221 Fulfilling His Bargains
221 Fulfilling His Bargains
We arrived at the Kingdom by helicopter, Mal seated across from me with her boots propped up like she owned the thing. From above, the land unfolded into stone walls, tiled roofs, banners, and roads that looked deliberately pre-industrial. If I had to make an analogy, it felt medieval and uncomfortably so. It reminded me of that other world, the one where I met Dr. Time.
The helicopter settled onto a stone platform. Attendants were already waiting, heads bowed, movements precise.
“Welcome,” one of them said. “A carriage has been prepared.”
A carriage. Of course.
We stepped inside. The windows were immediately sealed from the outside, heavy shutters sliding into place with a dull thud. Another attendant entered with us, posture rigid.
“For security reasons,” he explained.
I didn’t bother responding.
The carriage lurched forward and then five seconds later, stopped.
“That was fast,” Mal muttered.
“We’ve arrived,” the attendant said calmly.
The door opened. Cool air rushed in.
I stepped out and looked up at a massive manor, all stone columns and creeping ivy, built to project permanence. It was authority carved into architecture.
“Tacky,” Mal said behind me.
Waiting near the entrance was a familiar figure, an old man with a monocle and a posture so straight it felt defiant.
“Eustace,” I greeted. “Still alive? How’s the senility treating you?”
He frowned, lips tightening, but didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he turned to the attendants.
“Lady Mal will be escorted to her appointment,” he said. “I will personally accompany our honorable guest.”
Mal glanced at me, then nodded. “Thanks for coming with me,” she said softly.
It wasn’t lost on me. Me being here wasn’t about her safety, really… Instead, it was political. On the surface, I was Gameboy’s ally, and appearances mattered.
Eustace led me through winding corridors until we reached a private room. Inside, Cordelia was already there, calmly preparing tea. Porcelain cups. Steam rising. Confectionery arranged with deliberate elegance.
“Sit,” she said, gesturing.
I did.
She poured the tea with unhurried precision, then looked up at me. “You know why you’re here?”
“If I did,” I said, “I wouldn’t have come.”
She smiled faintly. “Then tell me. But avoid beating the bush.”
I glanced at Eustace.
Cordelia followed my gaze and nodded. “You may leave.”
Eustace bowed and exited without a word.
The door closed.
“What do you want?” Cordelia asked.
“I want your capes,” I said plainly. “There will come a day when I call for them. When that happens, I want them to answer.”
“Done,” she said without hesitation.
That caught me off guard. Too easy. It gave me an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu.
She took a sip of tea. “In return, I want a favor.”
“Anything,” I said.
She set the cup down. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
I frowned. “You’re still upset I didn’t kill Gameboy.”
“You were asked to,” she replied coolly.
“You said preferably,” I countered. “Circumstances changed. He turned out to be useful.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t usefulness. You were curious. Curious about the… afterlife he created beneath Urbanite.”
I stiffened slightly.
“Don’t indulge that notion,” she warned. “It isn’t real.”
“I’m an atheist,” I said. “I don’t believe in afterlives.”
She scoffed softly, eyes sharp. “You say that, yet you keep peering into places that blur the line.”
She leaned forward. “My favor is simple. Leave the true master of Lockworld alone.”
That made me pause.
“You know about that?” I asked.
“I know more than you think,” Cordelia said. “He is more victim than tyrant. I will ensure the Box cannot use Lockworld against us. In return, you will not interfere with him. Focus on your own agenda.”
“You have my word,” I said at last. “Is there more?”
Cordelia lifted her cup and took a measured sip of tea, unhurried, as if we weren’t discussing the fate of a world that existed at the mercy of monsters and systems far above it.
“There is,” she said calmly. “While the contract is binding and we are obliged to follow it to the letter, that obligation does not apply to you.”
I wasn’t surprised. Not really. She had known another version of me, in another life, or at least a shadow of one. Enough to understand the extent of what I could and could not be restrained by. Psychic bindings, oaths, compulsions… those were things I had obsessed over breaking long before I ever acquired psychic abilities of my own. Too many mind controllers. Too many lessons learned the hard way.
“I need an assurance,” Cordelia continued, eyes fixed on me, “that you won’t turn on us.”
I didn’t hesitate.
“You can have the technology as a show of trust,” I said. “The framework for building portals capable of multiversal travel.”
Her cup froze halfway to the saucer.
“Of course,” I added, “I won’t help you build them. You’ll have to figure that part out on your own.”
Since I entered the room, her composure cracked. Just slightly. Her eyes trembled, and I could feel the spike of surprise ripple through her mind.
“Why are you giving that up so easily? Just like that?”
“Because I’m not,” I replied. “Gameboy is already working on reverse-engineering my tech. Of course, he thought himself clever and imagined I wouldn’t find out… With Urbanite’s level of civilization and the kinds of powers he has access to, it’s only a matter of time before his city catches up technologically to the outside world with the lack of a Researcher-class cape.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“All I’m doing is evening the playing field between you. This way, you won’t have to covet his technology… and he won’t have absolute leverage over you. If my read on your attendants is right,” I added, tapping the side of my mask lightly, “they’re already inclined toward diplomacy with Urbanite. This just nudges things in that direction.”
Cordelia exhaled slowly, the tension leaving her shoulders.
“I still can’t get used to it,” she said. “You having psychic abilities. I always thought you hated psychics.”
I smiled behind the porcelain mask. I knew it leaked into my voice.
“Oh, I do,” I said. “To the bone. But just to remind you—”
I tilted my head slightly.
“I’m not your Nick. And I’m not your Eclipse.”
She studied me for a long moment, then smiled knowingly.
“I know,” she said softly. “That’s exactly why I know how dangerous you are.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“Grim reaper.”
“If that’s all, then I must go. Thanks for the tea.”
I stood, smoothing my coat, and Cordelia didn’t try to stop me. She merely watched, eyes sharp, calculating, and already thinking ten steps ahead. I left the room without ceremony.
Outside the manor, the air felt lighter.
Mal was waiting for me near the entrance, leaning against a stone pillar, hands behind her head like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“How did it go?” I asked.
“Perfecto~!” she chirped. “I’m getting married.”
I stopped.
Slowly, I turned my head toward her.
She flashed me an okay sign, grinning, utterly nonchalant so much so that for a split second, all I could see was Gameboy wearing eyeliner and a bad attitude.
“…You’re joking,” I said flatly.
“Nope,” she replied. “Marriage alliance. Political stuff. My dad’s gonna be thrilled.” She shrugged. “He said he’ll hold you to your promise about sovereignty in Lockworld. Unless—”
My arm sparked faintly with electrokinesis.
Not a threat. Just a reminder.
Mal yelped and flinched, throwing her arms up defensively. “Hey! Cheeky—!”
“Cheeky kid,” I cut in. “Let’s go.”
She laughed it off, like she always did.
The return to Urbanite was slower than usual. Representatives from the Kingdom accompanied us, formalizing the alliance in real time with documents signed, conditions clarified, and contingencies layered upon contingencies. Politics was a different kind of battlefield. Bloodless, but no less vicious.
Once I was back in Urbanite, my life became a blur.
Back and forth between Lockworld and my homeworld. Meetings. Construction briefings. Threat assessments. Damage control.
I raised the bounty on Sloth’s head, not because I expected him to be caught anytime soon, but because I wanted the world to remember what happened to Monarchy. Fear needed maintenance.
Candyland was next. I bought a private island and poured obscene amounts of money into it, contracting a construction crew reinforced with cape personnel. A foundation for something new. Something fragile, but hopeful. It wasn’t cheap. Nothing worth doing ever was.
Back home, villainous capes had started taking an interest in me.
Some talked too much. Some got arrogant.
I sent Keegan after a few. Abner after the rest.
The message landed.
Through all of this, I didn’t forget the task I’d assigned Jacob and Diane, embedded deep inside the university, digging into whatever secret research was happening there. The place was bizarrely sealed. Even Amelia, with her growing reputation and political capital, couldn’t pry anything loose.
Back in Lockworld, I stood at the edge of Urbanite and watched the last of Candyland’s people disappear through the portal.
The evacuation zone was quiet now, like a festival ground after everyone had gone home. Only the residue of sugar-sweet air lingered, cloying and faintly nauseating.
Whimsy stood in front of me, shoulders slumped, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Without the constant hum of Candyland behind her, she looked smaller. Mortal.
“It was hard enough convincing you to leave,” I said. “Bringing the Candy Beasts at full scale was never on the table.”
She clicked her tongue, irritation flashing across her face. “I know. I know.” She glanced back toward the portal. “Miniature forms only. Two-D’s compression powers, my stabilization. It’s not ideal.”
“It’s survivable,” I replied. “That was the point.”
Her gaze snapped back to me, sharp despite the fatigue. “And your end of the deal?”
“I’ll bankroll the transition,” I said evenly. “Infrastructure. Security. Food systems that don’t rely entirely on you burning years off your lifespan.” I paused. “But when I call… when there’s a fight that matters… you answer.”
Whimsy folded her arms, scowling. For a moment, I thought she’d spit something venomous back at me.
Instead, she sighed.
“…My word is my bond,” she said at last. “Don’t make me regret it, Eclipse.”
“I don’t,” I replied.
She turned away, following her people through the portal. I watched until the light collapsed into nothing.
Only then did I exhale.
“George,” I said into the comm. “Prepare the next transfer. Huston’s up.”
There was a pause. “Acknowledged.”
We waited.
Minutes stretched, the sky over Urbanite dimming as if the world itself sensed what was coming.
Then the horizon broke.
A colossal silhouette rose beyond the city with roots tearing free from the earth, and branches blotting out the clouds. A titan of living wood advanced, its mere presence bending light and shadow around it. The ground trembled under its steps.
Gameboy stood beside me, staring up. “Man,” he muttered. “That’s huge.”
“He’s dangerous,” he continued, more seriously. “Biokinesis at that scale. He doesn’t even need biomass… wood, flesh, it’s all interchangeable to him.”
“I know,” I said. “But he’s bound by contract.”
“And if he decides not to be?”
“I possess him,” I replied calmly. “Simple math.”
The titan stopped. Slowly, deliberately, it lowered itself to one knee.
Its chest split open in a bloom of flowers, petals peeling back to reveal a hollow chamber within. From it emerged a man, young, pale, and long dark hair spilling down his back. Naked, featureless where anatomy should have been, like a sculptor had stopped halfway through the job.
Huston.
Vines lowered him gently to the ground before us. The great vessel behind him stiffened, then went still, roots snapping as it disconnected from its master.
Huston looked up, eyes sharp, lucid.
“My soul,” he said. No greeting. No pretense. “Where is it?”
Gameboy sighed and produced the orb of light.
“Here.”
Huston took it and absorbed it.
The air changed instantly.
Pressure rolled outward, invisible but crushing. Power radiated from him in waves, ancient and feral. Gameboy stiffened beside me, instincts screaming.
“Huston,” I said, my voice cutting through the dread. “The contract.”
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the pressure receded. The world loosened its grip on my lungs.
Huston inclined his head, the barest acknowledgment. “Very well.”
We escorted him to a sealed chamber where the portal hummed, coordinates already locked in. He paused at the threshold, glancing back once.
“I hope,” he said softly, “that I never see either of you again.”
The destination display flickered.
It was the NSD.
Of course it was.
In the short time I’d dealt with Huston, I’d learned enough to recognize obsession when I saw it. Becoming the ultimate lifeform was his greatest dream. The Führer of the NSD was a beacon for someone like him, and seemed he was even somewhat acquaintance with that god-like null cape.
“Farewell,” Huston said.
He stepped forward and vanished.
The portal collapsed.
George appeared beside me in a construct of hard light, lab coat pristine as ever. “So,” he said, adjusting nonexistent glasses. “How do you want to handle the SRC now?”
I stared at the empty space where Huston had been.
“I’m still thinking,” I replied. “But at minimum, I want to meet the ones at the top of the totem pole.”
I turned toward the city, toward the sky, toward the watching eyes I knew were already adjusting their focus.
“But first,” I said, “I’m going to make a show.”