image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/109eb32f-4cec-4842-9b68-4dfa0f575a43/0_0.png]
Finding Hubris and Kiara’s location went easier than Vincent had thought. The two Archetypes revealed themselves by issuing declarations and wrapping two smaller empire regions in pocket universes.
Pinpointing their exact position, on the other hand, had been impossible, and Vincent pointlessly roamed around Orleans for a full day. There was only one thing to do: to ask the Sixth Prince, the one the Archetypes had proclaimed Crown Prince. So, Vincent broke through the first pocket universe’s forcefield and teleported to Paris.
Parisi, as the locals called it, was a grandiose city with massive art-nouveau buildings made of metal and glass, like they had been frozen in the early nineteen hundreds. Many of those were burning or broken. The city was at war.
Vincent decided to walk through it, looking for information. He started on the right bank, near a train station, and went westward, following the river. The town hall was farther toward the center and had barricades, arresting his progress. Instead of jumping on or gliding, Vincent approached the improvised fortifications. They were manned by dwarves armed with muskets.
“Howdy. What’s up?” he asked.
“What faction do you support?” a dwarf yelled.
“No faction, just passing by… But what about you tell me what your faction stands for?” Vincent asked, noticing how the dwarf was putting his finger on the trigger. Sure, he could kill them all, but what was the point? He needed answers.
“You’re on the True Commune of Parisi territory,” the dwarf shouted. “Long live Marx and the proletarian fight!” he pumped his fist in the air.
“Yeah, comrade, long live the fight!” Vincent mimicked the gesture.
“We’re brothers, not comrades!” the dwarf spat on the ground. “Comrades is what the traitors call themselves.”
“Sorry, I had no idea,” Vincent apologized. “So, what happened here?”
“We were hired by the Fifth Prince to conquer the city. He helped us pass the barrier. A week or so ago, our patron, Thorrak, was slain, and we stopped the fighting to mourn. We discovered the true works of Marx in a library and realized Thorrak had been lying to us. Marxism is not about working non-stop, making millions for Thorrak, but for the betterment of society.”
“True,” Vincent nodded.
“Unfortunately, our army soon split into factions, each with its own ideology. If you go further, prepare to forfeit your life because the false Commune of Parisi is made of blood-hungry monsters.”
“I can run very fast and Stealth myself,” Vincent said. “So, the plan to conquer the city failed?”
“No. The prince had more troops; he got the Louvre. The Sixth Prince is retrenched into the opera.”
“Well, brother, long live the proletarian fight. Can I go on?”
“Let him pass!” the dwarf yelled. “He’s a proselyte. Read this,” he shoved a brochure into Vincent’s hands, “but don’t let the fake Commune see it.”
“I won’t,” Vincent said. Soon, he exited through the back of the fortifications and walked on. Notre Dame was a thing there, although he couldn’t see the Eiffel Tower. Five minutes later, he was stopped at another barricade. Prudently, he threw the brochure in a garbage bin.
“Howdy… comrades,” he said.
“Hoy, comrade!” a dwarf bellowed. “Are you a sympathizer of the true Commune of Parisi and Engels?”
“I sure am,” Vincent lied with a blank face. “Do you have some brochure I could read?”
“We don’t have brochures. Our faction spreads its ideas during the party meetings. There’s one at six in the afternoon if you want to attend.’
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“It would be a dream come true. Say… where’s the opera, north of here?’
“Northwest. But take a detour. If you aim directly, you’ll meet the sect of the great deceiver.”
“Goodness… You mean—”
“Stalin,” the dwarf spat on the cobblestone. “Avoid the Stalinists. They torture and eat people.”
“That’s bad,” Vincent frowned.
“Go first north, then west. You’ll pass the Trotskists’ territory, but they’re OK. Don’t smoke their weed. You’ll be out for a day.’
“Goodbye, comrade,” Vincent saluted, walking on. He stopped in a bar for a croissant and a coffee. “Things look bad around here,” he said to the bartender.
“People fled the city,” the man nodded, “but I have my old father to care for. At least, we can put a sign on the window: already looted, and they’ll leave us alone.”
“Geez,” Vincent sighed. He paid ten times the price of the coffee and food with a full silver coin, then proceeded. When he noticed the next barricade, he jumped up and glided until he reached the opera. There was no point in entertaining the Trotskists, and Vincent hated weed. Good old alcohol was all he needed.
“Stop and state your business!” a guard pointed his musket at Vincent.
“I’m here to help the crown prince. I need an audience.”
“His highness is indis—”
Vincent grabbed the man’s lapel. “My name is Vincent Valaška, and I’ve killed a Calamity and fifty Archetypes. Go tell your master I need to talk with him, or I’ll go in myself, wiping your blood off my boots on the carpet!”
“S-sure, sir… keep your eyes peeled,” the man blurted toward a second guard, then ran inside.
"Only two guards?" Vincent asked.
"The situation is stable, sir. The Fifth Prince has to go through the Stalinists before getting to us, and they’re tough sons of bitches. The Trotskists are our friends… The prince is a libertarian.”
“Hm…” Vincent rolled his eyes. There was too much ideology in Parisi for his taste.
“Come with me, sir,” the first guard returned. Vincent was escorted to a booth on top of the concert hall transformed into private quarters.
“Guildcher Valaska,” the Sixth Prince came forward, offering a handshake. He appeared in his fifties, but Vincent knew that on Stellarterra, looks could be deceiving.
Vincent bowed. “A pleasure to meet Your Highness… I’ll go directly to the matter at hand. I need to meet your grandparents.”
“Oh… I thought you were here to help…”
“Aren’t things stable?”
“They won’t be stable for much longer. Princess Tertia followed the breach created by my brother, Prince Pentium, and her army infiltrated the city. They’re waiting in the sewers south of the Louvre… She wrote me… inviting me to attack our brother from the north while her people attacked from the underground. Pentium has few people left… all his dwarves are split into—”
“I know… OK… I’ll tell you what. I’ll take care of her people if you tell me where the old guys are.”
“They’re in Orleans,” the Sixth Prince said. “Their cave is at the center of the force field, the entrance inside the church, just after the entrance, down the stairs on the left. There is an illusion of a wall; ignore it.”
“Thank you.”
Jumping on the quai next to the Louvre, Vincent pulled out a package of magically enhanced plastic explosives. He set in a fuse with a timer, plunged into the water, and set the explosive on the wall. Parisi had no secondary layers of alleys like the town in Vincent’s reality; the river ran close to the buildings.
He Strode upward, waiting to see the result. The explosion was huge, as strong as a bunker-buster bomb. Half the street collapsed, and the water rushed inside the sewers. Westward, the manhole covers started to shoot up, pushed by the pressure. It was an ugly way to die, but it was not his fault but the rogue princess’ doing. Vincent didn’t get any notification about her. Still, over a hundred soldiers died within a minute, and the notifications kept rolling on. More started to appear, exiting their hiding, and shooting started.
“OK, let the fools kill each other for what I care,” he said to himself and jumped south. Orleans was tucked between two rivers and would have been much easier to defend. He entered the second pocket universe and glided down. It was time to meet the two Archetypes face to face.
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“Six cores, some mythical artifacts looted from four Archetypes their lair killed, and a pod,” Vincent told Karl, gesturing toward Hubris and Kiara, who were sitting on the only two chairs in the lab. “They still need their pod to regenerate for the time being.”
“We’re on the last leg,” Hubris laughed bitterly.
“Hm…” Karl said, coming closer and scrutinizing them. “Why don’t I call my friend, the doctor, and let him decide? From what I see, she needs eye surgery, and you need a new hip joint… That’s easy here.”
“I could cut two more rings for them,” Vincent proposed.
“We won't need them. We intend to return to the Realm as soon as possible,” Kiara said. “Do you have in mind a timeline to restore the System?”
“We know the new System is in a cave on Frosthaven,” Vincent said. “First, we have to make sure we take it out. Then, there’s the problem of making our system stable. Bee’s working on an app that would collect metadata.”
“What’s that?” Kiara asked.
“Instead of using a hundred Archetypes, every other System user will offer information about their personalities,” Karl said.
“Brilliant!” Hubris exclaimed.
“I’m tired, I’ll go home… Where do you want to sleep?” Vincent asked. “I could rent something for you.”
“We’ll use the pod, it’s OK,” Hubris said.
“Vorrak, stay here and make sure they’re safe.” At Vincent’s order, the warg exited his shadow, sniffing around the lab. “See you tomorrow,” the young man said and Strode away.