Perfect intel was… perfect.
Captain Butcher received information that one of their last remaining HVT’s was headed for the airport with a relatively small escort.
She rushed out of their forward command center and climbed aboard the drake, strapping herself in she tapped the rider and began issuing orders into the comms.
The rain was only a minor inconvenience thanks to the technology in her helmet.
They flew swiftly toward their target while other aerial assets hurried to pick up more assets before converging.
Red lightning flashed through low and heavy clouds.
She winced.
If the slavers were smart they’d have eyes skyward.
The drakes’ and wyverns’ silhouettes would be visible if they had decent Skills or spells.
Which was why rangers in the air corps had their own concealment abilities.
Electronic counter warfare for the magical age.
Several drakes and two wyverns, most of what they had left, soared above the convoy like raptors circling a snake.
“Slaver convoy sighted, marking targets by threat.” Ophry’s said.
Captain Butcher looked down as her pilot guided the drake into a severely-angled bank.
Red outlined the trucks carrying anti-air weaponry. Yellow marked two tanks, one in the lead and one at the rear. One single armored SUV was in green.
“Mr. Cruces, can you handle to lead tank?” she said into the comms.
“I can,” a deep voice replied.
“Mrs. Cruces, are you ready to block fire?”
“Of course, captain!”
Captain Butcher heard the ever-present smile.
“Everyone else?”
Acknowledgment came in one by one.
“On my go. Remember, we need the HVT alive.”
They needed him alive long enough to pick his brain apart.
They wanted to come up with every possible counter to the slavery collars.
Its creator would spill every scrap of knowledge before he would be tried and executed.
“Go.”
Rayna’s father leapt off wyvern back to land on the lead tank.
He tore the turret like it was made out of cardboard and tossed it aside.
The convoy screeched to a halt before starting up again in a bid to cross to the other side of the street.
Roof-mounted .50 cal machine guns opened up.
Captain Butcher watched the tracers lighting Mr. Cruces up, but they had about the same effect as the rain drops.
He bounded across the street to shoulder check an armored Humvee into an old McDonald’s.
A second vehicle tried to run him over only for him to flip it sideways, blocking the street.
The ruined tank followed suit, flipped upside down like a sad turtle, treads spinning.
Whoever was in charge of the slaver escort knew her stuff and had pretty good Skills.
They would’ve gotten around pretty easily had they been faced with almost anyone else.
“Mr. Cruces, the other tank, if you please.”
He leapt over the convoy.
Tracers followed him all along the arc of his super jump.
The second tank got a surprisingly accurate shot off.
He slapped the 120mm shell out of the air.
The explosion swallowed him up, but he emerged an instant later still on track.
The barrel bent like putty in his hands.
The second tank shared the same fate as the first.
Tracer fire and spells lit up the rain-shrouded sky.
“Hmm… they want to take some of us down with them.”
Too bad.
Many-colored forcefields protected every aerial asset the rangers had in the sky.
“Proceed bombardment.”
“Don’t worry about me, guys,” Mr. Cruces said into the comms as he used a few more vehicles to box in the rest.
Drakes and wyverns swooped down and rained fire on the slavers, careful to avoid the green-lined SUV.
A wyvern crushed a Humvee under its armored bulk.
It roared a challenge as gun and spell fire bounced off the forcefield.
The remaining slavers had enough.
Weapons hit the slick road and hands reached for the sky.
“Mr. Cruces, if you please.”
“I’ll get the bastards.”
He strode to the green-lined SUV and ripped its door open.
Gun fire and spells struck his wife’s forcefield.
He reached in and tossed an old, severe-looking man face first into a dirty puddle.
“That’s General Mark Johnson,” she said. “Secure him for trial.”
Rangers on the ground complied.
In quick order, Mr. Cruces pulled slavers out of the SUV, slapping them into unconsciousness before tossing them into waiting ranger arms.
The last was a man that appeared to have soiled himself.
Noel Washington, along with the Slaver King, the one responsible for the collar system.
He was zip-tied unceremoniously and left face down on the wet road.
“No casualties,” Captain Butcher let out a breath.
She had lost enough.
She thanked fortune that Rayna’s parents had been made available. Otherwise her rangers would’ve shed blood on this last op of this blood-soaked night.
----------------------------------------
Cal studied the demon with his mind’s eye.
Most of the remaining rangers had departed when he had arrived to allow his parents to help capture the last HVT remaining loose. Only Madalena, Lilah and a handful of mages remained with him.
The pale pink thing seemed to be there and not as it touched the sigil dome Lilah had trapped it within.
It ate the magic both physically and conceptually with those vortex-like mouths that seemed to be capable of opening anywhere on its skin.
“You know it’s eating your sigils?”
“Yes. I’m replenishing it thanks to the rangers’ help and I also changed it a little so that it could take ambient mana,” Lilah nodded.
“Well, good job. I’m pretty sure it’ll hold as long as it keeps getting mana.”
He hadn’t seen the girl in a long time and she had grown.
Almost as tall as him.
Which wasn’t saying much to be fair.
Not a girl anymore.
A proper teenager.
All gangly limbs, knees and elbows.
And here she was the only thing keeping a demon from going on a rampage in the middle of a slaver kingdom.
That was his fault too.
Just like all the deaths.
Faces and names flashed across his thoughts.
The ones he cared about stood out the most.
Allies and friends.
Gone forever.
Many thousands followed.
Some deserving, most not.
The latter would’ve just been anonymous names on a tally back in the old days.
Collateral damage.
To be ignored by military leaders and only remembered by political leaders if there was something to be gained in the act.
The litany of their last moments, their hopes, their dreams played for him.
Jase Hunt, 57 years old. Once a soldier, always a soldier. He hadn’t much liked the whole slavery thing when it started, but he hadn’t been in charge and he hadn’t much liked the thought of leaving. Too many monsters out on the roads between cities and towns. Time had quickly worn away at his misgivings. Slaves made things easier and safer for everyone. Heck, they even liked it according to the king. They were always smiling, after all. Old Jase ended up commanding a company of his own. His last thought had been wondering why his essential assistant’s ever-present smile had been replaced by a snarl as the knife in her hand twisted into his stomach.
Alayah Roberson, 30 years old. The spires had forced her community to put aside petty differences and band together for survival. And for the most part, they had. Alayah had risen by dint of her determination, acumen and empathy to lead the community. All that effort had been ruined over the course of a week. They had fought their hardest, but the slavers outnumbered and outleveled them. In the end, the ones that had survived ended up with collars around their necks. What had followed was complete and utter degradation. She remembered all that she had suffered willingly and happily. She had led the rest of the freed in a slaughter that spared none in the noble’s household. She had wanted blood and she had gotten it. A night of slaughter through several neighborhoods with her at its head. Freed people killed slavers and died in turn. She had met her end while locked in a duel with a high-level slaver captain when a pale pink blur came across them. Why had they taken away her dreams? Couldn’t they have just left her alone?
Future Davenport, almost 2 years old. Named for the sunny, happy times ahead his parents saw in the distance. They had dared to put the past 18 years behind them. Only children themselves when the spires had appeared, the days before had been a distant memory, growing hazier by the year. Safety, a home, a household enslaved. It was much like their old lives. Little Future died in his mother’s arms, smothered before the monster’s teeth could tear him apart.
There were more.
He allowed them to have their voices heard, even if he was their only audience.
“Can you kill it?” Madalena broke him free from the trap in his thoughts.
Seconds in real time had passed while he watched and experienced hours of the last moments of the dead.
“I think it’s rejecting reality in favor of its own,” he mused. “A trick of perception. It gets cut or an arm gets torn off then it simply decides that neither ever happened… but… there exists a limit, like I thought.”
“Tito and tita couldn’t kill it even though I saw them doing damage that would kill anything else.”
“Not enough, not fast enough. A combination of the two. I think eventually it would’ve ran out of its ability. From what I’ve seen it takes energy from what it kills. Anyways, with it trapped I can just damage it constantly over a few days or…”
“Or what?”
He blinked.
“Kuya?”
“Sorry… thinking.”
He had gotten lost in other memories again.
“Okay, Lilah, drop your wards when I say and then everyone leave.”
“Um… how far?” Aims said.
He blinked.
“Ranger base camp.”
“Don’t you need our help?” Madalena said.
“Not for this.” He reached out and restrained the demon in a telekinetic grasp that gave it no purchase to push against. “Okay, Lilah, now.”
The glowing yellow-gold script winked out of existence and left the demon floating motionless.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Madalena, go, get some rest. I’ll call you if I need help.”
They piled into a commandeered SUV and drove off.
The demon was a thing of magic, thought and other things Cal couldn’t describe in mere words. However, to have a presence in the world it took on physical aspects. Tangible, touchable things. Namely, something that resembled cells.
He dived deeper and found structures similar, yet different from any biological life form.
He took a hold of these base components and ripped them apart.
Like splitting the atom… almost.
The effect was unsurprisingly similar.
The explosion would’ve destroyed miles in every direction.
Instead, he contained it in a bubble and shot it into space where it temporarily turned dark, rain-drenched night into day.
A thin trickle of blood leaked down to his lips.
One down, a few more to go.
Isaac Freeman was easy.
The man just needed a little encouragement and support to draw in the inferno of his being.
“Thanks,” Isaac muttered.
The dark skinned man knelt in the middle of a blasted landscape as the rain steamed in the residual heat from fires hot enough to turn the ground in an area several hundred yards wide to glass.
“C’mon, I’ll take you to your hotel room. Luckily, it’s still standing, can’t say the same for a few others.”
“I didn’t help.”
“You might’ve fumbled a bit at the end there, but I can’t complain. You won your division. Kept the least desirable ones from winning. Had it not been you, then their rewards might’ve tipped the balance.”
“So, the Slaver King is dead?”
“Not yet. We won though.”
“That’s good. I’ll stay here for awhile.”
“I don’t know when he’ll shut off the water. Might be that the storm’s going to stick around like a normal one.”
“That’s fine. The cold wet will be a good reminder of how I failed.”
“Okay, but I don’t think you need to be as hard on yourself as you think you do, Isaac.”
“I could’ve killed everyone in the stadium.”
“But you didn’t.”
“They might not be so lucky next time. I lost control. That can’t happen. It’s the one thing I need to be responsible for. All my efforts, all my thoughts, everything is focused on keeping the inferno inside.”
“Alright. I’ll let you know when it’s time to take you back home.”
Cal left the fire in the shell of a man to steam in the rain.
He went directly to Isaac’s opposite number from the tournament.
Strong waves crashed against the beach, threatening to reach the boardwalk.
“Might need to ask Tlaloc to take it down a bit.”
He spotted the dragon before he saw her huge form slide up out of the ocean like a beached whale.
The dark shape rose up as it stalked over the sand, occasional flashes of lightning revealed dark cerulean scales and eyes that sucked in lesser beings’ wills like whirlpools. She flared her wings once for effect before tucking them tight to her sleek body.
“Cezirichella,” he sighed. “What are your intentions?”
The dragon seamlessly transitioned into the slaver-dubbed ‘Sapphire Smasher’ as she stepped imperiously up to him with a slight tilt of her head.
The tween girl with blue hair that fell in waves and eyes like swirling ocean tides revealed sharp canines in a challenging grin.
“Good fights.”
“That’s one. I know there are others. How about you tell me that biggest one?”
“Tiny Earthian, I don’t answer to you.”
“I’m not interested in a challenge right now… or ever. What I will do is launch you far, far away. That way,” he jabbed a thumb over his soldier toward the northwest. “Two thousand miles at least. You’ll be in the middle of the biggest landmass on this part of the world. Flat plains in all directions. Just about as far from the ocean as you can be.”
Cezirichella shivered, her face twisted in disgust before she could master it.
“I fear not that fate, nor you, tiny human.”
“How about the life boon you owe Rayna and Eron for protecting you from that boomer dragon?”
“The eater,” she shivered again as the dark, dreadful memory played across the surface of her thoughts. “A worthy deed, yet… boons cannot be claimed by nestmates,” she narrowed her eyes. “Is this an Earth custom?”
“No, but what I’m suggesting is that since Rayna will be here in a few hours—”
“Very well, tiny one. I will deign to hear your words,” the girl dragon waved a hand dismissively.
“What are you doing here?”
“I seek dominion. It is our way,” she held up a hand to forestall his words. “However, I have taken to heart Rayna’s words. I will do as you Earthian’s do and I will hold an election for the people of this Miami to elect me their Dragon Overlord. Today Miami, tomorrow Florida, further tomorrow the wor— er…”
“That’s—”
Minus the world part, it was a few rungs on the ladder better than what Cezirichella’s aunt, for lack of a better word, did in Hawaii.
“And what if I don’t want you to?”
“Then we will do as custom dictates.”
“Right, battle?” he sighed.
She eyed him warily while grinning.
Even without his powers he could see that she wasn’t eager for the prospect.
The possibilities spread out in front of him in his mind’s eye.
The New American Republic was no more.
What tended to happen when nations broke apart?
Violence as petty warlords arose like lions, hyenas and vultures fighting over an elephant’s corpse.
He could prevent all that by taking control.
Some would argue that was his responsibility, since he had broken it.
He would argue that… yeah, but no.
He wanted to be with his family.
The last thing he wanted or needed was to be surrounded with slavers and their thoughts for however many years.
The slavers were the least of his concerns.
“Okay, you can have your election, but I have conditions.”
“You have no claws in the hoard.”
“I do, actually. I could argue that this place belongs to me now. By right of strength and conquest. Which takes us back to me and you fighting for it, which takes you to somewhere in the middle of the great plains. And I will keep you there until I get bored.”
“You can’t?”
“I don’t have time for this. Listen, just a few conditions for now, though I reserve the right to add more in the future.”
“I deign to listen to the opening and closing of your mouth and its cow teeth.”
“No slavery, ever.”
“Why?”
“It’s wrong.”
“I’ve observed it on multiple worlds. Two-legged ones often chain their own kind.”
“Well… I don’t care. No slavery or we fight.”
“Fine. What is your next demand?”
“Those dragon boon things… you will refrain from giving them to people I deem unworthy.”
“No. I need them to build a strong domain.”
“I’m not saying you can’t boon people, just not all people. There can be no rewards for slavers.”
“That is most of these people, no?”
“No. There are more than enough that would fit my criteria to be booned by you.”
“How many?”
“Roughly seventy percent of the remaining population. Not counting those formerly enslaved.”
“Acceptable.”
“If you lose the election you have to accept the results. No tsunamis.”
“Foolish tiny one, I have studied your world’s elections thanks to the writings Rayna lent me.”
“That isn’t reassuring,” he sighed. “Okay, one last thing. No elections until everything is settled.”
“Agreed,” she turned and headed back toward the Atlantic.
“I mean it!”
“I shall content myself with punishing the interlopers in my domain,” Cezirichella waved.
Did she consider the ocean hers?
A quick scan.
Yes, she did.
All of them in fact.
A hundred-year-old dragon with the irrational bravery of a ten-year-old human.
“There’s no way they’ll vote for her. I’ll just have to make sure the opponent isn’t evil,” he sighed.
Dreams of leaving Florida and never looking back slipped out of his grasp.
----------------------------------------
What was a king without a kingdom?
Just a man.
The Slaver King was no more.
He had lost his class and had reverted to his old ones.
Interestingly enough, he had kept the equivalent levels. Though the parts weren’t nearly equivalent to the sum.
Not that it mattered.
No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t escape his chains.
An irony his guards never failed to point out when they mocked him incessantly.
All he could do was take it in silence.
Not by choice, mind you.
Something kept him from speaking.
The words in his head turned into incoherent blubbering whenever he opened his mouth.
It didn’t take a genius to guess who did this to him.
The trial took a month.
Well, two weeks.
He had spent the first two weeks in his own dungeon.
Part of him had rested his hopes on his men out beyond Miami in his other settlements and of his remaining subjects in the city. Though he had directly caused many of them to die, he was fairly certain that they didn’t know that and even if the invaders outed him, why would the outsiders be believed?
His people still greatly outnumbered the enemy and so, he had waited for the sounds of violence to filter through the dungeon corridors, heralding his freedom and triumphant return to power.
Two weeks and all he had ever heard and seen were the former slaves changing shifts and feeding him slop, mocking all the while.
Damn them for not accepting their place in the natural order of things.
His trial had taken place in the old courthouse packed with slaves, he had refused to see them as anything else. The judge was an old woman, a former slave by the lighter circle of skin around her neck and, it turned out, was a judge in the old days. The prosecutor, also a former slave and once a prosecutor.
The attorney assigned to defend him?
The same.
He had opened his mouth to protest and demand the right to defend himself before he remembered.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
A braying sound had come out to the laughter of the packed courtroom.
He had seethed at those beneath him thinking they were better, but he shut his mouth.
The charges had been read quickly, professionally with no emotion.
His lawyer had eyed him balefully before putting in a guilty plea.
He had tried to strike the woman with his chained hands, but something held them down.
And thus, the parade of so-called victims began.
Two weeks of it.
Slaves had come to take the stand and tell their sob stories under the watchful eye of multiple truth spells and Skills.
Not like those could’ve been faked or the wielder had simply lied.
Most of the slaves had been ones that he had personally interacted with.
Assistants and the like.
Teary-eyed young women.
So ungrateful.
He had never been rough or hurtful.
It had been a sham trial.
A kangaroo court.
One designed to give the slaves revenge regardless of the reality of the situation.
Had he not provided them a safe place for so many years?
Had he not made them happy?
He had been miles better than the slavemasters hundreds of years ago.
He had gone to the effort to give them collars that made their rightful servitude pleasant and fulfilling.
He could’ve just done slavery the same way old America had.
And this was how they repaid his kindness.
He sat in the back of an old police armored van.
Chains forced him into a bent posture.
Couldn’t even give him the dignity of a last meal.
Just the same slop.
He heard the crowd filling the streets in front of the old courthouse.
Ungrateful filth braying for his blood like savages.
“They’re eager to watch justice be done.”
He blinked, jerking back in surprise, chains pulling painfully at his wrists, neck and back.
That same man sat across from him in the dim police van.
He knew better than to open his mouth.
This isn’t justice, he thought.
“I know what you’re thinking. Probably, something about how this isn’t justice.”
Easy guess, you fucking piece of shit manlet. I should’ve killed you first when I had the chance.
“I don’t see how you can have any legitimate complaints about your trial. Unlike the old days, you can’t really finesse things by hiding evidence or outright lying about them. And since money isn’t a real thing anymore, you can’t buy your way out of all those sex assault charges. Can’t pay off your victims either. All the facts of your actions laid out bare without ambiguity. A truer justice this world has never seen. Objective truth. You subjective morality types hate that, don’t you?”
Objective morality is a fantasy of the weak and powerless.
“Yeah, yeah,” the man waved a hand dismissively, “your take on morality is rooted in plain selfishness.”
Fuck you, sanctimonious bitch!
“That selfishness brought suffering and trauma to the thousands you put in collars. Then, you released monsters on everyone just for a power boost. I don’t rate monarchies. Even with the class, it’s just stupid. Divine right of kings,” he scoffed. “It was idiotic going all the way back in history. Making up new excuses to justify the value of kings and queens in our era wasn’t much better. They were leeches living extravagant lives off the backs of taxpaying people for the value they brought in national pride, prestige and charitable causes. The rational mind would’ve just taken those billions supporting them and given them directly to the everyone else.”
Figures you’d be a socialist.
“Star Trek over Star Wars,” he smirked.
What is the point of all this bullshit? You just gonna rant at me about your pussy ideologies? Fuck off. Let me die in peace.
“You deserve worse than what you’re getting… but that would make me a savage, wouldn’t it? If I acted like you and let your victims do to you what they actually wanted. No… slippery slopes and all that. I’ve slid down far enough because you had to just bring slavery back and make it, not exactly worse, but more insidious. It’s a whole debate. I’m not sure what I think yet and it’ll take me time to process the absolute evil you’ve done here.”
Everything was fine before you showed up. Everything was great and getting better. I was going to bring back the world! I was going to lead humanity into the new era of prosperity and power! This world and others out there!
“I’ve only been to one other world…”
What?
“But I’ve encountered beings from at least a couple of others. You’ve got a lot of unearned arrogance if you think that you were just a few years away from playing with the big boys. Shit, look at where you’ve ended up. Anyways, I’ve just had about enough of time in your presence. I want you to know that I’ve already… pacified… the rest of your settlements and such, so no last minute rescues or long simmering revenge. There will be no lost cause myths this time. Your history, everything you’ve done here will be accurately recorded and re-told. I’ve heard that quite a lot of people involved in toppling your little slaver kingdom are already writing down their experiences for future memoirs and more immediate books. As for the people you enslaved.
Nothing can take away what I’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time. I went big and I almost pulled it off. I regret nothing.
“Your kind tends to be delusional from my experience. The lies you tell yourselves to be the hero. The good guy. Truth is that you’re a rapist. Dozens back in college and beyond. Always got bailed out by daddy’s money and connections. You’re a bad person. Always have been. You see, I know you better than you know yourself,” he leaned forward, “sociopath. Your best case scenario would’ve been being raised by good parents that would’ve taught you to live a life that didn’t hurt others.”
You don’t know me, bitch!
“Die. I only hope that somehow your victims know that you can’t hurt anyone else.”
The armored door groaned.
The once Slaver King blinked.
He was alone.
Hands pulled him roughly.
Angry voices assailed him from all sides.
Thousands of people filled the streets in every direction.
The crowd cried for justice.
A raised platform waited at the end of a long walk.
A longer rope and a shorter drop followed.
----------------------------------------
Elsewhere, two Heartfuries lounged in an old haunt.
Jayde and Dayana bounced ping pong balls into red cups.
Juice, strictly non-alcoholic, due to being in recovery for all their injuries. There were limits to what could be healed, even with magic.
Case in point, Jayde’s stump.
Cauterizing it hadn’t done her any favors in the long-term. Gangrene had set in, but thanks to a spell it had been fixed in a few minutes. Now, all she had to deal with was a bit of tenderness… oh, and the loss of a hand and arm.
An errant toss saw her ball not even bounce on the table.
“You’re not sneaking booze when I go to the bathroom, are you?” Dayana’s eyes narrowed. The hits she had taken from the Slaver King had really done a number on her internal organs. Like Jayde, she was on the mend, but for some reason that included a bladder with the capacity of a thimble. Which was metaphorical, the x-rays showed that everything was where it was supposed to be, she had checked.
“I’m using my off hand,” Jayde groused.
“What happened to all the ambidexterity practice?”
“Apparently, I needed more. Never got the stupid Skill,” she muttered.
“You gonna take Jake up on that offer?”
“I’ll explore it. Magitech sounds awesome, but will it mess with my class?”
“You should be happy that you didn’t get a downgrade,” Dayana bounced a ping pong ball into Jayde’s last red cup.
“Gained levels, broke 50, but I’m still behind you. Fucking spires could’ve at least given me more. I mean, I sacrificed an arm and I feel like I contributed a lot. Solo-killed a vampire lord. Laid down big damage on the king. So on and so forth. Fuck! Well, I guess I’m happy for you,” she took a drink of flavored sugar water. “Surprised that you aren’t rubbing it into my face. Seems out of character, you know?”
“I’m trying to be magnanimous, also I don’t want to make you feel worse about still being behind me in level.”
“Yeah, no, that’s what’s worse. Like, you’re pitying me or something lame. Go on. Brag about possibly being the highest leveled person.”
“Maybe later.”
“Have you tried out your Skill? I’m still debating which one to pick for mine. Skill or spell, Skill or spell?” she mimed juggling, which looked odd with only one hand and arm.
“Er… I was advised against it considering my, uh, delicate physical state.”
“Lame… let’s switch sides,” Jayde gestured to Dayana’s end of the table with its full complement of juice-filled cups. “Also, you’re gonna have to refill, on account of my stump. I swear, I don’t know what’s worse, the itch I can’t scratch or the random stabbing pain. No, actually, it’s reaching for stuff like I still have it.”
“You should talk to someone about it. Jake, Cal or hell, there’s like a couple of dozen people here missing stuff.”
“Shit, that reminds me, I have to hook the Golden Eagles up with Jake and them. Spread that magitech prosthetic shit around.”
“No need. I talked with Cal when you and Hayden were out. It was one of the parts of the deal. They’re working out a schedule.”
“Say? Do we need to keep an eye on Hayden?”
“Why? The Dread Paladin’s headed back to SoCal.”
“Should we say something about the whole revenge thing? I mean, I’ve got her back, but I’m not exactly in top shape for a fight.”
“Neither is he from what I heard.”
“The fuck you mean?”
Dayana shrugged. “I don’t know, just think about what’d you do if you only had one goal in life and you accomplished it. What comes next? It seems that he’s got nothing. Wants nothing.”
“What about that Vow thing?” she wiggled her fingers.
“A problem for a later day, according to—”
“Okay, got it. So, I’ve been thinking. Are we astronauts now?”
“Depends on who you ask, I guess.”
“We went into space!” Jayde threw her hand up. “Rayna flew us, like, fifty miles up! It was all dark, but then colorful.” Her eyes narrowed, “saw the curve to. Guess that kills the whole flat Earth thing. It was a cool trip.”
“A lot quicker too.”
“I know that.”
“What?”
“You said it like you were going to explain because you thought I didn’t know, bitch,” Jayde grinned.
“I wasn’t.”
Dayana was in fact going to explain why a parabolic flight path into low orbit or its general vicinity was a faster trip.
Miami to Austin was about a thousand miles as the old planes flew.
Rayna’s gravity bubble flight covered about a hundred and fifty miles, plus she went hypersonic.
She wasn’t too clear on the difference, but it was supposed to be faster than supersonic.
It had been a stunning experience floating weightless along with everyone as they zoomed into outer space and back down.
The only thing she’d have asked for was to actually feel a little of the G-forces to really make it real.
Then again that probably wouldn’t have been good for healthy her, let alone injured her.
“Yeah, I think we’re technically astronauts,” Jayde nodded sagely. “You know what? Forget this game. It’s almost dinner time. Why don’t we go get Hayden and Swan Prim-cess, grab some street tacos? Haven’t had Mama Rosa’s in, like, a year.”
“Has it been that long since we’ve been back here?”
“Just about.”
“Alright, I’m game.”
“Gonna be a bitch to eat tacos with one hand.”
Dayana raised a brow.
“I like to two-fist my tacos. Guess those days are over,” Jayde scowled. “Gonna get birria juice all over my Jarritos bottle…” she muttered.
----------------------------------------
Time passed.
Half a country away, Drake sat a bit uncomfortably in a sea of mourners.
He wasn’t technically a part of Rayna’s Rangers.
However, they wanted him there for he had spent the most time with Shrewed and had been the last to see the grizzled, old brawler alive.
The memory came back.
They had just won.
Cal had destroyed the slavery machine and zoomed out to join the fight with the Slaver King.
All the slavers were dead or down thanks to the timely arrival of that scary, blindfold lady with the white light.
He had immediately tried to reach Shrewed on the comms.
He remembered the claws clenching around his guts when there was no answer.
He had nearly run into Lyta and the toddler when he rushed to the rear entrance of the central control chamber.
Shrewed was buried underneath slavers.
Bodies covered the dark hallway floor as far as his light could reach.
He’d find out later that Shrewed had laid the slavers down like carpet as he fought alone to keep them from interrupting Cal at a critical junction.
“I had no idea,” Cal had told him later. “It was taking all my concentration to keep the king from killing the remaining enslaved that hadn’t been freed yet. I owe Shrewed everything. If he hadn’t kept them out then… I wouldn’t have been able to save the ones I did.”
He vowed to remember Shrewed and the time they spent at that fat lord’s mansion.
The knowledge shared. The stories told.
Street wisdom, Shrewed had called it.
Drake regarded the field.
There had to be at least a thousand people.
Shrewed hadn’t had any family from what he had said, but that was wrong, Drake knew.
The rangers were the old man’s family.
One funeral among many.
Cal attended them all, sometimes from a discrete distance since the fallen ranger’s family wanted small affairs.
He watched his sister solemnly standing together with Kayl, whose hair had gone mostly gray, though she was still strong and fit.
Time passed swiftly.
Funerals upon funerals.
It seemed as if he was flying back and forth, north and south every hour.
One last ceremony in Southern California.
The names of the fallen had been carved into the massive granite wall he and Eron had flown in a long time ago from a distant mountain range.
The old names…
Iz - Ruben Villegas
One-eye - Isis Burke
Punchkicker - Donovan Jones
Swampbutt - Regan Anderson
Hammers - Frank Clay
Three-plates - Rodrick Tran
Smores - Amari Ball
Catscratch - Peter Gomez
Two-toes - Carleigh Hughes
Chains - Willow Alvarado
The new…
Shrewed - Leonard Powell
X-Ray - Javi Rubio
Timber - Daren Perry
Cherry Chapstick - Jayson Daniels
Bootleg Jesus - Hector Duran
Tuxedo Cake - Luke Wiggins
Neckbeard - Evan Thomas
Oatmilk - Dedrick Bryant
Bonker - Kenny Henderson
And more…
Dead because he had asked of them to put the lives of strangers above their own.
A strong squeeze of his hand.
Nila’s reassuring presence.
Next to her, their son, Boy.
Half a year, he’d been gone and Cal was dismayed to see how much their son had grown.
His heart sank.
He’d be soon parted from them for a span again to settle the remaining obligations from their last, terrible Quest.
Cal was back in Sacramento within the hour.
One last ceremony to honor the accomplishments of those that went to free the enslaved.
The highest honors were saved for those that fell against the Slaver King.
The Watch was distant.
Rino bristled at the sight of him.
He understood.
They had lost family.
Though they had gained a few in the form of Hanna’s surviving students.
Still, one didn’t replace loved ones.
Del had finally buried his survivor’s guilt in his last moments.
There had been no regret.
Just relief and eagerness to see what came next.
Watch Commander Demi Lawrence had been more than a leader. For many of them she became the mother they had lost to the monsters or bad men.
One last sacrifice to see her children make back home.
Most of them would’ve been dead if it hadn’t been for Demi’s terrible Skill.
That thought made it all the worse.
Cal remembered the last conversations he had with them all. He’d never forget them. It was the least he could do to repay them.
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
One couldn’t repay a spent life.
Cal left them to their grieving. He wouldn’t sully their grief by artificially easing it.
The fallen deserved more.
Flying into the dark sky, he welcomed the silence of being hundreds of miles from other minds.
The funerals and ceremonies had been a trying time with the rawness of their emotions.
Too many, too painful, too sad.
He thought about his last conversation with Hanna when they had stood on a rooftop and watched the former king hang, kicking and twitching his last moments on Earth.
----------------------------------------
“Was it worth it?” Hanna turned her head to make up for the huge blindside on her left. “I only have one eye now and I’m having difficulty seeing if it was or not”
Jake had promised he’d get started on a magitech eye as soon as possible. He had been hopeful since the Magus of the Ten Eyes was going to spend time on the west coast and he figured she’d be a valuable brain to pick apart when it came to magic and eyes.
Hanna hadn’t been so certain.
There was a large leap between enchanted monster eyes and a magitech version.
“Yes.”
Cal’s reply was simple and given without hesitation.
She unclenched her fist.
It was the only answer he could’ve given that stayed her hand.
It didn’t matter to her that she’d only break her fist on his face.
It was the principle.
She owed it to the dead.
“Tell me,” she continued, “what’d we buy with our lives?”
“12,376 people are no longer enslaved.”
“Just a little over half,” she stifled a cry. Her face twisted, the scars on her left side stung. “Demi, Del, a few dozen rangers, Doran’s spears, most of my students… some might say that’s a good trade.”
“That’s not for me to say. The only ones that can say it was worth it were those that gave their lives.”
“Makes it easy doesn’t it? You can’t ask them!” she snapped.
“Not now, but maybe one day, when it’s my turn. Then I can ask them if they thought it was a good trade. If they can forgive me for bringing them here.”
She remained silent for a long while, watching the former Slaver King’s body sway in the wind.
The sight brought her no satisfaction unlike the thousands in the roaring crowd.
“I’d want him alive if it meant they were too.”
He wisely remained quiet.
“Even if it meant I had to watch over him in a cell. Feed him, take care of him, whatever. For the rest of my life, if only Demi, Del and the rest where right here next to me.”
Congratulations!
You have completed a Quest.
Destroy the Slaver Kingdom (Free the enslaved).
Re—
Congratulations!
You have completed a Quest.
Free yourself from the slave—
Congratulations!
You have completed a Quest.
Defeat the Slaver King in com—
Congratulations!
You have completed a Quest.
Free your students (5/66).
Hanna Gozen.
Sword of Freedom Level 58.
“It wasn’t worth it,” she said softly.
Not for the lives of her family.
----------------------------------------
“What the hell are you doing!”
Cal flew straight for his brother.
The luxury resort housed the majority of the formerly enslaved still in Miami.
Many had already jumped at the offer to relocate to California, which Rayna took care of.
His sister was making several trips a day bringing them to either Sacramento or SoCal.
Eron was painting a huge mural of a cerulean dragon looming beneficently over a grateful population.
“Dude, glad you’re back, I need some of your thoughts?”
“I don’t even want to know.”
“So, I’m thinking of slogans. Like, obviously, something like, ‘Vote Cezirichella for Dragon President! Fly into tomorrow on the wings of the future!’, is a given, but what about something more tongue-in-cheek, like, ‘Cezirichella… dragon you into the future!’” he waggled his brows.
“Damn you and such for making me consider this,” Cal shook his head, “wait! No! This isn’t a joke! This is serious!”
“And I am absolutely treating it as such. Face it, she’s the best leader for this place once you leave. Sure you’ve got these shits paying for their crimes. All the worst ones are swinging in the breeze… I can smell them from here by the way… maybe you should consider taking them down? So, you’ve got the criminals doing their punishments. Cleaning up the place. Repair work. Food prep and service. Monster clearing duty. Dude, some of these people were rich ass nobles, but you’ve got them terrified. Not one of them has spat on a single burger. Not a one. Zero violent crime. No rapes. Nothing.”
“It’s not going to last. I’m not watching over them for much longer.”
“Good… I guess… slippery slopes and all that, bla bla. Anyways, as I was saying, you make my own points for me. With you gone, what better guardian of the peace for these former slavers than a dragon?” Eron threw his hands out wide, splattering blue paint across Cal’s face. The streaks slid down a telekinetic shield. “Oops, sorry, but, c’mon, you know I’m right. Without her they’ll eventually break apart into competing tribes with warlords and shit. I’ve seen it all over the world. What’s the point of doing all this if you’re just going to leave eight-hundred thousand people to suffer. Listen, Cezirichella is really giving me young Rayna vibes. Makes sense since our little sister is mentoring. Remember Rayna’s irrational confidence?”
“Yeah, just like that one teammate you always had that thought every shot he took was going in.”
“Exactly! Plus, some would argue that slavers deserve whatever they’re going to get and perhaps a dragon overlo— president is just that.”
“I don’t know…”
“Like I said, you already gave the people their justice on the worst slavers. All that’s left is everyone else.”
“They didn’t do anything to stop it or try to help like that champion, Alexandria Ortega Cortez.”
“Underground railroad,” Eron nodded. “Damn shame you couldn’t save her. From what I’ve heard talking to a few gladiators she was a legit good person. I can only imagine what she could’ve done had she not been stuck in this shithole. Irregardless—”
“C’mon, you’re doing that on purpose.”
Eron chuckled. “Regardless… try to have some empathy, you know? It’s not really fair to ask a person with multiple or non-combat classes below 30 to rise up against a Level 50+ Slaver King and his army… piece of shit even had monsters, what kind of asshole does that? My point is that it’s easy for you and me to follow our consciences.”
“I suppose this means that whatever happens here I’ll need to stay involved.”
“You broke it, you fix it,” Eron shrugged.
“Alright, I’ll push the issue of Cezirichella playing dragon overlord a little back. Number one focus will be continuing to return people to their homes and help them if needed.”
“I’ll help out with that for a bit. I’m already going to help that kid, Silver Axe, with his weresquirrel problem. Shouldn’t take too long to clear the spawn zones down to encounter challenges. That Hammer lady’s coming with. Might need to help her community too. She’s been gone a while. Same for Luther and his son, poor dude’s gonna be in the hospital for a bit, so I told them that I’d fly up to their place and lend a hand.”
“Thanks for that.”
“No problem. I haven’t been back to this place in a minute. Might need to remind the old government that I’m still flying around out here.”
“In their defense, they did help in the act of destroying the slavery control unit. True Patriot’s a decent person.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t matter much if the people she takes orders from aren’t. You think you can get her to maybe take charge?”
“You mean pull a military coup?” he said flatly.
“You said it, not me.”
“Anything bad or weird out in the wider world?” he changed the subject.
“You’d learn for yourself if you crossed the oceans more,” Eron snorted. “Nothing world shattering at the moment, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, sitting in one place for days. Let me think, had to kill a kaiju in India, another warlord popped up in Western Europe, luckily she was surprisingly reasonable and had a light touch for a warlord, so I can safely punt that issue to a later date, Antarctica is still empty, no spawn zones or encounter challenges, which is creeping me out, oh, and Wytchraven’s coven claimed a nice spot in the Fae Lands.”
“Yeah, I remember you telling me about that. Still no fae issues?”
“Nope, they’re expecting it though. There’s no way that fae do not exist.”
“Seems dangerous.”
“Meh, risk reward,” Eron shrugged.
“You getting enough sleep?”
“Yeah…”
“Eron…”
“Couple of hours a month. More than I need.”
“Continuous hours?”
“I take orbit naps… dude, chill, you ain’t Mom. I get it enough from her. Besides, no hallucinations… except that one time, but that turned out to be a monster. Anyways, Blackstar and her mage want a word about the job you’ve got them doing and future employment once this is done. That Howard dude’s still looking for someone and there’s like dozens of mercs, adventuring bands and what not asking questions. Don’t worry, they’ve been on best behavior. I think they’re hoping for some kind of payment for losses and/or services rendered in your operation. Double anyways,” Eron handed the paint brush over, “going to hit the skies. We’ve just been waiting on you to get back. So, thanks for finishing this up,” he gestured to the mostly finished mural, “and you’ve got some inquiring minds,” he pointed down to the sidewalk in front of the hotel where a small table and plastic chairs sat. “See you, big bro! Oh yeah! I almost forgot. Cezirichella’s doing meet and greets around the city. Don’t freak out on her. I told her it was cool!”
Eron zoomed off to pick up his passengers.
Cal devoted a little bit of his brain power to finish the mural. Brushes and buckets of paint danced around like something out of the cartoons from his childhood.
He floated down to the table and read the sign his brother had painted.
“Immigration Services.”
Of course.
They had talked about setting something up for anyone that wanted to move elsewhere.
The California State Government had been open to taking in anyone that he personally vetted as being ‘not that bad of a slaver’.
Rayna had said that she was cool with whoever he thought was cool, but also that she wasn’t in charge and he should talk to those people, but that she’d fly people over if he thought they were good regardless.
Other settlements, allied and not had been much less accommodating.
Isaac in Seattle wasn’t interested in taking in slavers, whether they were one of the ‘good’ ones or not.
Atlanta was only willing to take in former enslaved.
Austin said all the right words to make it clear that they wanted to punt the can down the road for as long as possible, but they were too scared of him to refuse outright.
He sat down at the table with a sigh.
A stack of blank paper and a cup of pens sat to his right.
Five girls, young woman rather, stood on the other side.
“Um… the flying guy you… uh… were talking to up there… he said to wait here… about moving to California?”
He regarded the young woman with pink and silver hair, a glittering star painted over one eye trailing a stream of glitter across her face like a comet’s tail.
The other four were similarly attired and made up.
“Before we start… are you performing later or something?”
“Actually, yeah,” Casey Cool said. “So, um… you were flying… too…” her brows had risen about as high as they could go.
“Alright, let’s keep this short, I’m busy and it looks like a line is forming,” he glanced past them.
“That other flying dude told us all to wait,” Rachel Rascal said.
“Of course he did,” he sighed. “Here, write your names, stats and any other identifying details. I’ll have to figure out picture ID’s later.”
“What, like our classes? Levels?” Casey narrowed her eyes.
“No. Height, weight, eye color, hair color, so on… basically what’s on a driver’s license… er, you don’t have to do the weight if you’re uncomfortable for that.”
A good save, he thought.
“What’s that?” another band member whispered.
“Listen, this is just for tracking purposes. After you move I don’t think it’ll matter. It’s just a piece of paper, after all.”
“So, uh, how long will the process take?” Casey said.
“For you five? About two seconds. You can go on the next flight if you’re ready.”
“Just like that?” Casey said.
“Seems suspicious,” Rachel agreed.
“The flying guy said there’d be like a ‘vetting’ process,” Casey said.
“You’ve already been vetted. Let me see if I remember what the spies reported. Casey Cool and the Glitterbombs. Pop rock band. More importantly, did not own enslaved people. Did not abuse enslaved people. Rocked out all night long to provide boosts against the Slaver King’s monsters. Does that sound right?”
“Scary,” Rachel said.
“But true,” Casey added. “Okay!” she smiled brightly. “We’ll… uh… fill these out, sir and we’ll be ready to depart as soon as possible.”
“There’s no rush. There’ll be daily flights for the foreseeable future.”
“We don’t have much to pack, just our gear. The sooner we get out of this place the better,” Rachel said.
“Same...”
----------------------------------------
In the world of the spires there was no gain without loss.
The question was how much was one willing to give before it became too much.
They had seen it in the spires or in their eyes in the days and weeks after they had destroyed a nation of slavers.
Quest rewards.
Spells.
Skills.
Levels.
A stunning bounty even for those that had pushed limits and dangers in the past.
Silver Arms Fighter Level 40 –> Silver Arms Therianslayer Level 45. Silver-blooded…
One was pleased though slightly confused and concerned. He’d need to consult a dictionary.
Slasher Level 23 –> Slasher Level 29. New class gained, Hidden Knife of the Psionic Prime Level 4 –> Slasher Level 29, Hidden Knife of the Psionic Prime Level 4.
Another was concerned. She had an opportunity, but did she want stronger tethers even if it led to greater strength?
Fiery Swordmage Level 32 –> Flamesword Avenger Level 38.
Where did one go after achieving vengeance? Easy… she wasn’t done until she turned every single Meat Parade cannibal into ash.
Spell Orb Mage Level 34 –> Spell Orb Adept Level 40. Greater Mana Pool. Enhanced Mana Regeneration…
If she hadn’t run out of mana then her teammate wouldn’t have sacrificed his life.
Ranger Tank Warrior Level 38 –> Artifact Bearer Level 44. I Share My Inheritance, My Father’s Protection…
Regrets were shared liberally. They were under her command, which meant she was responsible for them. She had been selfish to keep her father’s only memento to herself.
Undefeated Champion of the Hard Rock Level 43 –> Redemption Seeker Champion Gladiator Level 46. My Integrity, My Strength…
Sometimes one needed to retrace their steps to find the right path forward.
Mage Level 24, Swordswoman Level 30 –> Mage Level 29, Swordswoman Level 32 –> Knightmage Level 38. First knightly vow sworn… 1st Knightly Vow: I Will Protect Those I Hold Dear…
She had already given one arm in failure. She’d give all she had for that to never happen again.
Dread Paladin Level 40 –> Dread Paladin Level 45. Vow of Vengeance completed. Vow of Dread Sown active. 2 Vow slots open.
One found himself hollow. What remained when one emptied the only thing that had driven him forward?
Weredog Level 30 –> Lycanbane Weredog Level 36. Natural Enemy: Werewolves. Silver Smile…
Weredog Level 32 –> Lycanbane Weredog Level 38. Natural Enemy: Werewolves. Silver-touched Bark…
One found it interesting and cool that her teeth seemed to shine when she smiled. The other saw the pitfalls of over-specialization.
Vampire Level 35 –> Vampire Level 40. Enhanced Blood Potency…
Power came at a cost. His hunger grew.
Punch Mage Level 46 –> Arcane Fist Level 51. Impact Mana Siphon. Intimidating Mien. I Bring The Boom…
She debated the value of keeping the second Skill, while complaining that she got robbed. No way that’s all she deserved!
Soldier: Infantry Level 38, Watch Captain Level 10 –> Soldier: Infantry Level 43, Watch Commander Level 5 –> Watch Commander Level 38. Inherit all Watch Commander Demi Lawrence’s Skills.
And for the last? The leadership she had never wanted. Her closest friend’s legacy. She wouldn’t allow it to fall.
Was it worth it?
Only the individual could answer.