Garth sighed as he initialed the last form on his desk, authorizing resources to be diverted to mend some cracked sections of wall around Nierburg. The world was dying, and yet bureaucracy was alive and well. Another wave of shuttles was getting loaded the next morning, and he’d much rather have spent his time reviewing those logistics. Nobody would have blamed him, which is exactly why he forced himself to engage with the request. His people deserved that much.
Garth stepped out onto his office balcony, feeling the warm breeze on his face as he looked out at the city. His chest tightened as hope warred with grief, seeing families preparing to depart, as others entrenched themselves deeper. He’d dedicated so many of the Central Authority’s remaining resources to educating the survivors about the impending death of Earth, and yet the faction insistent on staying had only grown in number.
Of those who had decided to leave, nearly two-thirds had already boarded. Soon, it would be his turn. He lifted his gaze to the night sky, his mind drifting to the young Healer. I hope you’re doing well out there, Kyle. His friend had been faced with some hard choices, and made the best he could out of them.
Garth dismissed the offer from Corthian Mining at first, though the longer he thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make. His people would need opportunities, and the mining company was their only in. He’d had to make a difficult decision since the kid left, and all he could hope was that he made the right one
“Mr. Boltsbury, sir.” Garth turned to see Thomas standing near the balcony door, standing at crisp attention. Garth rubbed his temples as he felt a headache coming on.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but we’ve been on a first name basis for a long time. It’s just Garth. It’s always just been Garth.”
Thomas shook his head slowly. “Maybe before, sir. Times are changing. Have changed.”
“Not so much that you can’t address me as a friend. What do you have to report?”
Thomas stood for a moment, seeming deep in thought before he responded. “DeRosa has continued to be an asset. I can’t be completely confident, but I don’t think he’s involved with the propaganda convincing people to stay.”
Garth swore. He had been so sure. “Another dead end. Anything else?”
“Only that he’s preparing to board on the next group of shuttles. He said his work is done to the best of his ability, and that he’s ready to go.” Thomas opened his canteen, drinking generously before lowering it from his lips. He met Garth’s eyes. “Will that be a problem?”
Garth shook his head. “No, he’s done a lot already. Honestly, I’ll feel better with him gone, even though his people have contributed so much to the reconstruction.” The words felt inadequate. A wave of nearly unprecedented work was accomplished under DeRosa’s direction, leaving virtually no planning left. All that was yet to do was execution. It made Garth wonder if Kyle made the right choice, putting Garth in charge. We all had to make hard choices.
Garth shoved the thought down, turning his attention back to Thomas. The young man had grown far more formal over the recent months, as had Amir. Garth couldn’t blame them – both were tasked with supervising and assisting one of the harshest taskmasters from the old Central Authority. Both men had risen to the occasion, and Garth suspected that they were just exhausted.
“At least you and Amir can take a well-deserved vacation after he goes.” Garth said, a tired smile on his face.
Thomas stood for a moment, shifting his weight side to side. “Actually, sir, I spoke with Amir. We want to go with him. We’ll be able to serve more effectively, and report everything that happens on board when you arrive.”
Garth eyed him skeptically. “Is that really what you want?”
“Yes, sir.”
Garth reached out his hand, and Thomas took it. The young man’s grip was firmer than Garth remembered. “If that’s the case… be safe out there, Thomas.”
“I will. Care for a drink before I leave, sir?”
“I’d like that.” Garth grabbed a couple of glasses out of his desk, and pulled out the nearly-empty bottle of aged whiskey. Thomas drew a flask out of his jacket, pouring a ruby liquid into his glass. He reached to pour some for Garth, who shook his head. “Just the whiskey for me.”
Thomas looked as though he was about to continue to pour for a fraction of a second, before placing the cap back on the flask.
“As you wish, sir.”
Garth poured a finger for himself, then raised his glass. “To a well-deserved rest.” Garth said. “And to new beginnings.” Thomas replied. They toasted, and Garth felt the alcohol’s burn as he downed his drink.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
~~~
Victor DeRosa was having a great day. Not one without complications, yet a day where he struggled to keep the smile off of his face. He swirled the deep violet liquid in his glass before pouring it, the subtle mana within apparent to him as he attuned to it. He drank deeply, and his body felt invigorated, vital energy surging through every cell. Victor shuddered at the feeling, and the thirty workers nearby stopped and trembled in response, before continuing their work.
Victor nodded as they returned to their efforts, releasing a pulse of energy from deep within his chest. Smaller pulses were released from his workers in response, bringing with them tidbits of information on their efforts. The data was processed by the mycelium that grew within him, allowing Victor to make small changes in direction at will.
Unlike the ants, which could only perform the most basic of tasks, human hosts for the fungus were far more valuable. Through the link, he could see his team of Alchemists brewing more of the health serum that contained the subordinate fungus, while others disseminated it. DeRosa didn’t believe it was necessary to continue giving the potions to those in whom a mycelium had taken root, though he kept the directive in place. After all, one couldn’t be too careful.
He felt the approach of one of his faithful, and extended a tendril of mana to open the door before the young man could reach out his hand to it. Enter.
In obeisance to the command, the sandy-haired individual stepped inside before immediately falling to a knee. His right fist was held over his heart as his eyes looked to the ground. “Lord DeRosa, I come with a report.”
Victor noticed with displeasure that the young man’s left hand twitched slightly, and before allowing Thomas to report, he sent another mental command through the bond. Drink.
Thomas did, taking out a flask and draining it to the last drop. He was a more recent convert, and it was to be expected that there would be challenges from time to time. The other spy that Boltsbury had placed in his office had taken to it much more strongly, and was currently working on preparations to move the alchemy labs onto the shuttles off world. So much to do, Victor thought.
He looked back down at Thomas. Speak. Without so much as looking up, Thomas began recounting his meeting with Garth. The usurper trusted his spy’s reports implicitly, not bothering to verify the information. An unfortunate mistake on his part, if understandable. DeRosa’s methods were well beyond anything that Boltsbury was likely to expect, and the faithful played their part well.
Victor dismissed Thomas with a thought, reviewing the items remaining before his departure. He believed that the alchemy project would be allowed on the ship, broken down and taken as the personal effects of his faithful. After all, what need did they have outside of his service? There was enough of the draught already brewed to offer it to the uninitiated on the shuttle, which would be a major benefit. He felt something stir within him, which caused him to sigh. This will be the largest obstacle. Collecting himself, he closed the door to his chambers and entered meditation.
VICTOR DEROSA. MYCOHOST, HIGH MAGUS. LEVEL 73 (E)
VITALITY: 584
ENDURANCE: 73
STRENGTH: 73
DEXTERITY: 73
WILLPOWER: 412
INTELLIGENCE: 412
PERCEPTION: 339
FREE ATTRIBUTES: 5
Victor allocated his free attributes to Vitality, and considered the pace of his progress. His change to a Mycohost had come with a staggering amount of Vitality, which paired well with the other benefits he received from his High Magus variant class. While he was thrilled with the power he’d developed, he knew beyond a doubt his ascension to D Grade would result in a shift away from his human form. Already the controlling mycelium writhed within him as they grew in power, and he suspected that Corthian Mining would be less than keen to have him on board.
He would need to move with haste when the time came. Breaking through to new heights of power was only to be expected, and Victor DeRosa had no intention of allowing his ascent to end with the death of his planet. It was imperative that he and his faithful make it aboard a shuttle – everything else would flow from there.
A small tremor shook his mansion, bringing Victor out of meditation. He knew the source, and this time failed to contain the smile as he walked down to what had formerly been his laboratory. Now, it was an arena. Reynolds kneeled on the ground, deep cuts in his chest already mending as wriggling tendrils of flesh connected to repair the damage. Opposite him stood a man wearing a featureless metal mask, rapier in one hand and heavy dagger in the other.
Both men turned to Victor as he entered, dropping to a knee with their heads bowed. Victor counted more than 50 awakened among his faithful, and they progressed each day under his tutelage. None of them compared to the two men before him. Focusing on the connection between them, he could feel their level.
Reynolds at 68, Valentine at 72. Incredible. Through their bond, he felt genuine reverence from Reynolds, who embraced the power he’d been given. He still felt hatred from Valentine. Though he didn’t need devotion, he demanded obedience, which was all but guaranteed.
The only problem he encountered was an inability to influence skill selection for his faithful. Reynolds confirmed that they still received skills as they grew in level, though Victor could only see them and choose if his faithful allowed him to do so. Many of the awakened had reservations at first, though they were coming around slowly but surely. Valentine’s hate, however, burned as hot against him now as it ever had.
He’d break eventually, and Victor would savor the moment. For now, however, there was work to do.
Two days later, Victor found himself staring out at the receding form of the planet he’d once called home. He thought he’d feel… something. Instead, the only emotion coursing through him was urgency. He’d just crossed to Level 74, and if his gambit failed, he’d need to take quick action to gain control of the ship. He waited patiently, counting the moments until the door of the viewing room opened up.
A man in a black Corthian Mining uniform entered, with broad shoulders and a scar on his left cheek. “You must be this Victor DeRosa I’ve heard so much about. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more efficient boarding process, and your people have been a real help getting things set up for the journey. I’m Captain Phillip Rogers. Pleased to meet you.”
Victor smiled, tension leaving his shoulders. “A pleasure to meet you as well, Captain. Care for a drink?”