Miami, Florida, New American Republic, November 2035
In a towering office building, inside a top floor boardroom, the Slaver King held court.
“God, what a view!”
“Sir?”
“Nothing better than looking out over all this while doing your job!” he threw his arms wide to encompass the massive window and the ocean views beyond. “Makes the boring shit bearable,” he grinned before turning back to the large oak table and his inner council. He walked leisurely to his proper place at the head to take his seat. “Alright, let’s get this meeting over with,” he clapped. “Essential workers, please wait outside… and no listening in,” he winked at the attractive young woman that had just placed a glass of something colorful, fizzy and alcoholic in front of him.
The collared young woman nodded and beamed with a smile that betrayed nothing other than open genuineness.
He watched the young woman’s backside as she sashayed out of the room. He turned to the man seated closest to his right. “And you wanted them in bikinis and lingerie.”
“King,” the balding man smirked, “I wanted them naked. Thongs were my compromise.”
A disgusted noise came from the woman seated closest to his left. He didn’t need to look at his long-time second to see the daggers glared in his direction.
“Yes, Kim?” he snorted.
“Efficiency—”
“We’ve heard this speech, like, a dozen times—” Eric began.
“Efficiency is important,” Kim, as she often did, plowed right over the man. “Time is a finite resource. We waste it for you to spend precious seconds watching them take their time performing their duties. Tight miniskirts, tube tops and 4-inch heels slows them down. For you men to get off on it is a pointless exchange to sacrifice our efficiency. We…” she paused and gazed at Eric pointedly, “most of us are busy people. Time can’t be wasted.”
“This argument is pointless by your standards,” Eric grinned smugly as he looked to the King like a favored child looks to the more malleable parent.
“He’s got a point there, Kim,” King shrugged, “yet, am I not magnanimous in listening to my trusted advisers?”
Nods around the table.
“They do walk slowly with those heels,” he mused. “Fine, Kim, I’ll back you on this. Henceforth, our staff will no longer be required to wear high heels. They will now wear comfortable shoes. Perhaps tennis shoes?” he looked expectantly at Kim.
“That’s fine,” she replied.
“Any complaints? Suggestions?” King made eye contact with each person seated around the table.
“What about those heels that are, like, solid? Those would be easier to walk in,” Eric said.
Kim snorted.
“What? Their legs and butts look so much better in heels,” Eric shrugged.
“Athletic shoes are still better than wedged heels if what you’re looking for is quicker and efficient movement,” Alexandria said.
“So speaks the King’s Champion,” King nodded. “Let it be done!” he proclaimed.
His assistant copied down his words to be officially codified later.
“Now, who wants to go first?” he said.
Kim raised her hand. “This tournament—”
“Freedom Championships,” Eric cut in.
“The branding is important, Kim,” King said.
“Freedom Championships then… I have concerns—”
“Same ones, I bet,” Eric sneered.
King snapped his fingers, “let her talk.”
“First, the one-year timetable is too short. We lose a year of expansion and properly strengthening our forces. Collecting monsters for the events is riskier than killing them outright. We’ll probably lose some of our strongest people. At least, we’ll lose more of them this way. Second, preparing the venues for the events is an inefficient use of manpower and resources better put toward expansion. Third, it’s a huge risk to bring powerful outsiders into our nation. I can guarantee that some of them will not like our essential worker system. These people have gotten used to using their power to do what they want. If one of them decides she doesn’t like the collars…” she spread her hands as if laying cards on the table.
King drummed his fingers against the oak. “Good points. I agree. However, the rewards outweigh the risks as far as I see it. Thoughts?” he regarded the others.
“We lose people no matter what we do,” Mark grunted. The scarred Slaver General cleared his throat. “As long as the nobles pitch in with their own troops then I’ve got nothing to complain about on this point. It’ll be good to spread around the dying for a change. Same with all those merc companies, adventuring bands and other bullshit. Should just let me fold them all into our army, King.”
“We’ve been over this, General. Not everyone thrives in your more ordered environment. We’d stifle their growth. Our champion is a perfect example. She got her start in a band of her friends. Would she have risen to become the number one fighter in our entire nation had she been forced to follow orders? I doubt it.”
Mark eyed the champion with reluctant respect. “Fair enough. As far as Kim’s third point, I’ve got no worries. We aren’t allowing the outsiders into our city in problematic numbers. We house them in kill boxes surrounded by our slave soldiers—”
“Essential fighters,” Eric cut in.
Mark regarded the man like the dog crap he accidentally stepped on for a moment before continuing. “The outsiders won’t be able to cause any trouble. The moment it looks like they might I’ll bury them in ordinance before sending in the spears to finish off the survivors.”
“Your thoughts on outsider recruitment possibilities?” King prodded.
Mark shrugged. “Too powerful and they won’t want to follow orders. I’ll take anyone you slap a collar on. Although, you’d make a weaker individual fighter.”
“That’s what the prizes are for. They’ll beg us to let them become a part of our nation. We’re throwing everything at the most powerful. Wealth, privilege, mansions complete with a full staff of essential workers. If that doesn’t work then we can give them noble titles,” Eric said.
“Too many of those already,” Mark snorted.
“That won’t be enough for everyone,” Alexandria said.
“Then they’re free to go with their prizes and our goodwill,” King said. “Unless… Noel? Noel… Noel!” he clapped.
“Huh? What?” the man in question blinked.
Sighs echoed around the table.
“The collars? Remember what I asked you to do at the last meeting?” King said in a calm, even tone.
“Collars? Yeah, yeah,” Noel blinked repeatedly. “Right, got it, I remember. Can I make them stronger and better. I can definitely do that. I’m constantly iterating. Building on the last. Improving on strengths. Fixing problems.”
“Noel!” King snapped his fingers. “Can you do it in a year? Can you do it before the championships?”
“Maybe?” Noel shrugged.
“Okay, we’ll table that issue for after the meeting when Noel and I'll have a one to one,” King sighed. “Now back to the championships. Mark, how is the prep going for our expeditionary forces?”
“They’ll be ready on schedule,” Mark said.
“Eric?” King turned to his longtime friend.
“Your diplomats are ready to go. The recruiters for the championships and the spies. We’ll bring in the best fighters across the land and we’ll learn everything we need to know about the communities out there for future… opportunities,” Eric waggled his bushy brows.
“My concerns are with infrastructure improvements,” Kim said.
“We’re just getting to that,” King sighed.
Most things he had to listen to and address in these meetings were boring, yet he sat and gave it his full attention. He could do no less. Heavy was the crown… or something like that.
----------------------------------------
Sacramento, California
The chill January air threatened to steal the breath out of their lungs.
Hanna watched as her young students moved through their sword forms with great puffs of misty breath with each strike and parry.
“Control your breathing and your movements!” she barked. Kids never lacked for enthusiasm. They tended to put everything into each movement. “Apply your energy properly! Not too much or too little! Just enough for what you need!”
Decent footwork kicked up small sprays of dew from the green grass.
She watched closely and mentally marked which students were doing well and which ones needed a bit more attention. Footwork was, perhaps, the most important part of single combat. You couldn’t touch your opponent without proper distance and they couldn’t touch you if you stayed out of theirs.
Part of her mind wandered to the passage of time.
Sixteen years had passed since the spires had appeared across the world.
It was a terrible age, filled with so much death and killing. Monsters and people fell to her blade, while comrades had fallen to theirs.
From swordswoman to swordmaster, she had grown ever stronger. Now close to Level 50. The others were excited about that. They thought she might be the first to cross that number. She realized that she didn’t much care about the number. As she watched her students she knew that they were what she truly cared about.
Make them strong and skilled so that they wouldn’t fall like so many others.
That realization had led to her current class.
The crunch of the thin layer of frost on the grass behind her drew her from her thoughts.
“Too damn cold,” Demi said.
“Watch Commander,” Hanna nodded.
“This isn’t official.”
“Demi…”
“This is your passion,” Demi regarded the kids going through their forms with blunt swords. “Looks funny with how short they are and how long the swords are.”
“They’re called ‘longswords’ for a reason. Besides, get them started young and they’ll build up all the right muscles.”
They watched in silence until Hanna deemed the practice enough. “Break time!” she barked. “Drink your water and stay loose! Sparring in 10 minutes!”
“No safety gear— right, your Skill. Too bad you can’t use it on anyone and anywhere, damn waste,” Demi said.
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“Only on my students and in a learning environment. Well?” she turned to the other woman and was surprised to see the lines on Demi’s face and the gray in her hair.
“What? I can’t just check-in with you? With my future fighters?” she waved an arm to encompass the children a short distance away. Demi’s face twisted at that. “That’s the damn waste,” she lowered her voice, “too many threats… always something new.”
“The slavers arrived yesterday,” Hanna nodded.
“Not that they call themselves that,” Demi grunted. “They met with the governor just like Cal said they would. 2036 and people decided it was the right call to reinstate slavery. I don’t care that the collars make it so the poor people actually enjoy it.”
“It’s all false, so long as it’s imposed by an external force out of the person’s control,” Hanna agreed.
“So, it’s a moral and ethical imperative to put a stop to it…”
“For someone capable… but does that mean us? That’s what you want me to answer?”
“Oh, I know my answer and you know that I leave you to your own.”
“Like Cal said in the message.”
“‘Strictly volunteer’,” Demi echoed the words in the messages they had received a few days ago. “Bit unfair really. How do you refuse the call to end slavery?”
“You don’t…”
“For you? I can make the case against it. You’re a swordmaster. You’re meant to train the future. One Hanna today,” she gestured toward the kids, “Twenty Hannas tomorrow. You’d risk that taking this Quest on. No matter how good you are… alone in a place like that…” Demi shook her head.
“He shared his plan for me with you?” Hanna frowned.
Demi shrugged. “I’m your commander. I’d tear him a new one— verbally— had he tried to go over my head in regards to one of my people.”
“I haven’t decided what I’ll do. I’ve got a few months.”
“Your absence will be felt here.”
“I know that. But then I think about what my absence means to the thousands of people forced into collars.”
“I agree, but nothing’s set in stone. This stupid tournament gives us an in, but Cal’s still waiting on that wizard for a way to kill the collars without killing the people.”
“Then this conversation is premature.”
“Maybe, but I just wanted to let you know that if it was my call I’d keep you here doing what you love. It’s a great coincidence that it’s also the best way for you to help the entire community. I say this as not only your commander, but also as a friend. Think very hard about it,” Demi waved as she walked away.
Hanna would do just that.
----------------------------------------
Across the former United States of America
Soldiers of the legitimate US Government made their temporary base inside a mcmansion in the suburbs just outside of the city.
It was the ideal location from which to raid the spawn zones and encounter challenges in the city.
“Hey, DD. Captain wants us out there for some kind of meet-up. People from that slaver kingdom found us somehow.”
Nicholas looked up from the book he was reading. He had found it in the home’s library. The title sounded cool and the cover looked just as cool. Unfortunately, he wasn’t enjoying it. “I’m busy,” he said. Reading was still better than standing around looking intimidating for however long that conversation took.
“Captain’s orders,” Mary scowled down at him from her impressive height.
“Uh oh, she’s flexing those guns. Better get to it or she’ll carry you out there like a baby, DD,” Rico said.
He glared at the only other member of his squad currently in the expansive living room with him.
“Fine,” he rose from the couch.
“Full kit,” Mary grunted.
“Got it, got it,” he grabbed his spear and American flag skull mask from the glass table.
They exited the house and stepped into the cold January air.
The dark sky told him that some rain was on the way. He hoped that this meeting didn’t take too long. He already missed the heated home. “Listen, you’ve got to stop calling me ‘DD’. My codename is ‘Death’s Dancer’.”
“Too long and dumb,” Rico smirked.
“How bout, Double D’s?” Mary said.
“I thought that was yours? Oh, wait… that’s only what we call you when you aren’t listening.”
“I’ve got good ears,” Mary loomed over him with a feral grin.
“It’s fitting,” Nicholas pointedly looked at her chest. The plate carrier didn’t do much to hide what she had.
“How’s that book, DD? You were making some weird faces back there,” Rico said.
“Not that great. Hard to understand. Too much rape. Man on man and animal on man.”
Mary regarded him like the dog crap she had stepped on a few days back. The beasts they had with them were capable of some epic turds.
“That’s what I said. The main character keeps getting ass raped by men and hyenas and hyena men… it’s weird,” he shrugged.
“Better get that mask on, pervert,” Mary said as they drew closer to the barricades.
“That’s a lot of them. See those collars? Slave soldiers. Infiltrators were spot on,” Rico whispered.
“Disgusting!” Mary spat.
“Keep it calm. We only act on the Captain’s say so,” Nicholas pulled his mask on.
They stepped up to flank the captain along with the other supersoldiers that had already been.
The lead slaver glanced at him with appraising eyes.
He felt the back of his neck shiver.
Instincts warned him.
Something real. A spell or a Skill, he didn’t know, but he’d bet a month’s stipend that the slaver had just taken his measure. The only question was how much had the fuck picked up.
The slaver regarded Mary and Rico in turn before addressing the captain.
Nicholas paid close attention to what was said.
Finally, it was time to deal with the traitors. And maybe, just maybe they could use those collars. Not to make slaves, but to make better soldiers.
Elsewhere, all the way across the land to the northwestern coast a different New America Republic recruiter found herself in a heated situation despite the cold and wet weather outside the open windows.
“Your majesty? Sir? Er… Mr. Freeman, please, you don’t want to do this.” Sweat poured off of her in sheets. The heat stole the oxygen from her lungs. She was being smothered in hell’s blanket itself. “Don’t shoot!” she warned the small escort she had taken into the meeting with the leader of the Seattle community. She had thought that taking only a few bodyguards was a sign of peaceful intentions. The bulk of her fighting men and women were outside, too far away to be of use. “We come in peace!” she tried.
“You come to me with people in collars and you say you come in peace?” the dark-skinned man snarled. “Look at my face! What do you see.”
The raging fire, she thought, the tall, dark-skinned man’s eyes were gone. All she saw was the fire itself. She said a prayer to Jesus. She had miscalculated. Off course, someone like him wouldn’t take kindly to people in collars. Never mind the fact that he had no idea what they truly meant. “Like I explained—”
“Try something else, cause that was a terrible explanation,” the dark-skinned woman said from where she sat with her boots up on the table.
“Kill me and they all die!” the recruiter screeched. “Everyone with a collar! In here and outside!”
The fires surrounding her vanished in an instant.
The demonic lions, tigers and bears that had just been menacing her winked out as quickly as they had appeared from the candles arranged throughout the conference room.
She had thought it strange to see the candles at first.
“You handle this. I’m this close to burning her to ash,” the dark-skinned man, eyes still aflame, strode out of the room.
She’d remember him and the insult.
The dark-skinned woman remained lounged at the table. “So, just anyone can take part in this tournament of yours?”
The recruiter took a moment to compose herself. Her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, her clothes were wet and heavy. The dignity she had prided herself on burned away by the terrifying flames.
Oh, she’d remember the insult, but for now, she had a job to do and she had to do it without being murdered by these crazy people.
She briskly and professionally outlined how the Freedom Championships would be conducted.
“So, anyone can sign up?”
“Level 20 and up, or the equivalent as in your case.”
The dark-skinned woman raised a brow.
The recruiter said a silent curse. She had just accidentally revealed her appraisal Skill. The strength of those in the NAR’s recruiting corps.
“All we have to do is cross monsterland USA to get to Miami.”
“I offer the escort of our essential soldiers if desired.”
“Is that what you call them?” the dark-skinned woman said flatly. “It’s a long time until the Freedom Championships,” the woman smirked.
“We have valuable goods and services to trade for housing and necessary supplies. It is understandable that may not be possible in light of our unfortunate first impression, in that case we will find a place nearby to await your decision. Unless you tell us that you won’t be needing our escort.” She wanted nothing more than to be on her way from these people.
“Good idea that. We’ll need to talk your offer over. Don’t worry, we’ll find you and your ‘essential soldiers’ a place to stay and spend your valuables. There’s been a wendigo or four sighted out in the forests. You might be good for that,” the dark-skinned woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Somewhere in big sky country a small town sat like a forlorn child in the middle of nowhere. Wide open, grassy plains surrounded it with mountains barely visible in the distance.
The people of this town had survived many years. They had managed to keep the monsters at bay and carve out a semblance of life.
All of which ended this night when a group of marauders attacked.
Too many and too high level to fight off.
The town burned and the people suffered.
A dread figure in dark gray plate astride a demonic horse of shadow rode into the town.
Too late.
Too late to help the people.
Not to late to feed his vow.
The marauders were lax in defense. They let their gluttonous lust override their caution. They thought nothing could challenge them.
He spurred his steed forward conjuring a spear out of the shadows as he approached the half-drunk sentries.
He speared one in the chest and let his steed bite the other’s head off as they passed.
“Go,” he rasped, “kill the strong, spare the weak.”
The small, eyeless, nose-less monsters climbed out of his shadow. They clicked sharp teeth together as they spread out across the town to carry out his will. They knew his will, what he wanted. Kill the marauders, spare their victims.
He rode down main street killing the occasional marauder that crossed his path until he reached the place where the stench of fear and terror was the strongest.
“The fuck are you?” a big, bearded man came out of the town’s small hotel hastily tugging on his body armor.
“Dread,” he rasped in reply.
The man laughed, but he couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.
The Dread Paladin hurled his spear straight through the marauder’s armored chest pinning him to the wall.
He jumped off his steed and silently told it to join the dreadlings.
There were eyes on him from inside the hotel. The surviving townspeople that the marauders had been busy using for their depraved pleasure.
More armed marauders rushed out of the building.
He felt the terror waft off them in strong waves.
Seeing their powerful leader stuck to the wall like a pig had that effect.
He held a hand out and dissipated the spear back into the shadow while a sword appearing in his right hand replaced it along with a shield in his left.
“Time for all of you to die.”
The next morning a recruiter from the New American Republic arrived to an oozing, buzzing mound of marauder corpses piled on the side of the rode just outside the town.
The Dread Paladin sat astride his steed and greeted the man.
Despite the sun in the sky, his shadow brought the night where he stood.
“Er… are you in charge here?” the recruiter said.
“What do you want here?” he already knew what man was going to say. Cal had told him about the slavers and the collars. He saw them, arrayed behind the odious man in their perfectly ordered ranks. Men and women, strong in body with a vaguely happy look shared on their faces.
“I will join your contest of champions—”
“Freedom Championships…” the man trailed off as the shadows seemed to stretch out toward him.
“Go away, slaver,” the Dread Paladin rasped.
“We’d be happy to escort— er… just… when you get there and sign up, tell them ‘Jeff Hicks’ recruited you. I get a bonus depending on how well you do— okay, got it, we’re leaving now,” the man gestured and the hundred plus group turned smartly and marched back the way they had come.
The Dread Paladin would wait in the town to keep the survivors safe. Their dread filled his vow. It was a small matter to wait for Cal to come and get them to safety. Then he could head south, spreading his dread to those that deserved it, like the marauders, as he had done since his encounter with Cal.
Now, it was time for the man to fulfill his promise from years ago.
Finally, he was going to the place where the men responsible for his existence waited.
Over two thousand miles to the south another recruiter looked up through bloody eyes.
A towering man god stood over him.
They should’ve known better than to enter his land.
“Please…” the recruiter held up a shaking hand.
“All will be free,” Tlaloc said simply before planting his obsidian axe in the recruiter’s chest.
He regarded the scorched road and the motionless bodies scattered throughout.
Those in collars stirred.
Those without had been turned into charred corpse by his lightning storm.
He grudgingly sent Cal a silent thanks for the man’s counsel of patience through the last few years.
All they needed now was for the elf bruja to fulfill her promise.
He would free a hundred men and women this day.
Thousands more would join them soon.
Finally, he would shatter their chains.