219 Making a Deal
219 Making a Deal
Lockworld Summit.
That was what Urbanite called it, a neutral meeting, and a diplomatic gathering. In truth, it was a ‘trap’ to benefit all, carefully dressed in a way they wouldn’t be able to refuse once all cards had been laid on the table.
The location alone made refusal impossible.
A massive boulder had been driven into the earth at the precise intersection of the four territories, splitting borders like a knife through flesh. Forest pressed in from one side, its roots visibly straining toward the stone. Candyland’s sickly-sweet hues bled into the ground nearby. Kingdom’s banners fluttered stiffly in the distance. Urbanite’s steel skyline loomed, watchful and patient.
Every leader stood atop that rock, each with a single companion.
Gameboy stood front and center, hands spread theatrically. “I’m glad everyone could gather here at my request,” he said, grinning like this was a party he’d planned months in advance.
Whimsy snorted immediately. “Oh, cut the crap,” she said, pink hair shimmering like cotton candy under the light. “We all know you’re not the one calling the shots. This invitation reeks of someone else.”
She smelled sweet, artificial, and intoxicating. Two-D stood beside her, quiet, eyes flicking across everyone with careful calculation.
She wasn’t wrong.
Urbanite had facilitated the meeting, smoothed the logistics, bent reality just enough to make it possible, but the initiative had been mine.
Foresthome’s presence was… unusual.
Huston didn’t stand anywhere. His body or what passed for it was planted inside a massive ceramic pot, vines creeping along its rim. His consciousness projected outward, voice echoing with a layered resonance that never failed to irritate me.
“If the mastermind behind Urbanite won’t show himself,” Huston said calmly, “then we should proceed with negotiations.”
Without preamble, he demanded. “I want my soul back.”
King Lear exploded.
“That will never happen!” he shouted, face red with fury. Cordelia stood just behind him, composed, hands folded, eyes sharp. “The Divine Forest King forfeited any right to mercy the moment he betrayed us! Do you all remember the last war? The devastation?”
Whimsy’s smile vanished.
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, pointing straight at Gameboy. “I’ll tolerate a lot, but if you even think about returning Huston’s soul—after everything—”
Her voice shook, fury and pain bleeding through. “He’s the one who gave me cancer. I’m only alive because you handed over the cure. If you undo that mercy, I swear war on Foresthome. When I’m back at my peak, I’ll erase him.”
Huston chuckled softly. “You should be more careful with your words, Whimsy. You’re still healing. Far from your prime.”
Gameboy laughed, loud and unapologetic. “Oh, this is rich. But let’s be honest… if anyone here gets to decide anything, it’s Cordelia.”
Every eye snapped toward her.
Gameboy leaned forward, enjoying himself. “Go on. Tell them. Kingdom’s ‘King’ here is just a pretty puppet. Cordelia’s been pulling the strings the whole time.”
Lear’s composure shattered. “You bastard!” he screamed. “You’re colluding with some relic from an older generation! That must be it! Don’t let this man fool you! Show yourself, mastermind! Stop hiding behind others!”
I sighed.
I had hoped to stay out of it, at least for a while longer. But I’d underestimated them. Whimsy’s connection to Two-D. My history with Cordelia. Huston’s… awareness. It had only been a matter of time.
Gameboy cursed under his breath. “There is no mastermind behind me,” he said sharply. “Whoever you think is pulling my strings—he’s not!—he’s someone I work with. As an equal—”
“That’s enough,” I said.
Silence fell.
Every gaze shifted as Jacob unfolded from Gameboy’s shadow. Darkness peeled away like a living thing, his cowl forming, his body emerging fully cloaked in black. The shadow beneath Gameboy’s feet thinned and then I stepped out of it.
I released the possession and walked free, porcelain mask catching the light.
“I'm here,” I said calmly. “And yes, I brought a plus one. And no, I am not from the older generation.”
Jacob moved to my side.
“Greetings,” I continued, voice steady. “The name’s Eclipse. I believe this is our first meeting, Whimsy.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“As for you, Cordelia,” I went on, inclining my head, “it’s good to see you still alive and well.”
I turned toward the pot.
“And Huston,” I added, tone almost amused, “that’s quite a look. A pot, really?”
Huston’s voice vibrated through the pot, dry and amused.
“You really didn’t think I’d come here with my main body, did you, Eclipse?”
“Of course not,” I replied. “I imagined everyone here would exploit every loophole available. Countermeasures, proxies, projections. You’re no exception. Being present is a flexible concept, after all.”
Huston hummed, as if pleased by the acknowledgment.
Cordelia stepped forward then, finally abandoning the role of silent observer. When she moved, the air itself seemed to tighten, like the world was bracing for her words. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t posture. She didn’t need to.
“I came here sincerely,” she said. “And I expect the same in return. The Kingdom wants to be left alone. No incursions. No games. No assassinations disguised as negotiations.”
Gameboy barked out a laugh. “Oh? That’s rich. You don’t want to kill me anymore?” He tilted his head mockingly. “Care to remind everyone that not long ago you personally sent your best capes after me? With you pulling the strings, no less.”
Cordelia’s eyes flicked to him, cold and sharp. “Circumstances change.”
Before she could continue, King Lear scoffed loudly.
“Yeah,” he said, folding his arms. “Designed to ambush our capes. You’ve been lucky, Gameboy. Really lucky. If you didn’t have that guy on your side—” he jerked his chin toward me, “—Mother would’ve already wiped Urbanite off the map.”
Mother.
That was an interesting thing to call Cordelia.
Gameboy noticed it too. His grin widened. “Careful, Lear. Slipping up like that in front of company.”
Lear flushed, jaw clenching, but he didn’t take it back.
Cordelia finally spoke again, her tone unchanged. “This summit exists because escalation benefits no one. Not with him involved now.”
Her gaze shifted to me, evaluating. Huh? I wondered just how bad my reputation was at the multiversal scale.
“For once,” she continued, “I’d prefer diplomacy over bloodshed.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
So this was the board: grudges half-swallowed, threats barely sheathed, and everyone pretending restraint while counting angles. Cordelia wanted isolation. Gameboy wanted leverage. Whimsy wanted revenge held in check by recovery. Huston wanted his soul.
Huston was the first to speak again, addressing me. “I’ll undo the seed I planted in you,” he said calmly, roots twitching against the rim of the pot, “if you give me back my soul.”
Gameboy burst out laughing. “Wow. You’d have better luck negotiating with me, than trying to pull that off, little shit!”
I raised a hand.
“There’s no need,” I said evenly.
Both of them paused.
“I already ripped the seed apart.”
I reached into the inner lining of my suit, fingers phasing through layers of reinforced fabric and psychic insulation, and pulled something out. A shriveled thing, woody, blackened, and still faintly alive with Huston’s signature. I tossed it toward the pot.
“You can have it back.”
The seed clattered against the stone near Huston, roots recoiling instinctively.
For the first time, his voice wavered. “…You did that inside yourself?”
“Yes,” I replied. “And there’s still a way for you to get your soul back.”
Whimsy’s smile vanished.
“Don’t,” she warned, stepping forward. The ground beneath her feet softened, stone turning glossy and sweet, sugar blooming like frost. Steam curled faintly off her skin, the scent of caramel and heat mixing in the air. “That’s a mistake.”
“Calm down,” I said, not looking at her.
My eyes stayed on Huston.
“I’ll give you your soul,” I said, “on one condition. You leave Lockworld.”
Whimsy laughed sharply. “You idiot.”
I didn’t rise to it.
“You all misunderstand this place,” I continued. “In a way, you’ve grown accustomed to it. Its rules. Its cages. So let me ask you something honestly, if you were given a real chance, would you leave?”
Silence.
Gameboy shrugged first. “I’m fine here. It’s not like I can pack up Urbanite and take it with me.”
Cordelia nodded once. “My dream is to build a new country here. Far from the SRC’s influence. Leaving Lockworld was never my goal.”
Whimsy didn’t answer.
She looked away, jaw tight.
I had done my research. If there was anyone here who wanted out, it was Whimsy. After seeing Vibe’s memories, I knew it wasn’t just her. Candyland relied entirely on her existence. Food, defense, infrastructure. Everything flowed from her power. Take her away, and the system collapsed.
Urbanite had its twisted entertainment economy and a pseudo-afterlife. The Kingdom had governance, agriculture, and sustainability. Foresthome, like Candyland, revolved around a single axis but Huston had designed it to resist betrayal. Even then, Perry had proven it wasn’t perfect.
Whimsy finally spoke. “And the Box? The SRC? They’ll just hunt us down and throw us back here.”
“There’s no need to worry about the Box,” I said calmly. “I’m going to destroy it.”
That got everyone’s attention.
I turned back to Huston.
“I know what you’re planning,” I said. “You intend to destroy this world.”
The pot was very still.
“I had my people look into it. You’re not subtle, Huston.”
Of course, Perry helped connect the dots. However, there was no need for him to know that. I leaned forward slightly.
“So think carefully about what you want. I don’t intend to waste my time fighting anyone here. Here’s the deal. You will all fall under me. Obediently. In return, I promise one thing—freedom.”
Gameboy scoffed. “That wasn’t the deal.”
Cordelia shook her head. “I have no intention of leaving Lockworld.”
“You misunderstand,” I said. “I’m not forcing anyone to leave.”
I gestured toward them in turn.
“Urbanite and the Kingdom may remain here. Full dominion. I’ll secure your sovereignty under the SRC. You rule yourselves.”
I turned to Whimsy.
“Candyland will be given the opportunity to leave. I’ll protect your people from the SRC, but you don’t get to choose the destination. I’m sending you to my world.”
Her breath caught.
Then I looked at Huston and Perry beside him.
“You get your soul back,” I said to Huston. “You’re free to wander again. I won’t protect you from the SRC.”
Perry stiffened.
“As for Foresthome,” I continued, “its residents may integrate into Urbanite or the Kingdom. If they refuse, they’ll be sent to my world under my protection.”
I spread my hands.
“No more cages. No more pretending this is a choice you made.”
I met each of their gazes in turn.
“This is freedom. Take it… or stay here and rot.”
Whimsy’s teeth ground together audibly. “You really think you can convince us with pretty words?” she snapped. “You’re a clown if you think I’d buy into your lies.”
Before I could respond, King Lear spoke.
“He isn’t lying.”
Every head turned toward him.
Lear’s gaze was fixed on me, pupils faintly shimmering. “My sight pierces falsehood,” he said. “No deception escapes it. His words are true.”
Cordelia looked at him, then at me.
“…I agree,” she said after a brief pause. “He believes what he’s saying.”
Gameboy clicked his tongue and glanced sideways. “Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”
System Administrator adjusted her glasses, data scrolling faintly across her irises. “Probability analysis aligns,” she said. “He’s not fabricating.”
Huston’s pot creaked softly as roots shifted. “I agree as well,” he said. “With one condition. I choose where I’m dropped off.”
Whimsy stared at them as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet.
Two-D stepped closer to her, voice quiet but firm. “He’s the one who helped us get the cancer cure,” she said. “And if not for him… none of my sisters would’ve survived Urbanite’s trap.”
Whimsy’s jaw tightened. She looked away, then back at me.
“…Fine,” she said. “I’ll agree. But if this turns out to be a lie—”
She smiled, sweet and terrifying.
“—I’ll turn you into candy.”
“Great,” I replied simply.
I reached into my suit and pulled out a rolled parchment. It wasn’t paper.
The texture was wrong. It was too supple and warm. Human skin, carefully treated. To be precise, it was the skin of a high-grade psychic, further processed with esoteric techniques the Monarchy’s Greed Family specialized in. Even inert, it hummed faintly with malice.
I unfurled it before them.
“Read carefully,” I said. “These are binding contracts.”
The symbols crawled slightly as they settled, reacting to the presence of their intended signatories.
“Fail to comply,” I continued, “and this contract will hurt you. If you survive, it will mark you permanently… and I will find you.”
I met their eyes one by one.
“Trust me when I say I can kill you. Because like every faction here… I have one of my own.”
The parchment pulsed softly, as if agreeing.
“And my faction,” I finished, “promises devastation beyond your reckoning.”