Two goons – as evident by their bulk, like clothing, and blank expressions – escorted Clara and Ren to a modest seating room.

  “FOOD!” Ren slid to his knees at a coffee table loaded up with food that was not in pill form. Four padded chairs surrounded an oval table, which was otherwise empty save for a few scattered decorations.

  Ren frantically shoveled food into his mouth, heedless of the mess he was making. Clara watched in horrified fascination.

  “Clara Gorthow, daughter of the Great General – my, my, what a surprise.” A voice filled with quiet confidence spoke from the far side of the room.

  Quarq wore a relaxed smile and was handsome despite a pair of amorphous and auditory appendages. He lacked the chiseled jaw and landing strip chin that seemed so popular here, and a proud scar stretched from just above his left eye – before it disappeared beneath his shirt's collar.

  “Let the boy be, he’s in shock, choking down PillFood will do that to a person. He’s from a much different world than ours. Something your father would do well to remember.”

  Clara’s eyes widened in surprise, “My father is of no concern to the likes of you – Quarq.” She replied eagerly.

  He gave her a begrudging nod of respect before taking a seat across from Ren; the [Echo Runner] didn’t look up, as he stacked cheeses and oddly shaped (he assumed vegetables), atop a square sausage (he hoped).

  Ren said something unintelligible from around a mouthful.

  “Have a seat, Clara – I won’t hurt either of you. I have a business proposal, and our young Outworlder here is uniquely positioned to help me with it. And I can’t hurt him – that would be against the number one rule of acquisition.

  He held up a finger, “Never hurt a trading partner.”

  Ren tried speaking again, but only made it rain foodstuffs. Clara covered her mouth.

  A servant entered the room, and when Ren saw what they were carrying, “COKE!”

  Before the server could open his mouth, Ren had a bottle in hand, “Stupid…piece…of…BAH – [Bombastic Base Drop]...[Bombastic Base Drop]!”

  He paused as the notes ricocheted harmlessly off the bottle, “I really need a better skill.”

  “Just ask it to open, Ren.”

  Ren’s eyes narrowed, and he sucked in a deep breath, “Oh Coke, you are so good, please open now.”

  Without so much as a crack or a fizz, the top rolled off and onto the floor; Ren followed it with his eyes, as it careened off a table leg, and disappeared beneath a chair.

  He shrugged, “[Super Anime],” bit the bottle in his mouth, held his arms out wide, and floated back; he made snow angels in the air, and like a water cooler, drained his prize – one glug at a time.

  All three Xylosians in the room stared.

  He cut loose a soul-crushing belch as bottle joined cap, “AHH – soo good.”

  Clara touched three fingers to her forehead; she looked down, embarrassed. The memory of their kiss stood in stark contrast to what she was witnessing.

  “Fire – straight fire, Quarg – how did you know?”

  “The rules of acquisition, know your trading partner, and Coke was Gunnderson’s favorite – so I took a risk. Did it pay off?”

  Ren looked with longing to the empty bottle on the floor, “I don’t know – got anymore?”

  Quarg steepled his fingers, “For a good trading partner, there is no limit – so tell me, Ren, how would you feel about becoming a tech merchant?”

  Opportunity. Gain their trust. Learn their ways.

  Ren met the eyes of Quarg and gave the man his best gallows grin.

  Clara was brooding silently as they left Quargs.

  “He seems like a nice guy. Definitely a solid negotiator. The Coke thing was genius.”

  Clara was incensed, “Did you really agree to get involved with such a dangerous man on the basis of…of –”

  “Soda,” Ren added helpfully.

  She pulled her hair as she let out a squeal of frustration. “I’m never going to find Leo.”

  “I think I may have a lead on that.”

  “Where are we doing? I thought you said you had a lead?”

  “I am – we’re doing an experiment.”

  Clara huffed as Ren inspected the reflective paint on the outside of the small building they had seen earlier, and which Ren had a replica of in his storage; it was done in a solid arch, like the shadow of a tunnel opening.

  “This is for the proles, we can’t –”

  Ren wasn’t listening. Clara pursed her lips and poked him in the side. No response. “Ren, we’re gonna draw attention standing here, we shouldn’t be messing with–”

  The archway shimmered, and the surface came to life like a body of rippling water, and Ren stepped through.

  Clara’s jaw hit the ground. “Huh?”

  Before she could make up her mind, a hand reached out and pulled her in after him.

  Sam lay on his back, arms in the air, as he dug through piles of cables dripping with mana fluid.

  Ari bent to hand him a cloth, “Here you are, Sir – you must be more careful.”

  Sam waved a hand around, searching; Ari pushed the rag into his palm.

  “Thanks, Arr – I’m almost done – I’ll have the monitors back up soon.”

  Ari eyed the way portal dubiously – there would be a rush any moment.

  As if in answer to his fears, it came to life. “Sir, they’re –

  Ari paled, “R-ren?”

  There was a bang underneath the table, and a curse from Sam, who stood up rubbing his head, “What are you talking about, Ari. I told you not to work so many hours, you’re losing your –”

  “Yoo, what's good, boys? I hope you don’t mind me stopping in for a visit – I brought a friend. Boys Clara – Clara boys.”

  Ari fell on his knees, pressing his face to the floor. Sam’s eyes flew around the room, searching for a way out, a weapon, a solution for what was surely to come.

  Ren held up his hands, “Easy, easy. As I said, I’m just here for a visit…well, not exactly, we’re looking for someone – a Leo?”

  Sam ignored the question, “How did you get in here?”

  Clara spoke up from the rear, “I also want to know.”

  “The magic portal thingy? I just asked it – nicely.”

  “The ways before him shall be open, he comes,” Sam whispered as the hairs on his arms stood up.

  Just then, a stream of excited proles poured in behind Ren, taking up seats and chattering amongst themselves.

  Sam got to work, busying himself behind the bar. Clara took a seat, and Ren went to Sam – watching as he lined up copper mugs along the bar.

  Ren frowned, “Uh, is that strong stuff you’re pouring? There’s barely a swallow for each…”

  “We don’t have much down here. Supplies being what they are. This is swill, more water than anything. But it’s nice to have something, a bit of normalcy – like they have above.” Said Sam sagely.

  “No. No. And no. That won’t do at all.

  He turned and faced the room, “I am Outworlder Ren – and I have come with a gift – drinks all around.

  He paused for effect, “Full to the BRIM!”

  Cheers all around.

  Ren turned to see Sam giving him the stink eye, “Outworlder, I really don’t have any more to spare. I –”

  Ren held up an open palm, “[Endless Keg].” Brewgar’s gift from the night market popped into existence.

  “Now let me show you how to do a proper pour – it’s all about getting the right angle…”

  Ren poured perfect sudsy heads of dense foam, the colour of rusted iron, and the smell of titan bark – like cinnamon and mint, with just a hint of bog dew. It reminded him of his friends in the Mire.

  Stay safe, DG Draven Meen-Tra…Thalgor.

  Sam wasted no time bustling the freshly poured mugs around the room; faces lit with excitement as the brimming brews beguiled the hardest of prole hearts; shoulders relaxed, and a weight carried in the corners of their eyes lifted, making all look ten years younger.

  Clara sat in the corner and eyed her mug suspiciously.

  Ren slid into the seat across from her and offered his most charming smile. She resisted the urge to kick him under the table.

  Wafting a hand over the sudsy head, Ren took in a deep breath, “Mmm – smell that? That’s the Mire.”

  She wrinkled her nose – it reminded him of Sadie – and for a moment, his two worlds overlapped.

  “Is something wrong, Ren? I’ll try some, it's just – father, he…”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  As suddenly as the disorientation came, it was gone. She came into focus, and he shook his head. “Nothing, you just reminded me of something.”

  Carefully, she reached out with two hands and lifted the copper mug to her lips; they parted in an O, and she took a delicate sip.

  Pleased with herself, her eyes narrowed as Ren laughed.

  “What are you laughing at?” She asked

  A single drop of foam fell from her nose onto the table.

  Ren laughed twice as hard.

  “My father is the greatest general ever. He could single-handedly conquer the barbarians. But I hate it. Everything is wrong, Ren.” She slammed her empty tankard down, and a look of conviction sharpened the corners of her mouth.

  “You’re cute when you put your foot down,” Ren said offhandedly.

  Clara eyed the bottom of her empty mug.

  “You should slow down. Honestly – I’m surprised you're still standing…”

  Ren scanned the room, expecting to see inebriated faces, but only Clara seemed to be feeling the effects.

  The volume in the room had steadily risen, but all things considered, Zug-zug wasn’t having the effect he thought it would.

  “Maybe the Zug zugs aged? Are there diminishing returns on and [Endless Keg]?”

  Clara hiccuped, “What’s that?”

  He distracted her by pointing out the smiling faces around the room as he removed her mug with the other.

  Ren waved Ari over, and the two swapped places, leaving the young [Plas Sweep] to entertain the Great General's daughter.

  It would be fine, Ren was sure.

  Behind the bar, Sam looked more like a computer repairman than anything else; cables, glowing crystals, and other bits and bops were strewn all about.

  “Hey, Sam. It’s good to see you again. Last time I was here, I left you all in a bit of a daze. I hope I didn’t cause any problems.”

  Sam shrugged, “Outworlder, we are honored by your presence. And your buff – well, let's just say Ari and I have been doing very well. Too well, in fact, if not for your arrival today, we’d have only been able to serve about half the people here, and what we serve – well, it doesn’t have much of an effect on us. Our constitutions being so high.”

  Ren nodded, “I was wondering about that. Your new [Endless Keg] is filled with Zug zug – it’s known as a titan killer in the Mire. I expected it would have a much greater effect…”

  Sam shrugged.

  Ren drummed his fingers on the bartop. “Well, anyway, here you are – you need more than me,” he pushed the [Endless Keg] across the bar.

  Sam caught it before it slid off the edge, “Outworld? I couldn’t –”

  “Pshaw – it was a gift. And Brewgar would approve of my decision.”

  Ren retold the tale of his first visit to the night market: the smells of the food, the sage moss and zeppelins dancing overhead, and the many races of people who called it home.

  Sam busied himself polishing mugs as he drank in every word.

  Ren mentioned his visit to Percevel, and Sam faltered in his work, “Did I say something?” Asked Ren.

  “Percevel is feared amongst the proles.”

  “And why is that?”

  “MaxTech is responsible for more prole deaths in the arena than anyone else. They supply battle armor for the unsaturated, while we are forced to fight as we are – to prove our worth. And of those that do make it out of the arena, most are never seen again.”

  “Where do they go?”

  Sam pursed his lips, “There is a beast beneath the arena. It hungers for proles, and is kept by MaxTech so that they might study its foul magics.”

  A scuffle broke out across, and Ren turned to see a red-faced Clara being held back by…four proles, “What in the–

  He leaped into the air, stepping across the tops of monitors as he landed next to Clara.

  “What is going on here?” Ren’s voice cracked like a whip.

  “Father would never kill a child!” She spat.

  Ren grabbed her from behind, wrapping her in his arms, and she struggled, “It's ok, Clara, it’s just me.” At the sound of his voice, she melted.

  “She’s had too much to drink, boys. She doesn’t have your constitution, just look at her face – it's so red I’m worried her hair will catch fire.”

  “We are proles!” Cheers all around.

  “Alright, break it up!” Sam’s authority cut through the fog; a few grumbled, but returned to their conversation, drinks, and screens.

  Ren looked at Clara, resting comfortably in his arms…was she sleeping? “Alright, you. Let's get you back to your room. I think we’ve had enough action for one day.”

  Throwing the sleeping beauty over his shoulders, Ren said goodbye, promised to return, and stepped through the way port.

  Ari looked to Sam as the portal closed around Ren’s silhouette. “Did you tell him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not, Sir?”

  “He’s done too much already; we needn’t bother him with something so trivial.”

  Ari nodded as he stared at the small screen stitched between two fingers.

  Getting into Clara’s room proved to be a problem, but a ReaperDrone patrolling the hallways gave him an assist.

  After tucking her in, Ren returned to his room. He was currently sitting cross-legged a few inches off the floor – deep in meditation.

  At least he was attempting to; something was bothering him.

  “Majordom, why are my [captials] going down?” Ren stared at the number hovering in the corner of his vision.

  Ren listened to the response.

  “Rent! Billing cycle? Xylosian patent system. My god…it’s…”

  A look of horror passed over Ren’s face, and his eyes moved down his body.

  —

  The next morning, feeling refreshed and well rested, a bleary-eyed Clara knocked on Ren’s door. After no response, she punched in a code and entered unannounced.

  Ren sat in the room's centre, his face a mask of stillness and calm. He also wore nothing, laying bare the sculpted lines of his body – she traced them as they intersected the nodes of his shoulders and chest.

  The aether surrounding him was… disturbed, as if it might come alive at a moment's notice. Her own mana pulled at her chest, as if Ren were a magnet and it was iron; she took a step back and screamed, “Why are you always naked!”

  “Aren’t you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning. I thought you’d be hungover…a headache at least?”

  Her eyes narrowed, “What in Systems' name are you doing? What happened last night? Why can’t I remember…what’s a headache?”

  Ren sighed, “You solved headaches, but forgot how to kiss. What is the world coming to?”

  Clara’s face screwed up – somewhere between anger and confusion, Ren chuckled.

  “Why did nobody think to tell me I was wearing vampire clothes, or that the alien implanted in my brain would be cheaper if I paid in bulk cycles rather than individually. Are there no consumer protections here?” He chuckled.

  Clara let her arms hang at her sides – defeated – Ren was impossible.

  He brushed past her, “Yoo – lez go. The Church awaits!”

  She sighed before her eyes widened, “Wait! What about your clothes?”

  After much arguing, Clara and Ren found themselves back in the city centre, standing in front of a building best described as celestial: pearly white, gilded trim, alcoves and towers glowing with light – clearly a magical church.

  It was just the kind of place Ren expected to find. The [Echo Runner] wore a simple loincloth, a strip of material salvaged from his storage. He looked ridiculous, and Clara was giving him more space than necessary.

  “So the System Church. I’ve come at last.” Squaring up his shoulders, Ren lifted his chin and marched up the smooth plas-crete steps.

  Clara hesitated before following.

  The doors of the church stretched up, and a golden glow poured down from above.

  “Parlor tricks.” He swung the doors wide and crossed the threshold.

  Like a majestic rainbow stretching across the sky, a chandelier hung overhead, but behind it, painted across the ceiling, a man in armor to match the outside of the church, carrying a golden sword, stood on a red planet, looking to the star-filled horizon.

  “Kitschy.”

  Clara looked up from the view she was enjoying, “What’s that?”

  He shook his head, “Is there anything I should know before we go any further? Blasphemies and whatnot.”

  She looked around nervously, “What – why would you. It’s fine, the Church may be old-fashioned, but Vim is…” She trailed off.

  Ren shrugged and strolled down the centre aisle. Rows of empty pews gave way to a dais and pulpit. Oh, but the white – it was so white and flat. “This place is a trip. There’s no depth, it reminds me of the void…”

  Clara kicked a pew and swore under her breath.

  He waved his two fingers around the room, “...Except the vibes are all wrong – this is too…puritan.”

  Suddenly, he was being dragged from the church.

  “What are you. We just –” He trailed off, he was out of his depth, and decided to trust her.

  “I just realized something, Ren. We’re going to be late for an appointment. Vim can see you another time.”

  “Yoo – that’s right, I totally forgot.” He said a little too enthusiastically.

  Clara rolled her eyes, but kept up her pace.

  “[Electric Pace] –”

  Just as Ren was about to scoop her up and make a dash for it, he was interrupted.

  A crisp, even voice called out from behind, “Outworlder, your visit has been much anticipated – please do not leave so soon, the Church would greet the Systems proffit.”

  Clara paled, and Ren spun on his heels, “Yoo what’s good, Father.”

  He stood atop the Church steps, a tall man who looked as though a stiff breeze might carry him away; even his face was thin – it gave him an unnatural appearance, as if he were not of this world, or Earth.

  He gave a thin-lipped smile that was as earnest as his head was bald. His purple robes ended in neat, billowing folds that hovered just above jewelled slippers.

  “Father…yes, an antiquated term – truly, you are of Earth. This is wondrous, please come in, come in.” He stood aside and gestured with open arms.

  Clara hid herself behind Ren, shadowing him as he walked toward the man, the church, and whatever she had wanted to keep from happening.

  As they approached, Vim turned and preceded them into the chapel, “I am Apostle Vim – welcome to the Holy Temple at Xylos. The Systems will manifest. Please right this way, you must perform the sacrament.”

  Ren nodded; he was familiar with the bread-and-wine thing. Following Vim, they stepped onto the dais and approached a small side wall covered in the folds of a white silken sheet.

  Vim extended a hand, “Please, Outworlder approach.”

  Leaving Cara behind, he stepped to the indicated position, and a hand slid out from between the white folds; palm open, a floating text appeared, ‘Will you donate the required amount…y/n_?”

  The underscore blinked, waiting for an answer.

  Ren sighed, “Yes.” His capitals ticked down.

  Vim’s smile redoubled, and he clapped his hands together, “Excellent! I was worried…the scrolls say Gunnderson was resistant.”

  “The church is alright, I don’t believe in heaven or anything, but helping people is good. Though – I might revisit the question of heaven…since you know.” He shared a knowing look with Vim.

  “The System brought you, and so you should be. It is as simple. Now tell me! How have you found yourself in the company of Clara, daughter of the Great General Gorthow?”

  Clara approached. She wore a cautious smile as she spoke, “Hello, Apostle. How are you today? Have you heard anything from General Gorthow?”

  Vim shook his head, “I’m afraid not, dear one. But, all will be well – the System is not yet ready for his return – of that I am sure.”

  Her smile brightened, “Thank you, Apostle.”

  “So, where do we begin, Father? Is there an orientation…or maybe a ceremony I need to perform? How do we do this?” He said jokingly.

  Vim’s eyes darted to the side, “But, Outworlder Ren – you just did. That was a tithe you agreed to. A tenth of your [captials] quarterly…you do have this on Earth, tithes?”

  “Yes, but they don’t suck out your lifeforce when you can’t pay.” He muttered.

  “None of my flock has ever run out of [capitals], the idea is preposterous. And besides, you can always open a line of credit. I’m sure the Senate will set you up with a not inconsiderable purse. And with young Clara’s father on the warpath, we shall all be drowning in wealth soon enough. Now come, let us not talk of such things. Let me tell you of the blessing you received, and why being a member of the System Church is the best decision you ever made.”

  There was a bit of mischief in his tone as he slid into his salesman role; however, there was also a kindness to it.

  Vim seated the pair at the front of the pews and took his place at the pulpit.

  The Apostle cleared his throat, “As a tithe’d member of the System Church, you join the ranks of the privileged few, who carry the System's direct blessing.”

  Ren checked the corner of his vision, and there wasn’t any new information, no indication of a buff, nor did he feel any different. He did notice his capitals ticking down, like an itch that needed to be scratched.

  Clara elbowed him in the side, “Pay attention.” She whispered.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Faith! We walk in a world with literal Gods. Thats god with a capital G, and I’m supposed to take the Church’s buff on faith. Where’s the visual effect? I don’t feel any different. The only reason I know anything happened at all is that my money’s missing. I’m pretty sure I just got scammed. Vim seems chill though – so at least there's that.”

  Clara scratched the top of her head. “What are you even talking about?”

  He smiled a gallows grin as he scooped her up in his arms; she let out a squeal of delight.

  He broke into a run, pouring all of his core into the muscles and tendons of his legs – he blurred, leaving a trail of notes popping in his wake.

  Two burning azure orbs looked on from atop the church’s tower; Vim’s [System’s Eyes] skill in effect – the world appeared in terms of mana concentrations, like infrared, but in shades of blue.

  Ren’s general shape was outlined in a translucent barrier. Contained within – channels of mana spiderwebbed with a frightening density.

  Vim shielded his eyes and looked away reflexively as Ren’s core flared to life in a brilliant indigo light.

  The Apostle cried out in pain as he staggered.

  Vim's heart pounded, and his mind raced. “What in Systems’ name…”