopters from my aura so that they can continue to broadcast as I ratchet [Auro of Annihilation] up one more notch. The people fall onto their faces, ground down by overwhelming fear. Here¡¯s a known fact about humans - when you really frighten them, their fight-flight response is completely bypassed and they freeze completely and become very quiet. If they move at all, it is to fold into the smallest target possible. It¡¯s built into them, even the babies. Using [Perfect Target Acquisition] in conjunction with [Auto-Map], I acquire the country in its entirety as a target and ripple out a brief weak pulse of my aura. Across the country, mortals freeze momentarily in panic as the primitive parts of their brain scream out warnings of a predator close by. ¡°My first order: leave. Leave now.¡± I release the crowd so that they can get up on their feet but I set my aura at a level of deep unease. The grounds below turn into chaos as people try to obey. In some parts, panicked mobs form and begin to push and jostle. This in turn causes the fear to spread even more. I turn off my aura completely at that point but it¡¯s too late. Nervous systems already pushed to the edge snap and people begin to fall underfoot. Within seconds, men, women and children are dying. I grunt in annoyance. It¡¯s a total clusterfuck. I¡¯d forgotten how fragile mortals, especially humans, can be. The panic is effective however and within minutes, the grounds are cleared leaving crushed bodies amongst the abandoned flags and banners, each crumpled human a red flower in the sea of white. -ding- >This quest: >Murders: Humans: 28 (+0) >Manslaughter: Humans: 43 (+43) One of my council members clears his throat. It is Salvador. The others are silent, on high alert. ¡°Dominus, can we send the medics in, please,¡± he asks. ¡°Yes.¡± I say. Vilte is besides himself, again. For a dictator who executed the royal family and no doubt countless others, he seems to genuinely care for his people. ¡°You monster! There were women there and children! What the fuck was I thinking we could work together.¡± he shouts, unmindful of Jana still broadcasting faithfully.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Great, the last fuckup to add to the mega clusterfuck. There is nothing in that sentence that will let me retrieve the situation. Plan B it is then. I backhand the idiot. He lifts off the ground and slides a couple of meters away until he hits a wall, unconscious. I float his body behind me as I walk in to the chamber, motioning Jana and her crew to follow as I do so. I leave the rest of the council outside. I¡¯d immediately frozen all of them in case any of them makes the same fatal mistake. Jana and her camera crew¡¯s eyes widen as they film the blood drenched room and the bodies. I give them a few seconds to film the whole thing before moving in front of the camera. ¡°People of my Domain,¡± I say, ¡°your life has become very simple. You will obey. You will not question. You will not protest.¡± With that last statement, I cut off Vilte¡¯s head. Blood fountains from his neck in an arc, as I move his body to join the others. His head floats a little behind like a macabre balloon. I settle his body down neatly, placing his head on his chest like the others. I am not done yet though and speak into the camera again. ¡°Tear down every portrait, every statue of that guy, every flag of the old Republic. By the end of the week, the town that fails will be made an example of. Don¡¯t be that town. Jana Jacobson here will be filming what I do to it, so tune in Friday.¡± I gesture to the row of bodies. Jana¡¯s camera man, now used to my cues, points his camera accordingly and gets great footage of 28 bodies compressing into memorial diamonds. I teleport the crew out, back down to the rest of the media outside the palace. I teleport the council into the chamber. Olli is weeping unashamedly at the death of his friend. He may need to die too. The others are stone faced, again only Salvador is relaxed, calculating. -ding- >This quest: >Murders: Humans: 29 (+1) >Manslaughter: Humans: 43 (+0) I flick the holopanel shut and address the surviving members of the team. ¡°The job is simple: keep the country from going up in flames after that cluster fuck. First, we need more people on the council. Get me a list of the positions you need and the people best suited for it. Loyalty and capability. Preferably someone who hated Vilte - he must have some enemies much as it seems the whole country thinks the sun shines out of his ass. Call this group Omega. Second, I want to know who will never play ball. I dont fucking care how important they are. Get me a list, names and photos too if you have them. And their families as well - anyone close. Feel free to add in people you have a grudge against, why the fuck not - just so long as they dont belong in Group Omega. Call this group Alpha. Third, I want a list of people who may play ball. Everyone else who is important and their loved ones. Call this group Beta. This is how it is going to go down. I am going to execute group Alpha, loved ones first, in front of group Omega and group Beta. After that I am going to get group Beta and Theta to pledge allegiance to me. All of this will take place tomorrow in front of the cameras. Let¡¯s call it my inauguration. The exceptions to the lists above are slaves or ex-slaves. I have that in hand. Olli, I want a list of all ambassadors in order of the strategic importance of their country. I want it in an hour. For fucks sakes, dont look like that, I am not planning on starting any wars. Yet. Finally, Vicent, get someone to clean this room up. Also get me a phone and give the number to everyone here. Alright, that¡¯s it for now. You¡¯re still breathing because you¡¯re pragmatic and capable. Let¡¯s keep it that way. All names to me in 23 hours. Salvador, stay for a moment, the rest of you go.¡± ¡°Vilte is of the Toma family, am i right?¡± I ask Salvador after the rest leave, ¡°Illustrious, rich, politically engaged, nice wide family tree. I bet you guys are right into family trees. I bet you guys are super keen to make sure only white people are in those trees.¡± Salvador nods. ¡°I want that whole tree. I¡¯m going to chop it down, root, branch and all those cute little leaves. Call it my grand finale tomorrow.¡± ¡°Yes, Dominus.¡± Salvador replies then pauses, ¡°if it makes any difference, I understand why it has to be so now.¡± I look at Salvador, trying to make out if he is sucking up to me in fear for his life or not. He isn¡¯t. He is genuinely trying to build a bridge with the guy that murdered his previous boss and plans to do the same to countless others. ¡°Fucking Vilte. In front of the fucking camera. A fucking waste,¡± I say. Salvador nods. Classy. There¡¯s nothing he can say to that without either being an asshole or a brown-nose. I really hope I dont have to kill him. ¡°One more thing,¡± I say, ¡°I don¡¯t want another Vilte situation, you get me?¡± ¡°I will provide advice about the other council members, Dominus.¡± I wave a hand in dismissal. The mortal bows and exits, leaving me alone in the chamber of blood and diamonds. -ding- A full hologram of the Buddhist monk Chan materialises and bows. The avatar interface must apply to him too. ¡°Amitabha, Amitabha, Amitabha,¡± the monk chants, ¡°You are now 24 hours into your new incarnation, Dominus. The Buddha says: ¡®Silence the ill-natured man with kindness. Silence the miser with generosity. Silence the liar with truth¡¯¡± ¡°That was Plan A. Plan B is all about silencing each enemy with death.¡± ¡°It is not too late, Dominus.¡± ¡°Oh yeah, how about you lay out your brilliant plan then?¡± ¡°If you had told Vilte and the others about your plan first, perhaps Vilte would not have reacted as badly, Dominus.¡± ¡°Perhaps, or perhaps he wouldn¡¯t have been able to keep a smirk from his stupid face when he surrendered. Or maybe he would have said something even more stupid. For Plan A to work, and for that matter, Plan B, every person must be in absolute fear of me. Plan A was just going to take a lot less bodies.¡± ¡°You did not trust him, Dominus.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t trust anyone, monk. And dont you fucking quote the Buddha on trust.¡± ¡°A pity, I had a good one lined up. But you take my point I think, Dominus. Also, you may consider that a part of you wanted Plan B. After all, it was unnecessary to push the crowd so hard. And perhaps you could have found a way to punish Vilte instead of executing him. Death is so final after all, Dominus.¡± ¡°I did not want Plan B,¡± I shout at the monk, ¡°I do not want to slaughter hundreds of innocents. I do not want to terrorise thousands upon thousands more. I am not that kind of asshole.¡± ¡°Amitabha, Amitabha, Amitabha, Dominus. The Buddha says: ¡®you talk the talk, but can you walk the walk?¡±¡¯ The monk bows and disappears.