Thomas (Thomas-7) was no longer afraid. He saw all possible threats.

If his mind had been limited in capacity, with normal processing speed, he would have been unable to puppeteer even one extra body. Instead, he utilized a flood of extra perceptual data as only a super-genius could. He was seven bodies at once, including his own.

He issued unspoken lists of instructions while speeding through corridors. Mental commands were much faster than spoken words. He gave his zombified proxies enough non-conflicting priorities to keep them self-sufficient, in case he got distracted.

His extra bodies moved like Olympian athletes. He had imbued each proxy with his absorbed database of gymnastics, martial arts, and combat training. They wielded weapons, as well: blaster gloves, rifles, and a scimitar.

No powers, though. Yeresunsa powers required self-actualization, and their minds were too broken to even process their own emotions and basic survival needs.

He made do. The proxy bodies fanned out around his hoverchair, protective. Thomas compelled only one zombie to lope within his range. The rest were satellites, within telepathy range of that first one or each other. That way, Thomas could control all of his proxies without needing to be within four yards of every single one. He leapfrogged commands from mind to mind to mind while remaining in centralized control.

Halfway to the artisan building, Thomas slowed, using his extra ears to listen for distant sounds and analyzing everything he heard. He detected an ambush from his own side. This could turn into a friendly fire incident.

He muted the command channel and switched to the local city military dispatch. “This is Thomas,” he said in a low voice. “I’m between the research annex and the artisan building, with six zombified Torth at my command.”

He waited for an acknowledgement.

“Ah! Uh, Thomas, got it.” The dispatcher sounded surprised.

“Tell the squad in the research courtyard to stand down,” Thomas said. “These six Torth belong to me.”

A mer nerctan cocked its bony head to peer around the corner. It assessed Thomas’s literal orbiters, one eye visible and narrowed with suspicion.

“Don’t shoot.” Thomas did his best to sound nonthreatening. It was difficult to dredge up any emotion while so much of his mind was occupied with directing zombies. He was still processing their brutal life experiences in the background of his consciousness.

“You are the Teacher?” the mer nerctan asked. “Thomas?”

“Correct,” he said.

The mer nerctan muttered with disgusted fear. Thomas did not have to read its mind to understand why. There were rumors that Thomas had bluffed and brainwashed his way onto the war council. Not everyone believed that Thomas was a super-genius, but plenty of soldiers believed he was a conceited and overly entitled rekveh.

This was why he rarely left his annex.

The mer nerctan spoke to its squad leader through its earpiece, and Thomas sensed the soldiers begin to withdraw. He floated forward.

A distant scream claimed his attention.

“Shots fired in the artisan building,” the dispatcher said.

“Thomas here. I’m heading to the artisan building with my zombies to deal with the threat.” Thomas floated in that direction, not waiting for the local squad to make a decision.

Instead of diving into the building, Thomas skimmed alongside its stone wall. He moved as close to the wall as possible, his senses open and listening.

—Betrayer. Where is—!

  !

   !

Thomas twisted one mind, then another, then another. He sent mental instructions to the newly zombified Torth.

Those fresh zombies did their best to seize the remaining Torth raiders in the vicinity. A few zombies got killed by Rosies with powers. Their armor twisted or their necks wrung with telekinesis. Even so, most of the Rosies fled rather than stick around to face Thomas.

Except for one.

A chunk of archway exploded just as Thomas entered the building. Rubble rained down. Zombies protected their central body, as instructed, and yanked Thomas’s hoverchair back, using their own bodies to shield him. They caught a stone chunk and hurled it aside before it could crush Thomas.

He sent several of his fearless zombies rushing towards the hidden sniper. One zombie went down, ankle twisted and broken by an invisible force. Others kept going.

Maybe the sniper was exhausted? If all of these Rosies had teleported to Freedomland, then they might all be near depletion. Not even Garrett could take teleportation lightly. He would deplete himself after five interstellar teleports.

Thomas silently instructed two more zombies to circle around and cut off any possible escape route which the sniper might take.

Next, he floated to the one with the broken ankle, and ordered it to sever itself from the chain. He didn’t need a defunct body. He left it with instructions to kill any non-zombified Torth raiders, and to obey commands from any former slave soldiers.

With that, he made his way inside the artisan building, in full control of three proxy bodies, with six more acting semi-independently. That should be enough to take down a squad of Servants of All.

Thomas proceeded with caution anyway. This attack had been well-executed and preplanned, and not by the Majority. He was dealing with an enemy super-genius.

He was actually grateful that Garrett and Jinishta had talked him into keeping the Mirror Prison clear and mostly empty of prisoners. If he had left it chock full of Rosies and Servants of All, he might be dealing with a lot worse than a few dozen invaders. They would have recruited local help.

Thomas traversed a lobby full of sculptures and other artisan displays. The classrooms were interconnected, and he took a winding path through emptied rooms, past students hiding behind seats and workshop tables. He scouted ahead with his proxy bodies. He listened. He stuck close to walls.

And deep down, he fumed.

The Torth Empire was a corpse. The Majority was just a shambling horde of proxy bodies for some super-genius or two. She—it must be either the girl Twin or the Death Architect, or perhaps the two of them working in a secret concerted effort—had lashed out at his home. His sanctuary. This was where he collected his favorite people.

And if his best people couldn’t feel safe? Then no one was safe. The important work they were doing would grind to a halt. Thomas would lose—not just the war, but everything and everyone he cared about.

You dare come into My home? Thomas ascended into the Megacosm as rudely as possible. You dare threaten Me?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Amazingly, the Torth Majority did not ban him.

Too many Torth wanted to learn what was going through his mind. More than a few Torth went into orbit around his angry mood, and although they cringed, they also fed upon Thomas’s knowledge.

Thomas likewise gained an overview of multiple battles from the Torth perspective.

The Torth Empire had nearly regained Lava City, Straddler City, and Tempest Arena.

They had made a point of going after albino warriors and assassinating them. They had successfully killed more than two dozen, and they had captured many dozens more. In fact, the Imposter himself had blundered into one of their inhibitor gas traps. A trio of Torth champions had captured him with ease, and they would have killed him if not for the infernal Giant and those infernal supercoms the Conqueror (the Betrayer) had invented. The Giant had whisked the crippled old man and a bunch of albinos away to safety.

The Majority was seething with disappointment.

So far, they had failed to kill or capture any of the four enemy heroes. They had failed to regain any cities. A lot of Red Ranks and Rosies were dead.

But it is not over, millions of minds chorused.

Right, many others agreed. (Also) This is a costly battle for the enemies.

  We (the great and glorious Torth Empire) will give the enemies many more costly battles.

Thomas dropped out of the Megacosm with his lips compressed. His side truly could not afford to lose so many Yeresunsa. The Torth Empire had a near-infinite supply of Rosy Ranks. In contrast, Thomas’s side now had fewer than nine hundred and fifty warriors with Yeresunsa powers.

He was dangerously outmatched.

If this war was a game of chess, then Thomas was the king piece for his side, weak yet crucial to victory. And a few minutes ago, he had almost been checkmated.

But not quite.

Was she disappointed? Whether his nemesis was the Death Architect or the girl Twin, she must realize, as Thomas realized, that their mutual stalemate was unsustainable. She would plot more nastiness.

Thomas did not want to be taken by surprise again. He needed to reconsider his entire approach.

Heck, maybe he ought to become a warrior? If he fought alongside people like Flen, well, maybe the Alashani squads would learn to respect him. Was he being foolhardy? Was that even possible for a super-genius?

Two egg-shaped objects hurtled towards Thomas. Grenades.

Their timers morphed from orange to red.

As fast as thought, Thomas directed proxy bodies to jump up and intercept the grenades. They acted as living shields for Thomas’s core body, and they died. Limbs and gore exploded outward. Blood spattered across Thomas’s lab coat and face and hoverchair. Oh well.

He used his other proxy bodies to leap around the corner and seize any armored Torth they encountered.

There were blasts. There were fireballs. Thomas’s proxy bodies each combined the expertise of multiple Servants of All. In many ways, they were better than their brethren who still had free will. They walked through wildfire and did not care if their hair burned off. They dodged using borrowed super-genius mental reflexes. They sprayed inhibitor micro-darts, they forced arms into deadlocks, and they dragged new victims towards Thomas in his hoverchair.

Thomas won.

He won again.

Each new proxy body added to his processing burden. Once he gained more than fifteen bodies, his thoughts lagged by a few milliseconds. It didn’t matter. He was still more clever than an average Torth. He outmatched every combatant in terms of skill, strategy, methodology, and sheer number of bodies. He seized another combatant, and another.

He surged forward, speeding through the building with a phalanx of appropriated bodies. Extra bodies scouted ahead or behind, relaying visual data to the central command brain who sat in the hoverchair.

The next batch of Servants of All he encountered did not attempt to murder him. They simply fled.

Thomas chased them with proxy bodies. He threw obstacles in their paths. He attacked them. Once they were apparently depleted? Thomas used proxy bodies to drag them, writhing and kicking, into his telepathic range.

He zombified one after another after another.

One Servant of All escaped. She was in the grasp of one of his proxy bodies when she vanished with startling suddenness. Air rushed into the vacant space, causing a thunderclap that smelled of ozone.

Thomas sent proxy bodies to search adjacent rooms and hallways, just in case she had teleported to someplace nearby. He didn’t find her.

The fact that none of the other victims escaped told Thomas how weak they were, on average. Each one of these invaders had teleported from streamships that were less than a parsec away. A return trip would require rest and recover time. Only one had been able to get away within an hour of showing up.

They definitely weren’t as powerful as Garrett.

The Torth Empire might be conserving its best champions for a later attack. Either that, or the Torth Empire didn’t have such great assets to begin with. Thomas hoped for the latter.

One of his proxy scouts observed a few Servants of All hurrying towards Cherise’s classroom. The Servants were as single-minded as sharks, intent on winning eternal praise in the Megacosm.

Too bad for them.

Thomas commanded nine of his proxy bodies to surround the invaders, block them, and then shoot them in the head. Brains splashed across the walls. Armored Torth bodies fell into the gore that used to be their own heads.

Silence from the classroom.

Thomas cautiously floated forward, commanding his many proxy bodies to stand aside in sentry mode. He bypassed corpses. When he reached the door, he overrode the low-security setting that kept it closed.

“It’s me,” he said.

Dozens of simultaneous voices whispered his words with him. Thomas winced and suppressed his other mouths.

“Thomas,” he said alone.

He dared to use the door control to slide it partway open, so he could peek inside.

Hundreds of alien faces stared at him with fright.

“It’s all right.” Cherise made her way up the aisle. Her attitude towards Thomas was wary and mistrustful, just like the soldier students who stood with their blaster gloves ready, but there was hope in her face as well.

That was a look Thomas had waited a long time to see from Cherise.

“You’re safe,” he said, answering the question no one had quite dared to ask out loud. It didn’t matter. He heard it anyway.

Cherise stopped well short of him. She knew his range of telepathy, and she stayed outside of it. Her gaze flicked across Thomas’s lab coat, taking in the spatters of blood. She must have heard the blasts.

And she must notice that Thomas wasn’t wearing a blaster glove.

“The Torth who invaded here are no longer a problem.” Thomas’s voice did an embarrassing puberty thing. It dropped an octave.

Cherise still looked worried, so Thomas decided to clarify. “I, uh, zombified most of them.” He cleared his throat. “And killed the rest.”

Just to be on the safe side, he said that in English, so her students could not understand his words.

“Oh.” Cherise hesitated.

Normally, it was easy for Thomas to think of how to guide a conversation. But nothing he thought of seemed adequate here.

He gave Cherise a nod of acknowledgement. That was the best he could do.

They gazed at each other. The space between them seemed so huge, it might as well be a solid wall.

Cherise looked as if she wanted to speak, but she kept changing her mind.

Thomas’s proxy bodies relayed a problem to his attention. Someone was hurling spears at bullet-fast speeds and slaughtering them. The bodies did not defend themselves, of course. Self-defense was not one of the basic batches of commands Thomas had installed in their minds.

With a sigh, Thomas sent commands down the chain.

Soon the proxy bodies seized their attacker. Torth military ranks wore white or red armor, but this one wore all black.

Flen?

Ugh. Thomas recalled the complex roster of warrior duties, and sure enough, Flen would have been home when the invasion hit. He must have hurriedly put on his armor and then run all the way from the Alashani quarter to the Academy, to rescue the love of his life.

How noble.

Thomas used his extra bodies to hustle the warrior into the classroom. Released, Flen stumbled and caught his balance.

“Sorry,” Thomas said to Cherise. “I need him to stop attacking my zombies.”

Flen flipped up his visor, revealing a face that was flushed red with rage and humiliation. He saw Cherise. Enraged, he turned towards Thomas.

“Rekveh.” Flen bared his teeth and drew two spears. He looked ready to kill.

“No, Flen!” Cherise jumped between him and Thomas. “He’s protecting us!”

Thomas prepared to send proxy bodies to disarm Flen. He wasn’t going to allow the hothead to accidentally spear Cherise.

Flen gripped his spears, but stopped short of throwing them. A muscle in his jaw flexed. He must be gnashing his teeth.

Thomas attempted to give Flen a respectful smile. He hoped it looked friendly rather than mocking. “You got this?” He made sure that his other mouths stayed quiet and forced himself to sound like a human. “If so, I’m going to go get rid of any other Torth on campus.”

Cherise looked nearly as flushed as Flen. That couldn’t be anger, could it? She was too far away for Thomas to sense her mood. Was she embarrassed? Why was she so red-cheeked?

“Thank you.” Cherise nodded to Flen and then to Thomas. Her eyelashes were longer than Thomas remembered. Pretty.

He rotated his hoverchair and exited the classroom, shielded by extra bodies.

Sure, he had words that he wanted to say to Cherise. Although he had apologized to her in the dead city, she hadn’t heard him, and he wanted to tell her again. But, then again…

Did she really need to hear it?

Thomas respected the space Cherise maintained between herself and him. That space was significant. It was where Flen belonged, not the boy whom everyone hated and feared. Thomas supposed he was unsuitable as boyfriend material. He was a monster. And a freak. He had the body and the hormones of a teenager, but he was mentally something very different.

A sovereign.

A conqueror.

He floated down the corridor, where thirty zombified Torth awaited his commands.