The doubt on their landlord’s face was telling. Over the last fifteen minutes, Blake had painstakingly detailed past events, while his mother stood silently behind him.

“And I’m just supposed to believe all this horseshit?” Mister Grayburn asked, acerbically.

“If proof is what you need, I’ve got all you could ever want,” Blake said confidently.

“Uh huh…”

“Mister Gray… actually, what’s your first name? Calling you ‘Mister Grayburn’ is getting ridiculous.”

“It’s Robert.”

Blake nodded and stood. “Okay Robert. I want you to keep your eyes on me.” As he spoke, he walked away from the irate man until he stood next to his mother across the room. “While you watch, don’t blink, or you’ll miss it.”

For the first time in either life, Blake activated an aether based ability. The AI had downloaded the requisite knowledge to utilize the complex spell directly into his brain, and while it took concentration, it initialized immediately.

Suddenly, space seemed to warp, and he stood only a foot away from his prisoner. Behind him, his mother gasped, while Robert’s eyes widened. The old man began to sputter. “What… just what the hell kinda drugs did you give me?”

“No drugs, just nanomachines.”

After the statement, Blake absently checked his heads-up display to see how much of his aetheric energy he had used.

Only seven percent? Is it just that strong of a spell, or does my high affinity make it use that much less?

“Was that a spell?” his mother asked, eyes wide.

He heard a gasp from Robert, but ignored him while he answered his mother.

Blake nodded. “Yeah. At level one, I get one spell for each energy type. That was my aether spell, Spatial Shift.”

“What else can you do?”

“Well, I already told you about Regeneration. My mana-based spell is Flame Shield, and my psionic one is Mental Blast.”

“How often can you use them?” she pressed, distracted from the present situation.

He shrugged. “It depends on the spell and how much energy I have left. I’ve been using Regeneration for a few hours now, so I’m almost out of chi, but I can use Spatial Shift every minute until I run out of aether.”

“Is that what you did?” Donna asked. “Spatial Shift?”

“Yeah, think of it as a short range teleport,” he suggested.

“Can you show me another spell?” she asked, tentatively.

“Sure, for our guest, of course.” Blake grinned as he glanced over to the stunned older man. “I don’t think you want me to use Mental Blast on you, so I’ll try out Flame Shield.”

He raised his hands and began to form a strange sequence of gestures. When a full second passed, and he continued, his mother frowned and asked, “What are you doing?”

Blake remained silent as he completed the spell form. Finally, a few seconds later, it activated. He felt a strange sensation as his mana was siphoned away, but a moment later, a faint shimmer surrounded him. Once it was completed, he apologized. “Sorry, it’s done now. With mana, you have to complete the spell form. If you’re interrupted, you have to start all over again.”

Donna’s brows furrowed. “But… I don’t see any flames. You said it was Flame Shield, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “The shield protects you FROM flames, it doesn’t project them. But, once it absorbs enough heat, it starts radiating that heat away from you.”

“And that will keep you from getting burned in the future?” she clarified.

“That’s the idea,” he confirmed.

“Well, I don’t think our friend,” she nodded to Robert, who gazed at them with increased concern. “Is going to be convinced by a spell he can’t see. Is there something else you can do that’s a bit more obvious?”

Blake cocked his head to the side as he considered the problem. Except for Spatial Shift, none of his new spells were visually appealing. Flame Shield needed to absorb a large amount of heat before it could be seen, and he did not want to accidentally burn down the faction house in an attempt to showcase the spell. Mental Blast was always invisible, and the old man was already in enough discomfort at the moment. His regeneration sped up his healing by a factor of ten, but it was still slow enough that observing it was like watching grass grow.

He had enough Physical Power that he could move incredibly fast and bend steel, but there was nothing nearby he could use to showcase his strength. Even if he did, Robert would most likely claim it was a trick. Blake needed to do something that would last longer than just a moment.

I guess Metal gets to save the day again. Well, I had some questions for him anyway.

He activated his Summon Companion skill, and a portal opened beside him. Almost immediately, the wraith exited out of the swirling spatial distortion. Robert gave a small yelp at the sight.

Once his companion passed through, the portal closed, and Metal asked in a deep, rumbling baritone, “Is there something you need?”

Blake smiled. “Yes, thanks for coming.”

“I did not have a choice in the matter,” his companion reminded him.

“Yeah, I know,” he waved the comment away. “I was being polite.”

Blake glanced over to see his prisoner’s reaction. Robert’s eyes were twice their normal size as he stared at the transparent wraith. The longer he observed Blake’s companion, the faster his breaths came, until he began to hyperventilate.

“Calm down, Robert. Metal won’t hurt you. I brought him here to show you something you couldn’t deny as a ‘trick’.”

“Our agreement specified that you would only summon me to ask questions.” Metal reminded him and then noticed his burns. “Were you playing with fire?”

Blake ignored the dig at him and said, “Oh, don’t you worry. I have LOTS of questions. Convincing our prisoner here of the truth is just a nice side effect.”

“The truth?” Metal asked.

“Yeah, Robert here,” Blake gestured. “Still doesn’t believe in the Collective, despite all the proof we’ve shown him. He thinks we’re ‘tricking him’ somehow.”

“That is foolish. I suggest replacing him with a human that is not defective.”

Blake laughed.

“He’s not defective,” Donna defended their prisoner. “He’s just resistant to change. It happens as you get older.”

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Their prisoner remained silent as they talked about him, still stunned by the sight of the wraith. However, his breathing calmed slightly, and he was no longer in danger of passing out.

“Okay Metal, while Mister Defective over here convinces himself we’re not lying, I’ve got a few questions for you. Do you know what's required to build an Alchemist’s workshop?”

“Yes,” the wraith replied, monotone. “You must upgrade your faction hall to level three and also construct a glassblower’s workshop.”

Blake frowned. “Why is everything called a ‘workshop’? Can’t the Architect come up with a better term?”

For the first time, he saw his companion hesitate. When Metal finally answered, his voice showed a hint of doubt. “I believe you are referring to the translation. Before a world is assimilated into the Collective, the Architect scans the population’s thoughts, and deciphers the species’ language. The Architect uses terms that the newly inducted are able to comprehend, so there is no misunderstanding.”

“Languages,” Blake corrected. “Humans have lots of different languages, not just one.”

“Odd. How is your race able to function as a cohesive whole if you are unable to understand each other?”

He snorted. “We don’t. That’s one of our problems.”

“Interesting. I begin to see why your species failed the Architect’s tests in your original timeline.”

“I see the glassblower’s workshop as an option, but it won’t let me upgrade the faction hall,” Donna interrupted, slightly unnerved by the wraith’s statement.

Metal turned to Blake’s mother and said, “You must first upgrade the metal workshop, wood workshop, and quarry to level two.”

“I’m surprised the AI didn’t call it a ‘rock workshop’,” Blake muttered.

“Why? Is it all just arbitrary?” his mother asked the wraith.

“No. To upgrade the faction hall to level three, specific materials must be obtained. In order to modify those materials for use, your non-combat classes need their requisite structures to first be upgraded.”

“Okay, but WHY does a level three faction hall require specific materials?” Donna complained. “It makes no sense when you can just build it out of normal wood.”

“I believe the Architect does everything it can to foster combat growth. In order to expand your faction beyond the five hundred people allowed by a level two faction hall, you need to form combat teams to gather supplies. Level two buildings only require resources gathered from off world, while a level three building requires wood, stone, and metals gained from specific scenarios. This ensures a faction does not stagnate, as growth requires advancement.”

“What about level four?” Donna asked.

“Much the same as three, but with a level requirement attached. Each upgrade after that requires multiple high level scenarios to be completed and harvested.”

Suddenly, a light bulb went off in Blake’s head. “Ohhhh… So THAT’s why they sent me all over the place.”

“Hmm?” his mother tilted her head in confusion.

“Sorry. I just realized why my last faction sent us all over the country to do random scenarios. Any time we asked why we couldn’t just complete an easier one and grind out nano, we were told, ‘Because I said so’.” He shook his head. “Either Bob didn’t know why either, or he was just an asshole.”

When he finished, his mother turned back to Metal and asked, “Is there a reason we need to keep upgrading the buildings, or can we just get to a certain point and stop?”

“Higher level faction halls unlock structures which grant unique benefits,” Metal answered.

“Like the portal room or shield generator.” Blake interrupted.

“Yes,” Metal confirmed. “The Architect also limits the size of your faction to the level of your faction hall. To grow beyond one hundred members, you must upgrade the hall to level two. Level three allows you to invite up to a thousand members, and four, ten-thousand.”

“What if we just build like a thousand faction halls all over the place? Would that get past the limits on membership?”

“No,” the wraith answered simply. “The limit is determined by the highest level faction hall.”

Blake sighed and then muttered under his breath, “Of course it is.” In a louder voice, he asked, “So, what kind of ‘special materials’ are required for level three?”

“Unknown,” Metal replied. “Every species has different requirements. You must first unlock the ability to upgrade your faction hall before you can see the list of requisite materials.”

“That list will tell us where to get them?” Donna clarified.

“No. It will only identify the materials. You must then discover which scenarios contain the necessary supplies.”

Blake frowned. “If we show you the list, can you describe what they look like?”

“Yes,” Metal confirmed.

He absently nodded to himself. “Then, depending on what we need, I might already know where to find them.”

“Why make things so difficult?” Donna complained.

“As I stated before, I believe the Architect wishes to foster exploration and combat capability. In order to expand, a faction must foster many combat teams.”

“Yeah, and I want to be able to invite up to at least ten thousand people by Invasion day,” Blake replied. “Which means we need to figure it out fast. So, after the bunkhouse and cookhouse are done, we need to upgrade our workshops and quarry to level two. Of course, that means I need to do another Ursa scenario, so we can harvest the materials.” He ran his fingers through his long, greasy, dust-filled hair and let out a grunt of annoyance. “And here I thought I was going to get a nice two-day break.”

His mother frowned. “You can still rest.”

He shook his head. “There’s no time. Too much to do.”

“Blake, you’re killing yourself. You can at least take a single day off. How does a shower, and a nice meal with your family sound? The police aren’t following us anymore, remember?”

Damn… That does sound good.

He considered the offer. It would be another two days before the bunkhouse and cookhouse were finished. He could easily gather all the supplies they needed tomorrow, so no time would be wasted. He was still healing after all.

You know what? She’s right. I DO need a break.

Blake smiled. “Actually, you're right. That sounds amazing.”

“Thank you.”

With a sigh, he dismissed Metal and turned back to their prisoner. “Now we just need to get this figured out. Are you convinced now that it's not all some ‘elaborate trick’?”

The old man slowly nodded.

“Okay, so does that mean you aren’t going to go straight to the cops as soon as I untie you?”

Robert swallowed and then croaked out, “Why not tell them yourself? Show them what you showed me?”

Blake sighed. “Like I told you, they’re corrupt. The sheriff and his deputies are the last people I want in my faction. I’d rather just avoid them until Invasion day. After that,” he shrugged. “They’ll be too busy trying to survive to bother me anymore.”

The landlord nodded and added with a waver in his voice. “I understand. But… what’ll happen to me?”

“That depends, do you want to join us?”

“I don’t see as I’ll have a choice if I want to live.”

“There’s always a choice,” Blake replied. “But, sometimes your options just suck. I have no problem inviting you, but you’ll have to contribute. No freeloading allowed.”

Robert appeared offended. “Boy, I’ve worked hard all my life to get where I am. Do you know what it’s like waking up before the sun rises and working until after it sets? You ever plowed a field? Huh?”

“So, you know how to farm,” he smirked. “How would you like to be a farmer again for us?”

Robert shook his head. “I’m too old for that now. I can barely lift a hoe, and bending over would break my back.”

“What are your attributes at?” Blake asked.

“Huh?”

He explained to the old man how to access his status and then how to share it with others. Once Robert figured it out, the attributes displayed before him.

“Physical Power is three, Stamina is two, and Resistance is also two,” Blake read off. “How about this, I’ll give you enough nano to increase all of your attributes to five. That will make you strong enough to farm again. How does that sound?”

Robert frowned. “It’ll make me young again?”

He shook his head. “No, but you’ll feel like you were fifty years younger.”

“Fifty years?” the man harrumphed. “How old do you think I am, young man?”

“Uhh… eighty?”

His mother snorted while Robert scoffed. “I’ll have you know, I am sixty-seven years old.”

“Whatever,” Blake shrugged. “You’re still old, but after you enhance yourself, you won’t feel like it anymore.”

“Kids…” the old man muttered. “Fine. You fix my body so it stops falling apart, and I’ll gladly help you grow some food.”

Blake bent down to their prisoner and ripped off the duct tape. Once his limbs were free, Robert shook them out and then extended his hand. He clasped hands with their newest member, invited him to the faction and said, “Deal.”