Collide Gamer

‘War… war is coming…’ Momo’s voice swung in his mind, filled with dramatic dread.

‘About time,’ John responded.

‘Really? No reaction to me being all foreboding?’ He heard the pout in her voice, despite the fact that this was a projection of her thoughts into his mind. ‘I dressed it up all intimidatingly.’

‘Well, the reality is intimidating enough.’ The primary weight of his mind shifted away from his real body, currently engaged in a diplomatic chat with a small number of foreign dignitaries, and to the Ambassador Double.

The body had sat effectively deactivated in a chair. When it suddenly began to move again, it didn’t even startle the local production crew. His press assistants were more than used to having one of the Gamer’s three corporeal forms go from person to object and vice versa.

“Everything in order?” the Gamer asked.

“Nothing is in order,” Hank grumbled under his breath and sipped his ninth coffee of the day. “I literally had just given a whole file of soldiers a break and then this guy lands. I thought this was a promotion?”

“Have you looked at your pay? It is a promotion,” John responded dryly.

Hank had been promoted to the office of deputy director of the chancellor’s office. It was a role that had been created so he could fill it. Effectively, he had become Momo’s long arm. Whatever the fairy maid decided was worthy of her direct oversight, Hank was sent to in order to implement her desired changes. It was a highly prestigious role with immense pay and power.

Being who he was, Hank found ways to complain about it. “You are working me to the bone here. I have been up for 19 hours.”

“And you plan to be up for many more at the rate you are chugging coffee.” John rolled his shoulders and shook out his limbs. The copy was so perfect that, despite the fact that it was made out of magic, he felt stiff from keeping the same position for so long. “So, the preparations?”

“Will be done in time,” Hank gave the expected answer. When Hank was involved, things got done. They didn’t necessarily get done in clean ways nor did he leave everyone he worked with feeling pleased about the experience, but everything that mattered did get done. The man, despite being practically mundane, had an exceptional talent for identifying the important and the achievable. “In part because Krieg, unlike the prince of retards, knows to wait.”

John suppressed an amused snort at the title chosen for Osman, though his lack of reprimand did speak every bit as loud.

The Gamer left the waiting tent and marched down to the pier. Momo was already there, as was Nathalia. Whether it was wise to have the dragoness there, John did not know. To keep her away could have rankled the temper of the war god every bit as much as reminding him that she had chosen John.

‘Not that it’s a fresh wound on his ego anymore,’ the Gamer considered.

They waited by the pier, the boats gradually approaching. John had wanted to keep this procedure minimal, but for this set of guests, no minimalism could be allowed. Seven boats approached the pier. The first and foremost landed notably ahead of everyone else.

Two platoons of soldiers framed the war god’s arrival, each three rows deep. In symmetrical coordination, the front rows brandished enchanted swords, creating trails of air, sand, fire and water before them as they raised them into a ceremonial pose. Behind them, the second row did the same with spears, thrusting them into the air. The third and final row unleashed spells from their hands.

Krieg acknowledged the display with a respectful nod towards the soldiers. Perhaps he did smile on whatever face he had beneath the metal helmet. The war god appeared in the form of a Spartan made of flame. His bare chest was deep red and muscular. A burning cape hung from broad shoulders. An armoured skirt shifted with every stride of his trunk-like legs. He was the embodiment of the human concept of war.

[Krieg AI: https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/84676acd0403.png ]

He stopped past the soldiers, several metres away from John. No words were spoken yet. Instead, the symphony of the welcoming orchestra continued playing their prolonged tune. Behind Krieg, six more boats anchored, carrying six more gods. A crier announced them all to the stunned crowd.

“The honoured god of war, Krieg, leader of the Concord of War, and his primary supporters!”

Second to get off his boat was a plain-looking man with brown hair, though his bright silver eyes carried with them a depth of judgemental wisdom. His gaze drifted over the crowd, making people flinch away as they felt their shortcomings rise to the forefront. Used to this from Ehtra, John remained calm when the eyes inevitably fell on him. The man bowed his head slightly, in curious respect, then adjusted the tie of his well-tailored suit and took his position next to Krieg. The pair of round glasses on his nose were pushed up once he arrived.

“The god of oaths, Veridion, assurer of promises and keeper of trust.”

Third was a figure that had much in common with Krieg when it came to his form. Yet, where Krieg burned bright, this creature was consumed, his flesh reduced to animated ash, last embers forming the bones, glowing through the cracks that formed when he moved. He was unnaturally long-limbed, crawling forwards on all fours. His head was a fusion between a broken helmet and the emerging, mutated head of a nightmarish predator with too many and too large teeth.

“The god of vengeance, Kael, judge from ashes and collector of debts.”

Fourth was a much more pleasant being. A woman of long, golden hair that fell in luscious locks. She was a dark-skinned being, her athletic curves covered by a white tunic pressed tightly against her narrow waist and nicely proportioned breasts and hips by elements of armour. She covered everything yet hid nothing, her golden eyes scanning the crowd, while her golden lips were spread in a slight smile.

“The goddess of honour, Alathea-a-dir, protector of the innocent and bringer of courage.”

Fifth off the boat was another creature and a unique one at that. It stepped off the boat as a bookshelf walking on four insect-like legs, but rapidly grew as it was given room to stretch. It became a spiralling boulder, covered in golden scripts and spires of stone shelves. Books grew among the layers. Mossy, pointy legs carried the living mixture of nature and building forwards with impossible smoothness.

“The god of history, Scrio, keeper of knowledge and observer of the cycles.”

Sixth was an elderly and quite chubby woman. She had rosy cheeks and wild, curly hair, grey with age. Her eyes were the colour of warm honey, her dress practical, with a leather apron covering much of the front. Behind her, she dragged a cauldron on wheels, something delicious bubbling in the cast iron container.

“The goddess of cooks, Hearthkeeper, maker of meals and breaker of bread.”

Seventh and last of the gods of the Concord arrived an androgynous figure made of interlocking pieces of grey metal and light pink crystal. Pieces of it occasionally burst off, stopping in midair, before snapping back onto the shape of the being, re-arranged. It glided silently. Its featureless head moved in repeated, hopefully pleased nods.

“The god of protection, Aegis, shield to all and sword against warmongers,” the crier introduced the last of the seven gods.

There were more gods to the Concord. The coalition encapsulated anyone who was willing to join it. However, these seven governed the inner circle of the organization. They were the first to answer the call, should anyone in the world ever violate the guidelines put down by the god of war.

Which meant that these were the seven that John would face at some point or another in the future.

“Welcome to my wedding,” John said to the crowd.

“Our wedding!” Rave landed next to her almost husband in that moment. Momo fluidly surrendered the position at his right side to her, while Nathalia remained put to his left. “Sorry about that, I was flirting with Lydia.”

“And who can blame you for that?” The Gamer chuckled and put a kiss on his almost wife’s lips.

Veridion snorted in something approaching contempt. It seemed he had an answer that he held back out of propriety.

“Let me show you to your quarters,” John said and gestured for them to come along. Theirs was by far the weirdest procession yet. Between the walking boulder-library, the squeaking of the cauldron’s wheels, the living geological formation, and the cackling of the ash demon, they had enough oddity for ten groups. Though the flame spartan, the silver-eyed suit and the dark-skinned paladin were comparatively normal, they still weren’t mundane.

More importantly, even those three were still gods. The avatars they chose to use were simple shells, covers for their true forms. John had seen the many-headed appearance of Krieg before, when they had duelled during the Divided Gates meeting. John had heard some rumours about what the others truly looked like, but who could say with any certainty?

“Where is the Lady Vengeance?” The ash-made god’s voice fit his looks perfectly, raspy and distorted, with a bit of a croak to uneven tone. “I learned she is under your employ?”

“She is my maid, yes,” John responded, mentally aligning his image of the spindly form Ehtra had taken for most of her contracts and this long-limbed creature. They matched quite well, which he knew wasn’t a coincidence. Kael was a relatively young god at merely 400 years old. The previous god of vengeance had died trying to collect a debt from the Horned Rat, rumours went.

“Maid… made Nemesis a maid – kekeke…” The god of vengeance had little mirth to his raspy laughter.

“Everyone can be a maid!” the Hearthkeeper spoke. She, too, sounded exactly what she looked like. The maternal tone, ripened by her advanced age, made her sound immediately trustworthy. Her one free hand made carefree gestures, the other clutching the rope by which she dragged her cauldron. “It is a venerable profession.”

“Certainly, certainly,” Kael agreed. “Just funny is all.” The rasping of paper against paper and stone against bark had the ashen demon turn his head. “Hear? Scrio agrees!”

“Scrio agrees to practically everything,” Veridion barked in an accusing but otherwise normal tone. “He’s barely got an opinion of his own on anything.”

“Don’t insult him,” Alathea reprimanded her fellow god, crossing her arms in front of her moderately sized breasts. She had an even voice, a bit deep for a woman but not distractingly so. “He has done nothing wrong.”

“Unlike some other people intend to.” Aegis’ voice was the only one that was out of order. From the walking formation of crystals and metal came the docile voice of… just a person. Guy or girl couldn’t be ascertained, it was just, well, some person speaking from the mouthless head.

“Indeed,” Krieg agreed.

“Are you levelling accusations against my mate at his own wedding?” Nathalia growled at the gathered gods. Even towards her divine peers, she had no qualms in using a protective tone.

“So, what if we are?” Veridion asked.

“Then I hope you’d like sharing Kael’s look.”

“Nathalia…” John put an arm around the narrow of the tall woman’s waist, “…not now.”

The dragoness growled again. Somewhere, a high-detail camera clicked, catching her insulted frown. The people and the international press were watching. Every facial expression would be studied by the Abyssal intel merchants.

They arrived at the car before long. Nightingale awaited them there, the goddess of the night executing a swift curtsy. Nahoa was also there, opening the car doors for them. Before they entered, John turned to the gods. “I will sadly have to ask the large and unusually dimensioned among you to follow us on foot.”

Paper rasped in a way that reminded John of an understanding sigh. Of all the gods that had arrived, Scrio was the one John most wanted to have a conversation with. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too difficult. The god of history was a potential source of many an answer… which automatically meant that it couldn’t be easy to get them out of it. If it was, then many people would do it.

John, Rave, Momo, Nathalia and Nightingale entered the car first, closely followed by Krieg, Veridion, Alathea and Aegis. Nahoa was the last to enter the car, pulling the door shut behind herself. She took her seat in her Master’s lap, flashing everyone a smug smile.

“I wish to cut straight to the chase,” Krieg spoke once the car started rolling. “We know you are in league with the Horned Rat.”

“Though we don’t know to what end,” Alathea added, to the groaning of Veridion. “What?”

“We made no oath of honesty to him,” the brown-haired man stated. “Your honour is getting in the way of our negotiations.”

“Death before dishonour.” She crossed her legs, the decorative metal elements of her loose pants clacking. “It is that simple.”

“It never is,” Aegis sighed the sigh of the weary.

John found the display quite interesting. Those seven were united in their goals, but it did not appear that they were friends. Rather, they were colleagues upholding a shared order. “What makes you think that I am doing anything unusual? Obviously, I do have a pact with the Horned Rat. He has been the first god to, Gaia aside, directly support me.”

“I cleared a Dungeon for you,” Nathalia grumbled.

“A fair point,” John conceded that one immediately and squeezed Nathalia’s thigh. “The second god that directly supported me. Fusion and Illuminati are allies. You are accusing me of something untoward beyond that?”

“Yes,” Veridion stated clearly. “I can feel it coming off you, oathbender! You intend to go further than the borders that you negotiated in the aftermath of the Lorylim war.”

“Personally, I only desire to claim Hawaii,” John said.

“THERE!” Veridion raised an accusing finger. “It is a half-truth!”

Checking her nails for any dirt, Rave weighed in, “Ya better start to stop yellin’ or I’ll think about if I want ya at my wedding.”

Tension in the air ran thick. The combined animosity of the gods and the god-like beings in the car was enough to cause physical phenomena. Accusations manifested as silver lines on the rich leather of the limos seats. Heat rose to a sweltering degree. Chains rattled in the darkness. The sweet scent of rotting flesh filled the air. Fae lights danced between them.

“”Let’s calm down,”” John and Krieg said simultaneously.

Both sides forced themselves to relax. The changes ebbed away, but did not fully fade.

“Let’s skip the part of why you accuse me of something or what it is,” John said. “Obviously you have your own seers and obviously you are failing to get a good look at my plans. Lorelei’s scrying is simply better than whatever you have access to.”

“Boasts do not suit you,” Alathea reprimanded.

John shrugged. “I will never not boast about the capabilities of my women. The point is that you do not level this against me for no reason. I will respect your skill and authority. Now, the question becomes… what are you threatening me with?”

“Consider carefully,” Nathalia hissed.

Krieg’s eyes flicked to the goddess of volcanoes for a moment, then wandered over everyone on John’s side of the bench. He stopped not at him but at Nahoa. That alone was indication that he was informed about way more than John was comfortable with.

“I have warned you before about utilizing Eliana in fights beyond your borders. You worked within the limitations set then, so I hope you will do so again now. You have expanded enough, have changed the balance of the world enough, and it is time to consolidate your gains. Spend decades fathering children and raising them, instead of conquering ever more territories.”

“Spare me the spiel, please,” John groaned. “I don’t want to make this a debate on my morality. My deeds speak for themselves to that end, the good and the bad. Deliver your threat.”

“…This is your official warning. I deliver it as a token of good faith during your wedding. Stretch beyond your agreed borders and the Concord will stand in support of your enemies for decades to come.”

“Acknowledged,” John simply said.