He could feel it. The strain of controlling more than he ever had before... but he was stronger than he had ever been before. An entire fleet's worth of alien starships, and steadily being reforged into a single behemoth to form his Hive. The craft was no longer flightworthy; his approach to the Chinese fleet had mostly been floating on the ocean's surface. He needed to... optimize. Get all of the remaining Jotun engines and reactors working properly, synced up, and see how much mass they could safely fly with.

Later. That would be for when he flew to China, and obliterated all remaining defenses. Or should he hit the US first? Spike was down here, in Antarctica. He could crush the whole navy, the air force, and leave that fool stuck down there in the tundra... and wipe the slate clean of the remaining military.

Did it matter? With all the power the Dreadnaught now bore, he was likely unstoppable; not just a small army of metahumans to provide fire support, or the missiles full of nanomachines, or the plasma cannons stolen from the Jotun... but the sheer power of the mass of metal itself. The only real threats now were Butcher and Valkyrie; and, at worst, they weren't enemies. At best, they might be allies; though Valkyrie definitely wouldn't want to be Queen of North America. Maybe Butcher would want to be King?

As the Dreadnaught settled in among the Chinese fleet, the massed fire from the vessels left deep rents in the ship's hull; even as the ships were grabbed by mile-long tendrils and started pushing themselves closer; or even ramming their fellow ships. The damage was, at worst, superficial; the armor plating facing them at present was over a hundred meters thick, and the only thing likely to seriously damage it was a direct railgun strike; and for some foolish reason, the Americans had put their own fleet outside of railgun range of this one, so they couldn't intervene.

He could feel it shake and tear as the pitiful projectiles slammed into him... even as the ships firing him would abruptly be struck down... and fall under his control. Some of them, he could even turn the guns and fire them at their companions; others, the guns were disconnected from the rest of the ship in some way... and he simply squeezed. Crushing the lives out of everyone aboard.

The decimation of the Chinese fleet took minutes. The Dreadnaught was even larger, more bloated, than ever before... he glanced around at the circle of telepaths helping him coordinate all of this. As much as he enjoyed being surrounded by attractive women, he needed more. He might have to start letting men into the circle. Ugh. Not that he minded, but if he was going to have to stare at them all day and let them into his mind... Well.

As the vessel started to turn, heading towards the American fleet, he could feel... tearing. It had become too large. Too unwieldy. This fleet, and the men who would defend it, would be a threat. He needed to get the Dreadnaught into fighting shape before taking it on. He looked around the throne room. Doctor Kline was working on a console against one wall, a 3-D projection floating above it among numerous displays; he was actively trying to work out exactly the problems the Emperor was concerned with.

He smiled. "Doctor Kline." He turned form his work to face the Emperor, giving a short bow.

"Your work thus far has been excellent. How is your current team?"

The man seemed a bit nervous as he glanced back at the display. "Between my people and a few captured Jotun, we've got a layout that should be fairly effective. I would recommend taking a pause for... at least 10 hours... to melt down and re-forge the outer hull, and rearrange the internal one. We have 27 intact Jotun reactors and more mass than fifty of their starships; I would recommend expelling the excess, less dense metals and paring us down to a single super-ship that could fly once again. Something like... this."

He tapped a few keys. A display came up, showing a roughly wedge-shaped craft with lines of turrets along its leading edges, and a handful of enormous tentacles pressed out in each direction. "This would be a core craft that you could control, and then we could attach numerous smaller tendrils and weapons for the circle to control as well; and even more that actual crew could control, without the need of a telepath."

"Hmm. I like it. Maybe a bit too Star-Wars-ish, like a giant blue star destroyer almost, but it'll certainly frighten anyone who dares cross us. We'll work on it after the Americans."

"Ahh... sir."

He had been about to close his eyes and start moving the vessel once more. "Yes, doctor?"

"..Right now, we are too big, too slow, and too... ramshackle? A single railgun hit would send shockwaves through the armor, and with it haphazardly welded together the way it is, every impact would cause a giant chunk to fall off into the ocean as thousands of tiny welds failed. We could survive a nuke, even a direct hit, so long as it wasn't too large of one, but repeated railgun strikes would have us falling apart. I would recommend either waiting to get this done first, or, if we must move now, moving quietly, and attacking from underwater."

The Emperor looked at the design thoughtfully. Once the ship was properly re-forged, it would be bigger, more powerful, than the Jotun flagship that had invaded the system. A single massive fist with only one man who could wield it. "...Would it be better to land for this, or do it in the water?"

He would send a demand for surrender. Offer a timetable. However quickly this would be done, that would be the time. If Kline said ten hours... well. In ten hours the rest of the world would either surrender, or die beneath his feet.

***

As Eyeball clambered up the chain towards the deck, dripping wet, he was thanking... well, himself.. for making the suit waterproof when he had the helmet sealed. It felt incredibly cold, and if any of that water had actually been able to reach him... well. Honestly, a dip in the Antarctic ocean was virtually a death sentence... especially if you had a mostly-sealed suit full of water that, if it weren't salt water, would already be ice.

When he reached the top of the anchor chain... there was a woman with her hand extended down. A.. well. Tall, lithe, good-looking, brunette wearing a long white flowing dress. She looked... distinctly out of place as she hauled him onto the deck. "And why might I be fishing you out of the water, my fledgling oracle?"

Eyeball frowned as he looked around. It was only the two of them for over a hundred meters; the closest crew were directing a helicopter to land on the deck. "...You seem somehow familiar, but I don't recognize you. I certainly would have remembered you if I had met you before, so... I'm guessing famous actress, model, or..." He stopped. "....Olympian. Oh. You're..."

"Hera." She chuckled. "You aren't why I'm here, but when I felt your friend dump you in the water, I decided to investigate before meeting our friendly President. Do you know how much you angered Apollo?"

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Eyeball shook himself a bit, trying to direct most of the water away from her. "I suspect quite a bit, considering I ended up waking up with him pointing a gun at me."

She was carrying a small wooden box, currently tied by a simple rope belt to her waist like a belt, with one hand resting on it protectively. If he tried to open the box... he would have a broken hand, arm, and then everything would go black after she crushed his head onto the deck like a grape. Good lord, this woman was fast, and strong. If he -shot- the box, he'd see... it contained a pale white mass of some sort.

She laughed. She seemed so... happy. Practically radiant. This... didn't match either the vicious killer she'd immediately become if he went for the box, or what he'd heard about her in the past. The mythical jealous wife whose husband always wandered. "He actually asked us to help him kill you, at one point. You kept throwing his predictions into chaos. He changed his mind about that robot at least a hundred times, going between wanting us to hunt it down, and wanting us to keep it secret. Its been quite a change."

Eyeball glanced around the deck. "So... why are you here?"

She sighed. "A friend of mine asked me to talk to Thomes. A mutual friend, actually. The little gypsy boy. He's been wanting to help Thomes, keep him around longer, for a decade or three, but he kept refusing. He's grown old, weak. His powers aren't what they once were, nor is his body. We won't be helping him in this fight with this Emperor of Iron fellow, and, well. I honestly think they'll need him for it."

"..I thought he just... deflected bullets?"

Hera smiled. "Ahhh. He warps space. He can stand on top of an advancing tank and twist space into a knot so that every bullet fired misses... and the only way to actually hit him would be from some obscure angle off to his left side that no enemies are standing at, and twist it so that every shot from his own guns hit the enemy exactly where he wants. And not just bullets. Swords. Spears. Fists. He was... majestic... in his prime. Perhaps he couldn't have defeated my husband, but he would certainly have led him on a long, extremely confusing, battle. Make him punch himself in the face. I would like to see that. Would you care to come along?"

Eyeball chuckled, shaking his head at the image of Zeus being made a fool of. "You might not want me to. I don't really know the Emperor that well, personally; only seen the things he's done. But if its a fight between Thomes and him, I'd bet on the Emperor. Even with all these carriers. Don't know how much good warping space will be if the whole carrier you're standing on is trying to crush you like a bug. Frankly, I'm gonna be advising him to back down, negotiate."

Hera gave a solemn nod. "And exactly what would you advise him to bargain for?"

"...Thompson wants to split the world up into Kingdoms, with himself as Emperor. I don't really like the idea of a King Eyeball. And to be honest, the old US government was a sack of garbage that needed to die and start over. A King Thomes could probably make a solid start on that; and he'd certainly fit what The Emperor seems to be looking for; competent, powerful metahumans."

Hera turned, starting to walk towards the control tower rising above the carrier deck. "And if he doesn't want to go for that?"

Eyeball started to follow, his feet moving almost on their own. "I'm not one of his people. I'm not one of the Emperor's people... and I don't want to rule the world. So... I guess we'll see. Whatever kills the least people, I guess."

"The world is still in need of saving, Jason Bennet. There are still billions of us left alive. Do you think the Emperor would do a better job of saving them than Thomes?"

As they started up the steps into the structure, a pair of marine guards nodding and holding open the door, Eyeball frowned. "Do you think he would do a better job than you? Whats stopping the Olympians from stepping in?"

She went quiet, watching the stairs as they climbed their way up to the top... and then onto the railings surrounding the tower, where Thomes was standing, leaning against the rail, watching to the east; where scans showed the Emperor was currently piecing together what was left of the Chinese fleet.

He glanced at the two as they emerged. "So. Here about the ultimatum?"

Hera tilted her head. "I left before it was sent, but it doesn't surprise me. Submit to my rule or be crushed?"

Thomes really looked his age at present. He was shaking in the cold air, and just seemed... frail. Weak. A shadow of what he was, even days before, more gaunt and frail than should be possible for such a great man. "Essentially. He said that North America and South America would belong to him, along with the rest of the world... and that each would need a ruler to administer in his stead. Whoever made the best case for their own rule would receive leadership of the continent... and his help subduing resistance, and erecting walls to help form the proper quarantine and defense going forward. Anyone who refused to surrender had ten hours to change their mind... or it would be too late."

Hera nodded. "He is an extremely mighty being. And we have long since agreed not to interfere in your mortal conflicts. With the Jotun defeated, we will be returning to Olympus."

A long sigh. "Nothing you'll offer to help? Perhaps Hephaestus has something he can lend us?"

She stepped closer. "I didn't say I wouldn't offer anything to help. Just that we made a pact, many years ago, and won't interfere in the affairs of the human nations unless they encroach on Olympus herself. We may freely give gifts, within limits. And as such, I have one for you."

Thomes turned to face Hera. "If it will help, I'll gladly take it. What is it?"

She gently opened the small wooden box; and revealed... a soft, white fruit. Not looking much bigger than a tangerine. "This... is the fruit Ambrosia. Its flesh and its juice imbue all the life force stolen by the plant it sprouted from on he who eats it. For the old and weak, a single bite restores youth and health. For the healthy, a cup of its juice grants immortality. For the immortal, it enhances your strength and power. This single fruit would augment your powers to what they were when you were in your prime.. and beyond. You and this ship could move forward, draw in the Emperor, distract him... and you could defend it, while the rest of the fleet brought him down. And afterwards, face the challenges of your nation with the vigor that it will need from you."

Thomes stared at the fruit. For a moment, he almost reached for it... then stopped. "I rejected this once before. Not in the same form... but... a friend offered to help me like this. Keep me young, strong. But..." He turned to Hera. "I've seen so much. So many of my brothers have already died while I've moved on. I thought here, this war with the Jotun, could be the end for me. I could move on."

Hera shook her head. "I apologize, James. But... your country is broken. You planned for this, to take charge, only briefly, so that you could preserve it. But your plans have gone astray. You swore an oath to that country. And it needs you to fulfill that oath, now more than ever."

Eyeball stared. He could remember, many years ago, swearing such an oath himself. To defend a nation, and its constitution. From all enemies, foreign and domestic. He'd always been able to split things up into neat little boxes; the cops who were responsible for so much tragedy in his family, and the soldiers who, quite often, had been his family. And so long as he was just dealing with cops, not soldiers, he could somehow pretend that it wasn't him doing the betraying. These pigs were just, well. Pigs. The real bad guys. Enemies of every free person in the world.

Thomes gently lifted the fruit in his hand; and Hera placed her hand on his own.

"Don't eat the core. If you swallow one of the seeds, it will eat you alive, and form a new plant where you died. We usually burn the seeds to be sure. If you swallow a seed by mistake, I'll know, and we'll want to get you purged immediately."

Thomes let out a low sigh. ".... Did he put you up to this?"

Hera smiled. "Possibly. I've been fond of him since he was a child. I could sense the gift he would have when he grew. I... wish his family had never travelled through germany. His mother was sweet."

Thomes looked at the fruit more closely. "I never knew you people actually were out and about before the war. I'm surprised you intervened in world war two."

"....That would be a long story. One for another day. A day when your country no longer needs you."

As the President steeled himself... and took a bite, making a surprised face at the flavor, Eyeball glanced at Hera thoughtfully. She probably wanted him here to manipulate him. This conversation was for his benefit, as much as the old man. This might make a difference in the plan. He'd been expecting to pretend to help aim the railgun, using his powers, and just shoot the director in the back, to setup the meeting with the Emperor; if he could intervene in a battle that would actually matter, then call the man, that would surely merit an interview, at the very least.