Upon opening his eyes, he blinked as he looked up at unfamiliar ceiling tiles.

  Where am I? Panic washed over him, and the harder he tried to remember, the further his mind rocketed in the wrong direction.

  “You’re awake – good! I was worried my toy might have broken you.” A man’s voice, unfamiliar and firm, broke him from his spiral. Ren remembered as his life came crashing into his psyche. His old life and memories – warring with the new. He existed in two places at once, and for a moment, he was of neither; he was nothing and nobody.

  He looked down at his clothing – a suit. I was leaving this place. He looked up, and the Emperor smiled from his throne, “Welcome to the Imperial Palace, the last bastion of the empire of man.”

  Smacking his lips, Ren closed his eyes, “Does the last bastion of man not have proper threads? Why must I be dressed like a stiff?”

  Emperor Mercer, in his full military regalia, cocked his head, “Stiff?”

  Ren peeked through one eye, “You know – boring, tired, or just generally unchill. I had sick threads before that Hicky gentleman burned them or whatever.”

  A bark of laughter echoed around the chamber, as the excess of marbled architecture gave the Emperor’s voice an eerie second life. Ren hid his surprise, “What can I do for you, Emperor? I have to admit to being frightened, your…toys were a bit rough.”

  The Emperor leaned into his throne, “I have a schedule to keep, Ren, and you seemed in a hurry. Tell me – where were you headed?”

  “Anywhere but here?” Ren replied under his breath.

  “Oh come now, it's not so bad here, is it? I understand that Manager Hisako can be a bit of a bore. I’ll introduce you to the right people. Come, let us move. We have a schedule to keep.

  The Emperor descended the dias, as an elderly man without their cane – Ren’s eyebrows climbed his forehead – he looked away, pretending not to notice, as he commented on the throne room, “It is well designed, it reminds me of a Roman palace – polished stone and gilded arches, it’s a marvel.”

  “Yes, the design is an ancient one, the height of our cultural and artistic renaissance – and useful in corralling the conglomerate heads, nothing like a show of splendor to remind them where the mana flows.”

  “For sure, this place would be sick for a dance party — do you throw many parties in here?” Ren followed Mercer as they exited the throne room.

  “Dance? You jest, what need have I for such trivial things?”

  “I think – Your Eminence, I can show you a few things. I’ll throw a party this City will never forget.”

  Mercer’s silence made Ren wonder if he’d made a mistake. The only sound was the click of the other man’s polished boots as they traveled the empty halls. Taking the other man’s silence as a good thing, he took notice of the various lecterns lining the hallway and their myriad displayed works: figurines cast in gold – snarling monsters and voluptuous alien women – partially unraveled scrolls floating in mid air – Ren stopped in front of one such lectern, as its display caught his eye.

  The sword had clearly been worn over time. He could smell the aged leather pommel and even make out micro nicks in the blade's edge. He had a vision of a boy drawing the sword from a stone, as the sky split overhead, and the Earth shook; a king was born. Shaking his head to clear the hallucination, Mercer spoke from behind, “It’s called Excalibur. An Anglo King, some say, the true father of humanity. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? They say this sword was responsible for the death of ten million peasants. It’s a constant reminder of the cost of civilized life – of course, we have much cleaner methods, our technology has come a long way.”

  A vision clouded Ren’s reality: A boy king stood feet wide, his sword held overhead, the new dawn's light held in the edge. His face was a mask of calm, even as he faced titans – giant many-headed creatures, dripping with black tar, and decked in arms – like avatars of modern war. The boy king was not alone, though he stood afield with nought but his blade. The heart and mind of the teeming masses, the sick, the poor, and the tired – all were with him, and the boy king knew. He was not one man, but a people.

  Mercer took him by the shoulder, “Come, let me show you something magnificent. A privilege few can claim. But first, tell me, Ren – how did you get past Majordomo and into the lower levels?” He turned to look at Ren, and the temperature lowered.

  “Ah, yes…about that, I’m not sure. I was set on exploring and chose a floor at random. Majordomo did try to stop me, but I don’t take orders from bots. So I just ignored it.” Ren shrugged.

  Mercer’s eyes narrowed, “Indeed. It must be the mana levels. Our margins are thin right now, with two armadas in the field.”

  Ren followed Mercer in silence the rest of the way, all the while the vision of the boy king clung to his subconscious.

  Where Murkspire gave the imagination wings, the palace of Xylos bisected and served them up on a gilded platter. Marble and gold – so much gold, the palace was kitschy – a cheap representation of a long-dead era.

  They found themselves in a hall lined with portraits – a red carpet ran its length. As their steps became muffled, Mercer held up his hands, “The hall of Grand Dragons.

  He turned to face the first painting, a warm smile resting on his face, “And this is, X, the founding father of Xylos.”

  Ren knew the face – a tech bro trillionaire obsessed with AI, space, and white nationalism…the quintessential American Oligarch.

  “Time is a flat circle.” He muttered.

  “Hm? What’s that you say?” Mercer asked with a proud smile.

  “Oh, nothing, just an old saying – really old…I guess. This is the future, right?”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “It is the future, Ren, and it is bright – millennia of planning and evolution, all to bring us here and now, where we sit on the cusp of infinity.”

  Ren’s skin crawled. He made a kissing motion to hide the scowl that threatened to take over his face.

  “Speechless. X has that effect on people. It’s been over a thousand years since X, and other like minded titans of industry fled Earth in search of a better life on Mars. Majordomo was developed on the barren red planet, and would eventually help the founders discover the System.”

  “Incredible. So is the System alien tech?”

  “It is our God, Ren.”

  “Well – I can’t argue with that.”

  “The System is a generous god, giving us a path to immortality and godhood. X, the first and last [Void Mage], was as close as humanity ever got – until now.” A smug, self-important look pinched Mercer’s tight-lipped smile – and Ren knew who he meant.

  Continuing down the hall of portraits, Ren observed the faces of each leader and noticed the similarity in their looks and demeanor. It was as if they were cut out of the ideal male look: square and chiselled jawline, massive chin, hunter eyes, and hallow cheek bones. Each and every portrait was a perfect depiction of an underwear model.

  He was struck again by the bland splendor of this place, and at the stillness, not a soul moved about, not even a mouse.

  Mercer approached a set of double doors at the end of the hall, their gilded frames swung inward on silent hinges, and Ren followed the Leader into a cozy room, where furs blanketed the floor, and a fire crackled gently in its hearth.

  His eyes wandered over the rest of the room – and he lurched – gripping his wrist and pointing his palm, a skill light on his lips…Ren’s eyes narrowed. A trophy head hung on the wall, like a mounted stag: not a four-legged, antler-presenting grass grazer, but a creature from his nightmares – two horns like sabers jutting out, and rows of razor-sharp ivory teeth that yet screamed of danger. It was the eyes of the long-dead beast that held his attention, for Ren knew what he saw – this was a creature of the void.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Had one of these hunted him? Tracked him as he floundered in his power. The feeling of being watched clung to Ren, as if even now he was at risk.

  Mercer clapped him on the shoulder, “Ah, I see you noticed my trophy. It’s only an adolescent taraq – but the hunt was difficult. It's the armor – can you see how the light hits it – the way it's absorbed, even now. Conventional armaments are ineffective; our technology is rendered useless. This kill was from my younger days – my station unfortunately means such youthful indiscretions are beyond me…I’m far too important to risk myself needlessly. But I’m working on a team, training them up myself – soon they will go on the hunt, and I shall relive my past glories.

  Mercer extended a hand, indicating that Ren take a seat – a pair of chairs begged attention, positioned next to the fire, they made for a perfect scene.

  Ren unceremoniously plopped himself into the nearest wingback chair, its gilded arms and velvet as distasteful as everything else.

  Mercer sat across from Ren and steepled his fingers, “Now, you're familiar with…what was it called – television? Don’t be surprised, I’m a student of history, and Gunnderson’s exploits are well documented – he spoke often of Hollywood, and their propaganda. A fascinating concept – one I have worked to develop. Which brings us here. Smooth your collar out – we want to show these proles how a proper citizen lives. This is a tedious chore, I know, but it does pass the time, and they enjoy it – and I, as a man of the people, am inclined to give them what they want.

  Mercer peered down his nose as he struggled to straighten his medals. His face lit with triumph, apparently happy in their arrangement, “Majordomo, we are ready to begin the broadcast.”

  A countdown started in his head, and Ren fought the urge to claw at his own skull – something about the Majordomo’s presence in his mind was alien, where the System felt natural.

  Mercer began, “Citizens of Xylos, we’re here in the studio, with a special guest – in fact, he’s just come from Gorthow’s front.

  “Tell us [Echo Runner] Ren, of the threats that lie within the Sinking Gods Mire.” The Great Leader pursed his lips.

  Ren made an L with his two fingers as he whispered his skill – Churi came to life, a short clip of her talking about Pryuuk, and his school. A gallows grin spread across his face, and Xylos was changed forever.

  Ren eyed the man carefully, wondering at this reaction. He hadn’t planned on sharing his FYP – but information was power, and he needed every drop he could gather, “I think the broadcast was a success? I hope you don’t mind the surprise, but I thought a visual representation might…help.”

  “Indeed, the System offers many challenges, and talking monsters pose an interesting threat. Perhaps they can be trained, like Gunnderson’s pet monster – time will tell. The Barbarians in the Stonecoil mountains are much the same, though they wear a more familiar guise; the threat is the same – shamanism. I’d not be surprised to learn these…creatures from the mire worship totem and monster alike. History tells us all mongrels are the same.”

  “Yes, I encountered many a shaman in my time there…”

  “As I thought. And what did you think?”

  “It is as you say, they are not human – worshipping dirt, plant, and animal – it isn’t natural.”

  “Quite. But they may be of some use…” He let the thought hang in the air, like a bad smell.

  Resisting the urge to ask further questions, Ren only nodded in agreement. He offered the Emperor a suggestion, “Pardon my forwardness, Leader – but wouldn’t it be better if your trophy kill was positioned in the camera frame? To show the…proles your might?”

  A split second of hesitation from Mercer had Ren’s heart leaping into his throat. The other man only clapped his hands together excitedly, “Wonderous! And why didn’t I think of it?” He rubbed his chin in consternation.

  Ren nodded along, “I think, Sir, a reminder of your prowess would go a long way in keeping the people on your side.”

  Mercer waved a hand, “I have a skill for that.”

  “A skill for that? Is he mind-controlling the entire City?”

  He sat on the floor of his room, waiting for Majordomo’s call, when a knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. He opened it to find an irate Clara giving him the stink eye.

  “YOU. I want answers. And where is Leo? I know you know.” She entered the room and crossed her arms.

  “Listen, Clara, I get that you're a VIP – but I don’t give a frag. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner party – with the Emperor.” He gestured toward the still-open door.

  “Dinner party?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Yes – the head of…MacTech will be there.” He said smuggly.

  “You’re going to need me.”

  “Need you? I don’t even know you, and I certainly don’t trust you.”

  “You’re not from here, not even from this world. I think you need my help – and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Ren let out a sigh, “Fine. But let me tell you something, Missy –

  Clara’s eyes moved over his shoulder, “Hello, pay attention, this is important–” Ren spun around, and found a ReaperDrone holding out a stack of neatly folded clothing.

  “What is this?” Snatching the stack from the droid and slamming the door in its face, he held up a brand new black hoodie and blue jeans. He let out a low whistle, “Now this is more like it. I thought I was going to lose my mind in these things.” He gestured the length of his body, a sour look on his face.

  Clara’s cheeks flushed as Ren wasted no time stripping down to his birthday suit; he exposed his chisled form, and her stomach did a flip.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

  Clara spluttered, so Ren crossed the room and kissed her on the mouth. His probing tongue was met cautiously by her own – before it sprang into action.

  He pulled away, as suddenly as he had started, “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

  He turned on his heel and followed the Majordomo’s direction.

  Clara felt at her lips, “What was...wait, get back here!”